First blog post

Well! I took a deep breath and jumped.

This is my very first blog. I’m kind of nervous and excited to get this started.

I’ve been writing stories on the Writer’s Digest Creative Writing Prompts forum every week for the past two years. It’s been a wonderful learning experience to take their prompts, no matter how weird or specific, and turn them into two or three completely different stories. I’ve written stories on there that I normally wouldn’t have considered writing – science fiction stories, vampire stories, and so on. My fellow forumites, who are awesome writers, have helped me with their suggestions and comments to grow as a writer.

So, after much mental fidgeting and nail biting, I finally decided to create this blog to give my prompt stories a proper home.

Hope you enjoy them!



A Reverse Angle – Part Five

Lydia left shortly after our conversation.

Then, I heard them.


Footsteps running all around the second floor.

Victor and I retreated into one of the safe rooms – one of the rooms that had been de-draped. Somehow I knew that they would not dare enter a daylit room.

Victor curled up onto the couch with me. I wrapped my arm around him and held him tight.

No spirit was going to touch my son.

Neither of us attempted conversation.

We listened to the footsteps.

I wondered when they would stop.


Victor opened his eyes.

He couldn’t quite remember when he’d fallen asleep.

And the house was quiet.

And dark.

He widened his eyes.

The drapes were once more hanging on the windows.


I don’t know how they did it, but the others managed to undo all of our hard work.

All of the drapes had been rehung.

All of them.

I was not pleased by this new development.

This was undoubtedly an invitation for us to pack up and leave.

I did consider it.

But this house was ours.

I was not about to be bested by maladjusted spirits.

I was resolved to show them.

Those drapes were going to come down.

And this time they were going to be burned.


Victor and his mother tore the drapes down with a determination that had to be seen to be believed.

I wish we could just leave. he thought.

If these ghosts want the house all to themselves, then we ought to let them have at it.

Yet, it is terribly exhilarating to burn all of these old grayed drapes.

How the fire leaps to the sky with each new load!

I wonder how big it will be when we are done.


Victor stayed close to me and I was glad of it. Despite Lydia’s claims that these ghosts were of no danger to us, I felt as if we were treading on dangerous ground. With every drape we brought down, we were signing a contract of doom.

We finished the first floor.

All of the drapes were down.

All of the drapes were burned.

They would not reappear on our windows.

Not unless they were ghosts as well.

We headed up the stairs to the second floor.


“Mother. What do we do if the ghosts try to stop us?”

She carefully considered her answer. “Tell them that this house no longer belongs to them. Tell them that the house is ours. At the very least, it will give them something new to think about.”

Victor nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Let’s start with this room and work our way down the hall.” She unlocked the door.

They entered the room and headed straight for the drapes.

A Reverse Angle – Part Four

I left Victor in charge of the second floor drapes.

He attacked them with such a gusto I couldn’t help but smile.

I went downstairs to call Lydia Toomey. She was an old friend of our family.

She could supposedly communicate with spirits. I was not overly keen on the idea of bringing a medium and séances and Ouija boards into our home.

Yet, I did not want to go through one more night like last night.

I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

As I listened to it ring, I heard the sound of muffled breathing.

Yet, it was not coming from the phone.

It was somewhere behind me.

Muffled breathing that grew faster and faster and faster.

Until it just stopped.

I looked over my shoulder.

There was no one behind me.

“Hello? This is Lydia.”

“Hello! This is Mrs. Polly Marlish.”

“Darling! It’s been such a long time. How have you been?”

“Very well. I.” I looked over my shoulder again.

Just as a figure in white ran out of the room.

The door slammed shut.

“Polly? Darling, what’s wrong?”

“I need your help.”


“In Dublin’s fair city—”

Victor grabbed the one side of the drapes and pulled.

“Where girls are so pretty—”

The drapes seemed to hiss as the material tore.

“’twas there I first met me sweet Molly Malone.”

Victor clenched his teeth and pulled extra hard.


The drapes came down and the daylight made the dust motes dance in the air.

A high, thin voice shrieked.

Victor startled.

Before he could even turn around, a book slammed into his back.

The door opened and slammed shut.

He turned around.

He stood alone in the daylit room.

He looked down at the floor and picked up the book that had hit him.

It was a Catholic Catechism with yellowed pages and delicate covers.

He dropped the book and ran out of the room.



Victor came downstairs with more ghost tales.

I fear that things are intensifying.

What will happen if we stay here one more night?

Will we be murdered in our sleep?

Who are these others who haunt us?

Victor will sleep in my bed tonight. That is for certain.

For his safety.

And for mine.

We could leave this house, but no.

The house is ours.

Whoever they were, they are gone now.

This is no longer their home.

I look forward to Lydia’s arrival.


Victor looked at Lydia Toomey. She didn’t look much like a medium. As a matter of fact, she looked disappointingly ordinary.

Like someone’s grandmother.

But his mother was delighted to see her.

As delighted as a stranded person is to see a life raft.

Could she really do anything to help?

He contemplated her soft cloud of white hair, her delicate, bird-like face with its fifty-five hundred wrinkles.

He shook his head.

I don’t think she’ll be able to help us at all.


Lydia walked around the house.

As she entered the rooms with the downed drapes, her delicate form and heavy shawl created the strange illusion that she belonged in the dust-moted world.

Although the daylight felt good and comforting, she shivered. There was a coldness in the house that nothing could banish.

And a sadness too heavy for her to bear.

She stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked upward. She knew that she needed to go up there.

She had to go up there.

Yet, she dreaded it without fully understanding why.

Mrs. Marlish came up behind her. “How is it going?”

She shook her head. “What do you know of the previous owners?”

“Very little. To be honest, I never inquired. Why?”

“They are sad. So deeply sad.”

Mrs. Marlish shivered. “Are?”

Lydia glanced at her. “Why, they are ghosts, of course.”

“I don’t believe…”

Lydia smiled. “I believe you do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here now.”

“Are they dangerous?”

Lydia looked up the stairs again.

Her smile fell. “No, but they are all so sad. I feel them and I feel for them.”

“What can we do?”

“I wish to communicate with them. I wish to know who they are and what happened to them. Unless you have any objections.”

Mrs. Marlish took a breath and exhaled. “None. Do what you must.”

A Reverse Angle – Part Three

Victor helped me remove the drapes.

Neither of us spoke of our night time adventures. Yet, they clearly haunted our thoughts.

Oh, but it was such a relief to pull those horrid drapes down. There is so much light in the house now.

I can almost feel the house breathe.


Victor’s fears and fearful thoughts dissipated with each drape that came down. The knowledge that he didn’t need to be dainty about it made him enjoy the project so much more.






And another one down.

“Are we going to put up any new drapes?”

“Not for some time. I want to enjoy all of this delicious, delirious light.”

He laughed.

But his mother was right.

The daylight was delicious and exhilarating. He wanted to roll around in it as a dog rolls in snow.


“There! I think we ought to take a break.”

Victor followed me into the kitchen.

I set the tea kettle on the stove as he washed his hands.

“After our break, we’ll tackle the upstairs rooms.”

Victor shut the water off. “Mother.”

I busied myself making us cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches.



“About what I saw last night.”

Again, I felt that cold arm wrap around my waist. But I kept myself calm. My voice remained steady. “Yes?”

“It wasn’t a dream. How could it be when I still heard them after I woke up?”

I put extra cream cheese on my sandwich. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t explain it. I wish I could.” I plated our sandwiches and carried them to the table.

“Mother. Are they ghosts?”

I picked up my sandwich and took a bite.

He didn’t touch his food. He sat there, waiting for my response.

I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Have you…Have you seen anything?”

“No. But I’ve thought I…I imagined I heard some distant voice. It was too distant to understand what they were even saying. And last night.”

I hesitated.

Did I really want to tell him my side? Surely, it would accomplish nothing more than increase his fears.

“What happened?”

I surely couldn’t leave it at that.

I told him.

Yet, with the light shining through the windows, my tale of terror didn’t seem so frightening.

Victor picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “So, what do we do?”

I contemplated my sandwich. “We will finish taking down the drapes. Then, I will call an old friend of mine who may be able to answer our questions.”

A Reverse Angle – Part Two

I am unsure as to what Victor had seen in the attic.

I am certain he saw something.

I do not know what.

Neither does he.

I will keep that attic door locked.


Victor stuck close to his mother for the rest of the day.

But it couldn’t stay day forever.

Night came.

He put on his bravest face and kissed her good night.

He tried his best to not look like someone ordered to walk the plank.

He honestly tried his best.

“I’m just across the hall if you need me.” she said.

“I know. Good night, then.”

“Good night.”


The master bedroom has a strange feel to it.

A sort of heaviness that presses down on one’s head.

I suppose I could share the room with Victor, but no.


I will not cave in to such weak-minded fears.

I am not afraid.

This house will not make me afraid.


It was a strange feeling of familiar and unfamiliar to sleep under his own blanket on someone else’s bed.

Victor shivered.

What if someone died in here?

What if someone died on this very bed?


I cannot think of such things.

Mother says there are no ghosts and she is right.

I can’t explain what I saw in the attic.

Maybe it was a wayward raccoon.

It would have to be a fairly large raccoon to look like…

He shivered again and rolled over onto his side.

I shan’t think of it.

I shall sleep and sleep well.

This is my new home and this is my new bed.

No one else’s.


There is someone in the bed with me!

I opened my eyes and lay as still as possible.


It was only a dream and nothing more.

Perhaps I am missing my husband.

Surely that is it.

I lit the nearby candle and carefully checked the bed.


No one.


Only a dream and nothing more.

I set the lit candle on the night stand and considered blowing it out.

But then I thought of the arm that had touched my waist.

The candle stayed lit all night.


“There’s someone here.”


“You shh. Look. He’s there.”

“I don’t see anyone.”

“That’s because I’m older than you. I can see more. And I. can. see. him.”

“You’re trying to scare me. I will tell mum. Mum will go mad again.”

Victor opened his eyes.

The voices fell silent.

Only a…only a dream?

Victor’s feet were cold. He drew them upwards.

“See? There! There he is!”

He let out a sound that was neither a gasp nor a scream, sprang out of his bed, and bolted towards the door. He grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it.

“He’s there at the door! Look! Look!”

The doorknob resisted his efforts.

Victor heard the sound of muffled breathing growing faster and faster. He couldn’t say if it was his or not.

The breathing stopped.

The doorknob turned.

Victor fled the room.


Victor burst into my room with wild ghost tales.

I calmed him down as best as I could, but it wasn’t easy. Whatever he had witnessed had left him badly shaken.

I let him stay in my room.

It made him feel better.

It made me feel better too.


I am tired of these heavy drapes covering every window, blocking every breath of daylight.

They are coming down today.

All of them.



A Reverse Angle – Part One

The house was gorgeous.

Period detail.

So many heavy drapes. Of course, those had to go. Period detailing or not. Horrible things were terribly musty. But I would take care of that after we’d all moved in.

Victor bit his thumbnail. “Looks haunted.”

“Of course it does. Most grand, old houses always do.”

“Mother. What if it is haunted? We won’t have to stay, will we?”

“My dear boy. There are no such things as ghosts or hauntings.”


Victor explored the house on his own while his mother bossed about the movers. She was terribly good at bossing.

And he discovered a strange thing.

No matter where he went in the house, no matter what room, the door always slammed shut behind him.

Most doors will drift closed given time and patience.

Yet, these doors slammed shut with a powerful force.

He tried to make sense of it.

It’s an old house. he thought. Old houses have drafts and…such. Yet, I don’t feel any drafts.

Ghosts, then?

But Mother says there are no ghosts. And she knows.


I wish the doors wouldn’t slam so.

It worries me.


It is a beautiful house, but it has so many dark corners.

I keep…hearing strange things just out of my range of hearing. I can’t tell if it’s a woman’s voice, a girl’s voice, or a boy’s voice.

Yet, there is only Victor and I here. No other woman or child.

I fear it is the vast loneliness of this place trying to get to me.

It will not get to me.

I love this house.

I intend to stay here.


Victor walked all the way up to the attic. He opened the door and shuddered.

Covered things stood like an assembly of ghosts all around the room. They could have been anything.

Or anyone.

Then, in the far left corner, one of the covered things moved. It was low on the ground, like a child sitting on the floor. It raised its head and turned to look at him.

Victor ran out of the attic and headed for the stairs.

The door slammed shut behind him.


I will add electric lights to this place. It will be expensive, no doubt, but it must be done.

I will not spend my days here, quaking at shadows and darkness.

“Oh, Victor. There you are. I was worried. I—”

“Mother! Mother! I saw a ghost. A ghost!”

I hesitated.

I thought about the strange…sounds I had heard. “Perhaps you are mistaken. Perhaps it was some sort of animal.”

“It’s in the attic. Come see. Come see!”

I couldn’t very well refuse.

After all, I can’t have my son believing in such falderal as ghosts and spooks. “Lead on.”


Victor led her upstairs into the attic. He watched her reaction as the doors slammed shut behind them.

Yet, it didn’t seem to bother her all that much.

He wondered if he were just being overly jumpy.

Yet, her reaction to the ghost in the attic…That is what he needed to see the most.

He tried to turn the attic doorknob.

It was locked.

He frowned. “I came in here. I did.”

“I’m sure you did, Victor. It’s an old house. The realtor said that the doors tend to somehow lock themselves. Loose locks or something of that sort. Nothing to fear.” She pulled out the enormous key ring the realtor had given her. Each key was marked with an initial or some sort of id.

There were so many keys to go through.

“Why are there so many doors?” asked Victor.

She shook her head as she flipped through the keys. “To keep the house warmer, I suppose.”

“Seems to keep it darker.”

She stopped and looked up at him.

He shrugged. “Personal observation.”

She smiled and resumed her search for the attic key.

“Who owned this place before us?”

“Oh, it hasn’t been owned in years. Last family lived here during one of the World Wars. I can’t recall which one.”


“Here it is.” She put the key into the lock and unlocked the door.

They entered the attic.

She gasped at the sight of the covered objects. “Oh. What treasures are hiding under these yellowing sheets?” She pulled them off in bold, unfrightened gestures.

Victor stuck close to his mother as she unveiled chairs and credenzas and such furniture stuff. He tried to pay attention to her, but he could feel his gaze wanting to move to that far left corner. “Mother.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Yes. Your ghost. Where is she?”

He gulped. Here it is. My moment of truth. “In the far left corner. Do you see it?”

There was a long moment of silence as she looked over there.

Victor had no courage. He stared at the empty bookshelf she had uncovered.

“No. Victor darling, there’s nothing there.”

He looked.

That corner was the only empty spot in the whole attic.




Cement cracks.
Metal melts
People run.
People jump.


Buildings crumble.
Lives lost.
White ash
Papers fly


First responders.
Search and rescue dogs
To do what they can.
To find who they can.
To save who they can.

In New York

Sophie’s Shadow

Some days I’m free.

Free to be myself.

Free to do what I want.

And I am happy.

Then, she comes.

Then, Sophie comes. And I am not happy. I am not me. I am not free. She holds me prisoner with the brilliance of her eyes and the flirtatious lilt to her laugh. She makes me feel dirty and cheap and out of shape and out of sorts.

But I adore her.

I adore Sophie with her brilliant green eyes and her laugh that seems to come from the sun. I walk in her shadow, hoping for a touch of her light. She sees me and she lets me follow her. And that is all that I want.

Until she leaves.

And she is gone.

Sophie is gone with her light and her glory.

I am no longer confined to her shadow.

I am bright.

I am brilliant.

I am beautiful.

I am happy.

Then, she returns.

Then, Sophie returns. And I am again her shadow. Her ugly, malformed shadow. I long for her to look back at me and see me and acknowledge me. When she does, it’s like God smiles at me. I live for those moments, but they are always too short. And she never stays


Sophie always leaves.

And she sets me free.

She sets her prisoner free.

Free to just be me.

Me without her.

Until she returns.