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Ruth Wadzinski ~ July 2018

Page history last edited by michianawriterscenter@... 2 years, 11 months ago

Featured AuthorRuth Wadzinski

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

My Name is Ruth Wadzinski... 

My name is Ruth Wadzinski, I’m 14

My favorite colors and red, orange, purple and green.

I like to write (you can probably see)

Sci-Fi, fiction and poetry.


I get ideas from my friends and family for sure,

Then some of it’s mythology and folklore.

I could be the next great writer someone’s looking for

And I wrote another stanza so you can hear more:


I have award winning chickens, probably four or five,

Plus I love to sing and act; it makes me feel alive.

But all my talents come from God; and I won't apologize

Because I know I have a drive and I know I will survive.

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

Beware the Rain by Ruth Wadzinski


I was on my way home from New Brook Middle School when the rain came.  I wasn’t surprised, though. It had been raining every day that week, so I brought my purple and green frog umbrella. But this rain shower was different. Worse. It had started as a drizzling type of rain, but as I made my way down Ash Street, it morphed into a full blown storm. There was little wind, so my umbrella did a good job protecting me, but it didn't help me see better. The rain was so thick that all I could see was my own nose and my feet below me (which were soaked by the way).

I tried to get home by memory, because I couldn't see any street signs. That was my first mistake. You would think that after walking this same path home for years, I would be fine, but I quickly forgot where to go, and there was no one around me to ask.

Take a left here... Now go straight... or was that where I turned right? Was that on the next street...

I walked for a half hour, then the rain began to let up a little bit, and I saw “Adams Street” displayed on a green sign above my head, which I had never heard of before. And I knew that town by heart. I looked around and recognized nothing. The road in front of me ended with a huge forest and split into two possible roads. Squinting, I saw that on one side of me was a dark road blocked by a fallen tree as wide around as I was tall, so I quickly turned to my right and down the street.

  “Pluto Drive” I read aloud from the street sign. The road was dusty, but paved. Not very well, I may add. The concrete was cracked and uneven, split into more pieces that I could count in some spots.

I walked for a few minutes with no signs of civilization. One side of me was a scary woods, like the kind that you read about in psycho horror stories. The other side of me was, well, the exact same thing. To my left, the sun was slowly going under the horizon. I was about to turn back when I came across a dim light from up ahead.

You have no choice. Look, it’s getting dark.

Though my guts were trying to tell me to get away as fast as possible, I listened to the little voice in my head. My second mistake. I ran to the light, and finally came to the source: a log cabin.

I quickly veered into the driveway. The windows were glowing with a welcoming orange gleam, so I stepped closer.

As the house was becoming more visible, I could clearly see that it was a little bit sketchy. It was fairly small, one story, and shrouded in darkness except for the glimmering window. The front door (which was an ostrobogulous shade of purple that could blind a small child if he forgot his sunglasses) had steps leading up to it, with a small deck. One lone rocking chair sat in the corner sadly, as its only occupant was a small black spider and its web. The wood that the house was made of seemed to be rotting ever so slightly, but the steps to the front porch were my main concern. They looked like they would snap if I even stepped on them. Plus, there were the vines. They were coming from a little patch of weeds by the porch, but their tiny leafy hands had covered almost every inch of the front side of the house. It looked like no one had cleaned or weeded in 30 years. So yeah, sketchy was an appropriate word, I decided.

Despite my instincts, I gingerly put one foot on the first step, then another. The wood creaked, but didn’t break, so I moved on to the next one, then onto the porch itself. Letting out a triumphant huff, I stepped under her awning and closed my umbrella.

I hesitated by the door, unsure if I should turn back or knock.

Just leave. You can find your way home by yourself. What if there is a killer in that house? I mean, look at the stereotypical killer cabin. It’s just like the movies!” the voice in my head cried.

“But then again, you need directions. You could get killed just as easily walking home alone in this pouring rain.”

“Don’t go inside! You have no idea what is behind that door!”

“Just knock already!”

I stood at the doorway, hand up, ready to knock, listening to my shoulder angel debate with my shoulder devil. At that moment, I wasn’t sure which was which. Finally, I swallowed the lump in my throat and put my fist to the door.

“Hello?” I called as I knocked.

No response.

I waited for a few moments, but there was no answer, so I swiveled back around on the heel of my soaked tennis shoes and began to calculate my next approach of getting home. Then the door swung open.

“Who’s there?” a voice called. I jumped and turned back around.

An old lady was standing in the doorway. She looked exactly like every old lady ever: short gray hair, thin purple glasses, a polka-dotted bath robe and dirty bunny slippers. She seemed utterly average and normal, except for the gun in her hand. That was different.

“I’m so sorry to bother you but I... I need directions. I got lost on my way home from school in this rain storm and m-my parents are probably worried sick.” I explained, slowly backing away from that gun tucked into her arm.

The old lady sighed. “Alright come in.”

She swung the door open all the way and held it for me as I walked inside. “Let me have that umbrella.” She took it from my hand and put it on her coat rack, then placed her gun next to it.“Have a seat anywhere you like. I’m Edith.”

She shook my hand. “My name’s Emily.” I replied.

I walked farther into her house and instantly knew why her windows glowed orange. There was not a lamp to be seen, but she had candles everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. Some were fat, some were thin, some were lit and some weren’t, but she had them on her walls, on her tables, and even on top of her fridge.

To the left of me, where was a large wooden table (covered in candles of course) with four chairs. Behind that, I saw an old fashioned stove, a Keurig on her fake marble counter, and a tiny refrigerator with a dark stain on one side. It was covered in homemade-looking magnets: one resembled a watermelon slice, another looked like a flower that you would find in a dark corner of the woods, and another one was a fairy wearing a pink dress. To my right, there was a living space with a couch, an old box TV, and a dusty recliner with a quilt thrown over it next to a table, which was covered in, you guessed it, candles. Straight ahead, I saw a dark hallway which practically screamed “There’s a killer hiding back here!” I opted for the table.

“Do you want any hot chocolate?” the old lady asked, suddenly becoming sweet as if I was supposed to forget that she answered the door with a gun.

“No thank you,” I smiled, taking off my soaked blue sweatshirt and draping it over the chair, then setting my backpack on the ground.

“Wrong!” she sang, waltzing over to the kitchen area and pulling a mug from one of the white cabinets on her wall. “You want hot chocolate.”

Edith set the cup under the Keurig and put a little blue and white pod into the slot.

I shifted in my seat, then began to analyze her house as much as possible. There was a bowl of fake fruit on the table, which was totally a normal old lady thing, but next to the bowl she had a small figurine. I slid my arm out to grab it.

It was another fairy, the same one from the magnet on the fridge. Brown hair, dark skin the color of a starbucks coffee, sparkly wings, pink sundress and golden slippers. “What’s this?” I asked, holding it up.

“That” she walked over and took it from my hand, “is a little statue of my best friend.”

“Is she really a fairy?” I joked.

“Yes.” I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

She set the statue back down and walked back to her kitchen counter. “So where do you need directions to? I’m sure I can help.” she asked, pushing some buttons on her coffee maker.

“27th street.” I fumbled with my backpack, then pulled out a pen.

“Go back to Adams Street from here, then turn left at the first intersection.” I furiously scribbled her words on my arm. “Go straight until you get to Oak Street, then make a right. The next intersection is going to be 27th.” She smiled and set a steaming cup down in front of me. “You can stay as long as you need. Don't go back outside all wet like this. I'll be over in my chair knitting if you need me.”

I took a sip of the hot chocolate as she ambled over to her recliner. Instantly, I was filled with warmth. As the room grew silent, I sipped more, and more, and before I knew it, the cup was completely empty except for the little bit at the bottom of the cup that’s always impossible to get no matter what you do. I set it down on the table and pushed my chair back.

“I really should be going now. Thank you for all your help.”

Edith stood up and set her half finished scarf aside. “Any time dear.”

I trotted back toward her door and swung my backpack over my shoulder. The rain was still pounding on the roof. Getting home would have been a soaking wet journey, if not for my umbrella. I placed my thumb on the button, ready to open it, when Edith yanked it out of my hand.

“Were you about to open this umbrella… Inside my house?” She asked, pulling the umbrella behind her back.

“Yeah… It's all wet out there. Have you seen the rain?” I replied, reaching out for it.

She stepped back. “Do you know what happens when you do that?” I could tell she was going to tell me whether I wanted her to or not.

“I don't get wet... that's what happens.” I reached for the umbrella again. “Can I please have my umbrella back?”

Edith sighed. “Kids these days. Why didn't your parents teach you about the Goblins?”

“The what?” I looked at the door, wondering if it would be worth it to just run without my umbrella.

“Come sit down.” Edith motioned to the couch and clung tight to my umbrella, knowing I would grab it if I had the chance.

“Listen… It's been great hanging out with you and you were very helpful, but I have to get going!”

She grabbed my wrist and whispered in my ear: “You will regret it if you don't listen.” Before I could react, she began her story, her voice staying in a light whisper.

“There are goblins that come out in the rain. Invisible, yes, but very real. You can’t see them, but they can see you, and they absolutely love jumping on umbrellas.” she began, pulling me onto her couch. “Hundreds have probably run past you during this past week. And since they’re weightless, you will never know.”

“And how exactly,” I interjected “do you know this?”

“Shush!” she swatted me over the head with the umbrella, sprinkling water drops onto my face. “I’m not finished.” Sighing, she then continued: “They are wonderful creatures, but sometimes when the umbrellas close, you catch one in the folds. It’s very common and not dangerous at all. That is, until you open the umbrella inside afterwards. Rain Goblins hate confined spaces.” She scooted closer to me and grabbed my arm. “That includes houses. If they don’t kill all occupants then burn everything to the ground, they will at least break everything in sight. How do you think that superstition got started?” she asked, moving her face closer to mine.

“I... I umm...” I stammered, trying to scoot away.

“Please...” Her nose was practically touching mine. “Beware the rain.”

I stared into her eyes. They were wide with fear, and her breathing had become shallow. “Edith...” I whispered. “I. have. to. go.”

“You don’t believe me!” she cried, standing up. I jumped in surprise. “You think that I’m insane! You’re going to go home and open your umbrella inside your house just to prove to yourself that the Rain Goblins are fake, and do you know what is going to happen? One of them will be in the folds!” she howled, pacing away from me over to the kitchen. “And you, miss Emily, are going to die. Along with your entire family!”

  I didn’t move. I couldn't move. My body froze on that couch as I watched her march around the kitchen, screaming like some sort of horrible beast only found in the darkest places of the world, and for a second I wondered if she was.

“I’m going to show up to your funeral and laugh and laugh and laugh and say ‘I told you so miss Emily! I told you that the goblins would get into your house and rip your body to shreds and drink the blood of your family, then watch the whole mess go up in flames! I told you!” She let out one final yelp of frustration, then gasped. I buried my head in my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that by some magic she would just disappear.

We sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but I knew only 7 seconds went by. The sound of the ticking clock was the only noise in that house aside from the steady rush of rain over the roof.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear. “It’s just that... no one ever believes me.”

More silence. 16 seconds this time. I didn’t dare to even breathe.

I heard a thunk from her direction. Slowly, I turned my head, hopping with all my might that she wasn’t holding a knife, but all I saw was my umbrella.

It was sitting right on the edge of the kitchen table, and Edith stood next it, staring at me. Then, without saying a word, she walked into the dark hallway at the back of her house.

I stood up slowly. It seemed as if the entire planet was holding its breath. Or maybe it was just me. I let go of all the air in my lungs that I forgot I was keeping and walked over to her kitchen table to get my umbrella, being sure to watch behind me. Slinging my backpack up over my shoulder, I then opened the door. The rain was still falling in bucket loads, but I stepped out onto her deck to open my umbrella.

As I raised my arm to slam the door, I realized my backpack was lighter than normal...

  Your sweatshirt! I thought, feeling my heart leap. It’s still drying on that chair...

“Emily!” I heard Edith’s voice from the kitchen, but I didn't turn back around to face her. I refused to see her face again. “You forgot your-”

I slammed the door.

 


 

My walk home was cold and wet (by this time it was nearly 7 o’clock), but when I arrived at my destination I was greeted by my family with hugs and kisses and, more than anything, questions.

“I got lost.” I stated simply, trying to hide my fear and exhaustion.

“How did you get back?” Mom cried.

“Oh my goodness you’re so wet!” Dad remarked.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” my sister Maggie asked.

My family practically erupted when I tried to brush everything off. But Edith’s scared eyes still haunted me...

“I don’t want to talk. I’m very tired,” I explained, fake yawning for effect. “Mom,” I headed to my room, “I’ll bring you my wet clothes and stuff. You can dry them.”

“Well, it’ll have to be by the fire. Our dryer broke today!” she called as I closed my bedroom door.

I never thought that putting on fuzzy pajama pants would be so satisfying, but for that night, it was all I needed to feel better. Peeling off my drenched clothes instantly made the memory of Edith fade, and I slowly began to convince myself that she was just a lonely old lady who had a fairy tale to tell, even though my mind was screaming something else at me.

“Here.” I plopped my wet clothes into Mom’s arms. The living room lights were off now, and her face was only illuminated by the flame from the fireplace. She smiled and kissed me on the forehead.

“Do you mind if we also lay out my umbrella?” I asked. “I’m going to have it in my backpack tomorrow and I don’t want it to get it all wet if it isn’t dry yet.”

I held out the umbrella and she took it. My stomach turned upside down, my brain screamed, my body stiffened, my heart rate lept, but my eyes were only fixed on the jeans, drying out in front of our fireplace next to a white summer camp t-shirt. Mom turned away from me and put her thumb over the big lavender button of my umbrella. I held my breath.

Pop! She pushed the button and it flew open. I let out a sigh.

“Goodnight, Mom.” I tried to hide how shakey my voice was. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 


 

Seattle Tribune

April 29th, 2018

Fire On 27th Street!

This morning, police are investigating a fire that tore through a 27th street house last night. Investigators have not yet ruled out foul play. There are signs of a struggle in the remains, including a broken smoke detector. The Beecher family, who lived in this house, never called the fire department; a neighbor, James Richardson, did when he awoke to see flames across the street at 11:00 pm. Richardson, when asked about that night, said:

“I didn’t hear any struggling from the house. It was all eerily calm. My security cameras don’t show a thing.”

Police say that the fact that the family never called the fire department, along with the destroyed smoke detector, points to a case of arson, but concrete evidence is needed to make a final ruling. All members of the Beecher family are currently alive, but are in critical condition.


Seattle Tribune

April 30th, 2018

Obituaries

Maggie “Mags” Beecher

On the night of April 29th, 2018, Maggie Beecher, called “Mags” by her family, was taken from this planet to stay with the Lord in heaven. She is survived by her mother and father, Sally and Jacob Beecher, as well as her sister, Emily. Though she died at the young age of 11, she lived a fun and happy life while she was on Earth. Her service will be held at House of Christ Church on May 5th.


Seattle Tribune

April 31st, 2018

A Paranormal Fire?

Two days ago, a house fire destroyed the Beecher family home on 27th street. Police haven’t found many remains, and as of yesterday the only evidence was a broken smoke detector with no fingerprints or DNA. However, when digging through the rubble on April 30th, investigators found a purple and green umbrella that was completely untouched by the fire. It was discovered in the middle of what used to be a living room, surrounded by scorched and unidentifiable objects. Investigators still have no clue how this umbrella survived a fire.


Seattle Tribune

May 1st, 2018

Obituaries

Jacob and Sally Beecher

On the morning of May 1st, 2018, Jacob and Sally Beecher, husband and wife, died only minutes apart in Virginia Mason Hospital. They follow their young daughter, Maggie Beecher, by only two days, and are survived by their daughter Emily. Their service will be held on May 5th at House of Christ Church with their daughter Maggie.


Seattle Tribune

May 2nd

Beecher Girl Speaks!

On the evening of May 1st, 2018, Emily Beecher, the lone survivor of the Beecher house fire, spoke, making her the first and only one in her family to be able to talk about what happened on the night of the disastrous fire that tore through her home on April 29th. Nurse Robinson, the nurse who cared for her, said:

“She was sleeping. I was doing some blood work and stuff and she was sleeping. No one in her family woke up at all, ever... I was flushing her IV when she grabbed my arm and said ‘Listen to her’. I didn’t know what it meant, and I still don’t, but she kept saying it, over and over, so I called the doctor.”

No one is really sure who this “her” is that Emily was speaking of, but some suggest that her family may be talking to her from the afterlife. So far, she has not said anything else.


Seattle Tribune

May 3rd

Obituaries

Emily Beecher

On the night of May 2nd, Emily Beecher, the last member of the Beecher family, died in Virginia Mason Hospital. She will be joining her parents and little sister “Mags” in heaven, and the family ceremony will take place on May 5th at House of Christ Church. Emily’s dying words were “Tell her I’m sorry”, though no one is sure what this means. Her family's fortune has been left behind, as requested by her, to a Miss Edith Moore.


(Crossover with Monica Thomason’s “Sent”)



 

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