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The story so far (Splotchy’s Story Meme, cont.)

I’ve been tagged! This time with a story meme that originated with Splotchy, passed through many hands, and was delivered to me by Bitty. I am to add to the story and then pass it along to other unsuspecting souls, who must then do the same. Them’s the rules, as kona said earlier. Following Bitty’s example, I have provided the previous installments along with links to their origin.

I tag Shakespeare’s Sister, Litbrit, Camera Obscura, and Mamalogues. There, now.

The story so far:

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

The nightmares began during the following spring. The apple trees came to life in my dreams. At first the trees spoke and I thought they were amusing. That changed when the messages arrived. Lately, their anger was directed at me. (mathman6293)

I turned and stared out the kitchen window, past the frosty-lidded cistern to the orchard beyond. My trees, my beautiful fruit trees, stood leafless and dark. I wished with all my heart that this was just a normal winter thing, but it wasn’t.

“Why are you blaming me, guys? You know I love you. You watched me go out and vote that last time, in the ice-storm. It’s not like I didn’t try!”

I turned with a sigh and went to the phone to give Zaius a call. Perhaps The Good Doctor had made some incremental progress on his Long-Shot-Theory. (TCR)

Unfortunately, the phone was dead. Not from the inclement frigid weather, but because I didn’t pay the phone bill and my service was shut off. “Oh well, I’ll use the cell phone,” I said aloud to no one but myself. As fate would have it, the cell phone battery was completely drained. I never even heard the thing chirping during the night to remind me to charge it. Being somewhat annoyed by all this, I went back to the kitchen, grabbed an ice pick and began chipping away at the rock-solid apple sauce when suddenly there was a very loud knock on my door which startled me. (kona)

In my surprise, I dropped the applesauce; no one but me had been on the property since Cordelia had died, not even Zaius. The frozen jar smashed into my big toe, which was inadequately protected by a worn green handknit slipper, one of Cordelia’s last gifts to me. Blood gushed from the crushed digit as the knocking escalated into insistent pounding. I moved from room to room in a frenzy, limping yet rushing, knocking over stacks of books and papers, blood documenting my every move. Where were my glasses? I had to have my glasses to see out the peephole. It hadn’t been prudent to fling open a door in welcome since the Winter Cleansings of 2018, just after the internet was shut down. Where did I put them? Just as I spotted the spectacles beside the fireplace, the pounding stopped, replaced by a most inhuman howl. (Bitty)

The sound brought me up short. “Fenrir?” I whispered. Then, louder: “Digby?”

“Yes, and freezing on your threshold,” came the gruff reply from the other side of the door.

Forgetting the spectacles, I hobbled to the door, threw back the seven bolts and flung the door open. The apparition on my step was not one often seen in civilized places - tall and unkempt, pale as frost, bristling with particles of ice in his hair and beard and furs. But then, we were far removed from civilization. “Salutations,” he said with stiff formality.

Before I could answer, I was accosted by a great bulk of sinew and fur. My vision was obscured by gray fur and one wild rolling eye. Hot breath blasted my face. “Hello, Fenrir,” I said. A long red tongue gave answer, wetly.

“Fenrir!” snapped Digby. “Compose yourself!”

The canis growled but complied at once, settling onto its haunches and fixing Digby with a reproachful stare. “Unmannered brute,” Digby muttered as he advanced into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. “One would think he had never been trained.”

“Understandable, given the company he keeps,” I said, smiling.

Digby glanced around the room, taking in the disheveled papers and volumes. “Late American Scholar, as I expected,” he remarked. “And still impulsive. You should know better than to open your door to strangers. Without your glasses, even.”

“I’m a trusting soul. How did you find me?”

“Simple enough when one knows well the person one seeks.” He turned to appraise me. “Exile becomes you, Lydia,” he said, more softly. “You look well.” He glanced down at my foot. “Though your sock is bleeding.”

“My slipper,” I corrected him. “I dropped something.”

“Ever graceful,” Digby said. “Off with it.”

I sat without argument on the armchair nearest the unlit fireplace, then pulled off the sodden slipper. Digby knelt before me, still wearing his ice-glittered furs. He took my foot in his right hand, then rummaged in a hidden pocket and produced a battered gray device with three lights. He pressed a button and the device began to hum, lights glaring red. He held the device over my damaged toe. “This will sting a bit,” he said dryly. (Waveflux)

Note: Very minor editing was necessary and so performed.

A couple of responses from those to whom I passed the meme:

I’ll get you, my pretty! *shakes fist in air*

and

You are so getting some dry fruit cake from me for Christmas.

Awesome. :-D

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