Bloody #Valentine #Horror Event - Dearly beloved by Clarissa Johal #paranormal #flashfiction

Join Us today for the

2016 Bloody Valentine Horror Event
Free reads: flash fiction, book excerpts, tales of broken hearts, historic tidbits of love gone wrong, videos, photos...but no mushy stuff.

Hosted by author A. F. Stewert

Featured authors scheduled to appear are:

Clarissa Johal
Ash Krafton
Nick Paschall
Miracle Austin
John Linwood Grant
Debbie Christiana
Steve Vernon
Cinsearae S.

***

Photo courtesy of freeparking :-| via Flickr
This story is fiction and does not reflect 
these people in any way

Dearly beloved
by Clarissa Johal

The ghost stood at the top of the stairwell and gazed down at her body. She worried the ring on her finger, which even in death seemed to cut into her skin. My body is like a crumpled thing. Who knew it could be twisted into such an awful shape? The man who was crouched beside her body wept loudly.

 "How could this be? My dearest wife!"

 “She suffered from hysteria,” the doctor said. “You mustn’t blame yourself—”

"Leave me be! I wish to be alone with her." He turned away to hide his grief.

The doctor nodded. “We shall wait in the parlor.”

"My darling." The man took her lifeless hand and held it to his heart. "I will no longer hear the music of your voice, or feel the silky touch of your fingers, or smell the perfume of your skin."

Hearing his words, the ghost descended down the stairwell until her long skirts could have brushed his cheek. She passed a hand through his shoulder. 

"I feel the chill of death." The man shivered and dropped her hand abruptly. "It is as if your shade were here with me." He stood and backed away from the body.

The ghost of the woman traced her fingers along his chest. She looked up at him and stood on her tiptoes as if to steal a final kiss. Her whisper was like a final sigh. “My beloved.” The woman plunged her hands into the man's chest.

The man's jaw went slack. A soundless scream was ripped from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he fell onto the floor, writhing. 

The ghost crouched beside him, her expression twisted in fury. She squeezed his heart until it stopped. With a strangled cry, the man went limp. Glassy and frozen, his eyes were fixated upon her as they’d never been in life.

Satisfied, the ghost of the woman stood. She turned and ascended the staircase. Reaching the top, she glanced over her shoulder at the two bodies crumpled on the floor. One was her own and the other belonged to her husband. The same man who had pushed her down the stairwell, hours before.

Guest Author: #Horror #Flashfiction with L. E. White

Hello everyone,

Clarissa has been kind enough to allow me a chance to share a guest post with all of you on her blog. I am L. E. White. I tend to write dark fantasy and horror although I have also written a little science fiction and erotica. I post a new story every Wednesday on my blog and I hope that you will join me over there.

If you like what you read, there are links to all of my published work on the site. I have a new erotic horror novella, tentatively titled “Forever and Always” that is in production with Sirens Call Publications.

As I do on my own blog, I wanted to offer you an original flash fiction story. Something scary that will hopefully make you look over your shoulder as you follow my link. I look forward to seeing you, so be careful along the way.

-L. E. White

Interruptions

Photo courtesy of Lothorian Magick 

When Lynn touched the box, she felt a burst of pain. “Ow,” she said as she jerked away and shook her hand.

“What happened?”

Lynn looked at Anna, sitting on the bed across from her. “It shocked me.”

Anna shrugged. “Maybe you should stop dragging your feet as you walk.”

Lynn frowned and looked at the box again without touching it. It was small and dark reddish brown. Lynn guessed it was some kind of wood, but she wasn’t sure. The sides were dirty, dented and stained. A simple latch flipped down over a metal pin to hold the lid in place. The lock didn’t have a clip or bar to keep it from popping open, but it stayed closed anyway.

“Why haven’t you opened it?”

Anna frowned and leaned forward, putting her nose to within an inch or two of the top. “Every time I start to open it, something happens.” She sat back up and looked at her friend. “My dad found it in a storage unit he was cleaning out. He said it was the only thing left in the unit.”

Lynn tilted her head to one side. “So it was under some trash or something?”

“No,” Anna said. “It wasn’t under anything. It was the only thing in the unit.”

Lynn curled up one lip and leaned over to look at the box from the other side. “When did you get it?”

“Day before yesterday.”

Lynn wrinkled her forehead as she looked at her friend. “Then why haven’t you opened it?”

“I told you something happens.”

“Like what.”

Anna took a deep breath. “Dad gave it to me yesterday when I got home from school. When I went to open it, the cat knocked its food bowl off the table and I had to clean it up.”

“I hate your cat,” Lynn said.

“But that is just one thing. Something happens every time.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Really,” Anna said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “When you went to touch it just now, you got shocked.”

“That was nothing.” Lynn reached for the latch, and Anna’s little brother walked opened the door.

“Mom wants to know if she is staying for dinner?”

Anna smirked at Lynn. “Yeah she is. Now get out.”

The door shut and Lynn raised one eyebrow. “That was random.”

“Try again.”

Three more time, Lynn reached for the latch and each time, something else interrupted her.

“What the hell?”

“You are just going to have to ignore everything else and open it anyway.” Anna was smiling a wide smile at Lynn. “Otherwise it will never get opened.”

“Wait a minute,” Lynn said. “Why don’t you open it?”

“Because I’m your friend and I am indulging your curiosity.”

Lynn grabbed a pillow and swatted Anna. They began to wrestle, and the box was knocked off the bed.

***

Anna was in her bed, covers tucked in and eyes shut. Lynn was on the floor, on a sleeping bag on top of an air mattress. Her covers were tossed, and her eyes were open.

Lynn stared at the ceiling, her mind racing, and she wished the race would end so that she could sleep.

She flipped around, swapping head for foot in hopes that the change would help. She rolled, lying on her stomach, head turned to look under the bed.

When she saw the box, she reached out, pausing as she wondered if she would get shocked again before moving forward.

Lynn pulled the box out from under the bed and turned it over in her hands. It felt grimy, leaving her fingers sticky after she handled it. “Ewww,” she said as she turned it so that the latch faced her.

When she put her finger nail under the latch, Lynn stopped and looked around the room. She waited, and then shook her head.

Lynn held her breath as she flexed her finger. The small metal plate flipped off of the pin with a tiny click, and Lynn looked around again.

She looked the other way, towards the window, and didn’t see the lid lift up. It rose, twisting on it hinges, opening like the mouth of a hungry baby bird.

When Lynn looked down, her mouth fell open. She stared into her hands as she listened to a soft, cold, voice whisper, “Free.”

***

Author Bio:

I am a happily married father of four who lives on a family farm in southern Indiana. I have published multiple stories under the by line of L. E. White, with my work being included in collections from Popcorn Press, Hazardous Press and Sirens Call Publications. I have completed my first novel and am seeking representation for it.

Find L. E. White on Amazon, Smashwords, Facebook, Twitter and on Wordpress.

Frightening Friday-Storm Clouds Ripping Through My Eyes

Continuing with my flash fiction month. The photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. I watch clouds a lot, especially storm clouds. I find them mesmerizing.

Storm Clouds Ripping Through My Eyes

The movement began in the clouds. Nothing out of the ordinary. Little movements, like tendrils of smoke. It was only when you looked away that the tendrils coagulated into shapes and forms. Some were human-like and some...were more beastly. The beasts ran wild like horses. Their feet pounded the grey clouds like heartbeats. Their faces contorted into soundless screams as they reared their heads in tortured ferocity. The human-like figures ran behind them. Sky clad. Formed and unformed. A cacophony of darks and lights pressed together like clay.

And then...they fell from the sky. One by one, the shapes fell. They screamed and plummeted to earth. They swooped down upon those who had been unlucky enough to notice them.

But one held back. One. It was different than the others. It held a greater temperance. The others would fall upon whomever had noticed them. They would rip unfortunate souls to shreds and satiate their hunger without pausing to think.

But this One would wait.

A man lay dying in a field. The cloying smell of death lay over the area like a grasping hand. The field was soaked in the blood of many. The man's time had come.

It swooped down, a swirling mass of black, white and grey. Descending upon him, it triumphantly captured the man's last breath. Whether it was a breath of relief or a breath of loss didn't matter to it. It had waited. It could return to the clouds. The others would be forced to satiate their hunger. But it? It would be free, once more.

Thoughtful Thursday-Behind the Door

Continuing with my flash fiction month, the photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them.

Behind the Door

The door knob rattled. It was a worn-out skeletal sound, like the knob had been rattled many, many times before.

She reached for it, unsure whether she should commit to seeing what lay on the other side. It would be easy to walk away and pretend she'd never seen or heard the door knob move at all. There was nobody around, after all. Nobody to call her a scaredy-cat. Nobody to make fun. She could simply...walk away.

Except she couldn't. She was too curious. The door knob continued to rattle, the seductive sound echoing in her head. It was as if something was trying to tempt and draw her in. As if it dared her to see what lay on the other side. But I've been on the other side, she thought. And there was nothing there. 

She grabbed the knob and the rattling stopped. The metal was cold in her hand. Cold and still. What now? She contemplated opening the door quickly--kind of like ripping off a band-aide. Or maybe she'd open it slowly--like the many times she'd opened cupboards in the house she'd left behind. She was never one to do things slowly. Turning the knob with finality, she yanked open the door.

The ghost was unprepared for the bright light that lay behind it.

#Paranormal Wednesday-Cottage of Butterfly Wings

Continuing with my flash fiction month... The photos this week are my own--I had the stories in my head when I took them. I took this particular photo in a cottage we stayed at in Cumbria, England. The cottage had been built in 1693 and I fell in love with it. As to the photo--I found the butterfly in a closed-up larder. Initially, I thought the butterfly was dead. My daughter poked at it and the poor thing flopped this way and that, seemingly lifeless. But for some reason (I'm actually afraid of butterflies) I felt compelled to keep checking on it. By the next day, it started to move and I opened the window and let it out. A strange miracle, I guess.

Cottage of Butterfly Wings

The butterfly lay dead on the window sill. The room had been closed up for some time. It had taken all her effort to open the door, and she was greeted with a small, empty space made of stone. A single, closed window overlooked the garden. The stone was cold under her hands and the dead butterfly lay upon it.

She had listened to the desperation in the woman's voice for the past hour. Forgotten but still present, the voice echoed throughout the cottage, sticking in the corners like residue. Flashes of the woman's life had come to her: once in the garden (it was bitterly cold that winter) once in the bedroom (her domain, choose the other room to sleep in) and the strongest one at the back door (Mary? Where are you, child? Mary!).  The strongest one bothered her the most.

The woman's ghostly presence had been persistent. It had lingered alongside of her as she moved from room to room. Do not disturb my things. This is my house, not yours. Once she reached the back door, the screaming would start again. Mary? Where are you, child? Mary!  The woman would forget her altogether, caught up in her own desperation.

The butterfly remained lifeless and she halfheartedly poked at it. She suspected the child had drowned, though there were no ponds or streams around that she knew of. The child had long, blonde hair. She liked to run and play in the sunshine. She was always laughing and getting into things. She wore a long, white dress and leather shoes. These thoughts came to her like heartbeats.

The space around her became silent. The woman wanted her to remember. Remember the child I lost.

She blew on the butterfly's wings and the insect began to stir.

Tangled Tuesday-What Gets Left Behind

Continuing with my flash fiction month, the photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. I went inside this abandoned building after I took the photo. It pretty much contained what my character found...with the exception of a thing or two.

What Gets Left Behind

The place was an eyesore. Abandoned, the only thing the building was good for was housing drunks and prostitutes. It stood for the past thirteen years on her father's property. Now that he was gone, she had every intention of leveling it.

She picked her way through the refuse, kicking aside the empty beer bottles, used condoms and needles. Her father always made her promise to stay away from this place. Even on his death bed. Now she could see why. Not only was it cluttered with the darker side of human nature, it smelled like something had died.

She spied a dark form huddled in the corner. Crap. Thinking it was a transient, she started to tell him to leave. Before the words could pass her lips, the form dissolved to the ground. She blinked. Must be a trick of the light. Suddenly, a form darted to the other side of the room. Her heart raced. What the hell? A cat? No cat moved like that. As a matter of fact, no animal she could think of moved like that. Quick. Fluid. Without gait.

The chain of her necklace slid along the back of her neck. Whipping around, she faced nothing. Her breath quickened. Calm down. She turned back, her gaze searching the room. A small noise like a whisper arose from the corner. Taking a quick step backwards, she caught her foot on the handle of a shovel and tripped. The darkness slid to the other corner. Hair stood on the back of her neck. Her eyes watered. That wasn't right. Nothing moved like that. Nothing from this world, her thoughts warned. Get out of here. Now.

Backing away slowly, she kept her attention fastened on the corner. She could see whatever it was, still huddled there. It was watching her. Gauging her movements. Waiting for her to drop her guard. Which I have no intention of doing, she thought. One move and I'll run so fast, you'll be eating my dust. And trust me, I can run pretty damn fast if I'm scared enough. Her stomach churned. And I'm pretty fucking scared right now.

Little did she know while backing away...that there were two of them.
And the other one was right behind her.

Frightening Friday-Kentucky Fried Revenge

The photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. This one was a bit silly but here goes...

Kentucky Fried Revenge

He liked chickens. He liked them better fried but he didn't mind when they strutted about making chicken noises either. The sound was kind of relaxing. But what had woken him wasn't relaxing. What had woken him sounded like a fox or a coyote getting into his hen house.

One of the chickens plucked its way towards him and began pecking at his slipper.

"Knock it off." He nudged it away with his toe. "Bird! Knock it off."

The lone chicken was followed by several of its brethren. Clustering around his feet, they too, began to peck at his slippers. And it hurt. He was wearing velvet slippers his grandma had bought him. Nice slippers but they did little to ward off sharp beaks. He stepped away from the flock.

Shining his flashlight into the darkness, he couldn't see any sign of a predator. "Scared it off, did you?" He glanced at the flock of chickens, all lined in a row and facing him. It was probably a trick of his flashlight but their eyes were glowing. Frowning, he shone the light directly on them. The chickens scattered like roaches.

He followed their trails to the edges of the chicken pen. The coop fence had been damaged. Tufts of fur scattered the area.  It looked like something had been dragged through the gap, and it wasn't one of his chickens. Blood and fur clung to the wiring.

"What the hell?" The chickens huddled in the corners, shying away from his light. "What's gotten into you birds?" He shone the flashlight directly on one. It lunged at him, its beak opening in a soundless shriek. "Back off, bird!" The man kicked at it. The chicken lunged again.

One by one, the other chickens turned towards him. This time, there was no mistake, their eyes were glowing red. They came towards him as a flock, hissing.

He fell with a cry and landed flat on his back. The flock descended upon him, their beaks sharp and unforgiving.

Thoughtful Thursday-Do Angels Bite Their Nails?

The photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. Enjoy!

Do Angels Bite Their Nails?

The graveyard was still and silent.

"I don't know what to do." He wrung his hands fitfully. Then stop, his inner voice argued. Your time has passed.

Jumping over grave markers, she ran through the cemetery. She stayed in the shadows, dodging the dappled sunshine. Twirling in ecstasy, the young woman laughed up at the blue sky. Her attention was captured by a bouquet of white lilies. Plucking them from the gravestone's stone urn, she scattered the flowers across another marker.

Wild as she was, he couldn't deny a part of him hoped she'd never change. He chastised himself for his weakness. "Why did you do that?"

Her look of surprise was quickly replaced to one of defiance. "The other had the flowers long enough." Turning her back on him, she continued up the hill.

"Where are you going?"

"To the top of the hill."

"I can see that," he said, wringing his hands. "There's nothing up there."

"I'm up there," she replied. "Are you calling me nothing?"

He ignored her remark. "You're not supposed to be out, you know."

"They can't keep me trapped forever." She glanced back at him, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "I know how to get out."

They stood next to each other and took in the view. The hill overlooked a pastoral valley dotted with trees. The slope dipped steeply and ran into shadows below.

"I'm going to run as fast as I can," her voice echoed.

He grabbed her arm. "No you're not."

"I am." She shook him off. "And you can't stop me."

He watched her tear down the hill. Faster and faster she ran until her feet couldn't keep up with her velocity. She tripped and tumbled, a tangle of red hair and hospital gown, until she landed in a broken heap. If he could have uttered a curse and gotten away with it, he would have.

She stepped away from her body before he could reach her. The sparkle was gone from her eyes. Ghostly traces of defiance trickled away like sunlight.

"I-I tried." His sense of failure weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

"You couldn't stop me then and you can't now," she said to him, her expression serious. "We need to stop doing this."

"I can't." He watched her body dissolve into nothingness.

***

The graveyard was still and silent.

"I don't know what to do." He wrung his hands fitfully. Then stop, his inner voice argued. Your time has passed.

Jumping over grave markers, she ran through the cemetery...

#Paranormal Wednesday-Phone Box of the Dead

The photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. This particular story came to me complete with music. Hit play (down at the bottom) and read on...

Phone Box of the Dead

The door wouldn't budge. Desperate, she pounded on it. Peering down the empty alleyway, she was doubtful anyone would be coming by soon. It was late and the shops had been closed for hours. Outside the phone box, the night was still.

She rooted in her purse for a coin and came up empty-handed. "Figures," she murmured.  She could call 999. But this hardly ranked as an emergency, the door to the phone box was merely stuck. She pushed on it again to no avail. An icy breeze slipped through the cracks, chilling her to the core. Her breath plumed in the night air.

A distant sound of music broke the silence. Mournful, the music threaded its way down the alleyway.

Pressing against the glass, she tried to see where the music was coming from. Maybe a car or someone's iPhone?  "Hello?" she called. Thank God. I thought I'd be trapped here all night.

The movement began far at the end of the dark alleyway. Mere glimpses at first; the curl of a fingertip and the flash of pale skin. But slowly, the movement coagulated into something tangible. A form emerged from the darkness like a moth from its cocoon, followed by another, and another. Moving in slow motion, they drifted with the music in an unspoken unity.

Bare feet skimmed over puddles of rain, leaving not a trace. Vestiges of cloaks, tattered like spiderwebs, clung to what was left of their ghostly bodies. The music increased in tempo. The procession danced in joyless abandon as they continued past her, their faces contorted in sadness and despair.

"What the hell?" she murmured.

A tall, shadowed figure trailed in their wake. Gently guiding those that strayed off the path, he seemed to be herding them towards their destination.

She backed up as far as she could inside the phone box. Hoping the door remained stuck, she jammed it shut with her foot. He didn't seem to notice her, at least she didn't think he did. The others continued in their unearthly procession. The icy breeze continued to blow through the cracks of the phone box, bringing with it the smell of stone, decay and ashes.

The tall figure's stride was seemingly pensive. Shadows curled around his feet like smoke. His cloak dragged behind him with a tangible heaviness. Walking past the phone box, he kept his distance.

She was about to breathe a sigh of relief...when he suddenly turned to face her.


The Music

Tangled Tuesday-Faerie Ring

The photos this week are my own. I had the stories in my head when I took them. Enjoy!

Faerie Ring

She lay on her stomach and contemplated the mushroom. It was only one, she reasoned. There were so many of them. The faerie ring would still be a ring, regardless of what the man had warned.

Inhaling its scent again, she wondered if it was edible. She knew all the varieties that grew in the forest; which ones were poisonous and which ones weren't. These were unlike any she had come across. They smelled different. Not earthy like most mushrooms--but like wildflowers, sunshine and honey. Like magic.

It was only one...

Holding her breath, she plucked the mushroom from the ground. Dirt clung to the bottom of the stem and she brushed it off. The mushroom was flawless and beautiful, its scent like a heady perfume. "See?" she breathed. "Nothing happened. The man was making a fool of you."

The mushroom turned black and withered in her fingertips. Its scent changed from one of summer breezes...to one of death.

Tossing it aside, she sat up, her heart racing. Trepidation pricked at her insides. Grabbing a handful of pine needles, she covered the blight she'd left in the dirt. Her gaze darted around the ring. She tried to ignore the gap and couldn't. The ring was broken now. The mushrooms grew in a perfect circle until you reached the place she'd defiled. What had the man said? Break the ring and betwixt you'll be. Betwixt what? Just thinking about it gave her a headache. In fact, her head was throbbing quite painfully. She closed her eyes to ward off an onslaught of dizziness.

Falling onto her back, she looked up at what had been a blue sky mere moments ago. She was unprepared for the darkness that enshrouded her.

Thoughtful Thursday-Wildflowers

Continuing with flash fiction based on photo inspiration...
A peek into something bigger—most likely, they will come together as a full-length book later. Enjoy!

Photo courtesy of Neal. via Flickr

Wildflowers

It was the wishing that kept her alive.

She lay in a field of wildflowers. Plucking a petal from one, she flicked it away. “He loves me.” She plucked another, crushing its soft smoothness between her thumb and forefinger. “He loves me not.” She rolled over onto her side. Her hair, once secured around the crown of her head, was now tangled with leaves and trailed in a loose braid.

He appeared seemingly from nowhere; walking through the field and crushing wildflowers under his boots. Dressed in black from head-to-toe, his crisp, white button-up shirt stood in stark contrast. He looked as if he were off to a wedding. Or a funeral.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Removing his top hat, he dusted it across his knee. Long, dark hair blew in the breeze.

“I’m lying here.” She didn't bother keeping the resentment from her voice. He was not the first to disturb her peace, though this one hadn't come the same way the others had.

“I can see that.” His eyes flashed annoyance. “You're in my field.”

“It isn't your field. ‘Tis mine. I've been here longer than you've crossed it.”

“Indeed?” 

She studied his clothing and demeanor; a curious mixture of old and new.

“Well, then. I apologize.” A bemused smile traced his lips. “Perhaps we may share?”

She sat up, the lace trim at the neck of her dress suddenly binding. “Perhaps.”

He settled beside her, long-legged and taking up what seemed like the last available space. “I didn't expect to see anyone else.”

“Nor did I.” She couldn't stop her gaze from travelling up to his face. It was an interesting face. Dark eyes, made to appear darker by the eyeliner he was wearing. A proud nose. Well-shaped lips. A silver ring hung from one of his earlobes. Only one. It matched the silver buttons along his black velvet coat. She gathered her long skirts closer.

“I started to turn back…” His gaze slid towards the line of trees. “But then I saw you from the woods.”

She caught the confusion on his brow. “There is but one path from here.”
It was the wishing that kept her alive.

He turned his attention to her face. “Seems a lonely path.” 

“I suppose it is…for some.”

“Will you walk it with me?” 

She worried her long braid and dropped her gaze.  “I am not ready to leave.”

"Neither was I," he replied. “I suppose we shall sit here and take in the scenery until we're both ready.”

“I suppose we shall.” The crushed petal she held between her thumb and forefinger slipped away like an afterthought. 

The wildflower-scattered graveyard once held headstones. They had crumbled to dust long ago, the dead now forgotten.

It was the wishing that kept them alive.

#Paranormal Wednesday-The Whispering Woods

I found this photo last month while looking for one of Irish Colcannon. The photo stuck in my head and is included in my week of photo-inspired flash fiction. Again, think of these as a peek into something bigger. Most likely, they will come together as a full-length book. Enjoy!

The Whispering Woods

Photo courtesy of Davi Ozolin via Flickr

The darkness was like a veil.

Slipping her feet from the bed covers, she winced as the lace from the hem of her nightgown scratched her ankles. She sat and listened. A barely audible whisper drifted from the open window. It was almost as if it was calling to her. The cottage was otherwise silent and still, the embers from the evening fire still burning in the fireplace.

She searched for her woolen cloak and found it dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Draping it over her shoulders, she fastened it. The sound started again and she froze, waiting for it to dissipate. Quickly slipping her bare feet into well-worn leather boots, she struggled to light the candle beside her bed.

The night held the impending breath of winter. A breeze slid through near-bare branches, stripping them of their leaves and stirring complaints. A full moon shone overhead, surrounded by a luminous fairy ring. Stars dotted an otherwise inky sky.

Following the now-distant sound, she made her way through the thicket of trees. Forest animals darted from her path, startled from their nocturnal activities. Her feet made shushing sounds through leaves that scattered the forest floor. She held the candle in front of her. Wax spilled onto her fingertips. The candle's flame hesitated before it went out with a puff.

An unattended fire burned in a clearing. Its flames licked up into the star-dotted sky. The burning wood crackled with delight. The fire's fevered intensity beckoned to her. She made her way towards it, if only to warm her icy hands before deciding if she should return to her cottage.

A whisper sounded from behind her. She whipped around, searching the forest with her gaze. The glow from the firelight rendered her blind.

Silence. The forest was still, almost as if it too, was holding it's breath.

She stepped from the comfort of the fire. Little by little, her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The whisper started again. Two green spots flashed, like eyes. Startled, she suddenly felt the presence behind her.

It was the last thing she remembered.

Tangled Tuesday-Something About the Trees

This week, I'll be writing flash fiction based on photo inspiration. Think of them as a peek into something bigger. Most likely, they will come together as a full-length book later.  Enjoy!

Photo courtesy of Tijs Zwinkels via Flickr

Something About the Trees

She placed her hands on the trunk. A warmth emanated from the tree. It was a welcome warmth and she took comfort in it. Shivering and lost, she had spent the past few hours wondering if she would ever find her way out of the forest. The tree smelled good too. Not like oak or the green moss that veiled its trunk, but something else she couldn't define. She lay her cheek against its rough bark.

Someone was trapped inside the tree. 

The feeling hit hard and she pulled back. Her heart sped up. "That's ridiculous," she said aloud. "How can someone be trapped inside a tree?" Tentative, she scratched at the moss with her fingernail. It came away in a chunk and left a raw spot.

Suddenly, she heard a voice. She froze. Her stomach went in knots. The forest was silent except for the sound of her own breathing. That wasn't a voice, her thoughts chattered. That was somebody else's thoughts. 

"You've been wandering for too long," she whispered. "You're starting to hallucinate." She took a step back, unsure of what to do. The desperate plea started again, assailing her brain. And it was coming from within the tree.  My God, I have to get him out. "Hello?" She hit the trunk with her fist.

A bitter wind invaded the forest. Leaves sliced down from the branches overhead. Brushing against her bare arms, they left a trail of blood. Her blood.

She stared at the wounds, confused. Blood trickled down her arms and along her fingertips. The ground was splashed with crimson.

The pleading stopped.

Backing up, she tripped and fell over the roots that undulated from the forest floor. Her breath came in gasps as she scrambled to her feet. More leaves rained down on her, slicing through her skin like knives. The trees seemed to close in on her eagerly.

She was certain of two things; the man in the tree had been there for quite some time...and he wasn't the only one.