Storm Catcher

By N J Crosskey

(Originally published by The Teacup Trail)

Someone had stolen Aurora’s thunder. She had kept it in a jar under her bed precisely to prevent that sort of thing. She’d heard tell of the thunder thieves, the grown-ups talked of them sometimes when they thought she wasn’t listening. It had somehow happened to Aunt Lucy at her engagement party, perhaps she had been distracted by all the merriment and the robbers had taken advantage. Mrs Dante down the road had fallen prey to the crime whilst giving a speech at the country club, but for some reason her parents had been pleased to hear of her misfortune.

Aurora had no idea why thunder was such a valuable commodity, but she had reasoned that if it was worth stealing then it must be treasure. She had no other treasures, apart from Heidi, who she had to admit was not ageing very well. Despite seven cosmetic surgery procedures she was still greying at the edges and leaking stuffing.

So she had carefully removed an old jam jar from the kitchen bin and washed it thoroughly with detergent until it sparkled. Cloaked in bubble wrap she tucked it in her school bag and waited for her chance.

Eventually the storm clouds and skewers of lightning came. She didn’t notice the confused looks of the passers-by as she held her jar aloft, grinning in the rain, waiting for the clap. As the heavens roared she let the glorious bounty flow into her glass container before slamming on the lid and screwing it tightly. She had run home, watching over her shoulder for weather looters.

Her prize had sat safely nestled in between old teddy bears and the clothes she would grow into Someday. Each evening before sleep and every morning before rising she lifted the valance to peek at her pride and joy. There was a stark beauty in the apparent emptiness, a promise of invisible fortune. She often wondered what she would do with her riches when the day came to find a buyer. Such a perfect growl of the gods, she was certain it was the finest specimen anyone had ever captured. Perhaps she would buy a boat, sail out to sea where the storms seemed even mightier, a hundred jam jars rolling on the poop deck.

But the dream was over. Returning home from school she found nothing but neatly folded jumpers under her bed, and a chasm of carpet where once her aspirations had resided. Her mother heard her wails of despair and rushed to her room, fearing some grievous misadventure had happened, which of course it had. Aurora beseeched her to call the police, a crime had been committed!

Her mother wrapped her in soap-scented arms and caught her tears with cotton sleeves as she listened to the tale of woe. Then the confession came. There were no criminals to arrest, no robbery had occurred. She herself had given Aurora’s treasure to the dustcart, along with several bags of broken toys and torn dresses. Aurora had been so consumed with her grief that she hadn’t noticed the order that had replaced the chaos in her room. Or that Heidi sat atop her pillow grinning, new dress and neatly stitched seams.

Stroking her hair and calming her sobs Mother told her of the real thunder. You couldn’t catch it in a jar, or any other earthly vessel. It came from inside you.

Aurora hugged Heidi tightly and accepted her mother’s olive branch of cookies. She wondered how she could make the thunder grow inside herself, and how best to protect it.

No one could discern the sound of the discarded jam jar breaking amongst the constant crash and churn of the landfill. But everyone in the vicinity remarked how peculiar it was to hear a solitary clap of thunder on such a cloudless day.

N J Crosskey is an author, mother, and caffeine junkie from Worthing, West Sussex. She writes novels, short stories, flash fiction and poetry, in between working night shifts and raising her two children. Her debut novel Poster Boy will be released in Spring 2019 (from Legend Press), you can follow her on Twitter @NJCrosskey.