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Bedtime Creative Nonfiction Suspense

I don't know about you, but I used to really enjoy sending and receiving Christmas cards. When I was in college, I got dozens. Then at work, I always had ten or so. Now, not so much. Slowly, but steadily, over time the number dwindled to all but a handful.

December 22 of this year was slightly different.

I arrived home around 6, excited, and shamelessly optimistic to see who, if anyone, had me on the nice list this year.

Three Charity begging letters, a card from my Dentist,

one from my sister in Ohio, and one more.

It was a local postmark, so I flipped it over to look for a sender.

Mr. Grainger.

1549 Cold harbor lane,

Portland.

Mm, who is that? I thought, tearing at the envelope.


Dear Mr. Harris,

Season's greetings to you and friends.

You are cordially invited to a yuletide celebration on December 24 at noon.

RSVP.

What the hell?

I sure didn't know any Mr. Grainger, and what friends?

Glancing out the window, I noticed it had stopped raining. Maybe I could find out for myself? I collected my helmet at the door and slowly wheeled my pushbike down the hall and outside.

One of the oldest streets in Portland, Cold harbor lane was just a few blocks away. It ran all the way down to the boat dock, and derelict workers accommodation. The wind whistled around my helmet, drawing water from my eyes as I sped down the bumpy track toward the water's edge.

The Fishermans cottages stood side by side, like forgotten heroes. I counted the numbers, 1545,1546,1547, and finally the last house, 1548.

Wait.

I nervously pulled out the crumpled invite from my side pocket. Mr. Grainger,1549.


1548, the last house?

I climbed back on the bike and slowly pedaled away, thinking about the end house. The post office was on the way home, so I could find out more and an ideal opportunity to check the address and solve the puzzle. I locked the bike up against the railing outside and stepped out of the biting wind.


"Can you check this for me please mam?"

A stern looking woman at the counter looked at the envelope and let out a burst of chuckling, then dribbled awkwardly down her top.

She composed herself.

'"Oh Deary! someone's playing tricks on you. Mr. Grainger was the old Harbor master; he died 20 years ago."

" Are you sure? "A nervy shiver ran down my back.

She leaned into the glass and whispered,

"Oh yes, a tragic tale. His house was washed away in the terrible storm of 85. Thankfully Grainger wasn't home, but his little puppy was trapped when it happened. With the house and all his possessions gone, Grainger just gave up. His fishing business failed, followed by his heart, will there be anything else deary?"


"Wow, that's awful."


I thanked the clerk and left the post office.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Who sent the invite?

By chance, just outside, the post-delivery guy was walking ahead of me, I yelled "hello Mr. Postman, can you help me?"

"Oh, hello Mr. Harris, are you all ready for Christmas? "

"Yes, almost, I got this card sent from 1549, but that house has gone right?"

"Yes Sir, washed away years ago"

"And Grainger's dead now also?"

"Oh no Mr. Grainger's not dead. He lives up at the lighthouse," the postman replied nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Yes, I think he actually owns the lighthouse now! happy holidays!"


If Grainger was alive, he could tell me what the hell was going on.

My calves burned as I tore up the rise to lighthouse road, rain pelting my back.

I ditched the wheels in a fluster and strode up to the house door, Peering through the dusty windows. I tapped the brass knocker, twice.

Nothing.

Tapped twice more.

I stood quietly for a moment, and almost turned away, then I heard a bolt slide, and the door creak.

An elderly man, tall and dignified, opened it.

"Ah, Mr. Harris I've been expecting you, please come in"

"May I call you Jack?"

"What, you know me?" I asked, stunned, as we both entered the hallway.


" I was good friends with your father. When he died, I promised I would look out for you, so I've been following your situation. You've fallen on hard times. You lost your job, then you lost another job, then, well it seems like you just gave up trying. After being one of the best Artists in town, now you're just going to quit everything?"

I stared at him speechless. The words hurt because they rang true, like a hammer coming down over an anvil. He was so right. My best job gone, then another. Now I'm down and don't know how to get up.

"I was like you", Mr. Grainger continued," When my house washed away and I lost my dog, I was crushed, but you know what? I kept going. I started slow, a job here, a job there. Built up the business and success followed."


"So why send the card? "I asked, still trying to fully understand.

A smile the size of a small watermelon blossomed over Grainger's face.

Shuffling over to the window, he gazed out toward the ocean.


"Think of it as a Christmas card from your future!

I let that sink in.

"See, you're like a rowboat Jack, tied to a ghost. Adrift on a sea of bad memories."

"Yet you are still Captain. Take the wheel and reset your course. Untie the ghosts of your past. Navigate without fear, and reclaim your future, it's not too late"


My head was kind of spinning, but in a good way! I blurted out,

"But why did the lady at the post office say you were dead?"

Grinning broadly, "Oh yes, let me explain," he tapped on the desk.

With that the back door eased open and she stepped over the threshold.

It was the old lady from the Post office.

"Allow me to introduce my dear wife, Mrs. Grainger!

Ha, she's worked at the P.O. for years, manager no less."


Mrs. Grainger sat down and spoke softly, "Call me Betty! We thought you might pop into the office, so a little ruse was in order"

"Don't be mad Jack, we did it because we love you and want you to get back to your best. All those years ago Mr. Grainger suffered a tragedy, and it could have finished him off, but he prevailed. What I said to you back at the counter is what could well have happened. We don't want that for you either son.

Have you any new paintings to show?"


I smiled, "You know, I just had an idea for my best one yet, I will get right on it!

Merry Christmas!









December 29, 2024 17:41

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19:59 Dec 29, 2024

This is my second story on here. I really enjoy writing, especially being able to edit the draft as I go. I'm just not sure if anyone else does! Happy writing.

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