Day 272 Writing Short Stories

Edge

There on the edge between night and day, I stood in the streets, serving my customers. They lined up to find news of their relatives. They were there for hope, and I was a conduit for a better future in the desperate times we lived in.

I had news for some. Good and bad. News of people making out of the city, in places where the monsters hadn’t yet taken their hold. But I had news of bodies. News of disappearances. And no news at all. Those were greeted with muffled cries—the worst kind of cry, when the pain couldn’t be voiced out.

I have traveled far and wide to obtain the news. I have risked my life for these people. They could pay me a little. Potato here and there. Jewelry of their mothers. Sometimes I took no payment. I let them know the destinies for free. This task of mine didn’t keep me fed. But it kept my spirit up, or I would have fallen into the same dullness as the people in front of me.

They stood nervously around me, waiting for their turn. They searched the streets and the roofs for the monsters. We still had time before they would come, until we all had to hurry in and board our windows and stay quiet like the dead.

But I never got to the end of my list. The dark shadows stretched at the end of the street. They came silently and fast. Their long limbs scraped the ground. People scattered in front of me, and I hurried to gather my documents. I ran to the metal door tagged with a safety symbol. I bolted it behind me and watched from the barred windows as the monsters stormed through the street. I saw them taking people. I saw them slaying them there and then. I saw my hope die.

The monsters had changed the rules. They had come before the sun was fully down.

A Deal With the Devil

The village that had known nothing but peace and farm work was now burned to the ground. There had been nothing of value in the village except life as it was, yet that hadn’t stopped the king. He had seen something needing to be taken, and he had taken it with madness and violence.

Her daughter’s burned body was there amongst those she had lived her whole life with. There was no ache, there was no sorrow; there was only hatred and revenge. She had no magic against the king, but she knew the old wives’ tales, and she knew she only had to sell her soul.

She stood there in the middle of the burned ruins, at the crossroads in the middle of the town. She waited for the Devil to come. There was no doubt he wouldn’t come. This was too good to pass up. Her story was raw and powerful. She could recognize that even in her hatred. It was a story they would speak for centuries to come, even if she didn’t succeed.

And the Devil came.

He was more than eager to get her soul, get his rights for her life. He would be remembered as much as she would be for the deeds to come.

He granted her his wishes. He made her powerful in the way only women could be. He made her bear the witch’s mark. He made her eyes deep green and her skin glow. The years of motherhood were wiped away along with any mark of farm work. She was as young as a maiden would be with an old heart.

She now had the means to kill the king. But before she did, she would take everything away from him, even his sanity.

There had to be justice for the weak, may it be through the Devil. There had been no angles in sight—just silence and acceptance of the bodies burned.

Exotic Island

He didn’t remember entering himself in a raffle, but neither he nor his wife complained when they won a fully paid holiday to a remote tropical island. It was just what they had needed.

The place was a paradise. The first day, they had gotten a fruit plate delivered to their room. Breakfast had been divine. And the late-night cocktails were as sweet as could be expected. The room had a view of the water front. The staff were friendly and always there.

On their third day, they were told that a raffle included tickets for a play. There would be a taxi waiting for them at eight o’clock, taking them straight to the island center.

Both of them were excited.

The taxi left them in the center of town. The streets were brightly lit with little lamps that zigzagged between houses. They were the only ones there. When they turned to ask the driver where to go, the man had already left.

They stood there, unsure what to do. The house in front of them looked too quiet for a play to go on. They knocked on the door, but no one answered.

“This feels creepy,” his wife said.

He agreed. Something felt off.

He took her hand, and they stood there for a while. He finally took out his phone. It had no cell service. Neither did his wife.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“Me too.” He held her closer to him.

“Let’s walk to the hotel. I think I can remember the route the taxi took,” he said.

She nodded.

They took off. There were still no people on the streets. Every window, every door was boarded and locked.

A shadow passed over them. Then another. They ran. It was instinctual. She shook off her heels, and he kept holding onto her as they tried to run down the street.

More shadows came, and then there was nowhere to hide. Huge, towering, bat-like creatures had landed in front of them.

He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Both knew that they would die.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

I woke up from a bizarre dream today. It was the first prompt, actually. I had a hard time getting out of bed because I wanted to go back to that dream. I wanted to be there with the people and the monsters. I had this sense of belonging in the dream. A sense of clarity and calmness. It was a weird dissonance: the monsters were terrifying, and the fear was there, yet it felt better than getting out of bed.

I’m glad I got to write the dream into a prompt. It would have fit both the first and the last one. I’m so happy it exists now. And the first thing I thought when I woke up was, “I want to write a book about this.” I want this story to exist. Second thought was how to get the same depth to it as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, as she writes about idealism and life. Her story resonates because she plays with the human condition: what it means to exist, to pursue knowledge and life, and to free oneself of death, yet nothing but death follows.

Now I want to reread Frankenstein. It is such a great story.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a spooky day!