The Shadow of a Stranger (Flash Fiction Writing Challenge)

 Fiction in a Flash Writing Challenge: Mystery, Space, Raven/1000 word limit

*This weekend a fellow writer, Allison Spooner, posted the above challenge. My story came as a combination of an idea from a Mid-Michigan Writers shadow prompt and Allison's. I don't usually write this genre, but I am proud of what I produced in a short amount of time. 

Please, let me know what you think in my blog comments section. 

 

The Shadow of a Stranger

 

Shadows are portrayed as dark and dangerous, something to be feared; yet the day he showed up at her house, the only thing Gemma could think of was sunshine and hope. So many men out of work, carrying their belongings, asking for work, for food. Gemma had to send away more than she could assist. She could only do so much these days, post war, her husband missing in action, her home and her toddler absorbing all of her time, energy, and food supplies.

 

She hated sending them away, imagining her husband, wandering somewhere in a foreign land, hungry, desperate. She also knew she needed to be careful, a woman alone with a small child, wolves in men’s clothing were always a possibility. 

 

But the day he came to her door, the sun was high and bright, and she’d been looking upward, hope in her heart when she heard the stranger’s voice say hello. Her vision sun blinded, he came into view as a shadow, a dark space surrounded by brightness. A light in the darkness, she thought; but, there are reasons shadows are portrayed as dark and dangerous, a lesson Gemma would wish she had remembered. 

 

 

Walker had been on her farm for two weeks, the morning Gemma decided to walk out to the barn and offer him a mug of fresh, hot coffee. The awkwardness she’d felt the first few days after he’d arrived had eased now, and Gemma smiled as she looked up at the window above the hay loft, the small room Walker occupied. It was nice having a man around, though her heart ached with missing her Johnny, still unaccounted for somewhere in France. No man could ever replace her husband, but she felt safer than she had in the two years since Johnny had been drafted and gone off to war. Walker was quiet, keeping mostly to himself, his whereabouts before his appearance on her doorstep still a mystery to Gemma. She didn’t mind. So many men had returned from the War with secrets inside their broken hearts.

 

The big barn doors were open, and Gemma noticed  two buckets of fresh milk sitting on the platform waiting to be taken into the house. The cows had already been let out to pasture, and the team of mules stood in the paddock crunching hay. Walker had clearly been busy, and the sun barely above the horizon. Boards creaked overhead, drawing Gemma’s gaze. She would surprise him with coffee, a small thanks for all he’d done to ease her workload. Though he’d shown no signs of leaving, Gemma knew that drifters came and went as they pleased. Coffee was the least she could do as a way of thanks.

 

Gemma walked over to stand beneath the loft opening. She couldn’t maneuver the wooden rungs of the ladder into the loft with the mug. Setting it beside the milk buckets, Gemma ascended the rungs, her skirts held tight to stop them from swishing around her legs. As her head moved above the floorboards of the loft, she gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. “Mr. Walker?” She called, but there was no response. Gemma scanned the loft, searching where she’d heard the creaking, but nobody was here; only swirling hay and dust motes met her eyes. 

 

Another creak from the far side drew her attention, and Gemma felt a shiver across her skin. “Mr. Walker?” She heard the tremor in her voice, and cursed her weakness even as she climbed quickly back down the ladder. 

 

Halfway to the barn floor, she startled as she heard, “Ms. Gemma?” Even as her hand lost its hold on the rung, as she imagined the pain awaiting her body as she hit the hard ground below, Gemma felt strong arms catch her. Relief washed over her as she realized Walker had broken her fall. He set her down gently, his dark eyes too close, and before she could stop herself Gemma realized her hands were upon his chest. For a few seconds, Gemma felt Walker’s heart beating as their eyes locked. He made no move to kiss her, but his hands tightened upon her waist, his thumbs pressing her hipbones, his other fingers grazing where only Johnny’s ever had before.

 

The iron smell of blood broke Gemma’s trance, brought her starkly back to reality, blinking as she pushed against Walker’s chest to bring an appropriate distance between them. Backing away, Gemma grabbed the mug and pushed it forward, a peace offering to break the awkwardness that throbbed inside the barn. 

 

Holding the mug, she noted wetness on her hands, her brain connecting the smell of blood and the state of Walker’s shirt. It didn’t make sense, she thought, her eyes clipping from her hands to Walker, and around the barn for the source of the blood. Blood on a farm isn’t unusual, but today wasn’t a slaughter day. 

 

Fighting for answers and finding none, Gemma finally looked back at Walker. He hadn’t moved, and she found her face automatically answering his smile as he casually brought the coffee mug to his lips and drank deeply, emptying it nearly completely before setting it down again on the milk shelf.

 

Her smile changed to a grimace as she stared at the bloody fingerprints on the mug, as she watched Walker’s smile turn into something else, transforming him from savior to monster. The thought of her child awoke Gemma’s frozen body, and she bolted toward her home. She needed to reach her baby. It was her only thought as she stumbled across the yard. When her hand finally wrapped around the door handle, Gemma looked back over her shoulder to see Walker strolling forward. 

 

Gemma slammed shut the door and frantically searched for something to protect herself as she ran to the now empty cradle. A raven cawed overhead. There are reasons shadows are portrayed as dark and dangerous. It was her last thought as the front door crashed open.