Picture This…

haunted-mansion

Thunder shatters the skies. A lonely mansion stands atop a hill.  Inside, a marble telephone rings, its cry hardly audible above the ravenous storm outside.

 ‘Hello?’

Silence ensues.

‘Hello?’

Heavy breathing sets in.

Hello?’

The breathing now assimilates bellows propelling a simmering fire.

‘Seriously?  You called me at—what—precisely midnight to just breathe into the receiver? Can you be any more of a cliché?’

The voice croaks, ‘The call is coming from inside—

‘That’s. It.’ An eardrum-shattering whistle cracks like thunder through the speaker.

The line goes dead shortly after and the rest of the night passes on peacefully.

danny-bowman

Copyright: Danny Bowman

 

For Friday Fictioneers where the prompt this week is the picture on your left.

The inspiration for this story came from a mix of countless horror movies and a little snippet from real life.  I’ll not go into details unless you ask me to, but I just want to say that blowing a die-hard whistle into the speaker does indeed result into the annoying caller hanging up with a moan of pain and a bad-tempered harrumph.

Disenchantement

aqueduct-sarah-ann-hall

Copyright – Sarah Ann Hall

I grew up in the shadow of that fence, wondering what might lie behind it.  I invented characters, created worlds.  I remember standing at its foot, calling out, hollering the names of my imaginary friends. No one ever answered of course, not in real life, but I heard their replies back then.  I made loads of friends like that; fairies, dwarves, elves.

Now, as I stand here, peering over the fence, it all comes back to me.  It turns out there’s nothing behind it; just a rusty shed and an overgrown garden; millions of dollars wasted away by decay.

For Friday Fictioneers.

I wanted to go for some fantasy this week, but it wouldn’t come to me! Hope you like the alternative.

Exhibit C: An Earthling Bar

Bar

Copyright-Ted Strutz

 

‘Ladies and gentleman, kindly proceed to exhibit C… Thank you…

‘This is what Earthlings used to call a Bar.  Archaeologists have found evidence to suggest that in establishments such as this, Earthlings used to worship their ancestors.  Little is yet known of the rituals that used to be played out in here except that the essence of the dead humans was captured and stored inside the glass containers you can now see behind the long altar. The ancestors’ spirit was then ingested, producing a feeling of euphoria or dysphoria, depending on whether the spirit trapped inside was good or evil…’

For Friday Fictioneers.  A little hint of Sci Fi for you this week.  Hope you like the history lesson!

At the House of Bones

Bones

Copyright -Kent Bonham

Something was wrong with this house.  He’d felt it the minute he walked in; it was alive, hungry.

Voices rumbled, crowding Nate’s head in different languages; tongues.  But it was the skeletal faces that disturbed him most, staring down at him, eyes wide.

The rumbling took on a new note.  Nate looked up.  The dragon at the top of the stairs opened its jaw.  It dashed at him, slithering.

 ‘Ssh! What the hell’s wrong with you, man? Everyone’s looking!’

‘The stairs, Matt. Can’t you see?’

‘Damn! Let’s get outa here, before anyone else realises you’re stoned off your ass.’ Continue reading

M for Murder

claire-fuller

Copyright-Claire Fuller

I arrived on the scene; tape was already up, sectioning the library in half. 

‘It’s a bad one, Jim.’

Rick moved to the side, unblocking the view for me.

The victim – male, late forties – was spread-eagled in the middle of the aisle, naked.  Words and symbols covered his entire skin. Tape held his eyes wide open, staring up. 

I followed his gaze.

‘Rick, call central.  We have a serial killer on our hands.’

‘But we just have the one vic.’

‘The first vic.  Haven’t you read the cover?’

I pointed to the ceiling.

‘Vol.1.’ was still drying, painted in blood. 

For Friday Fictioneers.

Bloo(n)d

wasp-nest

Copyright-Janet Webb

‘And it just changed you say, miss?’

‘Yeah, like, it was so sick!  One minute it’s just this kinda nest, like for bees or something… next minute it’s this huge monstery thingy!’

‘Uhu…Can you describe the monstery thingy, miss?’

‘I dunno! Big.  Huge eyes. Teeth.  Lots of teeth.  Like, it was freaky! Just look at what it did to me.  Look!  What makes a scab like that, right?  Seriously….I dunno why it didn’t just eat me!’

‘Maybe it prefers blood with more IQ in it.’

‘Yeah could be, ‘cos I’m O positive. That I’m sure of!’

For Friday Fictioneers.  Hope you like it!

The Approach

gnarled-tree

From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyright- Indira

There are many of my kin I admire; those whose death made history.  The Great Cedar who was cut down and shaped into a cross.  My great uncle that supported the Roman soldier named Sebastian while arrows pinned him tighter to his bark.  Others, nameless, whose bones formed ships that discovered the Americas and the Orient.

Will my death, like theirs, mean anything? Will I be turned into necklaces, icons in silver and gold?

A woman is hugging my midriff, praying that my roots hold against the monstrous cyclone approaching fast.  My prayers join hers, as I stand and wait.

Rochelle from Friday Fictioneers chose a wonderful picture for us this week by Indira.  I hope you like my story and if you wish to read other inspired stories featuring mystical foliage, scattered ashes, ancient barks and magical leaves, be sure to visit this page here.

The Troll Invasions

lamps

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

We used to sit around the table, all five of us, every Sunday at lunch.  Until the trolls invaded and all my boys left; called up and conscripted.

I harvested the land with the women, and waited at the gate every sundown.  Those who returned were unrecognizable.  A guilty thought chafed at me; if this is what they came back as, did I want my boys to return?

But the choice was never mine.

Three of us sit at the table now in haunted silence, staring into the fires of the two lit lamps; a tribute to our dead.

For this episode of Friday Fictioneers, I went with fantasy.  I hope you like it.

 

Bad Horse

thirsty

Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy

‘You comin’ for me? You comin’ for me! I’m the only one here so you must be here for me! Who do you think you are, you feckin’ knacker?  I’m Boxer the second and I know my rights.  I got my hose here.  I made my move.  It’s your move now.  Try it.  Come for me.  Make my day!    

‘Yeah, you better run!  And keep runnin’. Ha!’ Continue reading