The Curmudgeon of Camden Falls

Mr. Svenson was a wiry old man who ran the only auto body shop and garage in town. He had not always been that way, but after his wife ran off with some smug city slicker, he had found little to be glad about. Tourists annoyed him. Especially the ones who expected the locals to cater to their every whim. They reminded him of the man who had stolen his wife.

When he retired, he was only too happy to move out of town, but he didn't go far. He'd moved into the house he had been building all those years. It was out on the highway on a nice patch of land that overlooked one of the smaller inlets of the lake. Here he could continue to work on cars if he felt like it, but he also began devoting more time to his wood carvings. Grand structures those mangy tourist were only too happy to drop a pile of money for. Now there was a clunker. With the local art gallery running interference, he was able to create and not have to deal with any of them.

He lived pretty isolated. Only two other houses were close. And they were a mile of two down the gravel road off the highway. One had been a dilapidated pine box that was being rebuilt and restored by a local boy, now one of the town's police constables. Not a bad neighbour to have and Ryan Fraser had been a good boy. A little wild for a time, but for the most part, a good boy. He also proved himself to be a good neighbour. Not too nosy, but also helpful when the need arose.

The other house was owned by summer residents. They had been coming to the area for years. They were the good sort of people, not stuck up know-it-alls. They gave a damn and could be counted on when you where in a fix.

When their niece decided to move to the area after a bad situation in the city, he hadn't been too troubled. In fact, on those first cooling summer evenings she could be heard singing down by the lake. Her voice carried over the water. She sang songs he knew and liked and her voice as pure and golden. He had forgotten how much he had loved hearing her. It had been a good while since she had last been in the area.

She was friendly and helpful, but not nosy and obtrusive. He liked that she was polite and made sure her cousins were as well. Genuine. This girl had been born in the northern country and been raised by her grandparents after her parents were killed in a car accident. He felt for her. She reminded him of his sister - the one who had died so young, so many years ago. She had the same sparkle and bit of mischief in her eye.

Most people stayed clear of him, but Arlynn Douglas was not afraid of his gruff demeanor. She would grin whenever he started to rant and carry on. He found after awhile he couldn't bluster so much around her. She just had a way of calming him; much like his sister did. He actually enjoyed having her around. Though he would never say as much.

When he noticed Ryan hanging around with her, he could not help but think they were a perfect match.
One day, near the end of October, Mr. Svenson noticed a fancy dark car pull off the highway and sit a bit. He watched feeling a growing uneasiness. He'd never seen that car before and he had a mind like a steel trap when it came to makes and models he knew.

When the car began to move slowly down the gravel road passed his place, he decided he needed to follow. He made it a point of knowing the comings and goings of his neighbours and he knew Ryan was working, but that Arylnn hadn't gone in to town yet that day. She'd be alone.

He'd heard talk that she'd had a man in the city, one that was not too kind. This had him grabbing his 12 gage and a box of cartridges. Best to be prepared, even if he was over prepared. He could always claim he was hunting.

Svenson hurried along the road, cutting through the brush to make up some time. He heard a raised male voice, one he didn't recognize and he quickened his pace. By the time he reached Arlynn's place the man was splayed out on the gravel, his face smeared with blood from where her cat had scratched his face and Arlynn had her rifle trained at his privates.

Svenson fought a rare smile, as he worked to control the adrenalin that surged through him. The girl had balls and she was damn willing to fight for what she wanted.

To his right he saw Ryan and his dog cut through the underbrush.

She didn't need saving, but she certainly had enough people willing to make sure she was fine.

Words = 852.

Notes ▼

The Writer's Cramp: Due January 29, 2022
NEW PROMPT: Tomorrow, January 29, is Curmudgeons Day. This observance celebrates the birthday of noted curmudgeon and comedian W.C. Fields (more details at that link). Write a story or poem about someone who became a curmudgeon exactly 20 years ago. What was the incident that changed them? Do they have any desire to stop being a curmudgeon? In honor of W.C. Fields, one required genre for your item is: Comedy.