Welcome to the latest (fourth) installment of The Whiteboard. This story has been keeping me company for weeks now. I am sort of liking the fact that I can just write about 500 words on it (equivalent of 2  pages or so) and let that be the writing for the day. A writer writes. So, I am. I hope you are enjoying this little tale. (I actually do have an ending!)

Here are the three previous links to parts one, two, and three.

Part one

Part two

Part three

The Whiteboard by Kim Smith ©2017

She was disappointed in Beatrice’s reply. Her co-worker hadn’t seen anyone coming or going in Anne’s office, except Anne. This was met with a bit more dismay than Anne wanted to admit.

She walked up to the board and wrote in her boldest hand, “Who ARE you?”

“I’ll play for one more day,” she said, aloud. Then, she gathered her things to go home. When she touched the doorknob, she considered locking it. What was going to be learned from someone who snuck into her office and played games, anyway?

Finally, she left it unlocked. One more day, she told herself. Then it’s going to be locked up tight.

As she headed toward the elevator, she remembered an 8:30 a.m. meeting on Thursday that she would be having in her office. The writer had better be prepared to divulge their identity and get out quickly or face a few others crowded into her small office to be a new and less attentive audience.

She forced herself to breathe in and out and smile inwardly. Nothing to be done about this business now. There was a well-dressed man on the elevator when she got on. She had never seen him before, but that wasn’t all that remarkable. She didn’t know everyone person on every floor of the massive office complex.

He allowed her to exit before him, as a well-bred man should do. At least, in her opinion. Not that she was an authority or anything . She didn’t even have brothers or uncles and her father had never been home long, preferring to work two jobs and long hours.

She was something like him, she supposed.

When Anne reached her car, she looked up at the building where she spent so much of her time. She couldn’t see her office from this vantagepoint, but she knew where it was. Her life seemed wrapped up in that one place. Now someone was invading her space. It was enough to make her frown as she clicked the button to open her car doors.

When she sat inside, she could see the writing on her windshield, in the dust of the pollen that had begun to collect everywhere thanks to the abundance of trees around the garage.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” it said in the perfect handwriting she’d already come to recognize.

A drip of cold fear gripped her. What did that even mean? How did the writer know her car? This meant the writer KNEW her and her habits. Should she take this to the authorities? Was it harmless or dangerous. She sat there a long time before finally turning on the washer and wipers, obliterating the writing from her view.

“Take that, you weirdo,” she said, putting her seat belt on.

~@~

I hope you enjoyed this fourth installment! More to come! Please feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think…