Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Final Farewell

Another prompted piece with Master Class Monday   at Our Write Side

We sat on the shore. No moon lit the night, as we nestled against each other shivering as the lake rippled in front of us. Its wavelets invisible in the dark.

There was no where left to run. 

Our arms bruised by scraping against the trees behind us. Knees bleeding through our jeans from multiple falls while tripping through the underbrush. 

Pursuers just steps behind away.

It had begun so routinely. A night out, no celebration, just a trip for something to eat. We hadn't reached our destination when we became aware of the footsteps behind us.

We stopped to look back, nothing to be seen. The steps stopped, just like in the movies.

We’re just imagining things, we said to each other. And started on our way again.

As did the steps.

We picked up our pace from a stroll to a fast walk. Finally to a run.

There was no traffic, the light from street lamps seemed dimmer than they should have been. They gave nothing away of the beasts behind us.

We pounded on doors. Though we heard movement inside, no one answered our screams for help.

So we continued to run.

The tiny woods enclosed us before we realized it. Initial panic was relieved by the thought we could lose them in the darkness. Until the branches cracked too close behind us. 

Then came the race to escape blindly through the maze of trees.

By the time we reached the lake we understood they had just been toying with us. They could have had us at any time. 

So we sat shivering on the shore. Holding each other, we whispered tearful goodbyes.

As we waited for the opulent sunrise to burn our flesh away.

Thursday, October 22, 2015


 This little bit of whimsy was prompted by the Coldly Calculating  prompt at Our Write Side.
I really enjoy the choices they offer! 

After their near damnation experience in the last house they’d infested, Joe and Charlie were relaxing in dubious comfort in a cluttered attic.

“Joe, what you want to do next? Scratching inside the walls or opening all the cabinet doors?”

“I wanna take a break, Charlie. We got plenty of time.”

“I’m bored Joe.”  

“Jeez Charlie. Let me catch my breath.” Joe sighed deeply. “By the way, dude, you still stink of sweet grass.”

“I do not!” Charlie sniffed his arm and down the length of his tail. “Well, maybe that witch singed my tail fork when she shoved that burning bundle up the chimney after me.”

Ignoring Charlie, Joe started poking through one of the many boxes and suitcases stashed around the cramped space. Pawing through one lightly damaged trunk, he pulled out a shiny black cape.

“Look, Charlie. Halloween costumes.” Charlie joined him, grabbing a piece of fabric  

“Wow, Joe! We can use these to scare the you know who outta the family here!” Charlie draped a yellowed toga over his head. “Booooo!”

“Look what you did! You snagged it on your horns, man.” Joe grabbed garment and threw it on the growing pile of clothing. “You need to take better care those, you don’t want to end up with a hang-horn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I could polish ‘em too.” Charlie stuck his head back into the nearly empty trunk. “Hey, what’s that?” Charlie reached for a small leather covered case at the bottom. 

Joe slapped his hand, “Gimme that. I was here first.”Joe lifted the lid, the rusty hinges on the side protested only mildly. A rectangle of black velvet covered the contents. Joe unceremoniously brushed it aside. 

“Augh!” Joe dropped the case and contents back to the bottom of the trunk.

“What man!  What’s wrong.” Charlie peeked over the edge, “Holy Hell!” eyes wide, he scuttled backwards. At the bottom of the trunk, a silver handled athame lay haphazardly atop its case.

“Of all places, we wander into a nest of Wiccans.” Joe started to pace, “We need to get outta here, they figure out we’re here and who knows what kind of three ring circus they'll stir up.”

“Joe, calm down, if they was practicing, this stuff wouldn’t be up here, now would it?” Charlie looked nervously over his shoulder despite his words.

“Okay, yeah, you're probably right. They wouldn’t put something like that up here.” Joe closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to pull himself together. “We should move on anyway. Who knows what other…”

“Too late, boys.” The voice emanated form a dark shadow at the top of the attic stairs. “However you're right about the athame, there are no Wiccans practicing here. At least, not anymore. Their toys do come in handy though.” The speaker stepped forward revealing a teen-aged girl in full goth regalia. 

“It’s a great early warning system, and…led you right into our trap.” As she spoke the girl bent and poured salt before her feet.

“Trap? What trap?” Joe had been taking the measure of the youngster and was building energy for a powerful demonic counter attack.

“Look around silly. You were so interested in rummaging through the garbage you missed the pentagram.” She grinned in delight. “And I just closed it.”

Joe barely heard as he loosed a fireball. Which immediately bounced back. Charlie yelled as he ducked the blazing missile. “OhmySatanohmySatanohmySatan!”

Joe drooped, out of the frying pan into hell. “So, what now?”

“Glad you asked,” she said brightly, “I’m Lily by the way. My friends and I have a job for you. It needs done tonight, so enough with chit-chat, come along now.”

“Tonight? How did you know you'd catch a demon tonight?”

“Sillies. Who do you think called that ghost hunter to the last house.” She skipped out of the room, Joe and Charlie dragged along by her spell. “And one of you stinks.”

Charlie muttered, “I do not.” 

Monday, October 19, 2015

Mission Canceled

This time I linked up with the Coldly Calculating prompt from Our Write Side.
I may have missed the "chilling" mark, just a little. 

Joe and Charlie huddled together in the corner. Ears tuned to the distant footsteps and mutterings of their pursuers.

It seemed they’d been slipping from one hiding spot to another for hours. Scurrying from room to room trying to stay one step ahead. 

“We need to move again soon, Joe!”

“I know, man. They’re closing in again. I can smell the stink of their torches.”

The pair looked around wildly, seeking another safe place to hunker down. They stifled gags induced by the overwhelming odor of the leader’s smoking brand. Their hearts lurched as she screeched to her minions, “They’re in there! We have them now!”

With moments before the hunting party cut off their retreat, Joe and Charlie darted across the floor to the door. 

“C’mon Charlie, down these stairs. We’ll lose them in the cellar.”

Coughing through the foul haze, the escapees stumbled down the steps.

“Where to now, Joe? We’re trapped!”

“Shut up! Here get under the stairs.”

The floor boards creaked overhead. Voices filtered down, “Where’d they go? Did they get out?”

“No, they’re still here. Up to the second floor! We’ll find them, they can’t hide from us forever.” Rushing footsteps faded farther into the house.

In the ensuing silence Joe and Charlie crept out from under the stairs. Listening intently for any movement they quietly climbed the steps and peered into the empty hall.

Joe whispered, “They're on the top floor now, Charlie. I think we lost them.”

“I don’t know Joe, it still reeks down here. I don’t think we’re outta the woods yet.”

“Shh, this way, c’mon.”

They stepped cautiously into a library. Over stuffed chairs cluttered the floor. Bookcases lined all but one wall filled by a  massive fireplace.

The pair jumped in unison at the scream outside the door, “Aha! We have you now!” Pounding feet filled the room.

Charlie shrieked, “Joe! What now?” 

Joe grabbed Charlie’s arm, dragging him to the hearth. He scattered ashes as he leapt into the flue, Charlie on his heels. Reaching the top, Joe pulled himself out the chimney and onto the roof.

“Hurry Charlie!”

“I’m stuck, Joe! I cant get through!”

“Give me your hand!” Joe pulled mightily, finally freeing his partner. Charlie’s release from the chimney resulted in an audible pop. The two slid down the roof and tumbled to the lawn.

“You could use to lose some fat there, Charlie.” Joe brushed himself off then sped ahead, Charlie right behind. As they ran for the street they heard the triumphant bellow of their hunter.


Joe paused to turn around and make an obscene gesture before trotting on down the road. 

Charlie puffed to keep up, almost tripping over his forked tail. “What now, Joe?”

“I don’t know yet, Charlie. Hey! Look over there, that place looks likely!”

Charlie sighed, “Back to square one.”

Friday, October 16, 2015

Moonlight Mime

My offering for Master Class Monday, from Our Write Side

Donna couldn’t sleep. Too much on her mind. Too many decisions left undecided.

After lying awake staring into darkness, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her toes rooted about the carpet seeking her fluffy gray slippers.

Feet embraced, she shrugged into her robe and shuffled to the kitchen. As she filled a glass of water from the tap, her gaze was drawn out the window.

The meadow behind the house was aglow with silvered moonlight. Enchanted, she let herself out the back door into the early fall night. The air was crisp, but not uncomfortably so. A light breeze carrying bits of leaf and pollen became a magical shower of light as the full moon reflected from countless surfaces.

She sipped her water, eyes captured by the meadow. There, a seductive sway of moonlit foxtails allowed to grow wild through the last lazy days of summer. Bowing into shadow with each gentle breeze, springing back to bathe in the sterling light.

Donna left the glass on the deck rail and tiptoed down the steps. She crossed the manicured back lawn and into the meadow.

The breeze wafted, grass swayed, silver and ebony. A dance of light and shadow. She unconsciously began to move with them in silent rhythm. Arms outstretched, she wove through the blades. Light and shadow. Her body responding, bowing to the shadow, lifting to the light.

Her eyes closed as she mimed the shush of leaves and whisper of foxtails.

She didn’t see them gather, wings spread to the caress of breeze. Iridescent spans reflecting the luster of the full moon.

They watched, timid of her presence. Then curious. When they discerned no threat, they joined.

Weaving and bowing. Swaying and bending. Silver to ebony, moon light to moon shadow.

As the dregs of wakefulness left her, she lay down amid the grasses and let sleep claim her. They covered her against the dew in blankets woven of spiderweb and thistledown. While she slept deeper than dreams, the Fae danced guard around her.