Short Stories

For months now, I’ve been playing around with ideas for my first novel. My husband and his friend decided to create a blog, Twisted Lexicon, for short stories, book reviews, and other book related posts, and my husband suggested that I write a short story to post on the blog when it’s up and running. I had a couple of ideas that I could share with the boys, but I thought my first step would be to write the prologue for my first novel. I thought I would share a bit of that here. Let me know what you think!

Untitled Short Story

“Miss Bishop?” The urgency in the man’s voice was palatable, but I kept walking. “Miss Bishop, I must speak with you immediately. What I have to say is of great importance, and we mustn’t delay.” He grabbed my shoulder to stop me.

“I don’t know you, sir. I don’t know what business you have with me.” I knew the man only by what others have told me about him. He’s a businessman in town. Mr. Samuel Abbott. Wealthy. Important. A doctor.

“Hannah. Please.” His voice softened, taking the tone of a man’s dying wish. Was he actually dying?

“Yes, sir.” I conceded to give him a moment of my time. He nodded, a sighed in what I hope was relief as he grabbed my hand dragged me into a nearby saloon.

“Mr. Abbott,” the barman nodded his welcome, his eyes widening when he saw Abbott’s fingers laced through mine.

“William. I need a room in which I won’t be disturbed.”

“Surly,” the owner said as he led us behind the bar of the empty saloon. He led us down a long hallway. Unlocking the last door, he whispered to Mr. Abbott, “It’s not my business, sir. But your wife. Mary is a wonderful woman and I know she adores you.”

“Don’t be a fool, William. And do not project your perversion on me. Miss Bishop and I have business to discuss. For your life’s sake, you must forget we were here.”

“Yes, sir.” Slightly embarrassed by his verbal lashing, William bowed before leaving. “There is a door to the alley across the hall if you wish a more private exit, Mr. Abbott.”

As Mr. Abbott paced the room, seemingly searching for courage to tell me why he brought me here, I recalled all the time I saw this man in the street and he fled from me. I came to accept that this man hated me for reasons beyond my control. Many people in the town hated me. That’s the fate to be expected when nearly 12 years ago your sister is hanged because she’s a suspected witch.

 

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Published in: on 03.13.2011 at 11:46 pm  Leave a Comment  

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