(The prompt was “tradition” this time around).
It was that time of year again.
The time to drag all the members of the household to the local graveyard and stare at the sky.
Andrin hated this tradition.
For one thing, it was freakin’ cold.
For another, it was a freakin’ graveyard.
And for the last, freakin’ Alina always hogged the freakin’ blankets.
But there was nothing for it. November 1st had come and by golly, the parental units were committed.
Our theme at the the Third Coast Writers’ blog this month was Halloween/ghost stories. I can’t write scary to save my life, so here’s my offering instead:
Frederick Crimweather Larkin was not scary.
And that was okay. Many people aren’t scary and they get through life just fine.
But that was the problem.
Frederick wasn’t a people.
Frederick was a ghost.
So I joined a blog of Texas writers and we take turns posting on Mondays. (If you want to give it a look, here’s the link: https://thirdcoastwriters.wordpress.com/) It’s helping me to at least be a little more consistent with writing, which means this blog may be updated more consistently. (Hooray!) We decided to do themes and this month’s theme is “Describe the Indescribable.” Here’s my entry:
Flowah
The place is on the verge of being too warm. A couple more people, a few more smokers, and the air’d be too close, too thick. But for now, it’s comfortable, hazy in a way that feels like contentment. Just slightly sticky tables, a couple of beers, and two blokes in a pub.
But Harry’s determined to disturb the peace. “Come now, no backing out. Give us a definition.”
“But it ain’t –“ Tom rasped, taking a moment to clear his throat. Collect his thoughts. Pull himself from dampened atmosphere. “It ain’t the kinda thing that you can describe.”
“Try.” Harry wasn’t impressed.
In honor of this creepy holiday, here’s a “spooky” short story I wrote a few years ago. 🙂
The Crumptons were your average, happy family with one boy, one girl, three dogs, a ferret, and a toad named Phillipo. They lived in a charming two story house, complete with a delightful brick fireplace. The father would work, the mother would teach her children, and the animals would wreck good-natured havoc throughout the day. They lived by routine, right down to the very sandwiches they ate for lunch, which, of course, always consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
(Image taken from: http://fm.cnbc.com/applications/cnbc.com/resources/img/editorial/2014/09/17/102010093-torn-family.1910×1000.jpg)
The door was open.
I hesitated halfway down the staircase, looking into the yawning cavern. Mom kept the door shut because you could see right into the room.
Soft reminders echoed in my ears.
“Close the door. I don’t want to see.”
“Close the door. I don’t want the reminder.”
“Close the door….just….close the door.”
ali oleary 