I liked this photo so much, I wrote twice.
The word: twist
The story #2:
“Damn, it’s cold out there.” I stomp snowy boots on the floor. “You bloodsuckers have strange vacation tastes.”
“Who are you?” Her wary gaze locks on me.
“Oh goody. I’ve surprised you. I love surprises.”
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Lunging, she snaps my neck with a vicious twist.
“I’d rather be anywhere else, promise.” I climb to my feet, testing my healed neck. “But see, you stole something of mine and I want it back.”
“What are you?” she hisses.
I point to the body rising from the floor.
“Hello, love.” He smiles. “I knew you’d come.”
The story #1:
“The trees are moving.”
Covey watched the trees twist and rustle, heads bending together like leafy gossips. The sky darkened as night approached with more snow.
“We made it this far.” I dug at the snow with my red, frozen hands. “Keep digging. We’ll get the door clear and get inside.”
“It’s just the wind, Covey.” I lied and we both knew it.
The trees groaned and shifted. The ground trembled. Covey fell hard against the hangar.
“Oh, God. It’s back.”
I froze, closing my eyes when Covey screamed.
It always went for moving prey first.
Judgment – WINNER – “Strong imagery and a palpable sense of menace won this one for me. The trees bending together like leafy gossips was a wonderful image and the thought of having to lay still when it’s you or your friend and every instinct in you is screaming to run gave me the shivers. A great entry.”
The words: Friday, painful, grandma, skip, and glazed
Thick blankets of new snow glazed the world in blinding white. Coatless against a subfreezing January, I hustled, waving to the neighborhood grandma.
“Hi, Mrs. Kent,” I called.
“Hello, Mrs. Griffin.”
I smiled at the kids building snowmen and forts, throwing snowballs. I couldn’t wait to tell my husband about the baby.
I headed for the house with a giddy skip, humming along to ‘Friday, I’m In Love’ a beat before realizing the song drifted from my open front door.
Painful crimson blossomed across my chest and I dropped.
“Mr. Griffin sends his love.”
#FridayPictureShow – Week 6
“Eeny, meeny, miney, moe.” Gnarled fingers drifted over equally aged instruments. “Catch a hooker by the toe.”
He smiled at his newest project. Lovely in a tawdry sort of way, he’d make the jezebel see the errors of her lusty ways.
“If she hollers…”
She cried softly. “I’m not a hooker.”
“They all say that, dear.”
“Mr. Davis, please. I’m your neighbor, remember?”
A jolt of uncertainty trembled through his hands.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Oh. I’m so sorry, dear.” He made the first cut, relishing her screams.
Purging the demons required pain and blood.
His demon most of all.