Tuesday Flash Fiction Train Challenge Round 4/Part 4

Here I am sliding in at the last minute again for the #TuesFlashFicTrain Challenge with my next take on Gloria's story!


Gloria crept down the hallway in the direction the two intruders had gone. She’d been thrilled to find the invisibility shawl still folded in its original plastic packing. Once beneath its cover she noticed the light was a bit dimmer, and the sound of her footsteps seemed muffled. She hoped that effect would help her get close enough to her quarry to perform the spells she’d decided on.

Working her way through the maze of hallways, Gloria checked each door she passed. So far all had been locked. She had a pretty good idea where the men had been headed. The main security office; it handled the incoming calls as well as keeping the non-witch personnel from accidentally stumbling upon the work that went on after hours. If people found out exactly how the city’s infrastructure was really kept together…well, it would not be good.

Gloria rounded the next corner and nearly ran into the pair of scoundrels she’d been hunting.

“Come on Tom! We won’t have all night.” The deep voice came from a tall, dark haired man wearing a long, black cloak. He wielded an ivory wand carved with symbols that made Gloria’s stomach heave. 

The other man was a foot and a half shorter and dressed in faded jeans and a dirty pocket t-shirt. “This is an art Manny, if you're in a hurry just use that twig you're waving around instead.” He never looked up from the knob he was working with a lock pick.

Manny just scowled at the other man’s back. Gloria knew he couldn’t use the wand to force the door without causing several alarm wards to sound. The designers hadn’t counted on a simple thieves’ trick in this part of the building.

Under the cover of the shawl, Gloria lit a yellow candle and pulled one of the packets and a small marble bowl from her pocket. After measuring the proper amount for a stasis spell she drew a breath and opened her mouth to recite the paralysis incantation. 

But, when she formed the words, no sound came from her throat. Not only was she hidden visibly, she evidently couldn’t be heard either. And if she couldn’t recite the spell, her wand, the candle and powder were useless. 

Gloria silently cursed herself for not reading the packaging completely. She hadn’t grabbed an invisibility shawl, she was wearing a solitude shield.

Winterdone

Tara gave us "south" this week for the 100 Word Challenge. having finally gotten the peas in today (here in the north), this is where I went...



Bitter wind blew, raising goose bumps on the back of her neck. The long running winter had almost broken her will.

The stubborn daffodils, refusing to be held at bay kept her from giving up completely.

She stood in the yard, waiting for the dog to finish investigating the frosted grass. 

Her breath exited in cold cast miniature clouds. 

As she shivered in her light jacket, the dog raised a nose to the wind.

She curiously lifted her own muted sense to sniff the air.

Her eyes widened in delight.

Ever so faint, from the south, she smelled spring arrive.

Tuesday Flash Fiction Train R4W3

I didn't get a chance to play at Kat's TuesFlashFicTrain last week, but Stacy'sentry was perfect. Here's what I came up with to follow.


Gloria backed out of the room never taking her eyes off Harvey’s back. With nowhere else to go, she returned to the supply closet. She ducked inside and pulled the door shut.

She kept one ear to the door as she lit one of the candles she’d just collected. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she whispered to the flickering taper, “but if Harvey thinks he can ‘take care’ of me, he’s got another thing coming.!”

Squinting in the restless light, Gloria scanned the overflowing shelves. “Ah ha!” she grabbed a small pouch tucked neatly between two jars.

“Won’t be quite as powerful without my wand, but it’ll have to do.”

She poured just a pinch of silver powder from the pouch into the palm of her hand.  After reciting a short incantation, Gloria blew the shimmering dust into the air; then walked beneath it.

She exited the closet again, shutting the door with a firm hand. Gloria walked back to the office to see Harvey expectantly awaiting her, having heard the door close.

“There you are, Glo.” Harvey smiled, “I thought I’d catch you before you went on break, get this over with.”

Gloria smiled back, the candles clutched in her hand. “Sure, Harvey. What’s this meeting about anyhow?”

“Oh, just some security measures we need to go over.”

Gloria kept smiling. “Okay, your office?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” Harvey grinned as he gestured for her to precede him.

Harvey and his companion exited the office and strolled down the narrow hallway past the supply closet and turned the next corner.

A few minutes after they passed, the closet door opened a sliver; then wider as Gloria stepped out. She ran quickly to her desk and snatched her wand and a book of basic spells. Her pocket bulged with what she hoped would be the most useful ingredients to find out what the two men and her sleazy supervisor were up to. 

She also carried a shimmering invisibility shawl. Before she left the office again, she threw it over her shoulders. As soon as Harvey figured out the ‘Gloria’ he was escorting to his office was actually the janitor’s dust mop, he’d be back.

Without the Letter Before B

Muddled through this week's 100 Word Chllenge without the letter before B. 

None of those. Not here. They’ll throw you out if you do.

I’m serious. Mustn’t do it!

How difficult could it be?

Terribly difficult.

See, words ditto-ing themselves so soon.

But, finished one fourth!

Trying to think thoughts without them.

Mind numbing!

Fingers fidgeting over the keys.

The first to come to mind, must be thrown out.

Shuffling through the options. 

Begin over.

Sighs upon sighs.

Over fifty percent now.

Ooh! Two thirds!

Heh heh, three fourths to the end.

Not much longer, four fifths.

I will do it!

Such silliness to nine tenths.

Relief!

I’ve found the end.

Flash Fiction Train Challenge R4-W1

Popping into the Tuesday Flash Fiction Challenge with Kat Avila again.  Here's this week's offering.

Gloria hustled to grab her jacket from the locker room, then ran for the time clock. She’d gotten a late start this evening; her keys managing to not be where she’d expected. Ten minutes wasted searching for them left her rushing to be at her post on time. As she rounded the corner she slammed into Harvey.

“Pushing the time limits tonight, Glo?” he asked.

Gloria muttered about the missing keys as she attempted to side-step the assistant supervisor. He anticipated the move and blocked her escape. “Don’t forget to check in on your break tonight. I need a word with you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Gloria made another attempt to pass him.

Harvey grabbed her arm, his eyes bored into hers, “Seriously, Gloria, you need to show up this time.”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp, “Fine, Harvey, I’ll find you.” She stared at him until he stepped aside and let her pass. As she hurried away, she could feel him watching her. Shivers rippled up her back telling her to turn and make certain he hadn’t followed her. She resisted the urge; this time. She supposed she’d better make the meeting, Harvey would make the paranoia worse if she kept defying him.

Gloria punched her card with one minute to spare. The sense of relief she’d gotten from being on time faded as she walked the long hall to her cubicle. At this hour no one else was on duty. The dim night-lights cast eerie shadows along the way. 

She hated the night shift. The old building seemed intent on letting her know she was alone in this section. Random thumps and groans echoed down the hallway. When she reached her department, the only light came from her desk. At least someone had left it on for her. She shuffled to the space as quietly as she could. The rap of her heels only accentuated the empty desks she passed on the way.

Gloria dropped into her chair with a sigh. The screen in front of her was already filling with tasks to be attended. She opened the large drawer in the desk and cringed as it uttered a metallic shriek. Shuddering, she dropped her handbag inside and kicked it shut. She gingerly tested the next drawer, relieved with its hushed compliance. She shuffled through its interior until she located her wand and candles.

After printing out the list of problems to fix, she pulled up a map of the city and zoomed in on her sector. 

Flash Fiction Train; Round 3, Part 5

Sneaking in at the very last minute with my offering for Kat Avila's Tuesday Flash Fiction Train




Rita stood in the middle of the aisle, eyes squeezed shut. The screams no longer reached her ears and she shuddered in anguish at the result of her rage. The memories had flooded her mind, intermingled with the taunts of the old woman and other passengers. 

She had let it overcome her.

A hand touched her shoulder then stroked her cheek.

“Rita.” 

She ignored the whisper, soft and warm as a summer’s breeze. But Walter would not be shunned.

“Rita, open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Nooo,” she sobbed, “I can’t look! I can’t!”

She could hear the people on the bus again. “What’s wrong with you, girly girl?” it was the screech of the old woman.

Again she heard the soft voice, “Hush now, Lucy. You haven’t walked in her steps. Go still yourself.”

“But…”

“Sit, Lucy.”

As Rita finally opened her eyes, she saw the old woman trudge to an empty seat. The bus moved steadily down the street, the passengers still staring at her, but without the hostility she remembered. There was no blood, no shattered windows. No one screamed.

Rita looked back to Walter, “I thought…I thought I killed them!”

“You almost did.” Walter said, “but you stopped before it became real. You chose life over death.”

“How?”

Walter smiled at her. “Because you are stronger than the coven. They couldn’t control you as easily as they thought.”

“But the memories, the pain.”

“Lies. All of it.”

Rita shook her head in confusion, it had seemed so real. But as she tried to recall the fear and hate, the feelings faded.

“You are free, Rita.” As he turned to go, Walter looked back one more time, “See you in my dreams.” 

Blown Away

My offering for this week's Coldly Calculating prompt at Our Write Side.




Sherry sat on the back porch listening to the newly opened leaves shuffle against each other in the gusty spring air. She loved the smell of fresh growth. Though this morning it was tainted with the strong flavor of bleach..

She sighed, it couldn’t be helped. In the end, bleach was the only answer. Some things just couldn’t be washed away with soap and water. At least not entirely. 

She rose from her seat and headed for the garage. Once there, she searched the neatly organized shelves. “Ah! There you are!” she grinned as she bent to retrieve the mason jar filled with the soft blue hue chosen for her bedroom. “And he thought I was silly to save some of the paint.”

Rummaging further, Sherry found a paint brush. it had been carefully cleaned and stored after use. She glanced around the garage contentedly. Everything neat and tidy. Just as it should be.

She took the brush and jar inside. Refusing to be distracted by the clutter in the kitchen, Sherry strode purposefully into the bedroom. It would only take a few minutes to touch up the spots left by the scouring pad. 

After she finished, she scurried through the kitchen once more; only taking time to toss the blue tinged brush at the sink. Once the jar was tucked safely back on its shelf in the garage, she took a deep breath. The kitchen would have to be tackled next. The longer she left it, the more stressed she’d get. 

As Sherry crossed the yard, she was momentarily mesmerized by the movement of three sheets waving lazily in the breeze. They were secured to the line with her grandmother’s old clothespins. She smiled. No hint of stain was visible in the bright spring sunshine.

Now, on to the kitchen she told herself. With lips pressed in a determined line, she stepped into the space. 

He’d thought he surprise her with a spaghetti dinner. It had been thoughtful of him she supposed. But what could he have been thinking? Leaving puddles of sauce on her normally spotless stove. And so many pans crusted with filth in her shiny sink.

Sherry swallowed the bile and dove into the task. 

Well, at least it wasn’t a mistake he’d make again.

Riding the Flash Fiction Train, Round 3/Week 3

I've been regularly joining in at Kat Avila'a Fiction Trials to play a story writing challenge. Check out this week's offerings, then come back to play on the Flash Fiction Train. Here's my offering...

Rita glared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. The cold wasn’t budging and it was just a miracle she made it through the conference call. Thankfully Laura had been on her game and kept the conversation grounded.

A yawn, interrupted by a new bout of coughing brought Rita back to the perusal of her image. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Her nose reddened and tender from the continuous application of tissues. With a sigh she pulled the bottle from the medicine cabinet.

As much as she needed to dampen her symptoms and get a good night’s sleep, Rita was hesitant to dose herself again. The dreams induced by the vile liquid were becoming harder to shake off. The most recent dream had conjured a name for the mystery man. At the thought, Rita’s lips tingled at the memory.

“No.” She spoke to the mirror, “I'm not going to do it!”

She replaced the bottle and shuffled out of the bathroom. Her slippers scuffed the carpet, the small noise causing her head to pound. She dropped onto the couch grabbing the knitted throw from the back. She wrapped herself in its warmth. As long as she stayed upright she kept the drainage from choking her. She closed her eyes and drifted into an unsettled doze.

“You're back! I didn’t think I would see you so soon.” He reached to stroke her cheek.

Rita pulled back, “Who are you? Why do you haunt my sleep?” 

His eyes filled with hurt, “I’m Walter. I’ve always been here for you.”

“Not always. Only if I use that gawd-awful cold medicine.” Rita narrowed her eyes, “which I did not take tonight!”

“No, I’m always here, Rita. You just don’t remember…”

“Oh, I’d remember, just like I remembered last night’s dream.” 

Walter sighed, “It’s not a dream to me, Rita.”

“Really? Then, I think it’s time you explain why that is!”

The Paper

Sneaking in to  The 100 Word Challenge  at the last minute with my offering; a memory.

It lay on the front walk. Wrapped in an orange plastic baggie. I watch it from the window, that bright beacon, begging me to rescue it. 

It calls to me. “Look! The Times’ Crossword, and don’t forget the sudoku.”

I gaze at it as morning slips to the afternoon. “I’m the Sunday paper; comics, sales stuffers, coupons and news!”

The afternoon wanes, still it beckons. “Editorials?”

Just before the sun sets, I rise from my chair and bring it in. 

Turning the pages hesitantly.

I gasp at his picture; though I knew it would be there.

Under the heading: Obituaries.

Luck

This week's word is 'luck' at  the 100 Word Challenge over at Tara's place.. 



Greta looked warily at the hand held out to her. It was large and rough; black dirt embedded under the nails.

She forced a smile to her lips as she allowed her carefully manicured fingers to be swallowed within its grasp.

He towered over her as he led her to the dance floor. she spied the perfectly matched couples swirling gracefully. 

Greta swallowed her sigh. The luck of the draw.

His arm encircled her waist and he twirled her into the music. Greta’s reserve fled as the crowd moved back to watch. 

That night, he danced her into her dreams.

100 Word Challenge

There's a Monster Under the Bed

<


Bobby’s blankets lay on the floor again. The monster under the bed pulls them off every night as Bobby sleeps.

The monster lives among the dust bunnies and one shoe that's whisked away in the middle of the night. Bobby knows it’s a monster. He hears it at night grumbling and mumbling. He dares not get up to look. Bobby has no wish to join the shoe.

Even in the morning light it’s all he can do to dive under the bed and quickly grab the stray.

If only the monster wouldn’t mess with his blankets. Bobby knows if he pulls them off the floor at night he’ll drag the beast with them. Then the monster won’t be under the bed. It will be in the bed with him.

So, he shivers through the night because he's cold without his blanket, and he's afraid of the monster under his bed.

Mommy doesn’t believe him.
Mommies never do. They're stubborn that way. 

But Bobby has a plan.
It’s a great plan and he spends the day putting it into action.

He borrows the stapler and the glue from Mommy’s desk. 
He makes the bed himself, then glues the blankets tight and staples them into place. 

He smiles as he shimmies under the covers.

But Bobby should have taken the stapler and the glue back to Mommy’s desk.
Because he can hear the monster grumbling and mumbling as it walks around the bed, gluing and stapling.
Coming closer and closer.
Stapling and gluing.

Hose-zone

Two socks enter.
Only to lose sight of each other in the agitation and tumble.
Lost somewhere between drain and lint trap,
Or upon the aberrant path leading to the dark side of the moon.
One lonely sock waits in my drawer.

Eight More to Go

Can you stand another tale of Joe and Charlie, the two slightly inept demon's? I just can't help myself sometimes
Linked up with Coldly Calculating at Our Write Side




“Where we going Joe?”

“Home Charlie, the Boss finally got us outta that witches nest, and I need a break.”

“So…what're we doing in limbo land?”

“What? What are you talking about”? Joe looked around. His partner was right, the land was hazy and soft, no recognizable landmarks. “Oh man. This just isn’t right.”

“You're tellin’ me! I didn’t like this place the first time, it ain't got no better.” Charlie stumbled over a step hidden in the gray swirl that flowed through the landscape in random patterns.

Joe tried to remember the first time he was stuck here. It had taken forever to get out. As his memories coalesced, his eyes widened. “Charlie, you remember where we came in?”

“No, I’m just lookin’ for a way out.”

“Don't look too hard Charlie,” Joe backed up, he peered through the fog looking for the door he’d just entered.

“Uh, why?” Charlie stopped exploring and edged closer to Joe.

“Do you remember what happened when you found your way ‘out’ the first time?”

“Um, let me see, I found a key somewheres, then tripped a dozen times on all this crap laying around. Busted my snout more than once.” Charlie had a bad habit of reliving his memories while he talked, “Ow! Dammit! Just like that,” he said as he pushed himself off the ground.

“Hey! Look Joe, I found the key!” 

“No Charlie! Throw it away! We don’t want the key!”

“What?”

Before Joe could grab the key and throw it, a doorway gleamed red-gold two yards from them. “Oh no.”

“There Joe, just like last time, the way out!”

Joe rolled his eyes, “Charlie, that’s not the way out.”

“It’s not?”

Joe walked toward the door, resigned to the inevitable. The Boss was evidently still mad at them. 

“No Charlie, it’s the way in. This is limbo?”

“Yeahhh…”

Joe just sighed. 

“Oh. OH!, Joe I don’t wanna!” Charlie wailed.


Joe grabbed Charlie's arm and pulled him forward. “C’mon. No going back, which one’s next? Do you remember? Lust or gluttony?”

Cause Way

She hesitated before she left the bridge a second time. 

The first crossing had led to her destiny. A lifetime of rigorous physical training and endless mental preparation culminated in this second crossing. 

One last step unleashed her upon an unsuspecting world.

There She Goes Again

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.

Listen to the Music

The guests had listened politely throughout his performance. As soon as he finished the final ballad the serving girls immediately entered and placed platters on the long table. Gaddy noticed the food was carefully arranged to give the appearance of great bounty. The king’s guests served themselves sparingly, yet the platters barely fed the entire table. The talk at the table was low and stilted.

He wrapped his harp and retrieved his cloak, then Gaddy took a moment to look out a window at the courtyard below. Figures in tattered cloaks and dirty blankets huddled around small campfires, leaning close to one another against cold. Women doled out bits of bread to solemn faced children, then shared what was left with their men.

“They came for my protection.”

Gaddy turned, startled by the voice and its owner, he made a deep bow as he spoke, “Sire.”

The old king answered, “Stand up lad, I’m not above you, nor those gathered below. I have failed them. He leaned on the stone casement, staring at the crowded courtyard.

Gaddy stood silently next to his king, an old man struggling with a war not of making and the impact it was having on the people he’d sworn to protect. He could see tears in the king’s eyes, the droop of shoulders not strong enough to bear the pain.

“Go play for them, Harper. Play them songs of courage and strength. Of hopes fulfilled.” The king turned to Gaddy, “Give them a tiny time of enchantment to pass the night. Make them believe tomorrow will be better.”

“Will it be better, your Majesty?”

“Perhaps if they believe…it will be.”

Gaddy wrapped his cloak about his shoulders and made his way to the courtyard. He walked among the people noting hollow eyes and mournful faces. A small girl with her thumb stuck into her mouth followed his progress with a curious gaze. He gave her a small smile and sat a few yards away. He unwrapped the harp and plucked a string. The tone attracted the attention of the closest groups.

The little girl stared at him, her thumb still tucked securely between her lips. He plucked a second note, an infant chortled in reply from another huddle of folk, quickly hushed by its mother. Gaddy pulled another string encouraging the babe to answer. When it did, he played another.

The little girl removed her thumb and laughed at the game, her mother allowed herself a small smile. Gaddy strummed across the harp causing more heads to turn and scattered giggles to surface. As the children moved closer he picked out a tune and stomped his foot. With the next notes the children stomped along. Men loosened their frowns and clapped in time. Mothers holding children swayed in rhythm.

An old man in a patched cloak, hat pulled low over his face, sat down next to Gaddy with a small drum. As the song progressed the drummer kept time, more of the folk clapped cold hands or stomped tired feet. Laughter became the lyrics as the children danced in circles with each other.

Music rang through the courtyard and warmth pushed away the chill of evening. The drummer stood and invited Gaddy to join him as he walked a path toward the castle doors. Gaddy hesitated; his fellow lifted the brim of his hat and winked. Gaddy nodded and followed, motioning the folk to come along. As they approached the steps the doors swung wide and the musicians and their parade danced into the hall.

Gaddy saw the table had been refilled with breads and bruised fruit. The king’s guard attended, handing out the fare as Gaddy and his drummer led the folk around them. He played every spring and summer tune he knew and when he had played them all, he started over.

Children raced each other from one end of the hall to the other, women and men gathered at the edges laughing and cheering them on. As night fell, Gaddy slowed his fingers bringing toddlers back to their parents. Families gathered in groups as serving women delivered blankets from the great bedrooms of the castle.

The drummer set his instrument aside as Gaddy played lullabies and watched children nod into sleep with smiles still on their faces. When the harp finally silenced, the only sound was the breath of those sleeping

Gaddy turned to the drummer whose eyes were drooping into slumber, “Good night…your Majesty,” he whispered.

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.

Caught!

 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.” 

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.

“THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN!”

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.”

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.