This is in response to a challenge from (here is his blog site) Nagrijfor a 5 minute story. Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday. This month’s challenge is horror and I accept the challenge. We have been building on each other’s stories and here is Nagrij’s story this week: Tuesday’s Tale
And here is my continuation of Nagrij’s story:
The hair on the back of his neck stood up just as he felt the temperature in the hallway go up. He looked down at his temperature meter and watched as the digits climbed slowly at first and then clicked up faster and faster. Forgetting that he had returned to the top of the stairs he stepped back, twisted ankle once again giving out, tumbling down the long flight of stairs in fear and confusion.
The creature was back, lumbering after him down the stairs, its anger creating the rising heat. Mouth now opening and closing in a mesmerizing chewing motion, rows of teeth reaching for him as it shrieked. When the creature shook his head to toss his long hair from his eyes he saw with a jolt of recognition that
Had to stop here as my five minutes was up so lets see what Nagrij does with this! Brouhaha!
This is in response to a challenge from (here is his blog site) Nagrij for a 5 minute story. Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday. This month’s challenge is horror and I accept the challenge. This week I wrote the next chapter to his weekly challenge Tuesday’s Tale.
Here you go Nagrij:
The hallway walls caressed the ghost hunter’s shoulders. His bulk apparent in the creak of the old floor boards as he entered the heart of the old house. Light bulbs changing back into candle sconces as he passed. The dim lighting from the flames did nothing to warm the cold and his breath came in silvery whispers and frozen exhalations.
The end of the dim hallway could not be seen yet but he continued to creep forward, hoping the camera would come to life. Looking at his watch he saw it was only 12:06, only 2 minutes had passed…
A shadow at the end of the hall was visible now, he prayed it was that intern arriving at the job late.
This is in response to a challenge from (here is his blog site) Nagrij for a 5 minute story. Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday. This month’s challenge is horror and I accept the challenge. Here is Nagrij’s story this week: https://nagrij.wordpress.com/2016/10/04/tuesdays-tale-1042016/
Here you go Nagrij:
Racing down the hall she ran smack into the icy place. The home of the foul entity that she now lived with. When she moved in she had no idea of the evilness that had occurred here over the years. She had a feeling that even with all she was able to discover she still did not know everything.
Henry, her German Shepherd dog for seven years, was right behind her. His intense yowl raised the hair on the back of her neck. As she turned around she saw he was looking behind them, at something unseen but clearly approaching with a cold malevolence.
Thinking to gain some strength from Henry’s presence she hugged him tightly and looked between his ears down the hall. Somehow she now saw what Henry was able to see and knew she was in Hell.
This is in response to a challenge from Nagrij for a 5 minute story. Nagrij writes a 5 minute story every Tuesday, except for today when he challenged his readers instead.
Here you go Nagrij:
She lunged again and again. Teeth bared, fierce snarling, stabbing me hard enough with her muzzle I would have fallen if not for the wall to my back.
Pissing off a trained Police Dog. Not my smartest achievement. But I was smart enough not to run or move, she’d be on me in a second.
She was becoming more agitated, foaming at the mouth, and I knew I had to do something fast. Shoving my prized Prada handbag into her face she clamped down on it. Diving into her crate I felt the door hit me in the rear as she flew after me.
The main character is Henry and I just realized that one of the main characters in this crazy Netflix series I am watching is also named Henry. Coincidence? I think not. I have been looking at litters of rescue puppies and have a feeling I found my puppy name!
This is a picture from the book. Each family was assigned a number and each member of the family wore a tag until they reached the internment camp.
My friend Jared occasionally surprises me with a small painting. This one I received as a Mother’s Day card. I believe he used acrylic paint. My iPhone photo does not do it justice.
Daydreaming with Jared’s art work is one of my favorite pastimes. Here is my story:
I was 6 years old the first time I visited the cottage. My brother was 3.
The road dead ended at the bridge to the cottage. Dad, mom and sis had to carry all our stuff over the bridge and up a winding path. I was given the responsibility of making sure Sammy didn’t fall into the stream.
We were real city kids, used to the sound of traffic and lots of people. The small stream that flowed under the bridge sounded like a huge river in that quiet place.
True dare devils Sammy and I would hang over the edge of the bridge, challenging ourselves to not fall as we dropped wild flowers into that raging torrent to appease imaginary ghosts. The ghosts would be lured away from the cottage, following the flowers down the stream until they reached the ocean where they could not find their way back.
The theft of the rattle was disturbing. The only item stolen from the studio. Trying to distract herself from this mystery Mary Lou did some research on rattles.
Discovered at archaeological sites throughout the world there was plenty to learn.
Music, healing rituals, spiritual journeys, the supernatural, and simply a child’s toy.
Ceremonial, sacred, magical, powerful, and simply soothing.
Her dreams included the peaceful vibrations of the different rattles she had studied and now created in her dreams. Wooden rattles carved with love, gourds painted and decorated with leather and feathers, and the clay rattles of all shapes and engravings. Rattles filled with rocks, seeds, grains, shells and clay pellets. A sighing haaaa as her breath entered each rattle before it was sealed.
This tube rattle had crossed over from her dream world. Almost alive it seemed to ache to be put to work. Most rattles had a noble job. She wondered at its purpose.
Muse: A source of inspiration and a guiding spirit.
Today’s muse is the older man standing in line in front of me at the grocery store and wherever his thoughts were taking him. With a look of annoyance he was rearranging the magazines.
Here is my story:
Wilbur let the frown take over as he straightened out the magazine rack. The customers before him obviously didn’t have any respect for something they weren’t going to buy. Magazines in the wrong slots. Magazines shoved in slots sideways and bent. Sheesh.
When him and Sammy read the comic magazines at the Super Drug they respected the opportunity to read for free and Sammy especially loved to organize and straighten the comics in the rack after the other kids scrambled it. Wilbur especially loved Sammy, his little brother and best friend.
Mr. Albert, the pharmacist, sometimes gave Sammy a dog eared comic or two as “payment” for keeping the rack organized. Wilbur smiled as he straighted out the last People magazine and slid it into its slot.
My hero and today’s muse, Wilbur and his brother Sammy.
A little sushi, ginger pickled beets and some sake. That would set her straight.
After feeding her growling stomach, she felt the migraine melt away until it was just a regular pounding blinding headache. A second cup of sake and the headache diminished to a roar, she was at least able to think.
This was not the first time Mary Lou had lost time working with clay. But even then, with time flying by, she was aware while working on a project. The total loss of time and memory had only happened once before and was also followed by the intense migraine.
That project was again something she created from a dream. At first she was unable to figure out what it was. A square piece of pottery and the small pile of clay balls wrapped twice in delicate tissue paper.
She was compelled that first time to blow gently into the square, her breath making a soft “haaaaaa” sound. Nine clay balls had been dropped into the square and with a second whispered “haaaaaa” she sealed the square. As she made several small holes to the bottom of the square it was then she realized what she had created.
A rattle. But why?
The impressions she made on that square rattle were done with a hard rubber stamp. A stamp she had never seen before and none of the other potters in the studio had either.
When it came time to glaze the piece she was drawn to cooling and calming colors, shades of blue and green.
The piece had disappeared one night from the studio. No other art had ever been taken before or since but May Lou was too relieved to have it gone to make an issue of the disappearance.
It was what she has learned since that has made her creation of the new rattle comforting rather than alarming.
She smiled again, a bonus was that she could now put off making that teapot for Dennis. This tube rattle had a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored.