First and last through the gates. #writephoto

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Image copyright Sue Vincent. From Sue’s #writephoto photo prompt.

This is my first ever ping back so I hope it works……

The stone gateway was imposing, the heavy gates looked too big to push open easily. The first time I walked through the gates I was 10 years old and very nervous. My grandma lived in the big house, but as we had only just moved back after several years abroad I had never met her. Seeing the gates and the stone gateposts made me think that someone very important lived there.

I remembered the long tree lined drive. The dappled sunlight warming the golden gravel. I wanted to know how far it was to the front door so I started counting steps, but lost track around 300. As I turned a bend in the path I saw  short, grey haired lady in horn rimmed glasses, she didn’t look as scary as I imagined her. She was waiting at the top of three steps made of grey stone. I wanted to run up to her, but mom had told me to be polite. So I walked up slowly and quietly said hello.

That had been 40 years ago. My gran must have been about 50 but I had thought she was very old. I remembered her putting a record on for me, a Beatles song. ” Help ” I think it was? From then on she would always play music when I arrived, some pop music, other times classical music like Stravinsky or Rachmaninov. Sometimes we danced together and laughed at each other.

Today was a sad day. The last time I would walk through those gates. I remembered all the happy times I had spent there. Afternoons after school always seemed sunny. Gran would give me a snack and Mom would pick me up when she finished work.

Now both of them were gone. Today I had to lock up grans house and hand over the keys to the estate agent. The funeral had been a week ago. I had her favourite music played at the ceremony.

As I left I shut the gates gently, knowing I would never walk there again…..

Boarded up

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He woke up in darkness, the window he has climbed through last night was now boarded up. He was alone in the barn, but his hands were tied behind his back. He heard a quiet rustling in the straw. A squeak and he realised there were either rats or mice sharing the space with him…..

Everything had been quiet when he had crept into the barn about 8 o’clock the previous evening. He’d been setting up the camera when something or someone had hit him on the head.

What the hell do I do now? he thought. I’m stuck.

He glanced about and he saw something black in the corner, an old scythe? Yes stck under some sacking. It was so easy in mystery stories. Just rub against the blade and escape…. Two hours later he’d got through one strand of rope, his wrists were bruised and cut and he was sweating with the exertion of trying to escape. If he ever got out of here he would have words with his mates…

This was not how a stag party was meant to go!

Witchery

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Old Belladonna Green watched as the moon rose. It was full and glowing tonight. Just the right time to be abroad for some witchery…..

She stood on top of the hill looking down at the old town. What enchantments could she weave to change people’s lives tonight?

She was a solo witch. A bit like solitary bees. Not part of a coven, but quietly making a difference where she could. The world was too modern for her really. No apprentice had been to see her for twenty years and her stock of charms had worn out long ago. Yes she could go to the local magic shop, but the stuff in there was mainly tat. Who wanted to buy a whoopee cushion to help indigestion?

And the Internet? It spread such falsehoods that no one knew what to believe anymore. When texting arrived she almost gave up. As it was she had to be very circumspect about what she did. All those satellites and droney things. She was good at weaving invisibility which she needed to keep out of sight of CCTV! More than once she had been forced to take the form of a black cat to avoid detection.

She looked over at Larch Street. A small row of terraces which were humble but cozy.

Oh yes. Mr Hughes, he needed some help, he was losing his hair rapidly…. She climbed up the drainpipe. She was still quite nifty at climbing even though she was 74… As she had thought, the bedroom window was open to let the cool moorland air in. She pushed the sash window open and deftly stepped through. Her soft shoes made no sound… She had a pouch of green herbs on her belt and she moved over to where Mr Hughes was sleeping. Gentle fingers massaged the green goo onto his head, he snored and turned in the bed, putting an arm round his wife. Belladonna stood back, approving her own work, then swiftly left the way she had come.

As the alarm clock went off the following morning Mr Hughes went into the bathroom. He was rather shocked to see in the his face in the mirror… A full head of hair…. But why was it blonde?

 

Eye don’t know…

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Something appeared on the cliffs above the village that night, but no one saw it till much later.

The wedding had gone well and the happy couple were now on their way to catch a plane to their honeymoon destination. The rest of the party were sleeping the evening off either in the hotels 6 guest rooms, or in the two bed and breakfasts in the old harbour.

Half of the village had been invited and were now dreaming of the festivities while the other half were either too young or too elderly to have gone.

A dark figure, about eight foot wide, was shambling along the path down from the cliff. It’s movements were jerky, like an accordion being played, several legs moved in a strange caterpillar like rhythm and gleaming eyes looked out in long rows along its sides.

Most peculiar of all was its gaping mouth. This was filled not with teeth, but with arm like protruberances which ended in long thin suckes. Each of about twenty arms could reach out of its mouth to either lift or pull objects. They were also able to grasp things and pull them inside the thing.

A feral cat was stalking a mouse as the strange being came round a corner of the pathway. The alien seized the cat with one of its suckers and pulled it into its mouth which snapped with an audible crunch as it closed.

As the light came again to the village open doors greeted the dawn. Most were torn from their hinges. Others wear ripped apart as if a chain saw had cut through them.

Of the villagers there was no sign, the guests who had come down from towns and cities were gone. There were strange gouged marks on the roadway leading to the harbour wall, but no sign of life. Even the sea birds had gone.

Only the lighthouse keeper further up the valley had seen something glowing and gleaming in the dark, but he was saying nothing.

(I seem to be writing more of these, I’m trying to work out how to describe things. To make up a story that is slightly different, not too derivative?) all writing and art copyright Christine Mallaband-Brown 2019.

In the grey

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It started with a fog that lingered, it did not burn off in the sunlight, in fact it got denser. The winds had dropped so there was nothing to blow it away. Looking out the window you could see drops of water clinging to the trees and bushes.

The weather forecasters tried to explain the phenomenon. More water in the atmosphere, a storm must come soon to clear the air, but that was months ago. Plants were not doing well for lack of sunlight and because there had been no rain to help the buds burst. Slimy mould was starting to cover some plants and others had a black fungus growing on them.

Then the reports of food shortages started  Crops had failed. Fruit was not swelling and growing but remained stunted.

People started to call it “the grey”, cars were banned as they were turning the fog to a thick smog. Satellite images showed the only parts of the world that had been left clear of the fog and mist were the larger seas and oceans. The grey clung to the edges of the land. Continents were visible only as cloudscapes.

Then the riots started…….

Tired

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Your looking tired? she said. Busy day? Yes it was, but I didn’t want to admit it. A long drive across the moors, then a quick rest at the hotel. Now I was sitting in a quiet pub waiting for the meal I’d ordered.

The waitress spoke again. You look a bit peaky, you must look after yourself. She looked closely at me, her face expressing surprise, fear and astonishment…

You’ve gone a funny colour!

Coffee and cream?

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Hot coffee with cream, a slice of black forest gateaux. She sat and stirred the cup, hearing the spoon tinkle against it.

Only an hour ago she had been running to catch the bus into town. She’d told Al that she was meeting a friend….

This isn’t a trashy romance story, she told herself. Just a meeting with an old friend. But she couldn’t help feeling excited. He’d sounded just the same on the phone as he had all those years ago at college.

The cake was delicious, but she only tasted it, she was too nervous to eat. Too many butterflies in her stomach, too much anticipation and anxiety.

Oh god, she thought. I’m too old for all this, what will I say? Should I put some more lipstick on? She was also thinking about Al. How could she tell him about this. No it would be her little secret.

It was half an hour later, he was 20 minutes late… He promised he would be there. She remembered a tall young man. Long hair, a leather jacket and jeans. Black doc marten shoes….. Where is he? She thought.

Just then the glass door opened. She saw a once tall man, now stooped over. A bald head, what hair that was left was grey and in a ponytail. A walking stick, a gold medallion.

She decided not to say hello. As he walked into the room she went to the counter to pay her bill. On the way out of the door she felt mixed guilt and grief. Had she done the right thing?

She looked in the window and caught her reflection. Her once slim body was wider now, her hair not just grey, but white. Oh well she thought. At least I have Al.. …

Staring at me?

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Who is that man staring at me? Why is he staring? I have never met him before. Never spoken to him. Trying to hide behind a magazine, I peeped out. . Still staring directly at me! How rude and somehow frightening too. Like when a cat stares at its prey, ready to strike? Or a snake catching your scent … Who was he? How did he know me?

Oh no, he’s coming over. Sitting down opposite me at the cafe table. .

Excuse me? You have ketchup on your face. He grabbed the napkin and wiped my face, like I was a child! Then he got up and walked away. I’ve never seen him again since!

 

In the dark (part three)

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I had walked into my bedroom and seen the shadowy figure of my partner sitting in a chair by the window. I tried to see his face but the full moon in the window behind him cast darkness across his face.

“What’s up with the lights?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

“I took out the bulbs” he replied..

That was something I had not thought of. “Why?”

“I need the dark” was all he would say.

I felt the chill air seeping into my body, something was wrong with the heating, it had been playing up before I went out to choir practice. Now it was as cold inside as it had been out in the night.

“It’s cold” I said simply. “Do you want a coffee?”

“No”

I was getting worried and scared, Henri was usually a happy, talkative man. His manner now was just not like him.

“I’m going downstairs” I said,

“No” again..

“Well this is stupid” I started to edge towards the door.

Then he opened his eyes….they were glowing gold….

I ran. Down the stairs, tripping and falling but catching the bannister I managed to halt myself. I felt a bone crack in one of my fingers, but I found I felt no pain, I just wanted to get out. Get back in the car, get away……

(To be continued…..?)

In the dark (part two)

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It’s been suggested that I carry on with this, so I will try…

I closed the front door and reached for the light switch. Nothing, the house was in darkness. My partner was not about. I used my phone to light the livingroom while I tried to find the fuse box. But when I checked none of the fuses had tripped.

I tried the light at the other end of the room, but it was the same. Normally we leave a table lamp on if we go out, but this was off too?!

What was going on? The room was freezing and dark, the curtain was open on the side window of the house so a glimmer of sodium street light trickled in.

I walked past the barometer. The pressure had dropped. The snow was starting to drift past the window again. I could see snow flakes falling silhouetted by the street light.

I realised that I still had not heard my partner. I moved back to the front door and opened it. Any foot prints on the pavement had been covered by the drifting snow. What next? I walked through the kitchen to the back door. It was locked and the key was still it. Even so I opened the door to look out. I was not surprised to see a cats eyes reflecting back at me, there are always stray cats hanging around for hand outs.

But the eyes looking back at me looked larger than normal, bright gold, glinting. Perhaps a fox? I slowly closed the door, not daring to take my eyes off the steady gaze until it was locked shut.

Feeling dizzy and worried I used the light from my phone to climb the stairs. Thinking all the time that maybe I should have knocked on my neighbours door? The memory of people walking upstairs in horror films also crept into my mind.

“Hello” “you’re home early” my partners voice came from a chair by the window …..

(I’m not carrying on with this tonight, leaving it as a bit of a cliffhanger).