I am currently working on a short story to include in a new book with other short stories.
The Tunnel will be one such story along with at least two other's I have already written.
The story I'm working on is called "The Search" and is based on the premise of a young woman who travels the world looking for artifacts. She arrives in the town of Hidden to find an odd culture, climate and especially a new self. Short excerpt of "The Search" as it is so far.
Sheridan opened the door of her burnished yellow cruiser and stepped out into an unfamiliar street. Hidden was a town that lived up to its name. The artifact must be in the area, which seemed thrown back into the beginning the last century.
After driving all night she was tired. The Hide Inn looked to be the only possible lodging. It had the look of an inviting bed and breakfast. The huge old Victorian mansion wore a great double wooden door with a polished bronze knocker shaped like a flower. The only sign of it being an inn was its matching bronze sign occupying the right door and a home made welcome mat decorated with a scene of the town’s historic Front Street.
It was hard to believe that the town once looked even more ancient and regal than it did now. Raising the knocker she banged it twice against the door ignoring the sign that read Come on Inn.
An elderly gentleman answered the door just like the butler out of a movie.
“Well, I see you’re going to be an interesting guest.”
“What do you mean”?
“I’ve learned two things about you already. You don’t follow instructions and you can’t fight temptation.” The old man smiled brightly belying the gruff tone of his voice.
Yep, she thought, he is definitely playing a role.
There was an unobtrusive bureau in the foyer which served as a front desk. Assuming there was a laptop hiding in the antique cherry wood bureau a credit card appeared in her hand before the elder’s face as he pulled out an old ledger.
He turned the book in her direction and glanced at the card. “Take things for granted too, I see. You don’t pay till you leave. The amount of your stay depends on what you do with your time here.”
“What does that mean? Do I have to clean the Inn or help paint the church?” Her sarcasm was thick. At 26, Sheridan didn’t feel like playing cat and mouse games with her host.
“No Miss,” was all he said. His eyes twinkled like a child playing twenty questions. She could see the game was still on and knew he was well practiced at it. Time for a verbal retreat she decided.
He motioned to her and grabbed her bag. “Practical woman, you travel light.”
“I’ve traveled a lot looking for these legends about powerful artifacts. The road tends to teach you a few lessons. What do I call you Mister?”
“Everybody just calls me Catch.”
“Catch,” she repeated with an amused tone in her voice.
He carried her luggage up an ancient, ornate staircase with a finial shaped like an odd flower she’d never seen before. She decided it was some impressionist sculpture. She looked around and saw the same image in nearly all the rich cherry wood. Asking about it would start another conversation she didn’t feel like having with him right now, interesting as he may seem.
Approaching a door Sheridan noticed symbols on a wall plaque. It looked like some sort of pictograph. The Inn and its owner seemed to have so much odd beauty and air of mystery. He opened a door. She peered into her room and gasped.
The contrast overwhelmed her. The room’s furnishings, though antique, were set out and surrounded by modern conveniences. Beyond the presence of a television, digital alarm and telephone; there was a bathroom complete with all the gadgets in a three star hotel. She saw a walk in tiled shower with water jets, a large vanity complete with ornate mirror, built in hair dryer and plush throw rug that ate up her feet. The bathtub was large enough for two with body massaging jets.
The old man smiled, “Ya didn’t think we were totally backward did ya.”
