Once again I am participating in a writing exercise on G+ as part of the Writer’s Discussion Group. Everyone submits stories in the comments of the post at the link and anyone can +1 their favorites. In the end the story with the most +1 votes gets a little recognition. This is a weekly thing and this time the story is based on this image.
My submission was a bit of the paranormal.
The Pukwudgie
“Ernie?” she called from the front room of our house.
“Yes, dear,” I said turning the page of my newspaper to the book review section.
“Ernie! Can you come here please.”
That demanding, high pitch meant I had to stop what I was doing and satisfy whatever Marge is going on about. Probably wants to move furniture again. Her ceaseless cleaning and organizational machinations lately tended to force my involvement. Slamming the paper down on the end table, I lever up off the sofa with a huff and stomp into the front room. She was three feet from the bay window intently watching something.
“What now-”
Waving her arms at me in a hurry-over-here motion, Marge said, “Look, look out here and shush I don’t want it to hear us.”
I’m thinking, what now, more Men in Black? Black-Eyed Kids? Maybe even a real life Garden Gnome with wizard’s hat? I look over her shoulder out the window.
“Son of a-”
“Shh! See, do you see it at the end of the walkway? It’s standing there looking this way. A Pukwudgie!” she said.
“A Puk-what?” I said, staring at this huge creature. It was hard to tell if it was staring back. All I could see was the robe it was wearing, like a monk’s, with a hood pulled up over its large head. Inside the hood was darkness punctuated by two gleaming eyes.
“A Pukwudgie, it’s a creature from Native American mythology. You are supposed to leave them alone because if you mess with them they will play tricks on you. They can use magic, poison arrows and are good with knives. They are known to kidnap people that aggravate them and push them off cliffs and such.” Marge said.
She started for the kitchen, “Where’s my phone? I’ve got to call the paranormal hotline and report this!”
“Oh, please, not the local ghost busting club? Can’t you give them a break,” I said following her into the kitchen. Too late, she already had them speed dialed and was leaving the details of her “sighting.”
“I’m going out to scare it off,” I said and headed for the front door.
“No! You’ll make it mad.”
I kept going anyway. Marge followed close behind. The Pukwudgie turned and began to lumber down the lane. The only sound it made was a rustling noise from the autumn leaves on the ground.
“Ernie, no, let’s leave it be and just go back,” she said in her soft voice. That’s her truly scared voice. We kept following it until it reached the old tattered, covered bridge. It stopped and turned around to look at us before entering. We watched it move, quietly now, through the shafts of sunlight beaming in from the broken boards in the roof and sides of the bridge.
“Come on Marge, I want to find out where it lives, don’t you?” I stepped onto the bridge with Marge tight behind me. We crossed through and when we got to the other side; the Pukwudgie was gone.
She let out a sigh of relief and turned back onto the bridge to go home.
“Look Marge, is that it?” I said, pointing at an opening in the side of the bridge.
She stopped and hesitantly leaned through the opening to look. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I shoved her the rest of the way out and over.
Now I could get back to reading my newspaper, in peace.