I had not wanted to travel alone to this huge cemetery that was like a silent city of the dead. The cold wind stung my face. I could see my ragged breaths as I climbed the hill covered with graves, rested my hand on a plain gray headstone, and gently placed a bouquet on the snowy ground.
Suddenly she was there, smiling tenderly as if I were still the same nine year old girl she had known.
"Grandma?"
"Honey," she said, "Don't cry now. I'm not really in there."
"Where are you?" I whispered aloud. But she was gone.
“You’re looking good, Dimitri.” He said with a tight smile. They were tiptoeing the line on what should and shouldn’t be brought up.
“Thanks,” Willow chimed up. “I worked very hard on him.” They glared at her. She tapped a finger to her nose, wincing at the pain before fixing it with magic.
“And you-” He points to her, baring his sharp teeth threateningly. She laughed. “Owe me a potion. And put him back in his grave. Dimitri, may you finally rest in peace.”
Like hell she would put him back after all that hard work to get him out.
---
Continuing this story is definitely getting harder, and I'm a few days behind lol! But it's still a lot of fun to write. As always, thanks for the great prompts <3
He was planning to throw regular pool parties, and organise water polo tournaments, but most of all, he’d promised himself he was going to swim laps every morning and finally try to get himself fit.
But unfortunately, fate had other ideas.
As he eagerly dashed around the edge of the pool, snapping pictures from all angles to show off on Social Media, the excitement and exertion became too much for him, and he collapsed.
And instead of being a new lease of life, his extravagant new purchase became his watery grave… 😎
The two men stood in the ancient desert cemetery, a crescent moon above.
“And it’s your honest belief they exist, Professor?”
“Oh yes, they exist, Smythe, most certainly. Spawn of Iblis himself, and this one? A Ghulah! A female! Extremely rare! This is why we come to Persia, the very birthplace of the legend!”
“But Professor… demonic beings?” said Smythe, incredulously, staring into the open grave “I simply can’t believe it.”
“And that is precisely why you…”
THUNK the spade smashed into the back of Smythe’s head and he crumpled into the pit.
Truancy Officer Jumbo clocks in at 5 foot 40 inches, about 22 hands high, and has a voice as deep as a grave. He has many tactical pockets and no hair anywhere north of his elbows - including his eyebrows, or more accurately, lack thereof. He never shaved them, just furrowed ‘em so much the hair fell clean out, and now his forehead looks like plowed farmland and his bald head shines like a newly minted coin. People call him the BFG and the F did not stand for friendly, and the G is barely gratuitous. He does not like people.
“You’ve made a grave mistake. She doesn’t like flowers.”
“But she’s dead.”
“Still, she doesn’t like flowers.”
“Then what should I put on her grave?”
“Chocolate, whiskey, maybe even a little money. That’s what she likes.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Mom, stop possessing Dad. I know you’re in there.”
Her father laughed and then his eyes spun, rolling back inside his head. He passed out on the grass, her mother rising out of his body, a trail of white smoke.
She crossed her wispy arms. “How did you know it was me?”
The woman was silent for a moment. “Dad never cared about what you liked.”
It was a shallow job, fitting Terryl's panicked expedience by which he sifted the last bit of loam over the hand. It would buy him time, at least while he was still on the lam.
The sirens pierced through the woods, strobing as he ran between the boughs. Rivulets poured from his brow; the train lay just over the hill.
Home free!
He stumbled, slamming into a tree. A familiar voice called out his name. He craned up his neck, facing his ex, eye to eye.
"But...but I just buried you! You were dead!"
"Remember, darling. Revenge is a dish best served COLD!" And she wrapped her cold dead hands around his neck.
Rain bounced off my umbrella, and tears gushed down my face as I stared at my father’s grave. Brown streaks stretched across the chipped mold-covered headstone and used condoms studded the knee-high yellowed grass. Someone scratched “MONSTER” over Dad’s name. Dad wasn’t a monster to me. I know he had victims, but - he was my best friend. Memories of vacations, holidays, birthdays, bowling, camping, and his best man speech flashed through my mind as my knees smashed against the dirt; I wiped away thick, gooey strands of snot. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t - I still loved him.
Halloween party took a break. He met Diane who took him aside and asked if he wanted to walk to the graveyard. The wind howled, leaves blew between the slabs. They picked one Civil War stone, engraving faded in time. Lay on leaves piled up to make a bed. A love session ensued. Cold hands warmed by friction, enough to awaken the dead man underneath. His arms twitched and rose to delight of breasts that heaved with kisses in the night. But no fright until she returned home to her father’s whip. She returned late from her date.
Cold water spilled over the sagging rim of Cole’s rain hat and streamed down his back. He was already suffering for the age in his bones, and now this too. And soon enough, what little remained of dusk would give way to the blackest of nights. “Sss, gods, it’s enough already…”
Or it should have been, at least. Fifty three years he minded the so called ‘Lord of Howling Hall’ and all the unpleasantness that wicked man enjoyed. “Now I got to bury the bleedin’ devil while you piss on me, too.”
If he truly believed in gods and devils, he would never tempt them so.
“Ah well…” He gripped his rusty shovel tight and heaved mud into the hole he had just dug. There was something off about the sound of it. The plop was all wrong, too too wrong. Cole’s chest began to heave as he squinted over the edge of the empty grave.
“Are the gods so troublesome, Cole?” inquired a most unwelcome and all too familiar voice, from behind. “Such a deep grave is a credit to your elderly vigor, my old friend. But then again…” Great wings beat, and now the voice came from above. “So many reasons to envy a devil’s wings.”
Cole sank to his knees and shivered as his lord flew closer.
“Though it is I who would have been envious of this elegant silver dagger, had it not been gifted to me. It was a gift… Yes?”
Cole squeezed his tired eyes gently. “A gift,” he confirmed, though they both knew it was a fallacy. He’d left the blade in his lord’s heart, and he was to collect his reward on the morrow.
GRAVE
I had not wanted to travel alone to this huge cemetery that was like a silent city of the dead. The cold wind stung my face. I could see my ragged breaths as I climbed the hill covered with graves, rested my hand on a plain gray headstone, and gently placed a bouquet on the snowy ground.
Suddenly she was there, smiling tenderly as if I were still the same nine year old girl she had known.
"Grandma?"
"Honey," she said, "Don't cry now. I'm not really in there."
"Where are you?" I whispered aloud. But she was gone.
Wait! What’s grandma hiding?
This story moved me. It's so sad. Well done.
That's the greatest compliment! Thank you Kristin :)
You deserve it!
“You’re looking good, Dimitri.” He said with a tight smile. They were tiptoeing the line on what should and shouldn’t be brought up.
“Thanks,” Willow chimed up. “I worked very hard on him.” They glared at her. She tapped a finger to her nose, wincing at the pain before fixing it with magic.
“And you-” He points to her, baring his sharp teeth threateningly. She laughed. “Owe me a potion. And put him back in his grave. Dimitri, may you finally rest in peace.”
Like hell she would put him back after all that hard work to get him out.
---
Continuing this story is definitely getting harder, and I'm a few days behind lol! But it's still a lot of fun to write. As always, thanks for the great prompts <3
PROMPT: GRAVE
THE SWIMMING POOL
He was so proud of his new swimming pool.
He was planning to throw regular pool parties, and organise water polo tournaments, but most of all, he’d promised himself he was going to swim laps every morning and finally try to get himself fit.
But unfortunately, fate had other ideas.
As he eagerly dashed around the edge of the pool, snapping pictures from all angles to show off on Social Media, the excitement and exertion became too much for him, and he collapsed.
And instead of being a new lease of life, his extravagant new purchase became his watery grave… 😎
Miguel - powerful stuff again!
Thank you Nick 😁
Ghouls and Graves, Ghouls and Graves
go together like drugs and raves...
The two men stood in the ancient desert cemetery, a crescent moon above.
“And it’s your honest belief they exist, Professor?”
“Oh yes, they exist, Smythe, most certainly. Spawn of Iblis himself, and this one? A Ghulah! A female! Extremely rare! This is why we come to Persia, the very birthplace of the legend!”
“But Professor… demonic beings?” said Smythe, incredulously, staring into the open grave “I simply can’t believe it.”
“And that is precisely why you…”
THUNK the spade smashed into the back of Smythe’s head and he crumpled into the pit.
“.. my dear Smythe, are the perfect bait !”
Excellent ending! 😎👍
Thanks Chris. ive been finding it hard to keep up with all the horror prompts... might have to resort to some cat ones again soon...
Haha! Yes, I've mostly been doing Horrors this week, but it's definitely fun to try to find a way to twist them into something else, if possible... 😎
“Truancy Officer Jumbo”
Microdose ‘Grave’ 100 words
Truancy Officer Jumbo clocks in at 5 foot 40 inches, about 22 hands high, and has a voice as deep as a grave. He has many tactical pockets and no hair anywhere north of his elbows - including his eyebrows, or more accurately, lack thereof. He never shaved them, just furrowed ‘em so much the hair fell clean out, and now his forehead looks like plowed farmland and his bald head shines like a newly minted coin. People call him the BFG and the F did not stand for friendly, and the G is barely gratuitous. He does not like people.
nice image there and well done for the tangent.
Thanks very much!
“You’ve made a grave mistake. She doesn’t like flowers.”
“But she’s dead.”
“Still, she doesn’t like flowers.”
“Then what should I put on her grave?”
“Chocolate, whiskey, maybe even a little money. That’s what she likes.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Mom, stop possessing Dad. I know you’re in there.”
Her father laughed and then his eyes spun, rolling back inside his head. He passed out on the grass, her mother rising out of his body, a trail of white smoke.
She crossed her wispy arms. “How did you know it was me?”
The woman was silent for a moment. “Dad never cared about what you liked.”
Holy hell, that's a good one!
Thank you!
grim smile for that one! nice!
Thank you!
Microdosing - 100mg of a Grave
SHALLOW JOB
It was a shallow job, fitting Terryl's panicked expedience by which he sifted the last bit of loam over the hand. It would buy him time, at least while he was still on the lam.
The sirens pierced through the woods, strobing as he ran between the boughs. Rivulets poured from his brow; the train lay just over the hill.
Home free!
He stumbled, slamming into a tree. A familiar voice called out his name. He craned up his neck, facing his ex, eye to eye.
"But...but I just buried you! You were dead!"
"Remember, darling. Revenge is a dish best served COLD!" And she wrapped her cold dead hands around his neck.
The train wailed, then huffed away.
Microdosing – 100mg of a Grave
She brushed off the dirt from her sleeves. He discarded his dirty gloves.
Daylight had disappeared when they stepped out of the cemetery.
They reached the main street, lined with welcoming cafes and shops.
He wanted to get her a scarf from a shop up front, but she’d stopped in front of a bakery.
She stared at the mouth-watering pastries.
He reached out to hold her hand.
Their fingers interloped, standing side by side.
‘Your hands are a little warm now,’ he said while smiling dotingly at her.
He’d dug her out of the grave just half an hour ago.
A series of Senryu forming a gruesome, dystopian story based on @Honeygloom "the fly" and @Miguel S. "grave" prompts in a 100 words:
𓆦𓆦𓆦𓆦𓆦
Silent city tombs
Once-bustling streets now empty
The fly reigns supreme
𓆦
Toxic clouds hover
Choking life from the planet
Except for the fly
𓆦
Graves left untended
No mourners remain to weep
The fly feasts alone
𓆦
Mutant larvae crawl
Through abandoned laboratories
Evolution's jest
𓆦
Buzzing fills the air
A swarm blocks out ashen sky
Earth's new overlords
𓆦
Underground bunkers
Last humans huddle in fear
Of the fly's domain
𓆦
Cybernetic drones
Half-fly, half-machine hunters
Seek warm flesh to assimilate
𓆦
Graveyard planet spins
Around a dying red sun
The fly adapts, thrives
𓆦
Winged harbingers swoop
Injecting eggs into hosts
Human incubators
𓆦
Hope's grave unearthed
By six-legged undertakers
The fly's world complete
oh this is brilliant! but did you sneak a few extra syllables into the last verse?
Mikey breathed heavily, inhaling cold air into his lungs.
His face was grave, and his body shivered.
“You ready Mikey?”
“Sure Pete, a bet’s a bet, right?”
“Alright then, go on”, Pete said hiding behind a bush.
Mikey reached into his backpack pulling out 3 rolls of toilet paper and let them fly around Mr. Driscoll’s big tree on his front lawn.
Next were the dozen eggs which rained down on Driscoll's car.
Just then, the front door of the house swung open.
Mikey jumped on his skateboard, pushing to get away.
“I see you Michael Graves! That’s 1 month’s detention!”
“Grief”
Rain bounced off my umbrella, and tears gushed down my face as I stared at my father’s grave. Brown streaks stretched across the chipped mold-covered headstone and used condoms studded the knee-high yellowed grass. Someone scratched “MONSTER” over Dad’s name. Dad wasn’t a monster to me. I know he had victims, but - he was my best friend. Memories of vacations, holidays, birthdays, bowling, camping, and his best man speech flashed through my mind as my knees smashed against the dirt; I wiped away thick, gooey strands of snot. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t - I still loved him.
This one packs a punch Logan. Great job.
Thank you!
Thank you.
oh the agony in this one. very good!
Halloween party took a break. He met Diane who took him aside and asked if he wanted to walk to the graveyard. The wind howled, leaves blew between the slabs. They picked one Civil War stone, engraving faded in time. Lay on leaves piled up to make a bed. A love session ensued. Cold hands warmed by friction, enough to awaken the dead man underneath. His arms twitched and rose to delight of breasts that heaved with kisses in the night. But no fright until she returned home to her father’s whip. She returned late from her date.
(Went over again. @MIGUELS4)
Cold water spilled over the sagging rim of Cole’s rain hat and streamed down his back. He was already suffering for the age in his bones, and now this too. And soon enough, what little remained of dusk would give way to the blackest of nights. “Sss, gods, it’s enough already…”
Or it should have been, at least. Fifty three years he minded the so called ‘Lord of Howling Hall’ and all the unpleasantness that wicked man enjoyed. “Now I got to bury the bleedin’ devil while you piss on me, too.”
If he truly believed in gods and devils, he would never tempt them so.
“Ah well…” He gripped his rusty shovel tight and heaved mud into the hole he had just dug. There was something off about the sound of it. The plop was all wrong, too too wrong. Cole’s chest began to heave as he squinted over the edge of the empty grave.
“Are the gods so troublesome, Cole?” inquired a most unwelcome and all too familiar voice, from behind. “Such a deep grave is a credit to your elderly vigor, my old friend. But then again…” Great wings beat, and now the voice came from above. “So many reasons to envy a devil’s wings.”
Cole sank to his knees and shivered as his lord flew closer.
“Though it is I who would have been envious of this elegant silver dagger, had it not been gifted to me. It was a gift… Yes?”
Cole squeezed his tired eyes gently. “A gift,” he confirmed, though they both knew it was a fallacy. He’d left the blade in his lord’s heart, and he was to collect his reward on the morrow.
“AND WHO GIFTED IT TO YOU!?”
Well that packed a punch!
It sure did. I felt pretty anxious writing it haha.