The Recluse Storyteller by Mark W Sasse

intensified.
    “‘Papa, I saw a light this morning. Across the sky.’
    “He nodded. She panted loudly.
    “‘Papa, you came from up there?’ she asked in a tired whisper of a person nearly breathing her last breath.
    “Her father nodded again softly.
    “‘I must get Gwen,’ said Georgia as she drunkenly stood up, staggered away from the table, and quickly started running around the tree.
    “‘Georgia, be brave. Be brave,’ admonished her father.
    “‘Gwen! Gwen! Papa is here. Come. Come quickly!’”
     
    * * *
     
    Margaret yelled out the last line with the force of a stage actress, while Sam and Pam sat mesmerized on the couch, a half-eaten pint making them sick to their stomachs.
    “Ms. Pritcher,” asked Pam. “Is Georgia’s father for real?”
    Margaret adjusted the collar on her shirt and wiped a lonely tear from the corner of her eye. She didn’t want to open her eyes, or turn around because she was afraid nothing was there. Finally, she glanced briefly at the girls, smiled, and put her head back to rest, waiting for the next round of inspiration.
     
    * * *
     
    “I knew it. She’s out of her mind,” said Mrs. Trumble, who naturally was the first to indict Margaret once Reverend Davies told the complete tale of the grocery store incident.
    “Come on, now,” interjected Janice. “I’ll admit it is a little strange, but you have to understand that she’s a storyteller. She tells stories at random times.”
    “At the supermarket? She doesn’t know what she is doing,” Mrs. Trumble scrunched up her nose, unwilling to give any concessions. “I thought she could barely communicate. How can she tell stories?”
    “No, she’s an excellent communicator,” Mr. Tomsey said in her defense. “Superior, in fact.”
    “That’s written language.”
    “It’s still communication, so let’s be clear here. You said she couldn’t communicate, which is not true.”
    “Actually, I’ll admit that I have heard some of her stories before. I have listened from outside the door to her imaginative ranting from time to time. She is quite eloquent,” said Janice.
    “Well, of course. You’re her relative. You’re clearly going to support her,” retorted Mrs. Trumble in a searing voice.
    Janice shook her head and snapped a quick glare towards Mrs. Trumble.
    “Well, if you think I will be anything but fair here …” Janice replied indignantly.
    “Okay, let’s not jump down each other’s throats,” soothed the reverend.
    “Just let her be,” said Cheevers, rolling his eyes in boredom at the over-zealous Mrs. Trumble.
    “Hear, hear,” seconded Mr. Tomsey.
    “Well, you weren’t there at the grocery store,” replied Mrs. Trumble.
    “Neither were you!” blurted out Cheevers.
    “I’m just saying that Reverend Davies wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t think it was important.”
    “She’s right,” said Reverend Davies. “Before Margaret’s mother died, she asked me to help Margaret in whatever way I could. I’ve written her letters. I’ve tried to call her and visit her. She just hasn’t responded.”
    “Maybe she just wants to be left alone,” said Mr. Tomsey, also getting tired of what the apartment grudge match.
    “I think that’s the problem,” continued the reverend. “She’s alone all the time. She has, perhaps, created this alternative world that she uses as a means of escape. And that’s fine and all, but she’s crossing the line. Things are getting blurred, and now it’s affecting others. We can’t just turn a blind eye to people in need.”
    Everyone sat quietly—the first lull in quite some time.
    “How many people in today’s world have become completely cut-off from others? Our society has created a generation of people who are afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to offend, afraid to cause inconvenience that we don’t even bother to get know our neighbors. Our society has become so ‘me’ driven that we are losing our sense of neighborhood, let alone