Monday 30 March 2015

Five Sentence Fiction - Entrance

I am quick with this weeks Five Sentence Fiction because the photo immediately inspired me. I might have stretched a few of the sentences with punctuation, but I didn't want to cut this too short. 

Elizabeth stopped and repositioned her backpack. She could see the light from the opening up ahead, it was getting brighter all the time, but she hadn’t reached it yet, the path kept winding off in different directions, taking her on wide loops before returning back to where she had been, although a few steps further along.

Each time this happened, her doubts grew about what was on the other side, making her wonder if she really needed to reach it at all. Was it really going to be everything she hoped it would be, or would she be disappointed and let down? Would she find what she was looking for – to fit in and be part of something – or did it just appear that way because it was brighter, and only be more of the same? 

The only thing she was sure of was that she wouldn’t know until she got there, and despite all her doubts and trepidation she knew she wanted to stand in that entrance way and see what was beyond otherwise she would regret it.

Hangman - MWBB

I went really dark for this last weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster - the song required it. A creepy death call. So I wrote, no holds barred, just horror. Although I decided to skip the gruesome details. It didn't get ranked, but then there are loads of awesome writers writing for MWBB these days making it far more of a challenge - which is a good thing. Ups your game. 

The prompt song was:
“Dance the Hanged Man’s Jig”, by Aghast Manor

Vanessa moved methodically round the cellar, making sure she had all she needed. Images of surgeons collecting their tools ready for surgery and laying them out on the tray flicked through her mind. They helped block out the sound. It was like a whining, buzzing in her ears. She no longer heard the words, just the noise they made. It would be over soon though.

She pulled on one of the ropes of the system she had built, checked its tautness. It was still good. She had sourced the right type of rope to carry the weight. It was thick, but flexible enough to manipulate into the pulley system she wanted. And now in practice she could see what the salesman had meant by it working with you.

Touching them had caused the sound to rise again, and this time she listened. There was no emotion in response to what she heard. She felt literally nothing. She had even nicked herself with the scalpel she had used earlier, and even though it was a deep cut, she felt no sensation round the wound.

But then she had felt everything for too long, hadn’t she? All the rage, the sadness, the grief, the hurt, like it was a physical pain. And not at any time during that period had an emotion been reciprocated, whether of shame, guilt, regret, sadness, or care. Once that realisation had dawned all her feelings ceased. Some would say she shut down, but she would say she had done the opposite. She had understood. She had realised that words were not enough. She had seen what action was needed, to bring the point home.

The noose she’d weaved had fit well, the use of it bringing about the unconscious state she’d desired to be able to tie the rest of his body into place without resistance. When he’d come round she had winched the pulley system tight, splaying him out just enough to make it uncomfortable. Now it was time for the next stage. To be fully redeemed he needed to be emasculated. He needed to purged of what had caused his infidelity.

She turned to face him, a face she knew well. She had caressed the lines on it, run her fingers through the hair that framed it, and probably touched every inch of it with her lips at some point in the past twelve years. Although not in the past year, not since it had found someone else to kiss it, to caress it, to do all the things that she used to do.

Vanessa let him finish his sentence, full of desires to ‘put things right’ and ‘give her the love she deserved’, but she wasn’t stupid, she knew he was only saying those things to try and placate her so she would set him free. And the moment she did he would run, probably to the police.

She didn’t want that, it would ruin the plans she had meticulously worked on; plans that wouldn’t start them looking for him for more than a month; plans that wouldn’t put her in the picture once they did, but might suggest his lover; and plans that gave her an alibi should anything on his body be linked to her, but the chances of that were slim if she followed these next steps carefully.

She pulled on the latex gloves, snapping them for effect. It worked - he quieted. Then she picked up a pair of industrial ear muffs and put them on. She picked up a deep incision scalpel, and moved towards him. She could see his lips moving fervently, but there was no sound. She smiled, and made her first cut.

Friday 27 March 2015

Horror Bites - Love Me

The new Horror Bites challenge is up and I had to think about what I wanted to do with this one. Took a while for a story to surface, and it's not really classic horror, or supernatural horror, more horror of the mind, or the intention, or the disturbed. Echos of 'We have to talk about Kevin' (the book) came to me as I wrote it.

Jeffrey had seen his dad buy the fireworks and put them in the shed, but his dad wouldn’t let him touch them, said they weren’t for children to play with, that they had to be ‘handled with care’. Jeffrey knew all about ‘handle with care’ it’s what they’d been doing with him all his life.

When he was little he wondered what it was they were afraid of. What it was he did that sparked so much fear in their eyes whenever he was around. Why they barely touched him, or came near him. So he’d started experimenting, and found quite a few things.

The first time the police had shown up he’s acted as sweet as pie, but by the fourth he didn’t care anymore. The empty threats were just that: empty. His parents never followed through on any of them, they were too afraid, afraid of what he might do next time – ironic really. And the older he got the more ways he discovered - no matter what they hid to stop him.  

But the fireworks his dad had tried to sneak home, fireworks for his baby bother Jeremy – the golden boy, the one who got all the love and affection - did they really think Jeffrey would keep his hands off? He was sixteen now. His dad knew better.

Social services had been round that morning, talking about taking him away. His mum had cried a lot. First time he’d ever seen her do that. He knew he was hurting them, and he tried to care, but he didn’t know how, plus he knew how to make it all better.

He snuck out that night. Put the wheelbarrow ready in the middle of the garden. Then he found his dad’s hiding place – it wasn’t hard. And then he placed them round the inside of the wheelbarrow in easy reach, with him in the middle. He’d create one hell of a bonfire. He added paraffin, liking the smell of it on his clothing. Then he counted down … 1, 2, 3 … maybe they’d love him now. 

349 Words

Thursday 26 March 2015

Five Sentence Fiction - Engulf

I wanted to capture this one in time, as the imagine and prompt word of this weeks Five Sentence Fiction could be missed. It spoke the second I saw it. It engulfed me! (chortle)


When Andrea looked at the letter she felt like she had just been slapped in the face - hard. She just stood there stunned. She had no words as her mind reeled at the implication for her future here and what this meant; no words to make it feel better, or go away, it was done, it was already past and she was powerless to change it.

Then it started in her toes, and rushed up her legs filling her belly with heat and quickening her heartbeat, making her catch her breath, as her mind filled with enraged thoughts. They would pay for this in more ways they could imagine! 

Visual Dare - Clarity

I missed the deadline on this one, but another compelling photo from Visual Dare meant I still have to write. Plus the edges of the story kept creeping in every time I saw the picture. 


Melissa looked down into the abyss, and clung on for dear life from the plateau she had found herself on. There wasn’t much down there, just threads of what was, all torn up and twisted. She was grateful to have survived the worst, but how was she going to get out of her present predicament?

Either backwards or forwards it was going to be a struggle. She couldn’t see far in either direction so couldn’t be sure of her options. She didn’t know which way would be quicker or more fruitful, and was scared to risk either one until she could feel more sure.

She hoped for some clarity as she clung to the relative safety of her location, hoping that it wouldn’t be long before a solution appeared through the mists. 

132 Words

Monday 16 March 2015

Daily Picspiration

My Daily Picspiration went up yesterday. The photos weren't at all helpful to the serial and I made a tenuous connection at best, with the rocky sculpture looking slightly mountainous, as though on a mountain side ... yeah, that's right, as I say tenuous! 

I was not sure where I was going with it when I started this piece, but I ended up really liking it. It brought more than I hoped for. Let's hope the next lot work for me. Enjoy.

Posted on March 15th, you can read Part 6 - 'Into the Mountains' here.

You can read Part 5 - 'Provisions' here. 
You can read Part 4 - 'Moving Out' here.
You can read Part 3 - 'New Recruit' here.
You can read Part 2 - New Location here. 
You can read Part 1 - Frozen here.

Paying the Price - MWBB

I am late with posting this. I didn't write for last week's Mid-Week Blues-Buster - this is from the week before. It was a tough one to write for, and to keep the story in check as I wasn't sure where it was going to go, and I wasn't sure how dark I wanted to get - didn't want to go too gruesome. 

The prompt song was:
“Me and the Devil” by Gil Scott-Heron.

He tied the ropes and pulled them hard, the gasp it provoked satisfying him that that they were tight enough. He stood up and looked round the cellar; its empty, dankness reassuring him. The bare light bulb reflected the stark minimalist feelings that fuelled him.

He took the steps back up to the bright light of real life, and made sure he locked the door behind him. He’d give them a few hours to settle in.

Scott walked into the kitchen where his wife was busy preparing lunchtime pack ups, and their two kids were busy eating breakfast. He grabbed a stool next to his son and started in on the toast that had been placed in front of him.

“Thanks Honey.”

“Whatja doing in the cellar, Papa?”

Little George’s face looked up at him all inquisitive. He tousled his hair.

“Never you mind, buddy. You ready for your test today?”

“Yes. I’m gonna ace it. Piece of cake.”

Scott grinned. At 7 years old his son was so self-assured. He loved that.

They finished up breakfast and he dropped the kids off at school while his wife went to work. When he got back, he thought of going up to his office first to prepare the papers, but he was curious how they were getting on in the cellar.

He grabbed a bucket from under the kitchen sink and filled it with water, taking it with him as he unlocked the cellar door. He paused at the top, waiting to hear any sounds, but there was nothing - not even a whimper.

When he reached the bottom he stood facing them, standing between the chairs they were tied too. He threw half the water on one and half on the other. It brought gasps from the man, but nothing from the woman, although she shook the water off. That intrigued him.

He stepped toward her and lifted her chin up. Her eyes were cold, determined, seeing him, but resistant. He liked that, it titillated him. He glanced at the man who was watching him. There was fear in his eyes. His mind no doubt racing, wondering what Scott was going to do.

Scott laughed. He couldn’t help himself. They had no idea. Maybe he should get on with it then, although there was no hurry, he had all day.

He needed to be careful; he didn’t want to create too much noise. The dope he’d injected when he’d found them earlier that morning kept them muted, but he knew that would change when he began.

The phone ring, and he paused. Looked like they had a reprieve for now.
He conscientiously locked the door again when he reached the top, and grabbed the phone in the kitchen.


“Hey Scotty.” Her voice was like silk. “You got them?”

“I sure do.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I got this.”

“You sure?” She sounded disappointed.

“It’s simpler this way. Just make sure you’re ready.”

“Oh I’m ready all right, I was out all night.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed had, he hated what her voice did to him. 

“I don’t mean digging their graves.”

“I know you don’t baby.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby anymore.” Scott was firm.

“Fine.” She hung up. He knew she was upset, but he didn’t care. He was done with this.

He went back to work down in the cellar.


Scott patted the top layer with the spade until it was nice and firm and then placed some forest debris over it, so it didn’t stand out.

Then he reached in his back pocket and pulled out an envelope.

“Here. This closes everything off.”

“I can’t thank you enough Scotty.”

Her voice in the dark still aroused him. He gritted his teeth.

“I don’t need your thanks. I just want my soul back.”

He could see her bottom lip pout. “You sure? We were so good together.”

“I’ve paid your price, now it’s over.”

“As you wish.”

There was a flash as the envelope went up in flames, the light catching her face, exposing its true grotesque nature seconds before she vanished. He shuddered. It was done. 

Tuesday 3 March 2015

Daily Picspiration - Provisions

My Daily Picspiration went up on Sunday. The photos weren't that helpful to them actually getting up into the mountains, so I lingered, doing a bit more character development and story building. I was also surprised that the story lent to the second photo and not the first. I am not quite sure what I am going to do with this or how long I am going to keep with it, but I am certainly setting some ground work. It's interesting to do as a writer.

Posted on March 1st, you can read Part 5 - 'Provisions' here. 

You can read Part 4 - 'Moving Out' here.
You can read Part 3 - 'New Recruit' here.
You can read Part 2 - New Location here. 
You can read Part 1 - Frozen here.

Monday 2 March 2015

Visual Dare - Elite

Due to work I am late with getting my Visual Dare written and linked up. But the picture was so compelling I couldn't miss it. This is what it said to me.


Porter looked out across the tangled grounds that surrounded their ancestral home, and sighed. He wished it still looked as grand as it did in its hay day when dignitaries would come and pay their respects, occasionally bringing gifts and reminding them how special they were. He missed feeling important, despite not actually having done much to earn it.

Their name had had clout, but that was about all, besides a house full of antique assets. And that too, was long gone now, having been sold off to the highest bidder.

He’d watched it all from the top window, which overlooked the courtyard where their contents had been laid bare. He’d seen the greedy faces of their rivals snap up the best, and been powerless to stop it. Now he was interred in the family burial plot, the last of the line to join his ancestors, he was physically unable.

150 Words