75 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE -- March 2012 -- Culhwch Wins!!

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Teresa Edgerton

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RULES:


Write a story inspired by the chosen theme in no more than 75 words, not including the title.


One entry per person.


All stories Copyright 2012 by their respective authors, who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here.



The complete rules can be found at Rules for the Writing Challenges.



Contest ends at 11:59 pm GMT, March 23 2012

Voting Ends at 11:59 pm GMT, March 28 2012



You do not have to submit a story in order to vote -- in fact, we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing a winner.



The Magnificent Prize:


The Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers
and the challenge of choosing the next month's theme or genre.



The Theme for March:


The Uncanny


The Genre:

Magical Realism
(click on the link)


Good luck!
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A TROUBLED COURSE

“Ye told them?”
“Aye. They said they’d call the eighteenth the Hawthorn hole.”
“Ye told them why?”
“I did. What yank would know a faerie thorn?”

#

“What a load of c**p. Fairies? In a tree?”
“Take it down?”
“Yep, before it falls and we get our a***s sued.”

#

“Sean, ye said they knew.”
“Aye.”
“They’ve taken it.”
“Poor crathurs. May the little people be merciful.”
“Aye.”
“Lord; the screams.”
“Aye. They’re gone, Sean.”
 
Between the Irish to start........

Luck of the Iorsh

‘Would ya like a wish?’ he asked, sliding up beside me on the park bench.

I looked at the Leprechaun, small and chubby in his green suit, red beard and the usual strong whiff of stale beer coming off him.

‘Do I look like some bloody tourist’ I replied, knowing fine well the trouble their wishes can cause.

‘Ahhh, feck ye then, this fecking credit crunch is killing me.’
 
You dive down into the darkest, coldest cavern following the haunting melody. With each note of the tune your flippers push the water back creating a strong current that pushes you forward. Hour, after hour you travel like this, the surreal depths giving no respite, not even a tiny pin prick of light.


Finally, the small ray of hope keeps growing. You surface near Boleskine House and await further instructions from Master Crowley.
 
Security

We run -- God we run -- but the dogs are too close and too fast.

"Got you, stinking little thieves."

DVDs scatter over the wet pavement. Security guys loom over us.

Damn, they're big.

Back on wall, frantic to run, I'm horror-froze. It's the dogs -- red snarling meat mouths -- eyes -- God, I can't bear it. Even in the half dark, I can see they have the eyes of men.
 
Foreshadow

All her life, she had seen the shadow people. When one spoke, she knew to listen.

Wolves at the door.

"Go back!" she ordered, dropping to a crouch as two men came around the building, both armed with AKs. She heard the principal being bundled back inside.

Tap, tap. Switch. Tap, tap.

#

"How did you know?" the Boss asked later.

"I must have seen their shadows," she answered. It was only a half-lie.
 
The Observers


In the shadows they are watching, from the corner of your eye.

If you’re good, they will leave you presents, like Santa Claus, or so Mother said.

But nobody speaks of what happens when you’re bad. One day, at school, you find them gone, their desk empty.

I sit here now, alone at my desk. I wait for them to come, to take me away.

They know I’ve been bad. The observers always know.
 
Confession

I touched his head.
The victim’s pace hastened when she saw me.
She turned into a dark alley, I smiled. This one’s a dead end love.
Cowering in the shadows; hoping I wouldn’t find her.
A rat gave away her position, anxious to save its own skin.
Her fear was so potent it was intoxicating.
She screamed as my fangs sank into her soft skin.
“Guilty”
My hands still shaking as they carted him away.
 
Inverted

"Freak!"

He ran.

The world warped under the assault of magic, but it was the words that hurt the most.

The words and the looks.

They attacked or stared at him as if he was something strange. Different. They touched lucky charms; holy symbols, mouthed spells and prayers.

They looked at me as though I was an aberration.

I suppose I was.

They called me, strange. Weird. Different.

I had another word for it.

Normal.
 
Like mother, like son

What ever happened to Grandma? Just her black cat now, left in the hall. She’d cackled at Dad, and said he was useless – that he’d never master anything she’d told him.

Useless!

No. Dad’s fantastic! We visited a cave, once Grandma had gone. Strange how a stalagmite looked just like her. They even had shoes there, turned to stone.

I still don’t know what happened to Grandma.

But that cave was a very scary place.
 
Mrs. Johnson​

Johnson woke that morning with the oddest feeling something was wrong. Down in the kitchen he found out why: his wife had -- somehow -- turned into a Gorgon.

Uneasily, he fixed the breakfast, studying her reflection: on a polished pot lid, the surface of the four-slice toaster.

And it was all going so well, until he tripped on the cat box and accidentally met her eyes.

He made an admirable coat tree in the hall.
 
Witch Tea?


Annabel switched off the television, grumbling to herself about the war in the middle east.

In the kitchen she sipped her herbal tea, its glorious warmth erasing the days frustrations.

That night she slept peacefully in her bed, happily dreaming of a brighter tomorrow.

At breakfast time, the television screen snapped to life to reveal the news anchor telling of the dictators tragic demise. Annabel smiled. Funny things happen when I drink tea, she thought.
 
Crier's Lake


Two hundred victims of Crier’s Lake in the last ten years. Mostly tourists from Portland. No coastal locals.

We knew better. Even the Nereids of other lakes warned people away from Crier’s Lake.

Until I got lost, winding up on the southern shore of the lake, seeing why it was avoided.

Kelpies. Dark Nereid spirits, evil creatures that drowned their victims.

So everyone was told. But I know better now.

It was paradise.
 
Wolf's Run

I tried so hard to outrun the wolves. Run.

“Stop her!” one shouted.

I ran and ran. Turned down an alley and ran into their leader.

“You stole from us,” He growled at me

Stole? “He wanted to come with me.” I looked into the wolf’s eyes and all I could see was hate. Hate and Tommy. This wolf looks just like Tommy. “What is Tommy to you?”

“He’s my son. And he’s coming back.”
 
Wooden Hearts
Have you ever had that connection with someone that you just can't explain?
It was like she knew me better than I knew myself.
She seemed to know my moods and every move I'd make.
That's why I loved her.

Today I'm going to kiss her.
I move close, she anticipates, our heads bump, we laugh.

Hans the puppeteer curses and throws us both to the floor, another performance ruined by broken strings.
We cry.
 
A Life Not Lived

The sign on my door reads Bartleby, Cabalistic Scrivener, but I’m no warlock.

However the woman standing there was definitely the real deal - Longman staff, wild hair and glowing eyes. I’m not licensed to carry but keep a Shortstop wand in my drawer for emergencies.

This was the female version of myself; a tulpa, a life not lived. I beat her to the punch – a shorter incantation – and she burned.

Second time this month.
 
Hi Honey, I'm Home!

Sat up in bed she counts the minutes, awaiting his return. This has gone on too long; it is time to put an end to her husband's nightly sojourns.

With the full moon's light beams penetrating the darkened bedroom, she fingers the revolver in her hands, once more ensuring a silver bullet is loaded in the chamber - yet failing to hear the soft rustle of fur slowly creeping closer, until it is too late.
 
Fluffy Bunny

The rabbit sat in a slimy puddle of its own intestines and stared up at her from one milky eye and one empty socket. It shifted slightly, and ribs poked through its stinking, matted fur.

Miss Johnson had grown up reading about Hogwart’s. She was learning that a school for the children of necromancers was nothing like that at all.

The next thing she knew, she had brought up her breakfast for Show And Tell.
 
Royal Flush

“You little ripper! How’d you pull that off?” Jimmy was awestruck.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, mate.” I replied, slightly smug. I had just exploited my talents to rob the Emperors son over the poker table. You see, I have this special gift, and I’m quite willing to use it to advantage myself. Morals will get you killed in this world.

“Jimmy, my boy. You’ve got a lot to learn in this game.”
 
The House On The Edge Of The Forest


The village was unchanged in four score years. No births, no deaths. No life, some would say.

Until the hooded stranger came.

One by one, the women visited the house. The men outside heard laughter, and exchanged suspicious glances.

The women always emerged smiling.

One stormy night, the stranger left.

Months later, the village heard a baby's cry; the first of many. And all because of the stranger.

Nobody knew how she'd done it.
 
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