Phantom of Sixteenth Street Cathedral

The Sixteenth Street cathedral had been under renovation for nearly a year. Mr. Hughes and his team were contracted to May, but frequent mishaps forced them to postpone the deadline indefinitely.

“It’s cursed.” Judi stared up at the four working men on the scaffold. Jake, balancing on two beams, looked woozy from his previous malaria infection. Mr. Hughes and Ryan both wore back braces from the last fall. Burt had a mask over his mouth. Was he still coughing blood?

“But the church is holy ground,” Shirl said.

Holy doesn’t explain away the slave auctions, Judi wanted to tell her, held in the basement below the sanctuary Sunday evenings after service. The evidence was in the library archives. Christian men defended their atrocious acts with the Bible, but still preferred to grope the appendages of human beings in secret.

“The spirits don’t want to be disturbed.”

“You’re freaking me out with that crazy Voodoo stuff!”

“Interesting you’d find that crazy.” Judi counted four men on the scaffold, but spotted a fifth on the roof.

word count: 174

—Nortina


photo-20160222081613639Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 75-175 using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.

Lovers’ Dig

The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.

“So, what does it say?” Nida asked.

“Death will come on swift wings to whomsoever opens this chest,” Trent said in a deep, ominous voice.

Nida placed her hands on her hips, cocked her head to the side. “Really. Did you forget that I’ve seen The Mummy a billion times? ‘There is one, the undead, who if brought back to life, is bound by sacred law to consummate this curse.’ Give me a break!”

“But that’s what it says!”

“We’re in a cavern 1000 feet underground in West Virginia. There’s no mummies here.”

“Who said it’s a mummy? The Native Americans are known to have frightening ghost stories. Remember the Wendigo?”

“If you didn’t want to go on an excavation for your honeymoon, you shouldn’t have married an archeologist. Now open the damn chest!”

“Till death do us part, right?” He pried the lid open with his chisel.

word count: 148

—Nortina


Mondays Finish the Story: a flash fiction challenge where we provide you with a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. Your challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided.

Click the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own.

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