Marcy looked out over the trees feeling the morning air, crisp and clean, filling her nostrils. It had finally become a reality. Her dream to live in the mountains with only the earth and Dexter, her dog, to keep her busy was finally a reality.
Marcy hadn’t realized the beauty that lay before her on her bedroom balcony. Leaning on the railing to look down into the valley, Marcy felt a wiggle and heard a short snap before falling to the ground below. Would someone find her? The world darkened around her.
October 22, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a spooky tale told around a campfire. It doesn’t have to include the campfire; it can be the tale. Go where the prompt leads!
Respond by October 26, 2020. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form. Rules & Guidelines.
We sat close to the flames. With each pop a cinder would be released; we would hold our breath to see where it landed. My grandpa had told me that when a cinder pops and lands on the skin, it is landing on the skin of a vampire. No one believed me. With each pop we jumped a little, hoping the cinder didn’t land on our own leg. Pop! The bright, burning cinder popped up into the air, made an arc and started coming straight back down, ready to land on…. All I could do was hold my breath… (99 words)
Daryl threw his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his longboard before heading out the door. He wanted to meet up with Trevor but knew he’d probably run into Nicky on the way. He didn’t mind. Nicky was pretty, but she just wasn’t what Daryl would call “dating material”. She was more like a sister to him than a girlfriend. He didn’t know if she thought they were dating or not but they never kissed or anything like that. Daryl didn’t want a girlfriend anyhow. He and Trevor were practicing for the local Long Board Championships in two weeks.
From inside the closet I could hear the tap-tap-tapping. I wasn’t going to open that door, at least not while home by myself. It’s Buckler. All he does is hang on the belt hanger, swinging slowly, in the dark. He thinks his leather is better than my cotton.
There it is again. He thinks tapping against the door is going to get him out faster. Buckler is nothing but trouble. Once He gets home and puts me on, He’ll go in the closet and shut Buckler up. Lucky for me I get shown off, not hidden under the gut.