This is my entry into Finish the Story Contest hosted by 
My name is Elisha Crow and I hate my job.
I'm waiting in my office, a sealed envelope before me on the mahogany desk.
I glance at the potted plant, plastic since the real ones keep dying on me. Then at my Harvard's law degree nailed to the wall.
Geralda Heather, nee Connors, died last week, alone in her villa. Her husband left her with twelve million bucks, which she held very close, and a vast hatred towards humankind, which she spread passionately. She died with locked doors and closed windows; dogs and gardener outside on the lawn. No signs of a struggle. She had a weak heart.
I adjust my special glasses and examine my guests.
Sprawled on the sofa as if it belonged to her alone, Brigitta Connors scowls at me. She disapproves of any skin color but her own, and I'm black, wearing a suit that she decided I've stolen. She's the victim's sister, but they weren't on speaking terms. She has the only spare keys to the villa and an alibi.
Sitting rigidly on the small chair near the window, once-violin-prodigy Pearl Heather wilts under my scrutiny. She ran away from home in her teens. She's bald, wrestling with one of the bad cancers. Lost her flat and savings to the medical bills. She's the victim's estranged daughter. She has no friends, no prospects, a pair of lovely eyes and a motive.
Shuffling his feet and glancing at the armchair wondering if it's all right to sit down is John Cotter, the gardener. Employed by the Heathers for fifty years, and they weren't kind people. He's the key witness and a stubborn one, insisting nobody came to visit on that fateful day.
My cell phone vibrates and I glance at the screen. Finally!
Aconite. How did you know, you old fraud.
It's Francine. So bright, so full of life. I wish she'd let me date her, but she's too smart for my cheap lies.
I type: 'I had a hunch, Fran.'
Bull. And I'm Lieutenant Brown to you. Where are they now?
'They're all here. I'm about to start.'
We'll be there in thirty minutes. None of your theatrics, you read me?
'Can't promise that.'
I'm warning you, Crow!
I put down the phone. Sighing, I take off my special glasses, clean them with a handkerchief and leave them on the desk.
I blink as my vision clears. I see Brigitta, looking bored and haughty. Pearl, gazing dreamily at the sky outside. John, who settled for balancing uncomfortably on the armrest.
And the pale specter of Geralda Connors, my client, staring at her killer. She's livid.
I hate my job. I wish it was a job I could quit. You can stop an investigation; you can exit a tribunal. But anywhere I run, I'll still be a psychic. And the dead can tell.
"Ladies and gentleman; thank you for coming," I begin. "Before I read the will, there's a story you need to hear."
------------------My Ending-----------------
"The Fox in the Hen House"
"Centuries ago, the farmer made piece with the fox. The deal: the fox stayed out beyond the farmer's pikes and never, ever trespassed to steal food. In return, the farmer would no longer hunt his kind. A broken deal meant, he'd hunt down and kill every fox.
"The fox agreed.
"The fox kept his word until Dagaler, a hen, came to him one day asking that he protect her special eggs and help make a will.
"Dagaler was known for her violent outbursts and being the most feared animal on the farm. So feared in fact, that The Bitches, the elite guard dogs, stayed away from her hen-less hen house. Rumors spread around that she'd lost it one night after her rooster was found dead. He'd bashed her head in one too many times.
"Dagaler, still with at least five years of life left, explained her first concern was in taking care of the farmer's keeper, the god she put up on a pedestal. As payment for the fox's services, he'd be given eggs.
"The fox foamed at the mouth. He couldn't say no. He'd missed the yellow and white goop too much. Since he wouldn't have to steal the eggs, he would be keeping the agreement between the farmer and him."
Brigitta yawns loudly and stretches. "Great story," she says mockingly. "Can you get to the will now?"
I glance first at Pearl, whose eyes show she is tuning in and out; then at John, who shudders with his head down, clasps his hands together and twiddles his thumbs; then back at Brigitta. "Please, let me finish. Geralda says I must tell it."
Brigitta, rolling her eyes and making a face of disgust, slumps back.
I continue: "The fox traveled back and forth to the hen house for months.
"Three animals caught the fox's eye.
"Laper, a baby chick. She was bald from head to toe due to some chicken disease. She estranged herself from the group and was never let back inside to experience the comfort of family and friends. She was fed only second-hands scraps. Her cognitive decline, memory loss, impaired language skills, and behavioral and emotional changes, made the group uneasy.
"Titigrab, a hen. This hen a conniving, jealous little thing wanted her sister's eggs. Age wasn't treating her well. Her coop, a barren, infertile coop, was empty without any hens, roosters, or eggs. Titigrab had been given a key to Dagaler's hen house.
"C. J., a horse, who did Dagaler's cleaning needs in and around the hen house (the only one trusted to enter her house daily), was also a skill planter and grower of vegetables. Everyone on the farm ate what he plowed. He'd grown resentful after not sticking up for himself. Deceit was on his mind. But how?
"Titigrab and C. J. knew how much Dagaler loved her parsley plant that was by the door.
"They, also, both knew about her failing eyesight and weak heart.
"It was Ttitgrab who came up with the plan to mix in monkshood with the Parsley after she'd asked C. J. about what plants did what. She promised C. J. that he'd get her hen house plus a share in the eggs in exchange for the plant. She was in the will after all.
"C. J., tired of being improperly treated and underappreciated, went to the hills for the plant. Returning, he grew it in his parsley patch. No one knew.
"Time passed. The season changed from summer to fall. C. J. had what Titigrab needed. Titigrab, needing an air-tight alibi to get her coming eggs, convinced C.J., after further manipulation, to pull off the job.
"C. J. mixed in the monkshood with the parsley. Dagaler was found dead shortly after. That weak heart of hers couldn't take a rub against the plant.
"The fox knew immediately who had done it through powers of psychic ability and reported it to the farmer. The farmer listened and is taking action."
Brigitta, jumps to her feet, "Enough with your shitty fucking bullshit fairy-tales! Do your fucking job, nigger. Read the fucking will."
Francine swings the door to my office open, without knocking, and struts in, a paper held out in front of her. "This is an arrest warrant for Brigitta Conners and John Cutters."
"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Brigitta shouts. "You've got no evidence."
"We have the toxicology report and the evidence in the parsley patch was found," Francine says.
John stands up, looks at Brigitta, and says, "The deal was if I went down, you go down."
"Son of a bitch!"
She leaps at John, nailing him in the head with her first a couple times before the police break it up and handcuff the two.
I say to Pearl, "You'll be getting everything, minus the farmer's overlord taxes and the foxes cut. Because, by way of slayer rule, I can prove your mother murdered your father for the money." Before Francine opens her mouth, I say to her, "I'll fill you in on that once we can talk."
THE END
| Previous Finish the Story Contest Entries | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| The Town That Changed | Even the Clouds Smile | The Border | Horror Vacui | |
| Black Star | Quitting Life | LER | It Awakens | |
| Apocalypse and Pretzels | Metallic Kisses | Curie upvoted The Battle of Bloodneck Valley | Awakening | |
| Curie Upvoted Obstinancy |
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Tools:
- The Most Dangerous Writing App - This program keeps me from getting to bogged down with what I think is the perfect way. It forces me to keep writing no matter what comes to mind.
- Grammarly - I use this app all the time to catch my mistakes. If I didn't have a spell checker, you would be lost in my world. haha!
- Hemmingway App: Another useful tool to help you make your writing more clear, comprehensive, and easier to understand.
- Steem World: After the @ symbol, enter your name or anyone elses name to see a host of information regarding what is going on with an account.
- List of 21 sites. Photos that you can use freely in your blog posts.
Ongoing Contests
twenty-four hour short story - You gotta be quick to get this one posted in time. He posts the contest on Sunday (usually) and ends it about 48 hours later. This contest has a 2000 word limit.
Finish the Story Contest - The contest begins on Wednesday (usually) and end 5 days later. This contest will test your write skills with something a little different each week. Pletty of time to write something around the 500 word mark.
Steem Monsters Common Card Fantasy Story Contest! - Coming out roughly every week. If you enjoy card games like Magic, Yugio, and others like it, you might like this game. Write a fictional tale about the card they present in the contest and your entry just might be the one they choose to showcase.
Tell A Story To Me, And Win 5 SBD! Writing Contest - Kind of random when it comes out but don't worry. You will have two weeks to complete your work of art from the given prompt. Have fun!
Haiku - These are coming out every couple days or so. If you stuggle with rhymes, no worries. Haikus don't have to rhyme. All you need to make a haiku is five syllable on the first, seven syllables in the second line, and again back to five syllable for the last line. So easy it makes me think I'm being super product. LOL
Mizu No Oto - Every Image Has Its Haiku Contest - By reading the title, you should be able to guess how this haiku contest works. You're given an image and you write. I've really enjoy this contest because there are people here who've actually gone to classes to learn how to write haiku's; so if you want, you also can learn how to write quality haikus from reading the comments and critiques they and others give.
50-word Challenge - This is an interesting challenge and very challenging to say the least. You only get fifty words to tell a story or a vignettes. Here is a great post that will explain the difference between the two concepts. Good luck, Brave Story Writer!