We are pleased to announce the first, second and third place winners in the August Fiction in Five Contest!It was not an easy choice, but our judges finally decided on the three they felt were the best. All the entries were very well done and fun to read. See below for the top three stories.
First Place Winner: A Familiar Journey
by Julia Wrightwood in Walnut Creek, California. Julia works at a bank, says she ‘dabbles’ in creative writing, loves to read and thought this contest would be fun. She has aging parents and is trying to figure out the workings of her father-in-law’s mind. She wrote this story thinking about some of the issues she has been facing raising elderly parents.
A Familiar Journey
Pam was an independent elderly lady who prided her ability to care for herself with little assistance from others. Her husband had died nearly six years prior and her children lived nearby, but too far away for her liking.
One day she was at her front door after a particularly difficult day’s work which left her rather tired. She had spent a good deal of the day bringing those two old coots around to her way of thinking, and ultimately she felt successful. They were always arguing, though, and she was certain they’d be at it again the next day. Why did she have to endure their presence day after day?
As she turned her key in the lock, she reflected on the day. First the old coots, a mediocre lunch, and finally, the gardener! That man never trimmed the flowers correctly! She had tended her own garden for forty years. She knew how to care for flowers, yet his only response to her suggestions was to smile and butcher some more. Shameful! She needs a new gardener. That’s what she’d do! She’ll fire Jim…or Joe…George…whatever! His name wasn’t important because he’d be gone anyway!
Pam was glad she was a patient woman, because people could be so challenging! She sighed and shook her head. She was looking forward to a good meal and a quiet evening watching the news.
She unlocked the door and swung it opened. Instantly she felt something was wrong. She heard a chirping broadcasting from the kitchen counter. It was a cell phone…but whose? The ring didn’t sound right; it couldn’t be hers. She felt the pocket of her sweater and touched the palm-sized, rectangle of her own phone. Whose phone was on the counter, and how did it get there?
Then she was overwhelmed with a feeling that all this was happening again. Such a familiar event, yet she had no real memory of it in her mind. Why did she get those déjà vu moments? What triggered them?
Pam shook off the feelings and looked side to side to see if she was alone. She panned her small apartment and felt no other presence in the stillness. Picking up the long curtain rod she kept by the door, she crept through the house, peaking around corners and listening for noises. Nothing; the place was empty.
From within her bedroom she saw the pillows were stirred on the bed. She fluffed and straightened them. “I’ll have to talk to Barry about that. He never puts things back where they belong,” she thought. She knew it was meal time because her stomach was saying it was in need of food. She checked the clock. It was 5:30. But was it morning or evening? If it was morning, she’d have to stay hungry because she couldn’t eat until 6:30. She opened her curtain and was relieved to see it was evening.
Pam went to the sink and refreshed face, fluffed her hair and headed toward the door. She decided to eat out because she was too tired to cook. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Raising her rod, she slowly opened the door to find that annoying woman who wanders the halls and treats her like a child. What was her name? Debbie? Dora? Dianne? Oh, bother, why couldn’t she remember things better? Oh, well, it didn’t matter, really.
“Are you ready for dinner, Ms. Starkly?” Donna asked in her sugary-sweet voice.
“Of course I am, and if you hadn’t have interrupted me, I’d be well on my way!” Pam responded.
“That’s fine, Ms. Starkly. Do you need help?”
“No! Why would I need help?! I eat dinner every day, you know! I’m not a child!” Pam barked.
A noise interrupted the silence from behind her. Pam startled and turned. A cell phone was sitting on her counter! She wondered whose phone it was, and then remembered that she’d seen it earlier. But who did it belong to?
“Why don’t you answer that, Ms. Starkley?” Donna suggested. “It’s probably your daughter, Julie.”
Pam gave Donna a sideways glance. What a silly thing to say! Why would her daughter call her on a strange phone? Pam reached into her pocket to pull out her own phone. Much to her surprise, the gadget wasn’t her phone after all! It was the TV remote! How did that get into her pocket?
Pam reached for the phone on the counter. Thoughts of Julie entered her mind. Pam wondered if Julie was home from school yet, and hoped she had let Barry know that she was safe. Pam picked up the strange, but familiar phone and opened the cover. Sure enough, Julie’s name was flashing on the display. How odd, Pam thought! Pushing a button, she answered cautiously, “Hello?”
“Mamma? How are you? I wanted to check in with you to see how you’re doing today.” It was a relief to hear Julie’s voice.
“I’m fine, Dear. Are you home from school yet? Did you tell Poppa?”
“Oh, Momma! You’re so funny! I haven’t been in school for 20 years, you know that! And Poppa passed on years ago. Did you forget again?”
“No, of course not! I’m just glad you’re OK. I have to go to dinner. I’m eating out tonight, you know. I’m meeting with some friends. “
She heard Julie’s musical laugh. “Wonderful, Mamma! I hope the cafeteria has that chicken dish you like so well! I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you!”
“Sure, I love you, too.” Pam hung up the phone that felt so familiar in her hand, and set it back on the counter. When did she get that phone, she wondered? Looking at Donna, she asked, “Are those two old coots going to be there? I hope not. I don’t like them, you know.”
“I know. Come along, now. We have a great meal for you tonight! It’s Tuesday, so they’re serving that chicken dish you like so well!”
Second Place Winner: Wrong Number
by Danika Powers from just outside Snoqualamie, Washington. She is a freelance writer and young widow with no children. Danika works part time as a librarian, spends most of her free time reading and writing and really wants to start her own blog but is not sure how to go about it.
Wrong Number
“Hold on! I’m coming!” Heath heard the cell phone ringing as he was trying to get his key in the door while balancing the pizza box from the take-out deli downstairs, his laptop case, and the extra large soda he knew he should have not bought.
“Wait a minute! My cell phone is in my pocket – and it is not ringing,” he thought as the soda tipped off the pizza box and splatted on the entryway floor. He slowly pushed the door open, looking around to see who was in his apartment with a ringing cell phone. No-one was there and the ringing stopped.
“Must have been the neighbor’s phone,” He mumbled as he stepped over the puddle of soda slowly spreading into the hallway. The pizza box and laptop case landed on the coffee table as he headed through the living room to the kitchen for a wad of paper towels. The cell phone started ringing again, stopping Heath in his tracks. He turned toward the counter in what seemed like slow motion, staring at the unfamiliar phone vibrating and ringing next to the flour canister.
“Heh, heh, hello?” The phone was one of the flip varieties and it took a few seconds for Heath to open it because his hands were shaking. At first there was no answering sound in the phone but just as Heath took it away from his ear to look at it; he heard a voice whine, “Why didn’t you answer before? I’ve been calling for hours!”
“Uh, I, uh, I just got here. Who is this and whose phone is this?” Heath tore several sheets off the paper towel roll while he cradled the phone between his head and shoulder. He walked over to the doorway and the spilled soda. As he bent down to wipe up the sticky mess, a pair of tennis shoes stepped into his line of site next to the puddle. His gaze travelled up, noticing the jeans covered legs, the frayed bottom of a red jersey all the way to a hard, frowning face topped off with a shiny bald head. “And who are you?” he said as he straightened up.
“I think that call is for me,” the stranger said, reaching for the phone still pinned to Heath’s shoulder by his ear. Heath wordlessly handed the phone over, then just stood there staring as the stranger turned away and carried on a hurried and hushed conversation with the caller, then pocketed the phone. He gave Heath a quick glance, then turned as if to leave. “Wait!” Heath called, “What is going on here?”
“Wrong number,” the stranger said as he started down the stairs.
“What do you mean, wrong number? Why was that phone in my apartment?” Heath followed after the bald man, peppering him with questions and getting no response. The bald stranger turned around the corner at the bottom of the steps and was gone by the time Heath got there. He stared at the empty street a minute, then trudged slowly back up the stairs.
Although he was still puzzling over the events the night before, Heath got up and prepared to go to work in the morning. In fact, by the middle of the next week, he had almost forgotten about it. Nothing strange happened again and Heath went about his days, everything the same as the day before. Until about 10 days after the strange incident with the phone, when he was again ordering a take-out pizza from the deli below his apartment. The deli owner also owned the apartments upstairs and he was working the counter when the door to the deli opened and the bald man walked in.
“It’s you!” Heath exclaimed, “Who are you and why was your phone in my apartment 10 days ago?” The man behind the counter looked from Heath to the bald man, clearly confused. “Uh, Mr. Hildago said he was your brother-in-law, married to your sister. I let him in your apartment. He said he talked to you and you were going to leave a key under the mat for him, but must have forgotten.”
“I don’t have a sister.” Heath said, enunciating each word carefully as he glared at his landlord. “I’m calling the police!”
“No, don’t do that.” Hildago was unusually calm. “I can explain”
“Then start explaining. You have five minutes before I call the cops.” Heath moved toward Hildago, waving his finger (which was shaking slightly) in his face. “And it better be good!”
Hildago’s story shocked Heath and he was having a hard time believing that Hildago had been spending almost every day for the past two months in his apartment! There was never any evidence of anyone being there, except for the one time he forgot and left his phone on the counter.
“You can’t just camp out in someone else’s apartment during the day when they are at work!” Heath was sitting at one of the round tables in the deli, Hildago across from him.
“But I didn’t touch your things, I just needed a place to set up my surveillance camera so I could watch the building across the street. It was a top secret mission and nobody could know or my cover would be blown! I did not know who I could trust because I did not know if either of you were involved.”
“So what about your cover now?” the landlord asked.
“That is why I am here today, we arrested the people we were watching last night. There is no more need for our surveillance operation. I came to return the key I took off your spare key ring the first day I was in your apartment and explain what I was doing.” He dropped the key on the table and walked out, leaving Heath and the landlord staring after him.
Third Place Winner :Mistaken Identity
by Sandy Jennings-Hammond from Des Moines, Iowa. Sandy freelances as marketing consultant and is an adjunct marketing instructor. Of course she enjoys reading, but her hobbies also include photography, gardening, and driving her and her husband’s Mustang really fast at open track events around the Midwest. This contest motivated her to write a short story “for real.”
Mistaken Identity
“Stupid job! Stupid boss! Stupid client!” Rebecca recited as she stomped up the steps to her apartment, her carry-on bag bumping along behind her. As she dug through her purse, she rehearsed the resignation speech she wouldn’t give on Monday. “Why do these stupid things always crawl to the bottom?” she muttered as she pulled out the keys and turned them in the lock.
The door swung open and Rebecca paused, something wasn’t right. She flipped on the light and looked around the apartment. Empty. That was bad. “Maddie! Maddie, I’m home!” she called. No response. Then the sound of a cell phone pierced the silence. Her hand immediately went to her pocket, yet even as she pulled out her phone she knew that annoying chirp was not her ring. It belonged to the phone yelling and flashing on her counter. She picked it up cautiously; it was not one she recognized.
The text on the screen said “8:00 Barattas.” “Becky,” she sighed, “She must have got a new phone and left it here. Maddie, where are you? Well, she must have remembered she left it here, and I sure could use a drink after today’s disaster.” A glance at the clock on the phone told her she had just enough time to change and arrive on time. But where was Maddie?
Suddenly a flash of fur came running out from under the bed. “Maddie! You have to stop that. It would be nice if you came to see me right away when I come home.” Rebecca gave the cat a quick pat on her head, then went to change clothes.
Ten minutes later Rebecca walked into Barattas and looked around the bar for her friend. Not seeing her right away, she headed toward a tall table, glancing from side to side as she went. Just before she reached the table she was targeting, a man intercepted her with a hesitant, “Becky?” Rebecca paused and slightly panicked thoughts raced through her mind, “Do I know him? No one calls me Becky anymore. Think! He looks vaguely familiar, high school? College?”
The pause must have been enough because he continued, “Becky, I’m Tom,” and he stuck out his hand. As she clasped his, he gave her an awkward hug. “Tom, which Tom? Tom with black hair… Tom from college! OK, that’s who he must be. He looks a little different, but then, I didn’t know him that well. Dang, I hate when I don’t remember people and they remember me,” Rebecca thought as she returned the hug with equal awkwardness.
“Shall we sit?” asked Tom. “Uh, sure,” replied Rebecca following him to his table. “Where is Becky?” she wondered to herself as she took another look around.
“What would you like to drink?” Tom interrupted her search. “Oh, martini, straight up, thanks.” Rebecca thought she may as well have a drink while she waited for Becky and maybe by the time she arrived, Rebecca would have figured out who Tom was. For now, she’d stick with the college theory.
“You look different,” Tom blurted.
“Huh? Well, you don’t really look the same either,” retorted Rebecca. “What kind of thing is that to say?” she thought.
“Sorry, that came out rather rude. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just your hair is a lot shorter.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I got tired of it being so long. I figured I could always grow it again if I wanted.” Rebecca ran a hand self-consciously through her hair. “So, what do you do now?”
“Uh, I still work for the printing company,” he replied. “And you?”
“I’m with an ad agency, but I would certainly welcome a change.” Two martinis were delivered to their table and Tom immediately took out his wallet.
“Hey, we can go Dutch on these.”
“No, no, I’ll buy. It’s the least I can do to make up for my stupid opening remarks.”
“OK, thanks.”
They sat in silence for a few moments sipping their drinks. Rebecca stole another look around the bar. It was 8:15 and Becky still hadn’t arrived and Rebecca was starting to get a little concerned.
“Would you rather go somewhere else?” Tom’s question caught Rebecca mid-worry.
“No – I was supposed to meet someone here.”
“Um, that would be me.”
“What?” Rebecca couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“I’m the one you were supposed to meet. I was supposed to text you with the time and location, but not too soon before – that’s how it’s supposed to work.” Tom seemed as perplexed as Rebecca.
“That’s how what is supposed to work?” Rebecca began to suspect that Becky wasn’t going to show.
“The date… you look kind of like your photo on the dating site… you were looking around… I thought you were looking for me…” Tom’s voice trailed off.
“Oh my goodness! You thought I was Becky!” Rebecca began to giggle. “And I thought you were someone from college I couldn’t remember. I was ‘Becky’ in college, but I’ve gone by Rebecca since I graduated.”
“So, the real Becky stood me up,” sighed Tom.
“Not on purpose – come with me.” Rebecca downed the rest of her martini and pulled Tom out of his seat.
At 8:45 Rebecca and Tom hopped out of a cab and were standing on the doorstep of Becky’s townhouse. Rebecca rang the bell and a few moments later Becky opened the door.
“Hey! Welcome back! I didn’t get to Maddie until just after 7:00 tonight, so I bet she was hungry. Oh – hey, who’s this?” Becky noticed Tom standing behind Rebecca.
“First things first, you left your new phone on my counter,” Rebecca said as she held out the phone to Becky.
“Oh! Oops – sorry. I would’ve realized it in about an hour when I’m supposed to call my brother. So, again, who’s this?”
“Not only am I returning your phone, but I’m returning your date. Becky, this is Tom. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Center for Writing Excellence 