September 12 is a special day for our family, as it is my husband’s birthday. My day is filled with fun like a homemade pancake breakfast, apple picking, and lots of family time, but thankfully my friend Laurel helped me out today and wrote this writing prompt. Thanks, Laurel!
“Mom, can you teach me how to crochet?” Janet asked.
“Can you teach me how to build a house?” asked Kevin.
“I’m sorry Janet. We have lots of things to do until the house is ready for guests. Why don’t you come and help me bake the cake?”
“Can I help Dad fix the car instead?” Kevin asked.
“That would be wonderful,” their mother said. “And Janet, you should clean your room before the guest come. You know how little Bess likes to crawl and sometimes she gets into your room.”
Janet sighed and walked to her room.
Their mother walked back into the kitchen and put the cake into the kitchen to bake.
The guests arrived at the same time the cake finished baking, so Kevin and Janet brought the guests into the house.
Janet and Kevin’s mother open the door to the oven and inside was clearly not a cake!
I wonder what is inside the oven… Please post answers here, and if you see my husband, please wish him a happy birthday!
It wasn’t a pie, either. It was a letter.
Janet reached down and grabbed the letter. She opened it and read it.
“WATCH OUT! OR YOU WILL SUFFER!”
“The guests are in the dining room, Mom,” said Kevin, walking into the room. “Wow, is that a… Mom, what’s wrong?”
I like it Ella! It has a mysterious ending. It seems like it should be a prompt!
It was a . . . computer? Janet, holding little Bess, came into the room. Her eyes were wide open when she saw the computer.
“A computer?” Janet asked.
“Computer,” little Bess said..
“Yes, a computer in the oven after I put a cake in.” Janet’s mother said.
“Why is it so silent in the kitchen, Marcy?” asked little Bess’s mom, Bess.
“Oh, we prefer a silent house, that’s all.” Marcy, Janet’s mom said.
As was what was hoped for, Bess did not look in the kitchen.
“Janet, keep little Bess in here.” Marcy instructed.
Little Bess was too close the the oven that she reached out her little chubby hand and touched the computer. Because little Bess did not cry, Marcy figured it must not be hot, so she picked it up and opened it. On the screen it read:
Surprise! Happy birthday, Marcy!
Love,
Marky
Mark was Marcy’s husband, but Marcy called him Marky because his name was almost like her own name.
“What does it say?” Janet asked.
“It says: Surprise! Happy birthday, Marcy! Love, Marky.” Marcy said.
How did Mark do that? Did he put the computer into the cake? Marcy had no idea, but she was going to find out!
Sorry, in the prompt it says: Their mother walked back into the kitchen and put the cake into the kitchen to bake. I put kitchen, not oven!
Mother gaped inside the oven, awestruck. Was that really what she thought it was? Mother moved closer, taking cautious steps towards the oven. She stuck her head in the oven opening. It was indeed what she thought it was: a bomb. Mother stood there gazing at it, her head swarming with terrible thoughts. What should she do? Remove the bomb from the house and watch it blow up in the street, probably damaging her house and the neighboring houses? Call the police? Take her children and guests outside? Mother decided to call the police. She rushed to the telephone, pushing a few cups of water onto the tiled floor. She turned the dial of the phone hastily, then put the phone to her ear and mouth. Not long after that did someone answer.
“Hello. My name is Carol Shell. I’m calling because there is a bomb in my oven,” Mother said, almost to quick for the person on the other end to catch.
“A what?” a high-pitched sharp voice asked.
“A bomb. My address is 311 Sunnybush road. Goodbye,” Mother said, slamming the phone down in desperation. “Now I need to evacuate the house!” Mother told herself.
She rushed out of the kitchen and ran to the living room. There she found the Quails, their guests for the evening, Janet, Kevin, and Father. She clung to the door post, gasping for breath, for the way from the kitchen to the living room was long.
“What is it, Carol?” Father asked, a sound of worry in his voice.
“Evacuate,” Mother said sharply.
“Why? What’s the matter?” Father asked, standing up.
“I don’t need to tell you now. Just get out of the house. And quick!” Mother said.
Janet and Kevin, who were playing with little Bess scrambled to their feet. Mrs. Quail grabbed little Bess and plopped her on her hipp. Mr. Quail also stood up, following Mrs. Quail. Mother and Father followed the small, confused party to the main door where they got out of the house. The group was still too close to the house, so Mother brought them close to the road.
“Now explain,” Father ordered.
Mother nodded grimmly, not giving her warm, comforting smile that meant everything was alright. “Well, I was baking a cake for our guests,” Mother guestered to the Quails. “And when the timer beeped on the oven, and opened the oven door. I didn’t find the cake.” Mother paused, thinking about how it happened. How did it happen? How could something just appear?
“Go on, Carol,” Father encouraged, impatiently.
“Well, there was a bomb,” Mother said.
“Did you call the police?!” Father asked hurriedly.
“Yes, I did Marcus. Infact, I made a ruckus getting over to the telephone because I was so careless.”
Father shook his head. “How? How did it work? How did a bomb get in-” Sirens interrupted Father’s question. They wailed loudly, making little Bess cover her ears, showing that she might cry any minute.
“Aw Bessy-Bess, don’t cry,” Mrs. Quail said, soothing little Bess.
“I am terribly sorry that this happened, I would never of dreamed-”
“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Shell,” Mr. Quail assured her. “It wasn’t you who made this happen, so why should you blame yourself?”
Before Mother could answer, one police car pulled up to the curb and two police officers jumped out of the car.
“Bomb, eh?” one police officer with dark brown hair asked.
Mother nodded nervously. “In the oven.”
“That is a queer place to put a bomb,” the other police officer observed. His black hair was slickly combed to one side of his head.
Father nodded. “And, the bomb, if you can believe it, was there instead of a cake.”
At this, the black haired police officer raised his eyebrows. “Please, relate this whole story to us.”
Mother chatted anxiously to the police officers, telling them about everything. The brown haired police officer wrote down everything she said.
“Now,” the brown haired police officer. “Ain’t we gonna get in that house and check that bomb? I get twitchy standin’ around.”
“Yes, good idea,” the black haired man said. “But first, we will exchange names.”
“My name is Carol Shell,” Mother said.
“I’m Marcus Shell. This is my daughter Janet, and my son Kevin,” Father said.
“My name is Hunter Quail, and this is my wife, Julie,” Mr. Quail said.
“Bess,” little Bess blurted out.
The black haired man smiled. “I am Officer Elijah.”
“And I,” the brown haired man said. “Am Isaiah. Officer Isaiah.”
“And now that we’ve down that,” Officer Elijah began. “We’ll go to your house.”
Officer Isaiah and Officer Elijah ran up to the house, and fished through the large home until they found the kitchen. They found it quite messy.
“Where’s that oven?” Officer Isaiah asked.
“Over here,” Officer Elijah called, crouching in an uncomfortable position. “And even more, there isn’t a bomb!”