The Lamp and Other Stories

By Arthur Gibson

A small collection of three short stories. An old man has an encounter with a mysterious young woman who reminds him of a long-lost love. A husband tries to get past his wife and go adventuring. A man who has become an at-home-parent takes his family on the annual trek for a Christmas tree.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arthur Gibson
• Release date: Oct 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991862047

Book preview

The Lamp

Wind bent the trees. Clouds broiled. Surf pounded. The porch roof rattled with raindrops. In the distance, just visible between the tip of Wickanninish Island and the thrusting point of Chesterman beach, was the flashing pinprick of Lennard Lighthouse. It blinked, searching for a friend.

The steam from Jonat’s coffee fogged his eyes and false tears crept down his cheeks as he blinked. Sighing, he looked across Clayoquot Sound. A smile inched along his leathery skin.

Obnoxious knocking split the air, echoing down the hallway. The old man turned and shuffled into his house. Pausing at the screen door to watch some particularly noisy waves sent up a fresh volley of banging. Sighing again at one last foamy crest, he went inside.

Jonat shuffled along, eyes downcast. Well-worn dirt, now mud, clutched his boots. Bent boughs dripped on him and wet growth clogged his nose. Hitting sand, he stopped. The sky was gray, clouds refusing to leave.

The beach was quiet and lonely. Life huddling away from the storm. He felt like that some days, when he came here to look at the waves. After Gary Baker had left, he needed some time with Margie.

He felt closer to her when it stormed. She’d loved it so. She would come down here to run in the sand, not afraid to lift her skirt and show off leg—who visited Kerr Cove, anyway? Her feet kicking salt spray up into her clothes. Her hair. The scent lingering for days. Laughing, teasing, she played. He could almost see her.

A distant rumble told him the storm wasn’t done yet. He was turning back when he saw her. So young. Like Margie was. Oblivious to the world. Free.

The wind knocked him back a step. Waves reaching to drag the world down. Shielding his eyes from the spray, he could still see her. Dancing away. Oblivious. Margie had been like that. Damn near killed her once. He sighed and began to shuffle towards the girl. His shouts were drowned. His waving arms attracting only her laughter. She waved, beckoning like a siren.

He slowed. Smiled. His feet began to kick up sand. Enthusiastic and playful. Trying to ‘whoop’, he coughed. His voice cracked and dusty. Rain leaked into his eyes. His joints squealed. His feet stumbled.

Down the beach she twirled. The storm raging in its youth and frenzy. Only his sigh followed her out of sight.

The beach was damp. Trees dripped and logs steamed in the morning sunlight. Jonat shuffled along in faded overalls, gray sweater, and a well-worn floppy green hat. He was crouched behind a log unearthing a bit of driftwood when her shadow fell. His breath stopped.

The sun outlined her. Her hair. Her graceful figure. It had been so long, but he remembered every detail. He lived with it, the past. Reaching up, he tried to grasp her.

M-Margie?

Excuse me? she giggled. I think you’re mistaken.

He shaded his eyes. He sighed.

Do I know you? he asked.

Oh, no. I just thought I’d say hi. You looked so friendly last night.

Last night?

When I was dancing. You did see me didn’t you?

Umm . . . yes, but . . .

I do that sometimes. Come here and dance. They say it’s good for your complexion.

Do they. he snorted.

Oh, yes.

She watched him return to his work. He tried to ignore her.

"Can’t you