Tuesday Tales: From the Word HAIR

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. As hard as it is to believe, this is the last post for the month of February. Where has time gone? Covid seems to be the only constant these days.

This week, I’m offering you another scene from Sea Breeze. The word prompt is HAIR. And, my lovely cover designer has provided the cover to boost my imagination. Enjoy!

Lightning flashed on the eastern horizon. A gust of cold wind made me shiver and wish I hadn’t packed my sweater. What was it Uncle Michel had said about east winds? Something about always bringing bad weather? With the way my luck was going, it would probably be a hurricane.

The sea air filled my nostrils, perking me up a bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be all bad. I listened to the cries of the gulls and jumped at the sound of an engine coming around the house.

Racing down the steps, I flagged the truck down by stepping in front of it. The brakes squealed as the vehicle stopped inches away from me.

The driver’s door opened. A man dressed in stained coveralls and a t-shirt that might’ve been white twenty years ago jumped out, his face red, fury radiating off him. He was a good six feet tall with longish gray hair and was badly in need of a shave. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of what? Fish? Manure? Body odor? Sawdust? Not a pleasant mixture.

“Jumpin’ Jesus. Are you stunned?” He ran his hand through his hair, dislodging his ballcap. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he yelled, his loud voice startling me back another step.

“No, sir.” I dug deep inside for my bravado. I bent and picked up his hat, handing it back to him.

“What are you doing in the dooryard? Are you lost? Are you sick?” He examined me closely.

I shook my head. What the hell was a dooryard?

“Then, Lord liftin’, what are you doing out here on a night like this? It’ll be blowin’ a gale soon.”

While the man was hard to understand, and a lot of what he was saying meant little to me, I got the gist of what he wanted.

“I’m trying to get inside the hotel. I need a room for the night.”

“Go away with you! Is it that you can’t read? Or are you one of those people who thinks rules only apply to others?” He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “And even though the place is locked up tighter than a Scotsman’s purse, you think you can still stay here?” He shook his head. “Well, you can’t. Like it or not, the place is closed, and I know that to be true because I’m Norman Bates, the caretaker.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales