I am curious too. Enough to follow his flickering match between trees. Monsters aren’t real, but the low growling behind my ear still frightens me.
word count: 25
“Have you considered your options?”
He speaks as if I’m changing careers, or switching insurance providers, not choosing to end my own life.
But then, I guess it’s a therapist’s job to remain calm. And he has been patient, followed me all the way to Japan, to Aokigahara, where the hopeless living disappear to join the forest’s ghosts . . .
Look! There’s the back of one’s head, though her body is turned to me.
I tighten the noose around my neck. It’s so quiet, I can hear Dr. Bowman swallow.
I hesitate to jump right away, but a sudden gust of wind blows the figure’s hair forward, snatches the chair from under me, and the rope squeezes the scream from my throat when I see she has no face.
I tried, I really tried to squeeze all of this into one minute. Alas, my fingers don’t move that fast. But the story just wasn’t complete without a part two, so today I’m giving you two stories written in two minutes. Feel free to bend the rules this week for the sake of some scary good micro-fiction!
Our first night we kissed
he bit my bottom lip
pierced it through
licked blood from his fangs
howled at the moon
Fright Night Fridays: Every Friday night, dare to venture into something spooky, something paranormal, something suspenseful, something that would surely give you a fright. Are you brave enough to stick around?
“Shut up, and put your money where your mouth is,” Darin says.
If I had money, I’d be paying a taxi to get me the hell out of here. But my money is in my wallet, which is in my purse, with my phone, in the trunk of Darin’s car, parked half a block from here.
The whole point is to be completely cut off from the rest of the world—no distractions so we don’t miss anything. Just me, and Darin, and this dead tree stump, where three weeks ago a group of teenagers supposedly spotted Midtown’s prom night ghost.
But I don’t believe in ghosts, or so, that’s what I’ve tried to convince Darin of, but right now, I’m having a hard time convincing myself, because at every creep and crack, I’m shivering to my bones in Darin’s lap. And he seems to like it, let his hand slip under my skirt the last time I jumped.
“We’re supposed to be watching for ghosts.” And I recall this was how our particular ghost got herself killed. Alone in the dark woods with a man she didn’t know. And here I am, alone, in the dark, on the year’s unluckiest night, sitting by the edge of the forest with a man who pretends he didn’t see me when he touches my breast.
And I have to pretend I don’t want him to touch me again.
“It’s just the animals,” he says.
He reclines on the blanket, tugs the back of my blouse for me to lie down too. I tell him I’m not afraid— but I should be.
When he’s on top of me, the hem of my skirt drawn up to my navel, that’s when we hear the distant scream. A gust of wind splits through the tall grass, and Darin’s face flashes brilliantly, like lightning.
For Marquessa’s Fiction Friday song lyric challenge. Today’s prompt is: Shut up and put your money where your mouth is… She also asks us to tag one fellow writer to join the challenge. Since we’re trying to motivate each other to write more, I’m tagging my Nigerian sister from across the pond, Amina from Ameena’s Musings. I can’t wait to read what she comes up with!
“Don’t open the door!” Jason screams. He dives toward me, shoulder first, and slams it shut just as I’m turning the knob, pulling it back.
“Are you nuts? Mom is out there!”
He twists the dead bolt. “Can’t you see? Mom is gone.”
On the other side, low guttural moans increase. Shuffling of feet, a frantic clawing against the wood . . .
Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. October will be full of terrifying Halloween-themed prompts. Today’s prompt is: don’t open the door.
“Daddy’s always watching over you.” It would’ve been less creepy if I didn’t believe in ghosts.
Grandpa’s been watching me since I was nine. He’s like Santa, he doesn’t come until I fall asleep. I woke up one night to the familiar smell of cigars and butterscotch and discovered him standing at the foot of my bed, hands folded over his round belly. He wasn’t the jolly Grandpa I remembered; he stared at me, expressionless.
Now Daddy’s joined him. Every night, they stand by my bed and watch me sleep. It’s been quite difficult sneaking boys into my room.
word count: 99
Join Moral Mondays, a new weekly challenge to write a 100-word fable or story based on the moral/lesson provided in the prompt. This week’s moral is all about lessons from dad: no kissing on the first date.