I did my workout this morning and my body hates me. I’m in a puddle here but fell in love with the short story I was able to come up with. Positive thoughts and vibes today. Maybe another short story later.

Being a piano teacher I thought this piano would make a great yard ornament.
‘This is being sold as is and still plays. Will not deliver.’ I thought that was a reasonable request.
‘Must be of Christian faith and have a priest present at pickup. NO RETURNS.’
I called the number provided because this is EXACTLY what I am looking for, faith or not.
‘Do you have a strong faith and priest?’
I said, ‘I’m not much of a churchgoer.’
The seller said, ‘your choice.’

Demonic notes played all night that first night. My ad started, ‘FOR SALE’

© Jo Creative PTSD Gal
Word Count: 100

Freshly Baked Secrets

I had the hardest time with this photo and I ended up in the weirdest place for the story but I ran with it.

Ana’s home has a bakery, ‘Fresh Baked Secrets’, in front where she sold secret recipes baked into sugary confections. On the table next to her register sat a vase full of gold trimmed roses. Customers had nothing but compliments about the arrangement when purchasing cookies.

We all know the darkest of secrets are behind closed doors and the basement was always locked. ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ warned the sign. This was Ana’s space where she honed skills in the darkest magic imaginable. Her cookie recipe would enchant her next victim never to be seen again. Each rose represented the innocent soul captured.

Word Count: 100
© Jo Creative PTSD Gal

Fenton Friday: Week 4

Happy Fenton Friday everyone. I’m slowly getting back to myself. I did a lot of writing yesterday and my goals for today are posting Fenton details (and calling on ALL ideas and asking to please share the Collaborative Fenton Friday project) and to catch up on my doodle(s)washes. I finally got a new doodle book (it took so long because I couldn’t handle the anxiety of going to the store) and will catch up.

For all my new Fenton readers here are some links to catch up on:

Who is Fenton and Help Wanted
Fenton Friday: Week Two Collaboration Project
Fenton Friday: Week 3 Collaboration
Fenton Friday-Week 4 Collaboration (last call)
Fenton Friday Deadline Approaching
Fenton: Episode 1
Fenton Friday: July Week 1
Fenton Friday: July Wk 2-Collaborators WANTED
Fenton Friday: July Week 3

There are some great ideas floating in these collaborative posts even one about tunnels that we can work with. There are suggestions for names of the town and the characters as well.  I encourage anyone that has an idea of what to add or something to include in the second episode for Fenton you can leave it in the comments, pingback, or send a message.


Grotesque Angel: Pt 2


Minnie giggled then her face went blank holding a photo.
‘Minnie, what’s wrong?’ I asked with all the concern a friend would have.
‘This guy right here looks like the one in the schoolyard. EXACTLY like what’s in the schoolyard.’ She said.
‘Oh him? He was on the Brittania at 527 West 110th Street and they call him the scholar. I’m pretty sure that it’s a replica of a suitable figure for a school. I don’t think the school could afford the original even if the Brittania was parting with the grotesque.’ I said shoving some southern seasoned green beans in my mouth. Minnie looked through the rest of the picture and we chatted about the news that I missed and I told her more about New York. Then it was back to the office. I decided a walk home would be best as I gorged myself of fried goodness and thought it best to burn off the million calorie dinner. I took the photo out and thought that the gargoyle did look exactly like the one in the picture I held. Shrugging it off, I did my daily routine at home and went to bed.

I was woken up by what I thought was thunder but when looking outside there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I turned on the 24-hour weather station out of curiosity and the doppler didn’t show anything in our area not even a blip of green on the screen. I listened closely but this time it didn’t sound like thunder. It sounded like something heavy was thrown from a high distance. This time I stood on the porch but couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t even a breeze. I waited just a few more minutes for the thuds to gauge distances but nothing happened. I fell back to sleep surprisingly quite quickly. When I woke up the next morning I had faint recollections of a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare but I remember feeling scared then safe. There was a beautiful blonde man but I couldn’t remember the face. I was distracted the rest of the day playing the dream over and over in my head. Like lightning hitting the water, a small movie clip from my dream played in my head. The blonde man was standing in front of me but behind him was a gargoyle with his head bowed then in the next sequence he looked as if he was lurching in my directions and wings spread. I realized I have seen this gargoyle in New York but his head was tucked as if to graciously bowing. Another tiring day behind me as I collapsed in the bed when arriving home. I didn’t even eat dinner or water my plants.

Weeks passed with only a few dreams and the only difference was that my gargoyle would be just a smidge closer. At the end of the month, I noticed more stone creatures showing up all over our small town. First my neighbor Sal, then it was the school but now the library, grocery store, and even the bars were homes to these statues.
I was walking to work when I saw my neighbor sitting on her porch drinking coffee,
‘Morning Sal, so, where did George find that beautiful specimen?’ I nodded down towards the stone figure.
‘You know it’s the damnedest thing. George told me he didn’t buy him,’ she said puzzled but not all that concerned. However, I felt uneasy.
‘Oh, you’re not the least bit curious as to where he came from? Worried some random serial killer could be marking homes with these things?’ I asked.
‘How do you know it’s a boy?’ I just looked at her in response to her odd question.

‘I’m only guessing? Wouldn’t you think the gargoyle would be a male? Men can be scarier and more threatening,’ I said with a smile.
‘I think I can top the scare scale when I haven’t had my coffee,’ I giggled and waved as I headed into work.



And a Reminder about Fenton Friday’s…Fenton needs more story and details. Check out the past two Fridays.

  1. Who is Fenton?
  2. Fenton Friday: Week Two Collaboration Project


Pat York, Pat. “Front View of House.” Flickr, Jonesboro,

The Story that’s Getting Away: Grotesque Angels

This started out to be a short story and it feels like it has a mind of its own. I had characters developing in different ways than imagined and characters I didn’t even know were there. It’s becoming a bigger undertaking than I thought and I’m going to try and limit myself to sharing 500 words at a time.

Gargoyles have been around for an eternity and possess a wealth of history, meaning, and tales. Now visitors viewing these stone creatures post pictures on social media sites and not give them a second thought. I was once one of those people not so long ago on a trip to New York taking pictures of all the old churches, parks, and the gargoyles. We don’t have them in our small town just some old churches and a couple of bars. The trip was a success and I have beautiful pictures to prove it.
I had been home a week when I noticed a gargoyle perched on my neighbor’s porch as I walked by.
‘Hey Sal, when did you get that cute little guy?’ I asked her pointing towards her step.
Sally looked down with a puzzled expression, ‘Hmm…I didn’t get him, maybe George did.’
‘He’s great, have a good day.’ I waved and continued about my daily errands. I did my marketing because being gone on a trip I didn’t have any food and needed to stock up.
‘Oh, son of a…’ I danced around holding my foot.
Sal must have been proud of her new statue and moved him to the end of her pathway because I almost tripped stubbing my toe on the damn thing walking back home. Groceries spilled out all over the sidewalk. I cursed more very graphic language and when the stinging went away I packed up my staples and headed home but with a little hitch in my giddy-up.

About a week later, staring out my office window, I noticed that the schoolyard has adopted three of their very own stone gargoyles. They didn’t look as mean but more fatherly.
‘Oh, hey Minnie,’ I exclaimed as she walked past my office.
‘When did the school get their new sculptured friends?’ I asked as she stepped in and pointed her gaze in the direction of the schoolyard.
‘Oh I don’t know, I never really noticed those before. Maybe they’ve had them and we never paid any attention. Think about it, how often do you survey a school playground when you don’t have kids?’ She raised her eyebrow and pointed at me implying that I should think about that.
‘You know, one of the legends that surround these pieces of art is that they are to protect people from evil. That’s why churches have them, to protect the congregation.’ I said just as a matter of factly as she brought up not having kids. First, you need to have a husband or at least a boyfriend to produce offspring. Truth be told, this small town doesn’t have that many bachelors seeking mates. They are either too immature and or aging to concern themselves with those ideologies. I always wanted a family and she knows that’s a sore spot for me. Sure she set me up on blind dates or a friend of a friend type of date but they weren’t my type. She knew what I was saying without saying it.
‘Lunch?’ Minnie asked but what it really was is a change of subject past the awkward silence.
I packed mine today but it’ll keep in the fridge. Are you thinking Buck’s or the deli?’ I asked taking her proverbial olive branch.
‘You decide, she replied and disappeared.
‘Noon?’ I hollered and off in the distance I think it was a ‘yup,’ for her reply.

We sat at a booth in Buck’s Diner because I wanted some real home cooked food. My father and mother had their first date here. Hell, I think everyone’s parents had their first dates here. The mashed potatoes didn’t come from a box and the rest of the food didn’t taste like it was commercially made. The waitress set down our lunches; Minnie a salad, and the fried chicken and mashed taters for me.
‘How was your trip? Meet anyone interesting?’ Minnie asked as I was shoveling a huge forkful of taters and gravy in my mouth. I held up one finger and handed her an envelope of the pictures that I thought looked the best for print. She daintily took a bite of her salad and delicately took the photos out of their protective sleeve.
‘Not really but I was only there for the art. But one thing I missed was this right here,’ I took a huge bite out of my chicken leg.




Pat York, Pat. “Front View of House.” Flickr, Jonesboro,

Infecting Impact

Thank you for tuning into Fox23 News this morning. We are continuing to cover the story of the situation in Impact, Texas. This is the last known transmission to come from the small town as of last night. What you hear may be disturbing to younger audiences.

911 Operator: 911, what’s the address of the emergency?
Caller: (Screams) Shh! Quiet! They’ll know we’re in here. {whispers} Yes, we need the CDC or military or something. The officer outside didn’t make it to the door. The street is a river of blood and very small footprints (inaudible crying) We’re at…(banging)
911 Operator: Sir, what is your location?
Caller: {whispers} Don’t send any more officers. We need bigger help. Melissa…shh shh shh.
911 Operator: Are you alone?
Caller: My wife and I are stuck in the house. We have towels shoved under the doors. I don’t think they’ve figured out that they can fit under the doors.
911 Operator: (screaming) Sir? (muffled yelling) Sir? What is your location?
Caller: Oh God! No no no no no shh-get upstairs (banging)
911 Operator: Sir? What is your location?
Caller: They’re in the house! They can camouflage! I don’t know where it went! Shhh (muffled crying). Melissa, it’s going to be ok baby.
911 Operator: Sir, is the intruder in the house?
Caller: {whispers} Yes, we are in the bathroom on the second floor. The window is facing the street. We live in the house on the corner of Roosevelt and Clinton.
911 Operator to Police Dispatch: Caller states that there is an officer down and I believe we have a possible breaking and entering in process. Please be advised the owners are in the home in the upstairs bathroom.
911 Operator: Sir, just stay in the bathroom, I have help arriving.
Caller: NO!! They won’t be able to see them. They blend into the ground or surroundings. I can’t even see them.
911 Operator: (muffled screaming and banging) Sir?
Caller: Melissa? Honey look at me! (gurgling) Mel! Oh God! (inaudible)
911 Operator: Sir?
Caller: (inaudible) The blood! She’s still alive and they are in her! I can see them moving around in her stomach! There’s blood everywhere! Oh god ple…
911 Operator: Sir, apply pressure to the wounds. Can you tell me what caused the wounds?
Caller: (gurgling)
911 Operator: Sir?
Caller: (gurgling) {faint clicking}
911 Operator: Sir, Are you there?
Call terminated by the caller at 22:36

Areas surrounding the town of Impact, Texas are now under quarantine. The national guard will be going to other towns to evacuate residents. If you are in the northern counties of Abilene, in the towns of Hamby, Hawley, Stith, and Tye you are in the quarantine zones. You are instructed to stay inside locked doors of your homes. DO NOT go outside until a National Guard escorts you out. Details of the situation as of 8am, Dyess AFB is ground zero. Individuals infected with these unidentified parasites, please isolate yourself from anyone else. If there is someone infected please call 911. Please stay tuned to local Fox23 for updating details.

Helen turned off the news and told her children to go and pack some clothes and their toothbrushes. She looked worriedly at Tatum.
‘Don’t worry sweetheart. We are in an evacuation town. We’ll get out in time.’ Tatum told his wife. Rumbling could be heard outside. Helen looked out the window to see the troops rolling in starting the evacuation process.
‘Oh thank the stars,’ she exclaimed. Tatum opened the door after a knock,
‘We’re almost ready,’ Tatum told the guard.
‘Sir, I have been informed to tell you that this town is now in the quarantine zone. Please stay inside. We will throw sandbags in front of your doors and bring rations.’
Tatum argued, ‘We just heard on the news that…’
The guard cut him off and leaned in, ‘Sir, the quicker you obey these orders the better your chance of survival.’
Tatum nodded. The guard brought MREs enough for a month worth of food for the entire family. Even diapers, water, formula, and coloring books were provided.
‘Yes, us that we live in a small enough town for such rations to be provided.’ Helen said while rolling her eyes that were starting to tear up.
‘It’s going to be ok,’ He told Helen as they could hear the weight of the sandbags hitting the door.


This was SO much fun for me to write (even though I’m supposed to be working but I had an idea and HAD to get it out) for Discover’s Prompt. The research for this small piece just fell right in with my idea. Could this be a series? Prequel? I don’t know but I had to start here.

Please don’t forget about the small writing contest that I’m trying (yup, I’ll have a one for the artists too). The deadline for that is May 30th for your 150-word submission.

Dark Journal Days

I haven’t written anything in a while and I had to get this idea out of my head. Don’t forget there is still time to enter the writing contest that I’m holding. I wanted to do something different. Visit May 10ths post and give it the 150-word try.

Journal Entry Day 1

I thought this would be as good as time as any to start my journal considering where everything headed today. Went to work as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until we lost phones and internet. Bosses sent workers home as we needed communication capabilities to complete orders. I got home and as I hoped wasn’t true I also didn’t have internet or cable. Not even the local tier channels that run off an antenna. I was, however, able to get a radio signal. Local broadcasts seemed chaotic and it took an AM channel to understand that the entire town was in communication darkness. It wasn’t until after I had prepared dinner that the power went out. Luckily, being the daughter of a southerner I was prepared with candles and oil lamps with plenty of charcoal for the grill. I quickly bagged up the food in my freezer and set them to bathe in the cool lake water. I don’t know how long the dark will last but at least I can fish.

Journal Entry Day 8

I haven’t been to work in a week. Since the loss of communication and electricity life has been rather simple. Luckily, the neighbors and I have been able to hunt, fish, use the lake water for bathing, and cooking. I ran out of charcoal yesterday but there are plenty of dead trees around for us to use for cooking. We have a small community forming on my neighbor’s and mine’s property but everyone is bringing something to the group or working to help keep things clean and in order. That’s what we ask for living with us on our land. No news on the radio about when we will get power or communication back.

Journal Entry Day 17

Our group is getting smaller or so it seems. I swear there is something in the darkness but it could be my boredom setting in. Pens are at no shortage of supply here in town. The local store was able to pull out their old registers and continue selling items. The produce and meat were the first to sell out during a huge sale. I was able to get meats for dehydrating and I dried some vegetables. I hid the items in my house under the floorboards. My neighbor, Minnie, and I have noticed that there are some items going missing. When I find out who it is I’m going to force them off the property.

Journal Entry Day 36

It’s been awhile since my last entry. There is something in the darkness! Our group is down to just Minnie, another couple, and myself. I don’t know where everyone went. I wonder if they were taken by the darkness. Only now, there is no day. It should be 3pm but it looks more like 3am. We haven’t seen the sun in 2 weeks. I went to wake up one morning only to discover there wasn’t a sun. The AM station that we listen to now only broadcasts at midnight. The town learned that between the hours of 11pm and 4am the radio can broadcast and the town’s people can go outside and do chores, swap goods, and hunt. 5 hours doesn’t seem like enough time to complete everything but when we work as a team we are able to get everything done plus an hour extra time.

Journal Entry 56

It’s just me and Minnie here at our lakeside houses. We have decided that we will stay in my house as it has a fireplace but we will cook at her place. The bears are scarce but the raccoons seem to multiply. The theory is that since they can see in the dark they are able to survive whatever is bloodthirsty in the dark. We cook over there because their food source seems to be running low and will scavenge anywhere. After many break-ins, knocked over trash can messes, and the trash pandas running a mock through our house when we are present, we thought it would be best to leave the food smells in one place. We now burn garbage and leftovers and got rid of our compost heap. The sounds coming from the hollows of black are getting worse. A couple of weeks ago the sounds started out as clicking sounds then moved to growls now it’s like death howls. We don’t go out when we hear the sounds and keep everything locked up until 11pm when the sounds stop.

Journal Entry 92

I lost Minnie. Not like I had a funeral for her but I lost her! We were literally racing the clock to get back into the house. As the alarm was sounding throughout the house I was able to jump through the door but when I expected for Minnie to land on me, she didn’t. THere was no sound, no feeling of her grabbing for me, no nothing. Just darkness. I’m so alone and so scared. The AM station is giving an underground route to the station through morse code but I’m afraid to leave. I don’t think I could make it to the nearest doorway to the underground tunnel in 5 hours on foot. I will try to fix the 4-wheeler tomorrow.

Journal Entry 136

I made it to the closest entry point to the tunnel but unfortunately, I don’t have a radio. I’ll navigate the best I can with what I was able to write down.

Journal Entry 139

The tunnel is dark. They are in the tunnel, in the darkness, with me. I don’t know what to do? My only thought is that whatever runs in the blackness also controls the radio station and must have for some time. I have been able to hide in small crooks and sit still without making a sound. I will try to get out of the tunnel and to the nearest home ASAP. I’m out of food and running low on batteries for the flashlight. They don’t like the light.

To the finder of this journal. Coordinates to the radio station are in the back of this notebook. DON’T GO THERE! AVOID THIS AREA! They’re there! The creatures in the dark are hunters and they are probably hunting you right now as you read this. It’s a game for them. I only write this in hopes to save you as I couldn’t save Minnie or myself. Head to the lighthouse at the end of town. Head towards the lake. That’s where I was heading. Good luck in finding the light.

Entry: Hence, the Exorcists

I am amazed by the stories that you guys are writing! So much inspiration in so few words. Here is another doozy of a tale in 150-words and I admire the research and thought of this tale. I had the pleasure of discovering this author through the #AtoZChallenge from last month. The imagination and creativity in his words are great. This story is written by Stuart. Head over and read his A to Z series and much more. If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post.

Hence, the Exorcists

Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, et secta diabolica…
The exorcism was conducted three times by three priests: two blessed by Rome, one who got his degree online. Exhausted, the three stood, facing the evil abode. It looked down on them with disdained amusement.

The Arbor of Solomon they constructed trapped and halted the spread of its demonic ways. Before they came, it got the Weeping Willows, red droplets pooling around the roots. Mrs. Alto’s Victory Garden ate her dog, three cats, and the mailman’s left leg. Shrubbery wilted, foundations cracked, and Vampire chipmunks invaded. Subverting the Women’s Weekly Book Club was the step too far; hence, the exorcists.

After a quick call to the Vatican, all three packed up their bags and began to leave. The Online Priest pulled a sign from his bag, driving the stake into the thorn-laden lawn.

“House for Sale. Terms Negotiable.”

Entry: The Inn of Eternal Rest

Another great chiller in such few words. The author of this story is Kristian over at Tales From The Mind of Kristian. Please click on over and read more of his work. Oh, I do hope he continues this one into something more. How many were there? Were they like this before they were a couple? The goosebumps!  If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post.  Don’t want to keep ya’ll waiting…
The Inn of Eternal Rest


It was a beautiful cottage, all innocent and sweet. Appearances can be deceptive. Its windows were like the eyes of a child with nothing to hide. If the eyes were the windows to your soul then these windows should have been blacker than the pits of hell.

It was an Inn once. Not anymore, no one would step foot over the threshold let alone agree to spend a night there. It had been owned by an evil couple who would put their wealthy yet defenseless guests into its main chamber. The bed was booby trapped and suddenly in the night, the occupants of it would find themselves hurled down through a trapdoor into a bubbling cauldron of boiling water in the kitchen below.

The evil pair were caught and hanged but still, their spirits linger, for to this day no one has ever survived a night within its walls.

Entry: The House

I have to tell you, these 150 words gave me chills. The wonderful twist at the end was AWESOME! The author of this story is The Dark Netizen. Please head on over and read more of his work. Psst…his 6-Word stories are better than mine. If you would like to participate in the contest or share check out May 10th’s post.  Without further ADO…
The House

The folks in my town called it ‘The Haunted House’. They forbade anyone from going anywhere near it. They had their reasons.

The elder citizens said that they had met the owner. That the owner had hound-like fangs, a deathly visage, and deep black eyes, eyes that could suck your very soul in. They said that the homeowner was a practitioner of dark arts. He had grotesque servants, the very horrors of hell under his spell. They said that the house lawns were burial grounds for the owner’s victims. The bodies lay underground, in a deathless sleep. They waited, lay in wait for a trespasser. The undying ones would drag the poor soul underground. Some said that the house was the very gateway to hell. The foulest fiend resided inside it, waiting to bring the very apocalypse forth. They called it a lot many things.

I called it home.

Mother’s Dealing Love

I haven’t written a short piece of fiction in a while and was inspired by a movie that I watched this weekend and Discover’s prompt. Can you guess which one (psst…also great mother’s day story)?


My mother never flaunted my true identity. She wanted me to grow up with a normal childhood and be able to experience everything that a child my age would. My father and she came to a mutual understanding and an agreement of sorts. Since he chose her to be my mother that resulted in an upheaval of her life that she should be granted a restitution and a continuing allowance of gratitude. This is how my mother ensured that I would have the ideal childhood, the best of both worlds at my disposal. She loves me fiercely and that is something not even the devil banked on happening.

It was tough in the beginning but I was granted the image of the most beautiful baby and then the most beautiful young boy that made it easier for others to accept me. My mother’s husband mysteriously died after I was born. She demanded it from my biological father and he agreed surprised that she was that vengeful. She explained that she was only used, and bartered with for his gain of fame and fortune. She explained all of that is fine and well but seeing him every day and could hinder her love for me. She expressed her concern that her husband could possibly get jealous of my presence and hurt me. He died and from what the coroner’s report said was an ‘unnatural cause of death’. My mother wasn’t investigated and why should she be? He deserved it and the fact that I never met him, neither of us mourned him.

The coven that set the whole thing up was another circumstance that warranted a deal with my father. They planned everything with my mother’s husband for her to conceive me not for my well-being but for their own greedy and selfish wants. It’s unspeakable how they treated her during her recovery from my birth. As if she was only my wet nurse and not my mother. Not once did anyone tell her the truth about me. She had to find out on her own. The members went missing one by one. The only positive gain from the members being gone is that my father and she get along great and do so well co-parenting.

She is now the sole caretaker and decision maker as any mother should be. I attend a lovely private school and we still live in the same apartment but only we own the entire floor. We have a cook and a maid but my mother refused a nanny. She said that if she was going to be my mother there is no need for one. We both understand my lot in life and in the future but right now I’m enjoying my friends, parties, school and all sorts of activities. Most of all, I’m enjoying my mother’s love, affection, and teaching me right from wrong. My mother, Rosemary, calls me Andy, but my father calls me Adrien.


Nessie’s Demon

Occult fiction is described for works dealing with witchcraft, spiritualism, psychic phenomena, voodooism, etc., and for works dealing with the mysterious or secret knowledge and power supposedly attainable only through these and other magical or supernatural means. I wanted to use a story that I wrote over a year ago but it’s not on any of my USBs or my computer. A little heartbroken that I can’t find it but I’m going to do the best I can from memory. Who knows I may like this version better than the one I started. This is a long story but I edited a LOT out to shorten the length.

I karate chopped the alarm clock. I’m second guessing the loud and obnoxious tone I chose but whatever gets me out of bed. I rolled over and felt the warmth of Shamrock’s body. I had a wonderful pitbull that was loyal and kind but could also come to work with me. Her appearance of breed alone kept idiots from acting out. Owning a bar is fun and all and I do work at least once a week but there is one night a year that it’s mandatory for me to work. Mardi Gras has its origins, secret societies, and history but there is another realm that only a few know about and even less have experienced.

My feet hit the wood floor of my plantation home that was passed down through the family. It was a bed and breakfast for a decade until my family came to own the bar that is now our source of income. It was 2pm which gave me plenty of time to shower, dress, eat, and get to work to set up. You would think that I need to set up the bar but no that’s why I have employees to do the work. I have to set up for the demonic entity that comes every 75 years to win back the gate that he lost during a bet.

My great great grandmother ran the bed and breakfast. She decided to go to town with my great great grandfather to enjoy the festivities, food, and grab a drink. We weren’t a religious family and that was acceptable in New Orleans. They walked into the bar when a demon and the bar owner were in the middle of settling terms to a bet. My grandmother was the winning part of the bet on the bar owner’s behalf. Everyone else saw a beautiful, young, dark-haired man when my grandmother saw the demon for who it was. The demon had bet the bar owner that if no one comes in and can see his true demonic form that it would win the bar back and would be able to trap souls again. If a person was able to come in and see it for what the demon was he couldn’t come back to the bar for 75 years. My grandmother walked in, seen him, and saved the night.

Over the next 10 years, the bar owner explained what needed to happen to keep the bar patrons and New Orleans safe. When the bar owner got sick in old age the owner asked my grandmother to take over. Over the years through Mardi Gras, my grandmother made the necessary preparations to keep the demon at bay and passed the cursed story through generations to come. So here I am, getting ready for the 75th year reunion. I wasn’t nervous because I have the same sight as my grandmother. I got dressed, had my black coffee and over easy eggs with toast, grabbed the apples and candles then headed to work. I only had one other bartender working with me, my brother. He was already there making sure the corner of the bar was reserved for our special guest.

‘Hey Nessie, got your rest?’ I smiled at J.T. as Shamrock went prancing ahead of me to greet her human uncle. ‘Hey Shammy, you keeping mommy on schedule? It’s a major night tonight. Y’all ready?’
I tossed the apples on the bar, ‘Afternoon J.T., did you remember grandfather’s engraved bar stool? And the iron shavings?’ I asked getting the masks set up by the door.
‘All set, the demon’s spot is set up at the end of the bar. The barstool has a circle of iron shavings around it and the bottle of absinthe is ready with the silver lined shot glass.’

The masks were to hide the identity of whoever may see the demonic form. We wish to keep the bar in the family as we now don’t want to burden anyone else with this responsibility. The barstool is for demonic being and is engraved with a binding spell to keep him from renigging on his end and confined to the stool which is why there will be a circle of iron shavings to work as a boundary. The apples represent knowledge and they are cut to reveal the star shape created by the seeds. This is to envoke a new seer. The silver lined shot glass and absinthe is to bind the demon’s tongue from cursing anyone. The silver makes the alcohol look more appealing no matter what it is.

J.T., Shamrock, and I were behind the bar serving customers and making sure that all of our patrons are adhering to the, ‘no mask, no service,’ rule. The music was great and so far no bar fights or arguments. When the clock struck twelve the door flew open. Everyone saw a beautiful young woman walk in when J.T. and I saw the demon. Shamrock warned us by sounding her low deep growl. It strolled over to it’s designated barstool thanks to the shiny shot glass. Once it seated it howled but everyone else heard laughter.
‘Hello, Nessie. I’ve been waiting to meet you. I see your family has prepared you well,’ the entity said as it downed the liquid revealing a realizing what it had done. An evil eye landed on Nessie and her brother.
‘Realizing  I don’t have to go into details about the bet, the only thing that will stand in the way of me coming back into ownership and opening the gate to let more demons through to this world. So, it goes without saying, let an innocent see me for what I am I go back to hell for 75 years if no one sees me then the bar and gate are mines.’ I smiled realizing the bet was already won. I always prided myself on how clever I was with bets and all. There is a reason I never married and had kids. A reason why I wasn’t considered spoiled.

The evening was successful. The demonic was hit on by several young men but everyone had on masks so they were safe. Bar time came and everyone left. J.T. smiled as he cleaned up the mess and starting stocking the back bar.
‘I won! I won! I knew this day would come. Nessie, give me the key and I’ll let you leave without any harm being done to your family and mutt,’ the demon said with a sneer revealing several rows of sharp teeth. I patted Shamrock on the head as she stayed by my side.
‘You didn’t win the bet or your bar back. The bet is, that an innocent needs to come in and see you for what you really are. Well, sorry to disappoint you but this isn’t your bar. You lost the minute you came in.’ The smile started to fade slowly.
‘An innocent was already in the bar and already seen your true identity through the floozy facade. Me, I’m still a virgin so it’s mine and my families for the next 75 years.’ His grin reappeared.
‘I can bide my time for another 75 years. The cleverness backfired on you. You’re getting too old to have your own children and with your families line ending with you, the only hope that you have is that an innocent walks into the bar.’ He said while he started to vaporized from his hoofs slowly moving up.’
I smiled, ‘Oh demon. You aren’t clever at all, just evil. I expected more from you as an adversary. Have you met my brother J.T.? No, I guess you haven’t since you’ve been dealing with me the entire night.’ The demon shot an evil look over at my brother who just waved.’
‘You see, I may not have any children of my own but I make a wonderful aunt to 6 beautiful boys and girls. All of which have the sight and are being raised with a family bedtime story. When they are old enough they will learn the truth. So, good luck ever getting this place back. ‘Sometimes a person’s sacrifice isn’t really one at all, just a different path in life for the greater good.’ Those were the last words I said as the demon finished vanishing to the underworld.


I have to do this now for reasons I’m not going into. 

Warning Quartet

I should have known or at least picked up on the warnings quicker. I guess that’s why I’m now hiding in my basement. It was a breezy summer night. The kind that you open the windows of the house and sit on the porch so the air kisses everything with freshness. I was sitting on the porch when the cicadas stopped singing in the trees. Unfortunately, I was so enthralled with my book to notice. But that would be the first warning if I had to guess.

Then the crickets stopped chirping but remembering back, it wasn’t in one area, it was all over. As if the whole county of crickets was spooked at once. This I noticed but didn’t think anything of it. I excused it away thinking that there may be a storm coming in. I went into the kitchen to fix myself a glass of Dr. Pepper and back to my rocking chair and book. I reckon any observant person would have at least turned on the news but not me. That’s why I’m now in hiding in the basement with the doors locked.

The lightning bugs were gone when I looked up. As a child, we would smear their glowing substance on us as children and play tag. Not seeing them echo light signals to each other made me stand up and walk off the porch. There weren’t any clouds in the sky or nature sounds anywhere. That’s when I couldn’t feel the breeze anymore. Not around my feet or through my hair. The darkness of the night even seemed to be more dangerous. That’s why I’m hiding in my basement with the doors locked and listening to the news through headphones of my radio.

I left my book and my drink on the porch and headed inside allowing the screen door to bang behind me. That’s when I felt a rumble through the floor. I peeked out the window and didn’t see anything but a cloud of dust getting closer and closer. How could a cloud of dust be moving without wind? Then I heard the screams. It was the screaming from neighbors and people that were trying to escape the dust cloud. There was the sound of crunching metal and wood in the cloud but something else. Was it bones crushing or trees? Or both? That’s why I searched for matches and candles to light in the darkness.

All I could remember seeing was the dust slowly blowing in my yard. After seeing body limbs and parts raining down from the cloud of dust, I took off in a terror to the safest place I could think of while carrying my dog. The news said not to go near the dust cloud and to hide from the darkness. If I had paid attention, could I have helped my neighbors? Could I have had time to drive away from whatever the danger is? I regret the quartet of warnings I missed. Now, I’m hiding in my locked basement listening to the news with my dog by my side, and sitting in a circle of candles and oil lanterns.

I’m already having a horrible day at work and decided that writing a short story might help. I had to try something with Discover’s prompt. It seemed boring until I was inspired by something that happened at work. It involved a young kid that was hired to do the custodial duties. He wasn’t good at it and barely showed up to work. I had to dust my computer area and clean the floors. It can be something so weird that gives you an idea. Would this be considered horror genre or thriller? I don’t know but I think this has potential but not on my top 5 list. Still had fun writing and feeling a little less anxious.

Faceless Warning

Screaming myself awake had become a once a month norm. Ever since I was three I had a dream of how I would die. As I got older the man of my dreams didn’t scare me as much. He was my once a month visitor that only I could see. He kept his identity a mystery which I was calmly ok with. Why would I want to know who murders me?

As I got older I went through school, dances, boyfriends, and graduation. The dreams kept occurring but never gave any information of my age, the location, or his identity. I started my first job at a local library. That month I didn’t have a dream. After three months of working there, I met a young man that took me to all these different places where we would enjoy food, movies, dancing, comedy, music, or just each other. I felt alive and never thought of the man of my dreams.

The young man took me home one night after a poetry reading, we kissed goodnight, nothing new. That night the man of my dreams visited me. He had the same features as the young man I was dating but faceless. This time he didn’t kill me right away. In my dream, we were in the stacks at my library. He hands me this book where his voiceless words appeared on the page. That’s when he took the book from me and started bashing me in the head until I woke up. Screaming.

I went to work the following morning not giving another thought to the dream until I had to file the books back in their stacks. In my hands was the blood red book from my dreams. I opened it up to find my handwriting. I was confused as I read in my penmanship, ‘The man in your dreams will not visit you anymore but will see you on the other side if you do not fight for your life. The man you’ve been seeing is the soulmate that you never got to meet. You can choose to die and be with him now or you can fight and meet him after you lived a long life. In the back of this book is a letter opener. If you want to live, take it and turn around right now and place it in your killers head. I was shaking as I unsheathed the blade.’

I thought, ‘Is this for real? Can this really be happening?’ I heard the sound of someone breathing behind me when without thinking I turned and placed the blade in the throat of my attacker. His wide eyes looking both surprised and furious. After the police came and time passed I did what any librarian would do. I did some research. The man I killed was a person of interest in the murder of the man in my dreams. He was kidnapped and taken to a field where he fought and lost the battle for his life. The night I killed my murderer he had rope, a knife, and gloves. I’m sure he would have taken the book from me and killed me just like in my dreams.

The title of the book that I haven’t read yet, ‘Unspoken’. I still don’t know how my handwritten warning was in this book. Was it me? Was it him?  I wish I still had the dreams just to learn more about the man and the killer but now I only sleep through the night.

Tried something new with this and even though I had several different endings this one only felt right. I think if I work on this a bit more it could be a longer-short story. Do you have a faceless person in your dreams? What do you think they are trying to tell you?

6 Words Day 4

Well…here we are Day 4. The prompt for today enticed several obvious stories except one. I would like to think  that I’m getting better at these but most will probably disagree. But maybe I could also use this as part of a 50 word short fiction? Wondering if this would be of the horror genre? Have you tried any of these 6 Word Stories?

January’s Theme: Mindfulness
Day 4 Prompt: Secret Spot

Clandestine crypt; eavesdrops executioner’s sermon.



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