Like sky diving, judging a short story contest can be IS a real rush.

79 fridge-cool entries ended up being delivered to SWS‘s icebox, a chilled-out haul considerably up from last year’s debut comp. SCENIC WRITER’S SHACK is well-pleased to announce this year’s winners.

Cue the honor roll Jeeves, if you please…

When Jonathan told me to expect the fridge delivery at 11, I thought I’d still be able to duck out to our girl’s meet-up at noon at the wine-sauce pizza restaurant.

At eleven, I heard faint noises on the front porch. Sounded like pebbles kerplinking on the concrete, so I went to check. I found a perfectly miniature man mid-jump. “Trying to reach your doorbell!” He had a tinny, tiny voice.

My FLUMMOXED mind froze as if in protective mode, while behind the internal ice block it was trying to figure out what was going on. What I’m saying is that I probably didn’t even look shocked. Not even by his five comrades. They were larger than the Borrowers, but not two feet tall. “May I help you?”

“Here to deliver your new Whirlpool side-by-side refrigerator, ma’am.” He smiled with a great deal of charm.

“Um…” I didn’t know what else to say. Wouldn’t it be rude to tell him it wasn’t possible for them to carry a 300-pound carton? I did not want to insult him.

The man yelled out (if you can imagine a faint tinkly yelp) to his coworkers to haul in the fridge. That’s when I saw farther down the front path the box on its side, hooked up to ropes and harnesses, each small person finding their place around it. I couldn’t help but think of Gulliver trussed by the Lilliputians. Luckily, it was the appliance and not me in there.

This is the moment I should have produced an excuse, but my mind was still blanking.

The tinies started heaving, pulling, and puffing. I’ll be damned if they didn’t start singing “Heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go!” I felt as if my body pushed along with them. They didn’t move much faster than I did although I was standing still.

By eleven thirty, they were even with the tulip patch. At noon they first touched the door mat with the toes of their itsy-bitsy boots. By then I was texting like mad with Kim and Deb. I managed to surreptitiously snap and send a couple of shots of the team. My mind was clearing, and I half-realized the ridiculousness of the situation.

Trying to get that carton through the doorway was a trick. They YO-YOED back and forth as they tried to maneuver just the right angle. Then the fridge gave way and sailed into the front hallway.

I was standing there, repeatedly pushing the white dot on my cell camera. Unfortunately, I must have been knocked backwards by the impact. As I came to, I tried to feel my aching forehead but couldn’t get my arm to move.

Looking down, I saw that the ropes and harnesses had been transferred to me, tying me up securely. The tiny ones were nowhere to be seen. I lay on the floor waiting for Jonathan to come home, while searching my mind for a lesson in the whole fiddle-faddle of this experience.

Be sure to click back in NEXT WEEK when we showcase 2nd place winner Anne Wikins’ super sassy fridge tale –