Another stab at Master Class Monday at Our Write Side
Fiona ran through the forest. A stark landscape of naked trees and fresh snowfall kept her within full view of her pursuers. Her breath blew puffs of steam as her feet crunched the ice crusted snow. She didn’t dare look behind her. If she could see their eyes she knew it was the end of her run.
Her feet were numb, the boots not tall enough to keep the snow from soaking her socks. Bushes and fallen branches conspired to throw Fiona to the ground. Fear was her friend, it gave adrenal fueled strength to her tiring legs. But fear couldn’t change the landscape.
While Fiona scanned the ground in front of her, she failed to mark the sudden end of the tree-line. She tumbled down a steep bank and hit the frozen river hard. Scrambling on the icy surface, she regained her feet. Finally, she turned to look behind.
Most of the hunting party stood at the top of the bank. Two of their number carefully descended to the river’s edge and tested the footing before moving toward her.
She uttered a hopeless moan, then turned toward the opposite bank. She moved her feet in an awkward sliding run as the watchers laughed at her attempt to elude them. The two behind her didn’t move any faster. As she crossed the center she glanced between her feet and gasped at the view of running water only inches below the ice.
A groan sounded from beneath, ending her wide eyed stare and she pushed her body forward. Fiona threw herself across the ice as an ear shattering crack echoed along the river. The treacherous heaving of the failing ice propelled her forward. The water roared as the river broke through the frozen blanket. She raced the free flowing water across the ice. The small floe she stood upon tilted back toward the frigid depths. In terror she thrust her arms forward, grasping for a miracle, and found a low-hanging branch. She gripped the rough bark and dragged herself up the empty bank.
Over the sound of the rushing water she heard the screams of the pair that had followed her. Their cries punctuated by fainter curses from the other bank. She looked back as the river embraced the men and carried them downstream. She met the eyes of their captain across the gap, felt the hatred sharp as a physical blow.
Panting with exhaustion, Fiona broke the gaze and ran into the next forest of naked trees and fresh fallen snow.
I've missed Anne Marie. She whispers to me at night, it's time to let her out for a while.
My offering for Master Class Monday at Our Write Side
Anne Marie listened intently for a repetition of the cracking of leaves behind her. Though she heard no new sound, she silently circled back. The iron broadsword in her grip hummed in anticipation. She sniffed the air; was that a hint of fresh blood on the breeze?
From tree to tree she crept forward, homing in on the scent. As she neared her target she heard the whisper of soft breaths. And something else…rhythmic tapping, so soft she almost missed it.
Anne Marie stopped, a memory tickled at her. A thing forgotten, a thing she needed to know.
She tested the breeze again. The blood odor was thicker and foul. And another smell...sulfur. Her eyebrows rose as well as the hair at the nape of her neck.
With only the old iron blade, did she dare to confront the thing lying in wait? For it was certainly waiting for her.
Still soft, the tapping continued, insistent and no longer just ahead but all around.
‘Too late to turn back,’ she told herself, ‘she knows I’m here.’
Anne Marie stood straight and sheathed the sword.
Three more steps brought her into the circle. Its guardian smiled a welcome as it beckoned her to the center most spot.
She smirked back at the daemon; it wouldn’t be the first time she'd stood at the crossroad to oblivion. Nor would it be the last.
Linking again with Master Class Monday at Our Write Side with a bit of bizarre art.
Buddy supposed he ought to clean out the cellar. He'd left it it go far too long. It was part of the job he wasn’t going enjoy. The rest of the work was so fascinating. Watching the process happen kept him rapt with wonder and fair amount of pride.
The steps he followed with such meticulous care, from choosing the perfect specimen to knowing when to end the project. Over thinking and the subsequent tweaking had been the source of much disappointment early in his career.
Now he knew when to leave it alone and let nature finish the job. That was so evident in his latest work. Buddy stood in front of his masterpiece basking in the pleasure that results from a job well done.
He wanted desperately to share this one, it was that damned good.
Before he could set up the display he would absolutely have to dispose of the others. They would be too shoddy next to his latest.
He sucked a deep breath of resolve and grabbed his cleaning supplies along with a large stack of trash bags then bounded down the steps.
When Buddy flicked the light on its glow shone on the tangled pile stored in the corner. He released a sad sigh at the sight. How could he ever have thought them beautiful.
He reached the first of the pile. He'd had hope for this one. Her petite frame and sassy red hair had survived the drying process well, but as time went on her skin had continued to shrink. The result was protruding joints, particularly knees and elbows. As she shrunk, her body hair proved to be difficult to maintain.
He shook his head, over thinking had been his downfall. As he toiled through the pile he giggled. His works resembled a mound of gnarled monkeys. Knobby joints on withered limbs covered in coarse hair.
He had finally realized the obvious, remove the hair right after death. And the most important part, make sure to let them drink all the water they wanted before killing them. Keep that hide plumped and then dry them out slowly. That kept the natural shrinkage to a minimum.
Yes by golly, the round figured blond upstairs was the perfect specimen. The rest? Well, they'd just have to go.
I chose the "nefarious playmate" from Master Class Monday over at Our Write Side.
This one is longer (much) than my norm.
Barbie was sick of it.
“Hey, Hot Pockets! Can I git another hot kiss here?” The guffaws from the rest of the old men at the table finally pushed her over the edge.
She pasted a simpering smile on her face, grabbed the coffee pot, and sashayed to the table. “Sure you can, Joe.” She whispered next to his ear as she poured the contents into his lap.
Joe’s screams and the hollering of his cronies summoned Harley, the manager, into the dining room at the same time Barbie slammed the pot on the table. As glass shards flew into the midst of the men she untied her apron. It dropped to the floor scattering quarters and dollar bills underfoot. Before Harley could open his mouth she shoved her fist into it.
She took time to smile at the group before saying, “I quit!” as she flipped the bird at the now speechless men; excluding Joe who was still bawling in pain. Then she calmly walked out the front door.
She walked the three blocks to her walk-up apartment unlocking the door just as an ambulance sped back toward the diner. Her roommate, Christie was sprawled on the stained couch eating chips. Looking up as Barbie slammed the door she quickly wiped the greasy salt on the arm and sat upright.
“You're home early.”
Barbie checked the opposite end of the couch for crumbs and bugs before she threw herself down. “Yeah. I am.”
Christie settled back with another handful of chips, “Dirty old man disrespect you again?”
“Yep.”
“Did you tell him to knock it off?”
“Sorta.”
“So, your grease ball of a boss fire you?” Christie asked.
Barbie snorted, “I quit.”
“You quit? How you gonna pay your share of the rent?” Christie sat up again spilling chips on the filthy rug.
“My share? How about you get off your lazy ass and pay the rent for a change.” Barbie cast a scathing look at Christie. “Seems I’ve been paying more than my share for quite a while.”
Christie frowned, “you know I been lookin’!”
Well I know where you can get a waitress job today.” Barbie jumped from the couch and headed to the kitchenette. As she expected the cupboards were empty. “Thought you were going to the store today,” she yelled into the other room.
“Yeah, I am, but I need more cash than the ten I got.” Christie poked her head cautiously through the doorway. “You make good tips today?”
“Don’t know, I left them behind.” She settled for a warm can of soda and returned to her corner of the couch. “If anybody knocks don’t answer the door.”
“What?” Christie looked at the door then back to her roomie. “Who are you expecting?”
“Cops”
“Aw, shit, girl, what did you do?” Christie crossed to the door and peeked out the front window. The street in front of the walk-up was empty, for the moment.
“I mighta poured coffee on ol’ Joe’s hardware.” She grinned humorlessly as Christie’s eyes widened.
“Oh, lord.” After another peek out the window, Christie turned back to Barbie. “He was a good tipper, you sure it was worth it?”
Barbie replayed the multitude of sexually inappropriate remarks Joe had spewed regarding her butt and boobs over the past four months. Each time he spoke his fan club of wannabe perverts laughed at her blushes and stammered appeals to him to please stop. Her eyes narrowed as she answered Christie, “It damn sure was.”
The young women stared at each other for several minutes before bursting in fits of giggles.
Christie grabbed Barbie’s soda and took a long gulp before clapping her on the back, “I’ll bet he hollered, wish I’d been there to see it.”
“He didn’t just holler, he screamed like a, a girl!” Barbie swiped the laughter induced tears from her eyes and yanked the drink can back and drained it in one swallow.
Catching their breath after the fit of glee was over, they sat silently. Barbie knew getting another job would be tough, it had taken forever to find the one she’d just left. She knew Christie really had been looking, but the Podunk town they lived in didn’t have much to offer. And after her own stunt, it was unlikely any of the locals would hire her.
Christie considered going to the diner next morning and filling out an application, but the minute she wrote her address down, she was sure it would end up round-filed.
“Maybe we oughta just leave this shit hole behind and go somewhere new,” Christie suggested.
Barbie rolled her eyes, “Like where?”
As Christie shrugged a rap on the door made both girls jump. “Shh, don’t answer!” Barbie whispered frantically.
Christie nodded as she sidled to the window and carefully peeked out. “It’s that grill cook from the diner!” she told Barbie quietly.
Barbie’s face screwed into a snarl, “That loser? What does he want?”
Christie cracked the door open, “What d’ya want?” she asked the lanky boy on the steps.
“To see if Barbie is alright.” He craned his neck to look past Christie and seeing Barbie he waved and said, “Nice work back there! They hauled that old fart out on stretcher, he was still holdin’ his balls and cryin’ like a baby.”
Barbie joined Christie at the doorway, “Yeah, I'm fine, they really called an ambulance? Hey, you didn’t bring the cops, did you?”
“No, just me.”
Christie opened the door wider and let him in, “Well get in here before they show up.”
“They ain’t goin' to. I told 'em Joe was playin' grab ass and the coffee got spilt accidental. And then Barbie ran off embarrassed.” He grinned and told Barbie, “Those two old ladies that you hate was in there, they backed me up.”
“Why’d they do that?” Barbie figured the old hags disliked her as much as she did them.
“'Cause they don’t like Joe more than they don’t like you I guess.”
“Huh. Well, hey, thanks.”
The three stood awkwardly looking at each other. Finally the boy said, “I’m Luke by the way, don’t know if you knew my name or not. You gotta beer or pop?”
“Uh, yeah, I knew your name, and we don’t have anything to drink, we just finished the last soda.”
“Oh. Then let’s go get some! My truck’s down there, we’ll get a six pack or two and go celebrate.”
Barbie noticed when he grinned he was better looking than she remembered. While Christie tried to think of an excuse to refuse Barbie smile at Luke, “Okay, let’s go!”
Soon the three were driving around on gravel roads outside the small town. Halfway through the case of brew they had decided on Luke made a suggestion. “I got keys to the diner, we can go raid the cooler…and maybe the till.”
Christie yanked her gaze away from the scenery outside the passenger window, “Oh that sounds like a very bad idea…”
“I think it sounds great!” Barbie slurred. “Serve that scuz Harley right! I tol’ him Joe was a pervert and he never did nothin' ‘ bout it.”
“Yeah I know, and you know what else? I know where Joe lives. An’ he’s got money at his place too. He owes you girl!”
Barbie leaned into Luke’s shoulder, “Yeah, he does. He owes me.”
Christy looked at the pair, “You guys are wasted, and crazy! Barbie, you didn’t want cops and this sure sounds like a good way to attract them. Let’s just go back home and watch TV, OK?”
Luke shot Christie a curious glance, “you wanna go home, fine. We’ll drop you off.”
Christy nodded, maybe she could talk them into the apartment once they got there.
She let herself in as the truck’s tires squealed off carrying Barbie and her new nefarious playmate into the night. She hadn’t been able to convince them to give up on Luke’s plan. Christy curled into the corner of couch and waited for Barbie to come back.
A shove on her shoulder prodded her from sleep. Still on the couch she looked up expecting her roommate to be frantic about breaking into the diner. Instead Barbie and Luke were grinning at her. In the dim light she could see Barbie swaying,, a beer clutched in her hand. As her sight focused she could see both were covered in spatters of red.
Luke swung the hammer nonchalantly, “You shoulda come with us. It was awesome.”
A small teaser for the Nano project. Inspired by a prompt from Master Class Monday at Our Write Side
Trey listened to RJ’s plan with only half of his attention. The third of their cohorts, Clarence, was in the corner of the tent unconscious.
Their captors had left them to stew for more time than he’d expected. Probably hoping one or another would cook up some escape plan and create an excuse to beat them up again. Trey preferred not to go that route.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?” RJ punched him in the arm.
“Yeah, and I’m thinking.” Trey muttered.
RJ rolled his eyes, “Your thinking is interfering with the listening.” He got up and paced the small confines of the tent.
“Well, whatever we decide, we should wait for Clarence to wake up.” Trey walked over to check on his friend for the tenth time in the last hour. “He seems to be breathing okay.” Trey prodded him gently, He was answered with a groan and shift in position, but nothing more.
RJ looked on, “are you sure you want his opinion? He has a hazardous record in the planning thing. That’s why were stuck in here instead of back home at dinner with our families.”
Trey shrugged, “we could have said no. We made our own decisions.”
“I would've made a different decision if I’d know it meant traveling to a different dimension full of demons and spider people.” RJ gave Trey a look that dared him to disagree.
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.
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.
My offering for Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite I chose the prompt; Red Wolf Hunting.
Madaline raced across the meadow, her scarlet cape fluttering behind her. The thud of her heart made it difficult to keep track of the footfalls closing the distance between herself and her pursuers.
Her eyes fixed on the treeline only a few yards ahead. A desperate burst of speed propelled her through the brush. She kept up her pace while grabbing the edges of the cape to keep it from the tangled mass of branches and undergrowth as she scrambled deeper into the trees.
The pursuit slowed once she reached the forest. She knew it was only a mometary pause. Stepping behind a large trunk, she pulled the fabric from her shoulders. Had it been fall the bright color may have been an aid, however among the bright green growth of mid spring, she may as well stand and wave at her trackers.
Behind her, she could hear jays and squirrels angrily announcing the trespass of the group chasing her. Bundling cape as compactly as she could, she jogged farther into the dense forest. She no longer travelled a straight course, weaving first one direction, then another. She used the chatter of the wildlife to keep apprised of the position of the hunting party.
The light was dim under the canopy of leaves, she'd been moving through the forest since just after noon. She guessed it was close to evening. Winged residents were making their last forays before taking to nest, small creatures of the brush and treetops had already disappeared. Those that foraged at night would soon be stalking.
Madeline ignore the growing exhaustion of her flight and kept her steady pace as twilight sucked the last light away. Tiny singers of night tuned their throats and stretched wings. It was with relief that she climbed a grassy hummock barely visible in the brush and dark. Sliding down the opposite side, she found the overgrown opening and crawled inside.
She laid her head on her bundled cape and immediately fell asleep.
She woke abruptly, momentarily disoriented by the darkness, she scrabbled in the dirt of her burrow. Finding the cape, she tamped down the panic and cautiously approached the exit. The singers of early night had finished their set, stillness enveloped the forest. She silently slid from her hiding place, ears alert for unnatural sounds.
Climbing to the top of the hummock she strained to see through the darkness. Her breath caught as she spied the low glow of a campfire. They'd come much closer than she'd been expecting. Using the darkness, she carefully made her way toward the camp.
Close enough to smell the burning embers. she shook out the bundle, releasing the cape Madeline threw it across her shoulders and dropped to the ground. She then crept forward on all fours, stopping a few feet outside the circle around the banked fire. six bodies lay close to the fire, two more leaned against trees, their watch thwarted by snores and drooped heads.
Madeline smiled to herself. The weak glow from the camp's center reflected in her eyes. Lifting her muzzle high, she howled. The ensuing panic excited her.
Time for the red wolf's hunt to commence.
Linked with Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite
I chose the prompt: Maid for Murder
"Here's your room, there's a bathroom room with shower. The bed sheets are fresh and the dresser's been emptied." Janice said while pointing out the specifics.
Carly nodded, the single room apartment was surprisingly roomy. Following Janice up the steep stairs, she'd expected a cramped space. Though the ceiling sloped dramatically on either side, the completely furnished area was arranged for minimal head bumping.
The long room featured sitting and sleeping space, the bathroom centered on one side. Each area had a large window as well as a skylight. The sleeping area also held a desk pushed against a small door in a knee wall. Puzzled, she asked, "What's that for?"
"Attic access, we don't use it." Janice replied then quickly recited the terms of employment. "Room and board for regular housekeeping. You'll be expected to start your duties at eight. You're shift ends after the evening meal, about six. You are free to do what you wish after that." Janice continued, "We lock up at ten o'clock, if you're not home, you're not getting in until seven next morning."
Carly nodded her understanding.
The first week flew by in a flurry of activity; working, and shopping for necessities. Worn out she was in bed well before the ten o'clock lock up.
Several weeks later she woke to find her bed bathed in light. After a moment of disoriented panic, she realized the full moon was shining through the skylight.
Mummbling to herself, Carly slid her feet into slippers and shuffled downstairs. Hopefully, Janice was still awake and had something she could use to cover the window. She was disturbed to find the door was locked.
Irritated, she knocked, "Janice? It's Carly, I need a blind for the skylight." No sound came from the other side. "Janice! Open the door, Janice!" She pounded on the door.
As she considered screaming, she heard footsteps followed by the scrape of a key. Janice opened the door in her nightgown, sleep tousled hair, and an angry frown.
Carly was confused, "Why is this door locked?"
"It is after ten, I told you, we lock up at ten."
"I didn't know I'd be locked in."
Janice glared at her. "It's the middle of the night. What is so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"
"I need a blind for the skylight, the moon is making it daylight up there." Carly said.
"Moonlight, this is about the moon? Go to bed. We'll discuss this in the morning." Janice waited for Carly to climb the steps.
"But..."
"I said, in the morning!"
Janice slammed the door. Carly heard the scrape of the key, relocking her exit. She raised a fist, about to pound again. Reconsidering with a sigh of annoyance, she stomped, loudly, back upstairs.
After several minutes of pacing, she finally returned the bed, rolling to the edge, she turned her back to the moonlight only to find its reflection on the wall. As she lay staring at the offending light a shadow slowly appeared. Carly spun around seeking the skylight. She caught a glimpse of something pass over the upper edge of the window.
She leapt out of bed, hitting her head on the low cieling. Her thud was echoed by the sound of footsteps from beyond the skylight, crossing the roof and down the other side. After a short silence there was scratching behind the small attic door.
Carly raced down the steps. Pounding on the door and rattling the knob, she screamed for her employer once again.
She realized Janice wasn't coming. She perched on the bottom step and huddled against the solid wood of the door.
She heard something dragging across the carpet in the sleeping area. Padded footsteps approached the darkened stairwell.
Refusing to look, she pounded the door, begging for release.
Janice unlocked the door at precisely seven o'clock the next morning. When Carly didn't come down to attend her duties, Janice climbed the stairs. The room was tidy, though the bed was unmade. And a small can containing assorted pens and pencils lay scattered in front of the desk that stood against the attic door.
"Harumph, third one in six months. Afraid of a little work."
This week's offering for Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite. I chose the prompt; Waylaid Mutterings.
I also took inspiration from The Light and Shade Challenge. The prompts were a photo of a grandfather's clock and the quotation; Tempus Fugit.
Christian lost his concentration, his muttered chanting waylaid by the three percussive chimes of the grandfather clock downstairs still reverberating in his ears. Blinking in confusion he unfolded his legs and pushed his aching muscles to stand. He stretched his shoulders as he shuffled across the room, heedless of the thin line of salt scattered by his feet.
He stumbled into the dark hallway and found his way to the bathroom. Flipping the switch, Christian sighed in annoyance at its refusal to shed light. Reaching for the cold water handle he was greeted not with water but a dry gurgle.
He stomped downstairs to the front window and yanked the drapes open. He scanned his neighbors' homes for signs of power. The street was in darkness, no porch lights, no street lamps. His attention was drawn to several junk yard worthy vehicles sitting randomly along the street. Christian's mood shifted slowly from anger to puzzlement. A power outage, not unheard of, but someone parking junk cars in a neighborhood was bizarre.
With the power down the house was eerily silent. The only sound came from the clock, its pendulum whispering back and forth in the narrow space. How long had it been? He remembered sitting within the pentagram and lighting candles. He'd started the memorized chant, the one that promised to make the world a better place.
He bounded back up the stairs. Entering the room he'd recently left, opened the curtain to let the sparse light from a waning moon into the room. The candles had burnt to the bottom. Christian huffed to himself, "Five day candles? Yeah, right!"
He returned to the lower floor, this time going into the kitchen. If there was no electricity, he ought to eat before everything spoiled. The refrigerator door took an extra tug to open, as it did Christian was greeted with a small dust cloud that reeked of mold.
"What the hell?" he cried. His limited vision couldn't determine the contents and he wasn't inclined to stick his hands into the unknown depths. Slamming the offending appliance shut, he wandered to the back door. Grabbing the knob, he stood a moment, an odd tingle of fear keeping his hand from turning it.
Pushing down the uncomfortable feeling, Christian threw the door open and stepped onto the small concrete stoop. The silence of the dark pressed against him. He held his breath as he listened for the sound of distant traffic, the scamper of a rodent, the creak of tree limbs. He heard nothing. No breeze moved, the air was sterile and tasteless.
Paranoia won and Christian bolted back inside, locking the door behind him.
He paced the room, mumbling to himself, "Wait for daylight, ask the neighbors what's going on. Walk uptown, find a newspaper. Stop being a wuss!"
A chill filled the space, stopping Christian's internal rant. His heart pounding he closed his eyes and uttered a prayer that was ironic in its direct opposition to the chant he'd recited previously.
A guttural laugh silenced him. "Too late to switch sides now, Christian. You've done well. The world is a much better place." The voice mocked him.
Christian dropped to his knees, "How long has it been? I have to know." he asked through chattering teeth.
"Twenty years. It takes a lot of chanting to accomplish a change of this magnitude." A snide chuckle accompanied the startling statement. "Time flies when you're having fun, right?"
And another prompt driven tale, and a little outside my norm. My answer to: cabin of illusion for Master Class Monday at Eat Sleep Write
"I thought you said your Aunt Merle lived in castle, Mom"
"Well, Becky, it's been a long time since I visited, maybe it just seemed bigger." Leah, peered through the windshield trying to align her memories of grandeur with the ramshackle cabin in the headlights.
Her thirteen year old daughter rolled her eyes, "So what, you were two?"
Leah ignored Becky's remark. She'd been older than two the last time she'd stayed with Aunt Merle. She'd just graduated high school and was enjoying her last summer before college. Her aunt had invited her for a two week respite from the crowded home she shared with her parents and four younger siblings.
That was twenty years ago. The classes, followed by work and a failed marriage that left her a single mother had pushed her favorite aunt to the bottom of her priority list. She been guilt ridden when she'd learned Aunt Merle had passed away. Then stunned when she found that the castle had been left to her.
So she packed her daughter and their belongings into the aging van and trekked across several states to take up residence in the place that held her happiest memories.
"Mom. Mom! Hey, are you listening?" Becky wailed. "We're not really gonna live here, are we? This place is awful!"
Leah sighed, "Give it chance. We're going to be here for a while. If it doesn't work out, I'll put it up for sale."
They exited the vehicle and climbed creaky steps to a small porch. Leah fumbled for the keys in the dark as Becky clung to her side, muttering under her breath about the lack of light. Finally unlocking the door, Leah groped for a wall switch. "Damn! I should have brought a flashlight." She shuffled carefully into the room feeling for a lamp.
An eerie glow flashed next to her eliciting a squeak of fright. "Phone, Mom. Relax."
Casting a sidelong glance at her daughter, Leah discovered and turned on a floor lamp to her left. The light revealed a cozy sitting room furnished with a plush sofa covered in colorful pillows and two comfortable looking chairs. Table lamps with glass shades occupied three end tables, one at either end of the sofa, the third between the chairs. They quickly switched them on.
"Wow!" Becky turned slowly as the light revealed a kaleidoscope of primary hues. The walls were covered with small vividly colored prints and hanging sculptures, a bright mobile of birds finished in glossy paint hung in front of a large window. Lower spaces held bookshelves filled with books and bric-a-brac. The dark hard wood floor boasted several throw rugs woven in brilliant colors.
Leah grinned at her daughter's reaction, this was the grandeur that lived in her memories. "Pretty impressive, isn't it."
"It's crazy. And...I like it!" Becky kept twirling, her eyes darting around the room, trying to take it in all at once.
"C'mon, you want to see the rest."
Becky reluctantly pulled herself away and followed her mother into the kitchen. A large overhead light illuminated lemon yellow walls. Copper bottomed pots and pans hung from hooks topped with plaster cast flowers. Glass fronted cupboards showed a collection of glass bowls and cookware in a variety of colorful patterns.
The refrigerator was awash in magnets, the range sported a gaily enamelled teapot. In one corner a polka dot cloth covered a small dining table, the two chairs padded with contrasting stripes.
The two small bedrooms were similarly drenched in color, from the bedding to framed embroidery and boldy patterned quilts. Colored photos covered a short hallway. Even the bathroom was a riot of multi-hued tiles.
"That's it Becky. Aunt Merle's cabin." Leah dropped onto the sofa beside her daughter.
Becky shifted the many pillows into a comfortable nest. "Aunt Merle's cabin? You mean our castle, right?"
Leah laughed, "Wait 'til morning, I'll show you the moat."
My offering for Master Class Monday on Eat Sleep Write
I chose the prompt forlorn phantasms
Ott felt the muscles twitching under the saddle. He unconsciously squeezed the mare's rib cage, willing her to stay still. The steady north wind hid the blow of breath she uttered to let him know she was not content with the current situation.
"I swear, animal, you're half puma, half ass." He rubbed the velvety hide of her neck as he slid the long rifle from its scabbard. He'd glimpsed furtive movement just outside the light of the fire he'd left burning low.
His pack horse tied near the camp and a carefully placed bedroll gave the appearance of a sleeping cowboy. Ott had walked the black mare up a wooded ridge before sunset to watch for what had been raiding his rations for the past few nights.
As he watched, the pack horse began to dance nervously against its tether. His mare tensed in response to the other animal's discomfort.
"Steady girl," Ott whispered. Moments later three shadows emerged from the brush. Bodies hugging the ground, they moved cautiously toward the camp.
They scuttled soundlessly on four limbs, spider like in their progress. An occasional lift of heads as they checked for scent.
Ott squinted into the dark, trying to identify the creatures. They'd avoided the pack animal and the bedroll, going directly to the food he'd placed on the opposite side of the fire. The trio converged on the meager pile, pushing each other in their silent rush to be first to claim the prize.
Ott sighted down the rifle, finger ready on the trigger. As he steadied to fire, one raised its head. The glow of the coals illuminated the pale face of a child.
Startled, he lowered the gun. When the mare snorted in response to his abrupt movement, all three heads turned his way. They crouched, motionless around the pile of food. Ott felt their eyes fix on him. Tamping down the uneasiness in his gut, Ott prodded his mount forward. She stepped hesitantly down the incline, sensing either his own trepidation or the gazes of the eyes below.
They never stirred as he wove the mare through trees, but Ott sensed them following him. The horse stopped several yards from camp, refusing to move any further. Dismounting with the rifle, he approached slowly, aware of the continued scrutiny. As he came closer he could see the glow of the coals reflected in black eyes. Spindly limbs bent at elbows and knees, they perched on hands and feet, bellies close to the earth. Forgotten children left to fend for themselves.
As he crossed the camp's perimeter, one of them emitted an eerie howl. A return howl combined with renewed rustling in the surrounding brush brought Ott to a halt. The pack horse now panicked, slipped its tether and galloped into the surrounding dark as at least a dozen more forlorn phantasms moved into view.
Ott eased back toward the unnerved whinny of the mare. Any concern he may have felt was swiftly replaced by a knot of fear as the pack moved after him. He turned and sprinted the final distance to his horse, the animal stomping and wild eyed as he vaulted into the saddle. He didn't waste time calming the animal as the brush expelled even more bodies.
He hung on as the mare reared in terror as the horde surrounded them. He kicked her into motion, intending to charge through the mass of bodies. Ott glimpsed, too late the leap that propelled one of them into his chest, knocking him from his seat.
He lay winded within the tightening circle as hoof beats disappeared into the night.
