YOUR ELF ON THE SHELF IS STEALING FROM YOU

   Unadulterated criminal intent gazed back at me from flat calculating baby blue eyes. Cherubic features did nothing to diminish the “Agent of Satan” impression this entity gave off; piercing red suit and pointed hat only added to the malicious vibe. The accursed doll came into my possession several years back as a Christmas gag, a pair of lumpy knitted socks or Q-Tips would have been better.

                

   “Neato! You got one of those Elf on a Shelf things,” cried my roommate as he saw the harbinger of hell peep out of the tissue wrappings as I entered the apartment.

                

   “Yeah,” I replied nonchalantly, roughly throwing the doll on the kitchen table and going to the fridge for a beer “Those holiday parties are a rip off. Why can’t they give you something useful like a European vacation or a flat screen TV?”

                

   “Are you going to name it?” inquired my roommate amused.

                

   “Hmmmm,” I said sitting down at the table picking up the doll and inspecting it, holding it up to the light “I christen you……Randall.”

                

   A sinister sounding giggle emanated from the elf.

                

   “What the hell man!” cried my roommate, shoving his chair away from the table; at the same time I flung the elf across the room. It hit the wall with a soft thud.

                

   We sat in silence for a few stunned minutes, then mustering our courage we walked over to where the elf lay. I nudged it with my foot, it didn't move.

                

   “It must have a voice box inside,” whispered my roommate nervously.

                

   “Probably somebody’s version of a bad joke,” I agreed. “Just to be on the safe side though,” I said reaching for a dirty sock nearby. Grabbing the elf quickly, I shoved it inside the soiled sock. Marching to my bedroom; I hurled the sock and doll combo into the utmost recesses of my closet, then slammed the door shut.

                

   That appeared to resolve the problem……for the next few days at least. 

Writing Prompt Link: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/your-elf-on-the-shelf-is-stealing-from-you 

Twitter Stalker

      The footsteps behind me were hurried, growing louder as they advanced on my retreating back. In blind terror, I picked up my pace in an attempt to outrun whoever or whatever was following me. As I dodged around the corner my cellphone buzzed, I had a new tweet.  “Don’t run from me,” said the anonymous tweeter.  Far from slowing my pace, I took off like Usain Bolt in a 100-meater dash.

                

   Immediately ahead of me was a mammoth ivy bush, which I gracelessly threw myself into in an attempt to ditch my stalker. Squatting down, cellphone in hand, I waited. Extremely impressed with myself, I thought “Ha ha ha! Fuck nuts won’t find me in here!” Just as that thought crossed my mind, my phone buzzed again. “I know where you are,” said the anonymous tweeter.

                

  “Psshhh, there is no way this creeper can know where I am. He’s just trying to lure me out into the open and that’s just not going to happen,” I believed confidently. My phone buzzed again “This is a fun game,” said the tweet “I love hide and go seek!”

                

  “Find another hobby, you sick bastard,” I tweeted back angrily.

                

  Minutes later my phone buzzed again “You should feel honored. I only play with the ones I like….. before I kill them,” tweeted anonymous.

                

  The ivy bush rustled slighting in the late evening breeze. Inexplicably the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Inches from my left ear, a soft velvet voice whispered “Boo.” 

Twitter Stalker Writing Prompt Link: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/twitter-stalker 

Letter to My Future Self

Dear Kaye,

                

  Remember when you were a kid and you waited every heartbeat for a certain toy. A toy that you thought at that exact moment was going to make your life great. If you got what you wanted then you knew you would not want for anything else. So you saved all your pennies, dimes and quarters from helping your Grandma in the garden and slowly they began to add up. It felt like an eternity, however all too soon you were ready to go to the bank and cash in your pirates hoard.  

               

  With crisp bills in your hand, you marched sure footed and proud down the toy aisle. With a giddy sense of excitement, you plucked the toy of your dreams off the shelf. Nervously you waited in line at the checkout scared that you might not have enough even you though you counted your money several times just to be sure.

                

  On the car ride home you opened the box and….the sense of excitement at having what you always wanted was not nearly as great at you thought that it would be.

                The Journey is far greater than the outcome.

P.S. It is snowing here. You will be ok.   

Mercy Brown Part 2: The Funeral

    Cold ethereal light filled the small parish church to the rafters, spilling from its windows. Two morose figures clad in customary black occupied the front pew. A middle aged gentleman, whose brown hair had begun to turn prematurely grey; standing next to him a younger carbon version of himself.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen,” intoned Rev. Amos Cabot from his perch at the pulpit, his voice ringing out through the almost empty church.

A modest pine wood coffin was positioned in front of the alter; inside rested the body of a young woman. Dressed in a white lace gown, her deep brown hair arranged over her shoulders had been combed until it shown. A cross had been tucked neatly between her clasped hands. A ray of light flashed across her face, for the briefest moment her eyelashes seemed to flutter.

“Surely fate could not be this cruel; to take away the only daughter he had left,” thought Dr. Brown distraughtly. First the disease had taken his wife, then his eldest daughter Mary and now Mercy. It was torture to watch on helplessly as the disease devoured his loved ones. As eyes sunk deeper into their skulls and flesh sank around them. Watching him as he paced around the room, knowledge of their imminent fate sealed in their gaze. For each, death had come swiftly, stalking in the night.

Once the liturgy had been recited, two pallbearers strode forth from the back of the church. Placing the pine lid over the coffin, they drove in nails securing it in place. With each nail Dr. Brown visibly winced as if they were driving the nails straight into his heart. Then the pallbearers lifted the coffin; slowly escorting it down the aisle of the church accompanied by My Soul There is a Country on the organ.

Outside in the bitterly cold air a simple horse and cart waited; stomping hooves, steam billowing from the horses nostrils. The pallbearers lifted the coffin onto the platform of the cart. “Walk on,” said one of the men in a deep voice, flicking the horse with a crop. Dr. Brown and his son followed behind as the cart made its way to the stone crypt at the end of the graveyard. This was where Mercy’s body would rest until the thaw and she could then be interred in the ground with her mother and sister. 

Kneel......Please?

   “This is a call to arms,” emanated an eloquent disembodied voice. There was an audible collective intake of breath and then the earth began to rumble. Street lamps raddled in their glass cases, trains were derailed, snow shook from the highest mountain tops and dormant volcanos erupted. Was this Armageddon? No, this was Tom Hiddleston.

                

    In Spain, the running of the bulls was substituted by way of ravenous fans running through the streets with gold horns on their heads, squealing with glee. England sent riot police to protect the Queen in Buckingham Palace as “Hiddlestoners” milled about in Loki getup holding up signs that said “Make tea not war”; sharing fresh biscuits and tea with the riot police. Hollywood flashed a large search light in the sky (which looked suspiciously like the bat signal with horns on it).

                

   It appeared that this was a peaceful uprising……. yet the mainstream public did not realize that something more infinitely seedier was afoot. Two days later CNN broke the news that Josh Horowitz was missing. 

Mercy Brown

Colliding with the ground, the force of the horse’s hooves disturbed the layer of fresh snowfall concealing the lane ahead. Gliding swiftly through the bleak stillness, a phantom black carriage rode steadily; nimble light darted from the swaying sliver lanterns illuminating the gloomy path.

A distinguished gentleman rested his prematurely graying head on long deft fingers, gazing forlornly out of the carriage window. Well-used, a black leather medical bag was placed on the seat next to him. Illnesses were a common occurrence, now however the small town of Exeter was being afflicted by a mysterious wasting disease. Inexplicably healthy men and women were dying rapidly, entire families were being extinguished.  Dr. Brown could not stop the tidal wave of death.

Unexpectedly the horses reared back in terror. The driver pulled hard on the reins to keep the carriage from toppling into the ravine below. Jarred from his morbid contemplation, Dr. Brown unbolted the carriage door and stuck his head out into the cold austere evening. Furious he opened his mouth to protest and then froze.

Movement was visible beyond the outer perimeter of the lantern. With unnatural movements a pale figure dragged itself into the light. There was something very familiar about the young woman who drew closer. Long brown hair shrouded her face; a thin full length lace gown barely brushed the ground as bare feet padded onto the path in front of the horses.

Once again the horses reared back in sheer terror, their eyes rolling. Crimson droplets dripped onto the virgin snow as the figure stood in front of the horses.  Dr. Brown gasped in horror as her head slowly rose revealing deep pools of black nothingness; rivulets of blood spilled from her mouth.Even though five years had passed since her death; Dr. Brown would never forget the face of his beloved daughter, Mercy.