is that we write horror (something I rarely achieve, being more comfortable with the cosiness of noir). Jim's 'An answer' fulfilled that to overflowing, as I'm sure we all agreed, but, as ever, well done and thank you to the rest of you who added to the week's entertainment,
Entries by midnight Thursday 26th
August, new words
posted Friday 27th
Usual rules: 100
words maximum (excluding title) of flash fiction or poetry using all three
words above in the genres of horror, fantasy, science fiction or noir.
Serialised fiction is, as always, welcome. All variants and uses of the words
and stems are fine. Feel free to post links to your stories on Twitter or
Facebook or whichever.
I awoke from the dream. I relived the terror, the odour of blood. My children were dead. I could do nothing but weep. I knew it was naught but a foolish dream. Terrifying, maddening, but unreal. By virtue of that logic, I casually moved to the nursery to wake them up and get them started on their day. I would never expose them to the filth of my own mind, the dream would be forgotten. I drew near, and could swear the copper smell grew stronger. How can that be? I opened their door. And once again, I awoke.
ReplyDeleteNice, Dave. Chilling and well done.
DeleteThank you John
DeleteFear and terror drip from this, Dave. Nicely done!
DeleteThank you
DeleteDefinitely the stuff of nightmares,this.
DeleteUgh...a recurring nightmare loop. Never had one of those but I imagine it's probably as frightening as what you envision here, Dave. Horrifyingly done...!!!
DeleteThank you all
Deletethat's the kind of good horror writing I'm looking for to fill Gravestone Press' ongoing anthologies!
DeleteReally good horror writing Dave, so compelling and a cleverly woven dark fabric of hellish nightmare.
DeleteThank you everyone. I'm glad you liked it.
DeleteCongrats, Jim. A well written horror piece always entertains.
ReplyDeletebrilliant achievement, Jim, yet again you come up trumps.
DeleteHouse of Mirrors
ReplyDelete“Aroma is a virtue,” said Moira, crinkling her nose. “But odor is not.”
“So, what is it you're saying?”
A roll of her lovely brown eyes. “You’re the man of my dreams, Henry, but you really need a bath.”
Henry looked at his blood caked hands and shrugged. “Ok, I’ll do it now.”
A young couple peered into the funhouse entrance and took tentative steps toward the mirror maze.
Moira smiled. “You may as well wait now.”
Nice. Clever and fun.
DeleteTilts one off-balance, as so many of your pieces do, with just a touch of disorientation.
DeleteWell that took quite a turn, I must say. To echo Sandra, you do have a knack for creating pieces that create an off-balance...and delightfully so.
Deleteso clever, John, so clever!
DeleteSuch a well crafted offering for this week John. Delicious dialogue.
DeleteLast two lines caught me off guard, John. This is really good stuff!
DeleteIn the Canyons of the Narcissist
ReplyDeleteThe dream canyons of his patient’s flawed subconscious exuded an odour of expensive scent.
‘You sure believe your shit don’t stink,’ thought Pendell.
So far all the boxes in the psy-archaeology playbook were being ticked.
Far in the distance he could see the gigantic ego, pulsing in the golden glow of its self-promoting virtue signalling. Her pervasive arrogance had rendered his avatar to a tiny scuttling roach. But he would work this to his advantage when navigating the rocks and thickets of her emotional terrain. His quest, the hidden artefact which held the key to her dysfunctional cognitive behaviour
Clever, not least for the insertion of earworm.
DeleteNot much worse than dealing with a gigantic, pulsing ego. Clever indeed.
DeleteThis was poetic in execution and a joy to read. For some reason, it reminded me of Prince's "Seven."
Deletesharp clever writing, David, good one.
DeleteWhat a novel approach to psychology David, this is clever on so many levels.
DeleteThis ride on marvelous language was a wonderful read, David!
DeleteWhen I come for you .
ReplyDeleteYour thoughts are ice-blown, devoid of any kindness, and evil blossoms, plague-like, about you but you place yourself above others, thinking you are beyond reproach.
You are not.
The scents of countless misdeeds shroud you in an odorous stench and still you think you are the virtuous one.
You are not.
Foul and sinuous dreams pasted about your blackened soul taint your blood and draw you to me. I am close now, here in shadow, waiting for you to sleep again and my claws are cut-throat sharp.
You may think you’re dreaming when I come for you.
You are not.
My goodness, Terrie, when you ditch the dillos your inner nastiness really lets rip, doesn't it?
DeleteSuch a satifying collection of descriptive gems. Really nice, Terrie.
DeleteThose repetitive lines truly made this a gem and then some. And I'm not even mentioning those vivid images you've created here.
Deletecold and then it gets colder... great writing, Terrie!
DeleteAs always, Terrie, your use of language exceeds splendid!
DeleteTHAT QUESTION… AGAIN
ReplyDeleteDespite her desperate thrashing I remained firmly lodged in her gullet, thoroughly enjoying the violent shaking of her death throes. Payback for this pseudo-virtuous bitch was a dream come true.
The only negative was the foul odor wafting up from her gut.
Then, a savage convulsion, and a delightful satisfaction swept through me when she stopped moving.
Mission accomplished, it was time to abandon this once wife now worthless bag of flesh.
Damn! I can’t move! I am hopelessly stuck!
Whatever I was dissolved away, and as nothingness enclosed me, that infernal question arose again: What the… hell… do… I…
Have to admit I'm impressed by how well, and entertainingly you've let this run. Jim.
DeleteWow, this was colorful. Never enter a body without an exit plan. I think we were the only writers to spell odor as we did. But it is called English, so I guess we can't complain.
DeleteYe Gods, but this is gruesome in the extreme...and leaves me desiring to know even more. What a nightmare...!!!
Deleteseriously gory - spelling, a constant problem for me as editor... it has to be a balance, but even that doesn't always work. I wish we spoke one language!
DeleteBrilliantly descriptive, and yes i am rooting for him. I am hoping he will find out what to do next and the lover will get his comeupance too.
DeletePlayacting [Threshold 362]
ReplyDeleteKeeping me head-locked, he turned me. Faces but an inch apart, meadow-sweet odour of breath contradicting his words.
'"Loyalty"? A word that invariably carries an odour of treachery –'
I strained backwards to better focus, 'Including mine?'
'Yours, sweetling, might be the stuff that men dream of, were they able to be sure of your virtue –'
I spluttered, to his dampened regret 'What?'
'On the other hand, a little uncertainty does occasionally add, shall we say, piquancy to the arrangement. And thus far I've had little to complain of. Whereas Cocksure –'
'What?'
'Has his eyes to the keyhole.'
There goes Raven, being all elegant in speech again. And maybe a bit menacing. Little good comes from a conversation when loyalty is brougjt up.
DeleteRaven of the Silver Tongue. He uses it to his advantage that's for sure....and I'm leaving the comment there lest it leads me into trouble.
DeleteOh my such a complicated yet charming man all wrapped in more than a hint of danger.
DeleteVery clever and very interesting, Sandra. Double, and contrasting, use of odour... very nice!
ReplyDeleteodour has proved to be an interesting word in this week's contributions, that's for sure.
DeleteLove the final comment, Sandra.
Olfaction
ReplyDeleteAn odour or fragrance conjures many memories, many images. Some from times long past and others more recent, like last night's dream.
Some are reminiscent of virtue. Resin incense of benzoin, frankincense and myrhh, for example, burning within the censer during a church service.
Some suggest episodes of rapture and romance. Scents of "Shumukh" or "Caron Poivre" that linger on the silken skin even after passion has been spent.
Then, there is the sweet metallic smell of fresh blood, akin to the crimson fountain that sprang from your chest after I had withdrawn the butcher knife from your unfaithful heart.
Ooh, I've missed your deadly twists and final punchlines.
DeleteAll eight cylinders pumping hard here. Man, you take a few weeks off and come back all fresh and entertaining. More recent, like last night's dream. Brilliant.
DeleteOh wow! back with a vengeance (good word for this story!) really missed your weekly contributions, Patricia. And this one shows why!
DeleteSuch clever scene setting with intense olfactory images. I was all dreamy thinking about thse wonderful aromas and then, bang, what a sting in the tail. Brilliant
DeleteChange of focus [439]
ReplyDeleteFor the rest of the day, to his inner disgust – he was bollocking decades from a love-sick teenager desperate to renounce virtue and virginity – John Pettinger found his head playing host to frequent and unwelcome bursts of Roy Orbison's herniated enunciation of 'In dreams'.
Even the pungent cocktail of odours emanating from the inspection pit of Fullerton's garage, as exhausted and black-smeared SOCOs bailed it out in the vain hope of evidence, failed to silence them.
Then, just as he'd decided tonight was near enough arrived and he could go home to the waiting Philly, a shout –
'Another body, Guv!'
Foiled, by the dead body... or maybe saved. Pettinger's thoughts are often conflicting.
DeleteJust when he thought he was out, they pulled him back in. Pettinger sometimes has the worse luck. Nice Roy Orbison reference by the way. One of his best songs in my opinion.
Deleteabsolutely agree with the Roy Orbison comment, Patricia.
DeleteAnd Sandra's showing us how to end a section in style and with punch... again...
Again another character I always look forward to reading about, but with that ending there is such an ominous feeling. Pettinger may have more than he bargained for to deal with. Very cleverly done Sandra.
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 263 - Station In Life
ReplyDeleteIn her First Class carriage, the Grande Dame dozed and dreamed of a society where all riff-raff knew their place and were taught the virtue of respect for their betters. As the train, with a piercing whistle, signalled its passage beneath the railway arches, she awoke with a start to find herself no longer alone in the compartment.
At the sight of the disreputable soldier, she pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose as if assaulted by an offensive odour.
The squaddie treated her to a cheeky grin.
"Wotcha, missus. I'm George. Remember me?"
--------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/cripplegate.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
----------------------------------------------------------
Ah ... The Grand Dame, and George. I await with anticipation their conversation.
DeleteI'm trying to recall George. But it sounds like there might be a past there. And perhaps a little slumming will do her good.
DeleteJohn: George is Miss Constance's brother. Miss Constance is the governess who dressed all in lilac and tries to keep a watchful eye on the youngsters, Alice and Christopher. George and the Grande Dame first met in the station waiting room back in Episode 22. Don't blame you for losing track. I'm not sure myself what half the characters are up to at this point.
DeleteWhat has the Grande Dame gotten herself into this time?
Deletehe journey from episode 22 to 263 has been a long adventurous one, crowded with off-the-wall characters and scenarios and has been missed!
DeleteI do so love the intrigue and mystery of Cripplegate.
DeleteSNAFU
ReplyDeleteBy virtue of a most unfortunate glitch in the circuitry, the sprinkler system failed to operate. It was like some horrifically bad dream. The last thing he smelled was the odour of burning flesh.
His own.
My worst nightmare, dying in a fire. Worse than drowning even.
DeleteYou have certainly returned at full power Patricia - this impressive in it succinct power.
DeleteLook at that, a complete horrific scenario in a few words. I would wish that ability on some of the 'failed' stories I have rejected...
DeleteCrisp, cruel, delightful, Patricia!
ReplyDeleteKursaal (Episode Two Hundred Thirty Two) -
ReplyDeleteHax Pax Max Deus Adimax a/k/a Hocus-Pocus
Primrose Lee (elixirologist extraordinaire) and her cousin, Apollonia (equally proficient potioneer), had been working on a unique concoction. Apollonia guessed the embryonic brew's intent when she noted specific ingredients Primrose had gathered in preparation: steeped lotus petals, grated skin of salamander and scarab beetle eggs. The fact that Primrose had requested her cousin to supply cicada husks confirmed Apollonia's suspicions.
After some trial and error, the pair believed the mixture had been perfected. Not a pipe dream after all. Odourless, colourless and tasteless, it required further testing but everything indicated it would serve its purpose very nicely.
Very nicely indeed.
--------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale, please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
---------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: Primrose Lee and her cousin, Apollonia, have both featured in previous episodes.
A good year for cicada husks. I bet the testing is completed without anyone's knowledge. Such a clever one you are, Patricia.
DeleteI can picture avid faces, stirring above a steaming pot.
Deletetruly back with a vengeance, an intriguing instalment. More please.
DeleteOooh more mystery, plotting and trickery. Kursaal is back with a vengence. Wonderful.
Delete...it would serve its purpose, eh, Patricia? I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of this mixture.
DeleteSIGNAL CROSSING
ReplyDeleteThe psychiatrist wore indigo eye-shadow and glittering eyeliner.
Distracting in a face to face consult, but at least it helped Oliver keep his eyes off her long legs and tight top long enough to contribute.
‘Tell me more about this odour.’
‘Eh?’ Concentration virtue of mascara had faltered.
‘In your dream.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said.
She waited.
‘Well…,’ he began hesitantly, ‘it smelled of sex and death.’
Her professional façade showed a crack, then crumbled as he produced a long vicious knife.
Her voice failed her.
***
‘Yes, just like that,’ he told the body at the end of the session.
oh Wow, Perry, good one!
DeleteNastiness truly abounds this week.
DeleteWhat a twist in the tail here, Perry. Really well done.
DeleteI'd say Oliver's therapy is not working. Nice story, Perry.
DeleteThis was fascinating from start to finish. Teach those know-it-all psychiatrists not to try and dig too deep.
DeleteSome dreams that come true, like this one, shouldn't. Well done, Perry!
DeleteThe Joys of Mediumnship
ReplyDeleteWe had this 5 ft wooden scary female in the shop window, terrifying the virtuous ladies of East Cowes. I believe she is a guardian for us. She is too old to have any odour left but her scream will put anyone’s dream to flight… the pet shop owner bought her… without consulting his wife… who said NO WAY! The shop next door bought her and at my suggestion, which came from ? put her in her own separate window. It happens to abut our window… so we had the money and now have the figure… who’s watching over us?
I'd love to know more about the movements of this scary wooden female. Rather reminded me of that Stephen King tale about the Cigar Store Indian, which representation I'm sure is grossly inappropriate in this day and age.
DeleteThe lady was obviously meant to stay close to the shop.
DeleteWin win for you, nice.
DeleteStop The Week, I Want To GE4t Off
ReplyDeleteIt’s an up and down life right now, with most people believing we are heading into another lockdown (I don’t) and days when no one ventures out. It’s as if we have a bad odour about the shop, they walk past the door and peer through the window, dreaming of what they might like to buy but moving on. Even the calls from the resident in a home have ceased. Sticking to your word is a virtue most have lost, items pile up here ‘I will be back for that’ and they forget… patience is a virtue. We will survive.
I do hate when people ask vendors to hold something for them and then never come back to collect, but I guess that goes along with the territory for the most part. I must say that I very much admire and envy your optimism, Antonia. My hopes for avoiding another lockdown tend to run more to the pessimistic, particularly since we've just been mandated to wear a mask at all outdoor activities again (as well an indoor, which came about around a week ago).
DeleteI too admire your optimism. A good trait to have.
DeleteThere a buoyancy about Teesside, thanks to our hard-working mayor and the energy of the independent bookshop, so it's hard to be pessimistic at the moment, I'm glad to say. Hope the gloom in the IoW dissipates soon.
DeleteThe Mad Italian
ReplyDeleteWe can dream of a quiet sensible world but everyone knows that the ‘virtuous’ exploiters of people in Afghanistan have a dream they are determined to realise – their own state, where the only odour left is the scent of power. It is a sadness but, despite accusations thrown from one government to another, there was nothing anyone could do. The Afghan army let them walk in. The dispossessed are the sad ones in all this, the victims of Life. There will be many recriminations but – the truth is , another diaspora was about due. Now we have it.
I'm afraid I'm rather ignorant of the disruption taking place in the world lately and so have nothing to offer of value here. The news...both paper and visual...is always so depressing and I find myself in a better mental place if I just avoid reading/listening about the issues. I know they're taking place, of course, but I'm turning into something of an ostrich. Not necessarily a good thing, but it seems to be working for me.
DeleteI am similar to you Patricia, but this eloquent Italian is very good at keeping us abreast of things just the same.
DeleteSo much going on in Afghanistan. It's hard to keep up.
DeleteThese days, it is damn hard to be optimistic about the world's future.
DeleteAnd then Charlie Watts has to go and check out on us....!!!!!
ReplyDeleteYes. That really hurt.
Delete