Come home

Come home

Sheila Jecks

Fiction

Jack McKinnon’s boat overturns, his dog drowns. Creepy events occur; Jack disappears only to resurface when his wife is around. RCMP Sergeant Bill Majors and other old friends help Jack’s wife and son look for him. Seven years later he is declared dead, but turns up again. This time with help from a Medicine man and a caring Indian nurse, he regains his mind.Jack McKinnon, loving father, loyal employee and avid fisherman is going up to his summer property on the north end of Andover Lake, BC in 1989 to open it for the family’s first visit in May. A sudden spring squall turns his 1984 Unsinkable Thunder Craft over, his dog a Rhodesian Ridgeback, who was a good swimmer, drowns. Jack is a very poor swimmer, but he manages to dog paddle to shore. Exhausted, wet and cold, he finds a locked cabin, pushes the door and doorframe in and starts a fire in the stove. He sleeps till morning, and doesn’t know where he is, but manages to find railway tracks and walks back to the small town of Merriweather where he left his van. The neighbouring Carling RCMP are called. The same day, police and Jack are unable to locate the cabin where he thinks it is. However they do find a cabin with an upside down Indian Dream Catcher over a pushed in door on the other side of the lake. Jack is drawn into the cabin.Jack goes back home to Langley, but leaves his family to go back to the cabin, and disappears. Weird things begin to happen to his wife and son, soon they are told their summer property is too close to the Ancient Indian Graveyard at the north end of the lake. Jack is found but unable to remember anyone. He’s sent to the hospital in the local town. He doesn’t know his wife Rikki, discharges himself and disappears again. Meanwhile, an Indian Band whose Reserve boarders the Fraser River flats, chooses a new shaman who comes from Eastern Canada. He convinces the local Bands that he can bring the old ways back and creates an Indian uprising. It fizzles out. The shaman turns to the Ancient Indian Graveyard at the north end of Andover Lake. Things change and now the shaman wants to own the land in his own name, and build a gaming casino, hotel and RV park. Seven years pass, and the Insurance Company advises Rikki that she has waited long enough and her husband should be declared dead. But Jack turns up again. But the question of why Jack was taken and why he couldn’t stay home, what did the cabin and Soul Catcher have to do with anything, and why did the shaman finally decide to kill Jack are still out there. Good friends, a loyal wife and son never gave up hope, with help coming from an unexpected source, Jack is able to resist the spell that has kept him captive all these years. The foreseen events of the past finally catch up with Jack McKinnon and his family and friends. With the help of an Old Man (Medicine Man) and a caring Indian nurse the truth is finally told.
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A Grave Too Small

A Grave Too Small

Sheila Jecks

Fiction

The shadows in the damp churchyard clutched at the weary little girl, She was so tired of waiting. But she knew she mustn't give up.Few people looked at her now, and when they did, they turned and hurried away."I have to find someone to listen to me, please God," she prayed."Please God, please God..."Coming out of his reverie Olav, with tears in his eyes finally went down the steps to look at his poor misshapen daughter sprawled in a heap at the foot of the steps.He went to the shed and picked up his shovel, paced back and forth in front of the house unmindful of the snow that was falling, covering him and the little house. Finally he went to the water's edge and looked at the river, but there was no comfort there either. At last he went to the small apple tree he planted that fall and started to dig a hole.They found me under the apple tree.I was lying on top of the patch of ground that wouldn't grow any flowers. Even though it was snowing, you could see where I tried to dig a hole with my bare hands.I couldn't remember what happened, especially why I would be trying to dig a hole under the tree in winter.Jim took me off to our new doctor in Delta on the south side of the Fraser River. He recommended bed rest. No Christmas hassle, just sleep.The kids helped but they still needed direction and I couldn't hear from upstairs so I brought my quilt and pillow and settled myself on the living room couch. Everything was still heading towards a wonderful Christmas.The next day dawned bright and sunny, it was a wonderful Christmas day. That was the end of bed rest; I got up and made buttermilk waffles, our special Christmas treat. Jim even made the coffee. The kids laughing and teasing set the breakfast table. The wonderful smell of Christmas coffee seeped into my nostrils as I sat at the kitchen table savoring a steaming cup of coffee when I happened to glance out the kitchen window.There was a man digging under the apple tree. I got up and went out to the porch and called to him, he didn't listen. He just kept digging.The kids found me outside.Under the apple tree.Again!
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The Last Cowboy

The Last Cowboy

Sheila Jecks

Fiction

The thirsty herd of range cattle drove across the desert heading for the water filled arroyo. The old cowboy sat on the cabin porch and watched with young eyes. He lived the dream again. He knew tomorrow would come and with it the reckoning, but it didn't matter anymore. There was only today.And...it was almost over, but one last thing needed to be done.The old cowboy sat in his chair on the porch of the new cabin. He watched the rim of the desert. How many more days would there be? He knew this was his last hurrah.The hired hand didn't understand, but it didn't matter anymore. It was almost over.Today...thought the old man, it has to be today, I feel it in my bones.He sat on the porch and looked at the sky: the hired hand told him there would be no ride today, bad weather coming.As he watched, the clouds were bizarre, all piled up, shouldering one another for the best place, the big ones black and lowering. The pink air thick but so clear, you could almost see tomorrow."My gawd!" the old man cried as he gazed at the sky, "it's the end of the world!"He wanted to sit on the porch and watch but the hired hand hustled him inside the cabin. The rain turned to hail the size of golf balls. So big they could kill a new born calf.The storm finally passed and the sun came out. The old man, the hired hand and the Indian housekeeper went out and sat on the porch and looked at the fresh new world.The edge of the desert grew hazy; the cloud of dust on the horizon grew bigger. "There they are," shouted the old cowboy, "here they come!"The water crazed herd of range cattle drove for the bloated arroyo, the smell of water making them mad. The bawling cattle elbowing and pushing their way passed the porch. They stamped and bellowed and the dust filled the old man's nostrils and he thought it the sweetest smell.Life coursed through his old bones and he stood and swung his old Stetson in the air and whooped and swore, pleasure flowed through him, and he was young again.But soon they were gone.The old man sat down heavily, age settled back on his shoulders, "I'll finish tomorrow, Ramona," he said to the old Indian housekeeper, "it'll be O.K.".The hired hand watched with foreboding, what will be finished tomorrow?
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