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Weekly Contest #354
Heavy steps echoed on the cave walls, a warning that traveled swiftly through dark tunnels where no light could ever reach. Thud, thud, thud the God of the dead went, further and further down meandering paths where no mortal would ever dare follow. Heavy beads of water trickled down sharp chunks of limestone that hung from the ceiling like fangs reaching for a victim. The falling drops pattered into puddles of stagnant water that absorbed them more than let them splash, as if afraid the passing god would punish the insolence of a spray on hi...
Weekly Contest #327
The old grandfather clock in the hallway struck the hour. Its first resonating chime startled a few of the ladies gathered in the drawing room, forcibly interrupting the nodding and the smiling, and the straining of sparkly-stone laden necks they had been doing since entering the room after dinner, carrying sweet smells of roasted meat and oils with them. How wonderfully do their jewels dangle. Madame Dupont rose gracefully from her seat by the fireplace. She gently clapped her hands twice and gestured to the round table in the centre of the...
Weekly Contest #326
The moon was safely hidden behind a dark cloud, when the three men finally deemed it safe to emerge from the crypt. The body was hanging limp from the shoulder of the leader of the group, a burly man taking long and leisurely strides, not seeming to notice the dead weight. Then again, she was very thin. He carved a straight path through the graveyard, around and over old forgotten graves and patches of freshly dug soil, yet unmarked by rain. The second man, the lookout, had emerged first from the sealed vault. It took him a while to get ...
Weekly Contest #314
Many men both saw and heard a great number of huntsmen hunting. The huntsmen were black, huge, and hideous, and rode on black horses and on black he-goats, and their hounds were jet black, with eyes like saucers, and horrible. This was seen in the very deer park of the town of Peterborough, and in all the woods that stretch from that same town to Stamford, and in the night the monks heard them sounding and winding their horns.Henry d'Angely, 1127 Brother Cuthbert was always the last to go to bed. His was the task of walking around after eve...
Weekly Contest #313
The kiss of snow woke him more violently than any sound ever could. The absence of light should have warned him of snowfall’s coming and, had he been able to see, he'd know better than to let himself fall asleep so exposed, so unprepared for the bitter cold that was now painfully icing its way through his veins. Still dazed, he felt his way around him, casting off some of the soft blanket from his sleeves and knees. At least the hood of his cloak had protected his neck, ears, and the useless part of his face he used to rely on for vision. ...
Weekly Contest #311
The rope was tight around his neck, but he didn't seem to mind. Why would he? Tobias Wess had been dead for several hours now, as the executioner, the priest, and half the villagers who attended the hanging had already confirmed. Without a doubt, Tobias Wess had been found guilty of all charges by Gerard - who acted as Milltown’s mayor and treasurer when it wasn’t hunting season, and head deer hunter when it was - and was hanged for his crimes on an apple tree on a rainy Sunday in front of the god-abiding population of sixty of his most law-...
Weekly Contest #310
We call ourselves Hominimum Repertores. Finders of people. Our life's work is to scour the world for the right person for the right thing, one role at a time. We often sit in brightly-lit cubicles, behind screens always placed at the ergonomically approved height - top half of the screen at eye level, elbows square on the desk, back straight, knees at a 90 degree angle - and read through every little accomplishment that could pass for achievement until the candidate's past and future are as clear to us as the black Times New Roman font again...
Weekly Contest #309
The smell of the meat crisping over the small fire is overwhelming, teardrops of golden fat dripping on the flames is all I must appear to hear. I will make no sudden movements nor let my breath quicken lest the beast towering behind me feels my fear and senses my sleeping children. I see her cursed body shaped against the wall, shaped by the bright night outside, its blessed light stronger than the fire I’ve lit to musk their nocturnal sounds and scent. A serpent tail is sweeping the air behind her, making a swooshing, whip-like sound that ...
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