The aim of the words is to encourage us to write, a story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along and read it.
This month the words are supplied by me and can be found right here.
This week's words are:
3. mountain lake
6. white lilac
here is my story:
Detective Inspector Stanley Grace saw the large, bright pink envelope on his desk even before he stepped through the doorway. To his partner at the other desk he said, “I see the madwoman up in the mountain lake area has sent us another of her predictions.” Irene Fargo’s lips twitched upward with amusement. “Every year for how long now?” “Fifteen years now. We weren’t here for the first two,” replied Stanley.
“Are we going to follow up as usual or give someone else a chance to meet the old dear?” said Irene. “Let’s see what she has to say before we decide.” Stanley opened the envelope addressed to him *and no-one else*, heavily underlined, and withdrew a single sheet of paper faintly scented with white lilac perfume.
“He is back!” declared the page, in uneven blocky print. “I been saying for years I see him coming. Now he is here. I seen him myself. You better come quick!”
“Irene, I think we’d best approach this ourselves, this isn’t the usual prediction of things to come.” He showed her the paper and suggested she go down to the vaults and collect all the relevant files on this old case. “We see them every year, so they should be close enough to find quickly, I’ll get on the phone and book us a couple of seats on the next plane going that way. I’ll ring the chief first and let him know we’re going again.”
Reminding himself to also pack a box of surgical gloves, (the madwoman, Bernice, had a fear of bacteria) his mind drew forth the last time they’d been there. The exterior of the tiny hut had been freshly painted in a rainbow of pastel colours, but sloppily, as if done by hand by someone who knew nothing about painting. He’d come to realise over the years that Bernice wasn’t truly mad, just a little different, a person who saw things much the same way a clairvoyant might. But she had spent many years locked in a psychiatric ward at that old hospital up there, back when people believed that sea air, exercise and fresh vegetables could help a lot with stabilising certain types of mental illness.
Irene came back with all the files on a wheeled cart and parked it midway between the desks, they would take the two most recent folders with them to refresh their memories as they flew to the nearest airport to Shark Cove, then a hired car would take them the rest of the way. Each of them had a ‘go-bag’ with a change of clothes and emergency cash, stashed in a locker, so they’d be ready to go anywhere at a moment’s notice. Irene pulled hers out and checked it for toothpaste and brush, then dragged out Stanley’s bag. They didn’t know how long they’d be gone, but the Cove Hotel was nice, she remembered from last year and the Post Office Market and Store could supply anything extra they needed. Irene pulled out a photo of Bernice and studied it. She had come to the case only six years ago, but a flicker in her memory said there was something about Bernice that looked familiar.