Teagan's Books

Saturday, April 18, 2026

Hello, all.  It’s time for another writing exercise.  Last week I asked everyone to participate by commenting with “locations” for the small desert town where this story takes place.  Rebecca Budd mentioned several “places” and one of them was a dry creek bed.  That made me realize that I should divide this exercise, because outdoor locations can develop a story in different ways than structural places (like businesses or other organizations). So when we get to exercise-3, it will feature a place of that type.  This means you’re welcome to leave more business/organization ideas in comments. Just remember, Cronesboro is a truly small, rural town and it’s in the desert.  As such it wouldn’t have some of the amenities to which you are accustomed. 

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Back to the creek… Since these are exercises, let me point out that Rebecca’s “dry creek bed” could potentially influence this story in the future.  When an author uses a geographic or topological feature in the setting of a story, it can be leveraged later on to add elements of “man against nature.” 

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Also, the dry creek bed reminded me of something people who have never lived in the Southwest probably don’t know.  Sometimes, areas or towns that haven’t seen rain for weeks can get flooded when there is lot of rain or snowmelt from higher elevations or the mountains. Hopefully that water courses down an arroyo (and one that is unblocked and big enough to handle the flow), which may be manmade or natural — like a dry creek bed.  I was reminding myself of those things when I chose the creek’s name… which you’ll see when you keep reading.

By the way, to read the previous installment, click here.

 Buckle up!  We’re driving into Cronesboro.

The Dragons of Cronesboro: 2

Welcome to Cronesboro

The orange sun descended toward the horizon, and the purple bruise of twilight was close on its heels.  The petite deputy’s wisecrack about me speeding because I’d been chased by a vampire got under my skin.  I kept glancing at the small rearview mirror of the 1937 Ford, looking for the strange shape that seemed to have pursued me.

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“I’m being ridiculous,” I muttered to the still caterwauling Siamese inside the carrier next to me.  “It had to be some kind of bird…  Maybe a vulture.  Ah!  More likely a raven.  They’re huge.  Ravens look a lot like crows, so maybe they like shiny things too.  It was probably attracted to this silver car.”

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With a plausible explanation firmly in mind, I relaxed my shoulder muscles and tilted my head side-to-side to stretch my neck.  Occupied with that, I didn’t see the dip in the road.  The car banged hard against the pavement.

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Shit! I thought and stopped the car to check for damage.

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The front wasn’t dented, and nothing was leaking from underneath.  I straightened, and gazing toward the remnants of the setting sun I saw that the dip in the road was aligned with a dry creek bed.  The neon aqua-blue of a ball cap caught my eye, where it lay in the dirt.  It wasn’t the only piece of litter though, so I thought nothing of it.  I got back into the car and continued on to my new address.

Moments later Tiamat had finally gotten quiet — just as we reached the house.  Thankfully, an automatic porch light flicked to life as twilight sank closer to dark.  Cat carrier in hand, I put a foot on the front porch steps.  Abruptly, the Siamese growled.  It was a low but long sound that steadily escalated in intensity and volume.

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“Just in time.  I’ve got your water delivery, if you can let me inside,” a man greeted me from the shadows of the covered porch.

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“You’re at the wrong address,” I called out to him.  “I haven’t subscribed to any delivery service.”

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He stepped into the pool of lamplight and gave me a tight-lipped smile.  Powerfully built, he easily held a five-gallon bottle of water on one shoulder.  The aqua-blue uniform shirt strained across his muscles.  It was several sizes too small, and almost looked comical.  He was kind of scraggly and unattractive, despite the muscles.  Yet there was something about him… something that inexplicably drew me.

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Eyeing the unlikely seeming delivery man curiously, my lips parted and I tried to speak.  However, I couldn’t find words.

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“Could I go inside?” he asked again, beginning to sound impatient.

Before I could drag my brain out of its odd entropy, I became aware of people walking toward me.  They must have come from the little casita that was behind the house.  The estate agent had mentioned that there was a tenant.  I was fine with that, because it would be a source of income for me.

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It was an older woman who carried a cane more than she actually used it.  The walking stick had a silver tip and an ornate silver handle.  Beside her was an attractive middle-aged man.  Rolled up sleeves and a toolbelt marked him as a handyman.

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To my surprise, they confronted the delivery man.

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“What do you think you’re doing?  How did you even get here?” the old woman demanded, pointing at him with her cane.

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That seemed like an odd way to phrase the question.  Besides, his delivery van was parked under a big mulberry tree just a little farther up from my car.

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The delivery guy must have thought it was strange too, because he drew back and glared at her when she held up that cane to point.  He took a step closer to me.

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When his gaze transferred from me to the woman, I staggered as if physically and abruptly released.  He had not been so near me a second before.  Had he?  Abruptly I realized that I was the one who had moved.  I had gone to the top of the stairs.

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Tiamat began moving around violently inside the crate.  The cat’s operatic yowls were loud enough for Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”

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The handyman stepped around the older woman and took a stride toward the porch stairs.  More agile than she appeared, the woman rushed behind him and grabbed his arm.

“Choose your battles, Ranger.  You’re no match for this one,” she told her companion.

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The handyman’s lips curled inward to a thin line.  He seemed as tight as an arrow waiting to be loosed from a crossbow.  He did not step back.  But he didn’t move forward either.

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The woman shifted the cane, holding it like a javelin ready to throw.  The silver tip reflected the red of the setting sun.

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At the same moment, I turned toward the sound of a police siren not too far away.  I got a queasy feeling in my stomach.  My mind flickered to the neon aqua cap I had seen.  It was the same color as the too-tight delivery company shirt the big man wore.

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My gaze returned to the strange-looking muscular man who stood a few inches away from me…  He was gone.

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Following the weird encounter with the delivery man, a brief conversation ensued with the older woman and the handyman.  Our talk was disjointed because of my bewilderment, as well as the shock they felt.  I wanted more information, so I invited them inside.

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“You should be more careful about who you invite into your home,” the woman remarked and her droll tone gave me the heebie jeebies.

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The handyman quietly took a call on his phone.  Then he shook my hand and introduced himself and the woman.  She was Marisol Ladon, and she was indeed the tenant of the casita.

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“Everyone just calls me Ranger,” he said of himself.  “And that’s my name, not a job title, and it’s got nothing to do with Yogi Bear,” he added with the flash of a smile.

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I was relieved to see that basic living room furniture had been left in the house.  It was in good condition too.  Marisol seated herself on one of two sofas, as if it was something she had done many times.  I decided that she must have been a close friend of Mrs. Askook, not simply a tenant.

Ranger, who had taken over Tiamat’s cat-carrier stepped over to a comfortable looking armchair while I excused myself to quickly set out a litterbox for the cat.  The laundry room was within easy reach, and it seemed like the ideal spot for the feline toilet.

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I hurried back to the living room to find that Marisol apparently knew the Siamese well.  She murmured the words “Welcome home” as she opened the crate’s door.  Out came a surprisingly calm cat, especially considering her theatrics throughout the drive.  Tail held high, Tiamat regally strolled around the room, sniffing every furniture leg and every human leg.

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Ranger glanced toward the window behind the cozy chair.  Only then did it register with me that he did not take a seat.  He seemed to catch the curious expression on my face.

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“The sherif will be here any minute now,” he commented mater-of-factly.

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Surprised by the combination of his words and his attitude, I didn’t know what to say.  Then I remembered the not-too-distant siren, and the phone call he had taken, or perhaps made.

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“A security drone got footage of you outside of your car, parked by Chaos Creek,” he went on and I shrugged mutely, but then I recalled the ballcap that had caught my attention where it lay in the dirt.

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“What does that have to do with… with anything?  I hit that dip in the road and stopped to make sure the car was okay,” I asked as the sound of slamming car doors reached my ears.

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“There was a dead body in the dry creek bed,” he replied evenly and moved to stand between me and the front door.

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As I was saying, the next exercise will help build-out the town of Cronesboro, with a “brick and mortar” location, or perhaps few of them.  Friendly comments are welcome.  Hugs!

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Oh, but wait!  Here’s the obligatory shameless self-promotion.  This is another urban fantasy in a small town — but it’s on the other side of the country.

Atonement, Tennessee

Universal Purchase Links

Series Link:  relinks.me/B087JV25JT

Kindle:  relinks.me/B00HGWKRA8

Paperback:  relinks.me/1481826948

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This blog is entirely human-written.  Furthermore, the author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication for purposes of training AI technologies to generate text.    This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2026 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

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