This is entirely a flight of fancy–none of it really happened. But, if it had, what do you think would have happened next? Can you end this story?
I scooted away from the computer, stretched, and gazed out my window. The Irish Sea pounded against the rocky shore line, far below me. Gulls wheeled and cried and a brisk breeze moved the curtains.
It was always a good feeling to finish yet another cozy mystery, a warm feeling, yet a bit lonely. The only cure for leaving the characters I had grown to love was to begin another story as soon as I could. This time, I would include a few Irish legends; for instance, the story about hidden Spanish gold somewhere along the coast.
Nice, that the reading public enjoyed reading my books as much as I enjoyed writing them. I felt a special closeness with Darcy, Flora, and Ned, since their popularity allowed me to buy this thatch-roofed Irish cottage a few years ago. I looked forward to the few months I spend here each year.
The aroma of freshly-perked coffee drifted in from the kitchen. I had yet to adopt the typical drink of strong, hot tea, popular here.
My friends back home had been amazed that I was able to buy my house so cheaply, but I wasn’t. A superstition came along with it, bringing the price down to one I could afford. The locals said my house was haunted. They placed bets on how long I’d stay before I, too, put this pretty little white stucco dwelling up for sale. Luckily, I am not superstitious at all.
Oh, I had heard a few mysterious sounds, but, as my hearing isn’t as sharp as it once was, those noises seemed to be faint and far away. That is, they had sounded faint until last night. That was when the storm of the century blew in. The blue Atlantic had turned gray and green, with frothy white caps that dashed far up the cliff toward my house. It roared and pounded and growled all night and was still irate this morning, snurling a bit like a churlish person recovering from a temper outburst.
Even though the water looked angry and threatening, it somehow called to me, awakening an odd, untamed response that was unfamiliar. Putting on my raincoat and boots, I determined to walk down the cliff side and view this mesmerizing, temperamental sea close up.
The wind battered me as I stepped away from the protection of the wall surrounding my cottage. Bowing my head, I battled it all the way down, as close as I dared get to those grasping waves. I stood there, drinking in the wildness, the fierceness of nature. The sea flung salt spray against me and the roar of the churning water filled my ears. I felt at one with the harsh elements, a part of them, and they, a part of me.
As I turned to climb the steep embankment back to my cottage, I noticed several boulders the force of the sea had dislodged from the cliff’s side, leaving a deep scar that looked almost like an opening or a cave. Carefully stepping over rocks, I edged closer. My breath caught in my throat. I was looking at a gigantic hole in the side of the rocky bluff.
And, that’s where my short flight of fancy landed. It’s up to you to decide what happened next. Personally, I’m betting that cave hid some of the Spaniards long-lost gold. However, the sea is a capricious thing. What if it invaded the cave just as someone was about to discover the loot? Or is that too un-cozy?
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