Category Archives: Writer

Elegiacal: #AtoZ Blog Challenge

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A Car In The Woods: Chapter Four

2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge

AtoZ2019E     ELEGIACAL

1963

“Schatzi. C’mon. This way.”

She had been too large for Timmy to carry out of the ravine. He scooted along the edge, finding a rocky path just out of site where the Impala landed. The German shepherd followed him; she found the outcropping and jumped from rock to rock. Schatzi stopped a third of the way from the top. Sitting down, she barked until Timmy’s head crested the lip of the gorge. With Deb crabbing behind him, Timmy found another set that looked more like planned steps. He gulped and went over the side.

Deb screamed, then called out some choice words.

“I’m telling Mom.”

“You idiot, I’m going to tell Mom,” she paused. With a lowered voice: “When we find her. After. We will find her.”

She watched as Timmy guided Schatzi up the new path. They both made it up to the last ledge, but it was too much of a distance for the dog. Deb laid down, her arms dangling over the edge; Timmy boosted Schatzi up as far as he could. It was enough. He pushed, Deb lifted, and Schatzi was on solid, icy ground. Timmy climbed out, also with Deb’s assistance.

They looked at each other, brushing off the dirt and snow that covered them.

Walking back to where they originally climbed out, Deb started looking for any sign of their mother. There were some footprints that cracked through the ice cover. She smiled and pulled Timmy along.

~~~~~   ~~~~~   ~~~~~

Patricia walked, slid, fell, repeating the pattern more than she liked. They had gone further off the road than she at first thought. It could have been a lot worse. Somehow, they missed all the trees. If that huge bank of snow hadn’t settled in the ravine, well, she didn’t want to think about that. The kids were banged up but fine. Her head hurt like the dickens, and she had a pull in her left side. She wanted to stop and rest a bit, but that was not going to get the help they all needed.

The wind gusted up and then died down just as quick as she moved along. What skin showed on her face hurt, her eyes teared up, and it was a losing battle trying to protect them. Patricia plodded on, looking for salvation.

Then she heard her name. Thought she did, but…no, that was impossible. She stopped to listen, but the howl of the wind came instead. “Pat, no. It wasn’t him,” played on a painful loop in her head. Her body shuddered, pushing her to keep on. Patricia hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that they wound up in the area she never wanted to see again. Looking towards her left, she saw the horrible familiar sights. “No, no, no.”

Patricia. Sweetie.

“STOP THIS,” she screamed, breaking into a dash. The tears fell this time, soaking into the scarf just wrapped below her eyes. “Stop,” she cried out.

Looking behind her as she ran was a mistake: Patricia thought she saw something, someone, but that thought was cut short as she stumbled into a tree and knocked herself out.

If she had been awake, she would have heard the crunching of the icy ground coming closer.

~~~~~    ~~~~~    ~~~~~

Schatzi went sniffing, cutting between Timmy and Deb, running behind them, surging ahead. She’d jump into a pile of snow and then pop out, tongue lolling out as she investigated a new tree, bush, and a log. When she was told to heel she did, but it only lasted a few eye blinks, and then off she went again.

Deb’s voice was hoarse, and Timmy was getting quieter, as they called out and looked for their mom. They had come to a dead end, losing sight of her footprints at a small copse. She didn’t know what to do and didn’t want to tell Timmy that.

“I’m cold,” he whined, leaning over, looking for any prints that continued past the tree. Deb did the unmentionable: she took him in a big bear hug. He returned it in kind. She thought she’d start crying, and almost did. Schatzi stopped that before any tear fell.

She began barking like mad, intermittent with low hissing growls. Timmy went to her, but she bounded off across the icy ground and into the trees beyond where they rested.

“Schatzi, get back here, now,” Deb yelled. Timmy called as well, but when their dog didn’t stop, he broke free of his sister and started running after.

“Timmy. NO!” She kicked the tree, a little too hard, and gave chase. Her big toe began to throb; it didn’t slow her pace.

Schatzi was faster than either of them. Timmy lost sight of her as she jetted away, but he followed her barking. Deb kept Timmy in her sight, begging him to stop. Schatzi barked. Timmy ran. Deb followed.

Then the barking stopped.

“This way, Deb. She’s this way.” He was pointing off to the right. She caught up to him, and they both stopped, catching their breaths. Deb took notice of where they were. The trees are larger than when they started out. How close they all were to each other. Looking up, the canopy of branches were thick and intertwined. It filtered the sunlight, breaking it apart into hundreds of solo rays.

“We should not be here, Tim. C’mon. Schatzi will find us. C’mon.” She pulled his arm. He resisted.

“Stop it. I’m not going anywhere. Schatzi! Schatzi!”

He broke free and ran into the gathering of trees.

Deb had no choice but to follow.

~~~~~    ~~~~~    ~~~~~

Patricia groggily came awake. Her eyes fluttered, not wanting to open them. She realized she was warm, very warm. There was no howl from the wind, only some beeps, someone moving around.

“Pat, sweetie, hi. Wake up, ok? It’s ok.”

Patricia came to, her eyesight a bit fuzzy but soon cleared enough to see June standing over her. June, her neighbor, her friend. A nurse. Patricia’s face began to scrunch up, tears beginning to fall.

“Shhh, you’re ok, sweetie. You’re in the clinic. You were near frozen solid when the Sheriff brought you in. We got you just in time.” June stroked Patricia’s hair, sitting down next to her, then took Patricia’s hands in hers and rubbed them tenderly.

Patricia looked around the room. There wasn’t anyone else there besides the two of them.

“Where? Debra. Timmy. Where are they?”

“Sweetie, they should be in school. The Sheriff went to fetch them just a little while ago. The roads are bad. A tree fell and it was the dickens removing it. Took way longer than it should have.”

“No. They were with me. In the woods. They missed the bus. We skidded off the road. Fell into a ravine. In the woods. I went to find help. I…I…what time…what time is it?” Her voice rose in pitch, coming out faster. She was shaking, but not from the cold.

When she heard the time, Patricia screamed and tried to get out of the bed.

A bit more than two hours had passed since she left them. June tried to hold her frantic friend down, tried to calm her, but Patricia’s frenzy was too high. A needle pierced her skin.

“Please. Get the Sheriff. Anybody,” she drifted back against the pillows. “My babies are out there. June. Please.”

June left in a hurry. The beeping and behind her, the noise outside by the nurse’s desk, her breathing slowing, her eyes feeling heavy, Patricia whispered: “Please, God, Please.”

Patricia. Sweetie.”

“Ju…June?” She looked through half closed eyes.

June wasn’t there.

“No,” she mumbled. “You’re…” and the sedative did its job.

 

Present Day

There is more to this tale, and it will be told.

The tempest to come will soon unfold.

Patience, patience, the time will soon fall

When the rest will be given, given in all.

 

There was a car in the woods.

 

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Deviate: #AtoZ Blog Challenge

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A Car In The Woods: Chapter Three

2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge

 

AtoZ2019D       DEVIATE

1963

“I’m sorry, Mom. Deb’s coat and stuff were all over my things,” Timmy whined in the back of the station wagon, twelve years old but sounding like he did when he was seven. Schatzi sprawled over Timmy’s legs, panting while her head was scratched. The family’s German Shepherd was watching out the window, her head resting on Timmy’s shoulder.

Up front, fourteen-year-old Deb yelled back: “Shut up, Dweeb. It’s your fault we missed the bus and Mom has to drive us to school.”

“Debra! Enough. The two of you. The roads are treacherous enough without you two bickering.”

Deb crossed her arms and threw herself back against the seat. She hated her full name, ever since her Bobbsey Twins started stretching her sweaters. “Hey, Bra,” the boys called outgoing from class to class. Since the name game, it lessened a bit, until one teacher or the other called out her full name.

Shaking her head, Patricia kept her eyes on the road. The snow from late yesterday hadn’t been too bad, but it was wet snow and turned to ice by the time morning came. Timmy couldn’t find his boots, then his gloves, while Debra. Deb. She had to remember so there wouldn’t be any more hysterics.

Deb had been taking her time coming downstairs. After the third call, Patricia went upstairs, knocked and opened the door, and froze in the doorway as Deb was finishing putting makeup on. A bit of yelling, tears, enough “but everyone is doing it” claims, confiscation of said makeup, the siege of the makeup removal, the door slam as Patricia went back downstairs, with the worst to come: the first “I HATE YOU!”

The bus had come and gone way before either of them were ready to leave the house.

Patricia had let the Impala warm up before she started to honk the horn. Timmy came out first, Schatzi following, and the two of them jumped into the back of the wagon and settled down. Deb followed, head down, taking her time. Patricia honked the horn one more time, to little effect.

The roads were slow going as it was; Patricia eased the Impala along, making time add up as she slowed around the bend. She heard a bark from the back, then another, with Timmy trying to shush her. Deb just let out a drawn-out sigh.

Schatzi’s barking increased, ricocheting through the wagon’s cabin. Patricia eyed the rear view mirror. Schatzi was standing, muzzle pressed against the rear window. Timmy had scooted over, the attempt to calm her a losing battle.

“Shut that dog up,” yelled Deb, turning around to glare at her brother.

Just before she had a chance to say anything, a large Poplar tree came crashing down on the road, its heavy top hitting the end of the station wagon. The impact sent the Impala spinning, three full revolutions across the iced road surface. It spiraled off the road a distance away from the tree, and then slid down into a shallow ravine. With a hefty “THUNK” the front end became embedded in a huge slushy drift of snow.

The snow saved their lives.

She and Deb had hit their heads, thrown forward when the wagon met snow. Timmy yelled that he was OK. Schatzi whimpered a bit before she started barking again.

Patricia tried to start the car, but nothing happened. Inside, she was cursing, words she had heard from her father and Eddie, her late husband. She’d never said them out loud before until an explosive “Shit!” escaped from her lips. Deb smiled. Timmy’s mouth dropped open just enough. Schatzi tilted her head one way, then the other.

“You got her to stop barking, Mom,” Deb piped up.

Getting out of the vehicle and slamming the door was the only retort she felt safe in giving. Walking to the front, Patricia tried moving some of the snow out of the way with her hands. She barely made a dent. Continuing, Patricia heard two doors open and closed behind her. Deb and Timmy joined in, both on the other side. Looking back, Schatzi was still inside, barking her head off.

They were able to clear away enough snow so the hood could be opened. The front was pushed inwards, bending the radiator. Timmy had been looking under the chassis and found a growing pool of oil.

As he stood, he noticed the hands on the hips posture his mom took when she was very angry. He kept quiet but realized there was something else going on. Deb was just being Deb, so he ignored her. But mom was shaking just a teeny-tiny bit, biting her lips that were pulled inwards. This frightened him just as much as the crash did.

Looking beyond the wreck, Patricia came to a decision.

“We are not going anywhere with the Impala. The sun is warming things up enough so we won’t freeze to death. Yet.” Deb rolled her eyes to the sky. Patricia noticed.

“Deb, you and Timmy stay inside the wagon. It’ll warm up under the sun enough.” She looked at her son who was just on the point of opening his mouth. “Yes, Schatzi stays with you.” Mouth closed again. “You both have your lunches. Please share some with her, but not enough so you don’t get enough. Am I clear?”

They both nodded.

“I’m going to go back to the main road and flag anyone who is out driving. If we are lucky, Dave and his plow truck will come by, looking for  snow removal work. Timmy,” she said, “Schatzi will need to be walked. Do NOT go far from Deb and the Impala. Understood?”

He nodded, looking a tad guilty. Of course, he wanted to go exploring with his dog. She hoped he’d listen this time.

“I’ll come back in an hour if no one is on the road. If we have to, we’ll hike it into town.” With that, she zipped up to her neck, wove a woolen scarf that had been left in the car around her face, and pulled the hood of her parka over her head. A quick goodbye and a “listen to your sister” saw her climbing up the ravine, her feet and hands using exposed tree roots for a ladder.

Then it was quiet.

Schatzi had lain down in the back and Timmy joined her. She wasn’t asleep. He noticed she was very alert. Waiting. Some sub-vocal growls wafted out here and there. Timmy joined her, dog cuddling, and closed his eyes.

Deb had come back inside. It was too cold still, sun or no sun. Like her mother, she zipped, tugged, and folded herself into her winter wear. Every five minutes she’d glance at her Timex. Fifteen minutes had passed. She felt like she wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. Timmy started to snore; Schatzi joined in. Deb smiled and closed her eyes.

The closing of the back door woke her up. Turning around, she could see Timmy through the window. Holding something high, he was laughing as Schatzi jumped up and took something from his hand. “Goofball is feeding him. Good,” she said to herself, yawning. Looking at her Timex, she jumped out of the seat and out of the wagon.

Coming around the back, Timmy lost his laugh when he saw her face. Schatzi went stiff, her tail drooping between her hind legs.

“What’s up, doc?”

“You idiot. We’ve been asleep for almost two hours. Have you seen Mom?”

He shook his head, looking around.

“Take your lunch. I’ll get mine. She should have been back already.”

For once, Timmy didn’t argue with her. He grabbed his lunch box, giving some more food to Schatzi. He’d lost his appetite.

“Come on. Let’s go find her.”

“But,” was all he got out before she started to climb out of the ravine. He followed, taking one last look at the wrecked Impala.

Present Day

Schatzi found something.

There’s more to this story.

There was a car in the woods.

Cravings: #AtoZ Blog Challenge

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A Car In The Woods; Chapter Two

2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge

AtoZ2019C         CRAVINGS

 

1960

It was a nice day for a drive.

Doris was still giddy, breaking in her new Ford Falcon. It was a far cry from the family sedan that her father, grudgingly, had allowed her to occasionally drive while she was living at home. He always acquiesced.   She went away for college, their ties fraying further. After graduating Doris dove into working with a local theater company. It didn’t pay much, but that really wasn’t an issue for her.

Her grandmother, Beverly, left her a nice trust fund that partially kicked in at 21, fully at 25. Her father ruthlessly oversaw the trust.  The allotted monthly allowance allowed Doris her own small apartment, with enough left for food and other incidentals. But not for what she desired. She wanted her own car. To move around freely, not needing a favor from anyone. He initially refused. Doris was fed up; it took some brutal persuasion with her father to change that. A ruthless haggling session soon followed. Her father swore he was done with her.

Doris didn’t care. She owned a car!

The day she set out was cloud free, the sun’s rays beaming brightly along the countryside she was passing through. Her scarf kept her long brunette hair in place, letting the wind whip through open windows. Doris had no firm destination in mind beyond “go north.” The new interstate road was an easy choice; it wandered up and around, passing through towns both large and small. Close to three hours into her expedition, Doris saw a sign for a town she had never heard of. The road to it veered off to the left from the interstate.

Doris pulled over to the side of the road, the Falcon purring as it idled. “Go adventuring, or stay on the interstate” she murmured to herself. Looking at the car’s dashboard, Doris noticed that she’d need gas sooner than she had thought. Her stomach’s grumbling sealed the deal. Checking for traffic, Doris put her left arm out to signal she’d be making a left back onto the road. The arm stayed that way as Doris made a left onto Outlook Road.

Twenty-odd minutes later, Doris nosed the Falcon into a spot in front of the Outlook Diner. She had already filled the Falcon’s tank at the station on the edge of the town. Putting the car into Park, Doris pulled up the emergency brake and turned off the engine. The pings of the engine cooling down sounded at her back as she entered the diner.

The waitress behind the counter pointed to the overhead letter board menu and told her to sit anywhere she’d like; she’d be over to take her order in a jiffy. A couple of booths were available, as well as some of the counter seats. Doris walked to the back corner booth, sitting, so she had a view of the entire Diner. The waitress soon glided over with a steaming pot of coffee, reciting the day’s soup and special.

It wasn’t a hard choice for Doris. First, she declined the coffee. Then she ordered her usual.

“I’ll have a grilled cheese with tomato, please. Oh, and a Chocolate Malted.”

The waitress wrote it down, nodded, and melted away behind the counter.

Doris arranged, then rearranged, the silverware that had already been set. She was reading the placemat, every now and then glancing around, taking notice of the various people, their clothing, and catching bits of conversations around her. The food and drink shortly arrived. Doris took a long sip of her malted, closed her eyes slightly as the taste hit her tongue, and she let out a very satisfied “Ah!”

A laugh came from the counter area near her. Doris looked over, and her cheeks went pink. She had noticed him on one of her glances: young, around her age, she guessed; cute, by what she saw of his profile; clean white shirt and JEANS; but it was his hair that held her at first. She didn’t know anyone who still wore a Ducktail unless it was in the movies or on TV.

It didn’t matter. She felt it looked good on him.

Doris started to turn away, cheeks blooming red at that point when he walked over.

“Hey, sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to embarrass you. Just thought your ‘Ah’ and the look on your face was really cute.” Once he realized Doris wasn’t going to speak, he added: “Mind if I join you? I’m Al, by the way.”

Al stuck out his hand. Doris lightly returned his strong grasp and nodded for him to sit. Doris fidgeted a little, finally telling him her name. Questions followed, back and forth, the where and whys, a conversation blooming about all the sorts of things that revolved around two young people attracted to the other.

Doris never touched her grilled cheese with tomato. The malted was drained dry. Al had dared her to steal something from the table; they had progressed that far. She complied.

Offering to play tour guide, Al showed her all of the two places that were of any interest in Outlook. “But,” he said with a wink, “there’s this area…”

Nestled in a grove of trees way off the road, the car engine was cold, but the interior of the Falcon was anything but as the sun started to let the evening sky approach. The talking and laughing slowly turned to light kisses, gentle hugs, the stroking of hair. Al didn’t want his DT messed with, which only made Doris go in for the attack.

Which led to deeper kissing, some fondling on her part, then his. Doris’s heart was pumping fast. It matched the level she felt during her last altercation with her father. Her hands were moving along his arms, behind his neck, traveling down his back. She bit his lip. Tongues met.

Then Al, whose right hand had been on her breast, moved down to her leg and slowly caressed her skin, from knee to thigh, to…

Doris pushed Al away, hard enough that the window handle and armrest were crushing his side and ribs.  She yelled “DADDY NO!” while he yelped in pain as he was being pushed into the side of the door. Panting, the two of them eyed each other. Al tried to slide closer to her, only to receive the same treatment. A string of uncomplimentary words left his mouth.

Doris hauled back and broke his nose.

He was on her in a flash, slapping her hands away, slapping her face. Doris’s dress tore as she tried to again push him away, exposing just a glimpse of the swell of her left breast. Her head thumped against the car door, leaving her prone on the bench seat. Al tugged her down further. Doris’s skirt rode up her thighs. They struggled against the other.

Al knocked her left hand away. Doris had been trying to scratch him, again. Her hand landed on her pocketbook. She reached in, fumbled around, not knowing what…then, she remembered.

He dared her.

Doris grabbed the diner’s knife and fork, moving them so that the pointy ends were turned towards Al, and as her panties were pulled off, she struck.

Again. And again.

And again.

The seats were slippery enough, making it easy for Doris to pull Al out of the car. She left him on the ground, backed up the Falcon, and wobbly drove the car forward.

Except, it was full dark, and she didn’t have the presence of mind to turn on the headlights.  Cutting through the trees at 45 mph, the Falcon met a large Basswood head on.

The car was dead when she came to. Grabbing her bag, she staggered out of the Falcon, blood from a head cut running down to meet Al’s blood on her dress. She was just moving, moving, moving…

Until the silence of the woods gave way to a bone-numbing clicking sound.

 

Present Day

The next night, two teenagers were heading to Make Out Point.  They did what they went to do, started to drive off when the headlights caught the wreck of the Falcon. They both looked: no one was there, but there was blood inside. A lot of it.

The Sheriff and his deputies found nothing, again. Asking around, the waitress told them about the pretty girl and Al. She never mentioned that the silverware was missing from the table.

Sheriff John had had it. Nine people missing, presumed dead, in the last year and a half.

He was going to take early retirement after the weekend.

He never made it.

There was a car in the woods.

 

 

A CAR IN THE WOODS: #AtoZchallenge

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Prologue

AtoZ2019A A CAR IN THE WOODS

1959

An abandoned car is found in the woods, no road leading in, the dense gathering of trees surrounding it were thick, close together. Sunlight barely broke through the thick cover of leaves. The grass and bushes were stunted, starving for the light.

Nothing that size should have been in there.

Discovered by hunters, Todd Wilson and Barry Carter, who were where they should not have been. They were following an 8 point Buck which led them on a long, winding chase. The Buck kept his life that day, racing off onto Government land. They knew enough to let it go.

Todd and Barry needed to catch their breaths as their quarry bounded off. Beer from their kits took some of the edge off.  Neither spoke; they just stared off in the direction of their lost prize.  Todd was on his second beer while Barry was chugging his third. They nodded to each other, tossed the drained cans over their shoulders, and started their way back.

But something shiny caught them both in the eyes. The day had moved along just enough, as did the sunlight. Nothing should have reflected with the intensity that hit them square on. But, something did.

Following the intense gleam, they passed, and ignored, a rusted  Keep Out sign that hung crookedly on one of the trees that barred their way.  There were some tight fits, squeezes that were almost not manageable. Prickly bushes caught at their clothing, drawing enough droplets of blood and curses to go along with them.  Finally, they reached the clearing in the middle of all the towering wood. They both stopped, stared, and while Barry’s jaw dropped, Todd whistled. They both loved cars.

They loved this car, had talked about it, dreamed about, visited the dealer ten times together; eleven for Todd, by himself. Their wish list car, there before them.

A Cherry Red Thunderbird  two-door convertible! It was the model they drooled over:  a 430ci Lincoln Interceptor J-code engine, power steering, power brakes, power windows, power seat and a new power top. It had Kelsey Hayes wire rims, front to back chrome accents, and it was smear and dirt free. What made it not absolutely perfect was the convertible top: stuck, half up, half down. Barry began a low round of giggles. Todd gave him the look, but laughed himself when Barry told him that it looked like it didn’t know if it was coming or going.

Nothing was found to identify the owner.  No VIN numbers,  license plate,  papers in the car. Without the VIN, they couldn’t even tell when it came off the assembly line. Todd knew that the last of these beauties were produced in August of that year. It was too pristine to be any older. He thought it might have even been the very last one made.

The inside was spotless until Todd and Barry ran their dusty, grease and dirt laden hands all over while they searched: doors, dashboard, the red vinyl seats, the white inserts, and even the hood and the finned back end. The trunk wouldn’t open, another less than perfect detail.

The realization that the forest had been dead quiet didn’t hit them until a series of clicking sounds came from behind them. Then to one side, then another. The clicking grew in volume and then stopped. They saw nothing, nothing moved as there wasn’t any wind. Total quiet surrounded the duo, and with the sun starting its descent, both made a hasty retreat.

They made it back to their truck, eventually, and sped home. Todd’s wife, Daphne, listened to them describe what they found, ice cold beers in front of them. Her arms were crossed and her right foot was tapping away. After hearing the story for the third time, she decided to put this into the hands of the sheriff.

He listened. Shrugged it off. Nothing came of it. Sheriff John Miner was too close to retirement.  If he had acted on it, he might have lived long enough to hand in his badge. He didn’t.

Todd and Barry, meanwhile, made their find profitable, earning free drinks at the Barn House Bar from folks who wanted to know all the details.  As the telling went on, the story…grew. And it spread to nearby towns, especially one where Todd and Barry went drinking.

The searching was intense. Many said they found the trees and the clearing, but no TBird. Reports were passed around: the car was glimpsed in Jeffery Hallow. No; it shone brightly at the opening of the large bear cave on Decry Hill. One group said it was by a stream, others in different parts of the forest. Never any proof; it started to slide out of their minds with each disappointment. People stopped looking for the car.

Until a group of four High School students went looking, and they did not come home.

Present Day

There was a car in the woods.

Charred. Rusted. Busted.

Picked clean. Shell just a remainder.

No road. No reason. Just there.

Not always in the same place, but there.

No one knew anything, the how or the why.

Tales grew around it.

Some said haunted. Some said the Devil parked it there. Maybe a UFO, with all the disappearances. Or not, as there were enough of the dead draped around, murder, suicide, ritual. No one was really sure. Most didn’t want to know.

I knew.

There was a car in the woods.

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Author’s Note:

Welcome to the 2019 AtoZ Blog Challenge. This is my sixth year participating, going back to 2011, the year I started Tale Spinning.

My theme this year is A Car In The Woods. First installment is above. Not every post will be this long. Length will vary. I just needed the “prologue” to set the tone.

Each time I’ve participated has been very different, from Mystery to Horror, from an Apartment Building’s residents to Road Sign drabbles. I just let the creative juices flow.

A Car In The Woods, as stands right now, will be a serialized tale with some interludes. Kind of like last year’s The Abysmal Dollhouse, but, hopefully, a bit tighter. That’s my goal. We’ll see where it goes.

Comments/Feedback is always appreciated. Check out other blogs who are taking this April’s challenge by clicking on The Master List. You’ll find a variety of blogs that you might enjoy.

TOMORROW, #AtoZ…A Car In The Woods

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A CAR IN THE WOODS

Imagine this…

A writer of blogs, caught in the web of his own making. Unaware of the passing of time.

April 1st didn’t loom.

It pounced, claws sharpened and out, eviscerating the calm he thought he had.

This was a writer with ideas, semi-plans, an insidious inner laugh that sometimes made its way to the surface.

What happens when said writer, so caught up in the travails of his daily life, his existence teetering on the edge of the basest of sanity and the fathomless abyss of madness and despair, is faced with producing 26 tales designed to strike deep in the souls of his readers?

Tune in April 1st, for he is about to enter…

63334-atoz2019tenthann

do do do do, do do do

 

Shirem Far Mrim: #FridayFictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

SHIREM FAR MRIM

The Carpetbag of Extraordinarious rested on the wall, alone but not abandoned. Waiting. A new owner was needed; time for the mantle to be passed on. The carpetbag always remained the same, but a new umbrella would call the next Mary.

Preloved umbrellas were splayed among the rafters, in honor of those who had deftly used them. The levels were as endless as the Marys’. Each was distinctive, wondrous in their magical glows.

The Parrot-Headed one gave a squawk. All the other handles turned.

A double layered, inverted umbrella brought the new Poppins.

She adjusted her hat. “Spit spot. Ready!”

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It’s #Friday Fictioneers prompt time, as always created and hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted To Purple.

The rules are simple if you’d like to do this:

    1. Use the photo on Addicted to Purple as your prompt (goes up on Wednesday).
    2. Write a 100 word story, complete with beginning, middle, and end.
    3. Make every word count.
    4. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor of the photo credit.
  1. Add the InLinkz button (below) so your readers can find the dozens of other bloggers who have taken up this challenge.

Where Have You Been?: #FridayFictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Gah Learner

****Please read, or reread, Philomel, With Melody first. I’ll wait.****

Where Have You Been?

“Finally! Where have you been?”

“Out.”

“Doing what?”

“Stuff.”

“Hmph. ‘Stuff.’ And who were you doing ‘stuff’ with?”

“The guys. Ya’ know. The usual.”

“So, doing that lazy shoemaker’s works for hisself again? He’s using you, Gabrine!”

“Ain’t what you fink, luv. Itsa job; no little, no less.”

“More’n like you lads just want to hang out in the mushroom fields instead of making your own names, like Goodfellow did.”

~~ ~~ ~~

“Oh, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have brought ‘im up.”

“Sun’s almost arise. Bed, aye?”

“Well, I’ve awaiting long enough, eh?”

“Luv you, too.”

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It’s #Friday Fictioneers prompt time, as always created and hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted To Purple.

The rules are simple if you’d like to do this:

    1. Use the photo on Addicted to Purple as your prompt (goes up on Wednesday).
    2. Write a 100 word story, complete with beginning, middle, and end.
    3. Make every word count.
    4. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor of the photo credit.
  1. Add the InLinkz button (below) so your readers can find the dozens of other bloggers who have taken up this challenge.

The Tod Chronicles: Book 4

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@Richard_Kadrey Prompt

The Tod Chronicles Book 4

I. The Dangling Participle

It was the best of Tods, it was the worst of Tods, it was the Tod of wisdom, it was the Tod of foolishness, it was the Tod of belief, it was the Tod of incredulity, it was the season of Tod Light, it was the season of Tod Dark, it was the Tod of hope and despair, Tod had everything before us, and Tod blew it all to hell.

“Thanks, Tod. And your stupid monkey thing too.”

That became the call of the people. The saying could be found on a huge, I mean huge, number of things. Cups, mugs, t-shirts, bumper stickers for your Space Vehicle, pencils, coasters (for drinks, not going up and downsy things), and it could even be found tatooed on certain parts of the body by those who were most miffed. Coke had to recall a wee bit over twenty billion bulbs of their product that had ‘Tod’ on the label.

Noone in the Acronym Research and Study Services knew who came up with the saying. TTAYSMTT was not the most graceful combo. It sent Ms. Belfar, acting head of ARSS, into a convulsive state upon its first appearance on a sign being dragged behind an FL 42U FE sky drone (otherwise known as a Fluffy).  TTAYSMTT, spoken, was a mouthful. Some headway was made when it morphed into TattysMit. The cool kids gave it the tweak it needed,  and “Ta-Tay!” became the flavor of the month and a half.

Ms. Belfar recovered soon after. She went into the Medial Circumference a wreck and came out engaged to Mr. Frank Bloom, the Circumference Custodian, and all around Dandelion Master. They will be hyphenated and brought to union by Commodore 71 on 210988 at 1500 hour of the clock, EST. The BB’s are registered only at acronym friendly stores.

“Ta-Tay!”, I mean Tod, was not happy about any of this. He wasn’t happy about what led to all of this: he was badly injured by the Man-Eating Space Ducks but, surprisingly, he survived; was eaten by a planet (whose name can’t be named due to legal issues) and summarily spit out by the (un)said planet; and finally escaping the clutches of a Galactic Orb Buster (Mrs. Belfar-Bloom was quite pleased with GOB) after infiltrating the GOB in three different disguises, and eventually vanquishing the intergalactic foe with the help of his quasi-simulated girlfriend Anouk and Darth, the stupid incontinent monkey thing.

Even with all this surviving stuff going on, Tod wasn’t happy at all at this point in his life. He definitely didn’t think he would survive this latest muck up. Just about everyone left alive hated him. Anouk and Darth weren’t quite sure at this point.

He had one job, and he incontinated all over it.  Push a lever here, press the three strobing globes in the correct sequence, and put Metal to the Peddle©™®. One job: the safety of the known universe.

If only he had a Spork ®.

How he messed up, partially atoned for the cataclysm that followed, lost his love then got her back again, and why that stupid Darth hid an ulterior motive in his bowls, are all part of this Narrative In Space (the NIS series, ARSS approved). It’s become my job to lead you on as the Narrator of the narrative.

Who am I?

I’m Jim. Welcome to my world.

Stupid Tod.

**Jim Notes: In case you missed that last three of The Tod Chronicles NIS series, the following blue letters below with jaunt you to their destination:

No Tod, You Just Lie There While I Fight The Man-Eating Space Ducks With A Spork

Mars Blows

Tinker Tailor Soldier Tod (Yanked off the shelves due to secretive thingies being worked out) 

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Author’s Note:

The above pulp cover prompt was “altered” by Author Richard Kadrey. He has been posting, on Twitter, reworked/photoshopped covers of old pulp(ish) novels, changing them to show off his brand of humor. I just thought it’d be fun to write a few story posts from Mr. Kadrey’s. So, yes, this is my writing, not Mr. Kadrey’s.

Richard Kadrey is a writer, photographer, comic book writer, and an all-around interesting guy. His fiction straddles the Urban Fantasy, Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Cyberpunk worlds, and he’s pretty darn good with it all. I fell in love with his writing starting with his first Sandman Slim novels. Gritty, sometimes violent, often full of whimsey, and really worth reading. He’s not just another pretty face.

You can check out more fun covers by following him on Twitter @Richard_Kadrey.

To get into his body of work, visit his website: Richard Kadrey

Storms Will Come

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Storms Will Come

The storms, the storms

Alive, they come

Floating or falling

They collect, always downward.

 

On the trees, on the grass,

Oer the fields, the streams,

The mountain tops,

The Canopies and roofs,

On grizzled heads and ones of youth,

The storms, the storms,

They come.

 

Things quiet down, you see

There is a softness of sound.

Or a roaring crack and sear

That goes the other way around.

Both are needed; both are dear

Both can bring life; both can bring fear.

 

The storms, the storms,

They come, they come

Bringing that sense of calm

Of the white drifting flakes.

Or feeding the energy of life,

As the panorama is slaked.

 

The come,

The storms.

They come.

 

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Thanks to a new online writer friend.

 

 

 

 

Who Is The Fairest?: #FridayFictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Nathan Sowers grandson of our own Dawn M. Miller

Who Is The Fairest?

Magic Mirror had it rough ever since the Wicked Queen was defeeted. Wearing red-hot metal shoes is one thing; being forced to dance in them? A whole other mishegoss.   Queeny was toast.

The Mirror was in a funk: nobody asked it anything.  On top of that, the Mirror became a magical vagabond. Wherever it was stored, or hung, the locations were beneath it.

“A shack! Alas, alas!”

Its finale placement. It deliberately cracked itself up. Fare thee well.

Who was Fairest wasn’t fair, at all.

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It’s #Friday Fictioneers prompt time, as always created and hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted To Purple.

The rules are simple if you’d like to do this:

    1. Use the photo on Addicted to Purple as your prompt (goes up on Wednesday).
    2. Write a 100 word story, complete with beginning, middle, and end.
    3. Make every word count.
    4. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor of the photo credit.
  1. Add the InLinkz button (below) so your readers can find the dozens of other bloggers who have taken up this challenge.