Call it Instinct – A Short Story

Hope surveyed the aisles of the convenience store critically. Maybe, she thought, walking from the cereals to the fridge, if the milk was closer to the cereals, people would buy both. Or they’d consider this store more of a place to run light grocery errands.

“What do I always say, Hope?” asked Aunt Enid with a tone of exasperation.

“Don’t leave anything on your plate?” guessed Hope, writing her latest idea for the store in the notebook that never left her side.

“No,” Aunt Enid said firmly. “Well, yes. Waste not, want not. But I always say this…Don’t think too much. I see that look in your eyes and I know you’re plotting something for the store.”

“I have an idea to improve it!” Hope said eagerly. “People think they can only come here to buy snacks. Business would get even better if they started considering this a place to grab quick groceries…”

Her cousin Peter cut her off gently. “Er, yes. We can all agree that your instincts are sounder than anyone’s, Hope. It’s just that, well…”

“Your overeager execution of your own great ideas is bound to fail,” her Uncle Nils finished. He never minced words.

Even Hope could acknowledge that this was true. It was unfortunate. Her instincts were always right. She was simply incapable of doing anything with those instincts.

“The store is doing just fine,” emphasized Peter. “Every time you try to make an idea happen, we end up having a loss instead of the promised profit.”

Hope shrugged.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Aunt Enid told her, as they prepared to leave, “Your instincts are still the best in the game.”

Hope sat at the register, bored and spinning her chair in a circle, looking at the ceiling. This was just a summer job, before her senior year of high school. Her real ambition was to be a detective, and she knew she had the instinct for it. Now, if only she could learn to do something right with those instincts…

Her musings were interrupted by a crash and loud honking from outside the store. She ignored it for a moment, as such distractions had to be tuned out in New York City. But instinct told her to look up and be prepared, and she’d barely turned to the door when a masked person holding money bags burst in through the door.

“Hey!” cried Hope, leaping to her feet, “Stop!”

The guy grabbed energy drinks from a refrigerator rack and ran out the door. It all happened within a few seconds. Before Hope could do anything else, he was gone, leaving only a few bills floating gently down from where the money bags were a moment before.

It was a day later.

“The police say the robber is someone who lives in the Fourth Street apartment complex!” Peter cried, throwing the latest newspaper on the dining room table, splattering coffee everywhere. He threw his mother an apologetic look and began wiping up the coffee with a wet rag.

“Fourth Street!” Hope said, flipping through the story about the robbery. “That’s two blocks away, isn’t it?”

Uncle Nils turned on the coffeepot again. “Very close. But I hear from Cousin Thomas with the police that they’re no closer to catching the culprit. No one knows who it could be.”

“You take some rest today, Hope,” said Aunt Enid, warmly. “And I thank the Lord that our Hope didn’t get harmed when that robber ran into the store…”

With everyone gone to their respective business, Hope sat alone at the kitchen table, pondering. If the police were stumped, perhaps she could do something to help. After all, she did have that ineffable instinct.

She wound her way slowly over to the Fourth Street Apartment Complex.

But how would she go room to room, to find the crook?

Hope knocked on the first door, which was opened by a tired man in a night watchman’s uniform. She knew by instinct that this wasn’t the one.

“Sorry, wrong room!” The night watchman was so tired that he didn’t question a thing, stumbling blearily off to sleep.

The next few, Hope passed over without even checking. She just knew the robber  wasn’t there. The next one she knocked on was number 15. Inside was an elderly lady, mixing a floury bowl. “Hi!” said Hope brightly, “I’m a student journalist, I’d love to talk about-”

“Now is not a good time, dearie,” said the lady, trying to wipe flour off her glasses, “Perhaps you can come back another day?”

Hope, knowing that this apartment wasn’t the one she was looking for, headed off without a murmur.

The next one was the winner. Without knocking she knew- it was an instinct. She could hear someone pushing furniture around inside.

As she walked back home, she called Cousin Thomas.

“Thanks for the tip, Hope,” he said, “but how do you know?”

“Just an instinct,” she replied.

Cousin Thomas came to dinner the next day. “You were right!”

“You’re a detective?” asked Peter curiously. “You literally only have instincts. No common sense, no nothing!”

“In this field,” said Hope, “Instincts might be all I need.” 🪂