How Alethea vanished from the family picnic

5/30/26

This is a piece written using an image from Edward Gorey as a writing prompt—I love how Gorey hand-penned all his text! The story emerged as relatively odd, as is only right considering its origin. (Ref: “The Helpless Doorknob: A Shuffled Story” by Edward Gorey)

It was a family picnic, and it was everything a family picnic should be, in her view. The right kind of tables, the right kind of grass. The right kind of weather, and air, and sun. Alethea arrived in the fourth or fifth car, which was also just right. The basic decisions had already been made, still lots of small tasks to be done. Laying dishes out, rejoicing anew how “it all came together.” Chairs drawn up in uneven circles that migrated cheerfully in accordance with conversations unfolding during the day. Laugher, questions, stories. A busy hum punctuated by the picnic noises that belonged just as much as the voices—birds, car doors opening and shutting, shrieks from children running, dogs, distant chimes. Basking in the sights and the sounds, Aletha gazed up at the sun in the trees, setting the yellow green alight brilliantly and creating wildly swaying deep shadows.  

To her delight, Alethea suddenly saw a cat emerge from the darkness of the branches and drop noiselessly to the ground. It threaded its way along the edge of the wood, and paused mid-step as it neared the group of picnickers. It regarded Alethea wisely. It opened its mouth in a silent miaow, and looked away into the trees. Amused, Alethea got up from her chair and approached the cat, hoping to not startle it off. The cat seemed interested in her approach, and rubbed its head thoughtfully while it watched. When she was close enough to whisper a greeting, it rose up and turned back into its path. It glided along, turning every so often to look at Alethea, and she followed, caught up by the invitation. She trailed behind the cat around the outer edge of the wood, and was surprised to find how close they had been to a sidewalk leading right to a village center. She had not noticed this on the way into the park, but perhaps they had approached from the other side. 

The sun shone brilliantly as she continued to follow the cat—it cast a sharp, black, somehow silky shadow beneath it on the sidewalk—but the day was not hot. In fact, Alethea felt delightfully fresh as they walked along. They passed a cafe, and as the cat paused in the shade of the awning she saw inside a couple seated at the window, enjoying lunch. They had the relaxed look of long-time partners, and Alethea smiled. The cat went on. They passed a storefront post office and she thought, as she always did, of the satisfaction of placing a stamp precisely into the corner of the envelope she had mailed weekly to her mother and brother back home. For a long time the stamps were the kind you licked—she could recall still the taste of the glue—and then of course they changed to stick-ons. A bit less satisfying, but the newer art designs made for decisions to be looked forward to whenever it was time to buy a sheet. On the corner they passed a beautiful grey stone library, and she thought of her first real job.  No time to dwell on that, however—which perhaps was just as well—as the cat turned at the corner and Alethea was surprised again to see the main street buildings fade away from the sidewalk. 

Trees lined the verges, and the yards between houses grew larger and larger, and had varying kinds of gardens. Alethea stroked the leaves of a catmint border spilling over a stone wall, and she smelled her fingers contentedly. The cat kept steadily on, turning its head to take in a sight or a noise, but not slowing. Alethea took in the smells as they went—the grass, the air, the dirt. 

The path ahead dipped from view, and as they crested the slope Alethea was surprised yet again to see the sidewalk disappear into a sandy path that led far ahead to a beautiful stretch of white beach and then a brilliantly blue, calmly roiling sea. The cat waited for Alethea to catch up to it, and reached up a paw toward her. She bent down and it stepped into her arms. They stood together, in the flickering shadow of a tall, tall tree, looking toward the sunshine on the water and beginning to catch the salt smell on the breeze. 

“Grandma?” A young woman stood next to Alethea’s chair, and touched her knee. The old woman sat, eyes closed, the sun and shadows dapping her still face, and did not respond. 

That was how Alethea vanished from the family picnic—and it was everything it should be.