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Weekly Contest #378
Not every haunting is grounds for a vacation in a Mental Institution. Take mine, for example. Selene was a perfectly ordinary girl, somewhat plain but that’s only to be expected. It came with the territory of her age. She did have talents, though, and one remarkable ability that set her apart from the Great Unwashed. But, more on that later. It was just after dusk, as I recall, when we met. I imagine we were both enjoying the curious, almost haunting stillness that the onset of evening wears like a cloak. So there we were, strolling through...
Weekly Contest #377
Once upon a time it had been more than just a parcel of flesh but now, well, thought Alex as he drifted above the body, he supposed he had finished with it. Whether he liked it or not. There had been no last stand, no wrestling match or exciting gangland assassination, no great fanfare to bid him farewell. Just a short, stunningly painful, heart attack. And here he was, all alone in this otherwise empty hospital corridor, floating just beneath the ceiling, at a complete loss as to what was supposed to happen next. He concentrated. Wasn’t the...
Lydia had done her fair share of haunting over the several centuries she had been incarcerated in Whitebrick Hall, the country manor of some anonymous Georgian family. She had seen off D’Arcy D’Innocent, the ghost of a highwayman who had tried to muscle in on her patch as well as having successfully managed to terrify a string of human tenants to the point where the building had lain empty for generations. But now she was bored. Only a true ghost could understand that drifting along the endless empty corridors and through the unpapered wall...
Weekly Contest #376
For an imp, Maurice was remarkably adaptable and so well dressed in his claret blouse and blue pantaloons. Yes, he was only as tall as a Big Person’s little finger but give him an ear to play with and he was in his element. He could produce a ladder with a snap of his fingers, tall and sturdy enough to reach up from some gormless Big Person’s shoulder to their innocent auris externa, the outer ear to you and me. And once there he would do what he could not resist doing. It had always been this way, a germ that flowered every time he came cl...
Weekly Contest #374
The flowers were watching him. Watching all of the walkers. Turning their beautiful faces as people passed; emotional palettes swaying in the gentlest breeze and yet that was how he had noticed their subtle trickery. It was simple really, because sometimes the flowers moved even when there was no breeze. As he studied them further, he realised that many of them, in following passers-by, actually turned the faces away from the sun. That, he knew, was impossible. So, yes, the flowers were watching him but they were not aware that he was watchi...
Weekly Contest #359
Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Whose stars are these? The bearded interrogator, a policeman I think, wants to know who savagely beat me but I cannot explain to this officer, all dressed in white and wearing his flexible rubber ear trumpet, except perhaps to ask him: why are there stars in the ceiling? He doesn’t answer. How can I trust a cop out of uniform? I suspect he is not real. Maybe he’s just out to mislead me. Come closer. If I know you, I will tell you instead. Do I know you? You don’t have to answer. I must trust someone and there...
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