Tag: short story

Last Words

On By MaryIn Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

The prompt cards for this were “grandparent” and “phone call at 3 a.m.”

It was fairly easy to see that it had to be the most generic of generic ass ghost stories. So, here you go.

          Dana woke as the phone ring, her hand grasping for the device blindly in the dark. As she raised the lit screen to her face, she grimaced and cursed. Who calls at 3 a.m.? The number was listed as unknown. She answered it, angrily growling, “What?”

          The line was silent, then cut out. Groaning, she slapped the phone back down onto the bed next to her. She lay awake, anger coursing through her, unable to sleep. She was still awake when her alarm clock went off.

          The news was surprising and not surprising at the same time. Her grandmother had been in hospice for a long time, her health fading fast. She was unable to talk coherently or take care of herself, and hadn’t been able to for the longest time. The nurses had warned her mother that she was no longer eating. She had died sometime in the middle of the night.

          Dana cried some in the bathroom at work, but mostly managed to hold it together. Her entire family had known this moment was coming. Every phone call from the nursing home was always met with some level of dread for the news it might carry. But even knowing what was going to happen hadn’t quite cleared the sudden shock of sadness that Dana felt when she finally got the message from her mom. It didn’t help that she’d had so little sleep.

          The shrill sound of her ringtone woke her again. Dana sat up, frowning at the screen. Unknown caller. 3 a.m. again. She groaned and grabbed the phone, ignoring the call. Tomorrow I’m going to turn the ringer off, she told herself.

          Even with the ringer off, the screen lighting up and the vibration of her phone still brought her to consciousness briefly. Not enough to annoy her as badly as it had the previous nights, at least. As she drifted back to sleep, she saw that it was 3 a.m. again.

          The wake was simple – her grandmother had outlived many of her friends, so it was mostly a small family reunion. As sad as the circumstances were, Dana did enjoy the chance to meet with her cousins, whom she hadn’t seen in a few years. Her favorite cousin, Rachel, was a little subdued and looked pale. “What’s the matter?” Dana asked her when she had a chance to speak to her alone.

          “I got a strange phone call. The night grandma died.” Rachel sighed. “Some woman’s voice just said “I love you” and hung up. I didn’t even think about it, but I was just talking to your mom and she said grandma died at the same time as the phone call. I remembered because it was such a weird time of night to call.”

          Dana felt a shiver run up her spine. “What time?”

          “3 a.m.”

          Dana felt the blood drain from her face and her mouth gaped open as she struggled for a moment over whether to tell Rachel about the phone calls she had received or not. After a moment, she decided to keep it to herself.

          That night, Dana didn’t sleep. She sat up, anxiously glancing at her phone as the time ticked closer to 3. When the phone rang, she grabbed it, immediately answering. “Grandma?” she asked.

          The line was silent for a moment. The slightly tinny, staticky voice of a woman came through. Faintly, it said, “I love you.”

          “I love you too,” Dana said immediately, but the line was already dead.

          The phone calls stopped after that.

Prophetic

On By MaryIn Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

The cards for this week are “reckless enthusiasm” and “homeless person.”

The homeless person that does show up isn’t the actual prompt one, because in my mind the main character is totally homeless after this (and is recklessly enthusiastic about his chances, though I guess I could have emphasized that more somehow). I had the idea almost immediately upon drawing the cards, but actually writing it was a bit boring. I like for things to get really dark and disturbing and this doesn’t quite scratch that, I guess.

Nonetheless…

          Gary woke from the dream with a feeling of absolute certainty. He was going to win the lottery one week from today. The dream was a prophecy, the word of God. He knew it for fact. He also knew that he had much to do in that week’s time. A sort of pre-imposed penance to prove his worthiness.

          He started by announcing to his family and friend’s that he was planning to move soon. He offered them first pick of his belongings. “Can I have your Playstation?” Carl from work joked.

          Gary nodded solemnly. “Anything, first come, first serve.” Carl had given him a strange look and declared bullshit. Gary brought the Playstation and all of its controllers and wires the next day. Carl accepted it, but shook his head in disbelief.

          His ex-wife studied him with concern as he dropped off photo albums and old memorabilia that he thought she would like. “You’re not going to off yourself, are you?” she asked when he enthusiastically offered anything she wanted. He shook his head and reassured her that wasn’t the case.

          Gary spent the weekend clearing out the rest of his belongings, every closet, every drawer, all the drawers themselves. He took everything he could to charity and second-hand shops, and the rest to the dump. He turned the keys to his apartment in. He made sizable cash transfers to his church from his bank accounts, leaving only the minimum amount.

          The day had come. He sat outside the gas station, staring placidly at the homeless man loitering outside. On his way in, he handed the man the title to his car and the keys. “It’s yours,” he told the weeping man, who thanked him profusely. And then he went in and bought his ticket.

          Gary sat in the park overnight. It was a warm night, and he felt calm and content knowing that the next day he would be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams.

          He found a paper to look up the lottery numbers the next morning, a wide smile on his face as he held his ticket up to compare.

          Not a single God damned match.

The Odds

On By MaryIn Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

The cards for this week were “lottery winner” and “lightning.” The result is super fucking obvious, and I didn’t pull together the ending well, because it was so obvious where it was going that I kind of lost the will to put in the effort at the end. Because it’s obvious. Obviously.

          Toby couldn’t believe it. He stared in amazement at the numbers, checking and double checking them. Then he checked and double checked the date for the drawing. The date was right, and all six numbers matched. He trembled slightly, trying to remember what the grand prize for the lottery was these days… he bought the tickets so regularly that he hardly even tracked what the jackpot was. Last he had heard, it was hundreds of millions… and that was after all the estimated taxes.

          It seemed too good to be true. For a moment, he felt like it had to be a strange joke the universe was playing on him. He crumpled the ticket and pushed it deep into the pocket of his jeans. He needed to clear his head somehow, really think about what this could mean for him and his life.

          Toby wasn’t sure where he was going at first, and didn’t really care. He walked down the street at a brisk pace, ignoring the overcast sky. His mind raced so fast that he could hardly comprehend the thoughts themselves until he slowed them, turned them over in his head, examined them. He stopped at a park, empty, probably because of the worsening weather.

          Instead of making his way to the bench he usually sat at, he meandered over to the swings. It was a strange nostalgic feeling – he hadn’t actually sat on a swing in years. When had the last time been? When he was a kid? Older than that? He gripped the metal chains tight. The small piece of paper seemed to be burning in his pocket, filling him with a strange sense of paranoia, as though someone were watching him this moment, and knew exactly what he had on him.

          Still, so much money… could be a good thing. He could pay off his debt. He could pay off his parent’s house, and his brother’s… He could live anywhere he wanted. He could walk in tomorrow and say “fuck you” to his boss and spit in that smug bastard’s face and do anything he damn well wanted after. He could donate to good causes, put his kid into good schools and leave a hefty trust fund to take care of him, probably do the same for his nieces too…

          The first light drops of rain hit him and he lifted his face to the welcome cooling water. His life was going to completely change. The lives of the people he cared about were going to completely change. All for the better. All thanks to his amazing luck. His paranoia and anxiety washed away in the rain. Taking a deep breath, he stood from the swing, determined to return home and enjoy the rest and best of his life.

          As he pulled his hands from the chain, the world around him flashed, then dimmed, then tingled, then stopped. A sudden pain crumpled his spine, from the top of his skull to his tailbone, as though an invisible giant had suddenly crushed him underfoot and straight into the wood chips of the playground, turning him to instant mush. He felt his heart give one wild thump, and then squeeze tight, so tight that he gasped, but the gasp was hardly more than a smokey cough.

          The news headlines the next day read, “Lottery winner struck by lightning.”

Destruction

On By MaryIn Prompts, Writing1 Comment

The cards for this were “servant” and “frozen slice of wedding cake.” I feel like this could have been rounded out a bit better, but I like the general idea of it.

          It was while she was sorting through and taking stock of what was in the freezer that she found it. The slice of wedding cake from Master Yarrow’s magnificently lavish nuptials the year before. Diana paused and ran a finger over the clear container, staring at the delicate floral design of the cream frosting. The tradition was to eat the frozen slice on the first year’s anniversary, but a part of her wondered how appropriate it would be now. She debated internally over whether to remind Master Yarrow of the cake slice or not.

          It had all started with the fresh cake after all. Master Yarrow was a quiet and serious man, and many had wondered how he had captured the heart of the young and beautiful Annalisa. Or even why he would want to – Annalisa had no family, and very little to her name. Despite her poor circumstance, Annalisa was full of life, spirited. Everyone recognized her by her laugh, which was loud and melodic, and everyone loved her dearly. But she always seemed a bit much for Master Yarrow. Everyone whispered that perhaps he was secretly quite charmed by her spirit, as everyone else was. That in private he must show her a different side of himself, a side that softened and smiled and indulged, a side that no one else saw.

          It was the wedding that proved everyone wrong, showed everyone how unfit they were for each other. Especially when they cut into the cake. A sillier tradition, smashing the cake into your new spouse’s face – and sometimes a tense one. Annalisa had taken a small handful of the confection and pushed it onto Master Yarrow’s face, smearing it along the hard set line of his jaw. At first there was some mild laughter, but the stony expression on Yarrow’s face as he wiped away the cream and glared disapprovingly at his bride brought an uncomfortable hush over the entire ceremony. She had laughed it off and helped him clean up, but everyone had seen the unbridled hate there already.

          Diana and the other servants had then watched with concern over the following months. At first, it was Annalisa’s laughter that disappeared. It grew quieter, less boisterous. She became pale. Then it was the small injuries she seemed to sustain. Bruises around her wrists, as though she had spent hours bound too tight. She had spent a week wearing a high-necked dress, and her personal maid had whispered amongst the other staff that she had a hand shaped bruise there, and bite marks on her shoulder. She spent one whole month limping, and on occasion suppressed a wince when she sat.

          She became like a ghost of Annalisa, hardly more than vapor that haunted the hallways and rarely left her rooms. What had once been full of life and color was wilted to grays. If the staff brought concerns to Master Yarrow, they were dismissed. If they brought outsiders, Master Yarrow reminded them quite coldly that his wife was his matter and no one else’s. There was no family to check on her, and her many friends had long since been uninvited. A month ago there had been an incident where half the staff had been wakened, hearing her screams. But when they arrived at her doors, Master Yarrow was there, sternly turning them away.

          That was the last anyone had seen of her. The servants whispered that she must be dead, but Yarrow carried food into her room, and came out with empty plates. He ate his own meals as usual and did not seem to be gaining extra weight, nor was there any unusual smell coming from the room.

          Taking a deep breath and making up her mind, Diana pulled the cake slice from the freezer. She placed it on a tray and carried it to Master Yarrow’s office, rapping quietly at the door. When his voice summoned her in, she took one step inside and paused, holding the tray in front of her. “Master, the frozen slice of your wedding cake. It’s tradition to share it with your spouse upon the first anniversary. Would you like it to be thawed for the occasion?”

          There was a long silence. Diana studied Yarrow from under her lashes – he was a stern looking man, all hard lines and edges, with a sharp nose and a deep-set brow. He stared at the cake slice, then gestured for Diana to place it on his desk. “I’ll take it to my wife later. Perhaps I will smear it on her face this time,” he said. Despite the statement, his voice and face were completely without humor. Diana placed the cake down, folding the tray under her arms in front of her and suppressing a shiver.

Roadblock

On By MaryIn Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

The prompts for this week are “the road is closed” and “flirt.” This was the first scene that I came up with, but it’s really super problematic. For one, it feels more like an opening to a story rather than a full story. For another, the main character doesn’t really do anything that seems to earn her the outcome (that being said, realistically, do any of us?) I suppose if extended out into a full scenario it could work, but I’d get bored of it quick. There’s a lot of stories like this.

Also, apologies if the flirtations are not flirty enough, I don’t know how to flirt.

          Alice groaned as she approached the large, orange dividers blocking off access to the road. She had seen the reflective panels right after she had made the turn onto the road and had hoped that the road was open. But now she was close enough to see that she might have to turn around and take a different way home. She rolled to a stop as she eyed the street past the dividers – it didn’t look like there was any construction being done, nothing looked new or changed or wet. There were no people that she could see. This was her shortest route home and she was tempted to drive around the blocks and keep going.

          She gasped at the sharp rap against her window, her head swinging towards the man standing there. She hadn’t seen anyone on her approach, but now a cop wearing a reflective vest stood at her driver side door, looking annoyed. He made a motion for her to roll her window down, and she complied. Her instinct when dealing with most policemen was to turn up the charm in the hopes that she could be let off the hook for whatever minor traffic infraction she had been caught doing.

          Alice smiled wide as she leaned to look up at the man through her lashes, and asked, “I’m sorry, officer. I didn’t realize the road was closed. Is there some kind of accident ahead?”

          He stared at her for a beat too long, shining a light directly into her face so that she couldn’t see him. She wondered if he hadn’t heard her. For a moment, she almost felt stupid, holding her smile in place too long. Then he finally spoke. “There was one.”

          “Was,” Alice pressed, batting her eyelashes and doing her best to look and sound concerned. “I hope no one was hurt.”

          “It was bad, but it should be cleared up by now.”

          Alice internally cheered at her timing. Maybe the cop had been out here to remove the dividers. She smiled at him pleadingly, leaning herself forward in the hopes that her cleavage really popped. “Would it be possible for me to drive around the divider then? This is my shortest route home. I’ve had a long day and it would mean so much…”  He paused again, and it was hard to see against the light he was still infuriatingly shining at her, but she had the victorious impression that his gaze flicked down.

          “Give me a moment and I’ll have it out of the way.” The man walked over to the divider, shifting it aside to give her enough room to drive by. He waved her through, and she waved back at him happily as she drove forward. She couldn’t believe her luck.

But then she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that he was replacing the divider, moving it back toward the center of the road. A strange sinking feeling caused her stomach to dip, but she ignored it and continued driving. Just don’t stop for anything, she thought to herself resolutely as she rolled her window back up. She gripped the steering wheel. She kept her eyes wide as she continued, looking for any signs of danger around her or on the road. She thought she caught the faintest glimmer of metal in the headlights, then heard a strangely loud sound. The steering wheel dragged hard to the right, and she gasped as the car slipped beyond her control – a tree loomed ahead – a cacophonous sound of metal crunching, air bag gas hissing, and glass shattering –

“She seems kind of weak. Do you really think she’ll make good game?”

Alice felt dizzy and nauseous, pressing her eyes closed tight as she became aware of the sounds around her. The words were alarming, but she could barely focus on them.

“Pretty though. Sometimes the weak looking ones surprise us too.”

“She’s already pretty injured. Gotta be a concussion. Hunting her isn’t going to be any fun if she’s already concussed.” The voice paused, and she felt a finger push against her head. An eruption of searing pain caused her to see lights behind her closed eyes and she gasped.

“Well, then what she would do?”