in media dolor

 

 

Camelia glanced out the window again. Yep. It was still there. She tucked her head back down, pretending to stretch out her neck. Why in the hell did the bus have to break down at this particular corner? It had no less than three of those stupid memorials – crosses, plastic flowers, and teddy bears in profusion – arranged on it. One of them had been nailed to a battered telephone pole, the now-gray gouges in the creosote and wood marking where something awful had happened. Cam felt her eyes being drawn back towards the thing. She supposed it was a morbid curiosity. They were so…well, horrible. Spindly arms and fluttering gray flesh all over-topped with scorch mark eyes. WAS it a ghost? Or just the bad feelings about someone’s death, nailed into place with memorabilia? She didn’t actually know, but those things gave her a bad, bad feeling. No one else could see them, as far as she could tell. Under her feet, the vibration of the engine changed slightly. Yay! They were going to get back on the road soon. The rumble ratcheted up another notch and Camelia decided to look at the thing one more time. She turned her head and recoiled in shock. Its face was pressed up against the window, empty sockets with wriggling black holes locked onto her face.

————

 

So, I know this story has some (OK, lots) of issues. But this idea has been bouncing around my noggin for a long time. I wanted to set it down, see what it looked like in words outside my head.
I still like the idea – ghosts nailed into place by loved one’s pain & suffering, marked and held by the little memorial crosses you see everywhere.
I think I am going to play with this idea some more. It may be that it is just too much for a flash or micro fiction piece.

Writing prompt: the fairies in the basement

Dim light was still filtering through the half windows when she stopped working. She finished the chant, letting the soft invocation fall from her lips.

Carol sat back on her haunches letting her muddy hands rest on her thighs. The final planting was already taking hold. As she watched, a little cap pushed up through the soil. She waited until the color had flushed through the entire top of the hat. Scarlet faded into bone white spots, scattered over the entire top. She reached forward and patted the little head, being careful to not touch the dusty white spots.

“Welcome to Earth Prime little one. Let’s start on finding you some additional friends, yeah?

You are so welcome here, Amanita Fae. We have such work to do.”

Writing Prompt: Then came the hackers, or that’s what I thought.

Then came the hackers, or so she thought.
In truth, the numbers were off. She spent some time looking the numbers over before finally deciding that it was a waste of time. The truth was that it was almost always ghosts. Revenants of centuries past, mucking about in the systems. She sighed, finger hovering over the Delete key. She hated removing them. They seemed so lonely and desperate for contact.