Writing Challenge ~ 1st - 15th May 2011

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ MAY 2011 ~ PART ONE​

Here is this month’s first prompt…


You can involve the prompt itself in your piece and make your link to the prompt as obvious or as subtle as you like or use it simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompt, just one aspect of the image, or use it in its entirety.

The word limit for this challenge is 2,500 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Writing Challenge Review Thread

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Sunday 15th May 2011, with the second prompt ‘going live’ on the 16th!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

Rodger peered through the grime covered window pane, staring almost blankly at the cold water of the lake. He wondered how much longer it would take to have it ice over, locking the body of water into the same kind of stasis he was locked in. Most of the land was smothered in the white coating that descended from heaven. Just the lake stood there, defiant. The silent water flaunting the one quality it had that he would never have.

Offended by the seeming gloating manner of the lake, Rodger crossed the faded carpet that covered the floor to remove himself from the disgusting scene outside. His feet took him to a place where he knew his mind would take solace. His body knew that his mind was in the midst of a whirling vortex of destruction, purging his memories of cruel visions he just left.

Rodger stopped, his eyes closed as his nose drew in the unique fragrance of paper, leather, vellum and ink. Not even the pervasive tinge of dust detracted from the beauty of the olfactory chorus. If anything, it added a delicious counterpoint. With a certainty born of countless visits, his hand came to rest on a well used spine of a tome. The leather was almost chamois soft, the gold embossing almost completely rubbed away but the channels remained as they had from the very first day. Fingertips read the corrugated surface and embossing depressions, bring a smile to his face as he came to know the tome's name.

Reverently, he walked the narrow passages between the wealth of tomes, scrolls and loose sheaths of writing and illustrations. His hands would caress one tome or a rolled up scroll, drawing on the calming effects of those that called the room home. Several times, his hand went to remove one of the books, to gaze adoringly upon its contents. But he could not bring himself to disturb them. To look at one would break the harmony that he had striven for over the past years.

He left the room, so he didn't succumb to the temptation that clearly taunted him, like the lake had. He closed the door behind him. The loud click masked the sound within his soul. His resolve breaking further. He was tired. Tired of the endless battle he waged to maintain the order he longed for. He needed.

He turned for the front door, pacing with a strength of purpose that had been lacking in his travels during the day. He paused for a moment, his hand on the doorknob, then turned it and opened the door. Before him was the welcoming blanket of white. The coolness of the air nipped and bit at his exposed skin, but he ignored that as he strode to the gate that marked the boundary of his property. He came to a stop, his toes at the very edge of the path that terminated at the gate. Behind him was known, registered, controlled and laid out as he desired it. Beyond the gate was unknown, chaos and entropy.

He was as still as a statue as he ran through his reasons for taking the step, and not taking it. A whimsical smile flittered across his face as hisl ist of pros and cons evened out. Stalemate. Balance. Stasis.

But he was tired, one factor he hadn't processed. The only way he would know rest was to take the final step. She made sure that he got what he wanted.

"An end to the turbulence that afflicts my life with all manner of torments. I simply wish for there to be more stability without the ill fortunes of life!"

And so the next morning, it was as he sought. Within the confines of his property, there would be calm, stability and peace. For two hundred years, nothing changed in his house, his mind and life. The first few years were joyous, but then burdening and finally despairing. He loathed change, and the lake became his personal symbol of all that was ill in the world.

"As long as you stay within your lands," she spoke, "you will be freed of what you seek to loose. Stray from them, and they will return."

That lake marked one of the boundaries of his property. He turned, walking across the blanket of snow, marring the perfection with the passage of his feet. He closed on the defiant water, who's constant ebb and flow was felt like the most personal of insults. He came to a rest at the edge of the shore, the land meeting the water signifying the end of his land.

The burdens that gathered like driftwood that blocked and dammed a river seemed to break free. He stood straighter, taller and with a pride he never had before. He smiled warmly, taking the step he needed to take. His foot touched the icy water, sinking below the surface by a fraction of an inch.

He sighed, feeling the release of the curse he brought upon himself. His sunless pallor rapidly turned gray, small veins easily appearing under the translucent skin. His limbs turned spindly, making him waver as he stood. His muscles faded, making his breathing hard. His hair went gray before thinning and falling out.

He toppled forward toward the water, his smile stretching beyond human norm as his dessicated body fell into the water, dissolving almost immediately, along with the fabric of his clothing. The water rippled for a few moments, registering his passing before becoming flat and calm once more. Behind him, the mansion sagged, groaned and with a loud sigh, collapsed in on itself. The brief cloud of dust billowed before being swallowed by the snows.

By a minute after he stepped into the water, his lands looked as if no one had ever lived there. Neither would any remember.

mourning chills me
like December
my bones ache
my memories allude me
i reach for the joy i used to know
but all i grasp is loss

Echos

Its name was Ashton, named after the creators. Furthermore, it was aware that it had a name.

The awareness came from those that stayed within it. The passions within the bedrooms crashed into the walls, imprinting the force of life into the seemingly lifeless structure, while the dreams wove a magic that wheedled its way through cracks and other openings. The gatherings for meals in the dining rooms produced slow crescendos of family bonds that seeped into the foundations of the house. The laughter of children, inside and out, helped add a layer of protection to the burgeoning awareness.

Decades passed and people came and left, but the Ashtons continued, as did Ashton. There were ones that worked within, using paint, paper, carpet and furniture to give a room a certain feel and air. Ashton absorbed it, reflecting back on the people, making it stronger. It never understood words, but emotions it did. Together, Ashton and those that care for it were pleased at the way others reacted when they saw what was done. With each decade, the living that occurred within the walls, within Ashton itself, fed and strengthened the awareness. Unknown to it, people commented about how lovely the house felt, that it really was a home. That people longed for a place just like it. The owners were proud, not knowing that they had an invisible helper.

Unlike Ashton, those within were fickle, temporary creatures. Those that gave Ashton awareness, and to some degree, purpose, left to never return. Ashton never understood why, but came to accept what happened. Others that came later changed things, and the changes felt wrong to Ashton. The passions changed, the dreams faded, less people gathered to eat and the laughter of children became mere echoes. People didn't care for Ashton's physical needs, and its maintenance got more and more difficult. Soon, as Ashton perceived it, there were no more staying within.

The passing of the seasons meant little to it, but the lack of people made it feel cold, slugish and lonely. This was something that Ashton had know knowledge of, nor means to deal with. The longer Ashton went without people, the more of Ashton's awareness faded. Emotions ceased to come to Ashton, memories vanished and purpose ceased. With the coming of one winter, the awareness could recall two things; Ashton, and echos of laughter.


Gary rubbed his hands together to get some more circulation and hopefully some friction in his hands as the latest potential buyers approached the gate.

"Hello, Robert, Tilly and... Max?"

"Maxwell!" The small boy declared proudly. The adults laughed. Gary unlocked the gate, pushing it open, allowing the family to enter. Maxwell ran for a small drift of snow, Tilly went after her wayward son and the men moved towards the front door.

"So why has this place been unoccupied for so long?"

"Well, Robert, it's a big place, out of the way from most of the little conveniences of life. Plus, most of the people just didn't click with the place. It does need a little TLC, but nothing structurally wrong with it." Gary unlocked the front door, pushing it open. "Once it went up on the market, we have it cleaned every so often."

Ashton felt the presence of something familiar, though it could not place what it was, or why it felt familiar. It tried to rouse itself, but all that happened was the pull of the remaining memories. Again, the withering and wilting of the awareness continued, just as the seasons did.

Tilly and Maxwell caught up with the men. She slowed down, looking around in something similar to awe. Maxwell wanted to get free of his mother's arms, and started to fuss and wriggle. Without thinking, Tilly tickled him, causing him to laugh.

Laughter echoed through the room, and through Ashton's awareness. Ashton roused further, feeling the wonder rolling off one of those within. Wonder that Ashton felt many times before. The sluggishness was fading. Maxwell broke free and ran to one of the nearby rooms as Gary launched into his sales pitch. The room Maxwell ran into had one doorway connected to it, and nothing that he could break, or harm himself on. The adults moved on a little, though Tilly kept looking back.

Maxwell saw pretty colours and patterns on the wall, and strange shapes on the ceiling. He laughed again, listening to the way the sounds bounced around. Ashton wanted to laugh too, since it was the one thing that remained with it. The boy's face went from joy to surprise, his own laughter ceasing. A look of excitement grew on the little boy's face as he moved carefully, listening.

Move. Stop. Listen. Smile. Move. Stop. Listen. Smile. Move...

Maxwell could not hear his parents, or Gary anymore. He was following the sounds of laughing. Away from the living areas, the little boy went back outside. Through the snow he ran until he got to a bare tree where the remains of a home made swing hung from one of the branches. Maxwell bent over the seat, swinging in his tummy, laughing along with the other laughter he heard.

His parents saw him through a window, safely having fun. Robert and Tilly were looking at each other, while Gary walked out of the room. This couple are different, he thought, they look genuinely interested. He had lost count of the people who he showed through, only to leave not liking the 'feel of the place.' Not one word from either of them once they were inside, but both looked over everything.

"What do you think, Till?"

"Rob, I love it. Can't you feel it? I swear that the place is calling out to us."

"Yeah... Max likes it. I haven't heard him laugh like that in a long time. And look at him. I reckon he'll be up that tree in no time if we move in."

"I'd like to change it back, Rob. Make it more like the way it was, rather than how it is... now."

"Well, let's see if I can make the two of you happier then." Rob kissed Tilly on the forehead and went back to Gary.

"I think we'll take it, Gary."

"Mister Ashton, you don't know how happy that makes me feel to hear that news."

Ashton felt the echos of things long past awaken within its awareness once more.

“What are you doing?” I heard him say in a panicked voice.

I swung my legs over the bridge, sitting on the very edge of it. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I stared down at the tumultuous river beneath me, roaring past in the blackness of the night. The water was dark and murky, and I knew that it would sweep me into its dark depths, steal my breath with its icy touch and take my life within seconds.

“Join me...” I heard him say as he rounded the embankment, walking slowly towards me. His hands were up in a disarming gesture and as I glanced over my shoulder, my heart gave a strangled cry.

Physically he was the man I loved so fiercely, the one whose blue eyes I could drown in, whose arms would hold me against him wrapped up in the warmth of his embrace. But he was taken and turned into a creature of the night ... against his will. The one thing he has hunted down and killed his entire life. The universe has a fucked up sense of humour.

I stared into those red eyes that were cruel and evil, traces of the man I once loved were still there in a distorted way, but he was gone. I had to deal with it. Make peace with it. I could not however live like this... without him...

“Step back from the edge and join me, you don’t understand the power,” he said in that voice that I barely recognised anymore.

“Tell me why,” I asked breathlessly. “Why should I join you?”

He gave another cautious step forward. “We can spend eternity together and rule this world.”

It went against every instinct in my body, that I should even consider it... if he loved me. But this was not love ... and I would rather die than spend my life as a soulless murderer who fed off the living.

“That is not good enough” I said with finality.

I pushed myself over the edge. The entire world slowed down as sound disappeared. I felt weightless as I floated in slow motion to my impending doom. I always wondered what people thought in their dying moments. Mine were filled with memories of him ... bittersweet. I was ready ... to die.

I felt a strong arm wrap around my wrist that suspended me in mid air and for a moment I stared in amazement as the world sped up and caught up with me. I had anticipated him doing this and felt him pull me back up over the edge. He was exasperated that I had done it.

“Why won’t you join me?” he screamed at me, fury kindling in his eyes. “I am giving you a choice! You will have immortality and we will be together for all of eternity! Why!?”

My feet were dangling over the edge still as I raised my eyes to his, love, hurt and regret flickering in their dark depths. Tears were still streaking past my cheeks.

“I will always love you,” I said, as I plunged the wooden stake into his heart.

His expression went blank, his eyes wide ... his grip on me failing. “That’s what you wanted to hear...” he whispered as he fell over the edge of the bridge, nearly taking me with him.

I watched him fall, his eyes staring blankly up at me. His body hit the water in an almost deafening splash in my ears and as I watched him disappear into the watery blackness... I thought my heart would break into a million pieces. The bitter, cold night air stole my breath away, before a heart wrenching sob escaped my lips.

I could feel a big part of me dying with him...

(This was based on a book that I read, the river spurring the memory)

All Hallows

There’s this house, down by the loch. It’s never been lived in for as long as I can remember. But they say that on All Hallows, when the veil between worlds is thinnest, things happen in that house. I always figured it for a tale that mothers used to scare their children into being good. There’s always some little tale to tell or someone evil to threaten with. In this small town, it was the house. Tales of how mothers would send their naughty children in and they were never seen again. The house and the stories always came to the fore this time of year. I always wondered if there was any truth to them.




The whole town got into the holiday. Some more than others, but that’s what made it so much fun. One could tell the hard core church folk from everyone else. There were never any decoration and their houses were always dark on the night the children came around for candy. Some decorated with the Olde Ways in mind, the rest were more modern.

All week long there were contests., dances, fairs. Everything was leading up to the big night. For some, it was nothing more than seeing how many bags of candy they could collect or how many chocolate bars they had by the time they were done for the night. For others, it was about how many pranks they could pull, on who and if they could get away with it. Still for others, it was a night of remembering all those they loved who had passed from this mortal realm into another. It was a night like no other. Spirits abounded, visiting those of their loved ones who were still attached to the mortal realm. But that also allowed for other things, other beings, the chance to slip through the veil.




There is no moon. No breeze. I only hear two things. The beat of my heart and the crunch of the snow beneath my boots. Both sound so loud at night as I approach the dark eerily quiet house. There seems to be a growing ominous atmosphere surrounding the house, as if its waiting for something. Waiting for me. I grow fanciful. That’s what I keep telling myself so I don’t lose my courage. They’re just scary children’s stories, that’s all. I pause, hand on the door knob.

There’s no one here.

I keep repeating that to myself silently. Maybe I’ll believe it too.

The door opens as I turn the knob and gently push. One last deep breath of the fresh crisp night air and I step inside, softly closing the door behind me. The air in here smells stale. No one has aired this place out in years. My eyes roam around the big empty room as I slowly take off my warm weather gear. I drape my coat over my arm as I walk around examining everything I see. The architecture is beautiful. The craftsmanship is exquisite. It was well made. Done with pride. Built to weather time. They don’t make houses like this anymore. My hand caresses the banister as I mount the stairs. I’m curious to see the upstairs. So far, I haven’t seen anything to be scared of.

Glancing down the hall at the top of the stairs, I notice several doors on each side. Except one. At the conclusion of the longer end of the hallway resides rounded, huge oak double doors. These stand out because they are different from all the other doors. Perhaps that is what drew my attention to them. Perhaps, it is something else. But whatever it is, I find myself walking toward it. The sound of my heels on the boots I am wearing, sound loud in the barren house. My hands reach for the slender door hands, but before I can touch them, the doors swing inward, opening.

Whoa. Back up the damn bus. This is one of those tricks for the holiday, right? Someone came in here and rigged the doors to open, right?

I step inside the room, searching the doors for riggings of wire or something, anything that could explain them opening of their own accord. As I do, the doors suddenly slam close, scaring the hell out of me. I can feel my heart beating in my throat.

“Okay, who’s out there? Where are you hiding? And this isn’t funny…”

I reach for the handles on the door, intent on ripping the doors open and giving someone or some people, a piece of my mind….but they won’t open. I rattle them a few times and to no avail. Anger. Fear. Both are very strong metallic tastes on my tongue.

“Okay. Joke’s over. You’ve had your fun. Haha. Now let me out of here…” the rattling of door handles is more stressful now. Still the doors refuse to budge.

There’s a sudden prickle at the nape of my neck. The fine hairs are standing on edge. My hands still on the handles. My blood is rushing through my veins. I can thank the hard pounding of my heart for that. Slowly my fingers drop from the door handles, my coat and other winter gear fall from my arm into a heap on the floor at my feet. I’m too scared to turn around but I have to. I have to know what caused it.

It stepped from out of nowhere, cloaked, hooded. The hood was pulled so low that all I could see was shadow. My mouth dried up, like someone had just inserted a dry sponge into it.

“Who are you?” Someone had to speak. The silence was overwhelming.

It didn’t answer. All It did was step aside as another came through the unseen void. My eyes went from one to the other, both identically dressed. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a joke. Maybe I was just dreaming. I’d wake up any moment now. One went to the right, the other to left. Then another stepped into view, dressed like the other two. Three? No. Another stepped through. This one, it’s aura was …. different. They all wore black cloaks, hood pulled forward and low… but this last one. There was something. My eyes were fastened on It as it seemed to dominate the room. The other three weren’t any less intimidating, but THIS ONE…..

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. Silently I watched the last one raise a slender hand and push back his hood. The others took it as a sign and pushed back their hoods as well.

Oh dear god, no.

I recognized him. My eyes flinted from one to another, until I had taken in a view of each. Then with eyes that couldn’t shift away, back to the last. My gaze held captive. I recognized them all but what could they possibly want with me? I knew the answer to that as they silently stalked forward, surrounding me. They were sinfully beautiful and in that beauty I saw more sensuality than I could possibly deal with. Each in turn, the same order as they had arrived, removed their cloaks. My knees went weak. A fine sheen of moisture formed on my brow, on my chest and probably all over my body for that matter. They were deadly gorgeous. The finest species of the Male anatomy. Rippling muscles, flowing black hair, piercing eyes and cocks that jutted out with wild abandon, demanding attention. They crowded closer to me. Hands flowing over my hair, my breasts, my ass and between my thighs. My clothes fell away with their touch as did my inhibitions. They were all going to use my body. One at a time, all at once. It didn’t matter. The web they weaved was undeniable, irresistible. Resistance was not possible even if I had contemplated it.

Some would call them the Tuatha de Danann.

I simply called them the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Darkness

The house was supposed to be haunted. That was the story that got told around campfires, or on sleepovers. Even older children talked of it, whispered stories told by open lockers, or in the backseat of a car to encourage a willing body closer for protection. Most places have a house like that, or a vacant lot, or something similar. In that aspect it's unspectacular. In this case it's the story that holds a little more sway.

The story goes that the house was owned by a rich but crazy family. The father was a business man of considerable means but his disposition had forced his isolation in the house. His wife, an unnaturally blonde woman with skin that seemed too tight. She smiled all the time, but it never reached her eyes. Lastly was the son, the oddest of the lot. He had different colored eyes, hair that seemed to refuse true management, and an odd way of looking at people. While not shunned, they were certainly avoided within the town. Pleasantries could be exchanged, a tip of the hat or a small wave, to the adults. The wife would smile, stretching her red colored lips wide, the husband make a motion with his head or hand while his mind ran in other directions. The son would just stare, stare until you felt your blood begin to bubble and your skin itch.

While oddities spawn whispers, it takes events to spawn stories. The event in question happened on a Tuesday night. The closest neighbors swore up and down the police they'd heard screaming for most of the night. This wasn't taken too seriously, given the distance between the neighbors and the house and the quality of scream it would take to carry that distance. But those neighbors talked and talked, and their persistence eventually forced some form of action. Two officers made a house call, the husband spoke cordially with them and explained away the damage to his hand and face. They didn't fully believe him, but the wife appeared and confirmed the fall. Since nothing on her seemed out of the ordinary they were forced to retreat and pass on the explanations.

The story took many forms, they'd fought and she'd won, the son had attacked them both, they'd kidnapped some poor sap and eaten him for dinner, or were keeping him for Sunday dinner. No one could prove any of this, but stories have a mind and life of their own. Different versions of this one grew until it was local folklore and accepted to have truth. It evolved, long after the husband and wife were buried and the son hadn't been seen in years, the son secretly lived there still, eating the remains of his parents who weren't really buried in the cemetery. He would make trips into the town and find someone to supplement his diet and drag them back to the house. Just who the deranged son took changed depending on who was telling the story. It was a young child, an overly brave and equally stupid teenager, or supple bodied 20 something girl. This cannibalistic man took them all in equal measure, for some dark and horrible thing.

Funny really, stories like this and their purpose. Children are sure to avoid the dangerous place and avoid staying out too late, teenagers get to boast and talk rather than actually trespass, and young women have their excuse to snuggle closer to the person their with. The world keeps turning, because stories like this have only elements of truth and tons of wild speculation. There is comfort in that, knowing just how much of this is fabricated to serve those other goals.

I hoist the chain over one shoulder and begin dragging my cargo towards the house. If that poor bastard is still down there chowing on his parents he's gonna have company. Her fingers seem to claw at the loose earth as I drag her. Stories have uses, I mean really, after all the stories and prank calls, how much credence will the cops give hearing some cries coming from the old haunted house?