The Tour Guide
Flash Fiction Friday - New Story!
I don’t want to spoil anything, so I’ll get right into. But I will say that I went over the 1k word count, but since I missed a Friday, I thought I’d let that slide this week, so this story came in at 1,296 words. Enjoy!
Jamie Stone stood in a village square in England, her brow furrowed. Surrounded by ancient wattle and daub cottages, she felt like she belonged, despite being thousands of miles from home.
She held the red ticket in her arthritic hand, waiting at the appointed place.
“’Allo, ducks. Here for the tour?”
Jamie tilted her head back to see the gangly middle-aged man with kind eyes. “Yes. A stranger gave me this ticket and said the ghost tour was one not to be missed. So here I am.”
“Brilliant!” He took the slip of paper and tucked it into his waist pack. “Name’s Bernard and I’ll be your guide today. Seems you’re the only one scheduled for the tour, so I ‘ave ye all to meself.” He waggled his bushy eyebrows and offered his elbow.
Jamie chuckled and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She loved his accent, the way he said his name Bur-ned, like he’d leapt off the page of a JK Rowling novel.
“I don’t know if you can handle me, young man. Went through two husbands before I decided to go it on my own.”
He guided her up the cobblestone street. “A widow?”
“Nope. Divorced. No kids. Never been outside the USA until today. Kicking myself for not doing something like this sooner.”
“Better late than never, I say.”
“Me too.” Jamie glanced around and sighed. “Such a beautiful place. I feel like I’ve come home.”
“What made you come to our tiny li’l speck across the pond?”
“My adoptive mother died recently. Never knew my biological family was from England until she gave me a shoebox full of my family history.”
“She waited this long to give it to ye?”
“Yep. Said she was selfish and never wanted me to look for my real family, as she called it. She was my real mother as far as I was concerned. I knew I was adopted, but I never asked or wanted to know why I was put up for adoption. Didn’t care. At least not until now.”
Bernard directed her to a thatched-roof cottage on the corner. “Got ye curious, did it?”
“Yes. I really wished I had known sooner. I would love to have toured this place with younger legs.” She grinned and admired the cottage. “Our first stop?”
“Yes it is, Jamie, my lamb.” He pivoted to the side. “This here used to be the home of William and Isabella Davies. They—”