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2022 October Hauntings
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THE TRUTH SHALL SET US FREEBy Mirta Oliva
Two days of walking up the hills and down on the prairies of my beloved land. Two days of escaping the brutality of a man who said he loved me... All the while beating me almost daily. With no family to protect me and no money of my own, I had no choice but to stay until this blessed day when my husband forgot to tie me to the bed before leaving. I hurriedly packed a small bag with bare necessities and took off walking... walking away from the ravages of my short-lived married life.
I drank water off the creeks and ate from a loaf of bread I took with me. I could not waste any time or he may be able to catch up with me. In the beginning, I knew the terrain... too familiar since my childhood. Now, too far away from home, I was only guided by the sun who pointed me to the east each morning. I was happy to be free so I stopped to smell all the flowers I encountered on my path. This early in my escapade I saw a cabin in the distance, about two city blocks away from me. Hopefully, it will be inhabited and they will offer me something to eat. And so it was. The owners, an elderly couple were hospitable and caring, particularly when they heard of my predicament. I accepted their offer to stay overnight which helped me get some needed rest. And they promised to keep my visit confidential.
The next morning, the old gentleman offered me a ride to the next town which I gladly accepted. Perhaps I could find some work there. When I saw a "cashier wanted" ad in a grocery store window, I asked the old man to stop there. And that was my lucky day. They offered me free rent upstairs in exchange for a lesser salary. I would save on bus fare and I could buy my food at the grocery, thus allowing me to save most of my earnings.
A few months went by and I had been able to save quite a bit of money. The question I asked myself every day was "What can I do next?" Soon after my arrival at the store, I had dyed and cut my hair, had lost weight and I can admit the change did me good; however, I was still married to a monster and I was afraid to contact the authorities in case their solution backfired on me.
One day I decided to contact the "abused spouse" helpline and that was the best decision I had made. After researching my story, they changed my name, relocated me to another state, and found me a nice job--better in pay than the one I had at the grocery store. While I could not get a divorce, I registered in the local college to become a nurse and later on a Nurse Practitioner. Two more years went by and I had a new job and a nice apartment. I had also become friends with Curt, a law student who was still living with his parents. I visited him often and his parents really liked me but I could not allow our friendship to become serious... I was not ready to confide my secret to him as yet.
Another year went by and Curt had become a lawyer, now employed by a prominent law firm. I guess he had waited till that important change in his life to propose. I did not know what to say so I told him I had feelings for him too but that I will give him an answer soon. That's when I called the Social Worker assigned to my case. She agreed that this was the proper timing to tell Curt the truth and that perhaps he could take on my case and file the divorce papers for me.
While I had lied to Curt since the beginning claiming I had divorced my abusive husband, he understood the reasons for not confiding in him earlier; thus, he agreed to work on it right away. Since I was still legally married, we postponed the engagement until my divorce was final.
The first thing Curt did was to check my husband's criminal records. He was just as surprised as I was to find out he had been sentenced to life in prison after it was discovered he was a sex offender who had abused many women and killed one. Although the findings were that he may have killed more, at least with the strong case they had he was committed for life. But his story did not end there... While in prison he had an altercation with another prisoner and was killed.
The above news brought me tears of joy since I was not only a free woman at last, but I felt safe knowing he could do no more harm to me or to anyone else. I was now a widow--the former wife of a criminal but I had a new name which I proposed I would keep after our marriage. I did not want to get Curt involved in the dark scenario of my former married life. My social worker closed the case and we decided to keep this shocking revelation to ourselves--never to be discussed again. We had a private wedding and a lovely honeymoon, followed by the greatest news of all. Good things happen to those who wait so a couple of months later we learned we would be parents to twins--a boy and a girl.
Mod
Thanks, Glenda. Since life gets more complicated by the minute, as soon as I saw the post I started writing. I never plan the stories... I just let them happen a sentence at a time. Just corrected a couple of typos I did not see earlier. I am off the hook now. LOL.
Hello, everyone. Just wanted to add that the word count is up to 2000 words. And the starting date for writing will be October 24th.
Mirta!Great story! Nice to see such a happy ending to her tragic story.
Thanks, Robert. I was undecided between the message and the... shocking truth... and went for the latter.
What does "starting date" mean? Glad to see the word count up.
Robert wrote: "Hello, everyone. Just wanted to add that the word count is up to 2000 words. And the starting date for writing will be October 24th."
Robert wrote: "Hello, everyone. Just wanted to add that the word count is up to 2000 words. And the starting date for writing will be October 24th."
Mod
Hello, everyone. I'm just going to clear up my confusing post on dates. Voting will take place between Oct. 24, 2022 to Oct. 30th. Winners will be posted in this thread on November 1st. To vote you can message me directly at thedead1@live.ca
Mirta wrote: "THE TRUTH SHALL SET US FREEBy Mirta Oliva
Two days of walking up the hills and down on the prairies of my beloved land. Two days of escaping the brutality of a man who said he loved me... All th..."
Really powerful - great writiting Mirta
Thanks, Arthur! Your last story was entertaining... Keep it up, we need some fun stuff.
Story The Haunted Ghost (1992 words) A seldom browsed book on football fell from a shelf in Acton, waking the man called Plater who was sleeping in the bedroom. He pondered why no earth tremor had been reported. Within days he’d forgotten about it.
In Hammersmith, a woman called Eileen found her hot relaxing bath water turned cold and chilly for a few seconds before quickly returning to its desired temperature again. She was too disturbed by the freaky incident to enjoy the planned long soak any more. She dried herself, and went to bed. Within days the incident was a distant memory.
Lights flickered in an old school in Peckham but none of the pupils or staff took it as more than a fluctuation in the National grid electricity supply.
Such occurrences were happening all over London, but so fleetingly and ineffectively that no one suspected ghosts. Few mentioned their incidents to others. No one joined the dots. No one felt haunted or scared.
Charlie the ghost grew more frustrated, more angry, more and more embittered.
Sarah next, a girl who had stood him up in their teens when he invited her on a dinner date, leaving him shivering outside a restaurant and laughing at him with the guy she actually went out with as they passed him on the bus. Sarah was in Finchley, visiting a medium, who had a ouija board. Sarah wanted to learn about her late Mum.
Charlie had other ideas. Invisible, with little time, he tried to move the Medium’s cup to the letters spelling out ‘Charlie says Die!’ But he only got the ‘C’ out before the vortex hurled him to his next target, the boss who’d fired him from his first job for threatening everyone who so much as looked at him funny.
Unfortunately, the boss was dead himself, really dead, not trapped in any kind of afterlife. Charlie found himself in a field, where the boss’s cremation ashes had settled after being scattered. Charlie howled in anguish, unheard even by a squirrel that scampered through him.
Sarah had been untroubled by the C taking over from yes and no answers. It seemed a minor glitch, a skip of the spiritualist’s concentration. Sarah hadn’t heard from her Mum or if she was ever to marry or come into a fortune. She would find another mystic soon and try again. Most she had tried so far gad been charlatans or sincere but deluded amateurs. Sarah hoped to find a proper medium some day.
Mary Tanner, aka Madam Fatana, had more concern over that C slip though. Something from beyond had definitely nudged her just as she had thought she was reaching Sarah’s dear departed Mum. The result was that the poor girl had lost faith in her and was unlikely to return for future visits. She wondered what troubled soul was trying to contact Sarah through her. Mary had felt anger, malice, a desire for vengeance, but a weak ineffectiveness too. There was something pitiful going on.
Mary decided to investigate. Talking with Sarah would probably get her nowhere. She had to talk to the tortured spirit directly. She set up a pentagram on the cellar floor, placed a runestone on each point, lit candles, and called out a few low voiced semi-Latin incantations, unsure if anything would work as this was uncharted territory for her.
Charlie banshee shrieked at the surgeon who had failed to get rid of his lung cancer but the man did not look up from the movie he was watching, a Star Wars sequel by the looks of it, but apart from the familiar droids the characters were all new ones. Charlie despaired that the franchise had outlived him. He wondered if he should haunt the people who produced the movie too, and coveted a jaunt to haunt leap to Hollywood to find them, but he was suddenly dragged as if on bungee cord to an unfamiliar place, though the figure there looked vaguely recognizable. Charlee remembered who it was, the fortune telling gypsy crone two timing Sarah had been with.
Charlie felt nervous, frightened. He looked round expecting to see Sarah. He also felt unusually pinned, as when he had wanted to remain in a place to haunt it, the vortex swept him on in perpetual flux. Now he was somewhere he never wanted to go, seeing someone living who seemed to haunt him when he wanted to do the haunting, and though he willed it, he could not break free of the centre of her demon-binding pentagram. He was saddened to think of himself as a demonic force, but obviously he was one.
The witch could see him. She stared right at him, without fear or dread. There was just a gleam of humour, a great deal of curiosity and a lot of pity too. The cow felt sorry for him.
“Who are you?” Charlie demanded, “And where’s Sarah? Is she putting you up to this?”
The spiritualist heard him, and suppressed a giggle. He had meant to make his voice boom out like the crack of doom, threatening, foreboding, aggressive. Instead, it sounded weak, shrill, desperate.
Mary sat on the floor in the lotus position, and stared a moment at the ensnared visitor. She sensed how powerless he was. Most ghosts would have broken free from her easily. She’d expected a moment or two at best with the man, but she realised that he was unlikely to ever get away from her without her aid. She had a ghost in her control, She felt a thrill at the surge of power bestowed on her.
“Sarah is not here and she has no idea you are here either. I alone summoned you. Who are you?”
Charlie ignored the question. “Where is here?”
“My house and studio. The room where you gatecrashed my business with the girl you call Sarah is right above this cellar.”
“Why have you summoned me here, Gypsy?”
Mary was getting a sense of the man already. The snarling prejudice with which he said ‘gypsy’ betrayed his hatreds and arrogance. Mary saw the words ‘hate’ tattooed on the knuckles of both hands. Many punks and skinheads (of which he resembled a mixed up undecided mixture of both) bore the words ‘love’ and ‘hate’ while he had ‘hate’ scrawled on both hands. There was no love left in this man.
“To learn your story. You had a message for Sarah. You only shared one letter before you moved on. Why not tell me the rest of your message now, so I can decide whether to tell Sarah about you or not.”
Charlie remembered what he had managed to say, and freely revealed more. “It was C for Charlie. I wanted the cow to know I was here.”
“You have rather a low opinion of the girl, Charles. What did she do to deserve haunting by a ghost?”
“My name is Charlie! Never call me Charles.” he whined.
As he spoke he seemed to be being drawn to the eastern brick wall of the cellar. Hes hair all pointed that way. Mary felt as if there was a vacuum cleaner pulling the very air in the room in that direction. Some flakes of dust were being drawn towards the wall, passing clean through Charlie’s transparent body as they went, but he was held in place as if by invisible chains. The pentagram acted as a force field, and Mary sensed Charlie was torn between staying to talk, and letting himself be sucked away to wherever the flux dragged him.
“You are not used to staying in one place for very long are you?” she said.
Charlie shook his head. “Too many enemies to avenge. Too many to haunt. I have to get them all. You too now for daring to hold me here against my will.”
Mary sighed. “Ah, a ghost with so many people to haunt that he can’t hang around long enough to have an effect on anyone. How pathetic. No one you see even knows you still exist. You have no power. You are useless, ectoplasmically impotent. You hate so much and so many that you’ve spread yourself too thin. What on Earth did everyone do to deserve your animosity to such a degree?
The tale of woe flowed from his lips with ease. Bullies, the ones who hit me, hurt me, held me back, mocked my art, denounced my right wing politics, told me I was a misogynist, jilted me like Sarah did, got me beat up by her brothers like Cynthia did after I slapped her around, reported me to the police on molestation charges, fired me from jobs, barred me from pubs, exposed me as a racist on the internet, refused me admission to Heaven, I have so many to avenge. As a ghost I can haunt them all. I am condemned to make them all fear me, or feel sorry enough to apologise to me. So far I am faring badly, but I will get stronger. I will be avenged on all of you. Do you not fear me?”
Mary laughed. “No one can fear you, useless spirit, drowning in your own bile. You are not haunting anyone but yourself! Don’t you see, everyone, including Sarah, is living their lives oblivious of your ongoing existence. What little you achieve, a creaking floorboard, a warm presence, a knocked over ornament, it’ll just be attributed to weird natural phenomena, or at best, to other ghosts. You have nothing left in you but grudges and resentment. You’ll haunt the world forever because you think it owes you a favour. It owes you nothing. You are a waste of space. You’ll never be noticed or forgiven. You’ll never frighten so much as a cat. How long have you been dead and haunting now?”
“About twenty years. Some of my targets have died themselves.”
“Twenty years. Two decades and still wallowing in self pity because Sarah wouldn’t be your girlfriend. Get over it. She’ll never even know you’ve been near her.”
“I got you to see me!”
“No, you are only here now because I made it so. I can get rid of you in a very simple move.”
I’m staying to haunt you forever.”
With a yawn, Mary walked over to the tip of the pentagram star nearest to the suction of air pulling on the ghost’s form. With a gentle kick she dislodged the blank runestone, nudging it away a few inches.
The air surged up faster than ever, and Charlie was dragged off instantly to and through the wall. He tried yelling a plea to be allowed to stay and made swimming motions before he vanished.
Mary swept away the pentagram chalk, mopped the floor, turned out the light and went to get a cup of cocoa before going to bed.
Charlie found himself face to face with the brother who always got better Christmas presents than he had. He called him a few names, mostly from the rage of not being taken right to Sarah’s side so he could berate her. Each drag on his leash took him to another enemy, some of whom he couldn't even remember from life, or recall why he loathed them. None of them were Sarah. He hoped each fresh haunt would be her, but when he saw her again, as an old woman, lying on her deathbed, with her husband, children and grandchildren gathered round. He watched her last gentle breath as he yelled to her to go to Hell, and her spirit rising to the sky, oblivious to his presence. He turned his attention to the grandkids when drawn there, but they aged through decades between visits too. When no one lived who he remembered he took to haunting trees, which were indifferent to his wailing and gnashing of teeth.
A single word became Charlie’s only vocabulary; hate hate hate… as he out-haunted the heat death of the galaxy.
Arthur Chappell
Mod
Mod
(1,771 words)
I woke up with a start in the morgue at Saint Mary Hospital. I was on a cold metal table with a sheet over my face. My mind was fuzzy about the details on how I happened to arrive here. Apparently, I was in a transition state: not completely dead, just a slow heart rate with ash-colored skin. After pulling the sheet away, I found I had no clothes on. Luckily, I saw some black medical scrubs, the pants as well as the pullover top to put on. It’s a good thing that face masks were mandatory too. I took one out of a nearby box and placed it on my face. I may not have shoes on, but at least I can put some shoe cover booties on. No one can tell the difference.
As I glanced around, I noticed that there were other metal tables with sheets in disarray, as if others who were nearly dead had awakened. If so, I wondered if they wore any clothes out of here. I happened to pass a mirror which made me stop to peer at myself. Dark, oily eyes encircled by red around the pupils stared back at me from bright red eye sockets. My skin was turning from ash to pasty white. There was nothing I could do about it.
Out in the hallway nurses and doctors were busier than usual tending to people with Zombiepox. Many of the people being wheeled on gurneys looked to be in my condition: pasty skin and red eyes. I don’t understand. The ZombieVax was a mandatory vaccine. I was fully vaxed. Why did I and others around me become this thing? These zombies?
“Hey, we need you in surgery!” a female nurse said to me. “Hurry! We’re just starting.”
I gave her a thumbs-up and followed her into the surgical department. Once inside, I stood between the surgeon and a nurse. The patient had already been put in a deep sleep by an anesthesia IV drip. The doctor was shaving the hair from the top of the head to perform brain surgery to remove multiple tumors. The surgeon asked for the medical drill. The nurse handed it to me which I passed on to the doctor. The nurse also handed me a sponge to dab at the blood. Once a section of the skull was removed, the aroma of raw brain was mouth-watering to me. I went into a frenzy. After tackling the doctor, my mouth covered the whole in the head as I nibbled at the delectable tissue. The nurse that had stood beside me grabbed a fire extinguisher to pelt me in the head. I pushed her backward as she crashed into surgical tools and eventually the wall. Before the doctor could get up, I grabbed a handful of raw brain to stuff in my mouth on the way out of surgery. I blended in with the mayhem of hospital staff, but I made sure to wipe the blood from my mouth.
My apartment was just a few blocks from the hospital. The streets were chaotic with screams heard throughout the neighborhood, cars racing to and from, and general decay of the once pristine city. After arriving at the apartment, I retrieved the key from under the mat and entered. On the table in the entryway was a newspaper with a note scrawled on it.
"Poor, Kevin. He must be out of his mind after knowing I died. But where could he be?"
I put a frozen steak in the microwave to thaw. After 10 minutes, I cut it into pieces and sat on the living room couch. It wasn’t brain, but it would have to do as I chewed on the raw meat. I turned the Android TV on and opened the Pluto app. After glancing at several news channels, I came to the America First channel. The news anchor was talking about the Zombiepox pandemic. Doctor Carrie Johnson who specialized in mRNA was stating that the Zompiepox vaccine was created with luciferase, parts of nature, part synthetic, and NANO technology. It was able to go past the body’s defense system to reproduce the genetic code. From there it reproduced the Zombiepox in the brain tissue, killing off good brain tissue. The loss of brain tissue started the zombification and a craving to eat brain.
“Are you freakin’ kidding? Oh, my gosh! Is that what is wrong with me?” I cried to an empty room. I dropped my blue bowl which shattered to pieces on the wooden floor. I moaned over the loss of my bowl but scavenged a few more pieces of meat before sweeping the mess up. Are zombies supposed to keep a clean house? I still had a lot of human left in me. After putting the broom and dustpan back in the closet, the news network was announcing breaking news. They were talking about a cure for Zombiepox.
“Stay tuned for more breaking news on the dispensing of the cure. We will be live at 11:00 p.m. Eastern Time. We have also dispensed the cure to all major cities in the US. Those who are seeking the cure should be present tonight before it’s too late.”
I wondered if it was too late for me.
A noise in my backyard got my attention. I opened the drapes to see a zombie guy eating the brains from my black cat. I stepped out onto my patio, grabbed a chair, and proceeded to whack him with it. He took several hits across his back. He never did drop my cat. He sank his teeth in and climbed over the privacy fence with the cat hanging from his mouth. I could hear emergency sirens in the distance. I put the chair down as I entered the house again. I walked over to the table at the front door and picked up a newspaper obituary section announcing my death. Kevin had scrawled a message on the column of the newspaper:
“Stacey, I’m sorry that I wasn’t with you in your final hour. My only regret is that I didn’t say the words ‘I love you’ more often than I did. I don’t think I can go on without you. I plan to end my life at the Willow Bridge. I know that you’ll never see this, never kiss my lips, or embrace me, but this is my way of saying goodbye.”
“No! No! Kevin! Don’t do it,” I screamed. I had no car, but I could get to Willow Bridge on my bike. The sun was setting as I peddled fast to Willow Bridge. After a half hour of biking, I saw Kevin’s car parked at the entrance to the bridge. I rode past it. About the middle of the bridge, I saw a shadowy figure clinging to the rails, standing on the outside of the bridge. I put the kickstand down and walked toward the shadow.
“Kevin? Is that you?” I said between breaths.
“Who are you?” he answered in a scared voice.
“Stacey!”
“You can’t be her! How dare you pretend to be…” He crossed over the railings onto the main part of the bridge. A number of emotions crossed his face. “Is it really you?” He ran to me and showered me with kisses. But he couldn’t see in the dim light how I was becoming a zombie.
“Wait!” I protested. “You may not love what I’ve become. I crave flesh, brain to be exact. I’m becoming one of them.”
“Please, God – no!”
“But I heard on the news that there is a cure. They are unveiling it tonight across the country. We have to get downtown.”
We quickly made our way to the downtown area. The police department worked with emergency crews to dispense the cure in the downtown city of Twin Rivers. Helicopters circled the tall buildings. Throughout the city was mayhem of every kind. Vehicles were burning, businesses were trashed and looted, and zombies marched down the street to prey on humans. We jogged down the sidewalk in the direction of downtown. If we spotted zombies, we hid against building entryways until it was safe. But the zombies got the jump on us. Kevin picked up a pipe to defend them. He was rushed and thrown against a brick building, gashing his head open. He put up a good fight, knocking the attackers out. He grabbed me by my hand and off we ran. As we paused on a street corner, my eyes glazed. I started foaming at the mouth. The smell of a bleeding human was overpowering me. Kevin looked at me, heartbroken. He knew he was losing me.
“Come on, Stacy. Come get me,” he coaxed me into following him.
I blindly obeyed, driven by a monstrous appetite. We got as far as the Twin Falls Court House where a mob of zombies was on all sides. There was no escape.
All of the sudden, several canisters of the cure hit the cement that were dispensed from the helicopters above. A yellow smoke filled the atmosphere to be inhaled by the zombies. Once the cure entered their bodies, they dropped to the ground, transitioning back to human. The cure reversed the DNA codes in their brains and bodies. Although it was hard to see through the yellow haze, I took Kevin’s hand as we walked out of the downtown area.
I woke up in the middle of someone’s autumn yard display with several large pumpkins, a stuffed scarecrow, and piles of autumn leaves. Kevin was nowhere to be found. My bike was lying on the ground not far from me. Something told me, call it an uneasy feeling, to ride to Willow Bridge. I rode as fast as I could. Now that it was daylight, I could see better than last night, plus I was now human again. I rode to the middle of the bridge where I saw Kevin’s car. The police and emergency responder vehicles were parked there. Below they were fishing Kevin’s body from the water onto a stretcher. A fisherman with his son had called 9-1-1 after he had hooked into Kevin’s body. This didn’t happen overnight. The condition of the body suggested he had been dead for a few days. He had made good on his suicide that he had written about on the newspaper which I pulled from my pants pocket. Then I realized that what had taken place the night before was either Kevin’s ghost, zombie hallucinations, or a combination of both. As I pressed the newspaper to my chest, tears flowed down my cheeks.
Love the idea of zombiepox and this is hugely inventive throughout
Mod
Arthur. Your story was despairing to think that someone has that much hate inside of them. Well written and a great story!
Glenda. Your story was very interesting. Departing from the way most zombie stories are orchestrated. Love the idea of seeing /feeling how she progresses through her sickness. The ending was sad, as she gets cured but loses the love of her life. Well thought out and written!
Mod
Just now getting around to reading stories. I am sure your subject has occurred too many times. Your story was well laid out. Good to see you posting.
Mirta wrote: "THE TRUTH SHALL SET US FREE
By Mirta Oliva
Two days of walking up the hills and down on the prairies of my beloved land. Two days of escaping the brutality of a man who said he loved me... All th..."
Mirta wrote: "THE TRUTH SHALL SET US FREE
By Mirta Oliva
Two days of walking up the hills and down on the prairies of my beloved land. Two days of escaping the brutality of a man who said he loved me... All th..."
A BED AND BREAKFAST MYSTERY
by tturner 1110 words
Howling screams cut through the darkness like shattered glass. Lucifer, the yellow-eyed Somali cat, lay licking his paws while stretched out on the grey flagstone steps that led to the front door of the old Victorian Bed and Breakfast. Its bushy tail quivered ever so slightly in the light night wind. A full moon flooded the overgrown garden with a strange silver light. The garden crickets sang in utter chaos while the frogs in the old pond croaked like something from a witch’s spell. Lucifer jumped to his feet, and arched his back, readying for another glass-shattering scream.
The house was bought by Edward Leedskalin, a Latvian immigrant, and his wife Lufa who converted it into a bed and breakfast establishment. The property came with a large Somali cat with piercing yellow eyes, long hair, and a large swishing bushy tail that they named Lucifer.
Over the years overnight guests reported a series of unexplained happenings. Happenings that included human-like shadows that seemed to float down the hallways and stairwells and the mysterious disappearance of Edward, leaving his common-law married wife Lufa, to run the B&B alone.
Three months later Lufa shut down the house and refused to return after a bloody incident of murder/suicide and later a single man whose head was ripped off, dripping blood to the guestroom below. The man’s head was never found leaving his identity listed as a John Doe.
Lucifer, was on his own after Lufa left. He could be seen on occasion prancing on the windowsill hissing at his image reflected in a grubby glass window. Silhouetted against the moonlight, a large owl sat perched on the crumbling brick chimney watching Lucifer intently.
There were many complaints filed by the town’s citizens at city hall. The house had aged rapidly. The large ornate wooden door had deteriorated and black mildew covered most of its large copper locks and handles turning them dirty green. Brownish green moss had invaded the broken terracotta tiled roof. The city erected a fence around the property and secured it with heavy locks because of curiosity seekers. A sign was erected warning of large fines for anyone trespassing on the property. Occasionally, Lucifer could be seen prowling around the premises and sitting in one of the upstairs windows.
Then one day a mysterious old man went to city hall claiming he could rid the B&B of any paranormal activities. He was strange in appearance, short in stature, and carried an evil-looking walking cane. The city administration turned him down at first but through his persistence, he was finally granted access to the property. What was discussed behind closed doors remains a secret to this day. Many rumors of the meeting floated around but all were mere speculations.
The old man was given a key to one of the side gates as city hall waited nervously behind closed doors. A police car and, an ambulance was placed on standby near the property the day the old man entered the B&B and a noisy crowd gathered curious to see what was going on.
After a short time spent inside the house, the old man appeared on the porch holding Lucifer, the yellow cat, in his arms. A sigh of relief rose from the spectators and the official vehicles left the area.
Lufa had heard about the old man and the events of that first day and her curiosity was piqued. Early the next day she walked to the B&B and stood at the main gate watching for any sign of movement. Lucifer was sitting on one of the granite columns watching her. The rays of the early morning sun shining on the cat’s coat made it look larger than life and its large yellow eyes seemed to pierce her very soul. She turned to leave and as she did the cat uttered a snarling growl, as his lips pulled back displaying long sharp teeth.
Lufa went to the side gate hoping to find the old man. She was nervous as she approached the double entrance doors and found them ajar. She pushed the doors open just enough to call out but no one answered. She turned to look behind her noting that the street was quiet and so were the unkempt grounds as she slowly stepped inside the musty lobby. Again she called out and still no response. The interior of the B & B was much like it was when she had managed the place except now there was a door at the far end of the lobby that wasn’t there before. Behind the door was a staircase that led to a cellar. What she found there was beyond belief and caused chills to race through her body. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood up.
There were several caskets with bodies in rapid decay. One casket crawled with maggots while skeletons were placed in crudely made wall cavities.
Footsteps in the lobby indicated that the old man had returned. Lufa quickly found a hiding place in the shadows behind a wooden bench as the old man descended the stairs with a dirty brown burlap bag slung over his shoulder. He immediately emptied the contents of the bag onto the dirt floor. Lufa gasped, making her presence known when she saw the skull of the human skeleton roll across the floor in her direction.
The old man immediately went after Lufa but she kicked the bench over escaping to the far end of the cellar.
Lufa yelled at the man saying, “I know who you are, Edward Leedskalin.”
“And I know who you are, Lufa. But you will never live to tell anyone.”
As Edward rushed toward her, Lufa grabbed a long pointed stick and ran it through Edward’s abdomen causing him to stagger backward and fall into the casket where his lifeless body was swallowed up by maggots.
When Lufa reached the top step Lucifer attacked her, clawing, biting, and screaming, causing Lufa to fall head-first down the stairs, breaking her neck. Lucifer opened his mouth wide ejecting a heavy grey mist that filled the cellar. He watched patiently for the mist to dissipate, his long bushy tail swishing above his head. When the mist was gone, so were the bodies of Edward, Lufa, the caskets, and the skeletons.
With a satisfied look, Lucifer returned to the flagstone steps at the front of the house and screamed a shrill haunting cry that was heard far into the night. Since Lucifer was the only witness to these dreadful events that day no one would ever know what happened to Edward and Lufa and alas, cats can not talk.
by tturner 1110 words
Howling screams cut through the darkness like shattered glass. Lucifer, the yellow-eyed Somali cat, lay licking his paws while stretched out on the grey flagstone steps that led to the front door of the old Victorian Bed and Breakfast. Its bushy tail quivered ever so slightly in the light night wind. A full moon flooded the overgrown garden with a strange silver light. The garden crickets sang in utter chaos while the frogs in the old pond croaked like something from a witch’s spell. Lucifer jumped to his feet, and arched his back, readying for another glass-shattering scream.
The house was bought by Edward Leedskalin, a Latvian immigrant, and his wife Lufa who converted it into a bed and breakfast establishment. The property came with a large Somali cat with piercing yellow eyes, long hair, and a large swishing bushy tail that they named Lucifer.
Over the years overnight guests reported a series of unexplained happenings. Happenings that included human-like shadows that seemed to float down the hallways and stairwells and the mysterious disappearance of Edward, leaving his common-law married wife Lufa, to run the B&B alone.
Three months later Lufa shut down the house and refused to return after a bloody incident of murder/suicide and later a single man whose head was ripped off, dripping blood to the guestroom below. The man’s head was never found leaving his identity listed as a John Doe.
Lucifer, was on his own after Lufa left. He could be seen on occasion prancing on the windowsill hissing at his image reflected in a grubby glass window. Silhouetted against the moonlight, a large owl sat perched on the crumbling brick chimney watching Lucifer intently.
There were many complaints filed by the town’s citizens at city hall. The house had aged rapidly. The large ornate wooden door had deteriorated and black mildew covered most of its large copper locks and handles turning them dirty green. Brownish green moss had invaded the broken terracotta tiled roof. The city erected a fence around the property and secured it with heavy locks because of curiosity seekers. A sign was erected warning of large fines for anyone trespassing on the property. Occasionally, Lucifer could be seen prowling around the premises and sitting in one of the upstairs windows.
Then one day a mysterious old man went to city hall claiming he could rid the B&B of any paranormal activities. He was strange in appearance, short in stature, and carried an evil-looking walking cane. The city administration turned him down at first but through his persistence, he was finally granted access to the property. What was discussed behind closed doors remains a secret to this day. Many rumors of the meeting floated around but all were mere speculations.
The old man was given a key to one of the side gates as city hall waited nervously behind closed doors. A police car and, an ambulance was placed on standby near the property the day the old man entered the B&B and a noisy crowd gathered curious to see what was going on.
After a short time spent inside the house, the old man appeared on the porch holding Lucifer, the yellow cat, in his arms. A sigh of relief rose from the spectators and the official vehicles left the area.
Lufa had heard about the old man and the events of that first day and her curiosity was piqued. Early the next day she walked to the B&B and stood at the main gate watching for any sign of movement. Lucifer was sitting on one of the granite columns watching her. The rays of the early morning sun shining on the cat’s coat made it look larger than life and its large yellow eyes seemed to pierce her very soul. She turned to leave and as she did the cat uttered a snarling growl, as his lips pulled back displaying long sharp teeth.
Lufa went to the side gate hoping to find the old man. She was nervous as she approached the double entrance doors and found them ajar. She pushed the doors open just enough to call out but no one answered. She turned to look behind her noting that the street was quiet and so were the unkempt grounds as she slowly stepped inside the musty lobby. Again she called out and still no response. The interior of the B & B was much like it was when she had managed the place except now there was a door at the far end of the lobby that wasn’t there before. Behind the door was a staircase that led to a cellar. What she found there was beyond belief and caused chills to race through her body. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood up.
There were several caskets with bodies in rapid decay. One casket crawled with maggots while skeletons were placed in crudely made wall cavities.
Footsteps in the lobby indicated that the old man had returned. Lufa quickly found a hiding place in the shadows behind a wooden bench as the old man descended the stairs with a dirty brown burlap bag slung over his shoulder. He immediately emptied the contents of the bag onto the dirt floor. Lufa gasped, making her presence known when she saw the skull of the human skeleton roll across the floor in her direction.
The old man immediately went after Lufa but she kicked the bench over escaping to the far end of the cellar.
Lufa yelled at the man saying, “I know who you are, Edward Leedskalin.”
“And I know who you are, Lufa. But you will never live to tell anyone.”
As Edward rushed toward her, Lufa grabbed a long pointed stick and ran it through Edward’s abdomen causing him to stagger backward and fall into the casket where his lifeless body was swallowed up by maggots.
When Lufa reached the top step Lucifer attacked her, clawing, biting, and screaming, causing Lufa to fall head-first down the stairs, breaking her neck. Lucifer opened his mouth wide ejecting a heavy grey mist that filled the cellar. He watched patiently for the mist to dissipate, his long bushy tail swishing above his head. When the mist was gone, so were the bodies of Edward, Lufa, the caskets, and the skeletons.
With a satisfied look, Lucifer returned to the flagstone steps at the front of the house and screamed a shrill haunting cry that was heard far into the night. Since Lucifer was the only witness to these dreadful events that day no one would ever know what happened to Edward and Lufa and alas, cats can not talk.
Arthur. Interesting story. Well thought out. Cheers.
Arthur wrote: "Story The Haunted Ghost (1992 words)
A seldom browsed book on football fell from a shelf in Acton, waking the man called Plater who was sleeping in the bedroom. He pondered why no earth tremor ha..."
Arthur wrote: "Story The Haunted Ghost (1992 words)
A seldom browsed book on football fell from a shelf in Acton, waking the man called Plater who was sleeping in the bedroom. He pondered why no earth tremor ha..."
Glenda. Very creative story. I like the twist at the end. Nice work.
Glenda wrote: "Dead Wakening
(1,771 words)
I woke up with a start in the morgue at Saint Mary Hospital. I was on a cold metal table with a sheet over my face. My mind was fuzzy about the details on how I happen..."
Glenda wrote: "Dead Wakening
(1,771 words)
I woke up with a start in the morgue at Saint Mary Hospital. I was on a cold metal table with a sheet over my face. My mind was fuzzy about the details on how I happen..."
creepy and gothic tale Terry, superbly atmospheric
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by tturner 1110 words
Howling screams cut through the darkness like shattered glass. Lucifer, the yellow-eyed Somali cat, lay licking his paws while stretched out on th..."
Wow! Quite the horror story. So Edward led a secret, murderous life after he left Lufa. And that was some evil, black magic cat too!
I'm thinking Edward was a grave robber and may have committed murder. I wanted it to seem like the cat was the demon possessed and directing it all.
Glenda wrote: "TERRY wrote: "A BED AND BREAKFAST MYSTERY
by tturner 1110 words
Howling screams cut through the darkness like shattered glass. Lucifer, the yellow-eyed Somali cat, lay licking his paws while stret..."
Glenda wrote: "TERRY wrote: "A BED AND BREAKFAST MYSTERY
by tturner 1110 words
Howling screams cut through the darkness like shattered glass. Lucifer, the yellow-eyed Somali cat, lay licking his paws while stret..."
Very good discriptions that relate a well thought out, gothic horror story. The suspense was palpable. Well done, Terry!
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THE TRUTH SHALL SET US FREE By Mirta Oliva
The Haunted Ghost by Arthur Chappell
Dead Wakening by Glenda Reynolds
A BED AND BREAKFAST MYSTERY by Terry Turner
Wow. Great stories by all. Happy to see more participation.
The Final Bowby A.P. Harper, 737 words
Guillette The Great stood still on the wooden stage as he stared into the hollow eyes of a human skull, calling on the spirits of the dead. The audience held their breaths as the spotlight only illuminated him on stage. The suspense was brewing, just as Guy hoped.
The illusionist has been conjuring the afterworld in his entire career and was world-renowned for being able to connect with the deceased. He summoned kings and queens of the past, heroes, and villains of medieval battlefields, and even Julius Cesar, the Roman emperor, appeared now and then. His entourage was splendid, and Guy was magnificent.
The world loved him. He was famous, and everyone was awed when they met him. An unexplained mystical aura surrounded him whenever he appeared in public in his signature long black topcoat. His jet black hair was swept back and secured with pomade, and he had a thin groomed mustache that looked like a child drew it on his lip. He did not know just how fashion-forward he was. It was 1911, but as it became known, the pencil mustache did not enter men’s grooming until the 1930s, the Golden Age of Hollywood. But Guy was closer to Paris than Tinseltown.
He was born Hans Wagner in Berlin to a butcher and his wife but adopted Guy Guillette as his stage name after a spirit appeared when he was sixteen and told him he would be the world’s greatest illusionist by the age of forty. And the voice was right. Guillette The Great indeed became the greatest conjurer of his time.
The public was not his stage, however. He disliked his fans and hated his doubters even more. He was often anxious among others and avoided any social interaction if he could. He gradually felt more comfortable in the spirit world and sought their company over the living.
In his younger years, he could control the dead. They appeared when summoned and retired when needed, but through the years, they became rude and demanding. They showed up uninvited and left on their terms, but their candidness further fueled Guy’s fame. He traveled across all continents for decades, performing in front of cheering crowds, royals, and doubtful presidents, but Guillette The Great was tired. He had a goiter and contracted syphilis in the Orient, for which the doctor prescribed iodine to use sparingly. Despite medical intervention, his health deteriorated in the last few years, and he was ready to hang his topcoat and glare that cut through steel.
Tonight was his last show, the grand finale, his final bow. Tickets had sold out months before, yet people crowded the theatre entrance hoping to get in or at least get one last peak at the master. The crowd was excited, but the send-off was bitter-sweet. The audience went silent as soon as the curtains were drawn open and the lights went off. Almost as if they disappeared in the darkness. The world will miss him.
Guillette The Great stood still on the wooden stage as he stared into the hollow eyes of a human skull, calling on the spirits of the dead. The audience held their breaths as the world’s greatest conjurer franticly spoke to all of them at once. His speech was incoherent, rapid, and frenzied. They all wanted to be in the center, fighting for attention on this final night. And what a night it was! He received a standing ovation fit for a king as he took his final bow.
The curtains closed. The heavy red velvet muffled the noise of the cheering crowd as Guillette The Great collapsed and died on the stage.
‘Accidental iodine poisoning,’ the coroner concluded a few days later.
‘No foul play,’ the police said, and the world mourned the loss of its greatest.
A year before, a man from the audience approached the conjurer in Zurich after another successful sold-out night. He introduced himself as Dr. Eugen Bleule, a Swiss psychiatrist who has followed Guy’s career for years. Dr. Bleule told him he most likely suffered from schizophrenia and offered a consult. Suddenly, everything that ever made sense to Guy was no longer providing comfort, and he felt as if everyone he ever cared for abandoned him at once.
The spirit of Guillette The Great died in the dim dressing room in Switzerland that night as Hans Wagner realized he was not the greatest showman the world had ever seen.
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I kept wondering what would happen next.
Mirta wrote: "THE TRUTH SHALL SET US FREE
By Mirta Oliva
Two days of walking up the hills and down on the prairies of my beloved land. Two days of escaping the brutality of a man who said he loved me... All th..."
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I enjoyed reading it.
Arthur wrote: "Story The Haunted Ghost (1992 words)
A seldom browsed book on football fell from a shelf in Acton, waking the man called Plater who was sleeping in the bedroom. He pondered why no earth tremor ha..."
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Glenda wrote: "Dead Wakening
(1,771 words)
I woke up with a start in the morgue at Saint Mary Hospital. I was on a cold metal table with a sheet over my face. My mind was fuzzy about the details on how I happen..."
Mod
What a tale!
TERRY wrote: "A BED AND BREAKFAST MYSTERY
by tturner 1110 words
Howling screams cut through the darkness like shattered glass. Lucifer, the yellow-eyed Somali cat, lay licking his paws while stretched out on th..."
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A.P. wrote: "The Final Bow
by A.P. Harper, 737 words
Guillette The Great stood still on the wooden stage as he stared into the hollow eyes of a human skull, calling on the spirits of the dead. The audience hel..."
First off I'd like to apologize for the tardiness of the results for the October stories. Without further ado, here they are:
In first place, Glenda, with her beautifully written and haunting story, Dead Wakening.
In second place, Mirta, with her eerily poetic, The Truth Shall Set You Free.
And, third place belongs to Arthur, with his creepily thought provoking, The Haunted Ghost.
I want to thank you for your patience with me and my first outing as host for this October story Challenge. All of the stories were incredibly well scribed and evilly entertaining. Thank you!
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Congrats winners. Well deserved.
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Glenda wrote: "Robert, thank you so much for hosting for October. it was an interesting challenge. I loved all the stories. And thanks to everyone for their votes."
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Thank you, Rejoice.
Prompts are: 1-A mysterious death 2-A hidden message 3-A shocking but revealing truth
CHALLENGE GUIDELINES
Genre: Fantasy, Thriller, Sci-Fi, Mystery, Crime, Comedy, Romance, or a mixture (BASICALLY, anything but erotica)
Purpose -
Some fiction writers are looking to win a short story contest, keeping in touch with making deadlines, and/or simply sharpening the skill of writing fiction. The main purpose of this contest is to sharpen plot and character skills, collect your own short stories, receive good feedback, make a good connection with other writers, and take a short break from your current novel to get a fresh view when you return to it.
Rules and Directions -
* Type in English - a minimum of 500 words; a maximum of 1,000 words; no erotica, no profanity.
* Post your title, by line, and word count total in the first line of your story posting.
* Writers are responsible for their own copyright. Authors keep all rights. PRIVACY POLICY IS ENFORCED. COPYRIGHTS AND INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS BELONG TO INDIVIDUAL AUTHORS. THIS CONTEST DOES NOT GRANT ANY PERSON THE RIGHT OR LICENSE TO COPY OR USE OTHER STORIES. EACH STORY IS PROTECTED BY THE COPYRIGHT OF THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.
* ONE entry per person, must be writer's original work, a final revision, and a new piece of writing. Please do not delete and repost since this becomes confusing to the readers. Try to post your final revision.
Judging: The story will be judged on creativity, proper grammar, good punctuation, and overall good quality for story.
Voting: Please vote for first, second, and third place. You are not allowed to vote for yourself. If posting this month, you MUST vote, in order for your story to remain eligible.