This story is me experimenting with characters from a middle-grade or early YA novel that I have plotted but haven’t started writing. Let me know if you would like to see more of Trimble.
This story is another one that came out of a Creative Writing Club meeting at Chatt State. I think the prompt was “Write about the last gloomy day before Spring.” Trimble and her ghost dogs had been on my mind. So, I jumped right in. It is more of a sketch than a full-fledged story. If you are not a part of a writing group, you should be. Drop me a message, and we can get together an online group. I could use the inspiration.
“Wow,” Sasha pulled her coat tighter around her as a chill touched her leg and slid up to flash-freeze her back. “I did not think we would have another day like this. I thought everything was sunshine and pool parties from here on out.”
Trimble smiled at her friend as she thought of all the fun times they would have as the weather heated up.
“I mean,” Sasha lifted her hand dramatically up to her ear. “The frogs that have been singing to us every morning have all been frozen. Their song struck dumb by the…”
Sasha paused when she saw Trimble kneel down. The other girl ran her hand through the air for a few minutes and then looked up, tears in her eyes.
“Oh no,” Sasha said. “There’s one here with us?”
“Yes,” Trimble wiped her gloved hand across her face. “A tiny teacup yorkie.”
“Shit,” Sasha bent down as well. “The one we saw on the poster yesterday.”
“You have to be,” Trimble said to the air in front of her hand. “You are too cute not to be her and that bow in your hair. Just like in the picture.”
Sasha pulled a hand from her glove and held it out close to where Trimble’s hovered. She thought she felt a slight sense of even colder chill but could sense nothing more.
“She’s licking your hand,” Trimble said with a small laugh.
“I wish I could see them too,” Sasha held back tears. “Feel this poor baby.”
Trimble stood. “Believe me,” she said. “You don’t.”
Sasha envied her friend’s gift, but Trimble knew that seeing the dead, even if it was only ever the canine dead was not fun. They were not always cute teacup Yorkies that looked as they had in life. The week before, it was a sickly yellow bulldog. Its face a red mush from someone beating it to death. Days before, it was a dark mutt with only one leg, dragging itself down the road toward her.
They sought her mostly for comfort. She held them or played with them until they faded away into the after. Once in a while, they had a task that they wanted her to complete.
She wondered about this poor pup. Did it want her to pick it up from the cold earth? To carry it with her throughout her day until its ties to this world let go. Or did it want to show her its frozen body? Somewhere in the woods down the road or under a house in the neighborhood. Taken by the bad luck of slipping out of her owner’s home on the one night that the spring slipped back into the clutches of winter?
The bus pulled to a stop in front of them as Trimble reached down to take up the ghost dog and cuddle it to her. “Will see how long you stick with me,” she said as she climbed the steps. “Right now, we have to go to school.”
Photo by Nacho Posse: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-snow-covered-bus-6513977/