---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Three Things” Down in the Dirt, v186 (the August 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Lockdown’s Over the Down in the Dirt May-August 2021 issues collection book		get the 420 page May-August 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Goodnight, Rapunzel

Alison Ogilvie-Holme

    “At first, there were horses – dozens of them trotting or galloping or whatever it’s called when horses run. I tried to get a clear picture of the surrounding landscape, but everything was deep red, almost crimson in colour. Anyways, as you might expect from a dream, the scene changed in a rather abrupt manner. Horses were suddenly replaced by the image of a beautiful young woman. Long auburn hair floated down her back in waves of curls, like a modern day Rapunzel. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, the letter K popped out before the words ‘Help me’ escaped from her lips. I woke up shaking. So anyways, what do you suppose it all means?”
    Maura Kline finishes recounting her latest vision, sans breath. She inhales a full glass of water before glancing at Sonya and Carol to gauge their reactions. Surely this time, there will be no mention of coincidence. The details are far too specific. And Kendra Wilkes had only gone missing from a neighbouring village two days before.
    “So...you’re saying that all of this information came to you in a dream...exactly one week ago?” asks Sonya.
    “Right.”
    “And you’re certain that you recorded everything in your journal prior to watching any of the news coverage?”
    “Absolutely. I woke up from the dream on Sunday morning and wrote down everything straight away so I wouldn’t forget. I always keep my journal on the nightstand, just in case.”
    Carol exchanges a knowing look with Sonya and then turns to address Maura in a grave tone.
    “Well, I’d say it’s obvious, then. There is no other explanation. You are now the prime suspect in the disappearance of Kendra Wilkes.”
    The ensuing laughter causes Maura to attempt an early exit. Sonya places her hand on Maura’s knee and applies gentle pressure while speaking.
    “Oh, sit down, you old fool. We’re just having a little fun. You must admit that it’s a bit much, this whole amateur detective thing.”
    “We don’t want you going all Jessica Fletcher or Jane Marple on us now that we’ve officially reached our twilight years,” adds Carol.
    A prolonged pause raises momentary tension. Let them stew for a minute, thinks Maura, attending to the background noise of the busy dinner crowd. Although she catches mere slivers of conversation, it is apparent that Kendra Wilkes has become the main topic amongst villagers. Maura detaches herself from rural gossip to face her friends.
    “Would Miss Marple teach yoga or drive a Lexus!?” she asks, pointedly.
    Sonya and Carol are quick to laugh as the trio of women join hands, once again the giggling schoolgirls of days past. How many occasions have they sat together over the years and discussed some earth-shattering dilemma that later turned out to be nothing?
    “If I didn’t feel responsible in some way, I could let it go. Look, I know it sounds crazy but what if I hold a piece of the puzzle, some kind of clue to Kendra’s whereabouts? I could never forgive myself if something should happen to that poor girl on my watch. Anyways, I’ve already gone to the police, not much else I can do at this point, I guess.”
    “Listen, Maura. Let’s talk it through – your dream, and anything that might connect to Kendra Wilkes. Perhaps if we put our heads together, things will start to make sense.”
    Upon Carol’s suggestion, they order a bottle of wine and settle in for an evening of drinking and sleuthing. Maura’s dream is dissected for possible meaning, including alternate interpretations. The human brain is a complicated beast, after all.
    Consider, for instance, the fact that Kendra is a champion equestrian. This alone would suggest horses, but what of symbolism? According to Carol (and Google), running horses represent freedom. Hadn’t Maura just mentioned how much she enjoys retirement? And really, Fenwick Falls is bracketed between vast stretches of farmland. How unusual would it be to drive by and spot a horse on any given day, without even noticing? As you know, memory is like a personal computer that stores sensory input and later retrieves it at random (this according to Sonya, and whoever said it first).
    By the time each part of her dream has been placed under the microscope and examined, Maura sees the truth. Rather than looking at the big picture, her friends have simply created a laundry list of items to be checked and disregarded. It is clear that they intend to shut down anything which might lend credibility to her vision.
    “While I thank you both for this very heartfelt intervention,’ Maura jests, ‘I really should be heading home. I’ve got an early class tomorrow morning and I promised myself that I’d try and get a decent rest. You know...pesky dreams and all that.”
    Goodbyes are hastened with similar excuses from her friends. Of course, they will meet up again for coffee on Tuesday, as usual. And Maura is welcome to call or text any time before then.
    While exiting the patio, Maura overhears Sonya whisper to Carol in confidence: “Dear Maura. I do hope she’s going to be okay. She’s never been quite the same since Edgar left.”
    Yes, Edgar, thinks Maura. A slow smile curls her lips as she travels the few blocks towards home. Edgar had proven to be more problematic in death than in life. While his infidelities were legendary around the village, she had never suspected his one enduring secret. Not until the letters began arriving. Like hell Maura would hand over her fortune to some greedy little bitch with entitlement issues. Like hell.
    Before light fades on the longest day of the year, Maura tends to the blood roses in her flower garden. Fresh earth marks the spot of her latest transplant, grandfather and granddaughter united at last. Roots will begin to take hold in the coming days as the case of Kendra Wilkes grows cold, very cold – the only leads being generated by the dreams of a bored octogenarian.
    “Goodnight, Rapunzel.”

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...