Mood ring?

Posted on October 1, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Confidence, Creative writing, Ideas, Life, Mood ring, Short story, Thoughts, Weird storyLeave a comment

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Could this ring read my mood? I’d bought it a year ago, but never wore it. I was always worried the stone, small and dark blue, would get damaged. The stone was meant to tell your mood, but I’d always been calm and had never tested its ‘powers’.

That had changed today, a series of mishaps and then an incident had really upset me.

First a flat tyre, so I had to catch the bus. Then a reprimand for being late, despite my explanation. Finally I was mugged on my way home! Two youths had jumped out at me and grabbed my bag while I was waiting for the bus home.

So why the mood ring? I had got home and realised it had been broken into. All my jewellery had gone, except the cheap mood ring, obviously worthless to the muggers. No, not worth the five ounds I’d paid for it… But anyway I put it on. It only fit my little finger.

It felt warm, it started to glow, red then white. How was it doing this? I wrenched at it but my finger had swollen and it would not come loose. As I struggled I heard voices downstairs! The youths who had mugged me. They must have burgled the house. I felt my throat tighten, and a voice, not mine, shouted loudly ‘stay where you are!’

I flew down the stairs, into the living room where the youths were standing frozen. I pointed at them and the voice, my voice. Told them to stay put. The words seemed to still them. Then I called the police.

I don’t know where I got the courage and strength from. I think the mood ring had boosted my mood and confidence. When the police arrived the youths meekly left with them!

Moon

Posted on September 26, 2019September 26, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Acrylic on canvas, Art, Blogger, Creative writing, Darkness, Horror, Illustration, Moon light, Scary?, Short story, SpookyLeave a comment

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She looked out of the window and saw the moon and stars. That was strange? Why were the street lights out? Normally there was too much light pollution to see anything. The world seemed very quiet, no car noises, no sounds of planes flying overhead. Something must be going on.

She had woken from sleep in her room that was in darkness apart from the moonlight. Then she noticed her alarm clock light was off. She tried to switch on her light. Nothing. She crept down stairs. The lights there were not working and the fridge was off. Worryingly the heating was off too. She picked up a jumper and put it on.

What the hell was happening? She felt alone, cold, her breath was steaming from her mouth. She opened the back door. No dogs barking, no bird song. Just the moon and stars.

Then she heard the moaning and saw the zombies….

Who switched my Bluetooth on?

Posted on September 18, 2019September 18, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Bluetooth, Creative writing, Modern tale, Playing with words, Short story, Spooky storyLeave a comment

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Oi! Who switched my Bluetooth on? she shouted to her two teenage sons.

Not me! No I didn’t! Came the swift replies.

I’ve told you not to mess with my phone! Don’t do it again. Shouting up the stairs seemed to be the way to communicate these days…

She popped her mobile phone in her handbag. Walked to the bus stop. Waited for the number 9 up to town.

As she stood at the stop her phone buzzed. Bluetooth again? A photo had been shared to her photo album. A picture of the cemetery. One word, “come” was superimposed on the image.

Those boys, she thought, always playing tricks. She found the sender and sent a ‘no’ gif with a tiny black kitten jumping up at a goldfish.

She got on the bus, wondering what they would do next. Buzz…

Same picture of the cemetery, ‘come now!’ the exclamation mark worried her. She sent back ‘why should I???’ this was getting silly.

It was when she was getting off the bus that she got the third Bluetooth picture. Now it was a hole dug in the grass next to a grave stone. The name carved on it was hers!

No way, she thought. The boys would not have done something so elaborate. She could have gone to the police, but her imagination had been piqued.

The cemetery was only down the road, it was broad daylight, there were always people there walking their dogs. Why not?

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck start to rise, but she put her nerves aside and walked into the cemetery lodge where they kept a list of all the people buried there. ‘Victoria Crewe’ was there. Headstone 121, west Chapel section of the graveyard.

She walked slowly among the headstones. Each one had the details of death, family and sometimes a poignant motto. As she reached the end of the row her phone buzzed again. This time the Bluetooth message was white letters on a dark blue background. ‘look in the hole’ it said.

Who was sending the messages? She thought they must be close or the message could not have been shared. But for once the cemetery appeared empty.

Then she saw the hole. Not in the grave area, but next to it. Next to the grave marked with her name. She looked down. There was a metal tin in it. Buzz… ‘yours’ was the writing on the screen.

She held her breath, wiped away the soil from the small tin and opened it.

Inside lay a gold rolex man’s watch. A warranty for it in her father’s name, and a letter from ‘aunty Vicky’ wishing him a very happy 21st birthday and explaining to him that she was sending him a gift of this very special watch. The letter was dated on the same day as Victoria had died!

Full moon

Posted on September 14, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Creative writing, Howling, Mountain, Short story, Spooky, Very short story, WolfLeave a comment

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Full/harvest moon tonight. The howling started about an hour ago. Somewhere up the mountain there must be a wolf? I didn’t know they had them in Wales.

We are staying in a holiday let, a caravan. I got it online as a late booking. Yes I know, but the reception isn’t very good round here. I’ll call you back later.

Hi again, yes I know its late, but Jeff didn’t come back. I don’t know where he is and I didn’t know who else to phone? Police? No, I don’t think I need them….

Thanks for ringing back, I’ve found my charger now, got it plugged in so I should be able to talk. No he’s still not back, the car has gone so I think he must have gone to the village. Yes there’s a pub… Yes he might have gone there. Guess I will have to wait until closing time….. Did you hear that? Yes it was a howl, I think it’s getting closer……. Brrrrrrrrrrrrr……..

Flight

Posted on September 3, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Creative writing, Distopian, Fantasy, Imagination, Plague, Sci fi, Short story, Thought, WarLeave a comment

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The light flew across the sky, something not seen for centuries on the Earth.

The world had overheated in the previous millennia, viruses and bacteria had spawned a plague and 90% of the population had died before a cure was found. The remaining humans were all children, the fate of their parents leaving them in a world of technology they could partly use but not maintain.

Then came the explosions, nuclear power plants went offline, nuclear bombs rotted in their silos. Crops and fruit failed. A few books had been left, some technical papers, but the schools were gone. Children grew to adulthood and learnt to hunt and gather like their ancestors. Technology was stored in caves, but without power could not be used.

Then came wars over food and clean water. People living near reservoirs were lucky, but those downstream were cut off as the pumping stations failed. Humans were close to extinction. As the fable said ‘how the mighty had fallen’.

But a few people learned electronics from taking old things apart then putting them back together. They tinkered and played, and a light rose in the sky which was artificial. Who knew what would happen next?

Paint water

Posted on August 30, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Creative writing, Escape, new life, Sea view, Short story, Story, ThinkingLeave a comment

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I never knew what paints she used, said the man, the pictures were always bright and colourful. I guess they must have been water based. Look here is a glass mug full of water.

Yes, said the policeman. But no paintings? And no sign of her? You told us she’s been missing for a week.

Yes, said the man. I thought she had gone away for a break. But she’s not been in touch. Not phoned or emailed me. It’s very unusual, and she wouldn’t take all her art.

The conversation did not identify any additional information.

Meanwhile, in a small costal village, she sat and painted the sea.

I will build a wall.

Posted on August 27, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Creative writing, Life, Mess, Short story, Things, Tidy, untidy, Wall2 Comments

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Another morning, she came downstairs to the daily chore of moving stuff he’d left lying on the floor. Cups, newspapers, books, a jacket, his dinner plate from last night. There were also a pair of scissors and his slippers. He had gone out earlier. Leaving things lying around for her to pick up. I’m fed up with this she thought. It’s always the same. His stuff seems to be everywhere. Why won’t he do something?

Over the next few days she slowly collected things that were lying there. Soon she had six black bags of his stuff.

One morning she got up and he was asleep in the chair after a night of drinking beers. The chair was surrounded by six beer cans, a whisky bottle and several empty bottles and a glass. The snoring shook through her bones.

Enough, she thought, I will build a wall. She went into the utility room to get strong glue and a step ladder. Then she dragged in the black sacks of stuff. Starting with clothes she poured glue in a semicircle around him up to the skirting board on either side of the chair. She slowly piled glue and clothes upward using books, papers and bottles to help support it all. She had bought his fishing rod out of the bathroom and added bike wheels and garden furniture. As she worked she became more frenzied, trying to build before he woke. The glue was quick setting and she had fluff and paper sticking to her hands. She climbed the step ladder and peeked over the top. He was lying still on the chair, snoring gently……

After two hours she had completed the wall. It stood a bit askew but it reached the roof. What would he do? She pushed at the wall of material, solid. She went out into the garden to rest in the sunshine.

Why do I write?

Posted on August 25, 2019August 25, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Creative writing, Ideas, Paper, Thinking, Thoughts, Typing, What is writing for., Writing8 Comments

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I don’t think of myself as a writer. I love words, but mostly I’m more of a reader, and then as a dabbler at writing. I don’t really plot things, they generally fall out of my head and onto the paper or my mobile screen. I guess it’s just the way I am. I love being creative and since I finished work I’ve started to branch out. I feel like a little dabchick or duck. I paddle away, my feet just gently moving the water of words around, breaking the surface tension but not going deep. And what for? I’ve been told my grammar is not as good as it could be. I don’t do this for likes and views, it’s all quite low key. I don’t expect to ever write a novel. I did once try and write a children’s book, so long ago it’s still stored on a floppy disk!

As long as I don’t bore you too much.

Sparks

Posted on August 16, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Blogging, Creative writing, Crime?, Imagination, Life, Short story, Spark, StoryLeave a comment

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Sparks flew up into the night, blooming like a flower as he threw her old books onto the bonfire. He thought back over the last few hours. Finding her asleep on the bed, the sun slanting through the curtains. He’d left her to rest.

She’d come into the kitchen for coffee but barely noticed him. Just muttering fine when he asked he if she was OK.

She put the radio on, one of those inane poppy channels he hated. Started a little jigging dance. She seemed happier now, so he asked again how she was? OK she responded. Then she looked at him, a long stare. Who was that woman you were with last night? she said.

He knew he would have to answer. But not now, not yet. He hadn’t decided what to do.

Cat got your tongue she said?

Now it was night, the books were making sparks. He threw her record collection onto the bonfire.

She always asked too many questions he thought as he walked back into the house.

The gargoyle.

Posted on August 9, 2019 Posted in UncategorizedTagged Creative writing, Fun, Garden, gargoyle, Laurel bush, Mythology, Questions, Short story, Stone carvingLeave a comment

He sits quietly in a laurel bush, watching, seeing who enters the garden. The stone gargoyle. Winged, large ears turned to listen. How did he get there? Did he climb or fly? How does he stay there, no nails or glue support him. Does he protect or reject visitors to His garden? Stone carved and muscular. Is he hiding from gargoyle hunters, who stalk the suburbs and smash his unsuspecting siblings?

What are you, fiend from a nightmare or friend from a mediaeval church? Like an escaped pigeon, sitting in the laurel bush, waiting for his lost love.

Mallaband-Brown

Tag: Creative writing