October Writing Challenge Entry- Hell at your Door.

With a swing of his hammer, George nailed the board across his living room window. He looked around inside his tiny home making certain every window and every door had been covered. “They won’t get me this year,” he said to his cat following closely behind him. It was a small thing with white fur with patches of orange and black. However, it had a striking feature of a patch of black around its eyes making its face resemble a raccoon. George hadn’t gotten around to naming it yet since it just wondered in his yard a week prior. After a few days of the cat sitting on his front porch, he brought it inside and fed it. It was the only other creature George associated himself with. The only friend he had for several years. The others… just couldn’t be trusted.

George patted the cat’s head as he walked into the kitchen. He opened a can of cat food and dumped it out on a dish on the floor. The cat eagerly ate it up. George smiled… but it quickly faded as he looked outside to see the growing darkness. It’s close.

He rushed as quickly as he old legs would allow to his back door. He pulled on the boards making certain they would hold. Last year was bad, but this year he was ready. As the sunlight faded and darkness fell, he listened carefully. Nothing. He rushed to the front of the house side-stepping his cat. Peering between the boards and through the window, he saw shadows moving about.

His doorbell rang. Kid’s voices could be heard. “Trick or treat,” they yelled.

“You kids better beat it… if you know what’s good for ya.” He let out a sigh of relief hearing them scurry away. Sure, they thought he was a crazy old man. A scrooge of Halloween but they didn’t know… they couldn’t know.

Most folks would think he’s lost his mind. Maybe thing he has gone senile. But he knew the truth. Ever since his car accident five years ago, the one where he should’ve died… there had been monsters coming to his house every Halloween since trying to claim his life. Last year they banged on his house until the sun came up… and then, like every year before that, they just disappeared.

A scraping noise came from the side of his house. He flinched, gasping. His action made his cat run under the kitchen table. “That’s right cat. You best stay there until morning.”

The noise of the scraping increased, moving toward his front door. He reached over and grabbed his walking cane and waited. Thump…Thump…. Came a knock on his door. “Go away!” he yelled. He held his cane out in front of him. Thump… Thump… it continued. “You ain’t getting in here this year, so clear out!” He waited… but no other sound came. George breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his cane. He turned to walk back to his chair, when another knock come from the door. “Trick or treat,” a child’s voice called out.

He ignored it, walked back to his chair and slowly lowered himself down. Another knock. “Trick or treat,” came the same voice. “Go away! There’s no candy here.”

“We don’t want candy,” the child’s voice called back.

“No?” George replied. “Well, what do you want?”

The voice answered back, “We want you… George.” The tone in the voice grew low from the child’s voice to something unnatural.

George sat up in his chair, his body tightened and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “No! And you ain’t getting in…” A scrape came from the front door. “We are already in.”

George grabbed his cane with both hands glancing around the room. A scraping noise came from the kitchen… from under the table. George shook his head… “No….” the cat emerged with glowing red eyes. It body grew to three times its normal size. It claws scrapped the floor as he stalked toward him. It’s mouth open in a snarl showing its fangs.

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October Writing Challenge Entry- Moose

October Writing Challenge

 

On a dreary October night, Robert sat absent mindedly watching the news. It had been raining for well over a month now with no end in sight. The rain pattered against the window and the wind howled. For the first part of October it was unseasonably cold even for Iowa. As the weather man droned on Bob grew weary and soon drifted off into a bored slumber.

 

When Bob awoke, he noticed that for once it was sunny outside. Birds chirped happily, and children ran the streets playing. Bob walked out his front door and was greeted by the warm sun on his face.

 

This is odd, thought Bob, it is supposed to be cold and rainy for weeks.

 

As the thought crossed his mind Bob felt a sharp stabbing pain in the base of his neck. He shook it off and decided it was time for a nice long walk.

 

As Robert walked, something seemed wronged. Cars were different colors, trees and landscapes were out of place. Every time Bob noticed something that seemed off, that sharp pain returned, and he put his head down to continue his walk.

 

After a decently long walk, Bob turned around to return home. As he walked he noticed again, that certain cars were a different color than when he walked past them the first time. The sharp pain returned but this time he ignored it, pushing on. The pain grew until Bob couldn’t take it any longer. Bob collapsed on the green lush grass in front of his house begging to know what was happening. Bob crawled forward crying out in agony.

 

“Enough!” came a raspy voice from behind him.

 

Bob turned and saw a tall figure standing right behind him. The face resembled that of a man but was missing large chunks of skin and muscle, exposing the skull underneath. The creature raised its bony hands void of all tissue and shot strings from their fingertips. The strings hooked themselves to Bob’s neck, arms, hands, legs, feet and the top of his skull. The creature forced Bob to his feet by pulling on the strings attached to him by large metal fishing hooks. His skin tore under the pressure as he screamed, but the creature continued to pull.

 

“Come.” The creature pulled Bob forward, tearing skin and muscle from bone. Bob tried to struggle but the creature was to strong. The more Bob fought he could feel his tissues tear. Blood began to soak threw his clothing as the ground feel away from the creature’s feet. As the creature pulled, the portal opened wider. Bob was dragged forward, screaming for help. Reaching the creatures side, he saw it smile, the face splitting in the middle to reveal razor sharp needle shaped teeth.

 

“Soon your life will be mine”, The creature rasped. Bob felt his skin begin to melt and tear away as the spots of missing tissue were filling in on the creature. Once the creature had assumed Bob’s visage, his lifeless body was thrown into the portal.

 

“This will have to do for now…”

October Writing Challenge- 2018

Setting: Any
Time Period: Any
Length: 500 Words
Restrictions: None
Due: This Month

_______________________

Here we are again… it’s October and we are looking forward to Halloween!

Let’s write a complete story of a Halloween theme. It can be scary, funny or serious. But please make it a complete story with a start and a ending-ish.  Create a character, tell a story about that character, and then find an ending that would satisfy a reader.

Now, get your scare on!

 

Halloween-wallpaper-HD

September Writing Challenge Entry- Martin and the Moose.

Subject: A Simple Story
Setting: Any
Time Period: Whenever you’d like
Length: Less than 500 words
Restrictions: none
Due: September 30th

Hi Moose. I wanted to show you the idea of a story, with a beginning and an end. I actually took what you wrote and wove it into a story. As you can read, the story has a theme of finding one’s home on the field. It is just a simple story but see how it starts, unfolds and ends. Thank you!!


Martin was only 12 when his grandfather passed away. He never knew his parents so his grandparents had been the only parents he had. His grandmother passed just a few years earlier. But the day soon came when the lady in the suit called on him. Without parental guardians he became what the suit lady referred to as “a ward of the State.” They would force him into foster care with a family he didn’t know. He was lost, desperate and didn’t want to live with anyone else. He cried for days and never came out of his room. His foster parents were nice, but they just weren’t his parents.

This next year at school was difficult for him. He stayed to himself, never talking with the other kids. Why should he. They still had parents and their lives were fine. Only his life had been destroyed and ripped apart. His hopes of playing football at school died with his grandfather who would stay up late telling him of the stories of when he played back in the 1930’s. It wouldn’t stop Martin from wandering around the football field after school, stopping for a while and dreaming of how his life could have been different… could have been fun… could have been… normal.

One day on the field a man called out to him. “You looking for someone?” A thick man wearing a jersey and a whistle around this neck asked. Martin jumped at his voice, not hearing his approach, but he remained silent. “I’m Coach Jackson,” the coach paused, took a breath and sat down next to Martin. “Are you Martin?” The boy looked up surprised and nodded. The coach put his arm around him. “I knew Moose, your grandfather.” The mention of his grandfather brought a smile to his lips. Martin looked up at the coach and saw something in his eyes that showed he truly understood. “Moose was a great man and a terrific player. Are you interested in playing, son?” Martin straightened up, his eyes watering. “Yes! Please, sir. Please!”

The coached hugged him tighter, his own eyes starting to water. “Just call me coach.”

The next year, Martin strapped on the gear and headed out for his first football game. The bulky shoulder pads, the menacing helmet, and the jersey. That jersey meant more to him than anyone could understand. He finally belonged.

Stepping onto the field for the first time was a day he would never forget. Game day, lights on, people in the stands. He could smell the sweet smell of the green grass as it gave way under his cleats. The roar of the crowd all but drowned out the sound of his heart pumping in his chest. His heart raced as he looked around at his teammates. The same boys he had trained so hard with all summer. They weren’t just teammates, they were his family.

Coach Jackson lead his team to the field. The players took their positions. Martin looked up to the people in the stadium and to the players in the field. He felt at home. Soon, the kick off. “This game is for you, grandfather.”

September Writing Challenge Entry- Moose

Thank you Grant for getting me started again! It may take some time to brush the rust off but it feels good to write again!!!

My first time on a Football Field.

      I was 13 years old the first time I strapped on that gear. The bulky shoulder pads, the menacing helmet, and the jersey. Many people who watch professional sports don’t realize what that jersey means to the player. It means you belong to something bigger than just yourself. That no matter the outcome you fought your hardest for yourself and fellow team mates.

Stepping onto the field for the first time was a day I will never forget. Game day, lights on, people in the stands. You can smell the sweet green grass as it gives way under your cleats. The roar of the crowd all but drowned out by the heart beating your chest and in the chests of the men around you. All beating as one as you rush the field prepared for battle. You feel your pulse rate climb and synchronize with 30 other people. You aren’t just teammates, you are family. One entity working together to destroy an opponent.

Coaches lead their teams in pregame warmups and prayers. Asking God for strength, and forgiveness. Strength to overcome this adversary and forgiveness for what we are about to do to them. Last minute stretches, preparing your body for war. Final preparations made, plays adjusted, equipment checked. You scan the crowd and see hundreds of eager faces willing you to perform, to fight your hardest. Your heartbeat fills your throat.

Kick off. The ball booms through the air and you can hear it slam into a receiver. A small ball made of leather, filled with air, cracks through the air like a bolt of lightning. Pads strike pads as warriors collide. There is no sound like it. The straining and sound of forceful impact. The thunder of footsteps resounds in your core. Shaking your very being down to every fiber. This is it, this is your time. Whistles blow. The Play ends, time to breathe.

September Writing Challenge: A Simple Story

Subject: A Simple Story
Setting: Any
Time Period: Whenever you’d like
Length: Less than 500 words
Restrictions: none
Due: September 30th


Here we go again!

With the power of the Moose, we welcome Jared Peters!! Let’s start back by dipping into the shallow end. This September, let’s write a simple story of 500 words or less. The story has to have some kind of conclusion… even a cliff hanger. But just don’t go and leave the reader hanging for an ending.

Let’s write!

large-bull-moose-at-stream

September Challenge – Click

Here is my September entry; a short story I came up with based on some amalgamation of ideas presented in Stephen King’s story “1408” and Euripides’ The Bacchae.  I like the idea of a person’s descent into madness being the result of external forces, especially because you can always turn a story like that around and see other’s reactions to a person who may or may not be on the same plane of reality anymore.  My apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, but it is late and I need some sleep.


 

Emily wasn’t sure what was worse; the constant changes, his smiling face, or the continual  clicking of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  That dry, snap-like noise that he made as if he were some kind of metronome.  It wasn’t the kind of thing that would normally bother her, but this wasn’t a normal kind of situation.

She barely even noticed the guy when he first came into the library.  She was busy poring over her ethics book, getting ready for her test later that week.  She looked up for a brief moment and saw him at the far end of the library, smiling and looking directly at her.  She didn’t think much of it and assumed he was smiling at someone near her.

She put her head back down and kept reading.  But after a few minutes, some random flash of light caused her to pick her head back up.  This time the man was standing just a few feet away from her with his mouth closed and that same smile on his face.  Emily could definitely tell where he was looking this time.  He was staring straight into her eyes.  She didn’t know what it was about his smile, but she became immediately uncomfortable.  She gave him a quick “hi, I’m busy” smile and put her head back down.

She tried for a brief moment to get back to reading, but she couldn’t.  All she could do was think about the man.  She could feel him still standing there, his presence demanding her attention.  She let out a slight sigh and picked her head back up.  “Yes?” she said with a hint of annoyance layered in.

The man didn’t say anything back, he just kept smiling and staring at her.  Emily couldn’t tell if it was the man’s greasy black hair, his slightly wild eyes set in deep, dark sockets, or his strangely heavy and rhythmic breathing, but she no longer felt safe, despite how many people there were around her.

“Do I need to get a librarian or security over here?”  She spoke a little louder than she typically would for a library, but she was hoping to attract some attention from the other students.  It didn’t work.  Instead, the man’s lips parted and his smile extended to its full length.  His teeth weren’t well cared for; they were deeply yellowed and caked in plaque from meals past.  His teeth were separated by small gaps and, in some places, they overlapped each other.  

His mouth was opened enough so Emily could even see his tongue.  She wished she hadn’t though, because the moistness of his mouth made her instantly feel ill.  It was in that moment that the man touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth and started making clicking noises.

He seemed as though he were keeping a rhythm, but he wasn’t holding on to it well.  He had the semblance of keeping a beat yet he would be slightly too fast or too slow with each beat.  The lack of timing was instantly starting to get on her nerves.  Emily was about to ask him to stop when she noticed the first change.

One of the bookshelves behind the man switched from a plain metal rack to an ornate wooden shelving unit.  It didn’t even make a noise or take the time to change shape; it simply went from one thing to another in an instant.

Emily blinked several times, as if the problem were her eyes.  The change was unsettling and she couldn’t even trust whether she saw or just hadn’t realized it was always there.  She would have kept staring at the bookshelves, but the clicking brought her back to the immediate problem; the man in front of her.

“I don’t know what you want, but if you don’t leave in the next couple of seconds, I’m going to call security.”  Her voice had raised a few decibels more than the last time.  She wanted to get the attention of as many people as she could.  She wanted someone to get involved.  She just needed someone to look up.  No one did.

Instead, the clicking continued and the changes became greater.  More metal racks changed into wooden shelves.  Some had trees growing out of them that touched the ceiling, some were carved directly out of wide tree trunks that merged perfectly with the laminate floor and tiled ceiling.  

Emily felt herself starting to panic.  She shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath.  None of this is happening, she told herself.  It’s obviously a dream.  You’ve been in here for a long time studying and you’ve just had too much.  So in a second, you’re going to open your eyes, wipe the drool off your books, and go take

Her self-assurance mantra was cut short by the realization that the clicking hadn’t stopped.  It snapped her out of her own head and brought her back into the terror of the situation.  Determined to find some help, Emily reached into her purse on the seat next to her and pulled out her cell phone.  She dialed 911, put the phone to her ear, and stood up to meet her opponent eye to eye.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Hello,  I am here in the student library on campus and there is a man here threatening me.  He hasn’t attacked me yet, but I think he might.  Can you send an officer to help out, please?”

“Hehe,” the responder’s voice went from professional to mocking almost instantly, “Sure, sure. We’re gonna get you set up real quick.  Don’t you worry about nothin’.  Don’t worry about nothin’ ever again…”

The phone lost all power instantly and the battery began to heat up in her hand.  Emily shrieked and tossed the phone onto the desk.  It melted through the middle of the desk, catching it on fire along the way.  The phone dropped to the ground and sank through the floor.  The desk she had been sitting at, as well as her books, burned away within seconds as though they were all made out of flint.  She looked over to the other seat to grab her purse, but found the back of the chair slamming down on the seat, crushing her purse and everything in it.  The chair back raised a few more inches and Emily noticed small, sharp teeth protruding out of it in multiple rows.  The chair continued eating her purse, although without a throat, the pieces of her purse and it’s contents just kept falling to the ground.

Emily lost her ability to rationalize her situation anymore.  All she could do was stare at the insanity around her.  She turned her head to look at her own chair, only to see it hungrily waiting for her to sit down.  She watched it for a brief moment, uncertain of whether she should try sitting down again or not, but before she had the chance, her chair dashed at the chair eating her purse.  The purse chair yelped like a dog and ran forward.  There were no tables in the library anymore and the floor was now a mix of laminate and soil.  The purse chair continued its run, but stumbled on a student that had been sitting four rows ahead of her before all of this began.  He was now lying face down on the ground with his chemistry book attached firmly to his face.  Emily couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, but she didn’t even have time to think about it as her chair leaped over the man and brought its face directly down onto the purse chair.  Splinters flew as her chair devoured the other one.

Emily tried to take a moment to think, but the clicking just kept bringing her back to “reality”.  Another student began to walk between the few feet of distance between her and the smiling man.  Emily’s eyes shifted focus from the chair-eating chair and slowly drew up towards the student’s face.  She surveyed the woman’s conservative clothing that covered what was a very firm and tight body.  As Emily’s eyes drew up, she saw a large pair of breasts hidden under a thick sweater (which seemed an odd choice for the summer), and a neck covered in brown and red feathers.  When she finally looked straight at the woman, she realized she was looking at human female with a robin’s head.

The woman continued to walk, but turned her head toward Emily.  The cold, black eyes stared back at her, never breaking contact as the woman continued her march forward.  She kept walking past Emily’s right, turning her head to face Emily as she went.  The robin’s head has turned fully backwards to continue its stare at Emily as the woman diligently walked between two bookshelf trees.

“Yeaaaaaahhhhhh…”

Emily snapped her head to the left as she heard the low, breathy sound.  She found her face was inches away from a human-sized fox wearing a police officer’s uniform.  It would have seemed almost cartoonish to her, if it weren’t for the disturbingly realistic features on it’s face.  The nose was wet, the teeth were bright white, and the mouth was drawn back in a sinister smile.

“Yeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhh…”, it continued, “I’m gonna take care a you, just like you asked me to, lady.  Just as soon as I get a piece of that hot chick over therrrrrrreeee….”  The fox darted past Emily, sprinting toward the bird-woman.  As it did, it lifted a dull, rusted axe over it’s head.  The fox got between the bookshelf trees and continued its pursuit of the bird-woman.  Suddenly, the trees slammed shut against each other.  Emily couldn’t tell if it simply closed, or if it crushed the people between them, but she wasn’t sure it even mattered anymore.  Her attention was inexplicably drawn to something different even farther to her right.

She turned to see another male student.  This one seemed to be the only person left sitting at a chair, but he wasn’t studying.  He was leaning forward and weeping.  He sobbed and moaned down onto a photograph he was holding.  His tears poured onto the picture and he didn’t seem to be stopping.

“She was so young…  Just so young…” His voice was cracking and frail.  “She could have stopped it, she could have done something.”  The man continued to cry onto the picture and stare down, but his wrists turned to the picture outward toward Emily.  Given his position, he shouldn’t have been able to turn his wrists very far, but he continued to turn them as they each gave a loud crack as they popped out of their joints.  He stopped when the picture was fully turned toward Emily.  

For the first time since the insanity began, Emily produced a reaction. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened.  She couldn’t believe she was staring at an antique black and white photograph of herself.  She was wearing clothes that suggested the picture came from somewhere just before the 20th century.  Her own eyes stared back at her from the photo and terrified her.  She wanted to scream, but found she couldn’t.  

The man continued his wailing and moaning.  “She should have made it stop.  She COULD have made it stop!”  The man’s voice began to raise and Emily thought for a brief moment that the picture of her went from a stoic face to one that was smiling.  It was too much for her to bear so she began to turn around.  Before she could face completely forward again, the crying man was standing directly in her face.  “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT STOP!!!!!”  He screamed.  He pulled his head back and threw it forward violently, attempting to head-butt her with the full force of his weight behind it.  Instead, he disappeared the moment he was about to make contact with her forehead.

Emily felt the scream well up inside her throat.  She took a deep breath and prepared to let every last ounce of terror come shrieking out of her.  Just as she was about to let her last vestige of sanity slip, she heard the clicking again.  It drew her back, just as it had always done.  She turned to see the smiling man standing exactly where he had been the entire time, clicking and smiling away.  Things continued to change around her and the world continued its slide into dementia, but all she could do now was stare back at this man.  She began to realize everything was happening because of the clicking.  The snap of his tongue on the roof of his mouth started this confusion and that it wouldn’t stop until he did.  He had control of this situation, him and his rhythmic clicking.  All she had to do was reach out and make him stop.  All she had to do was wrap her fingers around his neck and strangle him until the light faded.

But she didn’t want him to stop anymore.  She didn’t want it to end.  She had heard the clicking long enough and had come to realize the beautiful symphony of sounds within.  For the first time since the man had walked into the library, Emily began to smile with him and she began to dance.