This week, show us something creepy — because hey, we can’t take photos of rainbows and puppies every day. Well, okay, I guess we can. But let’s branch out anyway!
Monday 3rd August 2015
I have no Porch stories in my locker, I have been wrapped up with other projects and concerns. I do hope to get a few ideas and then get my keyboard tapping again soon, fingers crossed. Please enjoy the piece below, and if you have any ideas, I am all ears.
This, hopefully, is the start of a mystery crime story. I have started profiling characters and brief outlines of the story. This particular part, a stand alone short it maybe, is followed by two brothers attending a rally and the speaker is shot, and he passes on a notebook with gold medallion/coin inside and he asks the brothers to pass it to the lady in this brief piece. As you might notice I have not got a title or any ideas, yet!
She ran across the yard into the blacksmiths forge, pausing, she quickly looking about. Her eyes dashing from each corner of the workshop when they stopped. She was looking at a long broken axe handle, minus its head, ‘that’ll do’ she thought hurrying to the anvil where it was leaning. Picking it up she hurried out, pausing at the doorway and quickly looking both ways, then ran out and headed towards the barn and the stables. Into the open space between them meant exposing herself but she had to chance it. With the sun high in the sky her vision was clear, which meant any who was looking out for her would also see her clearly. The hundred metres disappeared quickly as she came to the barn, rushing through the open doors she came to halt at the supporting upright posts. Her hands gripping the axe handle as she stood in a defensive position. Her eyes looking around the barn and apart from the hay it looked empty. She ran to each stack of bales and peered around them until her suspicions was confirmed. There was no one here, it was time to move on and get out fast. At the door, again she peered out cautiously all around and happy it was clear she bolted towards the stable. A building that housed six cubicles, open stables, each with tall wooden planked partitions and no doors. The entrance to the stables was open, the doors had been secured wide open, she ran inside and inspected each cubicle, which she found was empty. All horses were either in the paddocks grazing or being worked. She was not worrying about them, she was just pleased to find the stables empty.
At the back door she looked out across the large cobble stoned yard, on the left there was pig pen, the open yard normally covered in mud and manure had become dry caked earth. The warm weather of the past two weeks had dried the manure and dirt. In the center of the yard was a fountain, this fountain had no water spurting from its spouts. She could use it as cover and would make her run for the cottage a little easier. Clenching the axe handle tight, twirled it several times in her hands, almost as if it was giving her some confidence or moral support. When she was happy all was clear she thought ‘now or never’ and darted out into the open and raced towards the cottage. All the time she was running she was looking everywhere, checking every part of the yard hoping nothing would surprise or ambush her. Approaching the cottage she ran straight round the back, along the path that ran beside the cottage, glancing through the small side window as she went. Coming to the corner of the cottage wall she turned sharp right and came to an open stable style door. Holding her axe handle up and ready to strike at anything that might jump out at her, she moved slowly into the kitchen. The smell of coffee still lingered in the air, she slowly and cautiously moved through another door entering the lounge, and directly in front of her across the room was the large window looking out onto the yard she had just crossed.
Cautiously she searched the room, behind the sofa and chairs under the table, behind the curtains and she let out a deep breath as she found nothing. She looked out the windows and saw shadow movement in the distant, just before the blacksmith forge. A brief movement but it was enough to tell her to hurry. Now she was feeling a little more relaxed as she moved into the next room, a large hall that had been converted, here was the main front door to the cottage. Against the walls a sideboard and hat stand stood and standing just beside the stairs was a large narrow chest of drawers with four drawers on the top half and two cupboard doors on the bottom half. All in matching dark highly polished wood. There were a few pairs of shoes on the floor next to the chest of drawers, a mixture of male and female. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and was looking up wondering whether to search upstairs or leave. Just as she went to turn and move on she heard a sound a groan that sounded like it was coming from upstairs, she thought it was of someone in pain. She rushed up stairs and into the first room in front of her at the top. The door was open, she stopped in her tracks at the sight that lay before her, she almost heaved but took control so as not to be sick. On the bed lay two bodies, blood everywhere, all over the walls behind the bed, the quilt was more red than its cream and green. She moved closer to where the sound was coming from, one of them was still alive, if only hanging on with his last breath.
She knew there was nothing she could do to help but she still moved closer to the one that was still alive. His eyes were wide open, she was shocked with the horrified look on his face, fright and fear was all she saw. He was mouthing some words, she could hardly hear him, she moved closer but still all she could hear was a mumble, blood gurgling sounds. Her own heart was beating very strong and fast, her own fear was holding her back, she needed to get close to his mouth to be able to hear him clearly, and she had to do it quickly while he was still alive, he was trying to tell her something. She leant closer putting her ear close to his mouth, his last breath he gurgled in her ear, ‘the old stables, second cubicle.’
She stood up shocked and scared not knowing what to do apart from the one thing, and that was to get out of here. One last look around the room and again at the two dead men, absorbing all the information for reference later. She hurried out to check the other bedrooms, the second one she checked there was another dead body, this time it was a female. She guessed this woman was in her thirties with short blonde hair, unlike the men who were shot she had her throat cut. This room did not have so much blood, she must have died quickly and without a fight. She was now crying and very scared, she was trembling with fright and the confusion was now taking over, she was running on adrenaline alone. In the front bedroom, looking out into the main yard she did not see any shadows.
“I must get out.” she whispered to herself, holding her axe handle tight. She ran down the stairs and turned right and headed out of the cottage the way she came in. Through the stable kitchen doors, into the back garden, facing a well maintained flower garden with a path splitting the garden in two. She ran down to the bottom and found the small gate, just as a thud was heard and a small part of the gate splintered. Then another thud and the gate splintered again but closer to her this time. Turning she saw two men standing at the side of the cottage wall, one was pointing a gun at her and then firing a third time. She flung the gate open and ran off up the gravel track just as another sound of a bullet was heard whooshing past her head. She was so scared the adrenaline that was rushing through her took over, her speed was surprising her, she did not realise she could run so fast. Hundred yards up the track she dived into the woods and kept running until she could no longer see the cottage. She looked backed several times to check if anyone was chasing, when eventually she was sure no one was she slowed and came to a walk, a hurried walk while trying to catch her breath. “What now?” she said to herself.
Gerry A/C 2015©
Saturday 25th July 2015.
Oh No! not another attempt at a photo challenge.
This week, discover the hidden details that can only be seen up close.
Tuesday 7th July 2015.
What is your favorite month of the year?
Answer – Each month as it passes, because it tells me I am still alive. My favourite month at the moment is July until next month and so on.
Do you drink coffee at all?
Answer – Only when on holiday or days out because no one is able to make tea to my liking. I find coffee is a little more consistent.
What was one of your first moneymaking jobs (other than babysitting or newspaper delivery)?
Answer – My first job as such was an apprenticeship as an Electrical Technician.
List: If you play video/computer games list 5 games you like?
Answer – Don’t ever play them I find them boring and a complete waste of time.
Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Answer – Last week included my birthday and was smothered with love with a home made cake, which my daughter made. As well as a couple of books by my favourite authors, I received a writing course, so next week and more to follow I am looking forward to learning and progressing.
Gerry A/C 2015
Wednesday 1st and 5th July 2015.
This post for some reason got lost in the date and schedule dates in my edit times,, instead of the date it was done it showed being posted on 5th May. I do not know, so changed the date to today.. it should be automatic, WordPress glitch yes another one. thanks for your understanding..
Yesterday, the 30th June my daughter made this wonderful cake for me. Being my birthday she went out of her way to make this for me. She spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen baking it and then decorating it. This has been the fourth year running in which she has made me a wonderful cake. Each year with a different topic/title.
Just recently, the last couple of months that is, I have been concentrating on editing and reading through two of my novel length stories. My love story ‘Our Dream’ has been completed and ‘The Parchment’, a fantasy story, I have completed my first edit a few days ago. After reading it through again, I will say I am pleased with it, I do like this story. Of course it is possible that it can be improved, after all every story can be improved upon. Everyone has a different angle, different viewpoint. Our own personal imagination is our limit, the more imaginative or insane one is the better the story, well maybe. My point is, I enjoy writing stories of all lengths, poetry and song lyrics but just lately I have come short of ideas. Having no prompts or suggestions has made my mind go a little blank of late. So for my birthday yesterday I was given an online writing course, a mystery, crime fiction writing. It is set out in 12 modules with a varying amount of units within each module. This particular course is over a year but the course is open for 18 months and at the end, if completed then one will receive a recognised certificate. (so they say) So I am hoping this will inspire and improve my writing, which I feel is not as high as it could be.
Also the two stories I have now finished I am intending to e’publish via createspace or one other. Gerry A/C July 2015©
Friday 29th May 2015
In-between moments can be just as memorable as grand finales. This week, share a photo you took on the way to something else.
Thursday May 14th 2015
Just a day or two ago I finished writing a story, and have done a first read plus edit. This story was born way back in the 1970’s, it now consists of 80,000 words and 186 pages. I feel rather pleased with myself about this story in particular because it started off as just a few hand written pages in an old school exercise book.
I do not look at myself as writer because before all this came to life I wrote lyrics and songs on the guitar and poetry when alone, or on a train, I used to enjoy train journeys when a teenager. My writing started with lyrics for the odd chord structure which I liked, many of the lyrics I still have, including the old writing book I used. Scribbling’s everywhere, odd phrases, odd lines even complete verses with a chord sequence written with them. After years of absence I could not recall what I originally had in mind. I remember sitting on my bed looking out the window on a rainy stormy night, enjoying the storm, the lightning the thunder and shadows of the night. This particular night I wrote a poem called ‘Within the Darkness of Night’. It could also be a song lyric, but was written as a poem. I have included it in this post. I ask if you read it think of yourself walking lonely streets on a stormy night, with lightening in the distant sky and thunder clapping over head. You are squinting your eyes protecting them from the heavy rain. You are soaked to the skin, shivering and felt completely alone. Each corner you turn shadows jump out at you making you startle, strange sounds and lightening creating its imaginary beings. Your mind goes mad, you are thinking of many scary things. Enjoy!
Within the Darkness of Night!
The cat sleeps quietly, The street lights dim,
Everyone retires to bed, Except for the misfit.
The shadows of the night lurk, The owl hoots are scary,
Everyone shivers within their beds, Except for the misfit.
The wind howls through the trees, Swaying back and forth,
Everyone sleeps through the horrors, Except for the misfit.
River waters trickle quietly on, Sudden splash of jumping fish,
Everyone dreams of these beauties, Except for the misfit.
Swaying trees creak and squeal, Tall dark shadows are staring
Everyone is happy in their sleep, Except for the misfit.
Horrors of the darkness is his beauty, The lurking shadows of fear,
Everyone carries on sleeping, Except for the misfit.
The night speaks to us all, Sounds quiver through the air,
Everyone still sleeps merrily on, Except for the misfit.
Night drifts into day, all the beauty now deserts him,
Everyone awakes to this new day, Except for the misfit.
Tonight when you go for a walk, Listen to the night talking
Then HE can sleep peacefully, HE can only be the Misfit.
Gerry A/C © May 2015
So my point is, the more poems I wrote, the more lyrics I wrote the more imaginative my mind became, it was then the beginnings of my story ‘King of the Wood’ was born. I hand wrote the tale in my exercise book, over the years I added small snippets to include when the time came. That time in 2011, when I discovered ‘Nanowrimo’ so the first half of the story was put into words on my computer. It was with this story I completed my first of four Nanowrimo’s. After writing 4 complete novel length stories I still call myself a scribbler. So from now on I will be known as ‘The Scribbler’.
I still have three to edit, in truth it is actually only two I remember doing one already, one pass that is..’The Parchment’.
Thank you for your time!
Gerry A/C May 14th 2015©
Wednesday 13th May 2015.
450th Post, who would’ve thought it.
Taking the Stairs? [poem]
Pushing the button, I get locked away.
My vision is blinded, cannot see a thing.
Routine, same thing again today,
The sudden jolt, I hear a little ting.
Rising or falling, watching the number,
Seven, eight or nine, many more.
I am just like any other consumer,
Watching and waiting for the door.
Another ding, and the door parts,
I am still alone, on my own.
I stumble as it once again starts.
Something strange it starts to groan.
Numbers stop and red lights flash,
Heart rate rises, what do I do?
Calm down, do nothing brash,
Breathe calmly and wait for the crew.
Not again, second time this week.
Can only sit down and wait.
Once again do I turn a cheek,
Again it looks like I will be late.
Patience is now getting very thin,
They should start supplying chairs.
Uncertainty is getting under my skin.
From now on I’ll take the stairs.
March 23rd 2015
Saturday 9th May 2015
This week, share a force of nature from your corner of the world.
https://cobbie69.wordpress.com/Pop over, have a look and let me know.