Paint

"What a beautiful color!"

"So deep!"

"Luscious, even!"

The prima ballerina smiled as she made her way to her dressing room.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she ignored the muffled scream of the young ingénue she had tied to her sink.

The girl's pale white skin was covered in cuts--some old and scabbing, some new and still bleeding.

Wiping the old, dull red from her lips, the prima ballerina stood up and tip toed over to the girl, the silver knife clutched in her hand.

"They love my new color," she smiled as she knelt down before the trembling girl. "But it's not quite what I'm looking for."

Without a word, she sliced the girl's throat, the bright red blood splattering her face.

Standing to look in the mirror, the prima ballerina rubbed her finger along her lips, painting them a deep, vicious red.  

She smiled. Finally, it was the perfect color.

"They'll love it."

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bloody-Ballerina-259300819

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

There's just something fun about ballerinas and twisted creepy stories. Ballet is supposed to be this beautiful, poetic performance, not twisted and wrong... but if you think about it--how the ballerinas contort their bodies and feet, maybe it isn't as perfect as we think it's supposed to be.

 

I know I'm a few days late to this writing prompt, "paint," but I immediately wanted to work with lipstick and blood (of course). Ballerinas, blood, and madness... what's not to love?!? This is starting to sound like Black Swan now...

 

Only 8 more days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

Notebook

I kneel down, trying to ignore the old rusted autopsy table beside me. It's been some time since I've been to an insane asylum; they always make me uneasy... as if the spirits of this place will recognize me as one of their own and keep me forever.

"Micah?" I can hear Kyle from down the hall.

We've only been here for a few minutes and He's already whispered in my ear to wander--my wandering has  brought me to the basement much to my dismay.

"Micah! Where'd you go?"

Kyle and his two friends come bumbling into the room. I still wish I hadn't come. There are few thing worse than rookie ghost hunters and it looks to me as if these guys just bought their equipment yesterday.

One of them shines his flashlight in my eyes. I wince. Ever since the possession, I've been sensitive to light.

"Oh," he mutters, dropping the damn thing. "Sorry."

"What'd you find?" Kyle seems oblivious to the exchange, his eyes locked on what I have in my hand.

I look down. I forgot that I picked it up.

I shrug and hand it to him. "It's a little notebook."

"This thing has got to be a hundred years old." He begins flipping through the old yellowed pages.

I don't know why He brought me down here but I always try to listen to him when he talks... it's usually a rarity. But suddenly, there is a chill in the air and I find myself wishing to be anywhere else in the world right now. Anywhere but this basement.

"Can we go?" I ask suddenly; the panic in my voice surprises me.

"It's full of names," Kyle continues to ignore everything in the room other than himself.

"It's probably just the doctor keeping records of the people who died here," Kyle's friend Garret chimes in. "We are in a morgue after all."

"Can we please go?" I raise my voice, His voice echoing my words in my head, It's time to go.

"I'm with demon girl," the third one--Jay--inches his way toward me. I hate his nickname for me, and I'm sure he wouldn't like my nickname for him--the scaredy cat. But right now, I don't care who my ally is as long as I have one. "Hello?" he calls out to his friends once more.

"Hold on a minute!" Kyle almost sounds annoyed at us. His eyes are locked on a page in the little notebook, wide and bewildered. His eyes jump up to me for a moment as He screams in my ear, GET OUT OF HERE!

Kyle shudders as if he can hear His warning too. "Your name is written in here, Micah."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Today's writing prompt was "a little notebook" and I immediately wanted to continue writing about Micah Meyers, the demon possessed girl from my October 2nd story, Brave. I haven't actually had a chance to sit down and write anything in a long time now, so this felt good to get out while dinner was cooking.

 

I also created a bunch of little spiders today! Here is the result of my second creation from yesterday... I think they enjoyed making their spooky, cooky looking crowns!

 

 

 

Only 11 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.



Boogeyman

As I lay in bed in a restless sleep, my phone buzzes, alerting me of a text message. It illuminates the otherwise dark room, blinding my eyes for a moment. I reach out for it, blinking the sleep from my eyes. It reads:

MARK:
Wake up.

"Mark, stop it," I mumble, tossing my phone back onto the bedside table.

"Stop what?" his groggy voice responds in the darkness next to me.

"Texting me..."

A moment passes and then he asks, confused, "What are you talking about?"

"You just texted me--cut it out."

"It wasn't me--"

It buzzes again.

MARK:
Can you hear me?

"Mark!"

"It's not me!" he tries to defend himself. "My phone is in the living room!"

I lay still in the bad, my eyes wide as I stare up at the ceiling as my phone buzzes once more with a message from Mark's phone.

MARK:
Come and play, Jessica.

I don't know how I find the courage to crawl out of bed but I ignore my pounding heart and my sweaty palms and I tip toe over to the door. Down the hall I can see the dim glow of a cellphone illuminated in the living room.

My phone buzzes one more time.

MARK:
I see you.

I stand frozen in fear for only a moment, my eyes daring to search the darkness of the room for whoever--or whatever--is down there. But deep down I already knew who it is... The one who lives in the shadows of the night. The one who no one sees and yet everyone fears. The one I never believed in as a little girl.

The boogeyman.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

One of the things that freaks me out the most? Dangling my foot off the bed. It feels SO GOOD but I will not risk boogeyman attack status.

 

I find the idea of the boogeyman to be so interesting. Literally all over the world, in almost every culture, there is a boogeyman--some nameless, faceless monster that will come and snatch you in the dark of the night. In the Bahamas, they have "small man" who rides a horseless cart, picking up kids who are still playing after dark. The "Ou-wu" is from China and is an old woman who steals children away. Abu Rigl Maslukha or "The Man with the Burnt Leg" is a being from Egypt that kidnaps children and eats them. Iceland has a female troll named Grýla who will eat you on Christmas Eve (she is also Santa Claus's mother) and in Russia, we have Baba Yaga an old woman who kidnaps children and eats them.

 

It's interesting that different people from all over the world with different cultures, beliefs, and traditions would all fear the same thing--a dark entity, hiding in the shadows somewhere, that will come in the night to steal you or your children away.

 

And even what we, as humans, all tend to fear is interesting. Black, sunken in eyes. Razor sharp teeth. Elongated faces. Deathly pale skin. The image in your mind is frightening as it is for most people who would sit and think about such a face. Perhaps it is evolutionarily engrained in our conscience to fear these things. Just as we fear lightning when it could mean fire or our homes burning down not so long ago. We fear violent, wild animals because in our human history that meant our family could be in danger. What about these pale beings with sunken black eyes and razor sharp teeth? What happened to the human race--what did we see--that we would all still naturally fear such a face?

 

Be sure to sleep under the covers tonight... Don't let the boogeyman get you.

 

Only 15 days until Halloween!

 

a.r.w.

Apple Pie

Dorothy cursed as the knife sliced through her finger, crimson red blood dripping down onto the perfectly flattened dough she was about to drape over the cinnamon and chopped apples.

"Apple pie," she hissed between clenched teeth, pushing the brown ringlet from her face, leaving a smear of white flour and red blood along her forehead.

It was her daughter, Bianca's, favorite--stepdaughter, her furious thoughts reminded her--as she tossed the finished pie, complete with her own blood, sweat, and tears, into the oven.

It would be hours until her new husband came home and only minutes until Bianca arrived... she was running out of time.

The house was spotless as always and Dorothy primped her hair, washed the blood from her face, fluffed her tulle petticoat, and straightened the pearls around her neck as she stood before the mirror--the only thing in that damned house to ever give her any attention.

She had married into this family--Richard had worked on the Manhattan Project nearly ten years ago and that had brought him both money and a fine paying job at the local university where he spent all of his time... the remaining time he spent at home with Bianca... Never Dorothy.

The jealousy and rage boiled up inside the housewife as she let out a scream and slammed her fist against the mirror, her twisted face even more distorted in the shards at her feet.

"Dorothy? I'm home!" the twelve year-old's voice called out through the house, making the woman ignore the blood dripping from her knuckles and bottle up her emotions once more--her rage hidden by a sweet smile.

"I'm in the kitchen!" she called out, her voice high pitched.

"Something smells delicious." The beautiful child--the object of Richard's love and affection with her pale white skin, jet black hair, and bright green eyes--entered the kitchen with a smile on her innocent face.

"Your favorite," Dorothy continued as she wiped the blood on a towel, knowing the girl was far too stupid to notice the broken mirror or the blood. With a smile she opened the oven. "Apple pie."

"With cinnamon?"

She kept smiling. "Of course."

Without another word, the girl sat down and began to devour the large slice of pie her stepmother placed on the plate before her.

"Enjoy," Dorothy whispered as she patted her stepdaughter on her head, her fingers tangling in the girl's silky smooth hair.

A moment passed--almost too long for Dorothy's liking--before Bianca hesitated and began to cough.

"Are you alright, dear?"

The fit of coughs continued as Bianca slammed her hand on the table and began gasping for air.

"Bianca?"

The girl tried to stand--to reach out to her stepmother for help--but stumbled as her legs gave out from under her, her body beginning to twitch and shake.

The woman in her pristine and perfect dress, knelt down beside the girl who began to foam at the mouth, her eyes bugging out of her head. "I thought you liked my apple pie," she said, sounding almost heartbroken. "It has cinnamon... just how you like." She paused for a moment, taking the girl's head and placing it into her lap. Stroking her hair, she added with a wicked grin, "Oh! And arsenic."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Today's writing prompt was "apple pie" and I immediately thought of Snow White and her poisoned apple. I decided to give it a 50s twist but still dark and spooky because--hey!--it's almost Halloween!

 

I think the 50s were an interesting time in American history. It was after a world war and it was seen on the outside as a epitome of utopian, ideal Americana. White picket fences, suburbia, and the perfect families where dad goes off to work, the kids go to school, and the mom stays at home keeping herself and the house perfect.

 

But in reality, how ideal, happy, and peaceful was that? I could see people growing tired of perfection and the monotony of every day. And I could see the perfect housewives scheme in their boredom.

 

So here is a twisted take on Snow White and the Evil Queen and the poisoned apple. A 1950s housewife, jealous of her stepdaughter, snaps and gives the girl a poisoned apple pie... only this time, there's no true love to come, kiss her, and wake her up. No happy ending.

 

I think the scariest thing in this world is what a human being is capable of. It's not Freddy or Jason or Michael Myers (though they are terrifyingly awesome). It's not vampires or werewolves or aliens. It's a human being who wears the mask of normalcy but deep down inside they are a monster... A demon hidden behind a perfectly painted face.

 

Only 19 days until Halloween!!

 

a.r.w.

Bewilder

"Hello?" A voice called out through the house, shattering the silence of the night. "Is there anyone here?"

Verona's eyes widened at the sound of the voice. It had been years since her parents left her all alone in this house and she had not seen or heard a soul since. The voices did not frighten her as they might have when she was a child--voices meant visitors and visitors meant that she would not spend the night alone again.

Leaping up from where she was laying on her bed, Verona ran down the hall and peered down into the darkness.

There were three young men, all dressed in black, wandering around the house, calling out... calling out to her.

"Verona, we know you're here!" the one standing in the middle--clearly the leader of the group--called out, his voice booming off the old walls.

"Who are you?" Verona asked curiously as she made her way down the stairs.

"Shh!" one of them hissed. "Did you hear something?"

"No," the other two shook their heads.

Verona let out a confused laugh as she paused in her march down the stairs.

She continued to watch the men; they seemed to be unaware of her presence.

"Hello?" she tried again.

"Okay, now I know I heard something!" the one who had heard her before shouted again as they pointed something her way. She had never seen such a contraption before.

"Verona," the leader turned towards the stairs again, his hands clasped together as if he was begging her to do something, "is that you on the stairs?"

"Yes," she grumbled; she was starting to get frustrated with these men.

"If you are here, show yourself to us."

"I'm right here!" she called out as she ran down the stairs, ignoring their outbursts of, "Did you hear that?" "It sounded like someone was walking down the stairs!"

They continued to watch the place where she had just been standing on the stairs, the black boxes and contraptions in their hands.

"What's going on?" she whispered to herself, suddenly feeling panic rise up in her chest.

She looked around her, searching for something that made sense when her eyes fell upon the mirror hanging in the entryway of her home. She gasped as her eyes locked on the face of the mirror and saw nothing of her own reflection.

Looking down at her lacy, long white dress and brown boots, she spun around to look at the three men in their black pants and shirts with sleeves that showed their arms and strange shoes on their feet that didn't resemble the black boots the other men in her town would wear.

"What--?" she let out a scream as her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed to the floor.

Behind her closed eyes she could hear the sound of the men panicking and shouting to one another. Glancing up, she spotted another one of the strange boxes in their hands lighting up as it pointed towards her. After a moment, she realized that one of the men--the one who had continued to hear her--stood before her. He didn't exactly look down at her, but she knew deep down that he knew she was there.

"Verona?" his voice was soft and smooth as he said her name. It wasn't the harsh commanding tone his friend had; he spoke to her almost as if he knew her. "I know you must be confused," he continued as he moved to kneel before her, his hands outstretched just slightly.

"It's cold around you, Jake!" one of the men behind him said. "A twenty degree difference."

The man named Jake lifted his hand just slightly as he called out to his friend, "I can feel it." Lowering his voice once more, he turned to look back at Verona. "I know you've been here, alone, for a very long time."

Tears began to blur her vision of the man in front of her. She was scared and beginning to panic. Not thinking of manners or propriety, she reached out and grabbed the man's hand, clinging to it.

"Jake, what's going on?"

But he ignored his friend's shouts of panic as he felt the cold, tingling sensation of someone--Verona--taking his hand.

"Help me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please..."

"She's scared," he said, his eyes lowered as his grip tightened on hers.

As he lifted his gaze back up, he nearly jumped as the sight of a young girl with flowing blonde hair held back with a ribbon flickered before him before she vanished behind the veil once more.

"Verona?" he whispered her name.

"Yes!" she shouted, for that seemed to be the only way to get their attention. "Yes it's me! Verona Macintosh!"

"Dude, the EMF is going crazy right now!"

She ignored the other two men and looked directly into Jake's eyes. Somehow, he seemed to find her gaze though he could no longer see her. He continued to watch her as she begged one last time, "What's going on?"

A silence continued on through the house and she began to believe that he had not heard her when suddenly his voice called out in the darkness, "We want to help you, Verona. You've been trapped here for over a hundred years--you died 115 years ago..." His voice trailed off as if he could sense her confusion and terror. "You're dead... and we want to help you move on."

Verona shivered, her eyes jumping from one young man to another. DEAD. The word had not crossed her mind as she had sat alone in her house for so many years waiting for someone--anyone--to come walking through her door.

It was almost too much to bear. Throwing her head back, Verona let out a scream of anguish, fear, and confusion. The lights flickered in the house, the mirror shattered, and the three men jumped back in fear.

After a moment when the silence returned to the house, the three men exchanged a glance before the leader muttered, "This is going to be a long night."

Verona rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. "You said it," she sighed as she looked back up at Jake... he was still looking down at her, a small smile on his face. Whether he heard her or not, she didn't know, but there was something about him that told her that he was not a liar--they were here to help her through this nightmare and she hoped that she would be able to make it through the night.

After a minute she paused and almost laughed at her thought. Of course she would survive the night. After all, she was a ghost.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

This is based off of a fun writing prompt called "a bewildering experience." To me, there is nothing more bewildering than the afterlife, ghosts, and the paranormal... especially if you are unknowingly caught in it!

 

I loved the idea of worlds colliding--modern day ghost hunters find a Victorian era ghost. I'm not sure if I'll continue this story... I am a sucker for ill-fated love stories so perhaps Jake and Verona will be able to see each other more throughout their night together and learn that love can cross barriers of time and existence.

 

October is only a few days away! That means two things:

 

1. Almost all of my posts will probably be spooky, Halloween related (what else is new?)

 

2. Work is about to get cuh-razy. They warned us that October is very busy and hectic where we'll be working most Sundays (that's one of my two days off and my other day off is usually taken up with teacher meetings... Boo....). It is my hope that I can still create and post something every day but if I miss a day here or there, please forgive me.

 

a.r.w.

Fireflies

It was a long time ago. I don't remember exactly how old we were. I was maybe ten or eleven? My brother was still alive... he was probably five or six.

Back then, summers didn't last too long--those hot, humid nights were a rarity; the sun still kissing the horizon at ten o'clock at night. "Be back before it's dark," that was our dad's only rule in the summer and we always followed that rule... well, almost always.

It was one of those magically long days--as if the world was holding its breath, frozen, holding off the night as long as possible.

As we began to slowly make our way back home, little specks of light began to wink at us.

"Lightning bugs!" my brother shouted in excitement, jumping up and down as he broke away from me and ran after them.

I knew I should have shouted after him, called him back so we would make it back home before the sun set. I should have. But I didn't. And I am so thankful for that.

"Wait for me!" I called out instead as I leapt into the field and ran after him.

We leapt through the air, gently cupping our hands together as we tried to catch the fireflies. We made a game out of it.

"I got one!"

"That's six for me!"

"Ha! Eight! I'm winning again!"

We let the little bugs crawl along our arms and fingers, their green light illuminating our faces and smiles.

A whistle cut through the silence of the night--our dad was standing on the porch, calling out to us.

"We should go," I sighed begrudgingly. "Dad's going to be pretty mad."

"Wait, sisso!" He grabbed my arm and pulled me down. I watched him as he picked something out of my hair. "He was stuck," he said softly as his hands gently cupped the blue glow of the firefly.

"Blue?" I was just as confused as he was as our eyes locked on the strange glow coming from between his fingers.

Slowly, he opened his hands and we stood in awe of what he held.

It was no firefly, I can tell you that. I don't know what you would call it... but it was no bug. It was far too extraordinary to be just a bug. I couldn't see past the blinding blue glow... all I could make out was a pair of wings like a dragonfly's and a pair of eyes that locked with mine for just a moment before it leapt from my brother's palm and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

"A faerie!" my brother gasped, his eyes searching the sky.

The very idea made me smile.

We never told our parents why we were late--what we were doing and what we had seen. And I'll never know if my brother truly believed that he held a faerie in his hands. But I can never shake the feeling of magic at that one moment in my life.

The few people I've told have laughed at me and either called me crazy or imaginative. But their laughter means nothing to me--it can't even compare to the vision in my mind of my brother's face illuminated by a blue glow, wonderment shining in his eyes.

Whether what we saw that night was a faerie, I may never know for sure. But a night of chasing fireflies with your little brother is just as real and just as magical... and just as precious to me.

http://quit007.deviantart.com/art/The-Fast-And-Furious-Fairy-109395698

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It's been a while since I've written anything (and NaNoWriMo is getting closer and closer)! I found a new website that has some great writing prompts--especially for fantasy writers--and this one jumped out at me right away: Out catching fireflies on their family's farm on a hot summer evening, two little girls accidentally capture a faerie instead.

 

I changed it up a bit to make it more "me" replacing two girls with a brother and a sister (shock shock).

 

I've always had a fascination with faeries. I put them in the same category as ghosts and paranormal occurrences. Paranormal just means something is beyond our realm of understanding--it's not normal. Just because we can't understand it, explain it, or always see it, doesn't mean it isn't real. I am a firm believer in faeries because... WHY NOT?!?!?

 

When I was a little girl, I did have a strange experience down by the creek at the end of our street behind the playground. I was playing down by the water (which I admit I was not allowed to do) with my neighbor and best friend at the time when I slipped and fell into the water. I sat there for a minute, stunned and embarrassed when something caught my eye. It was a fish swimming around by my feet and as I continued to watch it, it jumped out of the water and hovered in front of my face for a moment before flying away. I've never seen anything like that before or since but, to me, that was the only proof I needed to know that faeries are very much real... we just don't always know where to look for them.

 

I think that there is magic in our everyday lives. It all depends on how you look at the world. It's like that Roald Dahl quote, "Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." If you look at the world knowing it's just brimming with magic, you will see it everywhere you look whether its the profile of a sleeping mountain, sunlight hitting the wings of flying bugs just right, or a summer night long ago when you don't know if you were holding a bug in your hand... or a faerie.

 

I choose magic and I hope that your life is touched by it too.

 

a.r.w.

Birthplace

“This is madness!"

The fae continued to lean back against the tree, watching his queen pace back and forth, oblivious to the fact that the hem of her white skirt was now covered in mud.

They called her the Bastard Beauty in this small, godforsaken town and they were right—she was indeed beautiful with her curly chestnut brown hair, bright green eyes, and dark skin. Her beauty was not of this world—he knew that and it was high time she had accepted it too.

“I do believe that is the ninth time you have said that word in the last hour.”

She stopped in her marching to turn and glare at the dark man before her—his skin was as pale as the moonlight and his hair as dark as the night.

“What did you say your name was, again?”

He just smiled at her ferocity. She was indeed the lost queen—no one else could speak to him in such a way and live to tell the tale. “Korzaeleous.”

“Odd name,” she muttered under her breath.

“Not where I’m from,” he declared as he pushed away from the tree and sauntered over to stand before the girl.

She eyed him suspiciously as she took a step back. “And where is that exactly?”

A lazy smile appeared on his perfectly handsome face… a smile that sent a shiver up her spine. “The same place that you came from…” His voice trailed off as he held his hand out to her. “Would you like to see?”

There was something about him. How she wanted to trust him, but every inch of her body told her to pick up her skirts and flee—get as far away from him as she could… for there was something wrong with him.

“Evelyn.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her take another step back, her eyes wide in fright. “How do you—“

“I know much more than just your name, my lady.” He bowed his head ever so slightly, his eyes begging her to take his hand and listen to what he had to say.

She did not doubt his words. She had caught glimpses of him throughout her life—always hidden in the shadows, always present, always unchanging.

As she thought back to his face throughout her life, she shivered, remembering her less than happy childhood. It had been filled with snide remarks, glares, rumors, and sadness. She was the Bastard Beauty. But that had been the kind name for her. In the darkness of the night, she would hear her father utter the cursed word “changeling.” And from the fear she spotted in the other villager’s eyes, that was what they really thought of her—not a bastard child but a monster from another world.

Another world.

Ever so slowly, she placed her hand in his and waited until his fingers wrapped tightly around hers. His smile widened as he turned to lead her deeper into the forest.

“Where exactly are we going?” she wondered curiously after a few minutes of silence.

“The place of your birth,” he said simply without turning around to look at her as if it was the most
obvious answer. He continued on before she could ask another question, “I was sent here eighteen years ago to watch over you and make sure that nothing happened to you.”

She bit her tongue. She had grown so tired of fighting with everyone in her life—she was no changeling; faeries were nothing more than old stories from a time before reason and logic. But the things this Korzaeleous knew about her, the fact that she knew she had seen him time and time again throughout her life, made her think that maybe—just maybe—there was some truth to the stories of the Old Ways.

Korzaeleous stopped in his determined march at the edge of a small clearing. The sun shone through the canopy of the forest, illuminating the grass of the forest floor. Evelyn gasped at the sight. At the center of the pool of sunlight was a perfect circle of mushrooms.

Tales from her childhood came back to her in an instant. “A faerie ring.”

Korzaeleous smiled at her.

Taking a step forward, he pulled her along behind him. “Are you ready?”

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was ready for, but looking back and forth between the fae and the ring, she slowly nodded her head.

Ushering her with his hand on the small of her back, he whispered smoothly, his eyes still locked on her face as if he was waiting for her to turn and run, “Ladies first.”

All her life she had been told to stay away from the rings—they were dangerous, portals to another world… the World of the Fae. But for the first time in her life, she did not fear the ring of mushrooms.

Looking back to the man one final time, she took a breath and stepped forward.

“Stop!”

Evelyn stumbled, caught around the waist by a man dressed all in white, a hood hiding his face.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, kicking her legs wildly like an animal caught in a trap.

As she looked around, she could see the forms of six other men dressed in white and Korzaeleous donned in black in the middle of the hoard.

With a swing of the sword tied to his waist, two of the men were down on the ground—their white garb suddenly covered in crimson blood. And within the blinking of her eyes, Evelyn was free of the man’s grip and running behind Korzaeleous through the forest, traveling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

“Who were those men?” she screamed out, her mind catching up with the moment and suddenly entering into a panic.

“Men from the Darren,” Korzaeleous growled as he paused to find his way. “They work for the Church and hunt down and destroy anything that has to do with our world.”

“What do you mean?” Evelyn was thankful for the chance to catch her breath.

Glancing over his shoulder, he looked down at her. “Magic.”

Evelyn lowered her eyes.

This morning she had been Evelyn Osmond. A normal girl living in a normal world, preparing to wed her normal fiancé. But the moment Korzaeleous kicked in her bedroom door and dragged her out to the forest, she realized that her life was now anything but normal. She knew that. He knew that. And it looked like these men—the Darren—knew it too.

Korzaeleous sighed, his hand still holding tightly to Evelyn’s in fear of losing her. “This might be a bit trickier than I thought.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Today's writing prompt was "place of birth." I've found that I've been drawing a lot more than writing here on this blog so I wanted to force myself to write something today (after all, there's only 43 days until NaNoWriMo!!).

This is a story that has been hidden in my head for about two years now. A young girl from the turn of the 20th century. A young fae who is ordered to protect her. A secret order whose only purpose is to destroy magic. Meet Evelyn and Korzaeleous.

I'm hoping to one day write this story out and explain why we no longer believe in magic in today's day and age. But for now, here is their first encounter with one another, the truth of Evelyn's identity, and the mysterious Darren.

a.r.w.

"Where were you last night?"

"Where were you last night?” Kristine asked as she stared deeply into Justine’s wide green eyes, holding the girl captive under her gaze.  “You were supposed to meet me here.” Justine watched as Kristine’s face changed as she realized the truth behind the girl’s absence. She added with a sneer, “Did you go to see him?”

The two girls were identical—almost like looking into a mirror. Each had long blonde hair that was pulled into a high ponytail off of their face, pale skin, and each wore an identical pure white gown. The only difference between the two girls was their eyes. Justine’s eyes were bright green and full of life; Kristine’s were blank and dead, almost as if the very life had been sucked from her many years ago. Perhaps it was this place that had done it to her… or her own cruel spirit.

Justine nervously played with her white gown with her fingers.

She couldn’t make herself look up and meet her sister’s eyes. There was something about the other girl that terrified her. She knew that she needed to go see him even if it might hurt Kristine.

She tried to find her voice but it was lost somewhere deep down inside her--trapped. Justine quickly changed the subject, not wanting to fight with her sister.

“How’s mom doing?”

Kristine just stared at her sister. She didn’t move to answer.

Justine just lowered her eyes. It was clear Kristine was mad at her and wouldn't answer her question as punishment.

She missed their mother. It had been years since she had come to visit.

Justine nervously looked around her room. There wasn’t much in the room. The walls were white washed and the tile floor was cold beneath her slippered feet. She had a small bed in which she spent her nights alone, a mirror, and a desk in which she wrote letters to her friends and loved ones… Though they never wrote back.

Kristine finally sighed. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Justine could feel her stomach drop. “What is it?"

Kristine just bit her lip, refusing to tell her anymore.

“What is it?” Justine could hear her voice grow louder. Something had happened to their mother, she just knew it. That’s why she hadn’t written her back. That’s why she hadn’t come to visit. “Tell me!”

“Fine, fine.” Her sister rolled her eyes, seemingly entertained by the girl’s outburst. She looked pointedly at Justine. “But promise you won’t go all crazy when I tell you.”

Through clenched teeth, Justine closed her eyes and whispered, “What is it?”

“She’s dead, Justine."

Her words cut through Justine like a knife.

Silence. Justine simply sat there in silence. Dead silence.

“What, what….. what do you mean—dead?” she asked in a hushed, hoarse voice.

“Just what I said.” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as if she was simply talking about the weather. “She committed suicide. She’s gone, Justine.”

“No! No, I… I won’t believe it! She wouldn’t… “ Justine began to scream, covering her ears trying to block out the horrible words that had just entered her mind... had begun to eat away at her. “Why?” she asked in a hushed tone as she began to rock back and forth.

“I guess she was ashamed of you… Following in dad’s footsteps and all.”

Justine’s eyes grew blurry as tears began to fall down her flushed, blotched cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to bring herself some sense of comfort.

“Are you going to be okay?” Kristine asked suddenly in a worried tone.

Both sisters raised their heads to look into each other’s eyes and their hands met, palm to palm. Kristine was crying as well. Silent tears streaming down her face.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Justine. You’ll see,” she promised the girl with a reassuring smile.

Justine just nodded, silently. Kristine always knew what was best. She was right—everything would turn out fine.

*~*~*~*~*~*

JUSTINE BADWELL Room 62C: Willard Mental Hospital

“How is she, doctor?” the nurse asked the man standing outside the door looking in through the small window.

“I don’t know." He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. "She was late to her appointment last night. I finally told her that her mother had committed suicide the other day. It’s the same as when her fiancé died… she’s begun to talk to herself in the mirror again.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

This was a fun little writing prompt  from about seven years ago in my high school creative writing class and it was one of the first times I chose to take the spooky route with a prompt. I found it on my computer today and decided to rewrite it, update it, and make it a tad bit better and not so high school-y.

 

I'm going to keep the spookiness coming! I hope you enjoy...

 

a.r.w.

He was here

I'll admit: I've always been intrigued by spiritual things. My friend, Tasha, liked to use the word paranormal at least six times a day and her obsession rubbed off on me at an early age. It started innocently enough: I would watch Beetlejuice and Are You Afraid of the Dark? on TV as a kid; at slumber parties we would play "light as a feather, stiff as a board," pass around an invisible baby without dropping it, and look into the mirror and dare to whisper "Bloody Mary;" and by the time we entered high school we were creeping through cemeteries late at night and breaking into old abandoned buildings on the weekends, hunting for ghosts. It was all innocent--good fun. At least that's what I always told myself to feel better about the whole thing.

But things changed when I came home to visit on Columbus Day weekend after the start of my first semester away at college.

It was the best time of year--Fall. The days are still long enough to enjoy but there's a crispness to the air. The leaves are changing on the trees and just starting to fall, adding a nice crunch to your step.

Pumpkins and other spooks had begun to appear on people's porches and I stood among the ghosts and scarecrows with my leggings and big, comfy boots and a scarf wrapped around my neck as I waited for Tasha and our other friend Cassie.

"There she is!"

I turned around at the sound of Tasha's high pitched scream as she scampered across the street to me.

The three of us collided into the biggest hug possible. This had been the first time in twelve years that we had been separated for more than a week--the one time Cassie's parents took her down to Disney World. We all went away for college now and sometimes e-mail and Skype just aren't enough.

"How the hell are you?" Cassie could barely stop herself from giggling.

"Great now!" I tried to catch my breath and let my heart settle as I looked at my two best friends. It had only been a month and yet we had all changed so much--we'd grown up. My eyes grew wide as I looked closer at Tasha. "You dyed your hair!"

"And you've gained some weight!"

I stuck my tongue out at her. It was true, the all you can eat buffet at my school had not been kind to my thighs.

"Alright!" Tasha declared, her voice loud enough to echo down the street. "We have three days and two nights together. What mayhem can we bring down on this town?"

*******

 

Our definition of mayhem had definitely mellowed out since our high school days. We spent that afternoon at an old book store looking to add to our neverending "to read" list and our night was spent at my house where we drank boxed wine my mom bought us, eating pizza puffs, popcorn, and twizzlers and watching all of our favorite Halloween movies (Hocus Pocus being at the top of the list... obviously). Saturday my mom took us apple picking and that night we met up with some of our old high school band mates to check out the haunted houses at the local amusement park. And by Sunday night, we were disappointed to find that our old shenanigans seemed to have died out with entering into the "real world."

 

"No EVP sessions." Cassie shook her head in disappointment. "No breaking and entering!"

 

"You are aware that that just sounds horrible, right?" I felt the need to point out. We knew that was what we did but we never said it out loud!

 

"The scariest thing we did was that stupid haunted house last night!" she continued on without hearing me. "And let's be honest--chainsaws are just not scary anymore! Every haunted house in the history of the universe has had a cheap jump scare with a chainsaw at some point. It's like clockwork!"

 

"Well how about this?"

 

We both turned to look at Tasha who was holding up a large, tan box.

 

My eyes grew wide as I spotted the image of two pairs of hands and large letters spelling out O-U-I-J-A. "Tash?"

 

"Where did you get that?" Cassie asked, her voice sharing just about the same amount of nerves as mine.

 

"I found it at the bookstore the other day. Look how old the box is! It's got to be from the 60s or 70s!" Her eyes were wide with excitement as she opened the box and poured the contents out on the floor.

 

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whispered. For some reason, I wasn't thrilled with the idea that my friend had brought a Ouija board into my house. I'd seen enough paranormal investigation shows to know that they were nothing but trouble.

 

"Oh come on!" She rolled her eyes at me as Cassie sat down beside her, unfolding the board. "Where's the Liz I know who's up for anything?"

 

I looked down at the board, covered in numbers and letters, a sun and a moon, and the words YES, NO, and GOODBYE. Something in me whispered to run away but my curiosity wanted to know just what the Ouija board was all about. Part of me thought it was just a trick... but another part of me knew it was all too real.

 

"And besides--don't you want to talk to your dad?"

 

I glared down at her, hating her for mentioning my dad. It had been six months since he had passed away in a car accident. The thought had crossed my mind so many times--calling out to him, trying to make a connection. So many times I started an EVP session alone in my room only to stop before I could say anything, afraid I wouldn't hear him.

 

The possibility of making contact with my dad was just enough to convince me to sit down beside Tasha as she placed the planchette in the middle of the board.  

 

Without a word, the three of us placed the tips of our fingers on the plastic planchette and waited.

 

Tasha took in a deep breath before calling out in a loud voice, "Is there anybody here with us?"

 

A moment passed just long enough to convince me that nothing would happen when suddenly I felt the planchette twitch beneath my fingers.

 

"Stop that," I hissed at Tasha.

 

Her mouth had fallen open as the planchette began to slowly and gracefully circle the board. "I'm not doing anything!"

 

"You're making it move." I had no desire to deal with her theatrics today, "Stop it."

 

"That's not me!"

 

"Guys!" Cassie shushed us both. We followed her gaze to where the planchette had come to rest.

 

YES.

 

"Oh my god." I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I do not want to be here right now."

 

"Relax. You're fine." Tasha rolled her eyes at me.

 

"Isn't this what we wanted?" Cassie pointed out, trying to be a bit kinder than Tasha.

 

"Is it you, Mr. Christy?"

 

We watched in silence as our fingers floated over to NO.

 

I didn't think it was possible, but my heart broke just a bit more. I wanted to toss the board across the room and be done with all of this but my thoughts were interrupted by Tasha's next question:

 

"Are you a ghost?"

 

Our fingers moved altogether in a wide circle before landing back again on NO.

 

 My stomach dropped. Not a ghost?

 

"I wonder if they don't know they're dead?" Tasha exclaimed. She was a bit too excited for my taste. It was as if she didn't even realize how hard it was for me to sit here, knowing that we weren't talking to my dad. "Are you dead?" She turned her eyes down to the board.

 

NO.

 

The questions went on and on as my palms grew sweaty and my head began to pound from the stress of the answers to the questions.

 

YES.

YES.

23

VERMONT.

NO.

GIRL.

NOT HUMAN.

YES.

 

Finally, Tasha asked, "What is your name?"

 

I softly read the letters out loud as the planchette floated across the board, "B... E... L... I... A... L..."

 

"Belial?" Tasha furrowed her brow and shrugged her shoulders. "What kind of name is that?"

 

"I don't know." I shook my head. "It's not English." It was a weird name... and there was something about it that made my skin crawl.

 

"How many people are in the room?" Cassie tried to ask a question, her confidence rising.

 

Around and around it floated... 

 

4

 

"Four?" Cassie shook her head. She looked across the board at me in confusion. "There must be some mistake..." 

 

As her voice trailed off and her eyes moved to look over my head, I could feel something there--standing behind me. I don't know how and I don't know what it was but all the hairs on my neck stood up on end. There was a weight to my shoulders. And I swear to you, I felt someone or something breathing on my hair.

 

Tasha must have seen it too because her courage vanished in the blink of an eye. "Okay, thank you very much. Goodbye," she almost screamed as she pushed the planchette away from us and kicked the board with her foot. In an instant, whatever was standing behind me was gone--it's absence was painfully obvious as I fell back onto the floor, panting.

 

"What the hell was that?" Cassie cried out, tears in her eyes.

 

I continued to lay on the floor. It felt as though any and all strength I could have had within me had been sucked out of me; I was too weak to lift my head up to look at my friends. I was cold and my hands were shaking. I laid on the carpet for awhile, I think... I don't really remember. When I finally moved to sit back up, I looked over at Tasha who was on her phone, her face pale and eyes wide.

 

"What is it, Tash?"

 

She remained silent for a moment--it seemed as though she was absorbing something that her mind could not comprehend.

 

"Tash?" Cassie shook her shoulder gently.

 

"Tasha!" I shouted, throwing a pillow at her to snap her out of whatever trance her phone had placed on her.

 

She blinked her eyes and looked up at us. "Huh?"

 

"What is it?" I pointed to her phone.

 

She drew in a shaking breath and when she spoke, her voice trembled. "I just looked up what Belial was."

 

The silence we waited in was almost enough to drive me crazy.

 

"And?" I demanded to know what it was that had stood behind me.

 

She blinked and tears fell from her eyes. The confident, brave, and slightly obnoxious girl I had known almost my entire life had just been destroyed by whatever that word meant. Burying her face in her hands, she screamed, "It's the devil!"

 

The two of us just sat back in stunned silence and watched our friend descend into a wave of tears and hysteria.

 

The devil.

 

Satan.

 

Lucifer.

 

He had so many names and yet I had never heard Belial until that day. I felt as though I was in a daze--a bizarre dream that I just couldn't get out of no matter how hard I told myself it was nothing more than a dream.

 

We've only told a few people of what we did that night and almost all of them have laughed at us and told us that it wasn't true--Ouija boards are just a spooky game you play around Halloween to try and scare your friends.

 

Even now, Cassie is convinced that either Tash or I played a trick on her. She's convinced herself that she didn't see anything standing behind me... We haven't talked in a few years now.

 

Tasha believes. She was destroyed that night--shaken to her very core. She started going to church twice a week. I think that's the only place she feels safe.

 

And as for me... I haven't been able to get over what happened that night. I can still feel the jolt of electricity coursing through my body, making my hair stand on end. I can still feel that immense weight and the feeling of someone's breath on my hair. I can't forget that or tell myself it didn't happen because it did. Because he was here, in my bedroom, standing right behind me. And in some ways, I don't think he'll ever leave.

http://identifyed-khaos.deviantart.com/art/Project-365-Day-46-204540630

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Today's fantastic writing prompt was "_____ was here." Oh the possibilities were endless! My mind instantly filled in the blank with "he was here" and I immediately started thinking of creepy ways to make this happen.

 

Now I think that Ouija boards are a lot like communism: as an idea, it works, but in practice maybe not so much. Now I know many people are against the idea of "talking to the dead." Psychics, EVPs (electronic voice phenomena), and Ouija boards are all seen as ways of talking to the dead and many people see that as evil. I've always been a little spooked out by the idea of trying to make a connection with the dead... until Jed died. Now, I talk to the dead all the time. I talk to Jed all throughout my day, I write him letters, and I keep my relationship going with him. Is a sister talking to her little brother evil? It's just something to ponder, I guess...

 

And it makes you start to think, what would someone do to be able to talk to a loved one again? Would you go to a medium? Would you write letters like I do? Would you dare play with a Ouija board? All in the hopes of reaching out to your loved one... just to see if they are okay and missing you just as much as you are missing them.

 

Now I've never been brave enough (or stupid enough?) to play with a Ouija board and I can tell you now: I never will. They creep me out. Every paranormal show I watch says the same thing:

 

STAY AWAY FROM OUIJA BOARDS!!

 

So many different people have said that these boards act as a doorway from world to world and sometimes things come through that we don't understand and can't control...

 

Of course, the science end of things says that this is all just a bunch of hocus pocus... but isn't life a bit more fun with some magic and mystery?

 

a.r.w.

in my room

it's dark and cold
what's left of my candles
illuminates my world
in my room

i use my nails to track the days
etched into the stone--
three thousand six hundred and one--
in my room

only one meal a day
warm broth and a piece of bread
a banquet all for me
in my room

i lay on the floor
my hair weighs me down
i am a prisoner to my bed
in my room

the clouds floating by
the stars illuminating the night
i can see them all from where i lay
in my room

mother says it is dangerous
the world is a cruel place
i will be safe here
in my room

i remain here
trapped
but my mind cannot be held
in my room

i dream
i imagine a place full of light and love
a life beyond the window
in my room

a sweet prince
to climb up and rescue me
he shall stand, beautiful
in my room

we will dance
we will kiss
we will love
in my room

he shall be king
and i his queen
this shall all be a nightmare, lying here
in my room

i hear a call
it is mother... not my prince at all
and my thoughts return to me
in my room

i pray to a god
that never answers me
i think i will die here, alone
in my room

a.r.w.

 

 

Raven

"Who is she?"

"Where? Who?"

Garrick continued to gaze across the overly crowded, dimly lit pub at the young woman who had just entered the room. As a soldier for hire, he had seen his fair share of both pubs and women but there was something special--something odd--about this one; something drew him to her and her raven black eyes.

"I've never seen her before in my life," his drunken companion, Huxley, shook his head, dumbfounded.

Standing up, he spilled what little remained of his mead. "I must know who she is!" he declared with unabashed confidence.

The woman continued to slither through the hoard of people, her black eyes every so often flashing up to meet his own. Her stare seemed to paralyze him, make his legs grow weak, and his heart quicken pace.

A small coquettish smile from her was all he needed to follow her out into the night.

The hubbub of the pub was silenced behind him as he closed the door and the silence of the night enveloped him... suddenly he could hear everything--the hoot of an owl, the chirping of the crickets, and footsteps coming up behind him.

"There you are," he sighed as he wrapped his arm around the raven eyed woman.

She returned his embrace, her fiery red hair falling freely down her back, distracting all eyes from the simplicity of her grey dress with stains and tears.

Her lips found his and he was taken aback by her tenacity... but only for a moment. Tightening his grip, he deepened their kiss, losing himself in the darkness of the night... and in her eyes.

Pulling back for a moment to try and catch his breath and congratulate himself on what luck he seemed to have had that night, he wondered out loud, "Tell me: what is your name?"

There was that irresistible smile again. "Adelinde." Her voice was deep and smooth, not at all like he was expected after spending years with girls and their high pitched, bell-like voices.

"Adelinde," he tested the sound of her name on his lips... for he hoped he would be saying it again. "What brings you out on such a cold night?" He rubbed her arms. Despite the chill in the air, she felt as though she was on fire. His eyes grew wide with fright as he looked down at her. "Are you ill? You're burning up!"

She laughed for a moment, seeming to enjoy watching his concern over her. When she answered him, she ignored any of his fears of fever. "I came here looking for you."

It took Garrick a moment to listen to what she was saying to him. Furrowing his brow, he tilted his head to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

"You asked why I came here tonight." She shrugged her shoulders. "I came here to find you."

"M-me?" he stuttered, suddenly feeling unnerved looking into her black eyes--he could not see his reflection in her eyes... only a deep darkness that seemed to be older than time itself. Suddenly, her raven eyes were not so beautiful anymore. Forcing himself to sound braver than he felt at the moment, he puffed up his chest and demanded to know, "What the hell are you?"

She threw her head back and laughed once more.

Garrick watched in horror as the beautiful nymph before him ripped through her simple dress and twisted, wrenched, and contorted into the image of a terrifying beast, taller than the pub, and emanating a heat as hot as hell.

"Good god," Garrick cursed as his eyes took in the terrifying sight of the monster before him.

"I've been looking for you, dragon slayer," the creature's voice thundered through the night; Garrick could feel her words echo in his chest. "Now that I know where to find you, I'm sure our paths will cross again."

The wind from her enormous wings pumping up and down sent Garrick flying back onto the ground. Hitting his head on a rock, he blinked, forcing the stars from his vision as someone behind him screamed in fright, "A dragon!"

But before the alarm could sound, she was gone. The raven eyed girl disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving Garrick with only a kiss on his lips and her promise to return for him... someday.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The writing prompt for today was "raven." I was planning on going the expected route and writing a story from a raven's POV of the world. But then as I brainstormed in my mind, I thought, what if the raven isn't an object but a way to describe something or someone... and so Adelinde and her eyes were born.

I've been writing a few short stories with these two characters over the last year or so. They have a funny relationship that goes back and forth between friends and lovers but here, in their first encounter, it looks like they're more enemies than friends!

This was just a quick little story I came up with after a long day of work and a promo at Burger King (work on a Saturday... GASP!). I hope you enjoyed meeting Garrick and Adelinde... I'm sure they'll be making appearances again and again.

a.r.w.