It’s our anniversary.  Well, the anniversary of what matters, the day we met.  Those 47 years went by in a flash!

I took a long walk by the waterside, just like that fateful day.  I stopped right where I first saw you.  Did you know that there is still a bench there?  I drew a heart on it, just as I did after I met you.

It is so special to be here today.  You know I’ve only been out of prison for a few weeks.

Funny, since they never found your body they never knew about you, my first.

***

OK, I had to get back to that dark, murderous FF tradition on this one… lol.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ © Roger Bultot. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

It had been a while since I had been downtown. I now remember why.

Everyone had a smile.  Phil said, “Lovely weather!”, ignoring the dark grey sky.

Alice, who hadn’t budged from her ledge, waved at Bob.  He was headed to the library that no longer existed.

It was as if everyone and everything was frozen at the exact moment the Others came.  They all went about their pointless existence, marking time as one by one they are taken away.

I went back to my protected hole in the wasteland.

I might have nothing, but at least I am alive.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ © Alicia Jamtaas. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

The door opened without a sound.

The smell of ancient Egypt and gingerbread spice wafted out.

Jess and Amy entered followed by the other three.

The door slammed behind them.

A middle-aged woman appeared in the blackhole dark hall.

She melted into a corpse, rotted flesh dripping off her skull.

“Get out!”

Amy heard the others running, fumbling with the door.

She whirled around and sprinted. Lauren was just in front of her. Kath, still screaming, was at the door. Stacy was far ahead, running across the lawn.

As Amy reached the door a thought struck her.

Where was Jess?

***

The above is an extract (going from 1000+ words to 100!) from my book, The Old Mill. The ghost was Martha and it was in her mansion, but the story was around an ancient mill building.

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word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ © J Hardy Carroll. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

**

I was off the blog for 5 days last week so may have missed your story. I will try to read all this week, but I am still super far behind, so no promises…

The day had been too long and the late evening drive unwanted.  The pink sunset was more of a distraction than an inspiration.

And then I saw it.

Headlights coming towards me but too high off the ground to be a car. 

A large semi? 

No, even too high for that.

And then I noticed the odd glow even higher up.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

I pointed at the glow.

“The reflection of your mobile?”

“The lights…”

“The construction lights on the bridge? Now get back in our lane.”

I knew I shouldn’t have watched Close Encounters last night.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ © Fleur Lind. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

I pointed to Zah’s backwards signature.

Nobody was around, so we jumped the fence and descended the litter-strewn stairs.

The door cracked open.

“Yes?”

“We’re tourists looking for the Hope Diamond.”

“The Smithsonian is in Washington.”

“But Della wore the diamond.”

“In the rough… neighborhood.”

“Mr. Rodger’s sent us.”

“Come in.”

Yes, the code was silly, but both sides needed to be careful.  A slip would be death.

The hall was cluttered like the stairs, but a door opened to a bright room.

I stood and stared at all of the real books.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Roger Bultot. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

I sat in the café eating the food I once hated without thinking about it.  The roar of a streetcar that once made me jump went by unnoticed.

The two letters lay open on the table.  The illegible tear-soften words of the one were long memorized while the crisp newly inked words of the other still held surprises.

The waitress came over.  Her once foreign words asking if I was finished were now in my tongue, which I used to answer.

I watched out the window.

Sunday was New Year’s Day.

Monday, after a year’s exile, I was going home.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

I had last seen my great-grandfather’s house when I was five.  It hadn’t changed in those 50 years.

The invite from the distant cousin took me by surprise, but I gladly accepted.

As soon as I arrived the memories of not being believed about the boy swimming in the icy stream came flooding back.

After lunch I walked to the place where I’d seen him.  The feel of slimy fingers on my throat returned.

“This is where my mother found your body,” my cousin said.  “Rest in Peace.”

The full force of my lie hit me as I faded away.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Dale Rogerson. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

Pitter-pat, the soft all percussion orchestra damped all sound as it dampened the skeletal trees and smudged the image of the neighborhood John could see out of the rain-streaked window.

And he just sat there, staring, mind numb.

“All the trees are brown,” the Mamas and Papas sang.  Why was the winter rain so sad?

John shook his head.

The site of so many summer revels was lonely and forlorn, nobody in those outdoor chairs, nobody at that picnic table.

He turned inward and looked at the glowing computer screen.

When this news breaks perhaps people won’t be as sad.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

I had a hard time writing “Gray” instead of “Grey” in the title, but had to keep up with the song…

And for the song:

(Click here if you don’t see it below)