The Crossroads

“Sharon?”

Gerda Spratling stumbled around her bedchamber.

“Sharon? Where are you, girl?”

Miss Spratling found a small silver bell and shook it violently.

“Sharon!” She jangled the bell even harder.

Sharon slid open the panel doors.

The storm had torn down the power lines to Spratling Manor. The only illumination came from lightning flashing through the casement windows.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?”

Sharon carried a fluttering candle that sent shadows skipping across the cavernous room. The candlelight made everything in the creepy old house even creepier—especially Miss Spratling.

“Sharon, dearie, have I ever told you about Clint Eberhart?” A girlish smile crept across the old woman’s wrinkled lips. “Oh, he was the most. The absolute most. Thick, wavy hair. Such a dreamboat. Clint doesn’t think I’m ugly….”

“Can I bring you anything, ma’am?”

Thunder cracked. Glass rattled.

“Bring me champagne!”

Sharon tried to figure out what they sold at the gas station that might pass for champagne. Maybe ginger ale.

“No. Never mind. Clint will bring the bubbly! Daddy promised.”

“Yes, ma’am. If you require nothing further…”

“Only that you be happy for me!”

Sharon backed away. Inched toward the door.

“Oh, Daddy!” Miss Spratling screamed. “You have made me the happiest little girl in the whole wide world!”