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Weekly Contest #349
CW: death, cult abuse Mariah slowly sat up and rubbed her aching head, wincing as she touched a tender spot. It was all coming back to her now. When she was pushed into the cellar, she had lost her balance and crashed headfirst into the rough brick wall. Her last memory was of colored lights flashing across her vision before she passed out. A wave of nausea threatened to engulf her, and she inhaled deeply, holding her breath, until she felt confident enough to open her eyes again. Something was different. A shaft of sunlight was coming thro...
Weekly Contest #348
Lisa’s stomach churned as the car swerved and lurched. “Can I take this blindfold off now? I’m going to be sick.” “In just a moment.” Her seatbelt jerked tight as the car stopped abruptly. Murphy, their large brown mutt, panted happily in the back seat. “Ta da! Here we are.” Todd whipped the blindfold off her eyes. Squinting, she gazed around, trying to get her bearings. They were in front of a severe grey stone house with high gables. Todd beamed. “What do you think?” “Where are we? Why all the mystery?” He bowed as he opened the door. “My ...
Weekly Contest #345
Maisie drew the curtains as the evening darkened outside and went to put the kettle on. Returning with two cups of tea, she found that, as usual, Joe had fallen asleep and was softly snoring. A magnificently maned lion was tussling with the bloody carcass of an antelope on the television screen. Maisie gently slid the remote from Joe’s slack hand and switched the channel. Unfortunately, she landed on her favorite historical drama just as the heroine, in the throes of passion, let out a shriek of ecstasy. Joe awoke with a start, and looked ar...
Weekly Contest #344
Dear Diary, May 19 I swear every year that I will never, ever volunteer again to help at the church fete, and every year I get suckered into it. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just say no? I managed to avoid Mrs. Hornsby and her sign-up sheet at church, but she cornered us in the pet food aisle of the supermarket. Jim vanished, of course. For a big man, he’s remarkably good at making himself scarce at the most inconvenient moments. Before I knew it, I was signed up to make cookies and do the morning shift at the bake stall. Jim caught up...
Weekly Contest #343
Kate pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead and surveyed the room with satisfaction. It was slowly beginning to resemble a living room and not a disorganized furniture warehouse. The couch, armchairs and coffee table were in place. All that remained was to fill the bookshelves and hang pictures on the walls. She looked at the boxes of book with a sigh. She hoped that when they had children, Howard would be as attached to his offspring as he was to his books. Hefting the first box up onto the coffee table with a grunt, she opened it, s...
Weekly Contest #342
Deirdre snuggles comfortably into the pillows, relaxed and dreamy, as someone nuzzles her neck and whispers sweet nothings. She startles awake from a blissful, semi-trance when something nips her ear “Ow! Enough of that,” she says, smiling as she turns, opening her arms. “No rough stuff.” She encounters a pair of brilliant green eyes staring directly into hers. A gust of fishy breath wafts into her face. “Ugh,” she groans. “Your breath stinks.” Felix lands with a thud as she shoves him firmly off the bed. Glaring, he stalks off, twitching hi...
Weekly Contest #340
Annie is a would-be author and I am her character. She is driving me crazy because she wants me to solve a murder but she doesn’t know who I am. Annie’s days are spent staring at a computer screen in the office of the Globe Insurance Company. It’s a large office with rows of cubicles upon cubicles in an ugly concrete box of a building . The few plants and pictures only serve to highlight its dreariness. Her supervisor is a gaunt, humorless woman with beady eyes named Ms. Oliphant who pounces at the least excuse. “Hello, earth to Annie. Daydr...
Weekly Contest #339
Several patrons of the coffee shop looked around and glared as a hunting horn rang out. Helen sighed as her grandmother Doris reached into her handbag for her phone yet again. “Oops. Got to take this call. Just a moment, I promise.” Helen wondered how she could teach her grandmother some phone etiquette. She had taken a day off to take Doris out for her birthday, not to sit on the side lines as her grandmother chatted on the phone. This was the third call since they sat down. “Okay, fine, talk to you later. Bye,” Doris said cheerfully, putti...
Weekly Contest #338
The house was forlorn. Without her grandmother, it was an empty shell, damp, stale, loveless. Julie surveyed the fading flowery wallpaper of the living room and the shabby furniture. Her friend Rosa, following her gaze, shuddered at a picture of Jesus, rivulets of blood trickling down from the crown of thorns upon his head. “That’s a bit gruesome, isn’t it?” Julie laughed. “That picture gave me nightmares when I was little. Gran finally covered it with a pillowcase…” She broke off as her phone rang. “Hi, hon. Mom asked me to pick up some th...
Weekly Contest #319
Charlie bounded into the kitchen knotting his tie. “Hi, hon,” he said, swatting Miranda's shoulder so heartily that her coffee slopped onto the table. “What’ve you got lined up for today?” Miranda eyed him. He was never usually boisterous first thing in the morning and his jollity seemed forced. It was also unusual for him to show any interest in her activities. “I don’t know yet,” she said, mopping the table with her napkin. “I’ll go out somewhere for a while. Agneska is coming today.” Agneska, their Polish cleaning lady, was very set in he...
Weekly Contest #317
Grey clouds scudded across the sky and dry leaves skittered and danced down the path. Melissa shivered as the cold wind cut through her coat and fat raindrops began to fall. She threaded her way between the old tombstones, occasionally stopping to peer at the moss-encrusted inscriptions. The path widened, lined with shiny marble mausoleums and stone angels in the newer part of the cemetery. She stopped at her grandmother’s grave, still marked only by a rectangle of dirt, and stared in surprise. The few wreaths from the funeral were wilted an...
Weekly Contest #316
Rhoda walked into the house in a daze and plunked her bags of groceries down. Her daughter Sherry looked up from her books and frowned. “What took you so long? I was about to send out a search party. You look like a deer in the headlights.” “That’s how I feel. I’m still not sure what happened.” Sherry got up, looking concerned. “Sit down and I’ll make us some tea.” “Thanks, love,” Rhoda said, sitting down abruptly. When they had their mugs of hot tea, Sherry looked at her mother expectantly. “Well, go on. Don’t keep me in suspense.” Rhoda to...
Weekly Contest #315
CW: Mentions of substance overdose. Vickie glanced at her reflection. Her top and jeans fit perfectly, and the new platform shoes were totally worth it, even though they were pinching her feet already. She had taken extra care with her makeup. Fluffing her hair one last time, she crept out, slowly pulling the door closed behind her. She paused outside her parents’ door until she could hear the deep rumbling snores of her father and the occasional snuffles of her mother. Satisfied, she inched forward and started downstairs. Forgetting to all...
Weekly Contest #314
I bounded to my feet as I heard the key turn in the lock of the front door. Normally I would prance and leap, tail wagging, trying to restrain myself from jumping up on Janine, my person. Today was different. I shot past her into the garden, desperate. I’d pushed and pushed at Robin’s arm with my nose earlier, trying to tell her I needed to go out. Lying on the couch with her headphones on, scrolling on her phone, she’d been oblivious. “Bootsy, what’s the matter?” Janine said with concern. I made it to the lawn just in time, sighing in relie...
Weekly Contest #313
“Are you there, God? It’s me, Myrna Valentino Snodgrass, nee Smith. Yes, I know that’s quite a handle to my jug, but my mother loved the movies and Myrna Loy and Rudolph Valentino were her favorites. It’s a good thing she didn’t like Boris Karloff. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to get in touch. My eightieth birthday is next week, so I thought I’d better stop putting it off, seeing as what we might be meeting soon, begging pardon for my presumption. I don’t think I’ve done anything bad enough to send me to the other place. I’m in great health for...
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