On a dreary morning in December, Addison found the lights in his pantry, lurking below the fluted pudding dish. The china dish had been a gift from someone important, before his hands had begun to shake. He didn’t remember when he had begun to forget.
He lifted up the dish with bones that ached. Two creatures scurried about underneath, the size of mice. Both stopped moving when they realised he was watching them.
“Hello,” the larger one said, looking up at him. Addison could just make out a tiny face through the glow.
He nodded back.
“We are lost,” the smaller one said.
Presently, when it became apparent that Addison had no idea what to say, it added, “You could help us find our vehicle.”
Addison nodded, and waited. Time was something he seemed to have a lot of, these days.
“It looks like–” the smaller of the two continued, before a crash sent both of them scampering to the back of the pantry.
The smallest of the three was standing on the shelf by the stove, above the frame on the floor. At the sound of approaching footsteps, it fled under the nearest cupboard. Presently, the footsteps’ owner appeared.
“Making a ruckus!” said Josie. She stood in the doorway with her arms folded. “Go and call Atler, and tell him you’re going to sign the papers.”
“I will,” Addison said, making his expression studiously contrite.
She stayed there for a while, all the lines of her face frowning at him.
“I’m just going to have some tea,” Addison said. He pottered over to the kettle. “I could make you some,” he ventured.
“You just make that call,” Josie said, and went out of the room.
Addison picked up the frame and put it back on the shelf, carefully. In the photograph, leaning against the ship’s rails, she was beautiful. Addison looked at the fading ink, and did not recognise the man standing with his arm around her, straight-backed, smiling.
He studied the room. After a while, he looked under the oven, and drew out a battered object. It had the shape of an overturned pie plate. He set it down on the floor, and waited.
“Our ship!” exclaimed the largest one, coming out from behind the pots and pans. It hopped down onto the floor and ran into the plate. The others followed suit.
“As payment,” the smallest one said as it reappeared, dragging something through the entrance. “Our greatest treasure. We have heard that you can hear the harmony of the seas in it.”
It went back inside, and there was a great flash of light. When he could see again, Addison stooped down by the ship.
Puzzled, Addison reached out to turn the pie plate over. It was empty. He put the pie plate in the sink, and picked up the seashell from the floor. Then he went into the study and sat down by the telephone, letting the breath settle in his lungs.
Addison sat for a long time at the desk, watching the wind sweep the leaves from the trees. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he brought the seashell to his ear.
—sc: doesn’t get it at all. erred on side of being too sparse. trouble welding the present to his delusion. connection between broken ship and his life tenuous at best. a: no sense of addison’s age; josie’s yes.—
