Next Time

This story is by Blythe Hudson and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

“Charming bungalow set among  Spanish moss, live oaks and low-country marshes. Quiet, secluded spot– perfect for writers!  Book now before it’s gone.”

She booked it sight unseen just after the breakup. It was what she needed. Time to think. After three years, he had decided she wasn’t for him and walked out. The nerve of the bastard. But she’d be fine without him. She had options. She just needed to figure out what they were.

Her phone rang as she filled a tote bag with snacks—a few apples, Sun Chips, grapes and homemade shortbread. She snapped the tote shut and she picked up her phone.

“Don’t go! Hang with me instead.” A voice broke in before she could say hello. It was Sloane, her BFF from the College of Charleston. Her ride or die who had been more broken up about the breakup than she was. “Caro, you don’t need to be alone. Come over. We can binge-watch old movies.”

Caro laughed. “Gracious, woman, it’s not fatal. He just walked out. And right now, I need space.”

She grabbed the tote, her roller bag and computer and headed out the door.

“Do you know where this place is? Have you talked to the owner?” Sloane asked with that ever-present, anxious hitch in her voice.

“I got a nice message from the guy that owns it. And I have GPS. I’ll be fine.” She slid into the driver seat of  her VW Beetle and turned on GPS. “I’m even using the soothing British mom GPS voice you like. Hear?”

She increased the volume so Sloane could hear the instructions as she put the car in gear and headed to the highway.

‘Take the on ramp for SC Route 17 South. Follow Route 17 South for 67 miles.’

Caro continued. “GPS has never failed me and it won’t fail me now. You’ll see. I might even meet my soulmate.”

Sloane sighed in resignation. “Well, if you won’t stay with me, and you won’t take me with you, I’ll just talk your ear off as you drive.”

“Fine with me. It’s glorious out here. Makes for a relaxing drive.” Caro opened the sunroof, letting the breeze toss her sun-streaked corkscrew curls.

“What’re you going to do out there? This place is west of East Podunk. How in God’s name did you find it?”

“On Airbnb. The picture’s online. And it was a sweet deal.” She stopped mid-sentence and gasped, gazing at the marshes. “Sloanie, you should  see this view. The greens and blues.”

“Eyes on the road before you end up in a ditch.” Sloane barked. “You still haven’t told me what you’re going to do with all that time on your hands. I don’t want you getting depressed, mooning over Chris.”

“Farthest thing from my mind. I brought my computer. They promised decent internet. I’ll do research for the next book. A couple of days world-building.”

“So exciting.”

“Don’t be a pain.” Caro rolled her eyes even though she knew Sloane couldn’t see her.

‘Continue on Route 17S another five miles. While you’re in Beaufort County, visit the Carolina Cider Company. It has pink-icinged cider donuts to match your walls. And they know how to make an oatmilk double-shot latte.’

“Did you hear that?” Sloane asked, her panicked voice loud through the mic.

“What?”

“The GPS. After the directions, they said to go to some bakery or something. It was so weird.”

“So, they’re making recommendations to travelers. What’s weird about that?”

“Nothing, except they mentioned your walls and described your latte, just like you like it.”

“GPS is pulling order information from my phone history. Nothing strange about that.”

“And the reference to your walls?”

“You probably heard wrong. You’re such a scaredy cat!”

“Maybe.” Sloane paused. “Have you spoken to Chris?”

Caro went quiet. Sloane was her best friend, but they had all been close friends during school.  Navigating between Sloane and Chris was going to be hard.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him. Haven’t seen much reason to, but sometimes, I feel like someone’s watching me. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was him.”

“Creepy. But I don’t think that’s his modus.”

“You’re probably right. He’s more likely to ghost me for the next ten years, then run me over in the parking lot if he sees me at Walmart.”

”You’re sick.”

‘In 200 feet, take the next right onto Lands End Lane’

“GPS says the house is near here, but I think I may have made a wrong turn.” Caro slowed the car to a crawl as the canopy of live oaks closed in around the narrowing road.

“What’s happening? You got real quiet.“

“Yeah. Just feels like I’m going to the ends of the earth. It’s really dark back here.”

“If it doesn’t look safe, then turn around.”

“You are such a fraidy cat. It’s just the live oaks and Spanish moss. Imagine it at night—a full moon, howling hounds of horror, creaking stairs, scratching at the door!

“Stop, that’s not funny. There could be a real sicko who owns the house.”

“Sure. Waiting to lure me in and hack me up! Don’t be silly. The trees are just blocking the light.”

‘You are almost at your destination. Signal lost. Recalibrating’

“Caro, are you sure about this? Does it look safe?” The broken connection distorted Sloane’s voice so Caro only caught every other word.

“Sloanie, you still there?” Caro asked over the crackling phone .

“Can you hear me? Caro?” Sloane’s voice boomed and then receded as Caro made her way down the shadowed lane.

The looming trees slowly gave way to a clearing. Caro pulled her car in front of a picture-perfect, gingerbread-looking, low country, shotgun single with a white picket fence and flowering rose bushes.

‘You are at… Signal lost.’

Caro could hear strains of Sloane’s voice in the background as she surveyed the house and grounds.

“Damn!” The connection seemed to get worse as she exited the car. She circled the vehicle several times, phone in hand, trying to position the device to catch a signal without result.

“This is impossible,” she said to no one in particular. “And unworkable.”

For a moment, she considered entering the house, her foot on the entry stairs.

“But what’s the point? Spotty connection means bad internet, so no work. That was the whole reason for this trip! Well, at least partly.” She continued to vent, waving her arms in frustration. The little house seemed to listen in sympathy.

Caro thought she saw an upstairs curtain move just as Sloane broke through, “Caro, can you hear me?”

“Barely. This is messed up. I can’t work like this. I’m heading back to the main road.”

‘Signal lost.”

“Damnation!” Caro muttered as she turned the car around and drove until she reached Route 17 and reception.

“Caro! Caro, answer me, damn it!”

Caro could hear Sloane clearly now and could tell she was close to hysterics.

“I’m here. Chill out. I’m heading to Beaufort. Maybe I can find a room there—not as bucolic as that place was but I know they’ll have internet. “

Sloane exhaled deeply. “Thank goodness you’re okay. I’m pulling up places on bookings.com now.”

Caro could hear the rhythmic tapping of the computer keys.

“Just booked you at Cuthbert House. Sent you the pin location.  Pay when you check in.”

“You’re the best. I still get my weekend away. And I can get some work done. Losing seventy-five bucks is worth it for decent reception.“

“Maybe it’s a sign you weren’t supposed to stay there.”

“Sloane, there was nothing wrong with that place except crappy reception.”

‘Turn left onto Rt 17 north toward Beaufort. You should be at your destination in 29 minutes.’

“All the same, call me when you get in.”

“I will. Thanks. Love you.”

                                                                                ***

“Damn! So close.”

He gave a guttural sigh as he watched the car turn around and head back down Lands End Lane. He adjusted the curtain again and reached for his computer,  pushing aside the large carving knife he had chosen from those on the sideboard.

He had let Siri do the reconnaissance for him; he liked the result. A lovely pageant girl turned professional woman. Tall, thin with a winning smile and lovely corkscrew curls. Siri had let him see the perfect pink of her bedroom walls, had let him hear the southern lilt in her voice. She should have listened when TikTok told her to cover her camera and turn off her computer at night. He had hoped to get to know her better when she visited. Oh well!

“Charming bungalow set among  Spanish moss, live oaks and low-country marshes. Quiet, secluded spot– perfect for writers! Book now before it’s gone.”

He pushed the button to repost the advertisement, smiling smugly at the picture of the darling gingerbread shotgun with the picket fence. He would let Siri and GPS do the legwork for him again this time.

“We’ll catch one yet! Yes, next time…”