Tag: story prompt

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.

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.

First Kiss

On By MaryIn Prompts, WritingLeave a comment

Prompt cards from Storymatic this time were “firefighter” and “first kiss.”

I kind of like the idea I came up with, but feel like it was too inexpertly plopped down. With a little research, it could probably be something longer and more touching. But the bare bones of the idea is nice, and as mentioned before, my goal with these was to force myself into flash fiction and quick stories.

          Justin stared down the aisle as the music began, feeling himself flush. The heat crept up his neck and was probably turning his ears red. Maggie always made fun of him for that, and when she did he’d call her by her full name – Magdalena – because she hated it. People were shifting to get a look at her as the procession of bridesmaids and grooms slowly made their way to the front.

          Their first meeting had been dramatic. He had been a new firefighter at that time, still quite fresh to the job. He could see Jim, her father, walking her down the aisle, and he reminisced over the first time he had seen the man. Soot covered, coughing, screaming that his daughter was still in the house.

Justin hadn’t been the one to save her from the fire, though he had helped bust out the window to the room she was in. She wasn’t breathing when she was passed into his arms through that window, and after carrying her a safe distance away, he had immediately begun CPR. In fact, she had been the first person he had to perform the kiss of life on – he had been that green around the gills, still bumbling and nervous and anxious. But his training always kicked in, thankfully, had kicked in at that moment.

          He could remember the way that time seemed to slow down for him. He didn’t think it was working, had a moment of panic wondering if she was too far gone. Her coughing groan, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal those sparkling emerald irises – everything about those few seconds was burned into his brain. The first life he had saved.

          The music faded as she stood in front of him. He reached forward, his hands strangely steady despite the thumping of his heart, to lift the veil away. His breath caught as he stared into those vividly green eyes, that knowing smile she always seemed to have. It all blurred from there.

          The vows were spoken. The rings exchanged. “You may kiss the bride.”

          He leaned forward and kissed her, his mind wheeling back to their first kiss when they started dating, and that first kiss of life when they had met. Here was another important first kiss, the moment emblazoning itself in his mind, as important as any of the others.

          The first kiss of their married life.