An NYC Midnight Short Story
I don’t remember the prompts for this one. I think the genre must have been Adventure or something like that. I do remember thinking this ended up a hot mess, and looking back at the feedback I received the judges agreed. It didn’t advance, and it has languished in my files since February 2023. Here it is now, for you to enjoy. (Or not)
The Shy Lady’s Treasure
In the boat’s prow, Jenny Simon leaned into the salt spray. A glance behind revealed the mainland’s shrinking, mangrove lined shore, while ahead Shy Lady Island’s rocky outline grew from the sea. The island’s most famous structure, a historic lighthouse, stood outlined in the sun. The lighthouse had been in operation until the 1920s, when a newer structure was built on the larger island to the south.
She curled her fingers around her heavy packs’ strap and tugged it closer, imagining the slip of paper tucked inside—the permit that gave her permission to explore for the next twenty-four hours. Precious little time, but she planned to find what she’d come for and be gone before it expired. In two days, the land’s title would revert to the state and Shy Lady would be closed to visitors. Now, access to the island was difficult and overnight stays were not allowed. You had to have the right credentials even for a day trip.
One of her fellow passengers—a middle-aged woman wearing a fluorescent yellow life vest stood gripping the rail at the stern. A large canvas backpack rested at her feet. She wore khaki trousers and brown, thick-soled hiking boots. The woman turned and met Jenny’s gaze. Purple shadows like inky fingerprints underlined the woman’s eyes. A gust of wind caused her jacket to flap open, revealing a holstered pistol at her waist.
The boat rose in the water, then slapped in the trough of a large wave. “Sorry!” The captain smiled as he called over the growl of the engine.
Jenny fumbled with her phone. Soon she would have no signal. The last text from the previous night was displayed on the screen.
where r u?
She turned off the phone and returned it to the pack. By the time Claire found the note she’d left, it would be too late to stop her. It would be easier to ask Claire to forgive her once she had the treasure in hand. Selling the copper scroll would solve so many problems for them. They could pay off Claire’s graduate student loans and have money to buy a house. There might even be enough for Jenny to finish her degree. She loved Claire, but her girlfriend had grown up comfortably upper middle class. Jenny couldn’t help but imagine the wealth ancient artifacts might bring. For Claire, it was all about history and knowledge.
At last, they reached the pier. She gathered her things and made to depart. The woman strode past, followed by the other two passengers, a pair of young men. The men carried heavy packs with shovels and picks strapped to the outside.
“I’ll be back this evening at six, before sundown,” the boat’s captain told them. “There’s a storm coming in, so don’t be late.”
She followed the others off the boat and before they left the dock, the woman turned to her and held out her hand. “Hello. I’m Peggy Horton. I was glad to see your name on the roster,” she said. “I knew your father. I was in his antiquities class when he taught at Central Tech.” Her smile faded,, and she pulled Jenny closer. “I’m sorry for your loss. But it’s good to see you following in his footsteps.” The woman cocked her head and her lips curled in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Jenny nodded and mumbled, “Thanks.” She pushed past the woman without another word. Better that she think her rude than risk further conversation.
“We’ll see you at the midden tomorrow,” Peggy called after her.
“Sure.” Let them wait for her to show up. She had better things in mind than digging through an archaeological garbage dump. That was the sort of thing Claire would love, and any other time, so would she, even if she always had to go as an unpaid volunteer. Despite Shy Island being less than an eight-hour drive from their home, they’d talked about it but never ventured here. Jenny marched toward the lighthouse.
Lit by the sun, the structure towered before her, perched on a rise overlooking the beach. Broken stones from the façade littered the ground below it. From the top of the building, she would have a good view of the area. Also, the delay would allow the others to wander out of sight. She squeezed through the arched opening and into what had been the lightkeeper’s quarters. Cracked masonry covered the walls. Shadows darkened the space, and it smelled of mold and damp. A small room to the side must have held his sleeping space. Jenny peered into that room, noting a square of metal bolted to the wall. The surface, once polished, now spotted with age, had probably been used as a mirror. Bits of a wooden frame enclosed the square. The wood was carved to resemble tree bark wrapped in vines. The frame had rotted away except for two sides.
Jenny slipped past the yellow caution tape to climb the stairs. At the top, she eased past the giant glass lens in the center of the floor to look out the opening. She spotted Peggy and the two men hiking into a stand of trees before the woman split off from the pair. The men must be heading to the dig site, a trash pit dating back to the 1600s, when Spanish pirates had used the island as an outpost. It was in a clearing in the middle of the grove. Over the past ten years, portions of the midden had been excavated.
She knelt on the floor and pulled from her pack a small leather journal. It was wrapped in cloth, then zipped into a plastic bag to guard against moisture. Carefully, she turned the pages to the section she had memorized. Here, in the lightkeeper’s tidy hand, he described finding the relic—a copper scroll. He must have known it was valuable, but he couldn’t read the Spanish words printed on the scroll. Alone on the island for so many years, it must have been a precious possession. He’d hidden it during the Civil War. Almost two hundred years had passed since he’d written those words, but no one after had found the scroll, although many had speculated about its existence.
Turning to the journal’s last words, Jenny read the lightkeeper’s clue to where the scroll had been hidden.
I will rise and face my treasure each morning. Clasped in the embrace of her roots, she will keep it safe until this danger has passed.
Standing, she gripped the binoculars she’d brought and studied the landscape, searching for the highest point on the land. He would have wanted a place far from shore, where the rising tide would never reach. Some place he would see from the lighthouse and reassure himself the scroll was safe. There, at the edge of the horizon, stood an oak tree. It towered over the canopy by at least twenty feet.
It took Jenny an hour to wend her way through brush and over rocky outcroppings to reach the hill that held the oak. Whenever she’d caught her breath and unwind the brambles that clung to her clothes, she swore she heard the echo of footsteps behind her. Now she stared at the ledge thirty feet above. The base of the hill held a dry creek bed. Run-off from heavy rains had carved the soil, leaving a shelf of dirt less than a yard deep and extending out six feet overhead. Halfway down, the side roots poked like fingers from a shallow grave. She trod the creek bed until she found a spot that sloped more gently and would be easier to climb.
At the top, she kneeled beside the tree and brushed at the dirt. She would dig here, on the side opposite the drop-off. If her luck held, she’d find the scroll without having to risk the ground collapsing under her. She began lifting clumps of soil with her folding shovel, scraping off the clay-like dirt into a pile next to the hole. Sweat ran from her brow and she had to pause every few minutes to wipe it away. When the rain began, she was at first grateful for the cool drops. The wind rattled the branches and leaves overhead, and combined with the patter of raindrops, it hid the crunch of footsteps until the woman spoke.
“Who are you?”
Jenny flinched and rose, clutching the short-handled shovel. She faced the woman from the boat, Peggy Horton. She held a dull black pistol, aimed at Jenny.
“What do you want?” Jenny stepped back against the oak.
“You are not Claire Emerson.” The woman lifted the gun. “I saw her at a conference six months ago. Her and her father, Dr. Emerson, right before he died.”
Jenny’s mouth went dry, and she trembled. She didn’t think Peggy would shoot her if she stayed silent, and she didn’t want to speak the truth. Her face flushed with heat, remembering how she’d applied for the permit using Claire’s name and her credentials. They had found the journal boxed with her father’s papers. Based on ship’s logs he’d discovered and antique correspondence between Spanish explorers, Dr. Emerson had proposed that the missing copper scroll describing the location of Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth had been stashed somewhere on Shy Lady Island. How they had fought over that journal! Jenny wanted to travel immediately to the island and look for the scroll. Claire, too distraught over her father’s death, didn’t want to even discuss it.
Jenny shifted her weight, preparing to swing the shovel and jump behind the oak.
“Stay still!” Peggy lifted the gun until it was pointed at Jenny’s head. Lightning zipped in a jagged white line, followed by a drum beat of thunder. The gun never wavered. Peggy smirked. “I know why you’re here. If you’re pretending to be Dr. Emerson’s daughter, you must be searching for the lost scroll.” She motioned with the pistol. “Go ahead. Keep digging.”
Jenny scraped at the soil until blisters rose on her hands. Cold rain continued to fall. The sky grew darker by the minute and below, water ran through the creek bed. At last, the only place left to dig was the ledge.
“Go ahead. Don’t stop.” Peggy nudged Jenny with her foot.
Carefully, Jenny scooted to the far side of the tree and dug. Rainwater filled each divot she removed. Finally, her shovel clinked against something hard. She brushed at the dirt, but mud kept sliding into the hole.
“What is it?” Peggy stepped beside Jenny.
Another crash of lightning and clap of thunder sounded. Rain pelted Jenny’s skin and the earth beneath her shuddered. She looked up. Peggy held the gun at her side, pointed toward the ground. If Jenny gave her a shove, the woman would tumble off the edge into the stream below.
Before she could act, the earth shifted again. Peggy cried out and waved her arms, trying to grab hold of the oak. Jenny flung herself past the tree to the solid ground behind. With a wail, Peggy fell.
Lying flat, Jenny held onto the oak’s roots and peered over the outcrop. Peggy lay half-submerged in the rushing water. Her eyes were closed. One leg was bent at an odd angle. A line of blood oozed from her scalp. Jenny backed away. If she left her there… but no, she couldn’t do that.
Later, she would remember the next few hours as a series of scenes, like slides in a presentation. The first one showed Jenny pulling Peggy from the creek and securing her high on the opposite bank. She found the men at the midden site. Together, they used the tarp that had been strung over the dig to carry Peggy to the lighthouse. None of them had phone service on the island, so they would have to wait for the boat to return that evening. One man had a first aid kit, and they cleaned Peggy’s wounds and stabilized her broken leg.
From her perch at the top of the lighthouse, Jenny was the first to spy the boat arriving. She hurried to the dock and waved as though she would speed the arrival. As soon as it landed, a familiar figure stepped from the boat. Claire.
Jenny longed to rush forward, into her arms, but she hung back. Her fears were soothed when Claire pulled her into her embrace. “What the hell, Jen. What were you thinking?”
Jenny shook her head. “It was stupid and I’m sorry.”
“Why would you risk this?”
The words spilled out, how she searched for the scroll, how finding it would have changed their lives for the better. “But it’s too late now,” Jenny said. “I didn’t find it.”
The boat captain radioed for a helicopter to take Peggy to the hospital. Shock and pain had turned her skin pale and clammy, but she would survive. After it left, Claire, Jenny, and the men prepared to leave with the boat.
“Where did you think you’d find the scroll?” Claire asked.
Jenny described the words in the journal, and how she’d searched for the tree from the lighthouse. “He would face it every morning and…” Jenny froze. She grabbed Claire’s hand and swung her pack onto her back. “Please wait a few more minutes,” she called to the captain.
Together, Jenny and Claire jogged to the lighthouse. “He must have spent so much time here.” Jenny crossed into the small room and stood before the metal square. “This,” she said, “is what he faced each morning. A mirror. Not a tree, but made to look like a tree.”
“You think it’s behind there?” Claire ran her fingers across the rotted wood frame.
“Only one way to know.” Jenny pulled a pry bar from her pack and bent one section of the metal away from the wall, revealing a flat, faded, muslin covered object. Jenny sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to damage it.”
Claire tugged at a corner of the cloth until a section of a rust-colored tablet appeared. Jenny made to pry the rest free, but Claire grabbed her hand. “No. We should have witnesses and document the find.”
“It’s ours, isn’t it? Finders keepers? The land doesn’t belong to the state until tomorrow.
Claire shook her head. “No. They’ll close the island tomorrow, but the title passed last month. We can’t claim it, Jenny.”
Jenny dropped her hand. “You should be the one to find it, Claire. The discovery belongs to you, even if the money doesn’t.”
“But I’m not here on a permit. I begged the boat captain to let me ride out here and back to find you.”
“You’ve been here with me all along. It’s your name on the permit, not mine.” Jenny strolled outside to ask the captain to hold the boat a little longer, as they had something amazing to share.
Let's Get Out of Here 