By The prompt for this piece was to write a genre that you don’t normally write or aren’t particularly good at writing. I picked a thriller. I read thrillers maybe once every other year – they give me anxiety. I was going to write horror but I actually write decent short horror. See my recent News Story.
Trigger warning: This story does discuss murder. Because all thrillers need a dirty little secret.
When writing this I imagined the older characters speaking in southern accents. I realized that I didn’t include that in the text but all these are written in an hour or less, so non-perfect writing is okay with me. What is your least favorite genre? Let me know in the comments.
Small Towns
The small southern town reminded Adrian of something out of a Hallmark movie. There was only one word for it: quaint. A beautiful town square, courthouse in the middle surrounded by little shops and dinners. The town’s people and tourists walked around looking in shop windows and chatting merrily. A chill fall breeze tangled a fallen leaf into her braid. Pulling it out to let it drop onto the sidewalk Adrian decided that she needed some tea at the little coffee shop on the corner. There was time to kill until she could check into the B&B behind the square anyway.
A bell tinkled as she walked in and the scent of roasted coffee beans was lovely, the warmth seeping into her chilled skin, and the chatter of the other patrons comforting. After ordering her London Fog, Adrian sat at the only available table, near the window. Next to her in a table set off from the others sat two older women that reminded her of her grandmother. One with blue hair, one with white, both had glasses on chains and both were dressed in proper dresses like they had just come from church.
Adrian stared out the window sipping her tea as the older women’s conversation floated back to her over the chatter of the other patrons.
Ethel: “Maybell, we need to discuss the upcoming service.”
Maybell: “I’m aware Ethel. That’s why I let you talk me into coming out today. You know I don’t like the cold.”
They sounded like any other grandmothers discussing a church service.
Maybell: “Well we need to get this shorted. Goodness knows that the other members will leave things until the last minute and then it will be a mess like two years ago.”
Ethel: “That was a nightmare. Now the date is firm, midwinter’s day. And so is the time, sunset. Can you hire Jack’s boys to clean up the site? It needs to be done at least two days before so we have time to set up.”
Maybell: “Yes, yes.”
Adrian began to listen more intently. She was no longer paying attention to the view out the window. What type of modern religion had midwinter’s day ceremonies? Witchcraft?
Ethel: “Are the tools clean? Davis used them at midsummer and if they were left dirty…”
Maybell cut the other woman off sharply. “Ethel, stop insulting me. Of course they are clean. I’m the keeper of the sacred blades and you know I take that seriously as I have for the last 40 years.”
Sacred BLADES? A bead of sweat rolled down Adrian’s neck. What were these women into? What were they planning? Her hands tightened on her half full mug that had gone cold.
Ethel: “My apologies. I guess the only thing left to settle is who we are sacrificing this year. It has to be a better offering than last year. We picked an offering that was lacking and it reflected in the town’s profit. ”
What. The. Hell? Adrian sat frozen. Her blood running cold.
Maybell: “What about Billy Johnson?”
Ethel: “No, Mary lost her son to cancer six months ago, Billy’s dad. It wouldn’t be fair to Mary besides, sickly blood.” Adrian could hear the disdain in the older woman’s voice.
Maybell: “How about the Jackson girl. What’s her name? Oh, Sally!”
Ethel made an appreciative sound but ultimately said, “We can’t. While she would be an excellent choice, very few doctors of her caliber choose to move here and we need her for the memory care.”
Maybell: “Fine, let’s get a tourist then. Anyone that can afford to visit here in the middle of winter is typically successful. Then we don’t have to worry about losing one of our own.”
Ethel: “It’s decided then. I’m glad to have those pesky details out of the way.” Adrian heard the splash of tea being poured into a cup, the splash of sugar cubes, clicking of a spoon on porcelain. “Now, did you hear that the Smith’s son is fathering another baby?”
Maybel sighed, “I really wish the gods accepted the dregs as sacrifices.”
Ethel: “Me too.”
Adrian rose carefully from her seat and returned her cup to the counter before heading out into the chilly autumn air. She turned left to her car instead of right towards the B&B. There were other small towns, this one wasn’t for her.
Thank you KW Photography for allowing me to use your wonderful photos!
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McGee Travel Tales 
Loved short story. Very descriptive, put one right at the scene.
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