Free The Recluse Storyteller by Mark W Sasse

jested Cheevers.
    “That’s not what I meant! A Full Brand flyer of hers had gotten into my mail, and I wished to return it to her. I knocked on the door—”
    “Why didn’t you just put it in her mail box?” asked Mr. Tomsey.
    “I was just being neighborly.”
    “One person’s neighborly is another person’s harassment.”
    “Hear, hear,” said Cheevers.
    “Let her finish,” said Reverend Davies. He very much wanted to hear what had happened.
    “Margaret opened the door partway, and as I put the flyer in, she slammed it right on these four fingers. I started screaming and screaming, but she wouldn’t open the door to release my fingers. She kept pushing harder and harder. Mrs. Johnson heard my screams and came out.”
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Johnson. “I heard her, and I came into the hall and saw her fingers being crushed in Margaret’s door. I started pushing in and yelled for Margaret to ease off on the door.”
    “And finally that beast let go long enough for me to extract my fingers,” interjected Mrs. Trumble.
    “Well, Mrs. Trumble ...” Mrs. Johnson hesitated, looking at her in a somewhat disapproving manner. She felt uncomfortable as if she was about to betray someone, but she felt compelled to be completely honest. It was, after all, someone else’s life that may be in the balance. “To be fair, the door was unlocked.”
    “This is ridiculous,” shouted Mr. Tomsey. “This whole evening would be completely moot if she would have just checked the doorknob and opened the door. To think that we have been sitting here all night. Leave the poor woman alone.”
    “Hear, hear,” said Cheevers looking desperately around the coffee table to see if there were some nuts or something else to munch on.
    “Well, I panicked. I didn’t know how to react. And whether the door was unlocked or not is beside the point. She recklessly and deliberately sabotaged my fingers.”
    “Sabotaged fingers. Ridiculous,” whispered Tomsey under his breath.
    “And you, Cheevers. How could you take his side?” questioned Mrs. Trumble, pointing firmly towards Tomsey like a prosecuting attorney. “What about the flower pot?”
    “Can we all just try to focus here?” Janice interjected, trying to calm the waters.
    Reverend Davies sat silent, continually playing back the grocery store scene in his mind. He couldn’t let it remain unsaid.
    “Well, if this is all we have to go on, I think this evening has been a waste of time,” Tomsey said as he stood up to leave.
    “Wait,” Reverend Davies stood up. He had a frown across his face, and he stood frozen in thought. “Mr. Tomsey, please sit. I have something to add. Something quite disturbing. I don’t think Margaret is in her right mind.”
     
    * * *
     
    “Thank you, Ms. Pritcher. The ice cream is excellent,” said Sam.
    “As usual,” added Pam.
    Margaret sat opposite, admiring the two lovely ladies. She loved watching them lick every last drop of cream from the spoons just like she used to do as a small girl.
    “Could you continue the story about Georgia and Gwen?”
    “Yes, please. They were going on a picnic to—”
    “Harpers Hill stood high and tall in the distance—lovely under the towering sun of late morning,” Margaret started as she leaned her head back on the headrest of her chair, closed her eyes, and went into her normal oral rhythms. She could feel the strong presence beckoning her on.
     
    * * *
     
    “Georgia could hardly contain herself, constantly running ahead, yelling back at Gwen, who struggled to keep up with her baby brother in her arms. Buster would trot ahead of both of them and circle back around in his lovingly protective way.
    “‘Gwen, hurry up!’
    “Georgia was a hundred feet ahead and continued sprinting up the steep incline, further distancing herself from her sister. Gwen walked a ways, then put the baby down to rest. He could barely stand on the uneven ground, and the alfalfa came up to his chin, almost covering him