Gone #ThreeLineTales

three line tales week 90: New York subway

On the wrong train! Was in hurry just got on the 1st 1 it’s full of strange people who keep staring at me it’s dead quiet no 1 is doing anything. Should get off at the next stop but scared 2.  

(Inspired from; https://only100words.xyz/2017/10/19/three-line-tales-week-90 with thanks).

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The Hanging Tree #FridayFictoneers

I’d always admired the old tree because of it’s size and odd shape, but the dark history that was attached to it always made me shiver. People had been hung for their crimes on the thick lowest branch. The rope cuts could still be seen between the knots. Every Halloween people came to ‘see’ ghostly figures hanging down and ‘hear’ the moans of the lost. I though, only had to look out of my bedroom window to see those souls and though I’d tried to get use to them I couldn’t.

 

(Inspired from; https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/10/18/13-october-2017/ with thanks).

The Window #TwitteringTales

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It was her only source of comfort in the dank basement but it also showed her a view of an outside world she could never be a part of again.

(Inspired from; https://katmyrman.com/2017/10/17/twittering-tale-44-17-october-2017/ with thanks).

Ghost Ship

214 10 October 15th 2017

Officer James had laughed off the stories about the ghost ship. Drunk sailors and ill tourists were always full of these kind of tales. That was until he was woken rudely from his sleep and hurried on to the deck by a junior officer. James looked over the side and saw bobbing on the calm waves the outline of an early 1900’s ship.

‘It’s the ghost ship!’ someone shouted.

‘I don’t believe it, binoculars!’ James snapped back.

A hand passed him them and James looked through. It was hard in the dim light, but the ship was glowing which made it easier. He couldn’t believe his eyes and though he tried not to believe it, the ghost ship was too hard to dismiss.

 

(Insipre by: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/10/15/sunday-photo-fiction-october-15th-2017/ with thanks).

Soul Stealer

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The shadows were gathering across the room, they were waiting till I fell asleep then they were going to take my soul. I couldn’t let that happen. Under the other pillow, my hand tightened round my small gun. I knew it was useless against them, but it give me comfort.

Keeping my eyes away from the dim light coming from the lamp, I tracked the shadows movements. They kept their distance but only sunlight banished them which meant I could only sleep at then.

I couldn’t take my eyes off them as I knew any chance I give them they’d take it and if they did then the rest of the world was doomed.

 

Tower #writephoto

The tower stood all alone at the tip of the peak. A set of half hidden stone steps leading the way up and a little archway coming from the reminds of a boundary wall. If you didn’t know the structure was there, you’d easily miss it behind the tall trees and bushes.

I made my way up through all the under scrub and reached the first of the steps. I stopped, wiped my sweaty face and noticed that it was now early evening and still warm for a mid-autumn day. Though the darkening sky threatened rain.

I walked up the steps, sticking to the left edge, in case I slipped. The moss and grass underfoot was wet and squelchy, but I had good boots on. Making it to the top, I studied the tower and tried to figure out what it could be. Folklore said it had been part of a small castle but that wouldn’t make sense high up here in the middle of nowhere. Instead, I decided it was a folly; a once pretty decoration to breakup a travellers day. Maybe, it had also doubled as a shelter.

There didn’t seem to be a door, but there were a few windows higher up. Moss and climbing plants covered both sides and dripped with raindrops. I turned my face to the sky and a few landed on my cheeks. I glanced about for some cover but beside from the small arch and a few trees there was nothing.

I walked around the tower again and as I reached my starting point once more, a wooden door was open before me. I stopped, staring and frowning. How was this possible? There had been nothing there less then a minute ago!

I went to the door and looked in.

‘Hello?’ I shouted into the darkness.

My voice echoed then as if in answer the rain rushed down. Yelping, I dived into the tower and pressed my back against cold, damp wall. Luckily, I had dressed warming in a hat and all weather coat, so I wasn’t that wet. Looking out of the doorway, I saw that unless I did want to take a bath, I’d have to wait for the rain to pass.

I felt a tingle up my spine and tried to peer though the darkness to make anything out. Unable to see, I swung my bag off and dug a small torch out. The thin beam didn’t show me much. The stone walls looked a lighter grey and less moss covered. There was a leak close by and the floor was stone. There seem no way upwards and nothing else in here with me.

Slumming, against the wall, I decided to have something to eat and drink. That would pass a few minutes. The rain was so loud outside that it took me a few minutes to hear the sound of stone rubbing against stone. Crumpling the wrapper of the energy bar as I stuffed the rest in my mouth, I shone my torch around again.

A stone spiral staircase had appeared a few feet away from me against the far wall! Telling myself, I’d just missed it last time because it was dark in here and my torch wasn’t good, I collect my things. Shuffling over, I tapped the bottom step with my boot then began to climb up. It was a tight fit and my bag scrapped the wall beside me.

Arriving at the top and stepping through an open archway my torch showed me a cobwebbed room. There was a small double bed with a red canopy, a table and chair and a bookcase. I walked in, my mind flipping over and over as I tried to figure out what this could be. A room for a traveller to spend the night? But why?

I reached the bed and shone my torch over it. The bed was made and covered by a red blanket that matched the canopy. Straight away, I thought about fairy tales and Sleeping Beauty came to mind. Shrugging, I moved away and went to the bookcase which was empty.

I didn’t like the feel of the room and decided I’d rather go downstairs to wait there. I went to the door…but it wasn’t there.

Laughing, I traced the wall with my light, knowing any second it would hit the door. I did a full sweep and nothing.

‘Ha ha! Must have missed it!’ I spoke aloud.

I went to check again but a noise behind me caused me spin around. The sheets on the bed were rising upwards… I swallowed and kept the torch beam pinned on the spot.

‘Hello?’ I called, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I got a little lost.’

The sheet came from the bed and hung in mid-air at the side.

I froze, feeling terror shooting through me. My body shook and I wanted so badly to run away. But where was I going to go to?

The sheet moved, drifting towards me.

A scream escaped my mouth, I twisted away, flinging myself against the wall. My hands raced over the stones, looking for the door, my finger nails scrapped the surface, desperate to feel the wood again.

A whisper tickled my ears, I couldn’t pause my panic attack to figure out what it was then I felt a touch of velvet cloth against the back of my neck. A scream, I never knew I could produce echoed around the room. I turned, flattened my back against the wall and face the sheet head on.

Only….there was nothing there…

 

Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2017/10/12/thursday-photo-prompt-tower-writephoto with thanks).

Rewind

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She wished she could rewind time to that last moment together before her world became so empty and cold.

Tree House

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As kids we said the tree house was haunted but it wasn’t till we were adults that we found out the truth.

(Inspired by https://katmyrman.com/2017/10/10/twittering-tale-53-10-october-2017/ with thanks).

Believe

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I wanted to believe my daughter but how could there really be a ghost living under the kitchen sink? Opening the lime green cupboard doors slowly, I peered inside, knowing nothing was going to spring out at me but wanting to be careful for my daughter.

Glancing at Sasha as she sat at the table, watching me with large brown eyes which were like my own, I knew she was holding her breath. She lent forward on the chair, trying to see under the sink around me.

I opened the doors fully and looked inside. There was the normal collection of cleaning supplies and pipes. I moved things around as if searching for the ‘ghost’ and the plastic bottles splashed their toxic contents around. Making a mental note to put wood varnish on the shopping list, I came out.

‘No, ghost in there,’ I spoke.

Sasha had her hands over her mouth. She shook her head at me then quickly pointed into the top right corner of the cupboard.

Sighing, I checked again. There was just a small empty cobweb. I closed the doors and went over to her. My mind turning  what I should say to her. She was only five and knew of ghosts from Halloween and stories but that was it. What had now made her think they were real?

Sitting down, I said, ‘what does the ghost look like?’

‘Like me, only see through and he’s a boy,’ she answered.

‘Does he have a name?’

‘Sammy.’

I nodded, trying to keep my expression blank though my emotions were flashing on. She’s just making it up….there’s no way she could have found out.

‘Can you really not see him, mummy?’ Sasha asked.

I looked over at the sink cupboard.

‘He says he misses you…’

‘That’s enough now! Ghosts are not real!’ I snapped and stood up.

Sasha let out a little gasp and bit her lip. Sadness crossed her face and her eyes grew wet.

‘Let’s go to the park,’ I said as a distraction.

For the rest of the day I couldn’t stop thinking about the ghost. It was just too strange that she had called him Sammy and said he was about her age. There was no way I could ask her more though but there was some else who I could demand answers from.

That night as Sasha slept and my husband and I got ready for bed, I turned to him and told him, ‘Sasha says there’s a ghost living under the kitchen sink.’

‘Really? Where there? Don’t ghosts like attics, basements and old places?’ he put in.

‘She also said the ghost was like her, but a boy and is name was Sammy.’

My husband took in sharp breath as he got into bed. He looked at me then turned his attention fully to pulling back the duvet and plumping the pillows. I knew his thoughts and mine were one.

‘I didn’t tel her anything,’ he said to break the silence between us.

I sighed and we both got into bed, ‘I knew you didn’t,’ I replied, ‘but it’s just…’

My husband took my hand, ‘It’ll pass. it’s just make believe.’

I nodded and tried to get it out of my head but it stuck at the back of my mind.

 

A few days later, whilst I was making dinner and Sasha was colouring at the table, she asked me suddenly, ‘Sammy wants to know why you don’t talk about him any more.’

I dropped the knife I was chopping onions with and spun to her.

‘What?’

Sasha looked up from her colouring, waiting for an answer with a determined face.

I picked up the knife, giving myself time to think.

‘He’s not real,’ I answered slowly.

Sasha got down from the table and went to the sink. She opened the cupboard and looked inside.

I had to come over and wash the knife, so I came to her side and after doing that, I looked under the sink again. I still couldn’t see anything. I felt Sasha watching me.

‘Sammy wants to know why you don’t love him anymore, mummy,’ she said.

‘I do…love him…Do you know who Sammy is, Sasha?’ I asked her with a bubble in my throat and pain circling my heart.

‘He’s my twin brother,’ she answered.

I gasped and knelt down, a hand on her shoulder as I looked into the cupboard.

Of course, there was nothing there.

Tears clouded my vision and I couldn’t stop myself as I cried hard on the kitchen floor.

 

(Inspired from; https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/believe/ with thanks).

Clock

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Liz lay awake, listening to the echoing ticks of the clock in the living room as 2am arrived. She wasn’t use to the new house so sleeping was difficult. The bed felt too hard and the pillows were not her own. Strange shadows crossed the window and walls. The air smelt like fresh paint, wood and clean sheets.

Liz turned onto her side and came face to face with Bex, her girlfriend, who was fast asleep. In the dark, Liz couldn’t make out the soft lines of Bex’s face or her dyed rainbow coloured hair. Liz moved slowly, hoping that maybe she could snuggle against Bex and hold her. That position might help settle her down. However, Bex was curled up too much on her side.

Sighing, Liz wondered, how can you sleep with that damn clock ticking away?  

Turning back over, Liz looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. Shutting her eyes, Liz pictured the clock. It hung high above the grey stone fireplace, screwed to the wall. It’s face was yellow stained and rust was coming through in small patches. The metal frame the clock sat in was a rusted dark red almost black colour whatever the frame had originally been was long gone. Then there were the stumpy pointed hands; black and stumbling as they made their way around.

I wish we could remove it, Liz thought, but it’s screwed too tight. Maybe I can stop it from working then cover it with something?  

With her mind now focused on something Liz, felt more awake then ever. Tossing onto her other side, she shut her eyes and tried to let everything go. However, the ticking clock thundered in her ears, breaking the stillness like a screaming baby.

Throwing the sheets back, Liz got out of the bed, put her slippers on and fumbled through the darkness to the door. A small slit of light was coming through so she opened the door enough to fit then closed it quickly behind her. The hallway came into focus before her, the light casting down to touch the next door, the stairs and the front door.

Liz crept downstairs, turned away from the front door and went into the first room. She turned on the light and looked up at the clock straight away.

‘You’re ticked your last tick,’ she said under her breath.

Glancing around, Liz spotted a smaller hammer in a box. They had been using it to put nails in the wall to hang up some pictures. Grabbing it, she then had to go out into and into the dinning room to get the step ladder. Dodging the piles of boxes and the handful of furniture which had been temperately stored there, Liz got the ladder.

Setting the ladder up at the foot of the fireplace, she climbed up and came face to face with the clock. Smiling, Liz raised the hammer and swung it into the centre of the clock. There was a tinkling and a rain of glass. The hands stopped in shock and a large dint appeared middle way, in-between twelve and six.

The ticking paused but then continued as if nothing had happened.

Liz struck the clock face again. Harder this time, letting out a gasp as she did so. This time the hammer went right through the clock, the dint stretching to a hole exposing the cog mechanism inside.

‘Stay stopped this time!’ Liz threatened.

 

Silence filled the air as the clock froze. Liz smiled, waves of stress leaving her. Then a police siren blasted and Liz wobbled on the ladder. Crying out, she clutched the top and curled her slipped feet around the rung she was on. Dragging in deep breathes, she hurried down the ladder.

Dropping the hammer, she walked back upstairs. Feeling chilling, she was grateful to slip into the warm bed. Curling up, Liz shut her eyes and prepared to drift off. Though as sleep claimed her, Liz heard a very faint tick tock.

No, that’s not the clock, Liz thought.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Liz’s eyes flew up and she shot up from the bed.

‘That damn clock!’ she shouted.

‘Huh? what?’ Bex mumbled.

‘I broke the clock, but it’s still going!’

Bex rolled over, stretched and yawed before saying, ‘what clock?’

‘The living room one. It’s been driving me mad!’

Bex paused then reached out and turned the light on. Turning to look seriously at her girlfriend, she answered, ‘I don’t hear anything.’