The Thomasville Treasure
“I must have done something really bad or really good to have two clergyman visiting me.”
Iris Hielscher smiled over her crossword puzzle after Kenny and Mike introduced themselves in her nursing home room.
“Nothing bad at all,” Mike said. “Your pastor, Dr. Wiedermann suggested we speak with you.”
“Dr. Wiedermann! . . .
The Thomasville Treasure
Mike and Kenny felt inadequate when they saw the degrees on Dr. Marian Wiedermann’s office at Trinity Lutheran Church. Frame after frame on the wall showed advanced degrees and academic awards. Dr. Wiedermann left academic life when the seminary she taught at closed, and rather than seek another faculty appointment she decided to go into . . .
Still Desperately Seeking a Title
Kenny stomped several times on the chancel floor with his right foot. “Yeah. It’s hollow underneath here,” he said.
The chancel only stood a foot and a half higher than the rest of the old church, so Mike added, “I don’t know how much space could actually be down there, but I’m curious.” Mike walked across the chancel floor, . . .
Yeah, I still don't have a title for this thing.
Mike and Kenny heard the creak of the front door echo across the wooden floor as they opened it. As Mike felt on the wall for a light switch Kenny said, “I think if there was a treasure here someone would have found it. They did some renovations whenever someone had the bright idea of this being a museum.” When the Elm Avenue church was . . .
My fictional work that still doesn't have a title.
Kenny still remembered how happy he was as a child when he would run up the stairs to the front porch of Elm Avenue Presbyterian’s parsonage when he’d come to spend a month with his grandparents in the summer. He’d climb up the five steps in three quick leaps to the big Victorian house porch and stretch on his tiptoes to take the front door . . .
My, still, presently untitled work of fiction
“I’m telling you, there’s something to this. There’s enough stories floating around about the Thomasville Monster, something had to happen,” Mike said.
“You know what my Grandpa said?” Kenny replied. “He said the Thomasville Monster was for late nights at kids’ slumber parties when they told stories in the dark with a flashlight . . .
My Presently Untitled Story
I haven't written any fiction since I was in college. We'll see if I'm able to finish this, but here goes:
As he closed the heavy, almost medieval, door to the stone Presbyterian church Mike asked, “Is Kenny in?” Beatrice, Elm Avenue Presbyterian Church’s secretary since the 1960’s, watched the front desk of the church . . .