“Abracadabra.” Sara stared at the dragon atop the grandfather clock. “Hocus… Pocus.” Her eyebrows creased. “Piggily…Wiggily.”
“Piggily, wiggily?” Evan burst out laughing.
“Stop laughing, Evan.”
“Well, it’s got to be very simple magic. The caretaker said the dragon had last taken flight when the little girl was still alive. The brochure says ElsaMay died when she was only five. She couldn’t have known that many magic words.”
“Our tour guide…”
“The caretaker,” Sara interrupted.
Our guide/caretaker, also said this movie set closed right after Baby of Dragonslayer flopped.”
“Shush, Evan. I think I saw it move.”
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Create a 200-words (or less) flash fiction story using the photo prompt.
he“It’s beautiful, Alfredo. The immaculate landscaping and security play yard. The mammoth-sized porcelain-encased pool. Reggie will love the three-meter board. Five bedrooms and baths upstairs- one for each of the kids. One for my office. That magnificent master and bath.”
Evonne lay her head on my shoulder as her whispered enthusiasm tickled my ear.
“It’s a great deal. But it’s a foreclosure and it’s been on the market seven years,” I replied. “Everyone has been so secretive about the history of the estate. Seven owners in ten years. Half off the original asking price. There has to be a reason, dear.” I tried to maintain a firmness in my voice.
“I truly don’t care about its history, Alfredo.” She was nipping my ear. “I want this…”
Her passionate words were interrupted by a swishing breeze and an incandescent glowing from the entryway’s upper balcony.
We stood there in shook.
The realtor began to stutter. “There have been reports of mysterious manifestations for some of its past residents.” He was turning pale. “I think that these elaborate fabrications lend a certain fortuitous uniqueness to your future home.”
It was then that the iridescent fortuitously unique images solidified and spoke.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Create a 200 word flash using the photo prompt as a muse.
“Bran’s Castle. Just imagine the stories those walls could tell. The true story of Count Dracula.”
“Sheeesa, Rudolph. That is a grand idea.”
“Our senior wizard’s independent study exam. Let’s construct a spell to allow those walls to talk.”
“Wow, Spencer. A great project. From those stories, we could write a series of trilogies and sell them to our human malcontents.”
“Splendid! The trifecta! Power. Fame. And Wealth!”
Master Merlin raised an eyebrow immediately stilling the lads. “If I may continue…” Mater intoned coldly. “The reason for our trip to this unique sculptural emporium here at Hairpin Coven.”
The boys cowed beneath the toxic stare of their leader.
“Many of you are no doubt already thinking of your senior independent study projects. Enshrined here, at the Magik Sculptor Emporium, are the mistakes for such required projects. As was loudly inferred by our senior leaders, Rudolph and Spencer- Power, Fame, and Wealth are stupendous motivators. But please notice the stress on the word stupendous. It hails from its derivative STUPID. Here enshrined… entombed… it’s all mere perspective… rest many senior investigative gaffes and sometimes their investigators.
The lads gulped.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Create a 200 word (approximately) flash fiction story using teh photo prompt.
“They have found an empty boat.” Officer Sanchez was slowly repeating the message. “Yes, VA-3417-KZ. Thanks.” He slowly placed the receiver back in the cradle. Joan Bisquene’s look said it all.
“There was nothing on the boat?” in a whisper of desperation.
“As far as I know, they have found nothing.”
“That’s got to be a good sign. No blood. No one was hurt.”
“What do you mean?” New thoughts were entering the sergeant’s mind. “You were reporting them missing. What makes you suddenly think that foul play?”
“There is more to the story.” Her face suddenly consumed in guilt. “Frank, my husband, was to make a delivery- I guess you would call it a drop- last night. In return, we were to get our youngest son returned.”
“Your youngest … kidnapped?” Sargent Sanchez found it difficult to restrain his voice. “Don’t you think that would have assisted us in the search?”
“I just couldn’t take any chances. They said if we told anyone about the kidnapping…”
“Then why did you come here?”
“Frank’s law partners reported him missing. I thought it would be easier to explain if I just came in and reported a late fishing exhibition.”
Suddenly, ‘Beethoven’s Fifth’ came bursting from her purse. “Frank!”
“Ms. Bisquenue, you were warned. Why are you at the police station?
Written forSunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: With the help of the photo prompt, create a 200+ word flash story.