Moving day has gone badly and you're living in a caravan for the next two weeks while you try and get things sorted out? ;-)
The caravan The wind was blowing in from the north-east, carrying the fresh smell of saltwater with undercurrents of rotting seaweed and a briskness that suggested snow might not be too far away now. No boats rested at anchor in Mooreton bay; the bay itself was too shallow for anything save fishing dinghies and the waters further out were littered with rocks and ridges that made the approach hazardous. The fishermen preferred the next bay over, where the water was deeper and the channels wider. The beach itself was sandy and wide, bordered by the sea and by a low ramparts of sand dunes on the top of which were perched some rusting caravans. The colour of the sand was supposed to tell Collins where was safe to walk and where not, but to his eyes it all looked beige and unremarkable. He sighed, and checked his notebook; the poltergeists had been reported being a little way down from the Sandcastles supermarket. Which would be hidden behind the sand dune if he walked along the beach, so he sighed again and climbed to the top of the dune so he could see both the road – a two-lane strip of black asphalt littered with pedestrian crossings for the tourists – and the beach. The supermarket proved to be ten minutes’s walk away, but the day was cold enough that he appreciated the walk for keeping himself warm. When he was opposite it he looked at the beach, not really wanting to go down there, and half-walked, half-slid down the sand dune onto the flat expanse. The waves broke at the water’s edge with a dull roar, and there was still no sign of anyone, not even a dog walker. He looked around and decided to walk closer to the water. A minute later he saw what looked like children gathered around a hole in the sand and, glad of something to do, he started over there to tell them how dangerous leaving holes on the beach could be. Then they rose into the air as a group, and a handful of clamshells fell just short of him. He yelped in astonishment, and ducked, taking a step back. The ghosts swirled like a flock of birds, and more shells were lifted up and thrown at him. This time they sailed past on his left, and the next cluster just missed him on his right. The ghosts – the poltergeists, he guessed – swirled again and then landed. For a moment they looked dark and dangerous, and then they were children once more who ran off down the beach in eerie silence. Collins looked at the bracelet on his wrist and wondered if the poltergeists just had bad aim or if it had really worked and protected him from them. He rubbed it with his sleeve but nothing seemed to change about it. “I guess I’ll keep wearing you for now,” he said, partly to himself but mostly to break the silence on the beach, which was starting to feel unnatural. The wind pulled his words away and hurled them inland to be lost amongst the traffic noise. The hole turned out to be nearly a metre deep with no sign of excavated sand. At the bottom of it were a couple of crabs moving slowly about, and he almost left them there. As he started to turn away though, the thought that the ghosts might have trapped the crabs down there emerged, and he turned back and carefully jumped down into the hole to lift them out and free them. Some sand dislodged from the walls as he did so, and as he lifted the crabs out, a patch of darkness caught his eye. Poking at it, it turned out to be a box, and when he pulled it free the side of the hole collapsed inwards on him, knocking him over and covering his feet to knee-depth. After a five minute struggle he pulled himself free, climbed out of the now shallower hole, and looked at the box. It was cubical and made of plywood painted black. It opened easily, and inside was a yellow-grey skull.
Greg - hah. No, I was thinking more of a caravan of the moving van, my car, and our van, heading from Osoyoos to Oliver. Didn't quite work that way, with Kat staying behind for a little bit with the boys because Miles wasn't feeling well and needed some extra rest at her parents house.
Yup, you're running with this and I am loving it. What a great setting for a story! (Yes, I'm a little bit jealous... and I might have to contribute something, or do an 'inspired by' bit at some point.)
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Moving day has gone badly and you're living in a caravan for the next two weeks while you try and get things sorted out? ;-)
The caravan
The wind was blowing in from the north-east, carrying the fresh smell of saltwater with undercurrents of rotting seaweed and a briskness that suggested snow might not be too far away now. No boats rested at anchor in Mooreton bay; the bay itself was too shallow for anything save fishing dinghies and the waters further out were littered with rocks and ridges that made the approach hazardous. The fishermen preferred the next bay over, where the water was deeper and the channels wider. The beach itself was sandy and wide, bordered by the sea and by a low ramparts of sand dunes on the top of which were perched some rusting caravans. The colour of the sand was supposed to tell Collins where was safe to walk and where not, but to his eyes it all looked beige and unremarkable. He sighed, and checked his notebook; the poltergeists had been reported being a little way down from the Sandcastles supermarket. Which would be hidden behind the sand dune if he walked along the beach, so he sighed again and climbed to the top of the dune so he could see both the road – a two-lane strip of black asphalt littered with pedestrian crossings for the tourists – and the beach.
The supermarket proved to be ten minutes’s walk away, but the day was cold enough that he appreciated the walk for keeping himself warm. When he was opposite it he looked at the beach, not really wanting to go down there, and half-walked, half-slid down the sand dune onto the flat expanse. The waves broke at the water’s edge with a dull roar, and there was still no sign of anyone, not even a dog walker. He looked around and decided to walk closer to the water.
A minute later he saw what looked like children gathered around a hole in the sand and, glad of something to do, he started over there to tell them how dangerous leaving holes on the beach could be. Then they rose into the air as a group, and a handful of clamshells fell just short of him.
He yelped in astonishment, and ducked, taking a step back. The ghosts swirled like a flock of birds, and more shells were lifted up and thrown at him. This time they sailed past on his left, and the next cluster just missed him on his right. The ghosts – the poltergeists, he guessed – swirled again and then landed. For a moment they looked dark and dangerous, and then they were children once more who ran off down the beach in eerie silence.
Collins looked at the bracelet on his wrist and wondered if the poltergeists just had bad aim or if it had really worked and protected him from them. He rubbed it with his sleeve but nothing seemed to change about it. “I guess I’ll keep wearing you for now,” he said, partly to himself but mostly to break the silence on the beach, which was starting to feel unnatural. The wind pulled his words away and hurled them inland to be lost amongst the traffic noise.
The hole turned out to be nearly a metre deep with no sign of excavated sand. At the bottom of it were a couple of crabs moving slowly about, and he almost left them there. As he started to turn away though, the thought that the ghosts might have trapped the crabs down there emerged, and he turned back and carefully jumped down into the hole to lift them out and free them. Some sand dislodged from the walls as he did so, and as he lifted the crabs out, a patch of darkness caught his eye. Poking at it, it turned out to be a box, and when he pulled it free the side of the hole collapsed inwards on him, knocking him over and covering his feet to knee-depth. After a five minute struggle he pulled himself free, climbed out of the now shallower hole, and looked at the box.
It was cubical and made of plywood painted black. It opened easily, and inside was a yellow-grey skull.
Greg - hah. No, I was thinking more of a caravan of the moving van, my car, and our van, heading from Osoyoos to Oliver. Didn't quite work that way, with Kat staying behind for a little bit with the boys because Miles wasn't feeling well and needed some extra rest at her parents house.
Yup, you're running with this and I am loving it. What a great setting for a story! (Yes, I'm a little bit jealous... and I might have to contribute something, or do an 'inspired by' bit at some point.)
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