Furious Fiction has rolled around again. The criteria for September were:
- include an attic or a basement
- include an insect
- include the words … earth, wind, air, fire
So here goes!
It’s nearly 1 a.m. when I crack the seal on the last miniature bottle from my secret minibar. I eye the distant lightning through the window of my fifth-floor dorm room. Not a breath of wind stirs the palm trees in the courtyard yet, but the storm’s coming. Downing the whisky in one gulp, I briefly savour the taste before enduring the fire in my throat, then I check the weather app on my phone.
Half an hour … tops. And it’s going to be a cracker. Will definitely wake a few.
As I scan the confectionary I’ve confiscated, I hear the unmistakable crescendo of a hallway stampede.
‘What on Earth is it now?’ I mutter, stashing my phone in my jacket pocket and discarding the whisky bottle.
They beat me to the door.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
‘Miss Wilson! Miss—’
I wrench open the door. ‘What’s up?’
Five wide-eyed twelve-year-old girls are huddled together; Abby – the one in the centre – looks more pale than usual.
‘Abby has an insect infestation, Miss,’ Delia says, pointing to her friend.
I shudder. ‘Bed bugs?’
‘No,’ Delia says. ‘She has three ticks!’
Abby sweeps her hair aside to reveal the red-ringed black dots on her neck.
‘If we don’t get them out, she could die!’ Delia proclaims.
‘Ticks aren’t insects,’ I say. ‘They’re arachnids.’
‘Well, they’re parasites,’ Delia says, ‘and Abby could die!’
‘Delia,’ I say, ‘go fetch Mr Bishop – tell him I need his help to remove some ticks.’
Delia scurries away, leaving the other girls to titter and fawn over the afflicted girl.
‘Amy,’ I say, ‘go inside and fill the kettle – we’ll need boiling water.’
‘You can’t do this!’ Renada says. ‘Abby needs a doctor!’
‘If Mr Bishop and I can’t remove the ticks, we’ll take Abby to a vet,’ I say.
‘A vet?’ Renada sputters. ‘You can’t do—’
‘Vets have more experience than doctors when it comes to ticks,’ I say.
Delia returns, brandishing an iPad. ‘Mr Bishop said to Google “tick removal”.’
I sigh. ‘Very helpful.’
When Delia thrusts the iPad toward me, I say, ‘You Google it while I get the First Aid kit. It’s in my car – in the basement.’
‘Just give us your keys, Miss,’ Delia says. ‘Renada and I will get it.’
‘No,’ I say.
‘You don’t trust us!’
‘Correct.’
Delia jams her fists against her hips. ‘If you leave us here … aren’t you afraid we’ll clean out your “secret” minibar?’
‘Nope,’ I say, ushering them inside. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.’
‘Don’t you need your keys?’ Renada asks.
I pat a pocket on my trousers. ‘Right here.’
‘Do you sleep with them?’ Renada asks. ‘Dressed like that? You look like you’re going shopping or something.’
‘This isn’t my first rodeo,’ I say as I turn towards the lift.
Once one has had their car keys stolen, and been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for a fire alarm – one learns how to dress on school camp.