Haunted by the neat sloping writing on the blue Basildon Bond paper which lay accusingly on her writing desk, the old woman sat locked inside her thoughts. She couldn’t bear to pick the letter up to read it again, but there was no need really. The contents were not unexpected after-all. She’d been waiting nearly forty years for something like this to happen. And now it had.
Every knock at the door, every strange hand’s address on an envelope had filled her with such fear the like of which she could never share. She had never told. The only reason she had an answering machine on her phone was so that she could screen her calls. Just in case. Now, there on the desk along with all her bills and other correspondence, the letter laid, the words terrorizing her silently across the darkening room.
She didn’t ask herself how or why. She knew the answers and had known this moment would come eventually, either in the form of a visit, a phone call or a letter. Forty birthdays had come and gone and with each passing one she had agitated in case this time, it would be the one; the day when she would have to face her past.
Long ago she had put away the photo, the little sepia image now faded with age and fingering. There was nothing she could have done even if she had wanted to, and she wasn’t even sure any longer if she had ever wanted to do anything. At first, it was not a matter of choice but necessity, yet there had come a time, many years later, when she supposed she could have, possibly should have, tried.
Soon it would be over. Of course, she could ignore the letter but that might force a visit, in person, without warning. She could pretend it had never arrived and, feign ignorance if anyone queried its receipt. Her stricken mind tried to battle with her emotions. Part of her needed this to happen, craved it and dreaded it, fought against it and longed for it.
Her tired faded eyes moved across the room to stare at the blue ghost beckoning her. A date and a time had been suggested and if she didn’t respond the writer would understand, after all, it must be an awful shock after so many years but hoped that she would consent to a meeting, without strings of course.
Without strings, the old woman mused. There were always strings, and there would always be strings. She sighed heavily, tears brimming as she stood and made her way over to the letter. She picked it up, reached for the telephone and dialed.
~Jane Risdon
About the Author:
Jane Risdon is the author of short stories in 14 Crime/Ghost anthologies and also various novels. Her recent novel (co-authored) is Only One Woman – award winning with 40 5* reviews. It is published by Accent Press.
You can find her here:
Thanks so much for featuring my story The Letter. I hope you and your readers enjoy it. Have a wonderful weekend. xx
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My pleasure 🙂
Help in spreading the word!
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Oh you are kind, thanks so much and do let me share things for you too. Hope you enjoyed this. xx
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Reblogged this on Jane Risdon and commented:
I have a piece of Flash Fiction on Khyatigautam’s blog today. Pop over and have a read and do wander around her lovely blog as well. My piece is called The Letter, which I wrote some time ago. Thanks.
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Excellent, and now I want to read the letter or listen to the call.
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Thanks David, you are so kind. Much appreciated. xx
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Lovely piece. I am intrigued.
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Thank you 🙂
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thanks so much for reading The Letter. I am so pleased you are intrigued.
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Thanks so much for reading it, glad you are intrigued. I wanted people to feel that. x
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Loved it very much
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Thanks a lot for your constant support 🙂
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Thanks for reading it and leaving a comment, really appreciated. x
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I just read through your Author Bio. You are quite an inspiration.
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How kind of you, thanks so much. I try.
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I really enjoyed “The Letter”, Jane. Could fee the old woman’s fear and trepidation.
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Jeff, thanks so much and a break from crime or from Only One Woman – glad you felt the piece. x
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keep up the good work
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Thank you 😀
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Annie thanks so much for reading The Letter. Appreciated x
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Beautiful! 🙂
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Thank you 🙂
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A very well-written, and compelling piece, Jane. Congrats.
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