Writing

Unmarked

May 27, 2019 darknessA musty odour carrying the smell of last night’s dinner and stagnant beer fills the air. The long narrow passage echoes with silence and the dirty yellow walls stretch for miles in two directions. The ugly blue, green and brown carpet holds powdered footprints of those that are trapped here. From behind each sunken wood door familiar sounds drift into the hallway, but it is from the middle of the empty corridor that a loud noise emanates because somewhere in the building an elevator has stopped. It hasn’t stopped here on the twentieth floor though where the hall is marked by a disappearing presence. Is it the same on other floors? Do people hide behind their wooden doors scared of what lingers in the hallway?

Twelve dim lights flicker creating an eerie unwelcomed feeling like it is forever night. Standing closed at both ends of the passage are filthy beige doors with faintly red glowing exit signs. The ground below them shows rips in the carpet and that the baseboards are scrapped with wear. The surrounding glossy walls try to hide forbidden secrets. They are secret from those who tried to escape. Everything stays the same in the unmarked hall.

By Shari Marshall – 2019

Writing

The Tent

It was just a black fabric tent, the kind that you can tie the front flaps open if you want to. They had taken a large picture board and set it to one side of the tent flap and it had a black and white image of a hand on it. The hand had an eye set into the center of it. It was a very creepy realistic looking image, so much so that I expected the eye to wink at me. There was a brightly coloured banner that said, “Palm & Tarot Card Reading” and it was set across the top half of the tent. There was a smaller sign pinned to the tent that said, “tea leaves and crystal ball readings as well. Ask inside.”

The tent itself was at the very back of the fair on the perimeter. It had taken us a while to find it. The only reason we even knew it was there was because earlier in the day Kim had told us about the amazing reading she got about a date and a new job. Her phone rang as soon as she walked out of the tent to set up an interview and shortly after Derrick texted her to go to the movies. So, I figured it couldn’t hurt to give it a try. I had been feeling down on my luck lately and was desperate for good news. Holly didn’t think it was a good idea though, she subscribed to the “make your own future” school of thought.

Anyway, as we stood there considering the tent a woman came out smiling with tears of joy rolling over her cheeks. I was sold; it was time to go in. I rubbed my hands together building up heat between them as I marched with purpose towards the tent flap. “You’re on your own woman, I’m not going in there. I have a real sinking feeling about this,” Holly yelled at my back. I flashed a quick smile over my shoulder and slid inside.

The first thing I noticed was the marked difference in temperature and I couldn’t get my coat off quickly enough. I hung it over the back of one of the two chairs at the round table and sat down. The space was small and dark. The only light was from the dancing candle flames. There was an incenses burning and it was throwing a woody lavender scent into the air. It really was set-up like I imagined a classic gypsy crystal ball, tarot, tea leaf, palm reading space. It seemed to speak to that mystical idea of movies.

Something in the atmosphere changed and I suddenly felt tense. I was thinking about leaving when I noticed that there was no noise from the fair-grounds penetrating the fabric tent! That was impossible wasn’t it? The tension I felt took on an eerie feeling. Just as I was about to stand and leave she entered the room and made a gesture with her hand to remain in my seat.

She didn’t speak. She glided across the tent and floated into her chair. She had long white hair that she wore in a long loose braid. Her eyes were black and make-up less. There was no expression on her face as she reached across the table and pulled my hands towards her. There was a heat radiating from her that almost burned my skin and it was all I could do not to pull away. “Soft hands,” she whispered. “So young, so lost, such pain.”

I looked at my hands in hers. Her hands look weathered and aged with sun spots and wrinkles. Her skin was pale and large veins shifted and moved beneath the skin. It was a large contrast to my own skin. She turned my hands over palms up. She released my left hand and mumbled something about major hand that I didn’t catch. “You have a water hand,” she whispered but she didn’t offer any explanation. “You have questions, but there isn’t time to ask. KNOW that you will be okay,” I felt her grip tighten and I tried to pull my hand back in response but she held tight. I hurt where her fingers dug into me.

Her face was so close to my hand that I couldn’t see my hand until she turned her head sideways and looked up at me. She peered intently at me. Without looking from my face she ran her finger over some of the more prominent lines in my hand naming them. She started at the outside edge of my hand and traced the heart line, and then from the middle finger down to my wrist and she named it the destiny line. “Um, lady this isn’t what I thought I was signing up for,” I said trying to pull my hand away again.

She didn’t move, didn’t release me, and she didn’t even blink. I felt mesmerized by her eyes and didn’t realize she had let go until I looked down at my hand resting free on the table with the palm turned up. I felt a strange sensation in the space between my thumb and first finger that ran in a semicircle towards my wrist. I jumped up and backed away from her without taking my eyes from her. When I bumped the fabric tent flap I turned to dodge out. “IT WILL BLEED,” she yelled as I broke into a run.

I was panting and near hysterics when I saw Holly. I moved toward her at a slower pace. I felt drained and uncertain. Holly stopped dead when she say me and her gaze locked onGhost Stories Button the ground on my right side. I stopped too, terror seizing me and I slowly turned to look where she was looking. There was blood, so much blood. I slowly lifted my right hand up and the last thing I saw was blood flowing from the life line in my hand…

By Shari Marshall – 2019

Coffee Blog

Haunted Coffee

“Don’t’ buy that cup, its haunted!” My friend warned. With an eye roll I stroll to the counter with the cup.

Two days later I sit down and try to settle myself in my favourite chair. I cuddle the warm blanket over my legs and a heavy sigh and eye roll follows because I am finally comfortable and my coffee is in the other room on the counter! I am exhausted from a sleepless night. The strange noises from the kitchen and the light flicking on at random intervals was not an environment conducive to sleep. I want my coffee but I don’t want to get up to get it.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Okay self you have the energy.” I push my eyes open, snap the blanket off my lap and freeze. My coffee mug is being gently placed on the end table beside me by someone or something that I can’t see…

If we were having coffee I would remind you that October’s theme is ghost stories (haunted, Halloween…). I love October for all the fun the month encompasses: pumpkin, fall colours, Thanksgiving, birthdays, anniversaries, Halloween, ghosts, ghouls, witches, vampires and various other creepy things.

If we were having coffee I would tell you that the weather has been very bizzare. We went from snow and freezing to cool and nice. I am not complaining just noting that the shift has been welcome and strange.

If we were having coffee I would share all the buttons from 2019’s monthly themes as a sort of over view of what things have looked like here at Writing is Communication.

If we were having coffee I would comment that for a short work week it sure felt long! How was your week?

By Shari Marshall – 2019

Photo Prompt


Keep your eyes open for the following words, “The rules are simple. Use this image as a prompt to write a blog post and reference back here. You can come back and share your link by posting it in the comment section below. That’s it! Can’t wait to read your posts…” Photo prompts starting January 2020 at www.writingiscommunication.wordpress.com

Miscellaneous

Photo Prompt

What story does this photograph inspire for you?

The rules are simple. Use this image as a prompt to write a ghost story and reference this post. You can come back and share your link by posting your link in the comment section below. That’s it! Can’t wait to read your scary tales…

Ghost Stories October 18 2019 image 1
Photo by Shari Marshall ©

What is being cooked or maybe who is being cooked? What danger comes to those that dare enter this space? Who lurks unseen in the shadows? Is it an old home with a tragic story? Nobody has ever got close enough and then lived to reveal the answers.

By Shari Marshall – 2019

Writing

Inhuman Habitation

I remember the first single family home I lived in after my parents split up. It was a fascinating house and it fed my imagination. The main floor was a typical main living area with a dining room and a kitchen off of it. However, off the kitchen was an old door Ghost Stories OCT 11 2019 image Abandonthat was always padlocked. Behind that padlocked door was the original house, the part we lived in was an add-on, and the old house had never been demolished. It stood behind that door unheated and rotting.

Occasionally that padlocked door had been opened for some reason and I had ventured closer enough to look; the floor and roof were badly decayed. It’s outside entrance and windows had been sealed off because of the danger it imposed if anyone was to gain access, not to mention the danger of easy access to the main house. The old door was shoddy and in the winter the cold from the old house blasted through it with icy force. The cold wasn’t the only thing that blasted through it though. When the door was closed a musty earthy odour seeped through and when open the odour was overwhelming.

Regardless, it fed my imagination because I pictured ghosts walking there and living a life that they didn’t realize had ended. They weren’t friendly ghost so opening that padlocked door was risky because you couldn’t be certain of who might get in or who might be forced to join them. However, if that was creepy the basement was worse with its dirt floor and suffocating ceiling. I didn’t go down there and I hated that the door to the basement didn’t have a padlock on it. If ghosts lived in the backhouse, demons surely lived down there in the dank darkness. The one time I had ventured down I quickly bolted out. Breathing left a stale and sour taste in my mouth and the airless feeling was oppressive. It was like being sealed in a tomb, and I expected skeletal hands to thrust through the dirt floor to pull me down to hell.

The top floor of the house was my favourite place. The creaky wooden floors and slanted ceiling screamed Nancy Drew and I could feel mysteries in the walls waiting to be solved. There was only two bedrooms and a small bathroom upstairs. My room was to the right of the stairs and I had a perfect little cubby created against the slanted ceiling to curl up and read. It smelled earthy up there too because the smell drifted up through the house, but it was subtle and almost calming.Summer unsupervised

Behind this house was a thick forest that I accessed by crossing over the stream on a fallen tree to escape and explore. It was my own little bridge to Terabithia. The ground in the forest was mossy and squishy and I not only loved the feel of it under my feet, but I loved the fresh damp earth smell mixed with wet leaves and growing foliage…

By Shari Marshall – 2019


Do you remember a house or place that was spooky or mysterious in some way? October’s theme is ghost stories. Please share in the comment section below either your narrative or a link to your related post, any medium welcome.

Miscellaneous

Ghost Monster (Guest Post by a 6 year old)

The following story is written and illustrated by a creative little 6 year old boy. This little boy wanted to be a part of the ghost story theme on “Writing is Communication” and he created the following for your reading enjoyment.

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Image by Ow ©

The Penis Chronicles presents, “Ghost Monster.”

There was a guy name ghost monster. He was lava and ice. He had a pet made of fire and water. He came to the land of humans and tried to destroy the cities. He destroyed the houses and enslaved the people turning them into fire, ice, lava and water.

Some people escaped and tried to destroy Ghost Monster, but before they could destroy him he went back to the world of ice and lava.

The end.

By Ow -2019


**The Penis Chronicles is a weekly platform for sharing childcare stories, advice and etcetera. Raising children is an adventures! And please, I know the title says “penis chronicles”, but stories about raising girls are very much welcome. Please post and share your link and/or your comments in the comments section below.**

Writing

A New Way to Cook

I invite you to use the following as a prompt: When all was said and done _____________ came easily.
Post a link to your piece in the comment section below.


*             *             *

A New Way to Cook

When all was said and done bewitching my kitchen utensils came easily.

First, I found granny’s dusty old journal in a ratty box in the attic. We won’t go into what drew me to pull the creaking ladder down from the ceiling and drag myself into the spider and cobweb infested attic. Regardless, there it was, a spell book!

I read it for three days cover to cover! I didn’t know what spell to try first, so I fanned the pages and it stopped on bewitching gadgets. I should probably explain that I cater parties and I had a large order for vampire cookies, a cake shaped like a witch’s hat, ghost cupcakes and a bunch of Halloween finger foods. My help quit without warning and I was scrambling. Hence, the choice of kitchen utensils.

I had a hard time finding a cast iron pot and even amazon’s rush delivery wasn’t going to be fast enough this time, my cooking order was due now! Turns out granny had a cast iron pot hiding in the attic too.

Contrary to what I expected for ingredients I didn’t need toad’s eyes, ground tiger claw, puppy dog tail, ground dragon scales, or bat wings. The strangest thing I needed was ground frog legs. A bit of mixing, boiling, stirring, word reciting, and a touch of moonlight was needed. The result was that I had a team of eager cooking utensils ready to do my bidding.

I barely needed to help. The vampire cookies were life like and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find them biting instead of being bitten. Words can’t describe the rest of the creations.

So when all was said and done bewitching my kitchen utensils came easily.

By Shari Marshall – 2019

Miscellaneous

A Ghost Inspired “would you rather?

  1. Would you rather be a ghost or a poltergeist?
  2. Would you rather be a bat or a black cat?
  3. Would you rather be the haunter or the haunted?
  4. Would you rather be a skeleton or a mummy?
  5. Would you rather ride a broom or change into a bat?
  6. Would you rather be a pumpkin or a jack-o-lantern?
  7. Would you rather be Casper or Slimer?
  8. Would you rather be Mike Myers or Jason?
  9. Would you rather be plagued by zombies or pursued by demons?
  10. Would you rather spend October 31 trapped in a cemetery or sleeping in a haunted house?

Here are my answers:

  1. Ghost
  2. Black Cat
  3. Haunter
  4. Mummy
  5. Change into a bat
  6. Pumpkin
  7. Slimer
  8. Mike Myers
  9. Plagued by zombies
  10. In a cemetery

What are your picks?

By Shari Marshall – 2019

Coffee Blog

What’s in the Coffee Grinds?

Last weekend’s baking outcome:

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Photograph by Shari Marshall ©

It was served to me in a tiny cup with a saucer. It was painful when I was told not to drink it all because I usually drink way more than a sip. The experience watching this cup of coffee being prepared and made up for the small size of the mug. The slow speed that it was poured into my mug at allowed lazy pillows of scented steam to waft into the air.

As I swirled the coffee sledge in the bottom of my cup I could feel anticipation building. I topped the mug with the saucer and flipped it towards me then waited for it to cool…

If we were having coffee I would ask you if you like my ghost/Halloween themed coffee introduction this week? And if we were having coffee I would share a link to a response post from my photo prompt the week before. It is a great little story and I recommend popping in for a read: Not Forgotten.

If we were having coffee I would tell you that I am still slowing reading my way through The First King of Shannara. I am enjoying the read but I am really going at a 1 to 2 page a night speed. It has been so busy lately, but I am happy to get even those couple pages in here and there. What are you reading?

Mi cumpeañas es el doce de Octubre de mil novecientos setenta y nueve. And as such, tengo cuarenta años (40). If we were having coffee I would tell you that last night we celebrated my “unbirthday” and it looked like this:

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Photograph by Shari Marshall ©
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Photograph by Shari Marshall ©
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“painting the roses red” Photograph by Shari Marshall ©

 

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Photograph by Shari Marshall ©

For any of you who might be wondering, “unbirthday” is from Alice in Wonderland.

If we were having coffee I would I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving as I head off to make our big dinner. Have a great weekend!

By Shari Marshall


Stay tuned for a photo prompt preview on October 18, 2019. 2020 the year of photo prompts at Writing is Communication.