The Hut on the Hill

 /   /  By Emma Birches
Stone Soup Magazine
October 2018

By Linden Grace Koshland, Art by Hannah Parker

The ferocious waves slapped against the shoreline, spitting mist and bits of white foam into the crisp air. The gray clouds conquering the sky like a vast cotton blanket of darkness responded with the occasional crack of thunder. Rain beat down hard onto the backs of seagulls desperately searching for cover. The gloom was a plague that reached the toes of everything in the vicinity. Everything, that is, except a small wooden hut daintily perched atop a towering hill rising from the ocean. It observed the storm with a sort of wisdom and knowledge that pleased it, because it had lived a long life and knew many secrets. Its small form looked ready to be swept away by the wind like a miniscule piece of dust, but it sat firmly on the hill, proud of its resistance. A large oak tree curved over it, partially shading it from the merciless rain pelting from the heavens.

Inside the hut, a crackling fire burned merrily in the hearth, and a large, cushioned armchair stood invitingly before it. There was a cozy-looking four-poster bed in the corner of the single room, its colorful quilt pulled back and the mattress still warm. A kettle dangled before the fire, the hot water inside bubbling and boiling like children frolicking on a warm summer’s day, the pot whistling along, too. Over on the corner opposite the bed, a little table was placed with two sides against the wall, with windows bearing cheerful, yellow-flowered curtains directly above them. A single three-legged stool was beside the table, and the remains of a berry pie was on a china plate beside it. Near the table was a wooden cupboard, the door ajar. The door on the other side of the room swung open as if a ghost had entered, and, from outside, the pleasantly fresh smell of petrichor wafted in, signaling that the rain had lessened. Emerging from the clouds, the sun shone, a bright light illuminating all the earth. Out the window of the hut, a gorgeous rainbow arched across the sky, basking in the glory of both sun and rain. The little hut sighed and creaked slightly at the wonderful sight. What a great view, thought the hut. I hope another storm comes one day. And, with that, the hut gave a huge yawn and fell fast asleep. The floral curtains slid closed, the fire lessened to glowing embers, the kettle was still, and the covers of the bed slowly were pulled over the mattress. 

And although the hut was empty, it would always be full to the brim with memories of Home.

The Hut on the Hill Linden Grace Koshland

Linden Grace Koshland, 11
Berkeley, CA

Hannah Parker Window to Another World

Hannah Parker, 13
Burlington, VT

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