Ghosthunting 101 and Charmed 7 comments


Friday Fictioneers offering on May 1–May Day–Beltane to some. The challenge, of course, is to write a story in 100 words or less based on the photo prompt. This addictive pursuit is open to thrill-seeking writers at http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com.

Inspiration struck unexpectedly and I wrote two for this week.  In my spare time, I make soy candles. This picture must have triggered something. 

Copyright – Renee Heath

Copyright – Renee Heath

Ghosthunting 101

“Do you hear that?” Cold mist clutched my ankles. I paused uncertainly on the slippery stone steps.

“Something’s dripping,” Norbert hissed in my ear.

We continued downward. Black satin darkness enshrouded us, held at bay by the candle’s dim aura. Ghost hunting sounded like fun in bright sunshine. Here in the bowels of a Scottish castle—not so much.

I raised the candle, illuminating the dungeon below.

“What’s that?” Norbert moved past. I couldn’t stop him.

The drips became splashes. Something warm and sticky splattered my face.

“Norbert?” My whisper died in miasmal vapor. And then the candle went out.

 

Charmed

“I forgot about the candle.” He surveyed the strands of melted red wax dripping from the nightstand to the carpet.

“We’re lucky the house didn’t burn.” I stretched my legs under the sheets.

Early morning sunlight played across the carpet and onto the blankets tangled on the floor. He bent to pick up a rose petal—one of many scattered in the room’s corners—and a poem on pink parchment.

“You’ve been casting spells again,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I smiled, pulling back the sheet on his side of the bed. “And I have another red candle.”

 


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About Sorchia

I’m S.K. Dubois—writer, editor, and unapologetic lover of all things wonderfully weird and magically delicious. I call the Missouri Ozarks my home, where the misty woods and mysterious hills inspire my tales of urban fantasy, paranormal mysteries, and otherworldly mayhem. When I’m not conjuring up stories, I’m helping fellow authors polish their manuscripts, especially if they involve magic, murder, or things that go bump in the night.

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