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By Shari Marshall – 2019
Writing in response to the associated picture. Please use it as a prompt and paste your link in the comment section below.
The Penis Chronicles is a weekly platform for sharing childcare stories, advice & etcetera. Raising children is an adventure! 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.
The house when viewed from the street didn’t look extraordinary. It fit in with the rest of the homes on the street: dark brown, double front doors, long front porch accessed by four low wide steps. The yard was deep and the house was set back from the street. Apparently this was how houses were in the Peterborough Country. Inside the house looked good but it felt all wrong. It felt inhabited by someone or something other than us. We were assured when we bought the house that there was no risky history and nobody had been killed there.
The first time I saw her she was on the stairs. She was a short ancient looking lady with cotton ball white hair puffed around her head. Her face was lined with deep set wrinkles and her coal black eyes bore into mine. She wore an antique looking white nightgown, perhaps it was a shift. She raised her flabby skinned arm and pointed a gnarled finger at me. It looked as if she was going to speak but I was moving backwards as fast as I could shuffle and I fell over into the kitchen and slammed the wooden accordion door shut.
Nobody believed me of course, and nobody else saw her. The stairs were always cold in the spot where she had been standing like a breeze swirled in that one spot, but nobody else would acknowledge it. I stopped using the stairs. I didn’t like the cold and nearly everyone had tripped and fallen on those stairs, so far nobody had been hurt badly but it was just a matter of time. I started using the stairs off the back of the kitchen. They went up through what would have been the sleep quarters for the help years past. It took longer, the stairs were narrow and dark and the maid’s quarters were dank and musty but they were not heavy and oppressive like the front stairs and the area around the front stairs.
Weeks passed without her reappearing. Slowly I started to relax.
It was early morning when I stumbled into the kitchen rubbing sleep out of my eyes. I knew someone else was in the kitchen but it was so quiet. I snapped my eyes open and saw mom’s back. She was standing facing the kitchen counter, but the kitchen was so narrow that I couldn’t see what she was looking at from where I was standing so I crept closer to peer around her shoulder. There on the counter lined up and gleaming under the kitchen lights was every single kitchen knife we owned.
The quiet around us felt ominous. My breath choked in my throat. The drawers were slightly open as if saying “yes I know where you keep the sharp stuff.” The kitchen went cold, too cold. Then the lights snapped off plummeting us into darkness in the windowless kitchen. There was a sound of the accordion door being moved. Something brushed by me. Mom screamed! The lights came back on and all the knives on the counter were facing the opposite direction. Mom was gone!
That was 31 years ago. Mom was never found. We moved out of the house. We didn’t sell it, we just boarded it up. It was eventually condemned due to its state of disrepair. However, over the years the condemned boarded up house has drawn people in and some don’t come out. The town reports them as missing persons but I think she is still in there, angry and hungry to take lives that aren’t hers.
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…
I choose to go with a 100 word post, but you by no means have to.
The Bayou House
No people have ever been seen entering or exiting the house but it is decorated every Halloween. It’s a draw for trick-or-treaters, but local folk know to stay clear of the Bayou House. Whispered history tells a tale of sacrificial murder. Kids started going missing one October in the 1800’s. When October ended the disappearances stopped. For several years it went on until a child escaped. The child spoke of a cobweb filled room with bars on grimy windows and other children taken out back to the marshy spot in the river. None returned. Children feed its power to live.
October seems fitting for a brief discussion of cemeteries. The above image was photographed in 2018 when my family and I did the Dawson City Cemeteries Walking Tour. It is a historic site. I love cemeteries because of all the history; I can spend hours walking and reading tombstones and imagining what their lives might have been like… On this particular tour we visited Yukon Order of Pioneers, St Mary’s Cemetery, New Catholic Cemetery, Jewish Cemetery, New Public Cemetery, Masonic Cemetery, Hillside Cemetery, Fraternal Order of Eagles Plot and the Police Cemetery.
The Police Cemetery had 18 graves dating from 1896 to 1936.
If we were having coffee at the beginning of October I would tell you that I have decided that I am going to do photo prompts for my post-a-week posts throughout 2020. I am hoping that a few if not all of you will join me on that journey. I plan to try and do a bit of advertising for it between now and then. What do you think make photo prompt posts successful?
If we were having coffee I would have to correct my Spanish attempt from last coffee share. I wrote, “Yo estoy la mujer cansada (I am a tired woman)” Should have read Yo soy una mujer cansada. Loving learning. Only a few weeks left and then I will have to find another class to take.
I have big baking plans for today. I will try and share next weekend when we visit for virtual coffee.
Perhaps there is story idea for you brewing in this photograph. I would love if you felt inspired and then left the link to your post in the comment section below.
“Aunt Lydia was here today Sierra, she left something for you in the kitchen. I’ll see you in the morning after my shift,” her mother yelled as she sprinted out the front door. Sierra was never sure what to expect when aunt Lydia left her something. In private Sierra joked that aunt Lydia was actually a nut Lydia.
Slowly Sierra peeked into the kitchen and noticed Halloween themed cupcakes on the counter. The bright orange wrapper housed chocolate chip pumpkin flavoured cake topped with a butter rum icing. They were Sierra’s favourite. However, Sierra couldn’t help but notice that there was something unnerving about the cute little toppers on the cupcakes. She stood and watched them for a while as if they might move, and when they didn’t a sigh of relief actually escaped from her.
She ate one. It was delicious. They pumpkin was flavoured nicely with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg and the butter rum pulled all the flavours together to make it pop on the taste buds. The flavours seemed to die in her mouth when she turned towards the counter. The cupcakes had shifted and were glaring at her.
“It’s just your imagination,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just your imagination, clearly aunt Lydia had put too much rum in the icing.”
Sierra started to walk out of the kitchen. She cast one quick glance over her shoulder and the only witch cupcake topper winked at her. Sierra walked into the wall, bounced back and fled full speed to her bedroom. She passed the night in her room and didn’t return to the kitchen again.
Sierra slept hard and heard nothing until her mother thundered into her room raving about the mess in the kitchen. “It looks like you spent the night murdering cupcakes,” she fumed. Sierra wiped the sleep from her eyes and tried to focus on what her mother was saying. “You will march down stairs right now and clean up the mess!” Her mother stormed back out of her room.
Sierra made her way to the kitchen in a sleepy fog. She entered the kitchen and stopped dead. Tangerine coloured icing was smeared from one end of the counter to the other and tiny plops of it was scattered on the floor in front of the counter. There was paper debris scattered around and it appeared to be the pieces of 2 cupcake wrappers. There were 2 cupcakes smashed beyond recognition on the counter and the ghost and Frankenstein cake toppers hand multiple puncture wounds; Frankenstein still had a fork stuck in him!
Sierra scanned the counter and noticed a bat, vampire and mummy cupcake sitting silent at the back of the counter. There was no mess in the area that they were sitting. She didn’t note anything out of the ordinary at the time and started cleaning wondering what in the world happened in the kitchen while she slept.
Sierra finished the cleaning and was about to leave the room. She cast a glance at the counter and froze. The witch cupcake was sitting in front of the others and seemed to smirking at her. Sierra knew at that point that the witch was responsible for the murder of the ghost and Frankenstein. Murder of a cupcake? Seriously Sierra get a grip. Sierra walked over and picked the witch cupcake up turning it over and around for inspection. Aunt Lydia and her mother must be playing some kind of trick on her. Sierra placed the witch back on the counter and checked that the back door was locked. She left the kitchen to shower and watch some television before lunch.
A crash came from the kitchen as soon as Sierra turned the television on. She rushed into the room. The mummy cupcake was upside down on the floor, destroyed! The bat and vampire were on the opposite side of the counter from the witch and they were faced towards the witch as if afraid. The witch was facing Sierra smirking. Sierra thought she heard a faint cackle.
This had to stop. Sierra ran across the kitchen and picked up the witch cupcake. She pulled the witch off and held her in one hand so she could see Sierra’s mouth. Sierra ate the cupcake. The witch screamed. Sierra didn’t miss a beat as she throw the wrapper and the witch into the garbage, tied the bag, and ran it outside to the bin.
When she returned to the kitchen the vampire and the bat no longer seemed unnerving, they seemed like normal cupcakes. Sierra jumped when the phone rang and grabbed up the receiver with lightning speed. Aunt Lydia’s voice floated over the line amid the sounds of crackling static, “How’s your training going Lydia?”
By Shari Marshall – 2019
Welcome to Ghosts Stories October’s theme at Writing is Communication. Please post a link to your ghost stories in the comment section below. I am looking forward to reading them.
One of my favourite summer activities growing up was having a campfire with ghost stories. I liked listening but more often than not I was the storyteller and I loved getting my younger cousins scared out of their minds. Anyway, camping in August this year I said to my boys “let’s each take a turn telling ghost stories.”
The 6 year old opened the floor and the 9 year old followed all to the crackling back drop of the fire pit. I should note that my husband isn’t much of a storyteller and he certainly hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation or the stories so he was started when the boys called him out as the next teller. We brought him up to speed and he told a 4 second story that basically said “once upon a time there were kids in the forest thrown from a merry-go-round into the water. The end.” I noted that there was some missing elements but certainly potential. So, I abandon the story I had been planning to tell and picked up the thread of his. I turned to my husband and said, “I remember that.” This of course drew the response I was hoping for and 2 little voices on my opposite said asked eagerly, “What?”
The merry-go-round was and still is buried in the forest. It was rusty and over grown. However, growing up we all knew it was there, maybe not the exact location but a general
idea. Anyway, a group of kids had been in the forest trying to find the merry-go-round. They found it and were messing around. Something bad happened, something real bad, and 2 of the kids died. They didn’t know they were dead so they haunted the merry-go-round. Every year new groups of kids would try and find the merry-go-round and every year kids disappeared. Every once in a while someone would escape and make it back to town to tell.
They say if you got onto the merry-go-round the 2 kids haunting it wouldn’t let you off! They would spin and spin the merry-go-round making it go unnaturally fast. Nobody is quite sure what happened after that because nobody came back to tell after they got on the merry-go-round and if any of the kids were watching those that got stuck on the merry-go-round they ran off before the spinning stopped.
Well, my boys were lost in the story and started asking questions. Each question they asked the more I would build the story. Every once in a while I would pause and ask my husband to clarify some point of the story in an attempt to try and lend truth to my fictional tale. They loved it and wanted more. The youngest was a bit scared so I had to keep the story PG (parental guidance) but it was a lot of fun.
I waited a few hours and had to tell them that it wasn’t real. I only broke the illusion because they were stuck on it and I wanted them to sleep. I can see this will be a lot of fun in the years to come when I don’t need to worry about a 6 year old wanting to sleep in my bed!
By Shari Marshall – 2019
The Penis Chronicles is a weekly platform for sharing childcare stories, advice & etcetera. Raising children is an adventure! 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.
Silent heavy air. Subtle vibrations in its current indicate I’m not alone. Casting my eyes I search for unexplained shadows while straining my ears for whispers so faint they are inaudible to most. There is calm now where there was once fear. Surrendering, my subconscious plays with the veil between realities.
Time bends slightly.
It is unclear if I am there or they are here; perhaps it simply became one plain of existence or perhaps there is a void in between. Regardless, meetings have been held like this before. Carrying messages from one astral plain to another: Haunted Meetings.
By Shari Marshall – 2019
Welcome to Ghosts in 100 words October’s first themed post. Please post a link to your ghostly description in the comment section below. I am looking forward to reading them.
looked good but it felt all wrong. It felt inhabited by someone or something other than us. We were assured when we bought the house that there was no risky history and nobody had been killed there.
some don’t come out. The town reports them as missing persons but I think she is still in there, angry and hungry to take lives that aren’t hers.
Brewing Coffee, Twisting Words & Breaking Pencils 