Twisted

Quest for a Good Life

I remember picking up the keys at the lawyer’s office, opening the front door, and walking in for the first time, my dog, Buster, at my side. I finally owned my own house. It was just going to be the two of us.

I had my mom look after the pup for a few days and I got my brother to help me move stuff in. My mom didn’t like the idea of me, a single woman, living alone, but it was what I wanted. I was strong enough to help my brother lift all the furniture, after all. And I had my hound.

I’d been living there for about a week before I started to get really annoyed with Buster. If he wasn’t outside trying to dig a hole under the shed, he was whining at the back door to get out there. Finally I got my brother to come over with a shovel and help me dig out whatever Buster was trying to get at.

And what do you know? Dead bodies.

So I had a choice. Contact the authorities and lose my house until they finished their investigation–it could be a year!–or drag the bodies out and rebury them so the dog couldn’t find them. I decided on the latter. Which would have been fine if they hadn’t come back to life.

Now my life is all zombies, all the time. They come in and raid my fridge in the middle of the night, I keep finding the occasional limb under my bed – Buster! – and every single morning as I’m getting in the car to go to work it’s, “Hey Julia! How ’bout them brains? When are we gonna get them yummy brains for dinner?”

All I wanted was a nice quiet life in my own house. Maybe Mom was right.

The Dark Queen

She said she’d come when the butterflies flutter by, but spring came and went without a sighting. Then summer, then autumn. When winter rolled around I caught a glimpse of spotted wings and knew they were carried upon her breath.

I delved into my studies to find that indeed, the Dark Queen cannot reign from the shadows. She thrives on contrast; she commands symphonies of her minions on snow.

Now her spirit deepens my midwinter dreams. She lay upon my pillow, whispering sweet promises of death to my face. I awake to the bodiless wings of Monarchs in my window.

Saga – a 50 word story

As much as I fear looking back at my former life, I look forward with alarm. The direction in which I travel is  dark and inhumane. My course may lead to the end of the world as I know it. My only consolation is that I’m alone on the planet.

“Saga” is the word of the day at The Daily Post.

Murder in 2016

The doorbell’s ring had an ominous tone. It was with trepidation that I opened it; the bright sunlight burned my retinas, and it took a moment for the two policemen at my door to come into focus.

“Yes?” My voice shook.

“Are you Mr. James Miller?”

“I am.”

“Are you familiar with the name,” the officer looked down at his notepad and then back up to me, “Greta Miller?”

“She’s my great-aunt on my mother’s side. Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Miller, your aunt has passed away. We have you listed as her sole survivor.”

I felt my face crumple as I cried, “I killed her!”

The two officers moved quickly to handcuff me. “What did you do with the gun, Mr. Miller?” one of them asked.

“Gun? What gun? I posted a meme on Facebook that guaranteed me a fortune – and now Aunt Greta has gone and left me her all her money!”

“Is… that how you killed her, Sir?”

“I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD WORK!!!” I’d never felt so distraught in my life.

Happy Acres, 50 years later

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Hannah read the sticker pasted over the Happy Acres sign at the end of the long, dusty driveway. She knew she’d been here before, but she didn’t remember why.

“Dad said there were hookers here,” said her husband, Jessie.

“Well, they’d better be male strippers, ‘coz if they’re female, you’re not gonna last long.”

“Pfft,” Jessie scoffed. They got back in the car and headed up the lane way to check themselves in.

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Tuesday Use It In A Sentence is fun! This week’s word is “abandon.” Try it out! The link to join in is here.

Happy Acres

“It looks like a nice place,” Hannah said as she stood with her husband, Jessie, before the gates at the end of a long, dusty driveway.

“The sign is a bit old.”

She stepped in front of him to take a closer look. “The Happiest Place In Town,” she read out loud. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” she said to Jessie. “But maybe it’ll be appropriate.”

“Do you really think my dad will do well here?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll ask him.”

They walked together to the car and spoke to the man inside through the open window.

“We think it’s the right place,” Jessie said to his father.

“Do they have hookers?”

“Wait, I’ll check,” said Hannah. She trotted back to the sign and read it silently, then returned to the car.

“The best hookers in town, the sign says.”

“Well what are we waiting for?” asked Jessie’s father. “Let’s go get ’em!”

And that’s how, with Hannah’s help, Jessie got his father into a nursing home.

Happy Children’s Day

“Happy Children’s Day,” said the mother to her son on Mother’s Day morning.

“What do you mean?” asked the son.

“If I’ve done my job right,” explained the mother, “you will derive more pleasure from spoiling me than I will for being spoiled.”

The son smiled, “You’re right, Mummy! Please enjoy your sardine pancakes. I brought syrup, too!”

Unreliable – #AtoZ Challenge

Movement is difficult. For me, it’s like in one of those dreams where you feel like you’re immersed in some kind of gelatinous fluid and it takes enormous effort to advance. And that’s my everyday life.

Oh, here comes my brother. He’s going to ask me to go golfing. What a joker.

“Hey, Bob! Wanna go golfing?”

“Sure, Henry. Just let me grab my clubs.”

I love golfing. It’s one of my favourite past times. Nothing quite like getting out there on the links for a good walk.

Author’s Notes:

1. One of the best unreliable characters I’ve ever read was in the book, Gone Girl. I won’t spoil it by saying which character it was, in case you haven’t read it. That novel made a lasting impression on me. Great stuff.

2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.

The Chronicles of Mary, Part 2 – a 50-word story

Last week, Mary got her heel stuck in a sewer grate. As a car was approached at great speed, a woman in a cape (envision Professor Umbridge of Harry Potter fame) scooped Mary up and moved her to safety.

Mary attended the woman’s funeral shoeless. She wasn’t taking any chances.

Breaking Up – a 50-word … thing

Dear You,

I’m sorry we broke up. The sad fact is, you are who you must be and I am who I have to be, and it seems there is no compromise. A serial killer and a saint are just not suited for marriage. I should have known.

Love,

Me