Fisher's Ghost Writing Prize 2022 -Stella

In conjunction with West Words, Campbelltown City Libraries hosted the Fisher's Ghost Writing Prize for 2022.

I had the honour of participating, and the thrill of winning. 500 words is a tricky limit to capture a story, so to win the adult category is very much appreciated here! My short story was written with my nanna and pa in mind. Two people I miss dearly.

Pictured with Cr Warren Morrison, Mayor - Cr George Greiss, Deborah O'Ferry, and Cr Riley Munro

STELLA

Russell steered the corner smoothly, gently guiding around the potholes of the worn country road, and his home came into view. Even after the thirty years since they’d built it, the house stood tall—white and bold against the neighbouring green fields.

He rumbled his small car over their bumpy driveway and held the milk in place that was threatening to vibrate off the seat to the floor below. Stella wouldn’t be happy if he spilt the milk.

Pressing the button of the garage-door remote, the door lifted and a lanky dog skipped out, ears drooping; her head held high for a greeting. Lady always welcomed him home.

Russell parked next to Stella’s dusty car and noted he should check the oil after breakfast. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d done that.

Stiffly, he climbed out of the car and reached for the milk. Stella couldn’t start the day without a milky cup of tea. He fixed his glasses higher up his nose as his Great Dane looped around him.

'That’s a girl. You’re a good girl,' he cooed at Lady, holding the dog’s head affectionately as he hunched over her. 'Where’s Mum, hey?'

They wandered up the ramp together, Lady’s large head bobbing by Russell’s waist.

'Stella?' he called, as he walked into the cool house, Lady trotting in front of him. There was an odd smell inside and Russell felt his nose twitch uncomfortably before he adjusted to it. 'Stella?'

Russell shuffled to the fridge and put the milk in the door. He noticed there were two bottles of milk already there. Stella must have bought them the day before. He scoffed, momentarily noticing the smell again. He swiped at a fly that buzzed by his ear, feeling the roughness of his stubbled cheek.

'Shoo,' he huffed, but stilled when he thought he heard a clutter from down the hallway. 'Stella?'

Russell felt his hips twinge when he turned to walk down through the house. Away from the kitchen, it was still dark with the curtains drawn. Stella was a light sleeper so he’d left the house as dark as he could. But, now, the morning sun was slipping in at the edges of the fabric, creating shadows along the walls.

'Are you alright Stella?' He waited for her voice from the shadows. He could almost hear her say: 'I’m okay, Rusty.' But there was no voice.

Russell moved to their dim bedroom. He looked for his wife’s shape under their quilted covers. But they lay still—rumpled on only one side. Russell scanned the room. His eyebrows knitted together.

'Stella?'

Russell’s eyes fell on a shiny vase on her dressing table. It looked familiar, but he wasn’t certain. He walked towards it, each step making the vase’s detail more significant. He realised then that it was not a vase. A vase didn’t have a lid.

He squinted to read its plaque and the engraved letters scratched at Russell’s memory. He went cold.

‘Stella.’

My Nanna and Pa - Stella June & Russell