For October Phyllis Patterson

Genre        ghost story   Elements    climate change    Conflict     on the run.

Words  Pumpkin  Grimace  flittered

We are Safe

By PM Smith    AKA Phyllis Patterson

     The cavern is as it has been for eons. It sits encased in blue glacial ice. The stillness is complete and the spirits resting in its frigid embrace lie frozen in death’s final grip.

The tiniest sound resounds and echoes and disturbs the quiet. Plink. The sound is so imperceptible that the ancients do not hear the first droplet. PLINK! PLINK! PLINK! Now the sound takes on urgency and reverberates around the cavernous depths and the spirits rouse.

The Elder’s irritation at the intrusion into his eternal slumber is evident. The disturbance triggers the ancient instinct that has lain so long dormant. His spirit is slow to respond but the need to escape the impending doom is strong.

Before The Elder’s eyes his beautiful and peaceful tomb is melting. The feeling of alarm fills the space as the others sharing his promised undisturbed existence also wake.

The droplets are now rivulets and fast becoming streams. The bodies encased in the glacier defrost and decompose. The disembodied spirits watch in stunned horror.

The Elder speaks and his voice is a croaking whisper from centuries of disuse.

“We must now join the Ghosts of the ancestors and flee as we face eternity in search of a new resting place. Mother Earth perspires as if in the sacred sweat lodge. Her salty tears of sadness join in the river of water that pours over her surface and submerges all that does not rise to great heights. Our place of eternal rest has been disturbed and we must begin our quest for eternal peace.

The ancients gather about the Elder and find that even ghosts must loosen stiffened joints. As the Elder takes lead the group watches in terror as the face of the glacier breaks loose and falls into the rushing sea.

The Elder’s eyes are filled with sadness as he looks down upon the remaining inhabitants far below on Mother’s higher points. They seem impervious to the drama that is unfolding and ignore the warning signs. “It will not happen to us.” They intone arrogantly. “The water is only rising in areas that are of no concern to us. We are safe.”

The tears of the Elder drip through the atmosphere and join those of Mother Earth as he and ancients look down upon yards decorated for some strange festival. The huge pumpkin’s smile has sunken to a grimace as the over-warm air rots it before its time.

He notices that now other ghosts flittered around his own misplaced band. He knows that the number will grow as others are also flushed from eternal slumber.

The view below is one of rising water and ridiculous floating Jack-O-Lanterns.


About Jim Hilton

Just having a good time writing about our little adventures.
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