Water lapped at the docks with quiet repetition. Soft music shifted as they strolled down the weathered planks between restaurants. Fairy lights began to provide additional atmosphere as birds flew their last twilight missions, hurrying with the last bits of twigs and worms.
Hand in hand, each of them eating soft serve ice cream with their free hands. All in all, it was the epitome of a restful summer day in New Hampshire.
Peter gave June a nudge. “You see that?”
She popped the last bite of her vanilla cone into her mouth. “Argh. Some tourist left their purse behind, looks like. I’ll go see if there’s a wallet.”
He squeezed her hand briefly and let go. “I think I see a uniform up there. I’ll go see if it’s a policeman.”
June sat on the wooden bench and leaned over the straw tote with a giant pink flower. The purse shifted, and she caught an expensive DSLR camera before it hit the ground with a sigh of relief.
Her touch woke the camera from technological sleep. The back lit up with the last photo taken. June paused, unfamiliar with the device and uncomfortable with uncertain ethics of viewing another’s photos without explicit permission.
“Maybe it’ll give a clue if they’re still in the area,” she muttered to herself, and zoomed in on the first image.
A group of tourists stood atop one Rattlesnake mountain. One had – the body of a horse? An illusion, of course. A trick of angles. How would a horse make the hike?
Another man seemed to have wings. Surely, a convenient cloud. She squinted, finding it difficult to focus on the man’s face. That peculiar golden glow must be from sunlight.
She pressed the back arrow to move to the next photo. A hydra stood in front of Lake Winnipesaukee’s brilliant blue waters, each of its nine heads grinning with exuberant energy and wearing a different hat.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted.
June looked up into dark sunglasses that were no longer appropriate for the steadily increasing dusk. Dyed green dreadlocks fell to shoulder length above a floaty wrap dress covered in flowers that matched the one on the purse – and the photographs – precisely.
“This must be yours,” June said, handing the woman the bag. “I was hoping to find a clue. My boyfriend went to find…”
The woman’s thick braided hair moved with a faint hiss. The woman didn’t use her hands to push it back.
She felt the blood rush out of her face, and was suddenly very glad the gorgon had worn her glasses.
“Er…” she managed.
The woman turned back toward June, apprehension across her face. “Yes?”
She managed an unsteady grin. “Welcome to Lost Creek.”
***
I grabbed a spare from the Odd Prompts this week, as I forgot what day it was. Oops!
Check out last week’s belated entry here.
