Blueprints and Dishes

Being the champion procrastinator I am, I of course had to try and do some research on the nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” Why did the dish run away with the spoon? It turns out no one knows. Unlike many nursery rhymes that have a dark side to them, this one is just as it appears – pure nonsense.

As for the blueprints . . . It doesn’t seem that long ago I did a prompt story about a secret room, so I wanted to go for something a little different. I think I succeeded. :-)


Prompt One
While preparing your garden at the beginning of spring, you find the blueprints for your house buried in the earth. When you pull it out and examine it, you find that there is a room in the blueprint that doesn’t exist in your house. Both disturbed and intrigued, you set off to find the missing room. Write what happens next.

Why would anyone brick up a storage room? That was my first thought as I stared at the wall of blocks in front of me in the basement of my new house. Was this something the previous owners had done, or did they even know about it?

I’d bought the house for a song. The kid the realtor hired to cut the grass said it had a bit of a bad reputation. Some rumour about the house reverting back to the original owner a couple of times, but I couldn’t quite recall the circumstances – foreclosure due to missed mortgage payments or something like that.

According to the blueprint I’d found – buried under a dead forsythia bush in the backyard, if you can believe it – there should be a large storage room behind this wall. It might even be big enough to use as a work shop or an extra bedroom.

The wall looked pretty solid, bricks and mortar fitting snugly together, but at the same time there was something a little odd about it. A closer examination showed a faint seam along one edge. Maybe I wouldn’t have to use a sledge hammer on it after all.

It took the better part of an hour of persistent searching, but I finally found a brick that was just faintly askew. I pushed on it and there was a click, then a section of the wall popped open enough that I could pull the hinged panel the rest of the way open.

Behind the brick, which was actually a thin layer of brick stuck to plywood, cunningly disguised to look like a solid wall, was a metal door. Curiouser and curiouser. The door had one of those wheels on it, like a ship’s hatch or a bunker, and it took both hands to get it to turn. Maybe this was one of those bomb shelters that had been all the rage in the 50s.

There was a hiss of air as the seal around the door was broken. Of course it was dark inside, but I was prepared and grabbed the flashlight I’d set aside. The flashlight didn’t brighten it by much, but I could definitely tell this was no bomb shelter. Nor were there any shelves to indicate it had been used for storage, at least not at this end. So what had it been used for?

It was a long, narrow room, and the dim light barely reached a pile of…something at the furthest end. I took a couple of steps forward and the metal door slammed shut with a clang. I swung around and the light played over the metal - there was no handle from this side of the door. I pounded on it with my fist.

“Hey! Is someone there? Let me out!” The door wasn’t on a spring and I hadn’t noticed a draft – someone had to have shut it on me. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you need to open this door. Right now!”

The walls seemed to close in on me and I struggled to quell the rising panic. There had to be another way out. I swung the flashlight around and started towards the other end of the room.

“Oh my god.” The light from the flashlight fell on the pile of clothing. Only it wasn’t a pile of clothing, but a body. Actually, two bodies. One was desiccated, it must have been here for ten years or more. The other wasn’t quite as old, maybe five years. Looks like I’d found two sets of previous owners.

From the way they were positioned, it was apparent they’d been trying to dig their way out with their bare hands. The first had managed to break through the crumbling cinder-blocks of the basement wall, the second about three feet further than that into the earth on the other side.

A shiver passed over me. How far would I get before I died?


Prompt Two
Write a love story about the dish and the spoon from the classic nursery rhyme “Hey Diddle Diddle.” How did they meet and why did they decide to run away together? Will their relationship last?

Hey diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed
To see such sport
That the dish ran away with the spoon.

“There’s the fiddle, it’s almost time!”

Several dishes and pieces of cutlery ranged themselves along the table’s edge to get a better view. A white bread and butter plate with pink roses around its edge sidled up to a long, elegant soup spoon.

“There she goes!”

There was a ragged cheer as the cow launched herself into space and jumped over the moon.

“Here now, we’ll have none of that!” a large serving fork barked out, shoving the pretty little dish away from the spoon. “Plates go with knives and forks, spoons go with bowls.”

At that moment, the little dog started to laugh, drawing the serving fork’s attention his way.

“Quick, while he’s distracted,” the spoon said.

Holding hands, the plate and spoon slid down the long waterfall of the tablecloth, making their escape. Unfortunately, the floor below was ceramic tile. They hit hard and the bread and butter dish shattered.

The spoon lay distraught amidst the wreckage of his lady love. “There’ll never be another dish like you,” he sobbed.

“You got that right,” the serving fork called from above. “She was a limited edition collector’s plate.”

The little dog continued to laugh, a hint of madness in its voice.

Cats and Cookies

Have you noticed I tend to go one long and one short with these things usually? I have to admit, I wasn’t really feeling it for these prompts at first. Then I came up with something a little moody for the first one.

The second one seemed to take forever, mainly because as much as I love fairy tales, I couldn’t figure out which one to use for my story. And then it got a little long winded, but it is what it is.

Prompt One
Go over to your bookshelf, close your eyes, and pick up the first book you touch. Open the book to a random page, read the first full sentence on that page, and use it as the inspiration for a story or scene. Please include the original line at the beginning or end of your response.

From Bram Stoker’s Dracula: When I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow.

It had not been an easy climb and I would have given up halfway had curiosity not taken root in me. No ghost this, but the figure resolved itself into that of a large, white cat, sitting as though it, too, had been carved from the same white marble as the bench below it.

We stared at each other, the cat and I, for the space of several heart beats. I was afraid to move, as it turned its head and became enigmatic and motionless. The air up here was cool with a hint of dampness promising rain. A chill breeze had the dead leaves dancing around the pedestal of the bench, but the cat’s fur remained unruffled.

The clouds chose that moment to part just enough so that a beam of sunlight fell upon the cat, turning the white fur into a blazing nimbus. My breath caught, and two points of living sapphire turned to stare at me once more.

I shut my eyes against the radiant beauty and when I opened them again, the clouds had covered the sun once more and the cat was gone. Was it real? Was it a spirit? Was it all just a dream?

With ponderous steps I went over to the marble bench and sat down. The view was spectacular, the cemetery spread out on all sides below, the checkerboard of light and dark racing with the cloud cover.

There was no sign of the cat. Nor did I ever see it again.


Prompt Two
Write a scene that involves a fairy tale trope turned on its head or otherwise deviating from typical expectations. For example: A princess who’s cruel to her kind stepmother; a golden goose that lays explosive eggs, a big, frightening wolf who really just wants a friend.

It was the girl’s idea. It usually was. Though both children were somewhat greedy and grasping she was the one who generally came up with the plots and plans.

She was the one who started the rumors about their parents being so poor they couldn’t afford to feed her and her brother, and how it was their mother’s idea to take them out into the woods and leave them there.

The first time it happened they were returned home by the constable, who gave their parents a fine and a stern lecture on what would happen to them if they ever tried such a thing again. The boy felt bad for his part in it, but the girl felt a great deal of satisfaction.

“That’ll teach them for trying to make me do chores,” she said to her brother.

The next time they had to go further afield because the constable had started to keep an eye on their farm. There was a rich couple, two villages over, that the girl knew of. She timed it just right and she and her brother stumbled out of the woods right as the couple were returning home. It was easy making the couple believe they’d been abused and abandoned. The boy had always been on the thin side, like his father, while the girl wore her least favorite dress and made sure it was torn and dirty.

For a while it had been great fun. They were dressed in the finest clothes and fed the best food, and had presents heaped upon them. But then the girl overheard the man telling his wife that they needed to let the authorities know about them, so that proper action could be taken against their terrible parents. That night they gathered up what they could carry and slipped away towards home.

Along the way they stumbled across the cottage where an old woman ran a rather successful bakery. In fact, she’d just recently renovated the house to make it look like it was made of gingerbread – a great advertising gimmick. The girl looked thoughtfully at the “Help Wanted” sign in the window and the boy could almost see the wheels turning. He had a feeling this was not going to bode well for him.

They returned home to a lukewarm greeting from their parents and one even less so from the constable.

“Here, now. Where have you two been? And don’t give me no tales about your parents losing you in the woods ‘cause they haven’t left the farm in more ‘n an week.”

“Why of course not, officer,” the girl said sweetly. “We were but visiting friends in another town. So sorry if you were worried.”

The constable harrumphed and went back to his jail where he didn’t have to worry about things like missing children and runaway children and the like.

The girl and her brother took the fine clothes and toys they’d collected to the market, where they sold them for a rather nice profit. Then the boy sat on a hay bale at the edge of the marketplace sipping a mug of apple cider while he watched his sister flit through the crowds dropping a coin here and a rumor there about the old woman being a witch with a predilection for eating children.

“There,” she said with satisfaction as she returned to collect her brother. “That’ll take care of the competition.”

The following day she and her brother presented themselves to the old woman at the gingerbread house.

“Well,” the old woman said, “You’re a little young and you’ve no experience , but seeing as no one else seems to want to work for me, I’ll take you on a trial basis.”

The boy actually quite liked working for the old woman. She was kind and soft spoken and never scolded him if he happened to break something, which sad to say was quite often. His sister pitched in with an uncharacteristic zeal which got him wondering. What was she up to?

He found out more than a week later when his sister took him aside. “The old woman seems to like you,” she whispered. “You need to play it up and get her to tell you the secret ingredient to her gingerbread.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because, you idiot, it’s the only recipe I’m lacking. I’ve figured out all the rest of them and with the gingerbread we can get rid of the old woman and take over her business.”

The boy looked at her askance.

“Don’t just stand there like a big, fat gob. Go get that recipe!”

The girl left on an errand. The boy knew exactly what to do. When the girl returned she looked at him expectantly and he nodded slightly.

“You’re brother and I just finished making up a batch of gingerbread,” the old woman said, “But I can’t seem to get the oven lit. Do you think you could give it a try?”

“Of course,” the girl said with insincere sweetness. She bent over, having to stick her head partway into the oven to get it lit. As she did so, she felt a tremendous shove from behind.

“Get the door!” she heard her brother yell. The iron door clanged shut behind her and in an instant she began to smell smoke.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“I think this is the best batch of gingerbread yet,” the boy said to his new partner.

“Why thank you, dear,” the old woman said, beaming. “The secret is in the fuel you use for the fire.”

Visions and Pirates

Believe it or not, I had something written to both of these prompts by the end of Tuesday, same day as I posted them. What I forgot was to type them out and schedule them to appear earlier this morning.

Oh, well. I’m only a little late, right? And they do say better late than never. LOL


Prompt One
You’re at work, like any normal day, and happen to look out the window as you head to the break room for a second cup of coffee. What you see makes you stop in your tracks. What is it?

It was fast turning into one of those days. First, I was almost late to work because the car wouldn’t start, then I was late to the meeting I’d forgotten all about. To top it off, I just couldn’t seem to wake up.

“This calls for another cup of coffee,” I muttered, getting to my feet.

“Save some for the rest of us,” my cubical mate, Sheila, said.

The break room was empty, but at least the coffee pot was full. Guess there might be hope for today after all. Or at least that’s what I thought as I went back to my desk. But then I happened to glance out the window on my way by. I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to tear my eyes away from the view.

“That’s a good way to catch flies,” Henry said as he passed by on his way to the break room.

I don’t know how long I’d been standing there with my mouth open. “Have you seen that?” I nodded towards the window.

Henry glanced towards the window and did a double take. “Oh my god,” he whispered.

In a short time Henry and I were joined by Bob, Francine, and Harold, from accounting, who had come upstairs to use our break room because their coffee maker was broken.

“For Christ’s sake Jonas,” Sheila said, coming up the hallway. “Just how long does it take to get a cup of coffee?” She didn’t appear phased by the small crowd at all.

Wordlessly, Francine pointed at the window. Sheila turned and let out a small gasp. “How did that get there?”

“I don’t know,” Harold said grimly, “But we’d better get back to work before the boss finds out.” Murmuring in agreement, we all went back to our desks.


Prompt Two
One day, while reading your favourite book on the beach, you notice a boat slowly drifting to shore. It eventually lands near your spot. A person, draped in pirate clothes, yells to you from the boat, “I have a treasure map and I need help. Are you in?”

I had saved for three years for this vacation in Cuba. This was not one of the popular resorts, it was tucked out of the way, overlooked by most tourists, which is just the way I wanted.

After three years of extra long hours in customer service, the last thing I wanted was to have people around me on my vacation.

It was early enough in the morning that only a few of the other guests at the small hotel were up. After a delicious breakfast in the dining room, I took my bag and went out to the beach.

I don’t think there’s a bad beach on the whole island. This one was a wide strip of sand bordering the curve of a bay. I was aiming for the spill of rocks leading right to the water, a few palm trees casting long shadows.

The hotel was just a spec in the distance as I spread out my blanket in the shade and dumped the contents of my bag onto it – bottles of water, sun screen, snacks, and three paperback books. Everything I’d need for the day.

I settled back with a sigh, opening up one of my favourite books. It held my attention for the better part of an hour when something made me look up and out over the water.

There was a large speck out there. I shaded my eyes with my hand and squinted, but couldn’t make out what it was. A passing ship maybe? For the next while I alternated between reading and watching the spec, which seemed to be drawing closer.

The sun was high in the sky when I abandoned all pretense of reading and stood to watch the approaching speck. It was close enough now for me to see that it was some kind of large sailboat, a rather old-fashioned one at that. And there was a man on board dressed up like some kind of pirate.

Was someone shooting a movie somewhere? Had I accidentally intruded on their set? I glanced quickly around – there were no signs posted.

“Avast, ye landlubber,” the man called when he was within shouting distance. “What land be this?”

“Cuba,” I answered, bemused. He was younger than I’d expected, but tall and lean with his dark hair pulled back from his face in a long tail. He appeared to be the only one aboard the boat.

“Cuba ye say?” He let loose a string of curses. “Damned storm blew me further off course than I thought.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Why to find me treasure, lass.” He gave me a speculative look. “Care to come along? I could use a hand.”

I glanced down at the book lying facedown on the blanket. The one with the muscular man in the billowy shirt standing on the deck of a beautiful, three-masted sailing ship. Then I looked at the boat with its raggedy sail, and its equally shabby but earnest looking pilot.

It was a no brainer.

Secret Rooms and Trees

I think the first of these prompt offerings is begging to be developed into a longer story. But the second one is short and sweet, and just might be included as part of a scene in the book I’m currently working on.

This makes me feel pretty good about the prompts, like I’m not wasting my time with them. A potential story and furthering something in progress – it doesn’t get much better than this.


Prompt One
You have discovered what appears to be an ordinary room. But as soon as you enter the room, time stops for you. When you leave the room, time picks up right where you left off. What do you use this room for?

They’d been living in the house for three weeks when Marissa discovered the secret room.

She hadn’t wanted to move, she’d been perfectly happy in their old house, but Doug insisted. They needed more space, he said. It was a bigger house and a better school district. And the best part, to his way of thinking, was that it was right beside his mother.

This house was old, with floors that creaked and heavy wood paneling that darkened the hallways and study. How hard would it be to remove that paneling, she wondered. She pulled gently at a corner of it under the stairs, thinking if it was already loose it should come off easily.

To her surprise, the whole panel swung open on silent hinges.

“Well! I don’t recall the realtor mentioning a room under the stairs,” she said aloud. “Maybe it’s a secret room.”

Cautiously she poked her head inside. It didn’t smell stale or musty, so she ran her hand along the inside of the wall until she found a light switch.

“Oh!”

Light flooded the room a multicoloured glass shade hanging from the ceiling. The room was larger than she expected, almost like a second study. “Only nicer,” she murmured.

Marissa glanced at her watch. It was 2:45. She had fifteen minutes before the girls would be home from school, more than enough time for a quick peek around.

The same dark paneling as the hallway lined the walls, and there was a lovely red Oriental carpet on the floor. There was a fireplace along one wall with two red velvet wing chairs in front of it. The opposite wall was one big bookcase, and off to the side was a roll top desk.

“I always wanted a roll-top desk,” she murmured.

The carpet was unmarked and there wasn’t a spec of dust on the furniture. It was as though the room had just been cleaned, waiting for her use.

She glanced at her watch again. “Damn!” It was still 2:45. Her watch must have stopped. She hurried out of the room, carefully making sure the door was secure behind her.

Marissa didn’t mention the room to anyone that night. If it was a secret room then she wanted to keep it that way – a secret.

The grandfather clock in the hallway was just ringing 10:00 when Marissa returned to the room the next morning. She had a cup of coffee with her and she was hoping to steal half an hour to read a chapter or two from the book she’d been trying to read for the past two months.

Much later, Marissa closed the book on its final chapter with a sigh. The she realized what she’d done and gave a guilty start. “I can’t believe I just did that!” She exclaimed. “It must be nearly time to get supper started.”

The clock in the hallway was just finishing its chime as she hurried by. She glanced at it, then did a double take.

“That’s not possible!”

It was still 10:00. Marissa glanced back at the panel concealing the secret room, then back at the clock. “Is it?”

Over the next several days, Marissa experimented with several different time pieces. Every one of them stopped just over the threshold to the room. Time itself stopped in the room.

“Finally,” Marissa said with a smile on her face. “Finally I’ll have some time to myself to do what I want to do.”


Prompt Two
Write a story that begins with the title of the book you’ve most recently read and ends with the name of your favourite character that you’ve written.

“In the Forests of the Heart grow trees unlike any ever seen before. Giant, like the redwoods, but filled with stories and songs. Serious, like the might oak, but with a puckish sense of humour. Twisted, like the Hawthorne, but capable of great peace and beauty. Walk among them and enter a world of utter tranquility.”

She shut the book, a pensive look on her face.

“Sounds like the afterlife to me,” he said. “Or one of them anyway.”

“You think there’s more than one?”

“I think there are as many as there are religions to believe in them.”

“Well I hope that’s not the afterlife I’m headed for. After all that time I spent in the Darkwood Forest, I’ve had more than enough of trees, thank you very much.”

Dominic grinned at her. “Then maybe you should find a different bedtime story, Jessica.”

Comas and Fortunes

No one is more surprised than me that not only did I come up with something for both prompts this week, I wrote them in one evening. Now, if only that energy could translate to my other writing. *sigh*

Prompt One
You were involved in a terrible car accident and have been in a coma for the past three months. What your family and the doctors don’t know is that you can hear everything that they say. Write the scene.

“Is it true her husband was driving the car?” a young voice asked. Probably another candy striper. There seemed to be an abundance of them in this place.

“It’s true,” a second voice answered. It sounded like Sherry. She must have pulled a day shift this week. “Walked away without a scratch.”

“Isn’t that, like, kind of suspicious?”

“Not my place to say,” Sherry said a little stiffly. “Don’t you have magazines to deliver or bedpans to clean?”

There was a sound of someone leaving the room in a huff. A few seconds later I felt a pat on my head.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Sherry said. “He won’t get away with it.” Then she left too.

Get away with what? I wondered.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I was awakened by the sound of many voices. Oh, good. Time for the family free-for-all.

“Oh, my poor baby!” Sniff, sniff. “She doesn’t even look alive.” Sniff, sniff.

My dear mother.

“Of course she’s alive, my father said irritably. “Just look at that heart monitor.” Was he annoyed at my mother or the fact my heart was still beating?

“Why do I have to be here? I’m missing the field trip. It’s not like she can hold up her end of the conversation.” That ray of sunshine would be my sister Cathy. Such a joy.

“It’s too crowded in here.” Sherry’s voice came like a blessing from above.

“It’s all right nurse,” my father said. “We were just leaving anyway.”

It was quiet for a long time after that, then I hear footsteps. Someone was in my room – a man, judging by the smell of his cologne. A second set of footsteps joined the first and then I was forced to endure the war of the aftershaves.

“I thought you said the respirator was the only thing keeping her alive? She’s been off of it for a week now, why is she still alive?” Ah, the dulcet tones of my loving husband.

“I told you in most cases the patient will expire on their own within a few days of being taken off of their respirators.” That was my doctor, my least favourite of them anyway.

“Well what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

“I paid you a lot of money—”

“To keep her in a coma and take her off the respirator, which I did.”

“She was supposed to die!”

“Keep your voice down,” the doctor hissed.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just done your job right.”

“I already did more than I should. I’m done here.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? She could live for years like this.”

“Why don’t you hold a pillow over her face. I’ll put in my report she simply stopped breathing.”

“Fine. But the least you can do is keep watch.”

Seriously? This was how it was going to end for me?

“Hold it right there! You’re both under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder.”

Was that Sherry’s voice?

“I don’t understand.” That was the doctor’s voice.

“We’ve had you under surveillance for a long time, Doctor Death. I’ve been working under cover her for the last six months – I have enough evidence to put you away for life.”

“Good work, officer,” my husband began.

“Nice try, slime ball. We know what happened to your wife was no accident.”

There was the sound of more people arriving, then Sherry’s voice again.

“Take ‘em away, boys. And no need to be gentle.”

There were the usual protests from my husband and the doctor as they were led away, then all was quiet again. But I had the sense someone was still in the room.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Sherry patted my hand. “You’re going to make a full recovery. Maybe even in time for their trial.”

Talk about incentive for getting better!


Prompt Two
A fortune teller at the local county fair tells you two things. She tells you something good that will happen, and something awful that will happen. What are these events or incidents?

When the fortune teller told me I’d be meeting a tall, handsome strange who’d sweep me off my feet, I nearly laughed. I mean really, don’t all fortune tellers tell you that? But then three days later I met Brian, tall, handsome Brian whom I’m madly in love with.

The other part of her prediction, the one about how I’d be leaving everything behind to go to a better place, like people do when they die, completely slipped my mind until much later.

It wasn’t until I got the message on my answering machine from my doctor’s office that I suddenly remembered the second prediction. I’d gone in for a routine check up and tests, and now the doctor wanted to see me in his office.

“Babe,” Brian said when he came home that night. “Where are you? We have something important to discuss.”

He followed the sound of my sniffles to the living room. Whatever he was going to tell me was forgotten as he held me in his arms and I poured my heart out to him.

“What if it’s cancer?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Whatever it is, we’ll give it a good fight. I just found you, I’m not going to let you go that easily.”

He came with me to the doctor’s office the next day. We sat there holding hands as the doctor swept in.

“Look at you two,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “Who died?”

I flinched . Brian tightened his hold on my hand.

“Just cut to the chase, Doc,” Brian said.

“Fine, fine. That cough you’ve had is a little more serious than we thought. It’s that lung problem you were treated for when you were little.”

“But I thought you said I’d be fine as long as I took care of myself during damp weather.”

“Yes, but that was 15 years ago. We’ve had a series of cold, damp winters and high humidity in the summer. And it’s starting to take its toll on your health.”

“What can we do?” Brian asked when I couldn’t speak.

“You really need to spend some time in a drier climate. Move there if you can.”

“Move?” I squeaked out.

“I know it means leaving everything behind – friends, family, job – but you’ll be in a better place for your health.”

“A better place?” I repeated weakly. I turned to look at Brian. “Why do you look so happy?”

“My company offered me a promotion, but it would mean moving to Arizona.”

“Arizona would be perfect,” the doctor beamed.

“I’ve always wanted to live in the desert,” I told Brian with a smile.

“And it’ll be a great place to raise the baby,” the doctor added.

“Baby?” we chorused, looking at him in shock. “What baby?”

The doctor just smiled.

Antique Dolls and Bootleg Games

The first prompt story ran so long that I didn’t think I was going to get anything done for the second one, but surprise, surprise, it just kind of popped into my head all at once.


Prompt One
While shopping downtown one day, you find an antiques store that has a rare, old doll. You buy it for your daughter. A few days later she tells you her new toy can talk. You don’t believe her, until one afternoon you find yourself alone in the house and it starts . . .

There was nothing Lucy enjoyed more than browsing through an antique or junk store. You never knew what treasure you might uncover. On this rainy Saturday morning, the treasure was an old doll, just like the one her grandmother had had.

Its green velvet dress and matching hat were a little moth eaten, the shoes were worn, as though the doll had walked many miles in them, and there were smudges on the porcelain face. But the blue glass eyes still shone brightly.

“I’ll take her,” she said to the woman behind the counter.

The woman took the doll from her, looking a little puzzled. “Isn’t that strange, I can’t recall seeing this doll before.”

“I found her on the shelf, right over there,” Lucy said, turning to point at the space between an antique hand iron and a cookbook that listed to one side without the support of the doll.

“There’s so much in here that sometimes it’s hard to keep track,” the woman said apologetically. She rang up the purchase and handed Lucy the bag. “Enjoy your doll.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said with a smile.

The woman smiled back, although her smile turned uneasy as Lucy left the shop. “I know I’ve never seen that doll before.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Lucy was a little disappointed at the lukewarm reception from her daughter when she presented her with the doll.

“It’s kind of old and beat up looking,” Janey said.

“Nonsense. It’s well-loved. And she’ll be perfect for that little wicker chair in the corner of your room.”

Janey just sighed a long-suffering sigh that spoke of knowing not to cross her mother when it came to decorating, and dutifully took the doll, placing it on the chair.

Three days later, Lucy came across the doll, sitting on a shelf in the bookcase in her office, right above the box of donations she kept meaning to take to the church. “Janey, what’s your doll doing here?”

“I don’t like the doll,” Janey told her.

“Don’t like it?” her mother repeated. “What’s not to like? She’s beautiful and her dress matches the ivy on your wallpaper.”

“There’s something broken inside her. She makes noises like she’s trying to talk and I can’t sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lucy frowned at her daughter. It wasn’t like Janey to be fanciful. “They didn’t make dolls that talked back when she was made; it’s just your imagination.”

“I don’t like her – she’s creepy!” Brown eyes, so much like Lucy’s own, filled with tears.

“Fine.” Lucy threw up her hands in defeat. “You don’t have to keep her in your room. But you’re being ridiculous about her trying to talk.”

That evening, as Lucy was catching up on some work in her office, she thought she heard whispering. She cocked her head to one side but couldn’t identify the source. The sound was muffled, like a radio left on in another room.

Over the next several days the sounds persisted, but only when she was in her office. They became stronger, more defined, but she still couldn’t make out the words. It was like whatever was being said was in a different language.

Janey refused to set foot in the office, and she and her mother argued every time Lucy came out, which was getting less and less often.

But as suddenly as her mother’s odd behaviour started, it stopped. Janey came down one morning, figuring on cold cereal for breakfast and peanut butter and jam for lunch – again – only to find Lucy in the kitchen at the stove.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Just time. The sausages are on the table and the French toast is just about done.”

“Mom?” Janey asked in disbelief.

“Who else would it be, silly? Now eat up or you’ll miss your bus. Your lunch bag is on the counter.”

Janey didn’t question her mother’s change in behaviour, she was just happy things were back to normal. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek as she raced out the door to catch her bus. Lucy waved from the door, her blue eyes glistening like glass in the sunlight.

Closing the door, she went into her office and picked up the box of donations to take to the church, the doll in the green dress sting on top, its brown eyes staring vacantly in its porcelain face.


Prompt Two
You’re playing a video game called Wizards & Warriors when, suddenly, lightning strikes the house, searing you and causing you to black out. When you wake up, you’re trapped inside the game. The only items you have is a sword, a backpack and a note attached to your shirt that reads, “Beat me and I’ll send you home.”

Damn! No more drinking and binge gaming. My head felt like my brains were leaking out my ears. I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink, but obviously I was wrong. Now what I needed to do was open my eyes. I knew for sure I wasn’t in my own bed, and the chances were good I wasn’t even in my house. It felt like I was outside.

“C’mon Ryan, open your eyes,” I told myself. “Stop being a wuss.”

I took another minute to psyche myself up, then cracked open one eye. Damn, that sun was bright!

With a groan I pushed myself up into a sitting position, my head throbbing. This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good at all. I was in some kind of wooded area, it kind of looked like the woods from the latest RPG I was into. What the hell had happened to me last night?

The last thing I remembered was playing Wizards and Warriors. My buddy Paul had got his hands on the as yet unreleased newest version of the game and I’d just cracked the code to start playing. There was this flash of light, then . . . here I was. Wherever here was.

I got to my feet and just about tripped over a backpack.

“What the hell?”

It was a sturdy pack, bulging at the seams and totally unfamiliar to me. And there was a sheathed sword attached to it. I brushed my hands over myself to clean up and found a note pinned to my shirt.

“Beat me and I’ll send you home.”

Beat me? Beat who?

I grinned suddenly. Who cared? This was too cool.

“Game on, dude,” I said, picking up the pack.

Curses and Clowns

Not only is the editing moving along, I managed to write something for both prompts. They’re not particularly good pieces, but they’re something. And I’d like to take a moment to remind you that they’re completely unedited.


Prompt One:
You put your house on the market and on the first day an extremely old woman comes knocking on your door. She’s not interested in buying your house though. Instead she tells you that this is the house she lived in as a child. The friendly mood suddenly changes when she reveals something terrible that took place in the house years ago.

The viewing of the house was supposed to be by appointment only. So Vanessa was a little surprised by the old woman who showed up on her doorstep.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Vanessa told her politely. “But if you want to see the house you’ll need to make an appointment through the realtor.”

“You misunderstand me, my dear. I don’t want to view the house – I know all its nooks and crannies first hand. I wish to talk to you about the house. There’s something you need to know.”

Vanessa’s curiosity was piqued. It would have been easy to dismiss the old lady, tell her firmly no and close the door, but in the light of what had been going on lately she figured she had nothing to lose.

“Why don’t you come in,” she said, opening the door wider.

She had the woman seat herself in the small living room while she hurried into the kitchen to make some tea.

“Thank you, dear,” the woman said when Vanessa set the tea tray down and handed her a cup.

“You said there was something I needed to know, Miss . . .” Vanessa prompted.

“Rose, you may call me Rose,” the woman said, taking a sip. “Skipping the niceties and straight to the point, I like that.” She nodded. “Saves time.”

“About my house?”

With a sigh Rose put her cup down. “You know of course the house is haunted?”

Vanessa’s cup rattled in its saucer. “Haunted? What makes you say that?”

“Come, come, my dear. The visions, things moving around, the voices?”

“How—how did you know?”

“Because the same thing has happened to every other owner of this house.” Rose leaned a little closer. “This house isn’t just haunted, it’s cursed.”

For a moment all Vanessa could do was gape at her. Then, “Cursed? What kind of curse?”

Rose relaxed in her seat again. “The original owner of this house was a witch. She was powerful but for the most part tried to do good. But for all of her power there was one thing she could do – halt time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She got old,” Rose said dryly. “So she created a spell, one that would let her live forever. All she needed was a sacrifice, once every seven years.”

“Seven years?” Vanessa repeated faintly. She’d been in this house for almost seven years.

“There were only two catches. First, the spell wouldn’t reverse the aging that had already taken place. And second, the sacrifice had to have lived under this roof for at least part of those seven years.”

Vanessa felt a numbness starting to spread through her. “And the ghosts? They’re what’s left of her victims?”

“My, you are a sharp one, catching on so quickly. Yes, the poor things were trying to warn you to get out before it’s too late.”

Vanessa stared at her mutely, unable to move.

“But don’t fret dear, you’ll be joining them soon. You can talk to them all you want then. Won’t that be nice?”


Prompt Two:
Your wealthy Aunt Edna has died and left you all of her money. At first you’re excited as you’ve been living paycheck-to-paycheck your whole life, and this newfound money offers you endless possibilities. But, in her will, Aunt Edna left one big catch – and, if you don’t do it, all the money is to be given to your most unlikeable cousin, Wilfred.

Candace pulled the wig more firmly down on her head, the bright red curls jiggling madly. Satisfied it was secure, she inspected herself as best she could in the hand-held mirror. Face paint – check. Big, billowy, polka-dot outfit – check. Floppy shoes – check. But there was something missing . . .

Right. She dug around in the makeup case until she found it. One big red nose, coming right up.

This was the last time she’d have to do this, and truth be told she was going to miss it. The first time had been nerve-racking, but the joy she brought was infectious.

The terms of Aunt Edna’s will had been clear. Once each month she was to make a charitable donation dressed as a clown. The lawyer had the list of recipients as well as the envelopes with the cash. All she had to do was dress up like a clown and make sure no one uncovered her secret identity.

Candace had no idea what had prompted Aunt Edna to make such a stipulation in her will, but she was willing to do just about anything to keep her smarmy cousin Wilfred from getting his grimy paws on Edna’s money.

The newspapers had taken to calling her the Benevolent Bozo. Each month there was speculation on where he or she (there was no telling under the voluminous costume) was going to show up and who would receive the next envelope of cash. She wondered what they’d say next month when she failed to make an appearance. The thought made her sad.

Wait a minute. Candace stopped as a sudden thought struck her. After today, Edna’s vast fortune would be hers. There was no reason she couldn’t keep making these gifts if she wanted to.

No reason at all.

Cookies and Ghosts

Well, what do you know. I managed to come up with something for both prompts this week. Not only that, I had fun doing it. How about you? Anything you’d like to share?

And just so you know . . . these pieces are un-edited. So don’t expect any deathless prose. :-D

Prompt 1: One day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously place on your desk. Grateful to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you eat it. The next morning you come in and find another cookie. This continues for months until one day a different object is left – and this time there’s a note.

Julia hurried into work, late again, with the words of last night’s argument still ringing in her ears. Maybe she’d been a little hasty, giving Geoffrey the heave-ho, but what was the point in staying in a relationship if it wasn’t going anywhere? She was tired of being someone’s “plus one.”

The cookie, centered carefully on the blotter on her desk, was a surprise – a welcome one. She loved cookies and this one was a rich, dark chocolate. Just what she needed to start her day off right.

The next day there was another one, this time a pecan cookie with buttercream frosting. It melted in her mouth and put a smile on her face for the whole day.

Julia never thought to question where these mysterious cookies came from. Perhaps everyone in the office received one for a job well done, or maybe it was just her. She didn’t really care, she’d just enjoy them while they lasted.

Every day it was a different cookie – shortbread, chocolate chip, macaroon – she never realized there were so many different kinds. She looked forward to going to work, just to see what cookie was waiting for her.

After several weeks of this she arrived at work one morning and instead of a cookie there was a flat, white bakery box. Opening it slowly she let out a gasp.

Nestled in a layer of tissue paper was a large, heart shaped sugar cookie. There was a diamond ring embedded in the point of the heart and the words, “Will you marry me?” written across it in pink icing. Smiling, Julia reached for her phone.

Prompt 2:Writing as yourself or a character, tell the following tale: A ghost appears before you one night and tells you to expect a visitation by three spirits who will each transport you to significant moments from your past, present, and future. However, you soon discover that the three spirits aren’t quite like the ones who visited Ebenezer Scrooge . . .

The first spirit that came to her was a shock. “Buttons!” Gracie exclaimed.

The grey and white tabby wove around her feet, rubbing up against her legs before jumping up on the counter.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” the cat told her in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

“But you died when I was just a little kid.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“And you can talk!”

Buttons puffed out her fur and hissed. “Yes. I’m dead and I can talk. Get over it.”

“The Buttons I knew was never so rude,” Gracie muttered

“Pay attention. We don’t have all night. I’m here to take you into the past, to where your problems all started.”

“What problems? I—”

“Pfft!” The cat cut her off and suddenly they were in her grandmother’s kitchen.

Four year old Gracie was sitting at the table with a plate of cookies in front of her while her grandmother poured her a glass of milk.

“Wow, I forgot how stern grandma always looked,” Gracie said.

“Shh!” said Buttons. “Listen.”

“Always remember the golden rule Gracie,” her grandmother was saying as she set the glass of milk in front of her.

“What’s that grandma?”

“Do unto others as you would have others do unto you,” her grandma said solemnly.

“I’ll remember,” little Gracie said.

“Only you never quite got it right, did you?” Buttons said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” big Gracie protested.

“You took the rule at face value. You thought that all you had to do was be nice to people and they’d be nice back. But it didn’t work out that way, did it?”

“Well, I—”

“How many times did people disappoint you?”

Gracie was silent. Suddenly she was back in her own kitchen again. There was no sign of Buttons.

“That was just weird,” Gracie said.

“It’s about to get weirder,” a voice behind her said.


And that’s as far as I got before I ran out of time. Looks like it’s going to turn into a short story and I’m going to have to finish it because I wrote it out long hand in my journal and I don’t know how much of a gap to leave, so I’ll have to finish it before I can move on.

But that’ll be a story for another day. LOL

The Bridge

I have a fabulous Fiction Friday in store for you. Being the last Friday of the month it’s time for the writing results from the picture prompt posted at the beginning of the month. I have not one, but two stories inspired by my bridge picture. Okay, technically there’s three of them, but you’re only getting two of them today. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. It has nothing to do with the fact I haven’t quite finished my own yet. ;-)

As always, we begin with a repeat of the picture:

First up we have a flash story by Jamie DeBree. It’s been sitting in my inbox for weeks now because I refused to read it before I finished my own. Trust me, it was well worth the wait.


Darkness & Light

by Jamie DeBree

The rope felt rough and splintery in my tight grip as I stood at the edge of the rickety wooden bridge. It was one of those defining moments in life - the ones where you know that once you make the decision to move, you can never go back. Nothing will ever be the same.

I could still see them in the mist, but barely. If I ran, I might be able to catch up. Or I might fall through one of the rotted out boards and find out just exactly how deep this cursed ravine really was. Probably right before I died.

"Go big or go home," I muttered, taking one last look at my rickety fate. Took a deep breath, and then ran, a kind of zig-zag-jog as I tried to keep my feet on the outer edges of the bridge, where it was still mostly supported by those old, fraying vines. My hands slid across the vibrating ropes, collecting splinters and I used the pain to fuel my sprint. My pulse was pounding in my ears, adrenaline pulling me forward even when chips and chunks of wood fell out from under my feet.

The fog engulfed me and I could no longer see my prey, but still I ran, knowing I couldn't give up, couldn't let them win.

Darkness materialized beside me, like he'd been there all along. He grimaced, knowing I had to stop Light from leaving, though I'd embraced Darkness not so long ago. Our exclusive dalliance had been just that, but it was over. I couldn't commit to just one of them, as he wished me to do.

My second target shined through the mist, and I pushed harder, running faster, knowing the Light couldn't hurt me like it could Darkness. I had to catch him. Had to keep him from leaving us.

Darkness fell behind as I continued on, the burning in my lungs not so bad anymore. The shine grew brighter, and hurt my eyes as the mist began to fall away.

"Stop, please!" I called to Light. "You can't go! We need you!" I couldn't see him, but I felt his warmth. Knew he could hear me where he was.

"You freed Darkness from his dungeon," he said, his voice smooth and calm. "We each need our own space - you know that. If he's allowed to run free, I must leave. 'Tis the way of all things."

I nodded. "I know. And I'm sorry. I never should have opened that lock. But I did, and now I need your help. Please don't leave me."

Light hesitated. "You'll get rid of the Darkness?"

I thought about that for a long moment. "No," I replied. "I don't think you can exist without each other, and I can't go on without you both. But I will put him back in his place, and make sure he stays there, with your help."

The mist seemed to flicker, and then slowly dissipated. The bridge swayed slightly, the ropes rasping my palms yet again as Light's figure finally appeared, his brilliance toned down so I could see his visage. I looked back, and Darkness was there too, waiting.

My heartbeat slowed, my tension drained, and I took a long breath into my lungs. Everything would be okay now.

Until Darkness enticed me to let him out again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Next I received this story by C.L. Hannah. One of the things I love about these prompt stories is that we work from the same picture but come up with totally different stories. I hope these ladies take up the challenge for October as well.


Never Gone

by C. L. Hannah

Misty air dances over my face as I sit on a tree stump. Above, mosquitoes buzz around my head like angry bees yet the birds are mysteriously silent. My stomach growls; I haven’t eaten since before the funeral yesterday.

Pushing to my feet, I wipe the dampness from my pants and think about all the empty platitudes that were pressed on me as people made their ways out of the church. She’s in a better place. There’s a reason for everything. You can still have another child. I know how you feel. And of course the easily said, be strong.

They have no idea, I think, rolling my eyes. No understanding of the gut wrenching pain that entered my soul the moment my darling daughter left me. No understanding of how difficult it is to just get out of bed in the mornings nor how draining it is just remembering how to breathe.

No. No one understands. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I wonder if I’ll ever be whole again. Will I ever stop hurting?

The drone of a distant plane momentarily distracts me and I look heavenward, searching for the offender that dares to interrupt my mourning.

The plane is probably off to some sunny location with a cabin full of happy, excited people, I think, grinding my teeth. I bet if they knew what I do, they’d not have chosen to be on that plane but rather to be at home with their loved ones safely tucked behind locked doors.

Lowering my eyes, I stare across the bridge and wonder for the millionth time, why? Why did this happen? Why did Sydney insist on showing me her dance moves here?

This is all my fault. I’m the adult. I should have known better. But Sydney’s smile melted my reluctance and I wanted her to be happy, so I just stood there and watched as she danced her way off the side of the bridge, to her death in the gorge below.

Sitting back down on the stump, I dig my heels into the damp ground making a hole. I wonder if I can make a big enough one so I can crawl into it and die.

“Don’t think like that Momma.”

Snapping my head up, I search for the source of the words. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me Momma. Don’t you recognize your own daughter?”

“You can’t be.” My heart races as my eyes flick through the shifting, fog shadows. “My Sydney died two weeks ago.”

“No I didn’t Momma. I just changed forms, that’s all. Come. Come to me and you’ll see.”

Squinting into the fog I think I see something take shape about half way across the bridge. Could it be? Is it true?

Jumping to my feet I rush toward the bridge then pause. Am I losing it? This can’t be happening and yet, I heard her, so it must be.

Taking a deep breath, I start across the bridge. The fog gets thicker the further out I go, until I can barely make out the wooden slats beneath my feet.

“Where are you?”

“You’re almost to me Momma. Keep coming, you’re almost here.”

I feel like I’m pushing through a door with my next step. The fog is now so thick that even the bugs have been silenced.

“Almost Momma. Almost.”

Taking another step I reach out my hand and hold onto the railing for support.

“That’s it Momma, now turn and look at the beautiful scenery below.”

Turning as directed, I feel my foot start to slip, but the scenery below, suddenly clear of fog, catches my attention. It’s not until my foot is dangling in mid air that I realize the voice isn’t my daughter’s but an evil imitation of it. I try to pull my foot back but as I do the other one slips and I find myself hanging off the side of the bridge. Only my grip on the railing stands between me and death.

“What are you waiting for Momma?” the evil imitation voice, sing songs. “Don’t you want to see me?”

“You are not my daughter,” I say, struggling to hold onto the railing. “You’re nothing. My daughter is dead. Gone.”

“Yes she is.” The imitation voice, now a loud hiss, agrees. “But you keep blaming yourself so I thought I’d help you out and have you join her. All you need to do is let go. Free yourself Momma. Let go and join your daughter.”

I think about the suggestion for a nano second before it hits me that if I do let go then I’ll never see another sunrise or sunset. I’ll never again hear birds singing or coyotes calling and I’ll never have the chance of being a Momma again.

“No!” I struggle to pull myself back onto the bridge. “This is not how it ends.” Pulling up with my arms, I wiggle my hips back onto the bridge and shimmy backwards until I’m safely in the middle. “This however, ends here, now. I miss my angel with my whole heart but it is not time for me to join her.”

Standing, I run off the bridge and slide through the fallen leaves to my car. Turning the ignition on, I slam the car into reverse and look in the rear view mirror. Sitting there, where her car seat used to be, is Sydney. She’s smiling.

“I told the devil you wouldn’t fall for it Momma. I told him that you’re stronger then he thinks and that you have more to live for then he can imagine. I’m proud of you Momma.”

My tears distort Sydney’s appearance but I know in my heart that it’s truly her this time.

“I love you so much baby girl. I’m so sorry I didn’t reach you in time.”

“You weren’t supposed to reach me Momma. It was my time to go to heaven. Please don’t be sad. There is still so much for you to do here. We will be together one day but until that day arrives, live Momma, live. You have so many opportunities coming your way, don’t miss them because you’re sad. I’m still part of you, not like before but still, part of you. I promise.”

“Thank you baby girl. I’ll make you proud of me. I promise.”

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and feel the pain that has held me hostage for the past two weeks suddenly shatter. A lightness seeps into my chest and I feel warm. Looking at my own image in the mirror, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks and smile. I’m going to be OK.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Don’t forget to check back next Friday for October’s picture prompt. Who knows, maybe you’ll be inspired as well. And the Friday after that I’ll be posting my own story - I hope it’ll be worth the wait.