A Friendly Soul

(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 25, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.
(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 25, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.

The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.

But Annabelle did not know that as she and Caleb walked through a deserted street. They came to a dingy looking bar. Overhead, the neon sign flashed: Casper’s.

Intrigued, the pair entered the shop and were cheerfully greeted by a man behind the bar.

“Hello! Welcome to my bar! My name is Casper!! Are you two looking for some boos? I can assure you that you’ll have a frighteningly good time tonight at my bar!”

Word count: 75

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A Friendly Soul

Annabelle Goes To Church

(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFFAW), May 27, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy
(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFFAW), May 27, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy

It was the church that she always dreamed of getting married in.

The girl glided silently down the aisle, her face the portrait of quiescent bliss. She was downed in a white gown complete with a veil and the light rays which shone through the cathedral’s mosaic windows collected around her figure as a shimmering aura.

But the aura made her pulsate with brightness, almost spookily. And when you looked closely, when the aura was its brightest, she seemed almost translucent. And when you look even closer, you could see that her feet never touch the floor. But you could see the trail of water that drops in her wake. Listen to it. It goes drip… drip… drip…

Annabelle Goes To Church

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Finders, Keepers?.”

While walking on the beach you stumble on a valuable object buried in the sand — say, a piece of jewelry or an envelope full of cash.
What do you do with it? Under what circumstances would you keep it?

 
“Try raising the right hand.”

The frog stood back on its hind legs and half-raised its right hand.

“Now the left.”

The frog slowly lowered its right hand, but instead of raising its opposite hand,
it raised the same hand again.

“Can’t tell left from right?”

The frog sounded a croak, which oozed with exasperation and defiance. It
attempted to obey its orders again, but to no avail. It kept on trying until it
lost its balance and fell over backwards. Nearby, on a stone, sat Caleb- the
other frog that was giving the orders. Caleb monitored its friend, which was now
struggling on its back, with lazy amusement.

“Alright, give it up. Get out of there.”

A vapory mist drifted out of the upside-down frog and collected in mid-air. The
upside-down frog then deftly rolled over and promptly leapt away. The mist then
reformed itself and took the shape of a young female ghost. As soon as her mouth
materialized itself, she spoke, “Now what?”

“We need to return to the beach. There’s something I need to get,” replied Caleb,
still a frog.

 

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A Duck-watching Day

(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 12, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.
(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 12, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.

“One foot… then the other foot… then the other- OH CRAP!” The duck tumbled over sidewards.

“[Insert string of swear words of choice here]” The duck was unabashed at exhibiting her extensive esotericism of expletives.

“Woah girl! You kiss your mom with that mouth?” A fellow duck waddled over.

“That does not make any sense at all.” The lopsided duck fixed a stare at the other duck that shocked me (the author) because I thought ducks can’t show expression. I was proven very wrong. This duck epitomised the phrase: ‘If looks could kill.’

The other duck flippantly disregarded the look it received. “Are you going to get up?”

“I’m trying but I can’t.”

“…”

“Are you going to help me?”

“…”

The lopsided duck let out an enormous sigh. “Oh dear Caleb the wonderful, brilliant and greatest duck in the human and spiritual planes, won’t you please help me up?” If ducks have eyelids, this one batted them enthusiastically as if her life depended on it.

Caleb obliged, and while he helped to upright his friend, I thought to myself, if ducks could grin and look smug, Caleb was the most self-satisfied duck I’ve ever seen.


Moral of the story: Projecting human traits onto ducks is a ton of fun.

Word count: 196

A Duck-watching Day

Caleb the Crab

(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 11, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.
(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 11, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.

Arriving at the beach, she reflected on her life

or her lack thereof. She was sitting on the shore, where the water ebbed and flowed right through her translucent feet.

“I wish I had someone to show me how to be a proper ghost.” She sighed loudly.

“I can help you!” Annabelle heard a jolly, nasal voice come from behind her.

She drifted up and turned to face her back. But there was nobody there.

“Hee hee hee hee!!” The voice erupted with manic cackling.

Then a spot in the sand began to crumble, revealing a small, round hole. Annabelle peered into it, and something within peered back with glossy eyes.

It was a crab! It crawled out into the open and swung its claws outward, as if welcoming Annabelle with a hug. “I’m Caleb!”

“A talking crab?” Annabelle knitted her brows in confusion.

Then a wisp drifted out of the crab, which then scuttled away.

The vapor materialised into a tall and lanky teenage boy. He was all cheeky smiles as he floated into a comfortable ‘Jack-paint-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls’ position from the Titanic, hovering in midair.

“No, silly, I’m a ghost, just like you. And I can show you how to be a proper ghost!”

Word count: 195

Caleb the Crab

Annabelle White the Sloppy Ghost

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham. Monday Finish the Story, May 4, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.
© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham. Monday Finish the Story, May 4, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.

After losing her head, she realized that the rest of her body was falling apart!

Then the doll collapsed into a pile of plastic limbs and a wisp drifted out.

The vapory wisp took shape and solidified into the form of a young girl, which then clutched at her own hair in dire frustration.

She punched a wall- and went straight through it.

“I hate being a ghost! Screw possessing things, I can’t even punch the wall properly to vent my anger!”

Feeling like she had enough, Annabelle screamed her phantom lungs out.

And she screamed, and screamed even more. She screamed all night long.

But as she did so, she did not turn transparent. And she did not see the toddler behind the door, but the toddler could not believe her eyes either.

Word count: 119

Annabelle White the Sloppy Ghost

Introducing Annabelle White – FFFAW

(c) Dawn M. Miller
(c) Dawn M. Miller.  Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) April 29, 2015. The picture takes you to the Challenge page, hosted by Priceless Joy.

Night fell and claimed the land with its shadows. She was free to roam once more.

Burgers, she thought, I have an appetite for burgers today.

She left her hair wet and dripping, just how she liked it, and proceeded to don her favorite white gown. She loved the reactions it elicited from passers-by, especially the males.

No, not wolf-whistles and seductive looks. That’s not what she’s about. She’s all about the jumps-of-terror, the petrified looks and the effeminate squeals.

Oh, I love the squeals. I hope I hear one tonight. She smiled wide as she relished in her imagination.

She slipped into the empty passenger seat beside a charming young driver as he collected his take-away set meal.

“Is that a Swiss Mushroom Whopper? My favorite!” She let the scent of warm mushrooms invade her nostrils, which made her mouth salivate and stomach rumble ravenously.

The set meal was now hers, and she retreated to her lake, her home.

Meanwhile, Timmy rushed home, his stomach unsatisfied, his eyes wide with fear, and with a story to tell, but without proof apart from his memory. Oh, and the drenched passenger seat in his car. Annabelle was real sloppy, wasn’t she?

Word count: 200 😦

Introducing Annabelle White – FFFAW