Shades of Wednesday

Submitted into Contest #64 in response to: Set your story in a Gothic manor house.... view prompt

34 comments

Suspense Bedtime Drama

It was Wednesday when the painting of a man in spectacles at his desk told Micayla that a family would arrive at sunset that day. She considered his words, clapping her hands twice to the rhythm of life, but didn’t say anything because there was nothing to be said. 

The man in the painting rolled his eyes at her joy, sat back in his chair, and smoked his pipe. He was the painting that she disliked the most, but she wouldn’t admit anything because her father had painted them all. 

The first step to prepare for visitors was to make the rooms. Micayla was only ever in her room, which she kept pristine as the carved, gilded frames of the portraits. To be fair, there wasn’t much in her room besides a bed and a closet full of moth-eaten clothing. It was whitewashed by the large pieces of art and there were no disoriented insects to be seen. 

When Micayla entered the first room, waves of dust and spider legs hit her and she shut the door immediately. She’d forgotten how much of a project cleaning the rooms would be. She trapped a pair of swimming goggles to her face and decided she’d hold her breath while inside. 

The paintings in the hall laughed at her with their yellowing teeth and hollow eyes. She ignored their mocking tones which screeched of nails on a chalkboard and stepped back inside the room. Unlike last time, less debris clung, so she made her way into the center of the room. 

It was like her chambers—bare and empty with only a bed and a closet. The only two differences were that this room was sagged with the colors of time and it didn’t have any stories of paint to cover up the fleshy, brown scars. The center of the room was actually less dusty. Micayla stole a hasty breath and thought that maybe it was best to start with a broom and sweep the shadows around the edges. 

Preparing for a family was hard work. Micayla couldn’t remember the last time she’d done it. Perhaps when her father was still alive, and could help her with the more challenging tasks. She could feel sweat carving a river through the stony creases of her mountain-stiff dress, so she swept faster. 

After cleaning the room, she thought the only other thing was to make the beds. Sure, they were already made, but Micayla knew the bed bugs would be satisfied if their home was replaced with a tidier one. 

Stripping the bed, she hummed a tune and swayed back and forth. The floorboards sang along in their voices crafted by the soles of shoes. 

Outside, Micayla drowned the sheets and blankets in warm, soapy water and as they choked for air, she hoped the house looked decent now. She hung them by their necks over a stream on a faulty clothesline her father had tied. She was tired of having to fix it time and time again, but she thought it was disrespectful to take it down and put up a newer one. It’s not what the rolling stream or the laughing paintings or her father would’ve wanted. 

She did not sing when she re-made the bed. The room was almost done and she didn’t want to ruin the mood. The portraits and landscapes rattled in their frames, but didn’t say anything. 

The second step in preparing for guests, Micayla knew, was to make the food. She grew all her own produce in the garden, just outside her window. When she was little, she could barely keep a succulent alive — but now she was growing potatoes and tomatoes and basil. 

Her pantry was full because it was that season where food was plentiful and she’d just visited the market yesterday. As she flipped the pages of her father’s tattered recipe book, she thought about these mysterious visitors and if they were vegetarian. She was going to ask the man in spectacles by his desk, but she didn’t feel like being bullied by brush strokes of colored inks. 

Instead, she settled on a simple, light salad with her garden-picked vegetables and a blushing, tender chicken that she’d paid almost nothing for at the butcher’s. 

Honestly, Micayla wasn’t great at cooking either, but there were visitors so she must try her best. 

She slathered the chicken in butter, garlic, salt, and pepper. Then showered it with raindrops of spices. She slid it into the oven with a smile tiptoeing across her lips. 

When that was taken care of, she collected the ingredients for the salad. Her fingers were nimble unlike her father’s used to be, so when the knife fit into the groove of her thumb, it speared the lettuce into strands of grass. She wasn’t good at the ‘paying attention part’ of cooking, but she was reasonably good at everything else. 

The more the merrier is what she thought to herself as she dropped tomatoes, mushrooms, avocado, honey almonds, and spinach into the bowl. 

It took about an hour and a half for the chicken to cook. In that time, the paintings admonished her for being a horrible cook and that the chicken would turn out burned to a crisp. She knew it wouldn’t if she paid attention, so she kept a hawish eye peering at the timer. She set it out on the table with china plates crying of flowers and silverware that made your skin prickle. There was steam billowing from it in waves, but she knew in a matter of time that it would be cold. 

The last step, Micayla thought, was to freshen up the house. It was dark, gothic and upset, with one too many unused rooms. Cobwebs laced the corners so she cleared them away and apologized to the spiders in a tone like sweetened iced tea. 

On the front steps of the house, she brushed the leaves into the wind and didn’t care whose mouth they made a home in. From the corner of her eye, she saw the flowers in her garden. They were tucking petals behind their ears and wailing as if no one could hear them. 

Micayla picked bunches of the wildflowers in hues like turquoise and lilac and tangerine. She dropped them into pottery vases around the house, letting their faces droop with sorrow. Knowing how to cheer them up, she kissed their faces and jumped around. Micayla wasn’t colorblind, just oblivious to the beauty around her. She listened to abstract voices and didn’t hear the sparrow songs.

The sun finally dove into the horizon with its back arched. The paintings smiled at the shadows on their cheeks and laughed at gullible Micayla and her foolishness. 

The visitors never arrived. 

October 21, 2020 21:26

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34 comments

Scout Tahoe
21:28 Oct 21, 2020

I wasn't going to post another story because I couldn't find anything to write about, but here it is. Thanks for coming to read. This is for R.K., my writing soulmate, because she knows what she did. Her profile: https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/r-k-d2defe/ For all the hallucinations I've been having during this pandemic. Please leave some feedback as I'd love to hear it.

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Lina Oz
01:41 Oct 22, 2020

Oh. That last line gave me chills. Disturbing, eerie, and also, quite sad––preparing for people that never come and the resulting understanding of her delusions. This is my favorite line : "She could feel sweat carving a river through the stony creases of her mountain-stiff dress, so she swept faster." As always, you nail the description! Love reading your work.

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Scout Tahoe
02:49 Oct 22, 2020

Thank you, Lina!

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12:10 Oct 24, 2020

This is good. I enjoyed every bit of this and ached inside for Micayla when the visitors didn't show. This is really good

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Scout Tahoe
13:16 Oct 24, 2020

Thank you, A.

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Jeffrey Pope
06:05 Oct 29, 2020

You took your time in your descriptions, especially that of inanimate object which you brought alive with your words. An interesting read, i love it. I'd really love it if you could check mine too, some feedback would be appreciated.

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Scout Tahoe
12:47 Oct 29, 2020

Thank you! And sure, I’ll stop by when I can.

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J P Briden
23:25 Oct 26, 2020

Nice work. Great use of language and rhythm, which is almost self-referential in the phrase you use, "rhythm of life". For me, one of the biggest tests of good writing is whether it reads well when read aloud. Your writing definitely has that!

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Scout Tahoe
23:29 Oct 26, 2020

Thank you, Rene. :)

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Scout Tahoe
23:31 Oct 26, 2020

By the way, I'd be happy to check out your story when I get the time. I hope you like Reedsy so far. ;)

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Kylie Rudolf
20:43 Oct 26, 2020

Wow, I have goosebumps!

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Scout Tahoe
20:51 Oct 26, 2020

Thanks!

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Spencer Steeves
18:24 Oct 24, 2020

This was a very interesting story. I've never read Jane Eyre or anything in that style, so I wasn't sure what I was getting into when reading these stories. While I am a little bit confused about what exactly is going on, I did find the story to be a good read. I felt a little sorry for Micayla(btw love that alternate spelling) at the end. Seeing as I don't know this genre, I'm not going to try making any specific comments on how to improve it. It took me a bit to understand that the pictures were actually alive(or that Micayla is just goin...

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Scout Tahoe
19:10 Oct 24, 2020

Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it. Sadly, I cannot edit it but thank you for the feedback. :)

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Spencer Steeves
19:17 Oct 24, 2020

Glad that I could be of any aid. I would appreciate it if you could take a look at some of my submissions too!

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Scout Tahoe
19:22 Oct 24, 2020

Sure! I'm a bit busy now but I hope to stop by later. ;)

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Zilla Babbitt
16:59 Oct 24, 2020

Beautiful. I feel like I'm repeating the same lines, coming from R.K.'s "Glass Promises," but who cares? This is lovely! I really don't have anything to offer as critique, besides what I told Ru, which is to not let the story get lost in the prose. I think it's because of the tone you write some sentences in that it's harder to read than it should. The first sentence is good, but not great: "It was Wednesday when the painting of a man in spectacles at his desk told Micayla that a family would arrive at sunset that day." It's hard to put ...

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Scout Tahoe
17:14 Oct 24, 2020

Thank you! I'm sorry I can't edit it because it's already approved. I saw you posted another one and I'll head over as soon as possible. :)

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Zilla Babbitt
17:16 Oct 24, 2020

Of course! I know-- recently I got a fantastic piece of critique on "Called" and I really wanted to incorporate it, but couldn't. Ah well. And thank you!

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Scout Tahoe
18:01 Oct 24, 2020

No, thank you. Also, you mentioned a change to your bio. Just curious, what's the change?

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Zilla Babbitt
02:03 Oct 23, 2020

I'm really busy this weekend, but I'll read this as soon as I can.

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Scout Tahoe
02:37 Oct 23, 2020

Oh, thank you. I totally understand. :)

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Dalyane Deblois
17:37 Oct 22, 2020

You write really well and I love this new story of yours. I especially like the way your describe the paintings. It reminds me of the ones in Harry Potter. The descriptions are exquisite. The ending made me feel quite sad for Micayla. I really enjoyed reading it, well done!:)

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Scout Tahoe
18:34 Oct 22, 2020

Thank you so much. I loved Cyrus' coffee date by the way. :)

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Dalyane Deblois
18:54 Oct 22, 2020

You're welcome! And yes, I saw your comment, thanks again! I tried to make those confusing points less confusing for you!:)

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Scout Tahoe
18:55 Oct 22, 2020

Okay, thanks. :)

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Mia S
23:37 Oct 21, 2020

Amazing. Love the title, the story, the talking paintings - everything, really. Another great one. I don't know how you do it, honestly :)

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Scout Tahoe
02:52 Oct 22, 2020

Oh, thank you. :)

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20:16 Oct 23, 2020

Wow! So scary and creepy in a good way! I loved how you perfected the descriptions so it unsettled the reader but not in a cringey way. I don't know how you do it, but your stories always come out amazing!

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Scout Tahoe
21:07 Oct 23, 2020

Thank you, Owly!

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Ru .
21:30 Oct 21, 2020

Aaah, it's out and it's perfect. Love it so so so much — structuring is brick-tight, descriptions are vivid and the theme is fascinating. I love the title you ended up choosing, it coats it nicely like the extra magic that coming with a showering of sprinkles and love. Great job Scoutie.

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Scout Tahoe
21:31 Oct 21, 2020

All thanks to you, Ru, of course. ;)

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Aisoo Kim
07:59 Dec 06, 2020

Hello. I hope you have a good day ahead of you. I am actually a student from Malaysia and is currently in my last semester in college. I have to create a website for my individual project and I've decided to create a website for young writers to write to their heart content. If you would like to check out my website, here's the link. https://dayangnurulaisyah.wixsite.com/el-dorado Would you be interested in helping me out with the project by sending me your stories through email or participating in the festive writing/ monthly writing ...

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Scout Tahoe
15:40 Dec 06, 2020

Hi Aisoo, First of all, I don't think it's very kind of you to be advertising for your website on another writing website. Second of all, I do not appreciate comments that people have just pasted from one story to another. If you want people to listen, make them unique. Third of all, have you even read this story? I'd love to know what you liked or some critique. Fourth of all, thank you for the offer but I'm very busy nowadays. I write for Reedsy in my free time and I think I'll stay with that. Next, I checked out your website. It...

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