Young Writers Society

Carris wrang out the freezing water from the shirt and stuffed it into her overflowing laundry basket on the bank of the creek. She wiped her brow, finding herself sweating despite the below-freezing temperatures and the lazy snowflakes in the air. She squinted as she peeked over the treeline just past the creek, where the last rays of sun struggled to poke through the barren branches to give what little warmth they could. Carris nodded. Just in time. She rose from her kneeling position, hauling the basket up with both arms and letting it rest against her chest as she left the creek behind and began the short walk down the path from Potter's Creek to the cabin.

The snow crunched underneath Carris's feet as she stomped down the path, laboring under the weight of the laundry basket. Should've let Gwyn help me.

The path zigzagged through a sprinkling of young saplings, coated in a fresh blanket of snow where the weight was not too much for the branches to bear. They looked to be struggling just as much as Carris. She could see the light of the cabin up and around the bend to the right. There was someone standing in the path though. Carris peered into the creeping darkness. Make that three. She sighed. Malcolm Collums. 

The teen sauntered up to her accompanied by his two goons and crossed his arms. His face was mostly covered by a wool scarf which wrapped around his head and across his mouth, but Carris could see his dark, slitted eyes in the faint sunlight. Snake eyes.

"Well, well, well, look who it is boys?" he spread out his arms in Carris's direction. "The slave, coming back from her 'job'. Trying to make it up to my dad for that red dye incident no doubt," he said, smirking to reveal two crooked rows of teeth.

Shut your gob. "And if I am?" Carris took a deep breath.

Malcolm grinned now. "My proverbial hat's off to you," he said, tipping his imaginary hat. "It would be a shame, however," and he struck with lightning speed, shoving the basket with two hands which caused Carris to stumble back on the snow before landing on her butt, "if you were to mess up again."

Carris gritted her teeth. The ground was rock solid from months of freezing temperatures, and pain shot up her hip into her back. I'm going to kill him someday. Malcolm reached for the basket and pulled out the shirt that Carris had worked so hard to clean.

"Stop it!" Carris snarled, getting up to her feet, even as a twinge of pain shot up her spine.

Malcolm motioned his head toward Carris and his goons stepped in front, blocking Carris from him. He laughed.

"Let's see here," he said, digging in his heavy jacket's pocket until he produced a clay vial.

"What are you doing?" Carris exclaimed, her voice cracking despite her effort to sound in control of her emotions.

"Why don't you watch and find out?" Malcolm said.

He uncorked it with his teeth, spitting the cork into the snow. He winked at Carris. "I'd love to see my dad's face when he finds you did not clean his shirt. But I've got more important things to do."

And with that, he flicked the vial and a dark liquid splashed out onto the shirt. It trailed down and began to drip into the snow.

"That's it!" Carris screamed, color flushing her cheeks.

She lashed out at the goon on the left, catching him square in the jaw. He recoiled into the snow, whimpering. The second goon grabbed Carris by the hair and yanked her to the side. Tears sprung to her eyes immediately, but she ignored them and reached up, digging her nails into his hand so hard that she felt his warm blood trickle down her fingers. He screeched and stumbled back, giving Carris time to rush Malcolm who had turned to leave. He glanced back as she dove at him. He sidestepped her, as calm as ever, and she landed on her stomach with a mouthful of snow.

Malcolm laughed. It was a raspy, throaty laugh. Sounds like a dying rat.

"Tsk tsk tsk, I thought you were above lashing out in anger," he taunted, stepping over Carris, avoiding her desperate attempt to grab his boot. "Til we meet again."

And with that he was off, snapping his fingers to call home his goons who followed him down the path, giving Carris one last boot to the back as the went by.

Carris didn't stop the tears that dripped off her nose. She screamed, a hoarse scream, that echoed on the night. She could have sworn she heard Malcolm laugh, somewhere down the path. I'm going to leave this place as soon as I can, I swear. It wasn't the first time she had sworn that. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With the laundry basket slumped against the hearth of the big brick fireplace in the main room of the cabin, Carris tossed the dyed shirt on the clothesline running from one end of the room to the other. It was knotted around two sturdy hooks on either wall, which she had installed when she began her small laundry business.

 She looked out the small part of the window not covered by the thick wool blanket put there to keep out the freezing winds that swept down the Agressi mountains during wintertime. Snow swirled in the air. Wind's picking up. She pulled her wool coat tight against her small frame. Let's make this quick. 

She retrieved the wooden bucket by the door and left the cabin, making sure to secure the latch before stomping through the snow. She was back in minutes with a bucket of frigid water. She tossed the shirt in the bucket with more than enough velocity, and it sloshed the water over the sides onto the wooden floor. Carris growled as she ran a hand through her beige hair. 

"I can't believe he did that to my shirt!" she said as she yanked her scarf and jacket off and hurled them onto the small table in the kitchen cove. The jacket caught the edge of the lone candle in the center of the table, and it teetered on its side for a moment before cascading down. The edge of it broke off with a soft thunk. 

Carris held her face in her hands. "Great," she mumbled. 

Relax. It's over.

She stood in front of the fire, soaking in its warmth. Her stomach rumbled. "Now I have to make dinner." 

Carris wrinkled her nose. She hated cooking. I suppose I could wait for mother to bring something back from the inn. Carris scoffed at her own thought. "More likely to bring home a man than food."

A knock at the door brought Carris out of her stupor. She hesitated. Who comes by at this time of night? She glided to the door, ears alert for any noise outside. I swear if this is one of Malcolm's pranks... She swung the door open wide. A cold blast of wind struck her in the face, but her blue eyes lit up and a wide smile broke through her hostile demeanor. 

"Gwyn!" 

The brunette grinned, sticking out what appeared to be a lunch basket with one hand while keeping her wool cap down with the other. "I thought you might like some comp-" She froze, eyes transfixed on Carris's hand which was holding the door open. 

"Gwyn?" Carris said, confused as she slowly followed the younger girl's gaze. Blood. Oops. 

Carris held up both hands as Gwyn inhaled for what could only be an over-the-top reaction. Too late.

"Oh, my goodness gracious! Are you okay? What happened Carris? Who did you attack? Was it Malcolm?" Her eyes were wider than the ocean.

"Easy, easy," Carris said, pulling Gwyn through the doorway gently. Then as she closed the door she continued. "I'm okay. It was Malcolm. He uh..." she motioned to the bucket and could feel the heat rush to her cheeks. She realized that she had clenched her fists. 

Gwyn stared at her with a blank expression. 

"It's Mr. Collums shirt. You know, the one I accidentally stained the other day?" 

Gwyn nodded, starting to get the picture. "Did Malcolm ruin it?"

Carris shrugged her shoulders as she walked over to the bucket. "I don't know," she said, lifting the shirt partway out of the now dark red water with one finger. She clenched her teeth. "I hope not. He threw dye on it. I'm going to let it soak overnight and then wash it again tomorrow. Barring the snow holds off."

Carris shuddered. It was hard enough to get through a winter as it was, but doing laundry in frigid temperature in a frozen creek made it that much worse. And to do laundry twice in two days, let alone two weeks, was not something she looked forward too. 

Gwyn seemed to read her thoughts. "Two days of washing in a row? You could get sick being out in the cold so much."

Carris shrugged again. "I don't have much choice, do I? I've got to keep the Collums as customers. They're more than half my income. If I lose them, I could be stuck here forever." 

Gwyn frowned. "Well, let's hope it comes out in the morning. Now, let's eat. There's nothing we can do about the shirt tonight. And you owe me a story on that," She said, worry lines drawn on her face, as she pointed to the blood on Carris's hand. 

Carris nodded, dropping the shirt back in the bucket. "What did you bring?" 

"Ham sandwiches," Gwyn said nonchalantly.

Now Carris grinned and laughed. My favorite. "Gwyn, you're the best."

Gwyn smirked. "I know."