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 Storage of stories written for The Bradbury, 2025 and 2026. |
| Jean Dupont at Bay In the small hours of the night Jean awoke to the usual urges of nature. He wrestled with the need only a few seconds before disentangling himself from Madame Michelle’s arm and rising from the bed. With practised ease in the dark he shrugged into his bathrobe and left the room. A dark figure lurked at the far end of the passage. Jean could see immediately that he was to have another meeting with Mademoiselle Michelle de la Lyonesse’s Ghost of Times Long Passed. This had happened only once before and he was surprised that she felt the need to revisit him. He walked slowly towards the waiting spirit. In spite of the deep shadows in which the apparition stood, Jean could see that she was every bit as beautiful as when she had last appeared. He stopped when a few paces away. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Michelle,” he ventured. She continued to gaze at him for a moment before replying. “You have aged since our last meeting, Jean Dupont.” Jean shrugged. “Such is the way of us mortals.” The lady’s eyelids closed briefly in agreement but she said no more. “I thought our business was done the first time,” continued Jean. “Is there more that I can help you with? I will not change my mind about going with you, I assure you.” “There is just one more question I need answered.” “Then ask it, Mamselle, for I have a pressing need to be elsewhere.” The ghost smiled. “So I see. Madame is your seventh wife, I believe.” “That is so.” “Well, what I want to know, Jean Dupont, is why I should have faith that Madame will also be your last. I have no reason to think you did not love the others.” Jean thought for a while before answering. “You should know that it was not I that ended my first six marriages. Each of those wives found in time that I was insufficient for their needs. They either asked me to leave or died to be rid of me and I was left alone.” “But what guarantee have I that this will not happen again?” The spirit raised an eyebrow. “Guarantees I cannot give,” said Jean, “But I will love Madame until the day I die, I can swear to that. I loved each of my wives a little more than the one previous and I still love all of them. Yet Madame more than the rest. So, if we are to part, it will be Madame’s decision, not mine.” A ghostly finger went to the lady’s chin. She spent a full minute in consideration of the man before her. Then she sighed and said, “You are a true Frenchman, Jean Dupont.” With that, she disappeared in the usual puff of smoke. Jean turned away to the bathroom. And I’m far too old to go hunting an eighth time, he thought. Word count: 482 For The Bradbury, Week 8. |
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