✍🏻 Eight year old Chris wakes up screaming. Not because he’s having a nightmare, but because of what he sees when he opens his eyes. His bedroom curtains are pulled back and outside against the tar coloured night, a figure lurks by his window. With skin folded in creases and deep chasms where its features should be, it moves closer, its breath steaming the window. Chris’s screams bring his mum running into the room. At least, he thinks they do. He doesn’t actually see the door open, or hear her footsteps. He only realises she’s there when her hand coldly touches his shoulder. His words tumble forth like vomit, telling her what he’s seen at the window, lurking, waiting, trying to get inside. Smiling, she brushes his hair back from his forehead, a sensation he hates, and she reassures him he’s only dreaming. That he’s safe and sound tucked up in bed. As she creeps back out of his room, he knows she’s lying. He just doesn’t know why. #Story #Writing #Halloween #FlashFiction

✍🏻 First they silenced her. Then they hounded her. Now they’re chasing her. As Louise propels herself down unknown streets, she throws her phone into a nearby bin. She’s not a fast runner but it’s amazing how fear awakens a strength in her she never knew she had. With her phone gone, there’s no way they can track her, but her body still won’t allow her to slow down. Not until she’s safe inside with Marianne. The sound of distant sirens make her want to vomit but she keeps on moving. A sharp right turn. Four streets down. A desperate left turn. Behind black garage doors, Marianne waits, praying that Louise reaches her. The sirens grow louder, which means they’re getting closer. Time is running out. Marianne cracks open the garage door and sees a blue light sweep past the end of the road. She pulls back inside, holding her breath, waiting. Rapid pounding hits the door. It’s immediate, frantic and loud. Terrified, Marianne peers through the small panes of textured glass and recognises Louise’s blurred outline. Relief floods her body, her legs weakening. Pushing open the door, she drags Louise inside just as a second blue light appears and starts making its way towards them. #Writing #FlashFiction #Silence #Storytelling

✍🏻 When Mark pitched the idea of a no-tech holiday to Eddie, he didn’t hold back. “You’re bloody addicted and I’m seriously worried. You need to unplug, enjoy being outside, try reading a book, or god forbid actually have a conversation with me.” Eddie’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, triggering his fingers to twitch and arm jerk back. Mark glared at him. “Don’t you dare.” Eddie knew then, that for the sake of his relationship he had no choice but to get onboard with this holiday switch-off. Day one was torture. Everywhere Eddie looked someone was taking photos with their phone, scrolling Instagram, or looking up restaurant recommendations. On day five, he woke late and shuffled through their eerily quiet, boutique apart-hotel. Mark was nowhere to be found, so Eddie headed out to buy some breakfast pastries. Down by the river he spotted Mark at the water’s edge. He looked so cute sitting there, his back a little hunched, and head stooped forwards. It was a perfect photo opportunity and Eddie wished he had his phone, but maybe Mark was right, he should focus more on their relationship and less on his screen. As Eddie crept over to surprise him, he stopped abruptly. Something felt wrong. Why was Mark sitting with his head down, rather than admiring the view? Worried, Eddie began sprinting, and as he got closer he saw the phone clutched in Mark’s hands. The betrayal. The hypocrisy. The outrage. “Are you kidding me?!” Mark span around like a frightened squirrel, and in one smooth motion, Eddie lunged forward, grabbed the phone and hurled it into the river. Scrambling to his feet, Mark’s face contorted into Munch’s Scream. He stared at the water and back at Eddie, who was still angrily shouting. “What have you got to say for yourself?” Mark debated his options and realised honesty was all he had left. “That was your phone.” When Mark’s body hit the water, his splash was far, far, louder than the phone’s had been. #Writing #WritersOfInstagram #Storytelling #FlashFiction

✍🏻 The first time death stole from me, he’d been lurking for years, raising my pulse before lulling me into a false sense of security. The second time he struck, he appeared from nowhere, moving swiftly and taking no time to linger. The third time he arrived, he made his presence painfully clear, but still I wasn’t prepared. Foolishly I believed he could be stopped, only because I thought we’d have more time. After his third getaway, he yet again left behind his accomplice - Grief, who threw another dark shadow across the ones previously shed. Stinking, and cumbersome, these three shadows merged into one solid mass, expanding until it became difficult to breathe. Over time, Grief and I settled into an uncomfortable co-existence. Like frenemies in a cheap soap opera we fought, slapped, and screamed, until something began to change. A mutual respect? Maybe. A realisation that hostility wasn’t helping either of us? Definitely. As the shadows retracted, grief began emitting a more perfumed fragrance. Tilting my head to inhale this new scent, a smile emerged and my mind was flooded with memories. Instead of mourning the time we wouldn’t get to spend together, I began to remember the wonderful times we’d had. I know at some point the thief will return again, leaving behind his rancid accomplice. That I cannot change, but I can choose to celebrate those he has taken and appreciate the life I have. Because I know if they were here right now, they’d be enjoying every single second of it. #Writing #Grief #Story #WritersOfInstagram

✍🏻 Halloween night. 1973. My first kiss. I never knew his name. He was dressed as Frankenstein‘s monster and was impressed that I correctly referred to him as the monster rather than Frankenstein. I smiled. People weren’t normally impressed by me, still aren’t. I was dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West because I could hide behind green face paint and an exaggerated fake nose. My friend Brenda had convinced me to go out that night. She said there was a party we could sneak into because nobody would recognise us. She was right. For the first time ever we blended in and slipped inside without being questioned. Frankenstein’s monster was in the kitchen, staring at a severed arm hanging from the fridge and sipping slowly from a can of beer. I can’t remember who spoke first or how the kiss began, I just remember my long wart riddled green nose stabbing his soft face as our lips touched. I pushed it to one side and we continued, the nose springing out from my cheek. I remember the feeling of his hands gently cupping my face and the taste of mint on his tongue. I have no idea how long we were pressed against one another but I can still see us now, the witch and the monster entwined together in a cobwebbed kitchen surrounded by pumpkins and bloodied limbs. It was perfect. Forty-eight years later and it’s Halloween night again. I cover my face in green paint, attach the pointed nose and tilt my black hat, hoping that tonight might be the night I finally receive my second kiss. #Writing #Halloween #FirstKiss #Story #WritersOfInstagram #Storytelling