Thirteen-year-old Sarah stood in the kitchen doorway; arms firmly folded. Defiance kindled her annoyance. Tension grew as she watched her mother fill the dishwasher. ‘I’m not going,’ Sarah declared. ‘Give me one good reason why I should.’

‘It’s only going to be a month. Please Sarah; you know your father needs this cruise to help with his recovery.’

‘But Aunt Carla … stinks.’ She knew it wasn’t a nice thing to say, but it was true. Everyone knew it.

Sarah remembered their visit to her Aunt Carla’s at Christmas. She lived in a sun-bleached clapboard house in an old neighbourhood. With no car, she walked once a week to the store and post office. Her only apparent regular visitor was a nurse every Wednesday. Sarah recalled the embarrassment she felt when they took her smelly aunt to the Christmas service.

Her mother’s voice drew her back to the present. ‘I know how you feel about your Aunt Carla, but she’s close to school. You won’t be with her all day every day. Even church is nearby and you can phone Pastor Jim for transport to youth group.’

Sarah unfolded her arms and opened her mouth to respond, stopping short at the sight of her father staggering in from the yard. His mouth drooped on one side and spittle hung in mid-air about two inches from his bristly chin. She turned and ran to her room, throwing herself onto her bed. Her mother followed.

‘You will go, Sarah. The doctor said it will take time and this cruise will help. He’s fortunate the stroke didn’t affect his walking.’

‘Okay, I’ll go to Aunt Carla’s.’

Sarah ate her breakfast in silence. She ignored her aunt sitting opposite. The kitchen smelled musty and mingled with mothballs, which lingered in the air throughout the house. Neither had spoken much since Sarah had arrived three days earlier. In the evenings, the only sound heard was the tinkling of silverware against old dinner plates while they ate their evening meals. The spacious sunroom, consisting of a large comfortable day bed, a closet and an antique table, was where she would stay … out of Aunt Carla’s way.

‘Would you like something special for tea tonight? I can make hamburgers and chocolate chip cookies, your father’s favourites.’

The packet macaroni and frozen pizzas her aunt had prepared the previous night, invaded Sarah’s already depressing thoughts. ‘That’s okay, whatever you want.’

Aunt Carla rose to her feet and wheezed heavily; her foul breath caused Sarah to cringe. The older woman took her breakfast plate to the sink and stood with her back to her niece.

Sarah felt a pang of unexpected guilt. She finished her breakfast and hurried to collect her things for school. Her aunt was still at the sink when Sarah passed the kitchen on her way out. She heard her aunt sniffle and watched as she removed a tissue from her pocket. Leaving the room noiselessly, Sarah step outside and closed the door.

‘Sarah, what’s ya doin’ at Stinky’s?’ She looked up to see a face disappear back through the window of a passing school bus.

Keeping her eyes downward, Sarah began walking in the direction of school. She quickened her step and almost immediately bumped into someone approaching from the opposite direction. Sarah quickly apologized and knelt to pick up the items the woman had dropped. Sarah lifted her head and realized this woman was a community nurse. ‘Oh, you must be going to see my aunt.’

‘Yes, I’m Jenny and you must be Sarah. Carla’s been so excited about you coming to stay. You know, I overheard that boy. I’m sorry. It must be hard to hear people say such nasty things about your aunt. They just don’t understand that some forms of terminal lung disease cause the body to produce odour from dying cells.’

‘What? Oh…yeah. I better get to school.’

Sarah’s heart pounded and her breathing accelerated, but it had nothing to do with her vigorous walking. She began to cry thinking about the terrible things she had said and thought about her aunt.

Oh God, I’m so selfish. Help me to be a friend to Aunt Carla. Please look after Daddy and make him well.  I think you have a few things to teach me while I’m here. Help me learn…

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in:  Teen Reading

Fourteen-year-old Electra sat perched on the edge of her chair facing the small group that sat cross legged on her bed.

‘It happened a long time ago’, she began, ‘but it seems like yesterday—probably because I’ve told the story so often. The only reason why I tell the story is because it’s why my family is the way it is. You see, we are a family with roots. Oh, you think your families has roots too? Okay, let me explain what REAL ancestry means.’

Electra put the empty popcorn bowl on the floor before continuing.

‘In 1801, my great, great, great, great grandfather, built this house. He had been a pirate ever since he ran away to sea and became a captain’s cabin boy. The ship was called the Black Raven… its captain’s name was..’

‘Electra! Will you please stop telling that tale.’

‘Aw…Dad. Why not? It sure beats the real story.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with our family’s history, or your family home. And, don’t forget the reason why you were named Electra.’

Sandy, one of the girls at the pyjama party, bounced off the bed. ‘Tell us, Mr Chapman. We really want to know about your house and your family.’

The other girls joined in the pleading.

Electra stood and took the freshly made popcorn from her father, pointed the bowl toward her chair where she had just been sitting, and motioned him to take over the narration.

‘Electra was right about the year. That’s when the house was built, but that’s where the truth of her story finishes.’ He waited for Sandy and his daughter to join the other girls on the bed. Electra passed the popcorn round before he continued.

‘Basically, my father wanted to save this house from being bulldozed. The locals wanted it demolished for safety reasons. He pleaded his case and renovated it. It’s been our family home since I was a boy. There are a few rooms that have never been restored but it’s stable.’

Sandy stared at nothing in particular. ‘You mean those rooms could be haunted?’

Electra burst out laughing. ‘You must be kidding.’

‘Please continue’, one of the girls requested, her eyes focusing on Electra’s father and ignoring his daughter’s outburst.

‘No, the house is not haunted—not that I know of. The rooms have just never been needed. There’s no great mystery, only the history gets a bit confusing. A few generations back the family lost most of their fortune and the house was left empty for years.’

Sandy looked puzzled. ‘Is that it? Electra, I think it’s a great story. Tell us Mr Chapman how did Electra get her name.’

‘It’s not all that interesting,’ Electra commented casually, wriggled back against the bed board and stuffed popcorn into her mouth.

Her father paused and took a moment to continue. ‘Electra’s mother was beautiful. She had red hair…’

‘That explains your hair,’ Sandy teased.

Electra pushed Sandy playfully off the bed, causing Sandy to squeal and the others to laugh.

‘She died in child birth’, he continued unperturbed. A hush filled the room before he continued. ‘I didn’t know what I would do or how I would bring up our little girl on my own. I brought her back here to my family home where my parents helped until they passed away. Not only was Electra born with red hair but she looked like she had a shock that caused her hair to frizz. Her grandmother named her. Over time her hair lost its frizz… but the name stuck. Her hair still reminds me of her mother.’

He stood and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The girls remained speechless. Electra climbed off the bed and placed the popcorn on her desk before anyone spoke.

Sandy followed Electra and stood behind her, hesitating before speaking. ‘You’ve never told me the real story. Why wouldn’t anyone like the true story about your family and this house?’

Electra turned; her eyes glistened with tears. ‘I wish I knew my mother but I do know a lot about her. Dad and my grandparents made sure I knew everything about her. Every birthday I tell my pirate story so I don’t get sad. I guess I didn’t realize, until today, just how sad my dad gets.’

The girls gathered around their friend for a group hug. ‘Your family sounds wonderful,’ Sandy exclaimed. ‘Your family home is beautiful. Why don’t we ask your dad to show us around?’

Electra smiled and wiped her eyes. ‘That’s sounds like a great idea. Maybe we’ll find some pirate ghosts or some lost treasure’, she added with a giggle. She took Sandy by the hand and led the girls from her room in search of an adventure.

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in: Teen Reading

‘You must be kidding me! Why would you do such a thing?’

Rosy began to cry. ‘Michael, you don’t understand.’

‘No, I don’t understand. Why would my own sister tell the police a lie like that?’

‘You know I can’t tell a lie.’

‘But you DID!’

The argument continued all the way home from the police station.

Taking in a deep breath, Michael pull into the driveway of their home. ‘Why would you even think I would do something like that?’

‘I saw you.’

‘You saw me pick up a phone from a seat in the quadrangle. Right?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I didn’t steal it. Someone left it there and I picked it up to take it to the office. For Pete’s sake, Rosy, what would you have done?’

‘I wouldn’t have stolen it?’

‘I did not steal it! You know you got me into a lot of trouble today. How do I explain this to Mum?’

‘Well, it’s all your fault.’ She opened the car door and got out.

‘I did not steal it.’

The door slammed shut.

Michael rested his head on the steering wheel and groaned. ‘This is the third time this month. Why does she go out of her way to get me into trouble? Why does everyone believe her over me?’

The passenger door opened and shut again. ‘Why indeed Michael? Why do you put your sister in such situations?’

‘But…’

‘No buts about it. This time you have gone too far.’ His stepfather tossed a bag onto the back seat.

‘Don’t come back until you sort yourself out. Your mother and sister don’t need you anymore.’

Michael looked up, then at the bag on the back seat. ‘You can’t be serious.’

This man who was supposed to be a dad to him left the car and slammed the door.

This had gone too far. ‘This is madness. Why do they believe everything she says?’

He reversed out of the driveway and headed away from the only home he knew.

‘Rosy!’ He spoke into the empty car. ‘You have gone too far this time.’

He pulled into the McDonald’s car-park and took out his phone. ‘Jeremy, I need a place to sleep.’

‘Uh oh. Don’t tell me. Rosy’s flipped again.’

‘I can’t believe this. Today, I was charged with theft.’ He continued his defence and finished with an expletive.

‘OK. OK. Settle down.  I’ll come meet you for a burger before we come home.’

It was nine o’clock before Michael drove to Jeremy’s home to sleep the night. Michael hoped it was only just one night. The police interview seemed to go on and on and his argument with Rosy and their stepfather made him weary.

‘Let’s talk some more in the morning’, Jeremy said pointing to the spare room.

He just nodded and went to bed.

The following day at school was like a nightmare. Rosy had spread the word. ‘Little fink.’ Michael stayed out of everyone’s way, including the teachers.

‘Michael, come see me after school.’ This came from his English teacher, Mr Jacobs. ‘I think we should talk.’

Michael had only nodded but he showed up as requested.

‘Michael,’ I would never have thought…’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I know you didn’t steal that phone. In fact, I have left a statement at the police station this morning as soon as the rumours started.’

Michael looked up.

‘You see, I had been sitting there to tie my shoe laces earlier. It was my phone and I know it wasn’t stolen. I got distracted and forgot to pick it up. I was heading back as the bell rang and saw that you had picked it up, looked around and headed for the office. You were too far away to hear me over the bell.’

‘The office was closed.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why does everyone else believe Rosy?’

‘Ahh… Rosy. She’s been in one of my classes since she started high school. She has her problems but I have no idea what they are. She seemed like a nice kid a year ago. Are there problems at home?’

‘Only that she keeps telling our mother and our stepfather lies about me.’

‘Your stepfather?’

Michael sighed. ‘Our mother remarried a few years ago. Rosy has never accepted it.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I haven’t either. I’ve tried…’

‘Michael, are you sure Rosy is OK?’

‘Ha. I think she’s lost the plot.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She’s changed too in some ways. Quieter I think.’

‘Would you like me to talk to her? Rosy I mean.’

‘Why? She’ll only tell everyone.’

‘Leave it with me and forget about those charges. They’ll be dropped and your name cleared but do me a favour.’

‘What?’

‘Keep an eye on Rosy. I think there’s more to this resentment toward you than you realise.’

Michael was a little confused but shook the teacher’s hand and headed for home in his old but reliable car that had once belonged to their birth father. He missed his dad. Why did you have to die? As he left the car-park, he saw Rosy walking with her friends. You can walk. He continued to mumble to himself.

As he neared home, he remembered what Mr Jacobs had told him. He groaned audibly before making a U turn and drove back the way he came.

Rosy was walking alone now since her friends lived closer to school. He made another U turn and pulled up just ahead of his sister and reached over to open the door. ‘Get in.’

Rosy obeyed but sat sulkily long after they left the curb.

Michael kept glancing over at his sister who seemed smaller than usual.

‘Are you OK?’, he finally asked.

She didn’t answer so he didn’t ask again.

Later that evening, Michael sat at the dining table doing his homework. Opposite, Rosy was reading from a textbook. The room was silent except for the muffle din of the television in the next room. Their mother was in the kitchen clearing up after their evening meal.

Michael wanted to say something. He wanted to ask a question but didn’t know why or what. He wasn’t even sure if it was Rosy or his mother he wanted to speak to. So, he just remained silent.

‘Rosy’, the voice called from the other room. ‘I want you home early tomorrow.’

Their mother drew in a sharp breath and a fork clattered onto the tiled floor.

Michael leaned across the table and whispered.  ‘Why?’

‘Shush.’

Their mother wiped over the benches; head down and unmistakably whimpering quietly.

Michael rose and approached his mother. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Stay out of it’, is all she said so quietly he thought of asking her again.

The voice raised above the television. ‘Did you hear me, Rosy?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

Michael cleared his throat and looked from Rosy to his mother before speaking. ‘I don’t have classes in the afternoon so I’ll drive her home.’

Fear reflected in his mother’s eyes. Rosy was biting the corner of her textbook.

‘Don’t bother.’ His stepfather spoke as he entered the room. ‘She’s needed. Not you. You shouldn’t even be here.’ The man sharply poked Michael in the ribs before going to the refrigerator for a beer.

Silence remained long into the night. Michael knocked quietly on Rosy’s door. ‘Rosie, it’s me.’

‘Come in’, she said meekly.

He shut the door behind him and sat on the end of her bed. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing. I can’t tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t want Mum to get hurt.’

‘What the…’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘You’re not coming home alone.’

‘I have too.’

Michael stood. ‘No, you’re not and Mum will be OK.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Leave it to me.’ He left the room.

The following morning at breakfast, no one spoke. Their mother was in the laundry when their stepfather headed out the door to go to work.

Michael stood behind his sister’s chair and gently squeezed her shoulders. ‘Stay here. I’ll drive you to school but I need to talk to Mum first.’

A few minutes later, the three left together in Michael’s car. ‘I’ll drop you off Mum, and take Rosy to school and return to pick you up.’

Rosy looked confused but returned her mother’s nod as the car stopped in front of the Police station.

At school, they sought out Mr Jacobs who was in the staff room. Michael left Rosy outside in the corridor. Mr Jacobs had come out and had rushed into the Principal’s office leaving Michael with his sister. Minutes later Michael was driving both his teacher and Rosy to the Police station where they were ushered into a small office. There they re-joined their mother who was speaking to a uniformed Police woman. Introductions were made and seats offered.

‘We’ve sent two police officers to collect your stepfather. They’ll be taking him directly to the interview room so he won’t know any of you are here.’

Rosy spoke for the first time that morning. ‘But he’ll come after us later.’

‘No, you will be in a safe house until we know what charges are made and if he’ll be kept in custody. Most likely he will, even if he gets a good lawyer.’

Their mother thanked Mr Jacobs. ‘I’m very grateful. I was so stupid not to believe Michael.’ She turned to Rosy.’ And I’m sorry for not standing up for either of you.’

Rosy leaned into her mother and looked up at her brother. ‘I’m sorry I made up all those lies. I just wanted to get your attention.’

Michael gave a small smile and reached out for his sister’s hand. ‘I’m sorry too for being so caught up in myself that I missed all the signs.’ He looked over to their teacher. ‘We have Mr Jacobs to thank for taking the time to talk to me.’

‘No need to thank me. I’ve been wondering for too long why Rosy changed so quickly. I should have said something before this.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m so sorry, I should have realised…the signs were all there…I just didn’t want to believe it.’

Rosie sat up and look into her mother’s tear stained face. ‘Everything will be okay, Mum.’

‘Yes’, Mum and Michael said in unison.

Michael continued. ‘We have each other, and you Rosie, will never need to try and get my attention again. Big brother will be watching out for you.’

The siblings gave a stifled chuckle.

© Chrissy Siggee – 2019

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in: Teen Reading

Another short story I wrote back in 2008 to 2010 for The Cypress Times in Texas. I haven’t edited any of them but I thought I might share some of my old writing.

SEA HAWKE

“Father, let me take the Sea Hawke. I can bring home more fish.”

“Son, it’s one thing to go out past the bay on your own in the Mermaid, but you need more experience with the Sea Hawke. The Sea Hawke is much too big for you to handle on your own.”

“But, Father…”

The older man lifted his hand palm outward and said no more. He stepped out of the deep sea fishing boat that had been in his family for generations. He glanced at his 15-year-old son, Simon. He was tall for his age and sturdily built like his older brother, but had a defiant nature that sometimes got him into trouble. He watched his son for a moment before wearily heading home.

Simon threw a pebble into the water of their little cove and stormed up to the end of the wharf where his small run-about was tied up. He turned his head to see his father step out of view.

“It’s not fair,” he spat into the cooling breeze.

Simon clambered into his small dinghy and pulled the cord on the small motor. The motor revved and he released the rope. Skimming across the water his eye wondered momentarily to the Mermaid anchored beyond the cove before concentrating on the Sea Hawke a little farther out where the water was deeper. 

He eased off the throttle as he neared the Sea Hawke and pulled in alongside. “I know what I’m doing,” he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth and hauling himself over the side of his father’s precious boat. He’d been out in the Sea Hawke since he was seven. His brother, Thomas, who was only three years older, had taken him out to sea many times.

The engine struggled to start. He stood at the helm and clenched his teeth. “Come on.” He tried again and the motor roared to life. He let the engine idle while he pulled up anchor and methodically coiled the chain onto the deck. With care, he guided the Sea Hawke forward before he turned the boat and headed out to sea.

It was almost an hour of gentle rising and falling over deep-sea waters before he slowed the boat to a stop. “This looks perfect,” he spoke into the salty wind. He watched sea birds fly in circles just above the surface of lightly foaming waves.

“Okay, now the nets.” He struggled and perspiration trickled down his face. Finally the net went over the side and disappeared almost instantly.

He returned to the helm and allowed the boat to move forward. The thick ropes that held the nets to the deck now trailed behind the boat and began to sag under the weight of his catch.

“I knew I could do it,” he congratulated himself.

The boat jolted and twisted in an unexpected swirl of waves. “Huh! What the…”

Simon struggled to steer the Sea Hawke. It began to tip to the starboard side. The wind had also unmistakably risen and Simon began to panic. He cut off the engine and ran to the stern.

“Oh no! Father will be angry.”

The Sea Hawke heaved and Simon grabbed at the ropes for balance. He suddenly found himself leaning far over the edge of the boat. He stared into the clouded eyes of a dead young whale which had snagged in the net. Its weight was pulling the boat over.

When the boat steadied and rested almost completely on its side, he gingerly reached for a fishing knife that hung from a hook on the stern.

“I … can’t … reach … ” He stretched as far as he could but the rise and fall of the boat wrenched it out of reach. He struggled to breathe, coughing violently as the fall of the waves threatened to choke him. The salt stung his eyes and blurred his vision. He vomited onto the deck. Dizziness engulfed him.


“SIMON! SIMON!”

Simon shook his head to clear it. He must be hearing things.

“SIMON, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

Simon looked up and around until his eyes fell on his father’s face. He was a little way off the bow in The Mermaid. Through the sea spray he saw Thomas lob a rope over the top of the bow but the dizziness returned and he grabbed the net as the boat rose and fell heavily.

Suddenly, Thomas had a strong arm around him. Thomas’s free hand hacked away at the ropes of the net with his knife. It seemed like an eternity to Simon, but finally the net gave way under the weight and fell into the churning waves. The boat rebounded almost throwing them overboard together. But Thomas held tight.

Simon sat on the deck of The Mermaid, wrapped in an old blanket. He shivered and coughed. The tow ropes slackened and tightened as the boats pushed through the heavy swell. His father hadn’t spoken since Thomas helped him aboard The Mermaid. He turned to his father standing at the helm and met his father’s glare, eyes slightly closed, jaw stiffly jerked sideways. Simon fought against the tears that suddenly threatened. He had hurt his father and lost his trust. Quickly wiping the blanket across his eyes to avoid his father’s penetrating stare; he took a deep breath.

“Are you okay, my son?”

Simon nodded in his father’s direction before looking up. His father’s face had relaxed a little and some of the softness had returned to the deep sea-green eyes. “Yes, Father.” He looked back out over the stern and watched Thomas expertly work at the helm of his father’s crippled Sea Hawke.

© Chrissy Siggee

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Archived in: 🦋 Teen Reading