Hello, dear Readers! I apologize for my absence. I have recently been without internet at home, which makes posting difficult. In light of this, I am going to take a brief hiatus from blogging and focus on some of my other writing projects. I just didn’t want to leave you hanging. Until next time, take care!
“Thanks,” said Weylin taking the square cardboard box and handing the pizza delivery boy money. He didn’t wait to sit at the table before stuffing a piece of the hot, greasy concoction into his mouth.
“I don’t know how you consume such disgusting sludge.”
“It’s foul. Even with my dulled senses in this wretched mortal body my nose is offended.”
“With you something’s always offended, Gavren.”
“You’ve gone native,” Gavren sneered.
“We don’t know if or when the portal to Faerie will open again. I’m making the most of it. You should too.”
Gavren’s lip curled in reply.
Today, dear Readers, you are getting two short story posts. You can thank my lovely friend Rebecca for this second story treat, because it was she who prompted me to write it with a mysterious and intriguing text:
“Headline: Band Boosters plan mattress sale fundraiser”
How could I not respond to that? Enjoy!
HEADLINE: BAND BOOSTERS PLAN MATTRESS SALE FUNDRAISER!
Zelina smiled as she read the paper’s headline. Gotcha.
There was a Ghastly Nightmare on the loose, and it was Zelina’s job to catch it. That was what a Dream Catcher did. And what better place for a Nightmare to be lurking than at a mattress sale where hundreds of people would be gathered around beds? It would be nothing for the Nightmare lull them into a deep sleep, and then it would attack. A feast of dreams for the Ghastly Nightmare to ravage.
She glanced down at the paper again. The Mattress Sale was scheduled for this Saturday. That gave her three days to prepare. Three days to lay her traps. Just three days, but Zelina would be ready.
Bring on the night.
To be continued…
Happy Friday, Readers! We made it! And now it’s time for Friday Fictioneers! Thanks as always, to the wonderful Rochelle for providing the prompt and gathering us all together. This we give thanks to Claire Fuller for our interesting photo!
Alarms sounded and lights flashed overhead. “Come on, Percy!” drake bellowed, pushing the small soldier forwards down the hall.
“B-but we’re in the vaults! We’ll be trapped!” Percy shouted.
“Not if we chose the right vault,” Drake said with a grin, halting in front of a blue door covered in alien markings. He yanked it open. Percy followed him in and stopped dead.
There, in the middle of the vast room, was a spaceship. He inched towards it, only to be stopped by Drake.
“Wrong one.” He slapped a metal band around Percy’s wrist. “Teleport.” Drake winked, and was gone.
Happy Friday, Readers! Did you miss me? Time got away from me last week, but never fear, I wouldn’t miss two Friday Fictioneers for the world! As always, special thanks to Rochelle for hosting us, and this week to C. E. Ayr for the photo. Enjoy!
“I’m telling you Thomas, it moved.”
Her brother scowled. “Don’t be daft, Josie. It’s a painting, not a window. Come on!” He dragged her forward along the sidewalk.
She stumbled, still craning her neck to see the ocean graffiti on the crumbling building wall behind them. “But…”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Look.” He marched up to the wall. “It’s just a painting, see?” He reached up to slap the painting…
And his arm passed straight through it.
Yelping, he pulled his now soaking wet arm back and stared as a whale swam right before his eyes.
Josie beamed. “Told ya.”
Happy Friday, dear Readers! It’s time again for Friday Fictioneers, led by our host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Today’s photo is provided by Madison Woods. My story this time is a bit on the sad side. I hope you won’t mind.
Now Lay Me Down To Sleep
May 6th, 1995. Six years old. 11:08 p.m.
His mother yanked the illuminated bed sheet over his head. “Quentin? What are you doing up this late?”
July 14th, 2003. Fourteen years old. 12:44 a.m.
His mother threw open the window. “Quentin! Where do you think you’re going?”
November 19th, 2011. Twenty-two years old. 3:52 a.m.
She watched him stagger into the kitchen. “Quentin, where have you been?”
April 26th, 2014. Twenty-four years old. 2:33 a.m.
The police officer at the door said, “I’m sorry, ma’am…”
His mother cried.
“Quentin, where are you?”
Happy Friday, Readers! Cutting it close to the wire, but there’s still time for Friday Fictioneers, our weekly short story prompt hosted by the lovely Rochelle. This week’s photo is provided by G.L. MacMillan. Special thanks to them! If you enjoy my story, check out some other responses to this prompt here.
Because children are curious. And children who are also witches happen to be extra curious. And even Nanas have a few secrets.
A Curious Little Witch
Rosalina gazed at the rows of colored glass bottles glittering in the setting sunlight. “Why do you keep them, Nana?”
Nana laughed. “The better question is who, my dear child. Who.”
Rosalinda quirked her head. “Who?” she repeated. “Is that why they whisper?”
Nana smiled proudly. “Exactly so.”
Rosalinda sighed. “They sound so pretty.”
“Hmm, yes. So they do. Menfolk are charming and pretty when they want to be. Remember that, Rosa.”
Rosalinda nodded. “Is that why you put them in a bottle?”
“That’s enough chatter. Little witches have lots chores to do. Off with you!”