By Don Urquhart, Times Chronicle
Osoyoos’ second annual writing contest concluded recently with three top prizes and a handful of honourable mentions that seem to speak of an untapped treasure trove of writing talent in Osoyoos.
This year’s “It’s Winter Again in Osoyoos” writing contest saw 30 pieces of writing, up significantly from last year’s 18.
“We had 24 businesses support those entries through downtown. And I think that’s just amazing,” expressed Lindsay Bayford of the Happy Paper Parlor who along with Dan Williams of Wayside Select Books & Art co-organized the contest.
This year, because of the wider range of writing the two decided to rank first, second and third place whereas last year they simply opted for a “top 3”. “I would like to talk just briefly about the judging because it was very hard! Bayford said. “I mean, obviously, in the spirit of having a contest, there needs to be winners. Dan and I have struggled with this always because we just feel that, well, frankly, you’re all winners.
“The winner of this is that you’ve been writing, other people are reading and we’re, as a community, I feel, just having this shared literary experience, these ideas that you have generated, are now being shared with many, many people. And we don’t even know the long term impact of that, right?
“These thoughts and feelings that we can all share together and I think that’s one of the beauties of it. We both strongly love literacy in general. And I think that creating that is part of what motivates us.”
She added that they also love the fact they can partner with the businesses downtown to make this kind of a community event “but at the heart of it is these ideas that we’re sharing,” she added.
Celebrating second place – (left to right) Dan Williams, Joel Browne, and Lindsay Bayford.
The top three
1st Place – Wayne Goldsmith, “The Hatch”
2nd Place – Joel Browne, “The Flight of Jerboa”
3rd Place – Bailey Jaymes, “Among the Elements”
Honorary mentions (in no particular order)
Sandra McKenzie, “The Substance”
Debra Schramm, “Spirits of the Wind”
Jessica Masse, “Life Choices”
All 30 pieces of writing are available for reading at Wayside Select Books & Art, 8317 Main St, Osoyoos.
Honourable Mentions – (left to right) Dan Williams, Sandra McKenzie, Debra Schramm, Jessica Masse and Lindsay Bayford.
The Times Chronicle is excited to bring you the winning piece of writing, titled “The Hatch” by Wayne Goldsmith.
First Place: “The Hatch” by Wayne Goldsmith
It’s been thirty years since I found it. Thirty years since I saw what I can’t un-see, and believe me, I’ve tried. Thirty years. Most people look back on thirty years and wonder where the time went. Not me.
Back in the day, I followed a different path. I won’t say it was my path, I mean, lots of young men have walked it. Anyway, I rolled into town about mid-afternoon on a Friday, and it was hot. The hotel on the corner boldly advertised their lunch special; disturbingly, dated Monday last. You remember the place, across from the drug store, I think they called it the Rialto in those days? I opted for the safety of a burger and a cold beer. Totally hit the spot. I had nothing but time to kill, you see?
Inevitably, the clock made it around to half past five, signalling local business owners and staff to begin their weekly ritual. As they streamed into the bar I paid my tab and left. Now was the time to hunt, to choose.
A warm wind rose as darkness fell, pushing grit and garbage down the alley on their way to God knew where. Stepping sideways into the shadow, I confronted the rear entrance of the shoe store. My short crowbar made quick work of the ancient lock. Wow. What a time capsule. Even thirty years ago the classic shoe store was long gone from most shopping venues. I helped myself to a couple of pairs of sneakers and almost three hundred bucks from the till. A good score in a small town.
Concrete stairs lead underground. I didn’t notice it at first, the basement looked like any other; extra stock, and junk strewn here and there. Then I saw it. The wall had been breached. I shone my flashlight into a large adjoining space situated under the local credit union. Creepy as you know what in there. Snakes? Spiders? I shivered involuntarily. “Lord hates a coward” my granddad used to say.
In the darkness, I belly crawled over the hard packed dirt and loose rocks, coming upon a depression, and a shovel, set just to the side. Strange, to say the least. After an hour I had cleared off a withered old wooden trap door. Rusted hinges screamed, the hatch opened, a ladder revealed itself. More shivering.
I followed the tunnel due south. No snakes, no spiders, not even a cobweb. It was clean. I was still creeped out though, and I shivered again as I considered the consequences of my flashlight going out. I carried on for about twenty minutes until I reached the end. A heavy, black iron door covered with strange glyphs presented itself. The whole thing screamed ‘Go Away!’, and yet there was a massive iron key in the lock. The purpose, then, of this door was not to keep things out…
The air beyond the door was warm, fetid, cloying. It stank. Probably what spiders smell like. Gross! The tunnel was no longer clean, quite the opposite. Stringy, dusty cobwebs, dirt on the floor, and litter. A distinct downhill slant now as well. Five minutes of walking brought me to a sharp corner. I could hear noises, wet noises. Something was moving in there. Correction, some things. I brought my light up, and took a deep breath. Lord hates a coward. Not sure how he feels about idiots.
Rounding the corner I froze in my tracks. An odd whimpering gurgle filled my ears, and as my brain regained control, I realized I was the source. Panic rose like bile, and I began to run. Never stopped, never looked back, blinded to all but my goal. The hatch. I flew up the ladder and slammed the hatch down. Sitting here, on my porch, thirty years later, I can marvel at my good fortune. I shovelled as if the devil himself were beneath me, covering the hatch as before. Sitting in my car, after, I was exhausted, looking this way and that awash in paranoia, the last vestige of fear.
It was then I realized the black iron door was still open.
