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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2147583-A-Green-and-Yellow-Basket
Rated: E · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2147583
An open Casket-A Screams!!!-Win
A Green and Yellow Basket

Tisket-a-Tasket A green and yellow basket
Wrote a letter to my mother
And on the way I lost it

Lorelei skipped down the path singing the child's tune. It was a glorious, warm, and sunny day. It was a day when the heart feels like skipping for the young. It was a good day to be alive and there were songs to sing.

The child carried a basket filled with fresh fruit off the vine. She was eager to bake a pie with her mother today. They hadn't spent much time together since her mother had gotten sick. She was getting stronger every day. Lorelei just knew the bright sunshine would make her mother feel better. She was sure they would get to spend time today doing one of their favorite things together. Her mama always loved teaching the child to bake.

Lorelei continued to skip and sing to her sing-songy song until she almost ran into Randall.

"Hey, watch where you are going, girl." The blonde crusty haired boy screamed as he pushed at Lorelei.

"I'm sorry. I was just hurrying to get home. I didn't see you."

"What you got in the basket, girl?" Randall reached to grab a hold of the girl with one arm and the basket with the other. There was a long line of bullies that called the boy, family. He had been trained well by his older brothers.

Lorelei was determined that the likes of Randall would not spoil her day. She raised her right leg two foot off the ground, bending it at the knee. With all her might, she rammed her knee into Randall's crotch. The boy fell hard to the ground. It was a maneuver her mother had taught her.


Lorelei went on her way skipping and singing. Randall lay on the ground rolling in his tears.

Part of her journey home meant crossing the old covered bridge. It was rickety and worn. Lorelei was always nervous about walking on the bridge. She feared it would collapse, so the skipping and singing stopped abruptly. She edged herself gently across the length of the bridge. The singing resumed after she made her way across.
Her mind was filled with thoughts of pie and Mom.

She was getting closer to home when she spied a group of her friends. Wanting only to get home, she wasn't going to stop but they called to her. Her mother had taught her never to be rude. In mid-skip, she turned toward the girls.

"Hi, what are you doing all the way out here today?" Lorelei spoke to the girls questioning their presence. They all lived closer to town and she knew that it was quite a hike for them to come all the way out to bridge.

Mavis, the leader of the group, said. "We were coming to find you. We wanted to see if you wanted to make wishes in the lake with us." Lorelei knew that this meant pitching pennies off the bridge that she so hated.

Andrea, a small redheaded freckled girl chimed in, "Then, we were going to climb trees and maybe build a tree house. It's been so long since we had a day in the woods."

Petra, the quietest girl in the trio, said in excitement,"Wanna come with us?"

Lorelei was flattered to be included but wanted nothing more than to go home.
"Sorry, I can't. Mom is expecting me at home. Maybe, next time?" Lorelei spoke hoping not to hurt their feelings.


Mavis looked at the other girls quizzing them with her eyes. "Lorelei, my Aunt Betsy told me that your mom had died a few weeks ago. We hadn't seen you since so that is why we came to check on you." Mavis spoke in a soft maternal voice.

"Oh you must have heard wrong. My mama is doing great. Just got out of the hospital last week, but she is getting stronger every day." Lorelei sang in a cheery voice.

"You are making up stories, Lorelei. My Aunt Betsy said your mom drowned herself in that very lake over there. The whole town is talking about it." Mavis stared at the girl trying to get some reaction.

No, you are very wrong. My mom and I are going to bake pies today. I don't know why you would say something so mean Mavis."

Petra, who wasn't the brightest child in the town, hadn't quite caught on to what was going on with the conversation. "Pies? Can we come bake with you?" Petra whispered.

"Ain't nobody baking no pies, Petra! Lorelei is going home to find her dead momma" Mavis said with a sneer pointed at Lorelei.

Lorelei took two steps to the left, circling around the group. "Mavis, I am going to tell your daddy how mean you are being. That kind of gossip is just hurtful. Good luck with your treehouse" Lorelei answered the threat and skedaddled towards home.

"Oh, be careful on the bridge. It is very rickety. Might come falling down on you, Mavis." Lorelei yelled back at the group.

She skipped and she sang the rest of the way home.


Lorelei ran through the door of the modest ranch home. She called to her mother as she placed the basket of berries on the table. "We will make the very best pies today Mom. My basket is overflowing."

She entered her parent's bedroom startled to find her father at home.

"Oh daddy, I didn't know you would be home already. You can help us bake. Momma looks so good today, don't you think? She is getting stronger and stronger!" she spoke to her father.

The brass bed was fitted with a quilt made in a soft rosebud pattern. The fluffy over-sized pillows complimented the quilt's design. Her father's head was propped against the pillow. Dried blood was caked on his head at the site of a small hole at his temple. Splatters, long since dried, adorned the pillow top. The man's left hand was splayed at his side. The right hand held a revolver pointing at his head.

Lorelei ignored the scene on the bed, as she had for many days. She ran to her mother with talk of baking. Her mother was all laid out in the casket in a dress of flowery green. The smell of mildew and fungus from the lake water hung in the air.

Lorelei danced into the kitchen to prepare for baking. She had a song in her heart.

Tisket-a-Tasket A green and yellow basket
Wrote a letter to my mother
And on the way I lost it

Word count 1108

© Copyright 2018 L.A. Grawitch (lgrawitch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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