Welcome to the blog.
Here you will read poetry and short fiction from Sharon and James Gray in a variety of styles and formats. The website will be updated every week with exclusive content and ongoing stories.
Also stay tuned for news of upcoming publications.
Sharon’s note: I love subversions of tropes. Hopefully, I did this one well. Warning: Getting involved with shadowy figures with strange agendas rarely turns out this well.
This was how I was going to die. I was going to get murdered because I couldn’t pass up the chance for a free house. But it was a four-bed, two-and-a-half-bath house. With a monthly stipend. And the alternative was living out of my car.
Grandma’s lawyer, the mysterious Mr. Harbinger, sat in front of me and was possibly the devil. He was dressed to kill in a suit that hugged his skeleton-thin frame and was grinning wide enough to crack his face. His screaming eyes bugged out as he steepled his fingers over his untouched cup of coffee. As he waited for my answer, his right cheek muscle started to twitch. That was probably fine.
“What’s the catch?” I asked, taking a long draft of my caramel macchiato. It was heavenly, and even better for the fact that he had paid for it.
“There is a catch.” He chittered in a way that might have been a laugh. I glanced to my side to make sure I had an open escape route if need be. “The house and money are yours, as long as you never open the door.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What door?”
“The door to the basement.” His eyes went wide, emphasizing how bloodshot they were. Whatever this guy was on, I didn’t want any. “To open the door means death for you, and suffering for the world.”
“Riiiight.” Well, he was nuts, but… free house. “What if there’s an electrical problem and I need to check the breaker box?”
He blinked and his voice was suddenly much more normal. “The breaker box is in the laundry room at the back of the house.”
“What about plumbing? What if there’s a leak somewhere?”
“What?” His mad grin slipped away and his frown said he was insulted by the banality of the question. “Look, there’s no electricity, plumbing, or anything else you need to deal with. It’s all unspeakable evil and death. That’s it. Do you want the house or not?”
Taking the house would almost certainly result in death because this guy was going to murder me in my sleep or something like that. A new lease on life wasn’t worth much if it only lasted a day.
“Um. No. Thanks anyway.” I got up, grabbed my coffee, and started for the door. Harbinger called after me but didn’t follow. I still high-tailed it to my car just in case.
I’d parked in an alleyway a street over to avoid the parking meters. It had been a risk, but I was rewarded with the car still being there. As I fumbled to get the fob out of my pocket a hiss that set my hair on end rattled out of a shadow behind a dumpster. I froze.
“He’s lying to you.” The voice was slithery, toneless.
“Nope,” I said and turned on my heel to walk right back to the sidewalk.
“Wh-wait. Where are you going?” Something like the silhouette of a head poked out from behind the dumpster.
“Yeah, I’ve had enough weirdness today without disembodied voices. Bye.”
“No, wait! I have a body! And news about the house.” The voice changed to a painfully deep man’s voice and a seven-foot figure stood in a black cloak unfolded itself from what should have been insufficient cover.
My head tilted to the side. “What the hell was Grandma involved in?”
The figure started to chuckle weirdly but stopped when I started to walk away again. “She had a treaty with foul powers. The one you saw was lying to you. To open the door would bring you great riches and power.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“I-what do you mean, how?” Even beneath the heavy cloak, I could tell that the broad shoulders slumped.
“Is there a buried treasure down there or something? And how can I trust your word over his? You’re both creepy. Tell me one solid, uncrazy reason I shouldn’t run away from the whole situation.” I put my hands on my hips.
Shadow figure paused, fussed with something under its cloak, then held out a wad of bills. “I will pay you a thousand dollars to accept the house and open the door. You don’t even have to stay there.”
On the one hand, this was a bad idea. On the other hand, I had fourteen dollars to last me the rest of the week. “Fine.”
My hand was cramped from signing things but as soon as all the paperwork went through, I owned a house. A nice house too. The stipend wasn’t much more than it took for food and bills, but for the first time in a year, I didn’t have to worry about where my next meal came from. The forbidden door was even nicely marked with a bunch of weird symbols and was tucked out of the way in the corner of the kitchen. I didn’t open it right away. I figured I’d wait a while, get a job, and save up some money just… in case.
Before I knew it, a month passed, and nothing bad had happened. Then there the note appeared. It was pinned to my mailbox with a sharp stick through the aluminum and said, “Open the door or give me back my money.”
I couldn’t really afford it, but… I didn’t want to open the door. I had a good thing going. I also didn’t want to stiff the big creepy shadow man. I bit the bullet and drained my savings to put a thousand dollars in my mailbox, stuffed in an envelope addressed to ‘Dumpster jerk’. After that, I saved up money again to have the door bricked over and put up shelves in front of it. I took one risk to get a better life. I wasn’t about to gamble with what I had.
Sharon’s notes: I like the concept of this story and may expand it at one point. I do question if the main character is as gray as I intended. Let me know what you think. 🙂 Warning: Icky hotel room. Yuck.
Breakfast was trying to crawl up to say hello. The miasma of rotting cardboard, dead animal, and urine that hovered over the tiny motel was just such a chef’s kiss of awful. The street light-washed bile yellow color of the stucco siding complimented the stench. Why did murderers always choose the worst places to hide?
I pulled the compass out of my pocket and waved it back and forth. The sand in the small cup at the head of the needle dragged it to room thirteen at the end of the row. Unlucky, and poetic. No rooms were behind it, so I wouldn’t accidentally break into the wrong one again. That had been such a mess last time.
I’d brought my bag of tricks with me, an unassuming navy blue duffle armed with everything a modern home breaker needed. The doors had a simple reader so I plucked out my nifty little doodad, a small black plastic box attached to a blank card. I slotted quickly in and the light turned green. My tech guy had hooked me up with it and it hadn’t failed me yet. I’d been hoping to exercise my lock-picking skills, but that was happening less and less. I moved with the times because I refused to be one of those immortals who ignored that the world was moving on.
I did miss the narrow, intense focus of seeing with my hands, feeling for pins as the tools slid through the lock.
The door creaked softly despite easing it open and I clenched my teeth. I’d done this in the middle of the night to avoid trouble. Disturbing my sleep cycle would be for naught if the stupid door woke him up.
It was for nothing anyway. He huddled against the wall, staring at me like I was the Grim Reaper come for him. Not inaccurate.
He’d been drinking. The fumes of cheap alcohol stung my nose and my throat clenching in an effort not to choke on the overwhelming stink. Broken glass and beer cans crunched and rattled around my boots as I walked in, closing the door behind me.
“Did he send you to kill me?” His voice was rough, phlegmy. He’d been crying.
I pulled out my compass again for confirmation before I answered, and it pointed to him dead center. I’d used to ask for names, but those tended to drag you down over time. I’d been told his, but I’d forgotten it as soon as I didn’t need it to track him. Besides, scum didn’t deserve to be remembered.
With a put-upon sigh, I slipped it back into my pocket and stepped forward.”Your father-in-law? Kind of. He summoned me to extract a debt owed.”
“It was an accident,” he whimpered.
“I couldn’t be here if you didn’t mean to kill her. You may have only meant it for a second and regretted it, but you intended to hurt her. You purposefully stole her time. I’m here to rectify the situation.” I shook my head and held out my hand with my palm flat. An hourglass, small with a battered and stained wooden frame, appeared. There wasn’t a lot of the golden sand left. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you? You only have about five years. 1,937 days, to be exact. That means only about six months for me. Barely worth my time, but a deal is a deal.”
His lip trembled and his already red eyes started to shine with tears. He held out a hand to me as he sniffled.
Oh great. A beggar. Why couldn’t I have gotten a fighter? A little toss-up to get the blood pumping might have been nice.
“P-please, don’t kill me.” His words came out broken, stuttering. “I’m sorry! Maybe I d-did want her dead, but it was only for a second. I didn’t m-mean it. I’ll turn myself in and f-face what’s coming to me, but killing me won’t b-bring her back.”
Since he wasn’t doing anything that required my immediate attention I started unscrewing the top of the hourglass. Sometimes I felt a little overdramatic going through the physical actions when the whole process was metaphysical but, sue me, a little bit of drama was fun. “One, she isn’t quite dead yet. I can’t do anything for the dead. Two, killing you will absolutely save her. You owe her time, more than you have, but all in is always an option.”
“What? D-doesn’t make any sense.” He tried to push his way to his feet but his leg buckled, toppling him into a pile of cans that crumpled under him. For a second I thought he was convulsing, then he opened his mouth and vomited up all the booze he’d drunk plus some bile.
My stomach twisted and I had to look away. Disgusting.
I walked over to the bathroom sink and laid out to hourglasses, the attempted murderer’s and his wife’s. Her’s was average-sized, but cracked on the bottom. I’d sealed it so she wouldn’t lose the little that was left, but she badly needed an infusion. Her soon-to-be-late husband provided, as I tipped all but my tenth to hers. He gurgled in distress behind me. It’s an uncomfortable thing to have your time poured away.
While I vanished the rest into my own glass, I watched as her fate reasserted itself, more sand appearing from nowhere. Four and a half years was more than enough time for her body to heal past the critical point and let her get on with the life he tried to steal. Six months was a drop in the ocean of the time I had spent and accumulated, but every grain counted.
I didn’t even glance at the man on the floor as I left. His time had run out, his wife’s was started again, and I was no longer needed.
Sharon’s note: This was another writing exercise where the first and last lines were provided, but there was also a strange rule added where there was something we couldn’t do. Try to see if you can spot what it is. Warning: Monsters at work.
“A name is usually the first thing we learn about a person.” Red eyes glared over a sheet of paper while long claws drummed on the rickety wooden desk. The voice of the Interviewer was low, growly, and worst of all, disapproving.
“Yes, Sir, but you see, I’m a nameless horror.” The already reedy, child-like voice of the Applicant raised to an undignified squeak. The ancient house groaned as if in sympathy while the wind screamed through the broken glass of the window.
“So you can’t read, then?” A head shaped like a vulture’s, covered with taunt, leperous gray skin raised enough to look down on the Applicant. “Since you failed to notice that the form says name or title. Failing that, primary purview is also acceptable.”
Goblinesque shoulders tensed as the Applicant raised its trembling, bifurcated chin. “And since I assume you can read, Sir, you’ll see that I’ve never had another posting, I haven’t had the chance to earn a title. As for purview, I’ve scored equally well in Under Bed and Closet Lurking, Basement Creeping, Sewer Haunting, and Alley Stalking. The only thing I had less than stellar grades in is Dark Woods Hunting, but that’s only because of my stature. Short legs just aren’t made for keeping up with humans in a dead run.”
Bones popped and grated as the Interviewer stood, a giant marionette-like thing made of bird bones covered in rotten leather. A cloud of dust covered them as its head brushed the ceiling. There was no doubt of its power, though, as steel cord muscles flexed around its jaw and rusty scythe talons flexed. “Do you dare to insult me, little monster? Do you realize I could eat you up in a single bite?”
Having been small its entire life, the Applicant knew it well. A tiny thing, they teased. All teeth, no stomach, they jeered. Well, it had handled them, so it could handle this. With a rattling hiss, it split its jaw into three, opening wide, like a fleshy fanged flower. Short it may be, but the Applicant had a lot of teeth. “While I have no doubt you could, Sir, I wouldn’t recommend it. Neither of us would enjoy it if I had to chew my way out of your stomach.”
Silence, except for the moaning of the wind rocking the house.
The booming bark of laughter from the Interviewer was so sudden it made the Applicant jump like a startled cat. “Brilliant! For a second there, I feared you were as weak as you looked. How do you feel about Cave Crawling? With all the cracks and small spaces, someone of your size could really be an asset.”
Startled by the sudden change of mood, the Applicant just blinked its large, milky eyes for a moment. “That… that should be fine, Sir. Dark spaces are a specialty of mine since I have 20/20 dark vision.”
“Then you’re hired,” said the Interviewer. “And, as a side note, don’t think I didn’t notice that everyone in your class with a higher grade than you disappeared. While I appreciate the hustle, remember that we are a team, and need to work together. Although, I would be interested in learning how you took them out, as small as you are.”
“Poison goes a long way.” A flex of its hand revealed the Applicant’s razor-sharp retractable nails. “Absolute refusal to die took care of the rest. Guess you could say I’ve finally clawed my way to the top.”
Sharon’s note: I don’t usually do straight non-fiction, but this was another exercise. It was based on an article about a kid who’s dad rescued her from being stuck on a slide. Warning: This has nothing to do with the original article.
When Mom told me we were going to England to see my dying great-grandfather, I begged to stay home. Yeah, that was never going to happen. It turned out that Great-Grandpa was loaded, and she wanted to present a perfect family front to convince him to give her a bigger slice of the pie. She didn’t say that, of course, but I figured it out. I’m not stupid.
As always, Dad’s only comment was to listen to my mother.
The reality sucked even worse than I thought it would. It had been two weeks of relatives I’d never met hugging me and talking to me like we were all so close. At least my little brother was out of the way. There were plenty of other kids, just no one near my age. I was the only teenager, and the only girl. To the adults, this meant I was obligated to watch all the younger ones. That was so many levels of BS. It was unsurprising that when the whole family decided to go to a local theme park for some ‘family time’, I was informed that I would be watching a pack of ten kids while the adults took some time to relax.
I complained to Dad, but as always, his only comment was to listen to my mother.
As I sat by the waterslide, watching the little tolls go through the line again and again, I found myself thinking a lot of very unkind things. I wished that Great-Grandpa would die already so I could go home. I wished one of the kids would drown so my parents would finally realize that having me watch them was a dumb idea. I wished that the park would burn down so that I wouldn’t be stuck out in the boiling sun, my skin turning red no matter how much sunscreen I used, my ears bleeding from the hyena laughter of small humans, the smell of chlorine so strong it was stripping the hairs from my nostrils–
“What’s going on over here?” Dad’s voice jolted me out of my dark reflections. My little brother, Cole, was hanging onto his arm, glaring at me like I’d told him no about something. I hadn’t talked to the little goblin in a while, so that wasn’t it. It was only then that I recognized the sound of a child wailing, and panic clenched my stomach like a fist.
Oh, God. I hadn’t been paying attention. Had one of the kids actually drowned?
A quick scan of the area showed a girl, not one of the ones I was supposed to be watching, stuck a third of the way down the slide. It had multiple drops to make it feel like waves. The water was running a little low, and the girl was too small for her weight to move the inflatable raft down. All the other kids were milling about, complaining that the ride was closed until they got her down.
I didn’t answer my dad, because he could see the same thing I did.
“Dad, I want to slide!” My brother’s lip trembled, but my dad wasn’t paying attention. He was focused on the slide, and a condescending sneer curled his mouth. I hated that look, but this time it wasn’t directed at me.
Laughter was breaking out on the other side of the slide. A man my dad’s age was starting to climb toward the stranded girl. He grabbed the sides of the slide, even though the plastic was scorching hot. The guy made good progress, feet braced against the corners, waddling up like a frog. The girl stopped crying when he reached her at the slide’s plateau, pulled the raft forward, and slid down with her the rest of the way. There was cheering and laughing as his group, probably his family, surrounded him and applauded like he was some great hero. The little girl was smiling because her daddy loved her enough to rescue her.
“Well, now that’s cleared up, you can go take your brother on the slide.” Dad dropped his hand and turned to stomp away.
“Daddy?” My brother’s voice was whiny, and Dad turned back with an impatient frown.
“What?”
“If I was stuck like that, you would come for me too, right?”
The question hit me in the gut. I knew better than to ask it because of Dad’s disgusted face.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Look, after you take your brother on the slide, your mother said for you to round up all the other kids and get them some lunch.” My father turned his back to us again.
I snorted. “With what money?”
Cole was sniffling, but Dad didn’t notice. “I don’t know. Text her. Figure it out yourself.”
“But Dad–“
“Listen to your mother.” It was his final word, as always, and then he was gone.
I closed my eyes and bit my lip. It took me a few seconds to realize that Cole was crying too. Crap. I knelt next to him. “Don’t worry about it. He wouldn’t come for me, either.”
My little brother wrapped his arms around my neck and asked through full-out wracking sobs, “But you would, right?”
“Yeah. Of course, I would…” Now, I mentally added.
“I’d save you too.” He pulled back and gave me a sunny, snot-nosed grin.
After that day, we were a lot closer, because even if we annoyed each other, we would still come if the other needed us. It made all the difference.
Sharon’s Note: I think people underestimate how many people believe in the supernatural. There are plenty of people who, if they witnessed a ghost, might be scared but not really surprised. Warning: Not all ghosts are friendly, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t jerks.
I turned the map, first sideways, then upside down, then right side up again. Nope. It still didn’t make sense. “Your sister is messing with us.”
Dinah shifted her bag on her shoulder, and put her hands on her hips. “Tori wouldn’t do that to us. If she says there’s a treasure, there is.”
“And how would she know where it is? Real scientists and archaeologists and stuff have tried to find Stormy Ann’s treasure for, like, the last hundred years. She’s seventeen.” I rolled up the map and waved it in the general direction of the cattle pasture. “That’s like fifty acres of grass and cow poop. Tori’s sending us out to literally get lost because she wants us out of the way so she can bring her boyfriend over.”
“No. Beth, she got a Feelin’.” Dinah said the word like it was sacred.
I groaned. “Your sister isn’t psychic. There’s no such thing.”
She kicked a rock at me and it hit my shoe. “There is too. Tori gets Feelin’s just like Nana used to. Remember when Nana got that Feelin’ when the Johnson baby disappeared? She led the cops right to it.”
“Mom says that was just because your Nana had seen the mom around Bubba Wilkin’s house and figured that she’d forgotten the baby somewhere around there,” I said. She stuck out her tongue at me, and I flipped her off. We both pouted for a minute.
I sat down on the edge of the driveway, letting my feet dangle into the ditch that lined the driveway. The soggy ground was dotted with crawfish holes, and if I stretched, I could kick over the little towers of mud that topped them. “Let’s go back to my house. Mom’s not home, so we can ask Dad to get us pizza.”
She stared at me, eyes narrow, then her mouth curled into a mean smile. “You’re scared.”
“What? No!” I scrambled to my feet, and nearly fell into the ditch. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“No, it’s fine. Ghosts are scary.” She plucked the map out of my hands. “I understand. You go home and eat pizza. I’m going to go find the treasure and get rich. And I’m not sharing.”
Dinah ran for the field and leaped over the cattle guard, clearing the pit and pipes easily. And, damn it, now I had to go. I had to be a lot more careful getting over the guard, because I wasn’t half white-tail like her. Jerk. She said she was going into track and field when we got into high school. She’d probably get a scholarship or something from it, too. Not that I was jealous or anything.
I followed Dinah away from the well worn tire tracks and towards the distant treeline, watching her bag bounce against her back. Eventually she stopped to let me catch up, smirking while I wheezed.
“I knew you’d come.” She smirked and unrolled the map. “So, we need to start at the Old House.”
I snorted. Everyone knew where the Old House was. In third grade, we had taken a tour of the Muller estate, and had to trek across half a field to see three half collapsed chimneys and a plaque. That was all that remained of the fancy home that Ann Muller had lived in. Only school could make the story of a mad woman burning down her house with her family inside boring.
“If we get that close to the New House, one of the caretakers will see us. Please, Dinah, let’s go to my house.” The wind had picked up, and it carried an unseasonal chill and the scent of rain. “I don’t want to get wet.”
“Don’t be a baby.” She took off in the general direction of the houses.
“I don’t know how you can even tell what that stupid thing says,” I grumbled.
She laughed and gave me a smug little smirk. “My dad taught me to read maps. It’s what people had to do before their phones just told them where to turn. You should learn.”
If Dinah hadn’t been my best friend, I would have left her there to get caught by the groundskeeper or the incoming rain. But she was, so I followed, only sulking a little bit. A line of dark clouds was closing in, and the hairs on the back arms were standing at attention. Mom had told me lots of times that Feelin’s weren’t real, but my stomach had a hard, cold lump in it, and it was getting worse the closer we got to the museum. This was a bad idea.
It was a long walk, and I nearly broke an ankle in a particularly soft patch of dirt, but we made it to the Old House. A bunch of silly looking white bramahs were hanging around the barbed wire fence, their long, floppy ears and neck waddles bobbing as they ripped up mouthfuls of grass. The New House was about a football field away, but I could see the dirt parking lot. It was a muddy mess, and there wasn’t a car in sight. Maybe we wouldn’t get caught after all.
We hopped the fence and moved so we were in the center of the three ruined chimneys. I rubbed my arms, resisting the urge to shiver as the wind picked up again. It was waaay too cold. “Hey, Dinah? This is a dumb idea. Let’s go.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Her eyes were fixed on the map, turning different directions as she puzzled out where we were going next. “It’s not even raining yet, and you aren’t made of sugar. You won’t melt.”
My nose wrinkled. “You sound like your mom.”
“Shut up,” She said like she wasn’t really paying attention to me. After a minute she pointed out across the parking lot. “I think we go that way.”
I almost protested, because even though there were no cars, that didn’t mean no one was there. Walking that close to the house was risky. Then the wind gusted, and I shivered. Maybe getting caught wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “Okay. Let’s go.”
It was probably just my imagination that the grass was snagging at my feet, trying to stop me from going forward. When we got to the level dirt of the parking lot, Dinah stopped. “So, we’re looking for the stables. They have stables, right?”
“You didn’t pay attention to anything the guide said, did you?” I rolled my eyes. “The stables were struck by lightning during, like, world war two. Like nineteen sixty something. They built that huge barn to replace it.”
She paused, nose wrinkled. “Things get struck by lightning a lot here.”
My shoulders dropped. “Gee, Dinah, it’s almost as if wandering around here is a bad idea. You know, in a place where a crazy, murderous drunk lady killed her family then got struck by lightning herself?”
She tapped a finger on her thigh. “Things do burn down here a lot.”
“Exactly. Let’s go home.” I held my folded hands out in front of me. “Please? I’m begging. I… I think I’m getting a Feelin’, and it’s a bad one.”
Dinah’s face fell. “You know what, Beth? Even if you are scared, that’s no reason to make fun of me. Go home, then, if that’s what you want. You’d only slow me down, anyway.”
She turned and stomped towards the barn, its steepled top just barely visible past the New House. I swore under my breath and jogged to catch up. “No, Dinah, stop. I wasn’t making fun of you. I really am–”
I crashed into her back as she came to a sudden stop. The momentum sent us both tumbling to the ground. Dinah scrambled to get to her feet, and I looked up to see what she was staring at. A woman was walking across the field. At first I thought she was a reenactor, but… her full skirt was blackened and shredded. Her hair floated around her head in cotton white tendrils, and her mouth hung open like it had been broken that way. Even at a distance, I could see the blinding white glow of her eyes.
“It’s Stormy Ann! Run!” Dinah took off, and I was following her. I didn’t even remember when I got to my feet. She raced ahead of me, and skidded into the front door of the New House. The door didn’t budge as she yanked the handle and screamed for someone to let us in.
I was far enough behind to change direction and start rounding the house. “Dinah, come on!”
We made for the barn. The muscles in my legs screamed, and my ribs were shrinking around my burning lungs. I tried to glance behind me, but as my head turned, my toe caught on a tangle of grass. My spine snapped straight and careened into the dirt, hidden sticks and burrs digging into my arms and face as I skidded along the ground.
“Beth! Hold on,” Dinah screamed.
I turned over, and there was Stormy Ann, leaning over me. Grayish, fern patterned scars surrounded her glowing eyes like a mask. Wisps of white smoke curled out of her gaping mouth. She smelled like rain, lightning, and whisky. The white flashed and–
Poor children. I didn’t want to scare them, but I couldn’t exactly help it, could I? The quick one came out of the barn, brandishing a pitchfork. Fool girl. What did she think to do with that? I was already dead.
“Huh? Where’d she go?” The quick one, (Dinah, was it?) trotted up next to me. “Are you okay?”
“I will me in a moment,” I said. Not sure how long I could maintain control of Beth’s body, I started for William’s tree.
“Where are you going? What happened to the ghost? Beth, stop!” She pulled on my arm, and I stopped to frown at her. Her eyes widened in shock, and she dropped the pitchfork as she stumbled back. “What’s wrong with your eyes? Holy shit, Beth, are you possessed? Blink twice if you’re still in there.”
I had no clue what she saw in my eyes, and I didn’t know if Beth was aware or not. What I did know was I couldn’t waste time. I was getting tired. “Your friend’s fine. I just have to do something, then you may have her back.”
“Stormy Ann.” The girl bared her teeth and picked up the pitchfork again to menace me with it.
I had to laugh. I’d certainly been called worse. “Stop that. All you’re going to do is stab your friend. Now, the faster I get this done, the faster we can quit each other’s company.”
She bit her lip as she followed. “So, you just have some unfinished business to take care of? What kind?”
“The ‘clearing my name’ kind.” Damn, I still hated children. Even if I missed my own.
She was blessedly quiet for a few seconds, but then had to open her mouth again. “Oooh. So, you didn’t kill your family?”
“Thank you so much. I needed another thorn in my heart. No, I didn’t kill my family, but they are dead because of me.” I sighed. She wasn’t going to shut up, was she? Very well. A story had always been the best way to silence my boys, besides… nevermind. “I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to that tree over there. The one next to the chicken coup. Go get a couple of shovels, and I’ll tell you everything.”
She did as I asked, and I went to stand under William’s tree. It was so big now, gnarled and scared from a long-ago lightning strike. The coup was new. Or rather, it was a new coup. Every so often it had to be replaced. Fortunately for me, no one had ever dug underneath it.
“Okay, I have shovels. Now tell me.” The girl really was quick. She nearly hit me in the nose as she shoved one of the handles at me. Fine. I knew about where the box was, but it was still going to take a while. Might as well talk and dig.
“Most of the old stories are true. I was a mean, cantankerous woman. I had to get married to a man I didn’t particularly like. I drank too much. I drank far, far too much. Everything I just said could have applied to most of the women in the county. Two things we need to get straight, though. I did not hate my husband, and no matter how bad I was as a mother, I loved my children.” I didn’t look at the girl. I just threw my back into it and lost myself in the work. “What I did hate was this ranch. It produced decently, even with the lightning, and my life was comfortable. But I hadn’t wanted to stay here. My older sister had gone to New York, and I wanted to go with her. But no, I had to marry Richard, because my jealous cousin lied, and said she saw me kissing him.”
“They made you marry a guy just because they thought you kissed him?” The girl’s mouth dropped open.
I chuckled. “Well, she was the angel, and my mother told me many times that I had the Devil in me. So, I showed up drunk to my old wedding, and became an even bigger disgrace to my family. Eight years and two little boys later, I was miserable and trapped. That night my husband had gone to play cards with a friend. My youngest was running a fever, and wouldn’t stop crying. My oldest wouldn’t shut up about being hungry, even though he’d eaten like a little pig. I just needed to sleep. I… I gave them each just a little bit of whisky.”
She stopped digging and stared at me. “You can’t give whisky to kids.”
I resisted the urge to snap at her, and kept my voice even while I put my anger into digging. “I know that, but I already admitted I was a bad mother. I was just… so tired. We all had a good drink, and we all went to sleep. No one woke up when lightning struck the house. There was fire. So much fire. I woke up when my husband came home and dragged me outside. He went back in to get the boys. He didn’t come out.”
“So, if you didn’t die there, what happened? Everyone says you got struck by lightning.” The girl was hugging her shovel, scared of me again. Why? I hadn’t done anything.
“I did, but it was hours later. I topped myself up with whisky, wrote down my sins and what had happened, tucked it in with my secret supply, and buried it back in my hiding place here by the chicken coup. I always hid it there. My mother knew that, but she never went looking for it. I guess I can understand that. After that, I was walking towards the road, waving my shovel and shouting at the sky, I was really drunk, and got struck. Poetic way to die. Now, I have the chance to let everyone know. I’m a fool, not a murderer.”
She was still just staring at me. “So, let me get this straight; you’ve been haunting this place for over a hundred years, possessed my friend, and dragged me out here with a magic storm about to strike, just because you want everyone to know that you are an abusive drunk that got your family killed, but you didn’t do it on purpose?”
I took objection to her tone, but… “Yes. Although the storm isn’t my doing. I can only come out during the storms. One of those university boys told us once that the lightning strikes had something to do with the metal in the soil. I don’t know, but that, at least, is not my fault.”
“…Cool. Let’s dig.”
We continued in silence until I found the box. My mouth watered. All this time, and I still wanted a drink. I used the shovel to pry open the lid, and smiled down at the half dozen remaining bottles, topped with the brown envelope. I picked out two of the bottles and held them out to the girl. “Here. For your trouble. They were expensive back in the day, so they ought to be worth something now. Just make sure the estate gets the rest and the letter.”
“Um, sure. I guess.” She put the bottles in her bag. “You know, I should have expected that your treasure would be booze. But, um, thanks.”
“Right. Well, live well girl. It would be hard to do worse than I did.” With the last word, she’d left me. I’d been aware the entire time, but I hadn’t been able to say anything.
“So, um, goodbye, um Ann,” Dinah said, awkwardly clutching her bag.
“She’s already gone. It’s just me.” We stood there for a second, not sure what to do now. Thunder boomed so loud above us that I could feel it in my chest. At least it wasn’t cold anymore.
“Come on. Help me carry this to the barn. We’ll leave it there, then maybe we can make it to your house before it rains.” She picked up one side of the box, and I got the other.
“I guess this means your sister really did have a Feelin’,” I said.
“Maybe so, but she totally made up the map. I think that would have put us somewhere up near the pipeline.” She shifted her arms under the box. “Did you see what was going on? How much do you figure the bottles are worth?”
“I saw everything, and I know that bottle of thirty year old scotch my dad got for his brother was like a couple hundred bucks.”
“Oh, cool.”
Sharon’s Note: Sorry there’s been a little gap in production. There will be more stories coming out, but only about one a month. This was another challenge short piece. Tried to go a little sweet this time. Warning: Author thinks it’s a little sad.
Drew put the sunflower down before he wrung it to death out of worry. It was Evelyn’s favorite. The florist had guessed what he came in for before he even told her. That had to be a good sign.
The barista gave him a slight smile and put an iced coffee on the table. “On the house, honey. For a special day.”
Drew beamed. “Beth! You’re a peach. I’m going to ask my girl to marry me. Wish me luck.”
“I’ve got a feeling she’ll say yes. She’d be crazy not to.” The barista, who’s name was Annie, hurried back behind the counter to help with the growing line.
“Poor old guy.” The new hire was trying to juggle restocking the sweet case while writing out an order. “He’s been here for hours. Think his date stood him up?”
“No. His wife died nine years ago, but he doesn’t remember. They were married for almost fifty years, and this was where he proposed to her. He comes in here every year on the same day. I’ll give him a few more minutes, then I’ll call his daughter.” Annie sniffled a little. “Evelyn was a lucky girl.”
Sharon’s note: The last of a string of challenge pieces. The first and last lines were given to me, and I had to fill in the middle with a word limit. One of the hardest challenges I’ve ever done. I loved it. Warning: Just a little bit of madness.
As the clock struck midnight, she found herself standing alone in front of the abandoned carnival with a mysterious key in her hand. She pocketed it for her collection. Had to hurry. If she was late to this tea party, she could loose her head.
Recent rain had left the asphalt path with a slimy coating of mud. Tin sides of trailers were decorated with ripple patterns of rust like blots of blood. Artistic, if you were of a mood. She was not.
Their party was seated beneath a white tent that was turning green with mildew. Pigeons slept in the rigging above, their guano coating the ground so thick the sisterhood was laying out blankets to sit in picnic fashion. It stank like a swamp. Next year, she was choosing the venue.
She sat with a group of sisters who all wore outlandish hats. If she knew them from last year, she didn’t remember. That was normal for her. Memories were slippery fish.
She drank oolong, ate sandwiches filled with a raw meat she couldn’t name, and debated the relevancy of bonnets until the speaker ascended the stage. A fine lady with rings on her fingers, bells on her toes, and sorrowful music wherever she goes.
A few stragglers hurried to finish their conversations before the speaker began. As she sipped her tea, the woman with the bright red hat turned to her and said, ”Beware the pigeons, for they carry secrets that even the winds cannot whisper.”
Sharon’s note: This was just a little something I threw together from another challenge. We created a list of monster traits as a group, then had to do something with them. Warning: Author is aware of the logic flaw in this, but hey, it’s just for fun.
When reality tore, and a hole opened up to the place where stars died, no one noticed. It happened deep underground, so as far as humanity was concerned, it might as well not have happened. Until the things that came burrowed their way to the surface. They broke ground in a small, suburban neighborhood.
The surface was warm, and to the creatures, warmth meant food. At first it was just animals that went missing; mostly cats and dogs. Notices went up, at first looking for the lost pets, then warning of some kind of sicko in the area. When a little boy, only six years old, went missing from his backyard, people were convinced that they were ground zero for an emerging serial killer.
The second child, a ten year old girl, who disappeared left a cell phone behind. What she recorded changed everything.
Flashing lights under a bush. The girl pulls the branch aside, revealing a ball of . . . something. It’s gray, and looks like it’s made of stone except for thin, glass-like panels where multi-colored lights flicker. The girl laughs and exclaims something the phone doesn’t pick up, and the creature vanishes. She reached forward to the place where the object was and came in contact with something.
The creature reappears and starts to open–
No one has seen what happens after that. No one who can say, anyway. Those who have watched past that point are catatonic.
Panic spread when the video was released. The neighborhood was evacuated, but since the onset of winter, the creatures have been inactive. They don’t like the cold.
We don’t know what will happen when summer comes, and they start moving again. Hopefully they will be content to feed on animals. Hopefully they will not spread.
Sharon’s note: I’ve always likes superhero stories. I’m in the minority, but I hope the MCU never ends. I’m still happy there’s going to be a second season of Invincible. Warning: Bad guys in love.
Flare peered down into the alley behind the bank. The Wrecker was standing at the fire door. Surprisingly, he was stretching. A good idea. A lot of strength-based supers tended to ignore little things like that. It was the main reason, without some kind of healing vector, they ended up retired and in major pain by their mid-forties. He wasn’t as bulked out as much as the average meat-head, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have plenty of muscles. They corded and bunched as he moved, beads of sweat appearing on his arms. . . Interesting, but he was still trying to pull her job, and that would not stand.
She floated down, hovering just above the roofline. Wrecker jerked when she cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Did we double book, or did you just randomly pick the worst possible day to heist this particular bank?”
He blinked up at her, then frowned. He glanced at the security camera pointing down at him and took a step back out of its range. So he’d seen it, and had been flexing in front of it on purpose. “That depends. Did Red Tony hire you too?”
Flare wobbled in the air. “Wait, what? I was joking. Are you telling me we actually got double booked?”
“It looks like. He did seem rushed when he contacted me yesterday. I’d assumed someone had dropped out at the last second.” He glanced at his watch. Most people didn’t bother with them anymore, but in a profession that needed to keep time without being tracked, they were a necessity. Flare’s was gold with an orange and black leather band. “Look, I’d love to talk this out, but if I don’t do this now, I’m going to miss my window. How about we do this job together? We’ll straighten out the details later, then make Tony pay both of us.”
“Oh, I like the way you think.” She lit on the ground next to him, and cupped her hand, letting it fill with molten fire. “It would be fun to put the heat to that annoying worm.”
Wrecker’s eyes widened and he laughed. His smirk gave more of an impression of little boy mischief than hard-boiled criminality. “I do like a girl who’s a firecracker.”
Flare giggled and rolled her eyes. “Uh, bad joke.”
“You started it.” He shrugged, and let his eyes move over her costume (only the finest skin tight, bulletproof polymer in safety orange and black) before snapping back to himself and nodding towards the door. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“What, you aren’t going to offer to hold it for a lady?” She pouted and he snorted.
“If you insist, but we’ve got to hustle. I’ve got this thing timed out. The cops should be here any second, and if we’re going to keep them busy for whatever Tony has planned, we need to have hostages when they arrive.” He kicked the brick next to the door. It crumbled, and the now useless metal slab swung open. With a little bow he offered for her to go first. As she walked past, he shouted to be heard over the sudden screeching alarm. “If you want, we can go out to dinner afterwards while we figure things out. My treat.”
“Hell yes,” Flare hollered back.
Adrenaline flooded her body as she took to the air and soared into the bank, flame dripping from her hands and sizzling out on the floor. Citizens were screaming and running for the front door. She threw a fireball to herd them back towards the center of the room, setting the sprinklers off. Wrecker guarded the back hallways behind her.
Steam rose off Flare as she started to glow with heat. “Everyone get on the ground. This is a robbery!”
Sharon’s note: 200 word challenge 2 of 2. Warning: Weird whimsy. Not unlike the author.
“Stalk and slink my little cat, skulk and skitter like a rat.”
Silence, my black kitten, disappeared around the corner of a half-collapsed ticket booth. She didn’t appreciate my rhymes.
Leaving her to her own devices, I danced towards the center of the park towards the ferris wheel. Always dance when you think there are shadows nearby. It confused them, and made them think you were the wind.
Beneath the Behemoth, the still metal heart of slumbering Rifty’s World, I drew supplies out of my pockets. A seemingly normal pen (ballpoint, of course) for a wand, a handful of salt packets, an iron nail, and an inch of yellow ribbon. The ribbon didn’t do anything, it was just pretty.
“Blast, bound. All around. Disappear without a sound.” I pointed my wand to the five broken spots of the ferris wheel, ripped open the salt packets to spill the contents, and buried the nail, adding the ribbon for good measure. And that was that.
“Come, Silence,” I called, and she scrambled out from under the ticket booth so I could pick her up. “Since we vanquished the shadows, I say we reward ourselves with a cheeseburger. You may have some cheese.”
Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray