#WEP OCTOBER 2022 CHALLENGE - MICHAEL JACKSON'S "THRILLER" - MY #FLASHFICTION

 Hello there!

It's time for the WEP October thrilling challenge where writers are asked to respond in any way they choose to Michael Jackson's "Thriller". The options are there for those who resist reading or writing horror in any form, so some entries might be 'thrilling' in other ways. Myself, I'm rather attracted to vampire stories, so of course that's the direction I took my entry. 

For the second half of my entry, I incorporated lyrics from the song, mindful that there is copyright on lyrics, so I changed them. No copyright on titles, thankfully. I also had some useable pics in my picture folders that I hope enhance the 'thrilling' experience.

I hope you enjoy my 'thrilling' entry:

 “Run, Sadie, Run.”

Sadie slithered down the freezing drainpipe, and bam, her ballet flats hit the ground. Creeping cold seeped through her shoes, her toes turned to ice. She slapped her face. Got the blood flowing. Idiot! She should have worn that ugly sheepskin coat her mother gave her, but she wanted to show off her milky white shoulders in her red silky dress. To whom? She was about to find out.

Lucretia, her BFF at her new school had told her about a ceremony happening at midnight deep in the woods. How could Sadie miss that?

She shivered along the snowy path into the wood behind her house. Should have worn a cloak, not this thin shawl. "Yes, Mom, I'm a stupid cow."

“We moved here to get you away from those weirdos in Washington State. But you never listen. Don’t whine to me when disaster strikes.”

“Don’t go walking in those woods at night”, Lucretia had warned her, “especially on Halloween”.

“Especially under moonlight.” Her new boyfriend Xavier added on several occasions while they made out in her room. As he spoke, his eyes gazed at her soulfully, eyes flecked with red which sorta scared her. “Never, never, never enter those woods.” He thumped the pillow. “Evil lurks.”

Sadie had almost laughed. Xavier was so quaint of speech, like he was from another age. But she wasn’t doing trick and treating with the class like she was some stupid little girl. She was going to be a scientist. Scientists don’t believe anything they can’t prove.

She passed an abandoned shack by a frozen stream. She was close.

 Full moon. All Hallow’s Eve. Pagan festival of the dead. Her favorite time of year. Ghosts, vampires, ghouls, zombies and what the heck else come out to toy with humans. She wrapped her arms around herself; snowflakes teased her bare shoulders. Her hair whipped into her mouth, her eyes. Was that ghosts she heard ooh-ing and aah-ing? Turn back, freak, she told herself, but no, she was determined to see if the stories about creepy creatures had merit.

Close to a grassy glade, a circle of trees. Then … she saw it, a sight that almost stopped her heart. Horror hooked her between the eyes like an arrow from a gifted archer. She opened her mouth to scream, but terror stopped her voice.

Black-clad figures wearing white gloves, sang in falsetto while they gyrated, their movements strangely elegant, “Thriller, thriller.”

My God. Who were these copy-cats singing Michael Jackson’s biggest hit? Her heart hammered so loudly her ears throbbed. Were her weird new friends playing tricks on her?

The fake-Jacksons swiveled, booed her, like they saw through the huge tree where she hid.

“Come out, girl, we need your sweetness.” They sang, clapped, made Michael Jackson moves, bodies jerking. “You’ll be thrilling, thrilling, our lips will drip with sweet, sweet blood.” They high-fived, smacked their lips, whirled in the air so many times it made her dizzy. How long had they practiced to get that right?

Some friends, she thought. Ugh. How could they scare her like this?

“Run, Sadie, run.” A familiar voice. A familiar touch. She spun around. No one.

The dancers shot their hands in the air, their claw-like fingers spasming.

“Come to us, little one.

We need your sweetness.”

“Run, Sadie, run.” An awakening fear nailed her feet to the ground.

“We crawl in search of blood.

You are the one we crave.”

A cold hand wrapped around her neck, sharp fingernails pinched her bare shoulders. A creature. Behind her. These creeps were real! She’d read Twilight; she knew what came next. Razor-sharp teeth would rip her apart.

“Midnight is so close at hand.

Jaws of death are in the land.”

Oh, no, no, no. Cold dread crept throughout her body. Then … pfft … maybe … if she opened her eyes, she’d be in her warm bed in her warm room in her warm house with her cold parents.

But no.

“We demons, we’re closin' in on every side.” Voices now deep baritone, they formed a ring around the tree, her prison. In time to the words, they stomped their feet, flew into the air, their robes flapping around their bodies.

“Darkness falls across the land.

Thriller, thriller night.

We will take your sweetness.

Take you to a better world.”

Woodland creatures squawked and squawked, wolves howled, then suddenly stopped, adding to Sadie’s terror.

Deep baritone voices seared her soul. “We will possess you.” And they did, their hands all over her, imprinted her body with ice. “This night we'll open your eyes to the knowledge you seek.”

Sadie couldn’t see their hooded faces, but she smelt foul breath, felt rough tongues, teeth, huge, monstrous, grazed her shoulders. Her knees gave way; she fell into a heap.

“Your body shivers, twitches, but your cries are feeble. Give up the fight.”

“Leave me alone,” Sadie cried, wrapping her hands around her neck. “Go scare someone else.”

“Stand and face we hounds of hell.” They tugged at her hands, exposing her neck. “Let us hold you tight. Thrill us on this thriller, thriller night.”

They hauled her to her feet like she was made of air.

She kicked and screamed, but fingers tore her skin.

“Give in. Give in.

This is the end

we commend.

No mortal can resist our evil.”

“This mortal can.” The familiar voice again.

The foul stench screamed a collective falsetto, ‘Ooh-ooh-ooh’, backed away.

 “Xavier.” Relief coursed through her. “Save me.”

“If I don’t take you, they will.” He stabbed a finger at the demons, their white gloves circling the darkness, their falsetto voices creeping her out big time. “Ooh-ooh-ooh, oh Master.”

WTF? “Master? Xavier?” She tried to pull out of his arms, but they felt like iron bands.

His eyes sparkled with red flecks. “Stay away from these woods, I said, but you didn’t listen. If I let you go now, you’re dead. I’ll change you; you will live with me forever.”

Sadie felt woozy as Xavier’s teeth bit her neck. Oh the exquisite pain of discovering the truth. She heard falsetto voices: “Ooh-ooh-ooh, please give us a go.”

Mom, you were right. I am a stupid cow.

 

TAGLINE: Mom is always right!

WORDS: 1039

 FCA

 STOP PRESS!

For this challenge, WEP is offering Amazon Gift Cards to three winners to the tune of $20, $15 and $10. If you have a story that meets the guidelines, join us!

I hope you enjoyed my ghoulish story. Please click on my sidebar to read more entries.

While you're here, I'll tell you about WEP's December challenge. We'll tone it down a bit from this month. 

Roberta Flack said -  I think it's the kind of song that has two unique & distinct qualities: it tells a story, and it has lyrics that mean something....Because of [its meaningful lyrics] the [song] can be interpreted by a lot of people in a lot of different ways: the love of a mother for a child, for example, or [that of] two lovers. 

Go HERE for more inspiration.

Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to read and comment on my post.

 

Denise  

#IWSG October post - Language choices in novels.

 Hello all! 

Welcome to the #IWSG for September! Hope your month has been awesome! I'm on a week's break after a gruelling publishing schedule. Now I've moved onto a keyword hunt using Publisher Rocket and Amazon ads with the help of Mastering Amazon Ads by Brian Meeks, but of course my laptop always travels with me!

Alex's awesome co-hosts for the October 6 posting of the IWSG are Jemima Pett, J Lenni Dorner, Cathrina Constantine, Ronel Janse van Vuuren, and Mary Aalgaard! Try to fit in a visit if you can!

  Be sure to visit the

Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website to see the latest posts!!!

October 6 question - In your writing, where do you draw the line, with either topics or language?

I think this month's question will bring forth some good discussion. I'll keep mine short and sweet.

The question caught my eye because the language part is something I've struggled with. 

I don't use *bad* language in everyday life, but the lives of those I write about are a different matter. In Paris Dreams, I decided the two romantic leads, being in their twenties and early thirties, with no religious background, would not necessarily speak as cleanly as those of us who were threatened with having our mouths washed out with soap if we uttered a *bad* word in our parents' hearing. 

So I struggled with using a smattering of *bad* language in my novel and I feel it makes my story authentic for the circles my characters move in - fashion and art. That said, I only use 2 *bad* words - the ubiquitous "f*#k" and "b*^%$#d". Not gratuitous at all. Only one of my beta readers objected to the *bad* language. After my initial reluctance, I'm relaxed about it. So out of 102,000 words, to have about a dozen *bad* words, I can live with that. What do you think? 

Paris Dreams

How about you? Is *bad* language a no brainer for you or are you conflicted?

~*~

Want a #free Halloween read. Book 3 of my Fast and Furious Short Fiction, HALLOWEEN, is #free on an #Amazon promotion from Oct 1 - 5. Er, with time zones, I think it should be available if you hurry. Grab your copy now. 

~*~

More good news! This month's WEP October thrill fest for the Year of Art went live on October 1. Come join the fun. I'm sure we've all got something to scream about - not necessarily a horror story, maybe something tamer. What do you think? 

We love new writers, or past writers returning to give WEP another shot. Come share the fun! You've got until the 20th October to post. There is a critique prize for the winner and a chance to guest post/promote your book!

#WEPff - My #ff for the October challenge - Night in the Montmartre Cemetery

 Hi everyone!

Here is my ghostly story for the WEP/IWSG writing together October challenge. I hope you enjoy the read. The stories this month will all contain some scary elements. I hope I achieve this in mine. Whatever, I had a hoot revisiting Paris in my mind while writing it.

Night in the Montmartre Cemetery

Ciassia had seen a ghost. A ghost wearing black. Lurching behind her, rasping, grunting, reaching out his filthy hand, trying to snatch her as she hurried along the streets of Pigalle, Paris’s red light district.

Putting distance between them, gasping for breath, she slipped into an alley behind Moulin Rouge, as quiet as a crypt. The air was dark and thick, like a black cape had floated from the night sky and covered the earth. A beacon of light from the Eiffel Tower swept in arcs across the gloom – a sea of fog swirling like a fleeting ghost. Each time the flash passed overhead, the blanched fog and mist took on a shivering pallor, giving life to the unliving.

As crazy as it seemed, she was running from a ghost.

Creeping along the alley, touching the walls, she tried to ignore the shivers shooting up her spine.

What else might be lurking in the gloom? She pulled her red shawl tight around her shoulders. Fear gave her feet wings as she hurried through the darkness to the next corner where street lights shot a hole into the misty light.

She huddled under the streetlight, listening to the night sounds, but could hear nothing over the rasp of her jagged breathing and the blood rush pounding in her ears.

She sensed a movement behind her. 

She must leave the comfort of the light.

Reluctantly, she stepped into the darkness again. She ran, fast, faster, through the fog. One foot in front of the other, fighting the urge to run back to the crowds exiting the nightclubs of Pigalle. She fought the urge to run to her hotel and safety. To where she’d left her cell phone and purse on the night stand.

In front of her loomed an ancient stone wall wrapped in weeping moss. Montmartre cemetery. How did she end up here?

She’d seen the stone garden from a distance. In the daylight. A forest of small crypts adorned with stained glass and magnificent sculptures. The resting place of many famous bones including her idol, Simone de Beauvoir. Would hers be added to the pile? Would she sleep for eternity beside Simone?

No. Please God. No. No. No.

She huddled amongst the stone ghosts rising from the ground like resurrected souls, the darkness only broken by the beacon flashes from the tower bathing the dead faces in ghostly light, sharpening their features, sending shadows shuddering around her feet.

How could she see her pursuer in the crowded forest of stone?

Running steps. Clamping a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream, she veered off the main path. Knelt behind a large crypt with a high brick wall behind. ‘Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir’ read the headstone. Long dead. They could not reach beyond the grave to save her.

She heard a screech. A cat. A black cat. Leaping over the crypts. She forced herself to keep still. The cat sounds faded, but she stayed crouched, her heart hammering so loud she was afraid the man in black would hear it.

Such a creepy, creepy place.

She couldn’t spend the night with dead people. She had to get back to her hotel at the top of the hill. She had to get back to safety.

Gathering what was left of her courage, she stood, her eyes beacons trying to cut through the darkness.

Is he here?

Then out of nowhere she saw … not a him ...  a her.

A white dress ghoulishly radiant.

‘Are you an angel?’ she whispered. Stupid question. This vision could be nothing else. She was one of the stone angels come to life.

The angel stood in front of her, arms outstretched, beckoning her. Then she pointed a finger the way Ciassia had come.

Is she warning me?

Telling me to turn around?

Fat tears ran down Ciassia’s face. ‘Please help me,’ she said through trembling lips. ‘A man chased me through the street in Pigalle and has followed me here.’

The Eiffel Tower beacon flashed again. It passed. The angel was gone.

Another figure emerged from the fog, arms outstretched. No angel. The man in black. As black as Poe’s raven.

She screamed, turned and ran. Down the hill. Toward the exit.

Stumbling over a crooked gravestone that jutted from the earth, she hit the ground on her knees. The pain was excruciating, but she jumped up again.

Poe’s raven was so close she could smell his fetid smell, like a pit of snakes. Mouldy. Rotten.

Her boots reached out in front of her. Into nothing.

She was falling. Falling. Falling.

The ground had opened up and swallowed her whole.

She bounced off dirt walls and hit hard stone ground, the breath knocked out of her.

The hole was pitch black.

She screamed, clawing the dirt walls, her fingernails tearing, her fingertips bleeding.

A grave.

She was in a grave.

She screamed and screamed. Clawed and clawed.

Then. Footsteps.

Overhead.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Out of the sky, dirt poured down upon her.

Filled her mouth.

Filled her eyes

Filled her hair.

Filled her.

‘Who’s there?’ she croaked, spitting dirt, trying to keep the terror from her voice.

The beacon flashed overhead revealing a tall, dark figure, arms outstretched, his cape giving the appearance of raven’s wings.

‘Help me. For the love of God. Where is your humanity?’

He grunted and tossed more dirt.

‘I lost my humanity many centuries ago, little girl.’ His voice was raspy and hollow, like he hadn’t used it for centuries.

Large clods. Then stones. Battering her.

‘Soon you will join me.’

He was a fleeting ghost.

He was burying her alive.

She screamed and screamed. Then a huge rock hit her temple, knocking her to the ground.

‘Soon your life will begin,’ the hollow voice rasped, growing faint as her consciousness fled.

 She heard his laugh. An eerie sound. Like a raven calling.

WORDS - 985
FULL CRITIQUE ACCEPTABLE.

To read more entries please click on names in my sidebar with DL (Direct Link) beside their name or go to the WEP site. 

You have until October 19th to post if you have some scary fiction or non-fiction to add to the list. It's easy to SUBMIT your name to the list.

#IWSG post for October. KEEP CALM and WRITE ON!

Another month has gone by -- the world is in turmoil -- earthquakes, tsunamis, droughts, bushfires, floods, political turmoil -- you name it -- we've been through it -- I survived so far. Did you?


Now it's time for the IWSG again. Is your writing in turmoil because of what's going on globally or in your family or community or in your country? Or does turmoil help deepen your writing?

Go HERE to read more posts!

Alex's awesome co-hosts for the October 3 posting of the IWSG are Dolorah @ Book Lover,Christopher D. Votey, Tanya Miranda, and Chemist Ken! Please visit if you can!

I've never been one to set myself a daily word count which must be adhered to no matter what, (except for the 5 times I did NaNoWriMo) so I have no problem not writing if something comes up. I don't get frustrated. I don't post about it. I don't whine about it to writing friends.

Writing is a part of life. It's not all consuming although it can seem like that at times.

I just read a post by an author in a Facebook group I'm a member of. She's totally consumed by her writing. She's written 65,591 words in 10 days!! Makes NaNoWriMo look like a tootle~~! She's got a serial due in 5 days and 9 books left to write in 2018 which will make it well over 30 books for the year - egad, one every 2 weeks. I could be dispirited, but I'm not, I'm excited for her. I checked out some of her book samples on Amazon and they're well written, so go Yumoyori!

But when I think about it, I've just finished Book Three in my paranormal romance and am pushing into Book Four while I go back and finesse from Book One now I know a lot more about my world and my characters and how to write a serial. Awesome progress for me, a slow writer who takes time out when called on or when travel calls me.

So all of the above sort of answers the October question. I suspect it wasn't what the question really meant, but my reaction just flowed out --

How do major life events affect your writing? Has writing ever helped you through something?

I have the news on all day. I can just hear it from my writer's den. I get upset when I see over 1,000 people killed so far in the Indonesian tsunami and Japan's death toll growing from the latest typhoon. Paying attention to these major events, not  just what's going on in my life -- shows me that life is full of turmoil and most people are worse off than I am, far, far worse off -- some things we can control, some we can't. But we must deal as best we can. Sometimes writing helps get through negative, challenging times!

Speaking of keeping calm and writing on, the new WEP/IWSG writing together challenge is now live!

It's open to freaky or non-freaky posts which would suit the prompt! Please join us if you'd like to participate with a caring group of keen, supportive writers...and your entry might just catch the judges' eyes and you could win a $10 Amazon Gift Card and get to write a guest post. How could you resist? Share an extract from a WIP, pen a poem, post a photo essay on your trip to the catacombs in Vietnam, Rome or Paris, write a non-fiction entry...go HERE for more inspiration!

The October challenge is hosted by Yolanda Renee, horror author extraordinaire. This is her final gig as my venerable co-host so please make it memorable for her. WEP adds L G Keltner to the team!! Welcome L G! Along with Nilanjana Bose, Olga Godim and help from the IWSG in the form of C Lee McKenzie, Pat Hatt and Nick Wilford, we're going from strength to strength.

Hope to see your name on the sign up later today!!

Denise

WEP October challenge - my #flashfiction - The Strange House in the Woods.

Well, I'm back! Thanks to those of you who followed my trip on Facebook, but I mostly posted on Instagram. Was a wonderful five weeks, so now I'm struggling with jet lag which is particularly cruel this time. I'm getting about two hours of sleep a night, then teaching through the day which is a real hoot.

It's time for WEP again. Every October we host a Halloween challenge and we're ready to go. If you have a Halloween story in your files, you may like to post to the thread. Just click 'Submit' in my right-hand sidebar or go to the Write...Edit...Publish site. Love to have you.

Here goes...through the eyes of a child...

Inspired by a true story I read about what happened to those assisting foreign powers in war-torn countries.

The Strange House in the Woods

Yasmina hated being in these strange woods without her Dada.

By the time she and Mama reached the house, darkness was catching them. The house was big and black and trees stood all around, trying to hide the house from them.

Looking up at the sky, Yasmina saw a heap of tired old clouds with raggedy edges ripping apart, falling onto their heads like grey angels. The snow exploded while she danced around, arms in the air, catching snowflakes. Soon her gloves were soaked, so she ran across the frozen grass to the door. If they didn’t get inside it’d be dark. She hated the dark.

Mama was trying to stab a big key into an old lock, but she couldn’t budge the door. She was taking a long time, so Yasmina slapped her ears with her wet mittens and watched the snowflakes scattering.

‘Stop it!’ Mama yelled.

Even though she was freezing in the big coat the kind Red Cross lady had given her when she got off the aeroplane, Yasmina tried to stand still so Mama wouldn’t be angry.

‘Help me,’ Mama said.

They pushed and pushed against the door, grunting and groaning. Creak! Suddenly they both fell inside on top of each other. Yasmina laughed, but Mama said a bad word.

Mama hurried back outside and grabbed their suitcases. Dropping them onto the carpet, she said another bad word.

Snow had followed them into the house, blown in by the wind which howled like angry ghosts, swirling, tossing snow into their faces.

Bang! Mama kicked the big old door shut, then hopped around the room holding her foot and yelling lots of bad words. Finally, she stopped hopping.

Yasmina ran to the window and looked up the road where they’d walked from the car into the woods. Was Dada coming soon?

***

When she and Mama had walked the long and lonely road to the house, the trees scared her. They lined up along the road in black rows like the soldiers when they came to their village and took the fathers and boys away. She’d jumped with fright when clumps of snow dropped off the branches and fell to the ground, exploding like bombs. Mama had pulled her from her hiding place underneath some prickly bushes and she’d hit Mama, screaming, ‘I want my Dada!’

Mama wiped her tears and whispered, ‘I want Dada too.’

‘Why did Dada go?’

‘The bad men took him.’

‘Will Dada come back, Mama?’

‘He will never leave us, my child.’

***

‘Akham!’ Mama cried, slumping in the big stuffy chair near the fireplace.

Yasmina ran from the window and patted Mama’s twitchy hand. ‘Don’t cry Mama. Dada’ll never leave us.’ Finding an old blanket on the sofa, she covered Mama’s shaking shoulders.

Patting the flashlight in her pocket, she decided to explore the house by herself coz when Mama got the sadness for Dada it was best to leave her.

The room where Mama sat was big, bigger than their whole house back home, but not as pretty. The house where they'd lived before Dada went away with the bad men had coloured rugs on the walls and soft mats on the floors where they ate. Here, everything was brown, the colour of the bad men’s uniforms.

Pushing open a door, she entered a creepy room, with windows looking into the dark woods. There was a great big table in the middle of the floor with two lonely brown chairs. Opening the refrigerator, she saw food—not much—but Yasmina was hungry. Better not eat or Mama would be even angrier with her, so she took an apple from a bowl. Yasmina couldn’t remember when she last ate. Was it breakfast at the strange place where soldiers marched in rows outside? Or was that lunch? She couldn’t tell. The food had been strange.

Mama had whispered: ‘This is a hamburger. It is what Americans eat. We will get used to it.’ Yasmina’s stomach rumbled and hurt when she pressed it. Now she wished she had tried the brown meat bun.

She walked up the stairs, crunching the red apple which made a loud crack. She could walk to heaven. Maybe that’s where Dada was. The stairs groaned and cried louder than Mama. Spiders were knitting in the corners, trailing their threads down into the hall, their beady black eyes watching her.

She pushed open a door at the top of the stairs. Inside, there was a big cobwebby window in the roof and snow whirled around the black treetops and—she dropped the apple—there was a shadow in the corner. 

She screamed, but Mama couldn’t hear with the wind howling and her howling.

But maybe…maybe…

‘Dada?’ She ran towards the shadow, but the ripped carpet tripped her.

‘Dada!’ Her flashlight clunked onto the floor. She grabbed it and switched it on, but when she shone the light around the room, Dada had gone…again.

In the middle of the room there was a big high bed with a fat lumpy quilt. She was so tired after the long walk, she jumped under the covers.

The mattress was so soft, it felt like she was sinking to the bottom of the earth on a puffy cloud.

‘Goodnight Dada,’ she whispered. ‘Come back. Mama needs you. I need you.’

The snow whispered and rustled through the roof window. She pulled the quilt higher over her head so she couldn’t see the branches shaking angry fists at her.

She was nearly asleep when she heard a voice – ‘Alima...Alima…Alima…’

Dada! 

Who else would know Mama’s name?

Dada had come. Like Mama said.

Then she felt it.

A hand crept into her hand.

She wasn’t frightened.

Dada.

His hand felt cold. His fingers shook and curled into her palm, tickling, like when they played games at their home in the mountains.

She smiled in the dark, feeling safe. She’d been feeling scared for such a long time.

Dada's home.

Thanks for reading. Please click on the list in my sidebar with DL (Direct Link) after the name. Feel free to join the challenge!