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Tilly Playfair Gets Ahead

with 7 comments

by Anita Marie Moscoso

based on the Soul Food Cafe Writing Prompt

The Lonely Ones

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Tilly Playfair’s Grandmother ( who lived with the Tilly and her parents ) belonged to a Senior Citizens Activity Group that use to meet every Tuesday and Thursday.

At least once a month they’d  take a three day trip to the Ocean ( during the Spring and Summer ) or to one of the ” Art Colonies ” up north passed Seattle ( during the Winter ).

Everyone in Lydia Playfair’s Senior Group had some sort of talent they’ve developed after they joined the group. They say things like, ” isn’t it a shame I didn’t have the time to do this when I was younger ” or ” I just didn’t have experience to do this kind of work before…”

After hearing that for years Tilly Playfair knew she was luckier then most people because she found her true talent when she was only 13 years old…it sort of put her head and shoulders above the rest of us.

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It was August, it was about eight in the morning and it was already 70 degrees and climbing. Most people in the Playfair’s neighborhood were getting ready for another scorcher and they were already getting short tempered just thinking about the heat… but not Tilly.

Extreme weather didn’t bother Tilly.

Only on that Tuesday morning she did mind because Tuesday was garbage day and it was her turn to drag the trash cans to the curb.

Those three cans were heavy and everything inside of them had been ‘cooking’ over the weekend and boy did they smell.

They didn’t stink, or simply offend the nose.

Do you want to know how bad it was?

Tilly’s eyes started watering the minute she came around the corner of the house…that’s how bad it was.

With grim determination Tilly grabbed one can by it’s handle and took it to the curb. However, by the time she had come back for the third can she was cursing God and her family and every single jerk who had ever generated trash anywhere in the world.

She was so caught up in her own drama at that moment that the can tilted and juice…this brown runny water sloshed up and over the rim and onto her hand.

” My hand!” she screamed ” my hand! ” This was the hand she used to eat with and pick her nose and pet her cat and now it was covered in trash can ooze.

Tilly let go of the can and it innocently righted itself…it was just as safe and sound as ever. It would never know  the agony Tilly was feeling at that moment.

And that wasn’t right…it was unfair and unjust and Tilly decided to do something about it.

She stepped back, pulled her left shoulder forward and then she with over 7 years of soccer experience under her belt she drew her right  foot back and kicked the can over.

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Tilly left the fallen beast on it’s side and she pushed most of the trash back into the can with a snow shovel. Then with the shovel still in the can she pushed the can upright and turned to pick up the lid.

It was gone of course.

She was about to scream…not yell but scream when she saw it under the Holly tree at the side of the yard. She went over to the tree got down on all fours and had just reached under the tree when she felt something roll and hit her hand.

Curious  she grabbed the lid and tossed it towards the curb and then she parted the lower branches and looked in.

And looking back up at her was a face with no nose.

The face didn’t have lips or ears and at first it looked like the eyes were gone but they had simply sunk back and had collapsed into the sockets.

Tilly guessed she should have hollered or fainted or run for help. If she had flown into hysterics no one would have blamed her. It was sort of like a get out of jail free card.

Only this card said, ” have the screaming willies as loud as you want “

Instead Tilly reached out and with one finger she poked at the head and watched it roll a little from left to right.

Right then, as the severed head rolled from side to side, she named it Ernie. The she got up dusted herself off  and went into her house to start the day.

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For the next couple of weeks Tilly stopped by the Holly tree to visit Ernie. On some days Ernie looked about the same and then all of the sudden he just sort of came apart.

Then September rolled along and it started to rain so Tilly went and found an empty paint can and a pair of gardening gloves in her garage.

She went back out to where Ernie was and she popped him into the can and with a few taps along the rim with a rock she closed him up in his new home and she took him into her house.

For awhile she kept him under her bed, then she put him into the lowest and tallest drawer in her vanity and on some days she even took him outside and put him under the Holly tree-

for old times sake.

Then one day Tilly came home from School and was surprised to find her Grandmother at home and not out with her Seniors Group doing ” art”

Instead her Grandmother and another little old lady were doing some ” Spring Cleaning” as a surprise for Tilly’s Mom.

She was going to be surprised alright considering it was October Tilly said and both the old ladies laughed at Tilly’s joke and invited her to run along unless she wanted to ‘help’.

Of course Tilly said she had homework and then on her way to her room an awful thought came to Tilly. She ran up the stairs to her bedroom, she dove towards her bed she reached under it and…

Ernie was gone.

She went to her closet and looked on the top shelf, she pulled open her vanity drawers and she even opened the top ones that were way to small for Ernie.

Then she fainted.

When Tilly tried to stand  she was so light headed she almost fainted again. All  she could do was stand there doubled up and she trying  to force herself to breathe normal when her Grandmother tapped on the door.

Tilly tried to say ” Come in ” but all she could do was wheeze.

The door swung in and there was her Grandmother looking grim and angry with the paint can in her hands. ” Next time you want one of these young lady…get your own.”

So Tilly decided to do just that.

In the end she was  famous for it.

 

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Written by Anita Marie

July 17, 2009 at 3:11 am

Insanity Jones

with 9 comments

These stories are a couple of years old, but they were based on prompts here at the SFC

and based on my cat Wolfgang who would have been 19 this month.

They were a joy to write and I hope you enjoy them

a.m.

INSANITY JONES

by a.m. moscoso 

Inspired by The Soul Food Cafe Prompt

“W” is For The Wheel Of Life

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Insanity Jones was a cat whose real name was Wolfgang and he belonged to  a woman named Rose Hunter.

Rose was an old lady who never seemed to have been a young lady and for as long as anyone could remember she wrote ghost stories and towards the end of her very long old life she wrote horror stories that contained astronomically high body counts that ended up becoming video games.

Everyone in Rose’s neighborhood liked her and they liked her brick house with the stained glass windows and they didn’t mind that she had a genuine human skeleton in her writing room and these part monkey part fish creatures floating in jars in her study and a big heavy oak chair that someone later figured out was an electric chair in the foyer because hands down they were all much more unverved by Wolfgang aka Insanity Jones.

The cat, they decided, was stranger then Mrs Hunter or her collection of dead things in jars.

Insanity Jones bit the mailman ( twice ) he attacked the fire fighters that come through every single Fourth of July to put out the little fires that start in the Evergreen trees because no one living on 51st Street has learned that bottle rockets with strings of firecrackers tied to them are a really bad idea.

Once Insanity Jones even sat in the middle of the road during rush hour and backed the traffic all the way up to the Lost Bay Road and caused three hour traffic jam on the highway.

Why didn’t the people in those first few cars get out and move Insanity Jones?

Well, that would mean touching him.

So why didn’t they just run him over you ask?

Because if you knew Insanity Jones you probably knew that would make him really angry and very dead and that was the stuff nightmares are made of.

Really though, no one hurt Insanity Jones because they really liked Mrs Hunter and it was sort of sweet the way she’d pick Insanity up and hold him like a baby and tell him how sweet and precious he was.

Plus, if  Insanity had ever torn apart birds on your lawn during an Easter Egg Hunt in front of a bunch of 3-8 year olds all dressed in their Sunday Best or popped your dog’s eye out of it’s head you’d have to admitt that it was sort of satisfying to watch Insanity Jones sitting in an old fashioned baby carriage while Mrs Hunter cut flowers.

Occasionally she’d bring them over stick them under his nose and say, ” Isn’t that nice my Sweet Baby? “

The only thing better then seeing that was having Insanity know you were watching.

Thinking back on it, Insanity didn’t seem to mind at all- because when that demonic man eating beast was anywhere near Mrs Hunter he would act almost human. And when she would lift him up and kiss his battle scared nose ( which was missing a tiny chunk on the right ) and say, ” Never leave me Wolfgang, it would kill me for sure if I ever lost you. ” he almost looked like a real cat.

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It was a sad day when Mrs Hunter died, and in the town of Abandon her funeral was huge. Along with her friends people like writers and actors and artists who did special effects makeup showed up to say goodbye.

Insanity Jones was there too and when he found his way into the chapel and sat on one of the back pews nobody tried to move him. No one sat anywhere near him but everyone remembers seeing him there and when he jumped down and walked out after the service he was limping a little.

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Nobody was really surprised that Insanity Jones disappeared shortly after Rose’s Funeral-  everyone in town figured he just went completely over the line and took off for one of the inner circles of Hades where he had earned his own little forest full of flightless birds and Fireman with exposed ankles.

In a way they hoped so- Mrs. Hunter would have wanted her Sweet Baby to be happy.

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It was about two years after Rose had died that her house was turned into a museum and it drew a lot of visitors on Halloween- and even after it was passed  people who looked like they didn’t know it wasn’t Halloween showed up and along with the curious and they all wanted to know the same thing.

Was it true that Roses’s Grandmother was Slumber Boneset- the famous Cemetery Baby? Was it true Rose spent two years living with Head Hunters and Witch Doctors on those little Islands in the South Pacific where soldiers during the war chose to die on sinking ships or ditched their planes in the shark infested waters rather then set foot on those dark little islands that Rose Hunter called home.

Rose’s friends would look from left to right and say, ” Well, she was a writer you know…” and then they’d say a little defensively ” Rose lived in a lot of places but she liked her house here in Abandon the best.”

As the years went on the Museum People started to notice little things around Rose’s House- things that made them not want to be alone in her rooms that smelled like nutmeg and gardenias.

Sometimes there’d be fresh cut flowers on Insanity’s little bed by the fireplace, sometimes the skeleton out in the living room would standing in one corner and you’d come back in a few minutes later and he’d be in another.

And sometimes the things in Rose’s Jars would have their eyes closed and sometimes those eyes would all be open and looking in the same direction.

They told themselves that in life Rose had a weird cat and she traveled to weird places and she had dead things floating in jars all over her house and she had a machete collection stored with bolts of fabric that were probably intended to be used as death shrouds- so of course you were going to see weird things in the house she called home.

As sad as it was they knew Rose was dead and gone and she was never going to come back and neither was Insanity Jones. The world, the people in Abandon would tell you, got a little smaller and duller when they accepted that cold little bit of reality.

It was a bright Spring morning the day Carmen Stark’s turn to open the museum came up- and like the other times she had to work alone in Rose’s House she prided herself on the fact that it didn’t bother her to work on her own for a little while the way it bothered the other volunteers.

She looked up into the bright blue sky as she popped the key into the lock and as she started to turn the key she saw that the trees were full of singing birds- all except for Rose’s trees and Carmen thought how right that was considering how hard Insanity worked to rid the world of anything that had wings.

Only the birds had been nesting in the trees since Rose had died so…

Carmen pulled her hand away from the key and she looked over her shoulder and up into the empty trees in Rose’s yard and then she looked down and looking back up at her was Insanity Jones.

Insanity was looking straight into her face and then he winked at her.

” You’re back ” she said and if you’re here…”

” Rose? ” she whispered hoping no one would answer.

And  from the other side of the door somebody turned the lock and then the door swung open.

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for more Insanity Click HERE

Written by Anita Marie

July 13, 2009 at 12:20 am

Home Is Where The Heart Is

with 8 comments

by anita marie moscoso

Inspired By The Soul Food Cafe Writing Prompt

The Deserted Farm House

Photograph(s) copyright Shaun O’Boyle

 

Back along on Deception Road is a little farmhouse that no one lives in.

After the house was built and then put up for sale the orchard out back died, the little vegetable garden died and all of the pumpkins and squashes and tomatoes rotted right on their vines.

Even the flowers in the window boxes shriveled up and turned to dust within a day or so after they were set out and all the little farmhouse could do was slam its doors open and shut and make the clock in its kitchen strike twelve over and over again.

The man who built the farmhouse, Travis Janosik, use to stand out at the road and wonder what the hell was going on in there, why was it that nothing could live near that place without giving up the ghost.

There was nothing about Travis that would make you say, ‘you know that killer house? The one on Deception Road? It was built by Travis Janosik” and the person you would be talking to wouldn’t reply, “ Well of course it was a strange house. Look who built it.”

No, the house turned bad all by itself and this bothered no one more then Travis. What bothered him most of all  happened when the house was two years old.

That’s when someone actually bought it and moved in.

The ‘someones’ who bought the farmhouse were the Korbar Family.

Travis use to drive out to Deception Road and park across the way from the Farmhouse and watch it. He’d see Darius Korbar working the vegetable garden or see him sitting on the porch with one of the many children he and Mrs. Korbar had and they acted like any other family living in those hills.

Unless of course you really watched them the way Travis did.

At first he had no interest in the Korbar family. His interest was in that house and what it was up to now. It didn’t have to settle for killing plants and the odd field animal that got to close to its walls. Now it had the Korbar children who scuttled around the property in their ill-fitting clothes.

At least that’s how it looked but then Travis realized it wasn’t the clothes that didn’t fit right, it was the bodies inside the clothes that weren’t right.

The children’s heads were to large for their small bodies and their hands and feet didn’t seem to be the same size and when they talked Travis felt the hair rising up on his arms and the back of his neck and that’s when he’d cut his daily vigil off.

Once Travis saw Mrs. Korbar come down the front steps with a tall glass in her hand and make her way to the garden to where Mr Korbar was working. She handed him the glass and he kissed her cheek and then she made her way back up the steps and Travis watched her but didn’t notice that as she climbed the steps her head was tilted slightly backwards and her back was straight as a pole and she never bent her knees.

It was like she was gliding up the steps and not walking up them at all.
Towards the end of the summer the gardens were dead and rotten and Mr Korbar was out there working it like it as if it were alive and thriving. The ground was water logged and moldy with green slime. The vegtables were rotting and decayed and you could actually smell it when the wind shifted.

On top of the fact that Travis was watching a man harvest from a garden full of rotten vegetables he was also sure that some of that smell was coming from Mr Korbar too.

Travis promised himself after that visit he wouldn’t go near the Farmhouse on Deception Road. Something was wrong with it, something was wrong with the people living inside of it and Travis was certain if he didn’t stop going over there something would be wrong with him too.

Of course, it was too late because that something had already happened to Travis and he found himself standing at the end of the drive leading right up to the Farmhouse the next day.

He was in plain view and Mrs. Korbar must have seen him from one of her windows because he wasn’t there for long before she came down the steps and met him with a basket of rotting carrots and maggot filled tomatoes on her arm.

“ We never got the chance to thank you for building this wonderful house Mr Janosik. Its perfect and we love it so.”

Travis was looking into the basket of dead and decaying vegetables and he said, “ How could you love it so? Nothing can live inside of that thing…”

And Mrs. Korbar said, “ Well, Mr Janosik nothing does…”

 

Photograph(s) copyright Shaun O’Boyle

Written by Anita Marie

May 11, 2008 at 6:03 pm

Reflection Of My Love

with 3 comments

by a.m. moscoso

Inspired by the SFC Prompt:: Ceremony Of The Mirror

 

” What are you looking at Jingle? ”  Milo Hungerford asked his wife.

Jingle was standing in front of their bathroom mirror with her hairbrush in her hand and she turned slowly towards him and said, ” I don’t know. “

He came up behind her and stared into glass and shook his head.

” That’s not right Jingle. “

She put her hand to her face and looked into the mirror again and when she turned back towards Milo she started to cry. ” Milo what’s happening to me? “

Milo  pulled Jingle to his chest and turned her away from the looking glass.

” Is it still there Milo? “

Milo held Jingle tighter and said, ” yes. “

” The one in the foyer- let’s try that one too. “

” Jingle- it won’t…” he started to say and then when he saw the look on her face he nodded. “okay, we’ll try that one too.”

Milo held his wife’s hand and they walked down the dark halls to the entrance to their home and together they looked into the mirror there and Jingle burst into tears and grabbed her face.

” Oh Milo- oh Milo what’s happening to me? ” she cried.

Milo looked into the mirror and there in the glass he saw his wife holding her hairbrush, her dark hair framing her face- all alone except for the darkness that was their home and he turned her gently towards him and said,

” I don’t know how it happened Jingle…but I think you’re alive. “

Written by Anita Marie

May 4, 2008 at 7:39 pm

Sand

with 9 comments

by

a.m. moscoso

Inspried By The SFC Prompt:

Footprints In The Sand

If I could walk

to the end of the world

I would find a hill to stand on

and I would

 watch the sunset.

 

I wonder.

Would  the sky look the same

at the end of the world?

Would the air smell the same?

If I put my hands to my face and screamed would I sound the same?

 

If I could walk to

the end of the world

I would walk upon the dead ocean floor

and touch rocks full of bones

tombs

for creatures I knew

when they were covered with flesh

a long time ago

when the Sun was Yellow

and not red.

 

If I could walk to the end of the world

I’d walk in circles for miles and miles

I’d leave my footprints there in the dusty remains

of my world

and

hope

 that maybe someday, somebody

would know I once was.

Written by Anita Marie

April 27, 2008 at 6:35 pm

Corners

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by a.m. moscoso

Inspired by the Soul Food Cafe Story Starter:

Werewolf Project

Blaze Godfredo lives out on Old Creek Road- most of the Godfredo Family have lived out on Old Creek Road long before Washington became a state and if you want to hear any stories about the infamous ghost town called Fallen you can ask Blaze.

His Great Grandmother, Tanis Blaze won the town in a card game back in the 1920’s but that’s another story.

So when he was a kid Blaze used to play on the grounds of an abandoned insane asylum haunted by the Black Monk of Fallen and to add along with that interesting bit of family history you might be interested to learn that Blaze’s Great Great Grandmother had the dubious honor of being the one and only woman on the West Coast too be hung for Witchcraft.

” That’s a rotten shame Blaze ” some people would say when he would tell that story.

” Oh heck, what can I say? It was true..Bartsia wasn’t one of those poor creatures that they burned at the stake on trumped up charges….no Sir. Bartsia was an honest to goodn-well, Bartsia was the real thing. She was a fire and brimstone demon conjuring type of gal and she’d just as soon cut your heart out and feed it to her cat as look at you.”

Old Creek Road  was where they hung Bartsia from the infamous Devil’s Tree. The tree is where Bartsia was supposed to have done her deals with the Devil herself

The people of Fallen hung her there ….twice.

In order to rid themselves Bartsia some of the people who lived in Fallen had to do some deals themselves at that tree and it was about another 100 years before they got that mess with Bartsia worked out.

Afterwords Fallen was a ghost town and no one in Snohomish County will go near it let alone admit it’s still up there.

Of course you can find it if you want.

There’s this town called Cascade Ridge that you have to drive through to get to Fallen and that’s where Blaze lives out on Old Creek Road where he runs his business right out of his home.

Whenever someone in Cascade sees cars pull up to Blaze’s house where a sign says, ” Blaze Godfredo’s Haunted Washington Tours ” they just stand there and cry and wonder how much longer that old man is going to live for.

That’s how Blaze makes a living and no one has ever considered telling him to stop the flood of people in black clothes and show up in droves during Halloween. On a practical note it goes without saying that no one really wants to mess with a man who has a genuine Witch buried out on his property

Anway, that’s what Blaze does.

He takes little groups of people up to Fallen and to Old Creek who are  ghost hunters and people who fancy themselves to be Vampires and Witches and he tells them all about Fallen.

Some of them just get angry at his stories and the rest just get scared but nobody walks away  feeling like they’d been had.

One year this writer from Seattle took the tour and as Blaze walked her back to her car she stopped and asked, ” You know Blaze, these stories of yours are top drawer- but I’m curious. All these stories about The Creek, they’re about other people.  You’ve lived out here your entire life and except for that trip to Hawaii you told us about on the way up to Fallen it doesn’t sound like you’ve been much more the 100 miles away from here. You must have seen or been through something yourself. Come on Blaze, where do you fit into this story? “

Blaze shrugged, ” Well, it’s my family’s history you know and I’m not the adventurous type and on the whole I’d have to say my uneventful life would affirm that sad fact.”

” Yeah, sure Blaze…come one what’s your story? “

Blaze held his arm out and the writer, a woman named Honor took it and they walked up to Blaze’s porch and he told her about what happened to him 40 years ago out on Old Creek Road.

” No doubt about it, my family has a dark history- and the one thing I know about darkness, it creeps from the corners.  Think about it there, nothing bothers people more then the things they see from the corners of their eyes. It’s because the things you see there have creeped up on you.

And then they either creep away or just disapear and then you get that trickle of sweat running down your spine…You know what  mean don’t you.”

Honor nodded.

” Back in the 1960’s there wasn’t any lights out on the highway that hooks Old Creek up to Snohomish County and the rest of the world. But that didn’t stop people from driving their cars like the Devil was chasing them…well, you know sometimes….but for the most part people were just careless and stupid or drunk and stupid and they’d miss the road that leads to bridge over the Creek and they would end up smashed to pieces in the ravine.”

“So one winter we hear about this car full of college kids that disapeared on their way back from Seattle- they were headed up to Everett and they never made it.”

” Well that year my wife gets it in her head that she wants a fresh cut tree for Christmas and I’m the good guy right? I actually do it, I take an ax out into  30 degrees of ice and snow and go and cut her a tree. But that wasn’t so much to do for a woman who was willing to live out here just to be with me. She was a good Gal ” Blaze said with a smile ” Really Good…and kind. Anyway I go out and find her a nice blue spruce and I’m on my way home when just before I get to the bridge I hit a dog and it bounces off my hood and takes a dive right over the bridge into the ravine.”

” Wouldn’t you kno it? Just as I get out of my car that dog comes flying up the bank and with a busted leg it’s got it’s tail between it’s legs and Honor…that dog is screaming, not howling- it’s screaming. “

” So I go over to the railing and look down and I see this black patch- it’s perfectly square and black and I realize what I’m looking at his the undercarriage of a car and I figure out the screaming I’m hearing didn’t come from the dog- it was coming from the car.”

” I slide and crawl down into that Ravine the best I can and just as I come up on the car I start seeing what look like body parts scattered all of the place and I figure the animals have been visiting the car for a snack or two and then I see this hand come from the window on the passenger side and I’m about to pass out when I hear someone say, ” please get me out they’re getting closer….please get me out.”

” Sure enough there was a lady still alive in that car and I figure she’d been down there for almost four days with those dead bodies.”

” God ” Honor whispered.

Blaze looked up from his memories and the look on his face was confused. ” Oh no, no, no God was down in that Ravine, wasn’t nothing down in there but death and if you know Death you know how it doesn’t like to share space with anybody or anything….”

Honor shrugged. ” I’ll give you that. “

” Anyway, I reach down and grab the hand and that woman just slides out on a trail of blood and ice and I’m pretty sure she cut herself up pretty good when she came out. But before I could help her up she turned over and got up on her knees and was holding herself up with one arm  and she was holding her other arm to her chest. Then she jumps up grabs my hand and says, ” come on, we have to get out of here. I can hear them….let’s go!”

” Who? ” I ask her ” who is coming? “

” Those animals!” she screams at me and then she starts running and she was one sure footed Gal because she didn’t slide or slow down as she drags me all the way up the bank to the road.

When we get up to the road we both look down into the Ravine and I can hear something all right. I can see something too. Only it wasn’t animals, it was little lights and and the sounds were voices and they were saying something about “picking up tracks here…”

That’s when I can see, right there out of the corner of my eye that woman spit something out onto the snow and what lands there are four little red and white lumps and I know those things are teeth.

Then she looks down at her hands and I hear her whistle and say something like, ” I guess I won’t be playing the piano for awhile.”

After she gets done talking I see her from the corner of my eye pull a long blond hair from the corner of her mouth and no it wasn’t her’s because the woman standing next to me had long black hair. It was so black it almost looked blue.

It was just seconds later that  she walks away down that road like she wasn’t cut up and bleeding and hurt- I’m not sure but I think she may have been whistling.

Well, a few minutes later a bunch of people come up over the bank and they’ve got dogs and guns.

” Hey there ” says this man ” are you alright?”

” Course. What’s up? ” I asked.

” There’s a wolf on the loose, it tore apart a bunch of dogs and horses and even a cow at on Maltby a few days ago and we tracked it out here- looks like it was spending some time down in that car. I’m not sure but it looks like it went through the windshield and got itself stuck. Then it got itself unstuck.”

” How? ” I ask.

One of the men dropped something at my feet and there it was…this wolf’s paw with fur so black it shined blue.

I don’t know who that woman was or where she went – but she should be easy to spot . After all, she only has one hand.”

Honor sat back and smiled, ” that was a good one Blaze…you really should- ” and then Honor’s smile sort of froze and faded and she turned her head a little and she said to Blaze ” I thought I saw something  from the corner of my eye…sorry where was I?”

 

Written by Anita Marie

April 24, 2008 at 12:38 pm

From A Wicked Garden

with 2 comments

from the Soul Food Cafe Prompt

Wicked Midnight Garden

by a.m. moscoso

Plant a Wicked Garden Here:
 

 

Insert images of wicked plants

The Wicked Manzanillo Tree-so deadly so poisonous that legend says its shadow could kill you!

Deadly Nightshade, tended by the Devil himself…so the story goes.

List Twenty Wicked Words:

Grave, Apparition, Ghoul, Shadow, Tomb, Demonic, Phantasm, Specter, Revenant, Rot
Curse, Hex, Demon, Shiver, Malice, Fiend, Infernal, Abandon, Desolate, Demented

Make some notes about a plant.

The berries from the Belladonna plant are sweet.

I read about some cases where children ate them with tragic results. I never thought about deadly fruit tasting sweet, I assumed poison berries would be bitter. Its like the Belladonna plant wants to hurt you.

A plant that murders on purpose. Its a cold blooded killer. I’ll bet there’s a story there.

Sketch the voiceless woman and the midnight garden

Just Kidding..I can’t draw.

Someone replies and explains why the plants are not working. Record their words:

” The plants from the Wicked Garden aren’t plants. Not exactly.”

Written by Anita Marie

April 22, 2008 at 12:36 pm