The Wishing Stone

A flicker of firelight emanated from the cabin window onto the lake. It was getting darker outside.

“Hey short-shit, mom says dinners ready,” her brother Charlie yelled from the partially opened screen door. Then he slammed it shut against the house with a sharp crack from its wooden frame.

Crouched down, Terry looked skyward and talked softly to herself.
“I wish….,” she closed her eyes tight. “You were here.” A small ripple expanded out onto the glass surface of the lake where Terry kissed the stone and placed it in the water. This stone was the last her father had touched and she kept it with her for three years.

Every Saturday evening she sat here with her father while he fished. He’d pick up a stone from the shore; Terry kissed it, made a wish for good fishing and gently placed it in the lake. The wishing stone was a special tradition between them.

Terry whispered aloud again, “Mom’s good. Charlie still picks on me. I made it through the sixth grade.”
With a sound from the woods, Terry turned and her foot slid into the soft mud that lined the edge of the lake.
“Need some help?”
It was the first time she noticed the man standing there.
“No, thank you. I…,” she stuttered. “I need to get home.”
She reached into the thick mud and retrieved her shoe.
“You know, I come here every Saturday evening. It’s the best time for fishing. The cool air makes the fish swim to the top. They’ll bite on almost anything,” said the stranger.
“Yeah, my dad used to tell me that… I have to go.” Terry slipped on her muck covered shoe and ran swiftly back to the cabin.
The next evening Terry sat in her bedroom thinking about the mysterious man she met the evening before. She needed to see him again. After dinner, she jumped from her bedroom window and snuck down to the lakeside.
“Are you there, Mister?” She whispered into the woods.
After several minutes, Terry felt a breeze brush against her arm.
“Hi there little Tee-Tee,” the stranger appeared leaning against the same tree.
“Only my dad called me that and he’s gone.”
“What happened to him?” The man hit his cigarette.
“He died three years ago.” Terry was reluctant but after a few seconds, she spoke again.

“We saw him from shore. He stood up in the boat, probably to reach his smokes that he kept in the tackle box. The boat turned far to the right side. We knew he was in trouble because he started bailing water with his metal minnow bucket,” Terry stared at the bucket at the man’s feet. “Within three minutes the boat and dad were gone. Charlie, my brother, jumped in and swam to the place where we last saw him. He dove down several times but the water was too cloudy. When the police divers came they found him still in the boat. His foot wedged underneath the front bench and caught on some rope. They pulled him from the water. Right about where… you’re… standing...,” Terry paused and looked closer at the man. He was fully dressed and she could see he was sopping wet from head to toe. She stepped forward and his now translucent figure started to fade in the twilight.

Terry gasped.
“Tee-Tee, I told you wishing stones are real. You wished I was here. Now, take care of Mom and Charlie for me. I have to go. I love you always.” He faded completely now.
“Love you too, daddy,” she whispered into the blackness of the woods.