Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Banshee #amwriting #writing #flashfiction 


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW: 

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Credit: Barb CT

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Maizie stared at the neighbouring property to her parents cabin. For as long as she could remember, the property had been deserted. 

Growing up, Maizie and her two brothers would create possible stories about what happened to the people who lived in the ruins of the old cabin. 

“It was a shark, one as big as Jaws,” her younger brother Rupert said. 

“It had to be bigger than a shark and fiercer,” said her eldest brother Richard.

The possible stories continue until they were all three, young teenagers. 

“I dare you to go out to the haunted cabin,” Richard told Maizie. 

“Come on,”Rupert teased her.

Maizie thought she would show, both her brothers, she wasn’t afraid. “Fine I’ll go, but you two have to come with me. Bring the flashlights.” 

All three siblings crept out to the abandoned property at night. When they reached the cabin, a moaning wail made them all jump. 

“What was that?” Rupert asked.

Maizie could feel her palms sweat in fear as the wailing continued. 

At that moment, the banshee chose to sneak up behind them — a possibility which hadn’t occurred to Maizie and her brothers. 

The banshee appeared to float, and a large black cloak covered her knotted grey hair. Her eyes were black coals piercing their souls and her skin felt like crepe paper as the banshee touched all their faces. 

Richard said fearfully, “Banshees only come when a family member is about to die, what’s she doing here?”

The Banshee’s wails increased at Richard’s suggestion and she sucked the life out of all three siblings. Their young life forces were exactly what she required.  

Her haggish appearance lifted and a beautiful woman walked out of the ruins of the abandoned cabin, smiling at her now youthful appearance. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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Friday Fictioneers: It #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Rochelle Wissoff-Fields for hosting FF. 

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Credit: Peter Abbey

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Sorry about the tiny text, I don’t know how to fix it on the iPad. 

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Why is this bridge bothering me, besides a bit of claustrophobia? I can feel my adrenaline pumping, my fight or flight response taking over.

In the fading twilight, my eyes peer everywhere, searching for something, whatever is out there. As I step across the bridge it creaks. Then I swear I hear heavy breathing, a growl perhaps? I start to run and the end of the bridge is ten steps in front of me. 

Then, I am across the bridge and I hear nothing. It’s trying not to make a sound and the silence makes me sweat. Minutes pass, I believe fifteen? I sigh, shaking my head, thinking I’ve been afraid of something I imagined.

Then, it grabs me, sharp teeth sinking in; it’s too late to scream. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: Pumpkin Guts #3LineTales #horror #halloween #amwriting


Thanks to Sony of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.

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Credit: Shaun Holloway
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He cuts the top off his pumpkin, just as the doctor Victor Frankenstein cut the top off the head of fiend –the demon Mary Shelley wrote of –known as Frankenstein. 

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The top comes off the pumpkin with a sucking sound and the man grimaces at the putrid smell of pumpkin guts; as he reaches inside to clean the guts a grim laughter echoes throughout the dark house and the man trembles; he laughs at himself knowing the black night and howling wind are only tricking him into being afraid. 

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Then, the pumpkin head peers up at the man and he screeches like a little girl, hiding under the table; a headless body appears and replaces and the top of the pumpkin; the body places the pumpkin on his neck where his head should be; the pumpkin transforms –eyes triangle cut-outs where fire burns and mouth open with sharp glistening teeth; the headless horsemen goes outside to do his demonic duty on ‘All Hallows’ Eve’ –the ageless creature of horror; he cuts off the head of the crying man for his first head of the night. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: The Headless Horseman Returns #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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The sky was black and the woods silent. Even the stars seemed not to glimmer. 

Rev. Jones was sweating hidden in the bushes. He could feel the shudders of fear coursing through his body. He held onto the cross at his throat. 

Swish. Right near Rev. Jones head, an axe swung. Rev. Jones didn’t bother to look and see who was trying to behead him, he knew and he ran for the covered bridge, stark terror overcoming him as he tried to surpass the headless horseman.

It was to no avail, the horseman in his armour popped down from the top of the covered bridge as it ended. He twisted his axe, showing off, letting Rev. Jones know, there was no way to escape him.

Rev. Jones screamed as the axe hit his throat and his head was lopped off his body, eyes blinking a few moments afterward.

The headless horseman picked up Rev. Jones’ head and placed it in his bag. His mistress had three more heads for him to collect that night, and so he would.

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Ichabod Crane stared at the headless body at the front of the covered bridge.It was really dark last night, (the stone mason who had found the body said). But he was sure this bridge was the place of the murder. Ichabod had done all the appropriate medical tests, and figured out Rev. Jones the Vicor, had been beheaded around 1:00 am last night.

It was no surprise, prominent members of the community were dropping like flies. But Ichabod wondered as he had before when this nightmare last occurred, who was controlling the headless horseman now? 

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Based off of one my all time favourite movies Sleepy Hollow with Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Prose Poetry – “Reading Away”


 

http://www.pinterest.com
 
I just want to read. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to write. I only want to read. Let the pages turn, like Metallica’s Lars Ulrich sings. I don’t want to do anything else. I’m under too much pressure. I only want to read, in a comfy bed I’ve made. Sheets that are cozy flannel. A duvet that is heavy with blankets on top. Just let me be warm and content. I’d go outside, if it was twenty-five degrees. But now it’s winter. I’ll stay in my nest. I won’t fall asleep. The book has me enthralled. I’ll stay here with my pillows, all twelve of them. I will read to escape. A book that doesn’t make me wonder. Just words that mean what they mean. And are a hide away. It’s good to have something greater in the big picture. But in the book I read, I want to drift away. Love and Sex. A Mysterious Horror. Blood and Broken Hearts. Action and Sexyiness. Affection and Friendship. No Tears please. Take me away. Let me read. Let the time spin by. I’m in my bed. I’m reading each word with greed. Catch me another day. Today, I’m reading. Today I’m carefree.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.