FLASH FICTION FRIDAY: Lacey's Bridge

 ("Old Bridge, Ilkley (22nd March 2013)" by Mtaylor848)

 

Tears streaming down her face, Lacey raced to the bridge. She was numb to the branches scratching her arms and the winter wind tangling her hair. Her attention was focused on the destination. She had to get to the bridge in time.

Lacey broke through the trees just as the sun slid from behind dark clouds. Ahead of her were moss-covered stone and snow stung her eyes as she stumbled toward the bridge’s edge. Exhausted, she paused a moment to rest her head against the cold post as memories of Tommy washed over her.

“You promised!” He said.

Lacey looked at him with tear filled eyes. “I know, but now I’m not so sure.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her softly, almost apologetically, before saying, “You know she will never stop. This is the only way. If two people believe in something strongly enough then even the impossible becomes possible.”

She hung her head. “Yes, I know.”

Lacey’s thoughts returned to the stone beneath her hands as his voice echoed into the night, “I’ll love you forever.”

Slowly she made her way to the middle of the bridge. Stopping long enough to register the sound of hounds barking in the distance, she reached into her pocket. Trembling fingers closed around cold steel for a moment before Lacey let it slip into the dark waters below.

It was done. Now to get away before the dogs caught up to her…

BOOK NOOK REVIEWS; Jake G Panda

Title: The Case of the Cursed Dodo

Author: Jake G Panda

Publisher: Woolly Family Studios

Ages: Young Adult, Adult

 

Synopsis: 

If you're looking for trouble, you've found it. The name's Jake G. Panda, and trouble seems to follow me wherever I go. I work in the protection racket at a flophouse for endangered critters called the Last Resort. I'm the hotel snoop. The resident fuzz. It's my job to keep these guests safe and outta harm's way. This is the first of my many misadventures. A wild and woolly mystery involving a lost suitcase, a green bird, and a bunch of double-crossing animals. I'm calling it The Case of the Cursed Dodo.

Why you should read it:

Author Jake G Panda had me from the first chapter. With wit and charm, Mr. Panda dances across the pages of his book like the starlets of the silver screen. I found his clever analogy of the old time detective hot on the trail of his latest case to weave a story about endangered animals of the desert quite entertaining.

While I understand his take on presenting sections of this story from the lens of a movie camera, this was the only part of the book I don't particularly care for and could have done without. I personally don't think the storyline needs it.

But what little price to pay for such a delightful read. This is the first in hopefully many installments of the ENDANGERED FILES series and I'm sure readers of this first book will wonder what will Mr. Panda uncover next?




Like-o-meter Rating scale**: 4 out of 5...think about it.

 

**Rating scale**

 5 out of 5...grab it!

 4 out of 5...think about it.

 3 out of 5...take or leave it.

 2 out of 5...maybe not for you.

 1 out of 5...forget about it!

 

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY...THE PODS

No one remembers when the first one appeared.  Mr. Fletcher thinks it's some high school kids just playing a prank, but it is too big for kids to have put there. My best friend, Tommy, says old man Harper is just crazy enough to do it but I don't think so. No one wants to say it, but everyone is thinking it's just like something out of The Twilight Zone. 

Aliens are here.

Although it's not gonna be the little green men kind cuz these are no flying saucers. No, this is more like a big ol' can of chili beans lying on its side in the middle of the Westler's back forty. Then, before you can even wrap your head about the one being there, another pops up overnight not three hundred yards from the first one. Then another one this past Tuesday. Then another one yesterday.

Pretty soon you can't swivel your head in any direction without seeing one. You go to bed whispering your prayers while scratching your head a wondering just where the heck they are coming from and crossing your fingers that there won't be more in the morning.

But then you wake up, peak out your kitchen window and there they sit, staring back like a pack of coyotes hungering for their first meal in a long time and you are topping the snack list.

And just when you think nothing can get any weirder, the humming starts up. I was headed over to Tommy's house to do our homework before checking out the latest additions to "pod pack" as we like to call those things, when all of a sudden I can hear it.

Low at first, the humming is just loud enough to catch my attention and I turn in all directions, wondering where the strange sound is coming from. Then I realize it is coming from the hundreds of mounds spread out for miles across the countryside. Louder and louder the humming grows until I even begin to make out distinctive tones within the sounds...like each pod is calling out to its neighbor and all of them are counting down to something.

But what????

Flash Fiction Friday

 

 

(via Creepy Places)

 

Down The Rabbit's Hole

by Donna L Martin

 

 

Derek stumbled onto the path, hidden just beyond the trees, and paused to catch his breath. The baying of the hounds could be heard in the distance. He didn't know who set off the alarm, alerting the others he had escaped, but he knew it was only a matter a time before the dogs were on his trail. There would be hell to pay if he got caught...that is, if they even let him live.

 

In front of him the path led deeper into the forest. Derek couldn't make out where the path went because of the dense fog but he knew anywhere was better than just standing there waiting to be torn to pieces when the dog finally got to him.  Leaves swirled in the crisp Autumn air as he raced down the path and away from the sound of the hounds. There wasn't enough moonlight to prevent him from tripping over a large root and Derek tried in vain to keep from falling down the large crevice which seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere.

 

Landing on his back with a thud, Derek struggled to his feet as he looked around the underground cave he found himself in. Tangled roots dangled above his head and he could just make out some moss covered boulders off to one side. The more he stared at them, the more he realized those rocks almost looked like a throne. There was dead silence in the cave. Just where was he? Derek might be safe from the hounds for now but he had fallen down the rabbit's hole and he wanted to find his way out before the owner of that mysterious throne returned...

 

 

***Okay, it's your turn! Where is Derek? Why are the hounds after him and who does that stone throne belong to? Put your creative cap on and add a sentence or add a paragraph.  Continue my story or start one of your own.  Join the fun and see where this picture prompt takes us!***

 

Flash Fiction Friday

Sutterfield Cottage

by Donna L Martin

When I was much younger, no more than five or six, my mom would take my baby sister and me to Sutterfield Cottage every weekend while my father worked at a second job at the factory in the next town.  A kind of get away she would tell us.  We would run to pack our jammies and off we would go in our beat up car the forty six miles to the cottage.

Sutterfield Cottage had a certain charm back in those days, with all those windows and towering chimneys the crows loved to perch on to watch us while we gathered the eggs every morning.  Then, just as we made a run for the kitchen door, they would swoop down a cawing and squawking, just hoping we would drop an egg or two...but we never did.

The last weekend we were there, though, something was different about Sutterfield Cottage.  Even my mother was different.  The crows were still there but the place seemed darker, sadder somehow and I just couldn't figure out why my younger sister, who was three at the time, refused to enter the house.  Mom dragged her kicking and crying halfway across the yard before she finally just picked her up to carry her inside the house.  That left me to grab the suitcases and that's when I saw the woman.  Was it just a shadow from the junk in the attic I saw in that top window or something else?  Funny thing, but I could have sworn it moved...

*Now it's your turn.  What happens next?  Is the shadow just an old mannequin stored in the attic?  Or has an unexpected visitor come to Sutterfied Cottage?   Join in the fun with a sentence or a paragraph.  You don't have to run with my flash fiction...if someone else comments and you want to add to their story, then go for it.  Let's see where this picture prompt takes us!***

On The Wrong Track

Stuart didn't know if it was the cold metal pressing against his back or the far off whistle of the train bringing him back to his senses.  His eyes were still closed against the light and he wanted to shake his head to clear the drugged cobwebs away, but it hurt too much to attempt it.  Was he near some train tracks?  Stuart opened his eyes just as another whistle echoed into the distance.  A sharp jolt of adrenaline shot through his body and Stuart's eyes widened as he realized he wasn't just near some railroad tracks but on them!

There wasn't time to wonder how he got there.  He could just make out the dark shape of the locomotive, it's headlight cutting through the early morning mist as he struggled against the ropes binding him to the steel tracks.  His eyes stung from sweat as corded muscles strained to break free.  Could that conductor see there was someone lying in the shadows on the tracks? Would he be able to stop the train in time?  Stuart wanted to scream but his throat constricted in terror.  Time seemed to slow down as he watched the oncoming train racing toward him.  

Another whistle pierced the air, much closer this time, and the tracks shook wildly beneath him as Stuart wondered if there would be pain or would he just suddenly cease to exist.  If only he had more time.  Time to hug his wife and young daughter once more.  Time to eat that juicy steak he wanted last night instead of settling for a salad.  Time to laugh and love and drink in all the life he can until he can hold no more.  If only he had more time.

What was the use of fighting the inevitable?  Stuart closed his eyes and said a prayer as the last screech of the train's whistle ran over him and then...nothing.  Nothing but the roaring clickety-clack of the cars rushing past him on the other track leading up the mountain.  It wasn't until the silence settled back into the valley that Stuart dared to open his eyes.  His body shook, not from the cool morning air, as his mind tried to grasp the fact he was still alive. Now if he could just figure out how to get free before the next whistle blew...

Terror Island

Beads of perspiration dampen my hair as I stare at the end of the dock and that solitary box.  Drawing sweaty hands against my blue jeans, I glance again at my watch before slowly taking a step toward it.  The message said be at the wharf at exactly nine o’clock and I can’t take any chances.  No explanation, no signature, but I know it can only be the work of the Sandaks.

Lawless heathens they might be, but they live by the code of  the island and they will never abandon me to this retched place without something to guide me.  I know they have long gone, but I look around anyway as I make my way to the end of the dock and kneel in front of the box.

There is no lock and the sound of the creaking lid echoes into the night.  Shining my light inside I can see only four objects lying there.  Picking up the compass, I run my bloody fingertips across it’s surface before tucking it into my pocket and reaching for the rolled map lying next to the revolver.  I will have to wait until dawn to try to find a way out of this place, but until then I shove the paper into my back pocket and hesitantly pick up the gun.

Cold and heavy in my hands, I open the revolver’s chamber and I’m not surprised to find it empty. Choking back the bile rising in my throat, I reach for the last item in the box.  Even now I can still find the sick humor in my situation as my fingers close around the single bullet lying in the bottom of the box.  Somewhere in the fog I’m sure they are watching me.  Just waiting and wondering what I will do now.  Do I take my chances with this lone bullet and pray I make it to safety before I am trapped by the beast?  Or do I simply stop the terror now and use it on myself?  I wonder if the Sandaks are hunched around their fires right now and placing bets on the odds of my surviving the night on this island. 

I don’t blame them.  Even I wouldn’t bet on me…

The Box

Fifteen steps north from old man Barner's shed is an almost unseen path leading into the woods.  I never would have noticed it if I hadn't seen the X on the map.  Patting my pocket to make sure the map was still there, I stepped onto the path and followed it deeper through the trees.  Before he died, the old man told me about a box buried deep in the woods.  "Keep it safe and guard its secret," he whispered and then he was gone.  

Why me?  I was just someone who stopped by every month for the past five years to deliver his medicine.  But it was this last visit when he decided to show me the tattered map.  I could tell he didn't have much time left.  Muttering, sometimes incoherently, old man Barner told me the tale of the Vespars.  An ancient tribe who used to live in these woods and guarded the magic they found there.  I had a hard time believing what the old man was saying.  But when he became agitated at the thought of this mysterious box being discovered by just anyone walking through the woods, I promised I would recover it.

Dried leaves crunched beneath my shoes and sunlight filtered through the tightly woven trees as I counted out the paces until I came across the large bolder shown on the map.  Barner said the box was three feet down and the smell of rotting vegetation filled my nostrils as my shovel bit into the dirt.  I wasn't even sure why I was here.  It's not like I believed the old man's story.  It's not like I believed in ancient tribes and magic.  And then all I could hear was the sound of the shovel hitting something hard. Could old man Barner be telling the truth?

Teaser Tuesday

Mystery At The Club Sandwich

Author: Doug Cushman

Illustrator:  Doug Cushman

Publisher: Clarion Books

Ages: 4-8

ISBN  0618419691

What happens when someone loses their marbles and the only clues are a feather and lots of delicious peanut butter? They call on Nick Trunk, private investigator, to solve this sticky crime.  But is it too crunchy to crack or will it be smooth going from now on?

The Voynich Manuscript

When I was a middle schooler I was fascinated with the idea of Egyptian hieroglyphs.  How lovely to imagine an ancient civilization creating its own language so unique it took centuries to break the code.   For the longest time I thought this was the last "unknown" language to be discovered.  But I was wrong.

Some time during the early sixteenth century, there was a manuscript written in an unknown script and in an unknown language, which to date, has STILL not been cracked.  Named after the gentleman who purchased the book in 1912, scholars studying the document believe it might have come from northern Italy during medieval times.  

Some of the pages are missing and there are a lot of illustrations without rhyme or reason.  There has been debates throughout the years over who wrote the actual script and for what purpose.  It is suggested that the book was broken into six parts.  Those parts include herbal, astronomical, biological, cosmological, pharmaceutical, and recipes.  Top code breakers in the US during both World War I and World War II tried their hand at cracking the code with little success.  Finally in 1969, the Voynich manuscript was donated to the Beinecke Rare Book Library at Yale University.

I wonder who took the time all those centuries ago to create such a book?  Here I am, working so hard to create a little mystery of my own, and here's one practically right under my nose!

It's A Mystery To Me

There are times when I have such a moment of clarity to my stories.  When characters and plot and writer voice come together for one beautiful creation of pen on paper...or keystroke to computer screen as the case may be.  Then there are times when my writing is a complete mystery to me.  When I look at my characters like they have dropped in from outer space and speak a different language.  When my plot unravels almost before I can begin and my writer's voice comes out with a croak when I try to write something down.  Do you ever feel like that?

It's a mystery to me how some authors manage to pull that rabbit out of a hat.  To make their words dance upon the page like a ballet.  To have a writers voice so pure and melodious it brings tears to one's eyes.  Just how do they do it?

Then I realize it's really all about me.  My growth as a writer.  My skills as a story teller.  And the more I write, the more I will discover the mysteries inside which make me the writer I am.  It will take time as I slowly figure out the publishing industry.  It will take patience as I work to perfect my craft.  I might even have to remind myself every once in a while that I write for a reason.  A reason that is just as important as any other.  And then I will know one more thing about myself...