K is for Karst
First off my apologies for missing last week. I’m in the middle of a bathroom remodel that proving to be the remodel from hell. I’ll share more details later when I get done.
Continued from 04/15/2026
The inside of the house had not changed much since her childhood. The same worn linoleum reflected the same dull light, the shadow of a solitary table with two chairs imprinted on a pattern that had been popular in the fifties. The entire kitchen, from the avocado refrigerator to the startingly white stove spoke of a time when life was much simpler that it was today. She felt like she had stepped back into a time warp and would at any moment spot her eleven-year-old self sneaking a cookie from the teddy bear cookie jar. A fragment of the past that still lived within these quiet walls.
Leaving her purse on the small table she crossed to the cookie jar and looked inside, the familiar ring of the lid being lifted pinging against old memories that stirred in response. A few cookie crumbs lay at the bottom of the ceramic jar, remnants from the last time her mother baked, the cookie jar serving as a way back into the past with cookie crumbs to show the way. It reminded her of Hansel and Gretel and how they left a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back.
She closed the lid and turned from the memories clamoring for her attention, crossing the kitchen she entered the living room. The old couch she and her friends would sit on when they watched television was still standing in its familiar place. The wing back chair her mother used, and the recliner her father rested in had not moved in years. On the small table next to the chair a small wicker basket filled with bolts of yarn. Two knitting needles stuck out of one of the bolts while what looked like the beginnings of a scarf lay beside it.
On the table next to the recliner was a stack of magazines. Pit & Quarry and Quarry Management being the most predominant. Again, everything looked as if at any moment her mother and father would enter the room and take their places for a quiet evening. The memories and the emotions they elicited were becoming too much and she debated on trying to get a room for the night, but Williamstown was a small place, and she doubted she’d find anything local.
Instead, she returned to her rental for a few things and proceeded to make herself as comfortable as possible. Choosing her old room to sleep in was another trip down memory lane. From the posters on the walls to the small desk where she discovered the intricacies of the world in which they lived. Nothing had changed since she left.
Worried she would be unable to sleep she slipped under the cool sheets and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. The calling of the birds greeting a new dawn beyond her bedroom window pulled her from a deep sleep and she sat up to look around the room as the night sky outside slowly grew brighter with every passing moment. The remnants of the dream remained with her as she threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor.
She vaguely recalled hiding at the top of the stairs when she was supposed to be asleep, listening to her mother and father speaking quietly in the living room. He sounded both angry and sad. Her mother tried her best to console him as they talked about Jimmy. The name rang a bell, and she searched her memories for a face to go with it. The only Jimmy she recalled from her childhood was one of her dad’s workers who vanished one day.
The memory elicited a chill, and she rubbed her arms as she tried to recall more details about what happened that day. Nothing came to the surface, but she was meeting with her dad’s assistant later this morning to discuss the quarry, she’d ask them if the name rang any bells.
To be continued!
Richard Schiver 
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