Write...Edit...Publish. Mr. Wag a ghost Story

Time again for another flash fiction story for Write...Edit...Publish, created by my awesome, Aussie friend, Denise Covey. The inspiration this month is Halloween of course and ghost in particular. I hope you enjoy my story and when you have finished reading, please head over and read the other stories by talented writers. Here's the link.

Mr. Wag

I threw up.

“Again?” Mom said walking into the bathroom. “What’s going on Betsy? Is something wrong at school?”

“No,” I said. I’d already told my parents. They took me to Dr. Howard, a therapist. He didn’t believe me and neither did my parents. I knew it was hopeless to say anything again. I asked for a dog. A dog would sleep with me, walk with me, protect me. Dad said “no.” My parents bought me a goldfish instead. It swam around and looked stupid.

The temperature outside had dropped overnight. I was glad. I pulled on my new coat. Pink with white faux fur around the hood. I pulled it up over my blonde curls. Mom settled my backpack over my shoulders.

“Are you coming home for lunch?” Mom asked.

“No,” I said. Truth was, I’d love to come home for lunch, but that meant I’d have to walk by the cemetery two extra times. School was only three blocks away. But the cemetery was one block on the opposite side of the road and stretched all the way past the school. Recess was a nightmare.

“It’s not cold enough to have your hood up,” Mom said. “It’ll mess up your pretty hair.”

“That’s OK,” I said and hurried outside before Mom could ask me anymore questions.

I ran toward the corner and then stopped. I could see them. Pacing between graves. Some leaned on trees. Others stood before their grave stone weeping. I could hear them too. The trick was to not let them know I could see and hear them. I pulled up my hood even more and tucked my head down before I crossed the street. Each step forward brought more anxiety. I felt sick again and swallowed the vomit in my mouth. I knew how each one died. Some had swollen eyes, others were really old, a few wore military uniforms, the Civil War right through the current one. By the time I reached school half a dozen were following me including a really scary one with half his head blown away. I pretended I didn't see them.

In class I found my seat. They hovered by my desk, whispering. “My name is Frank,” the one with half a face said. “Tell my Mom I love her.” “I’m Walter,” an old man said. “I miss my wife.” “Alice, Alice, Alice,” a third one repeated over and over again.

Tears stung my eyes and I wiped them before anyone noticed. My teacher was reviewing our spelling words for the week. “Cemetery,” she said. I almost jumped out of my skin.

“What’s wrong Betsy?” she asked quietly coming over to my desk and standing right inside of Frank. She shivered and pulled her sweater closer.

“Nothing,” I lied. She wouldn't believe me if I told her. Then my parents would get a phone call and I’d go back to Dr. Howard.

When Miss Stewart, my teacher, left I addressed the ghost under my breath. “Go away, I have to study.” They went to the back of the class and stared at me. That’s when a little boy joined them. There were tire marks across his chest.

After lunch I went outside with my classmates. I didn’t have any friends. The other kids all thought I was weird. I hid as close to the school building as possible but it didn’t matter. More ghost joined the ones who were near.

Frustrated I blurted out. “I can’t help any of you. I don’t know your Mom, or your wife. Go away.” Todd Greenburg heard me and stopped to stare, the ball he’d been playing with firmly in his grasp. I gave him an embarrassed smile and felt my lips quivering.

The walk home was flanked by the ghost insistent whispers. “I don’t want to die.” “I love my Mom.” “War is hell.” “The doctor said I’d be fine.” “Can you call my Mom? Her name is Wanda.” “My wife is in Pleasantville Retirement.” Alice was weeping in a high pitched scream. I had a headache.

That’s when it happened. I saw the dog. A German Shepard. A shadow of its living self, it came running across the street right before an oncoming car. The car drove by and the dog ran right through it. His tail was wagging, his tongue lolled out. He had a collar on. I reached down and turned his name tag over.

“Mr. Wag,” I said and smiled. I petted his ghostly head. Mr. Wag growled at the human ghost. They stepped back.

I continued to walk home with Mr. Wag by my side. The human ghost didn't follow me. I had a bologna sandwich and gave a piece to Mr. Wag. He ate it, except, not really. I had to throw it away. No human ghost bothered me while I studied and later Mr. Wag sat at my feet while I watched T.V. 

When bedtime arrived, Mr. Wag jumped up on my bed beside me. That night when the ghost crowded into my room Mr. Wag growled at them, jumped off the bed and chased them out. Then he came back and lay down next to me again. Happy, I petted him and his tailed wagged.

In the morning Mr. Wag greeted me with ghostly kisses. He came to school with me, lifting his leg at random bushes and peeing. Nothing came out of course. He lay next to my desk at school. The human ghost hid from him. We went outside together. I walked Mr. Wag all around the school yard and wasn't troubled by any ghost.

Life changed after Mr. Wag came along. I finally found some good friends. It’s been nine years and I’m headed off to college soon. Mr. Wag will come with me. I love Mr. Wag.

Word Count: 970

I’m really glad that I don’t see dead people. I did have a dog that I loved very much. He’d always lie at my feet when I worked on my stories. After we put him down because he was old and sick, I heard his nails on the wood floor. I told him to go to the other side and never heard him again. I miss him terribly. 

In other news. I could use your help. I have two flash fiction e-book stories available on Amazon. They are Free. It says 99 cents but below that it says, read this title for free. I need some reviews, if you wouldn't mind downloading them, reading them and giving me a review I'd appreciate it. While your at it hit the 'like' by my name.Thanks.

Here are the links.

Amazon.com    /http://www.amazon.com/Trapped-Memories-Linger-Ghostly-Encounters-ebook/dp/B00O2BJ7IO/

Amazon.uk   http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00O2BJ7IO?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Amazon.com   http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NXFP7SE

Aazon.uk http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00NXFP7SE?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Once again, thank you so much. Nancy

Failure? Is it? A flash fiction entry for Write, Edit, Publish

Another edition for Write...Edit...Publish. Founded by my Aussie friend, Denise Covey. Anyone can participate with poems, stories or true life events. To read the other submissions, click on the link and travel on through cyberspace to the Write...Edit...Publish blog and follow the links there to other worthy blogs.

Failure? Is it? Is the theme. My story follows.




Crisis

Barbara curled a few strands of auburn hair with her finger. First up and then down. "Stupid!?!"

Her job had gone the way of extinct species. Her town-home was in foreclosure. What a waste. Life had never been this crappy. A degree in computer sciences did little good when no one was hiring. Where had she gone wrong?

Television was full of commercials to retrain as this, that, or some other thing. Retrain! Hadn't she spent enough time in college?

Newly divorced, her parents gone within a year of each other, her sister wouldn't talk to her, and the list of failures dragged on until Barbara was certain nothing good would come to her. She wanted to give up. She wanted to hide in a dark room. More likely she'd be under a bridge in a tent.

She had five brochures on various jobs. A veterinary assistant, a florist, a dental hygienist, a daycare provider and last but not least a social worker. Being a florist would be fun but where there really any jobs in that field? She didn't think she wanted to work with young children. That left three choices. The medical field was expanding. Social workers where in demand. But did dogs and cats really need her?

Monday followed her indecisive Sunday. In three months she could be a dental hygienist. Wrinkling her nose at the thought of the odors at a dental office, Barbara lifted the phone and called the school. Now that she had made a decision, her spirit lifted. She showered, dried her hair, put on a blue dress and drove to her appointment at the school. A smile touched her lips. The future looked bright.

283 words.

I hope you enjoyed my little tale.

This is a fictional story, copyright 2014. All critique is acceptable.

Nancy

House of Horror, Featured Writer, Me

I won. I am so excited. Clouds have saturated my office and lifted me off my chair. I'm dancing, I'm singing, I'm thrilled. Just look at the cool award!

Here is what the judges, Ann Best and Nas Dean, both editors, had to say:

The Panettiere Cup by N. R. Williams

Romance is paramount in this story and the author's skills as a published fantasy writer are evident. The beginning of the story and when her heroine takes flight to the old castle gave me chills. This story has flawless descriptive passages, and credible characters. Aya’s the aging heroine, loved by her husband but haunted by what might have been if she had married the man her father chose for her. In this melancholy frame of mind, she is “bewitched,” but in the end realizes what true love really is. In a brief but beautiful ending that exhibits the author’s excellent skill with dialogue, her loving husband rescues her from her melancholy flight. I feel her joy as she realizes that love comes from the ordinary moments a husband and wife share through the years.

Would you like to read the story? If you haven't already done so, or if you'd like to read it again, here is the link.

As always, thank you for coming and I hope you'll leave a comment.
Nancy
 

All materials and stories on this blog are copyright. If you wish to use any of them please contact me first.

2012.

Spooktoberfest blog hop, Ghoulish Fun

Hi everyone and welcome to the Spooktoberfest blog hop. This just sounded like too much fun to pass on. My friends, Dani and Jackie are the haunted hostess' and will be giving away a prize to the two lucky winners. There's still time to join the fun, so if you want to swing by after reading my flash fiction post and join you can. And if not, go anyway so you can link up and read all the other spooky, funny, silly tales. Here are the guidelines.

Spooktoberfest

Come one come all to the biggest creepfest around. Where cobwebs tickle your nose, cauldrons are a brewin', jack-o-lanterns light the way, and ghosts go bump in the night. Oh yeah, watch out for the razor blades!

Requirements:

1. Follow Jackie and myself if you don’t already. We do follow back.

2. Your Flash Fiction piece cannot be any longer than 300 words. Sorry… that’s part of the challenge.

3. You must use the MANDATORY 5 words listed below…

            cobweb(s)

            jack-o-lantern(s)

            ghost(s)

            cauldron(s)

            razor(s)

4. Post your Flash Fiction piece any day from Friday Oct 26th thru Monday, Oct. 29th.

5. It’s a blog hop, so… hop around to other participating blogs and leave them some awesome comments.

6. Have fun.

Your flash fiction piece can be scary, comical, romantic, or whatever you choose, just be creative!

The winners will be posted on HALLOWEEN! That’s right, Wednesday, Oct. 31st. Jackie and I will each choose a winner. That’s right – two winners!

PRIZES: A grab bag and candy. The winners will get the biggest bags we can find of their favorite candy along with some spookified items.

Oh, and yes, this blogfest is international. So what are you ghouls waiting for? Sign up using the Linkie Thing below or in the side bar and spread the word!

My story:

Ghoulish Fun

Kafele emerged from The Museum of Ancient Studies brushing the cobwebs from his soiled linen wrap. A ghostly orb hung from a pole, its coruscation swallowing the obscurity of night. 

Fredek loitered in the shadows near Malvina’s cauldron. The town cemetery was barely visible from the Museum’s doors.

“How’s the year treated you?” Kafele asked, joining his friends.

Fredek covered his nose. Malvina’s jacosely shrilled.

“Really Kafele, Listerine would love to cast you as their Halloween spokesman.”

“What is Listerine? In all the centuries within these walls I haven’t heard of it,” Kafele asked.

“They make a magic potion to freshen breath,” Malvina said.

“Come, come, my friends,” Fredek said, his eyes like razors darting between them. “I have the keys to the cemetery limousine. We must leave if we are to catch the movie.”

As they drove, passing numerous children in their costumes a jack-o-lantern flew from a porch with the assistance of an older child and smashed in the street inches from the car. Fredek didn’t flinch, his cool resolve always present. 

“What a strange world,” Kafele said. “Do we have any treats?”

“I am forbidden to eat the children,” Malvina said.

“I must reframe from drinking blood,” Fredek said.

“I wonder what I’m not allowed to do.” Kafele asked.

“Curse anyone,” Fredek and Malvina said together.

“Oh yes, my mind isn’t what it used to be,” Kafele said, and then added. “I was thinking about candy. I really love the chocolate peanut butter ones.” 

“What movie are we going to see?” Malvina asked.

“Our favorite,” Fredek said, his fangs glinting in on coming headlights. “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”

Word Count 275.

Please let me know in the comments if you like it.

Nancy

Need some help with short stories and flash fiction? I’m posting on the subject every Monday. Come on by.

This story is fiction; any similarity to other stories or persons is purely a coincidence. Copyright 2012. Use with permission only.

Spooktoberfest link.

Delusional Doom Blogfest:

Devil in the Chili:

Gardening. Isabella Loveknott loved to garden. The evidence clearly displayed in the many raised beds in her yard. Not just the front yard. The back and side yards too. Her husband didn’t mind, since there was little grass to mow and Isabella did all the weeding. She rose at 4 a.m. daily, slipped into her garden jeans, put on the purple clogs, and traipsed into the kitchen where she brewed her own blend of herbal tea.

Anyone who knew Isabella knew that she collected vases. Every corner of her home had fresh flowers in water. Her pride and joy was the cut glass vase from Ireland. She’d saved a year for this vase which graced the center of the dining room table. Her husband was glad he didn’t have to spend money on a florist.

At a quarter past 4 a.m., Isabella stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at the empty dining room table. Her hot mug filled the air with the scent of her rose petal tea. The Irish vase was gone. Her husband came home late from the bar. He’d spent too much money and smelled of too many beers. Isabella glared at him, saying nothing, just seething in her own mind. He became angry, rebuked her with his fist and lifted the Irish vase, filled with red roses, and threw it at her. She’d been in the kitchen doorway then too. She stepped aside. The cut glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Red roses strewn everywhere. Her husband went to bed and Isabella cleaned up her heart from the tile.

Isabella set to work. She left the kitchen light on and descended the back steps into her garden. She knew which plant needed to be moved, separated and replanted. She knew which bush hung too far over the side and should be trimmed back. She knew which bed had too many encroaching weeds. But none of them called to her today. She didn’t fear the lights that shown from the neighbors’ windows. Or the curtains pulled aside to watch her. They were the same everyday. She would simply take them a lovely bouquet after work and gossip about their day. No, on this bright day as the birds sang and flew between trees Isabella headed for the Devil’s helmet. Its lovely blue shade decorated the base of her Oleander. Foxglove grew along the fence and overshadowed a newly planted Belladonna bush that had yet to produce any berries. She didn’t grow her tea leaves among these flowers. She knew better than that.

Isabella took the scissors from her apron pocket. She bent and snipped the Devil’s helmet to the ground. Then she dug into the rich soil and removed the root putting it along with the stems, leaves, and flowers in her bucket. The bucket she used daily and left in the flower beds. Lifting it, she walked along the garden path and entered the kitchen. She slipped off her muddy clogs by the door. She left the apron to hang from a breakfast chair and she set the bucket in the sink. Before she did another thing, she washed her hands with warm, soapy water. By the time her husband came down, his coffee was waiting along with French toast.

“I’m sorry, Darlin,’ about last night,” he said.

Isabella said nothing. She sat across from him and sipped her tea. The Devil’s helmet brewed over the stove top. He cleaned his plate, drained his coffee, smacked his lips and thanked her before leaving for his day. Isabella remained in her chair, in her immaculate kitchen, in her home that smelled of sweet flowers. The Devil’s helmet bubbled on the stove top.

Her husband was late again that night. Isabella wasn’t surprised. She’d made chili for dinner. It steamed in the slow cooker. A surprise ingredient bubbled in with all the spices. Warm cornbread cooled on the counter. Fresh butter rested on the table. Her best stoneware matched the placemat and waited at the head of the dining room table. Of course now there was no Irish vase in the center of the table and the Devil’s helmet couldn’t be detected.

As the clock approached 9 p.m., the doorbell rang. Isabella stood, numb with intent and went to the door. A police officer waited. His cap in his hand.

“Mrs. Loveknott?”

“Yes,” Isabella replied.

“I’m sorry to tell you this. But there was a shooting at Fred’s Bar tonight. I’m afraid your husband is dead.”

The End

A special thanks goes to, Clarissa Draper, on your wonderful poisons series where I obtained the information on Devil’s helmet known by many names. To read about this poisonous plant and others visit, Clarissa at, Listen to the Voices, and check out her link to Poisons.

Picture link: Wikipedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aconitum

To read all the other great Delusional Doom Blogfest entries head over to Hart Johnson’s at Confessions of a Watery Tart.

I hope you enjoyed my story.

P.S. This is post 200.