Hello All – Thank you so much for your support. I will be taking a brief break to deal with some health issues, but I promise to return soon. I’ll still be around to read my favorite blogs and leave comments, I just think I need a little time to recharge.
See all of you soon!
-Jenn
“Come on! Let’s go in!” Andrew tugged on her arm painfully, but her feet were planted on the ground. She looked at the brown weeds sprouting up through the cracks in the sidewalk, the vast parking lot, sprawling and expanding around them like a gray, concrete ocean. The empty mall had been sitting there, an abandoned eyesore, for years, since Mona was a little girl. The town had no idea what to do with the space and no investor would touch it. So it sat, and the stories began to swirl. The murders that had supposedly taken place there, the girls who’d slowly started going missing in the years since the mall had been abandoned, the body found buried in a shallow grave, the madman that supposedly lived there in one of the desolate anchor stores. It made for great scary stories at sleepovers when she and her friends were little, but Mona had never taken the rumors seriously. It was just a hiding place for homeless people and a spot for losers to get high.
Andrew tugged on her arm again, flashing that lopsided smile, and she remembered why her mother had warned her about him. He took her hand and she squeezed it as tightly as she could as she followed him inside, crawling through a gaping hole in a wall that faced a deserted side alley.
The lights were still on. She could hear the hum of the electricity all around her, despite the fact that the floor was littered with shattered glass, dirty sleeping bags, and trash. Every fixture had been ripped from the walls and ceiling, signs hung crookedly around them. “Welcome Back!” A banner screamed, brushing her arm as she walked past trepidatiously.
“This place is super creepy, Drew. Let’s just go,” Mona pleaded, trying to pull him back. He didn’t stop, just kept dragging her forward.
“I have something I want to show you. It’s just around the corner.”
They ducked into one of the abandoned stores. It was dark and Mona found herself longing for the well-lit corridor, spooky as it was. There was a shadowy figure curled up in the corner, laying against the wall. He stood as they approached. As they grew closer, she could see the strange look in his eyes, the knife gleaming slightly in the sparse light that escaped from the hallway. Andrew’s grip on her arm tightened; it was no longer safe, reassuring. He was restraining her.
The stories were true.
I have a strange obsession with creepy abandoned malls, which sadly there are many of in certain parts of the U.S. Enjoy the video if you’re interested!
Silent screams. The party goes on.
He rode up on a dark horse this morning, just as the sun rose through the line of trees that faced the house. I was on the front porch, wiping sweat from my brow as I sat in a rocking chair. I needed a rest. I’d been working all night.
He told me I didn’t have to worry any longer, that I was safe. He would take me far away from this squalid house, my unfulfilling marriage. He was going to rescue me.
Then his eyes widened as he saw the deep, brownish-red stains on my white apron, the perspiration on my face, the hole dug at the edge of the property. The sun shone in the window of my house, illuminating what was lying on the floor of the front parlor. He blanched as he looked back at me with eyes full of fear, not pity, for once, and my chest swelled.
I don’t need rescuing.
He’d insisted on arriving by helicopter. Helicopter! She stood on the roof dutifully, at a safe distance from the helipad, her honey-blond locks whipping around her face. Her boss, Ed, the station manager, sighed deeply. He was as annoyed as she.
Finally, the helicopter touched down and Ron emerged, wearing a flashy suit in a color that could only be described as neon tangerine. His hair, held in place by layers of hairspray, didn’t move as he walked toward them with a swagger.
He greeted Ed first, ignoring Veronica’s extended hand.
“Can you get me a coffee, honey?” Ron asked, not bothering to look at her.
Her eyes narrowed. She ignored his request and decided to head inside. “I’ll see you at six.”
“Wait, what?!” Ron yelled after her. “YOU’RE my co-anchor? YOU’RE going to read MY news??? But you’re a…a…”
She smiled tightly. “Let’s stay classy, Ron.” She disappeared inside the building as Ron stared after her, dumbfounded.
“I’m going to marry that woman,” he said, to no one in particular.
For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The picture prompt this week reminded me of the opening scene of one of my all-time favorite movies, Anchorman.
I can’t go inside. Andrea parked in front of her friend’s home, watching the silhouettes move behind the curtains.
Kent moved out a week ago. She twisted the gold band on her finger nervously. There was nothing shameful about being single. Nothing at all. She just couldn’t handle the questions, the pity in everyone’s eyes. Not today.
The curtains moved. She’d been seen. She had to get out of the car.
Kent answered the door. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, extending his arms. She hugged him tightly, thankful, at least, for his friendship.
The Moral Mondays prompt this week is THERE IS NO “I” IN TEAM.
Not guilty. Eyes closed. Her face.
It was premiere night and Zoey was nervous. Her new movie, a remake of Jaws, was already getting panned by critics. It’d seemed like a good career move. Quality roles for actresses of color were rare, plus her character delivered the movie’s iconic line, We’re gonna need a bigger boat. But, the backlash was swift. Twitter was bombarded with hatred – racist memes, messages, videos – all targeting her. She hadn’t left her home for days.
The car stopped. She wiped her wet eyes and emerged with a luminous smile. The fans were calling her name.
For Friday Fictioneers.
Inspired by the most recent attack on the actress and comedian, Leslie Jones.
The hundreds-year-old tree between the two houses was the only one still alive who knew how it all began. Past residents of those houses, Ruby and Dottie, had stood under its wavering, winter-bare branches years ago and argued about some trivial, forgettable, nonsense. Each woman, seething with rage, had marched inside and told their respective husbands not to speak to anyone next door again.
Ruby and Dottie were gone now. It was Ruby’s four-year-old great-great-granddaughter, Pearl, who decided to defy her mother and venture to the other side of the tree. Leaning against its trunk was Sam, Dottie’s great-great-grandson, who was absentmindedly playing with a pocket-watch he’d found in his attic. There was a folded note inside. Before the children could open it, the wind picked it up and carried it away. It was in Dottie’s handwriting, addressed to Ruby, and bore only the words, I’m sorry.
The watch forgotten, Sam and Pearl laughed and chased each other around the base of the tree, as she sighed with relief and showered them with blooms.
Read Part 1 – Calla
Read Part 2 – Tower
Read Part 3 – Beast
Read Part 4 – Rose
Read Part 5 – Quest
Read Part 6 – Banished
Read Part 7 – Transformation
Calla hated hospitals. She’d spent a good part of her childhood in them during the years her father was ill. He died when she was thirteen. A week after the funeral, when the phone had stopped ringing, when the neighbors had stopped coming by, when the house was closed-in and empty, stinking of days-0ld casseroles and wilting flowers, she poured herself a drink. A whiskey. Her mother was distracted by her grief, inconsolable, locked in her bedroom. The alcohol was like fire going down Calla’s throat, but she drank every drop. When the glass was empty, she poured another. And another. After she finished the bottle, she felt this delicious oblivion, like nothing could ever hurt her again. She fell in love with the feeling, chasing it desperately for the next decade. Her mother had tried, for years, to drag her back from it, to save her, but the pull was too strong.
Now Calla sat in another hospital, waiting for news of Edgar. Catherine was beside her, her legs jittering nervously, her steely eyes facing the doorway of the waiting room. She’d advised Edgar against having the surgery. She’d spent the past few months trying to talk him out of it, but he was determined. Even with the growth removed his face still wouldn’t look normal. There was much work to do. But this was the biggest hurdle.
Ash snoozed away in the baby seat at her feet. All of their things, the ones she wanted to take with her anyway, were packed away in the trunk of her car in the parking lot. Edgar had gifted her with a shiny new BMW a month before, thinking she was so far under his control that she’d never dare drive beyond the town’s limits. How wrong he’d been. She said her goodbyes him earlier as he laid in his hospital bed, right before they’d taken him into surgery. Catherine had just left the room, leaving Edgar and Calla to sit in silence, the only sound being Ash happily gurgling in Calla’s arms.
“I would have helped you, you know,” Calla blurted out. Edgar’s head whipped around. He looked at her, startled.
“What do you mean?”
“I would have been a friend to you. I would have agreed to help you.” She wiped away a tear. “I was so lonely then. That’s what I was thinking about that day, at the exact moment you grabbed me, how lonely I was. How sick I was of being alone. I would have killed for anyone, a stranger, to just…notice me.” She sniffed, shifting Ash on her lap. “You didn’t have to do what you did. You didn’t have to hurt me…”
“You would have taken one look at me and laughed…”
“I wouldn’t have. I know what it’s like to be trapped. I was trapped long before we ever crossed paths.”
She looked at his face, one of the few times she’d been able to see him without his mask. Whether he’d ever admit it out loud, she knew he believed her.
“What about Rose?” Calla continued. “Why did you have to kill her? You got what you wanted. Me. A marriage. An heir…”
“She humiliated me. Stole from me. No one does that.” He snarled, turning to face the wall.
“She meant you no harm. She just wanted to start over. You hurt her over and over again but she refused to turn you in, even when I begged her to come to the authorities with me. That’s the kind of person she was…”
“She was nobody. Just like you.”
No one is looking for you. His first words to her came back in a flash.
“When you come home, I won’t be there.” She rose from the chair as Edgar turned toward her again, his bulging eyes filling with tears. Calla was unmoved. She was afraid, more afraid than she was the day she’d been taken even, but she had to try. Ash couldn’t be raised in that house.
*
Dr. Knight, Edgar’s surgeon, entered the waiting room, a grave expression on her face that told Calla and Catherine all they needed to know. Catherine began to wail, a horrible, keening sound that filled the room. Calla felt nothing. Just the anchor that had burrowed in the pit of her stomach long ago finally lifting.
Dr. Knight pulled Catherine to her feet and embraced her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We knew the risks…” Catherine nodded and sobbed into the doctor’s shoulder, muttering words Calla couldn’t understand. Calla couldn’t bring herself to comfort her.
Once Catherine had calmed a bit, Dr. Knight moved to Calla, hugging her as well. Calla found it all a bit strange. The doctors that had all treated her father seemed detached when they delivered this news, like they couldn’t wait to get away from that room, the sounds of grief. When Dr. Knight released her, she noticed a faint scar, pale pink, jagged, hardly noticeable unless one really looked closely, along the side of her neck, and held in a gasp.
What has she survived? Was she outside, when I spoke to Edgar? Did she hear? Did she…?
Dr. Knight’s eyes met Calla’s briefly, then she squeezed her hand and briskly left the room, disappearing into the busy corridor.
*
Calla turned down a road that was so familiar to her she could close her eyes and still remember every curve and bump in the asphalt. She stopped in front of a modest house, red brick with dark green shutters, one-story, a driveway stained with oil and full of potholes. She saw the blinds move, a pair of eyes peeking out. Calla scooped up Ash and made her way up the drive. The front door flew open before she even reached the porch. Her mother put her hands to her mouth, her eyes watering as she laid eyes on her grandson. She looked at her daughter. Taking in her clear eyes, her healthy appearance. Calla put her hand on her mother’s face. Her skin was so soft, like Calla remembered, and warm.
“Mom,” she said with a bright smile. “This is Ash.”
THE END
A collection of various things: hodgepodge, mishmash, variety
Transformational Coach. Motivational Speaker. Friend.
EDITOR | SENSITIVITY READER | LITERARY SEEKER OF GROWTH | CRITIQUE PARTNER | A FRIEND
this is not where i live
A story is only as good as the storyteller.
Movie reviews every so often
KL CALEY
Jennifer Terry 