Daily Picspiration - Passing the Crown

My Daily Picspiration went up on Sunday. This is a follow on to the last one, 'Birth Right', and it came out quite easily. I'm not sure if I will continue it yet, but I do like how this story and characters are coming. Enjoy.

Posted on November 23rd, you can read 'Passing the Crown' here.

Horror Bites - Trapped

This Horror Bites photo prompt seemed very 'obvious' and I struggled with coming up with something original - although all the others who have participated so far have managed some quite unique, and very scary. In the end this is what I came up with. Hope it works.

 

 

Melissa woke up to pitch black. She tried to sit up, but bashed her head on something. She thought maybe she’d collapsed on the bottom bunk of her son’s bed, then remembered he’d left home last year and they hadn’t had bunk beds since he was ten.

She waited for her eyes to adjust, but they didn’t; there was no light. She reached her hands up and struck something solid just a few inches above her. She reached out to the sides and the same thing happened.

She felt panic rise in her chest, trying to recall the last thing she remembered. It was hard; her mind felt fuzzy, unclear, there was a lot of resistance, like a hangover.

There’d been a delivery of furniture at the garden centre. She’d been moving one of the combi garden bench-boxes out onto the display. Russell had been there. She remembered because he always gave her the creeps. His smile was disturbing and he was always watching, waiting for her to notice him. She shuddered even now in the box.

Melissa pushed up hard, but there was no movement. Her panic increased. She scratched at the sides, but it was hard plastic, confirming her suspicions that she was inside one of the combi boxes.

She started shouting and bashing harder, but she knew no one would hear her. It had been after closing on Sunday when she’d been setting up the display; the garden centre wasn’t open on Monday’s. She had no idea how long she’d been in here already, but she started to feel breathless. Whether it was panic or lack of air in the box she wasn’t sure. 

She felt her mind swoon. She was losing consciousness. An image popped into her head of her limp arm hanging out of the box while her raw fingers dripped blood onto the concrete floor. “If only,” she mumbled. It could be months before they found her. 

323 Words

Thursday Threads entry - 'Trading'

It has been a long time, a little over a year, since I have entered a piece for the Thursday Threads flash fiction contest, hosted by Siobhan Muir, so I was completely surprised to find that it yielded an Honourable Mention!

It is a word prompt, and these days I tend to be drawn to more visual inspiration. But I always check and have a read, and with this one the story appeared immediately.



Trading

Padrov pulled the car into the secluded parking lot, and spotted the battered brown Datsun straight away. He thought they’d drive something better than that with what they made.

He parked on the opposite side, wanting to keep his distance, and glanced in the rear view mirror at the round, terrified eyes looking back at him. He felt the sweat on his palms prickle.

Then he glanced at the woman squashed into the footwell behind the passenger seat, and she glanced back, her hands never leaving the knees of the two little boys.

Padrov killed the engine and waited. Someone got out of the Datsun. When they turned to face him, Padrov’s fear turned to rage. He knew this man. He was a teacher. His stomach churned at the thought of how many children he’d come into contact with.

Padrov breathed, opening his door slowly, and resisted the urge to scratch the wire under his shirt.

When they had both moved forward, the man jerked his head at the two small faces in the back of Padrov’s car.

“I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

“Not yet. Show me the money first.” Padrov was firm.

The man took out a buddle of notes and fanned them.

Padrov nodded. “Good, you have enough.”

With the key words triggered, sirens blared and blue lights lit up the car park, not giving the man time to turn round. Padrov didn’t say any more, only spat as his feet at he was taken away. 

Daily Picspiration - Birth Right

My Daily Picspiration went up on Sunday. It took me a while to know where I wanted this to go. I had the opening, but I struggled to see past it. Now I can't decide if I want to go further with this. We will see what the next round of pictures bring. It is also a different subject matter, or type of story for me - although I quite like that. I hope you enjoy.

Posted on November 9th, you can read 'Birth Right' here.



 

Passing Souls - Published in Sirens Call eZine

Issue #17 of the eZine from Sirens Call Publications has just been released, with the theme 'Trick or Treat' for Halloween. And my little tale is in there, along with one from my friend Laura James.

You will find my piece 'Passing Souls' on Page 46.

As always with this ezine, the stories are not for the faint-hearted, and the good thing is that it is free to download, so no excuse, go and read it now!

Addiction Demons - MWBB

When I wrote for last week's Mid-Week Blues-Buster song, it was in a bit of a rush. I had an opening scene, but I stumbled over the story until I decided where he was going, then it came to me. It took some fiddling and some stop and starting, and due to the time constraints it didn't feel like it flowed right, but it caught the attention of the judge and seemed to go down well. Due to the low amount of entrants - just five - there was only a Winner and an Honourable Mention - and I snagged the HM, so I am really pleased with that.

The prompt song this week was:

 Still Life, by Ironmaiden

Lucius sat upright - rigid, sweat pouring down his face, the rasp of his breath heavy in his own ears. His eyes were wide in the darkened room, but shadows still danced on the wall in front of him.

He could hear the guitar from down below, its high pitch twine probably what had woken him, pulling him away from the demons. They were there every night the second he closed his eyes; calling to him, wanting him, but he wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t go to them. He refused to join them again.

But as he got his racing heart under control, the movement in front of him didn’t stop. They ran circles on the wall, trying to draw his eye. He flicked back the sheets, refusing to be pulled in; they’d had as much of his attention as he would give them tonight.

He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, and ran down the stairs, taking a passing glimpse at the party going on; the girls looking spaced out at this late hour, the boys trying to keep them alive with alluring dance moves that made no sense to the music.

The cold air hit him as he opened the front door, sparking the muttering deep in the recesses of his mind. He knew when he got there he could calm them and at least bring peace for the rest of the night.

Lucius paced himself as he went into the night-lit park, not letting the urge to run take over; knowing the route by heart, having taken it more and more often over the past month. They were getting stronger, their pull on him greater - but he still had the last word.

He could see the night light twinkle off the surface through the trees, and he approached the water, feeling the release. He crouched at the edge and touched the surface, the icy depths running up his fingers and stilling his mind.

They didn’t like it, the clarity cutting them off – or was it the purity?

He cupped his hand and sipped at the captured water. With each swallow he felt cleansed and purified. He didn’t know what it was about this body of water – it didn’t work with any others - but this one brought the stillness he sought. The mutterings stopped.

It crossed his mind that there was something in it, maybe he was swapping one addiction for another, but it was a public park; this expanse of water ran right through it and many animals and birdlife fed off it. It could be the ritual that brought calm.

Lucius felt whole once more and stood, stretching. But as he turned to go he glimpsed a figure in the distance, illuminated in the dark by its white clothing. His curiosity took him towards it, and he realised it was a statue; its smooth white surface reflecting all the light – particularly the expanse of its wings.

The angel stood on the opposite bank, its arms outstretched, looking down at the water. He wondered why he had never noticed it before, having been here so often in the past month, although he was always distracted when he arrived, whether day or night, his mind plagued by the demons.

But what struck him was how the water appeared to be flowing through its hands, as though coming from within it, and blessing it.

Daily Picspiration - Which Witch

My Daily Picspiration went up on Sunday. The pictures were seasonal being in the Halloween theme, but I like to not always play to that - and the second photo especially, being the title of one of Stephen King's novels, seemed to promote a certain story line. But I wasn't having any of it. There was another Salem - a real Salem in the world - and it's history crosses paths with what could be considered a Halloween theme. It took me a while to get a story thrown round the opening scene I had in my mind, but Mildred's voice was clear in my head. I might have to revisit her again should a story require her. Enjoy!

Posted on October 26th, you can read 'Which Witch' here.