Fall

100 words about a man who messed with black magic
photo by Phylor for FFfAW 81 

Janey kneels by the headstone and lights a candle. Her demeanour tells George she knows he’s watching.

She hasn’t always done it, George would say if he talked to people. At first, she scared him she’d turned so wild. He might have expected it, given what he’d done. But he was too happy she’d returned.

Never lasted, though. Every time the leaves turn, Janey needs a boost. One of them gave her back her conscience.

She still looks like his Janey, but with every woman he’s put in her grave, Janey’s turned. They may well come for him this time.

A Good Doorman – Priceless

100 words about the zombie apocalypse in New York
Central Park Reservoir, (c) Sonya 2007

From her bedroom window, Camilla looks down on the masses shuffling along Fifth Avenue. She doesn’t dare going out on the balcony – she’s seen them climb trees like chimps going after people in the park.

The house phone rings.

‘Ms Vandenberg, Mr. Preston is here for you.’

Camilla laughs at Colin’s formality. He’s the reason the residents haven’t been overrun, but he acts as if it were part of the job.

‘Did he bring the guns?’

‘He did indeed.’

‘Colin, won’t you come upstairs?’

‘My place is by the door, Ms. Vandenberg. We don’t want undesirables coming in, do we?’

***

Written for Microcosms 4, which provided the following prompts: character – princess; location: New York City; genre: horror.

With a Spoon

100 words about cutting somebody's heart out with a spoon
(c) Sonya, 2016

The humble spoon. It looks innocuous. Some might call it benign.

Some have no imagination.

I don’t have a lot of time for people who pride themselves on their knife skills. Cutting out your victim’s heart with a knife, where’s the artistry in that? Also, a knife takes away the element of surprise. You pull a knife, people scream and fight and beg for their lives before you’ve begun to have any fun.

I get my spoon out, people laugh. They think they’ve been pranked, look for the camera.

They stop laughing pretty sharpish.

Because it’s dull. It hurts more.

*** Continue reading

This is not a Picture Book Story

100 words about a werewolf
photo by Gabriel Santiago 

A girl took a stroll through the moonlit ‘hood.

A man saw the girl and the girl looked good.

‘Where are you going to, sweet little girl?

Come to my house and give us a whirl.’

‘That’s frightfully nice of you, man, but no.

I’m going to dance with… a gruffalo!’

‘A gruffalo? What’s a gruffalo?’

‘A gruffalo? Why, didn’t your mother read you bedtime stories? Not the only thing she didn’t do, then. She should have told you not to talk to strangers in the dark – you never know. You might run into a monster.’

She bared her fangs.

(With thanks and apologies to Julia Donaldson.)

Dressed to Kill

100 words about being dressed to kill vampires, werewolves and zombiesJaney sticks her head out to check for the prevalent conditions. She can’t afford to be caught in the wrong outfit. It’s getting harder by the day to predict which group she might encounter. Nights getting longer doesn’t help – blasted autumn equinox. The other day, she found herself out until sunset without adequate protection; it nearly cost her dearly.

The fog doesn’t help, either. Muffles sounds of shuffling feet. On the other hand, it’ll mask her scent.

In the end, Janey goes for full armour and weaponry. Will slow her down, but no matter what’s about today, she’ll kill it.

***

Samantha’s invited me to join her cliché challenge. Dressed to kill jumped at me, but I may use one or two other clichés on the list.

Go on, have a look at those clichés  and join in!

The (short-lived) Hiking in the Woods Project

Thunderstorm over, we crawl out of our tents. Everyone but Josh.

hiking boots, forest, horror story
(c) Dawn M. Miller

‘Hey, aren’t those Josh’s hiking boots?’ one of us whispers. There they are, abandoned in the middle of the road.

We gather around his tent, calling for him to show himself. No reaction.

‘We have to check if he’s okay.’

Tent’s empty.

‘Where could he have gone? During a thunderstorm, without his boots?’

The questions echo through the woods. We shudder.

‘Do you see blood? I think I see blood.’

We see blood.

‘Pack up, everyone. Trip’s over.’

It’s all gone a bit too Blair Witch for our liking.

***

What a mysterious prompt for FFfAW this week – I’m hoping for many spooky stories.

Not a Fortune Teller

(c) Julian Povey, 2008
(c) Julian Povey, 2008 

She drops the Romanian accent along with her crystal ball and hides in the darkest corner.

‘Get out,’ she spits.

‘Tell me what you saw.’

I know. But I need her to tell me.

‘Six crystal pillars. They spawn these… creatures. From the distance, you’d mistake them for angels.’

‘Tell me what they look like.’

She comes out of hiding, fetches pencil and sketch pad. I close my eyes – the suffocating stench of incense has given me a headache. Or maybe it’s caused by knowing she’s sketching faces from the nightmares.

‘They’re not nightmares. It’s a prophecy.’

As I feared.

***

I wrote this for week six of Luminous Creatures’ Summer of Super Short Stories. And then forgot to post it before the deadline… d’oh.

Redrum Coffee

This is for MFtS – had to jump in, I loved the picture and the opening line. But as I mentioned yesterday, I won’t be able to read many of the other stories due to the lack of broadband – so dear fellow Finish the Story writers, I apologise for (probably) not commenting on your work this week.

***

The barista shook his head. The hedge couldn’t have moved closer over night. Could it?

All day, the sense the hedge people were creeping up on him grew stronger. He’d swear the cheeky bastards winked at him at one point. He didn’t dare go away for lunch in case he’d miss them making a big move.

What is this, The Shining?

The barista shuddered as the pieces fell into place: an isolated hotel in the mountains, owned and run by the Loverook Corporation; a manicured hedge shaped like a bunch of Keith Haring people; the Redrum Coffee and Cocktail Bar.

He didn’t take off his apron. He ran for his car, followed by rustling steps.