Tag: Short Story

The Crone

She looked on in disbelief.

“How dare they!” she snarled. “How dare they use MY word in such a way. It is my word, my word alone, yet they all use it however they want, whenever they want, without thought. I own it. I created it.”

She hissed. She’d spurt venom, if she could. She was seething.

Her word, she’d decided to claim, was ‘the’.

Convinced so she was the word was her creation, wherever it occurred, she became fuelled by rage. She’d strike through it. Cast a spell upon its user. Claim divine intervention.

As time went by, her true name became forgotten. She became known as simply ‘The Crone’.

And just how that name  riled her spoke volumes. It did ‘become’ her word… only not in the way she wanted it to, or thought it always had.

And others used the word in their own way regardless.

Image from Pixabay, adapted.

Words inspired and shaped by the Powers That Be. This is a piece of fiction. Utter nonsense based upon nobody living or dead. Or undead. Completely devoid of fact. And 150 words long (or thereabouts!)

Dead of Night

The sound of the bells ringing twelve carried across the graveyard, through the murky grey mist that had decided to settle. Muffled, the heart of the sound was more prominent than the fuzzy, frayed edges to the deep and echoey tolls.

The rustle and scraping of footsteps through fallen leaves swiftly brought my attention to something closer.

Who’d be walking through the graveyard at this time?

I’d never get to know.

The whispered hiss that came from this approaching stranger made me jump to my feet and flee without looking back.

Ghost-hunting is better indoors anyway, on nights like this.

I Can Always Start Again

Elijah was a hapless individual.

He couldn’t rattle chains as his hands simply passed through everything. He couldn’t make eerie groans as his voice didn’t reach the correct wavelength. He had no idea how to generate a ghostly glow whenever he was in anyone’s presence. And he was terrified of his own shadow.

One day, realisation hit home with Elijah. Ghosts shouldn’t have shadows.

He got over his fear, and started making his shadow move in all kinds of strange and sinister ways.

Cottingly Manor was hosting its Annual Masquerade Ball, and Elijah decided to pop along to try out his new found skill.

The ballroom was lit by thousands of candles, all flickering this way and that, casting shadows from the dancing partygoers all around the room.

“Perfect!” Elijah thought, and proceeded to cast his spooky shadows on the walls. Nobody noticed.

Who notices shadows in a candle-lit room?