Picture Challenge

I walked what seemed like hours in the darkness
Taking re-assurance from the texture of uneven bark between my fingers
The trees, some three times my age, guided me
Like an old man holding gently the hand of his grandchild
I walked towards the light that hung in the air like some ghostly apparition
With a beauty most haunting it gave me chills
Was I heading towards salvation from the colour of the night
Or a prelude to my own eternal darkness

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Monsters

The soft undeniable sound of footsteps
Coming from the dark corner of the room
Slowly lifting the duvet higher
Cuddling onto teddy for comfort and protection

Closer those footsteps are now getting
Almost at the bottom of the bed
You scream as something tugs at the duvet
Footsteps run back towards the dark corner

A light switched on illuminates the room
Mum has come to see what’s wrong
The tears she wipes away with love
Reassuring you the monster’s gone

Dark again the room as she leaves you
You wait to hear those steps once more
With duvet high and teddy hugged in tight
It’s only sleep that finds you now

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Imaginary Friend

Herbert looked at himself in the mirror. He was changing. Unlike his best friend Amelia, who grew taller and older with the passing seasons, he was still the little boy he had always been, just a little more transparent. Amelia was the only one that could see him when he first arrived, but it seemed now more and more he was becoming invisible to even her.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Word/Genre Challenge #6

The word for this challenge was:
Tongs, and genre: Sci-Fi.

“Romeo Oscar One Five, do you receive, over?”

The intercom returned nothing but silence, just as it had done every time the same question had been asked for what had been a hour.

RO15, less formally known as Research Officer Jacqueline Miles, had transported aboard the strange floating ship escorted by a security team in the hopes of discovering if, or what, occupied the vessel. Attempts at communicating proved unsuccessful.

The information reported back, up until the point of radio silence, had been that the ship had been abandoned, with all escape pods deployed, though there was an uneasy sense of not being alone.

“Romeo Oscar One Five, do you receive, over?”

Several minutes past in silence, until a definite buzz of interference came of the intercom. Again the question was asked,

“Romeo Oscar One Five, do you receive, over?”

Another more sustained buzz replied, this time however, interjected with a croaky gargling female voice.

“Capsule…..fluorescent glow…..closer examination…..tongs smashed it…..unleashed a ghost.”

“Romeo Oscar One Five, can you repeat. Communications breaking up. Did you find something?”

“It’s found…..”

What followed was a horrifying scream, the last communication with RO15, Jacqueline Miles.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Word/Genre Challenge #2

I opened up to my FB friends and family once again to offer me a single object and a genre in which to fit it in. Second up:

‘Jellyfish’ in paranormal genre.

“So you say you’re being haunted by a creature that floats in midair, with long tendrals hanging from a gelatinous disc like body!”

“Exactly,” confirmed Mr Habernathy, physically shaking. “It appears from nowhere, its long snake like arms, or legs, seem to want to latch onto my head. Probably wanting to feed on my brain.”

The witch hunter quickly flicked through pages of an old worn tome, stopping only when he’d found the required page.

“Quite so it would seem. Come along, we must not dawdle.”

Mr Habernathy stood startled and still shaking, “You are going to exercise it right?”

“On the contrary my good man, we’re going to feed it.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The jellyfish like entity, or Mind Flayer as they’re referred to in arcane writings, was exactly where Mr Habernathy had last seen it, floating above his cooking pot warming itself on the flickering flames.

“Oh you’re a beauty!” gasped the Witch Hunter in awe. He approached cautiously, removing his hat in the process.

Long tendrals began to reach out as he got near, clamping down as he allowed them to touch his head. Once connected, the once translucent feelers began to shimmer an iridescent cacophony of colours.

Several seconds later and the entity disappeared, leaving the Witch Hunter stood motionless, eyes dormant of any emotion.

“Are you okay?” called out Mr Habernathy, who had been hiding, but watching from the otherside of the partially open door.

“Quite,” came the reply. “And you would be? In fact, where am I, and what’s that above your head?”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Within Dark Shadows

Her almost whispered calls 
Break the silence of the night 
The scent of sweet perfume 
Carries gently upon the breeze 
And yet she herself 
Remains shrouded within the night 

Like the spider on a web 
She waits to lure her prey 
That one hapless soul 
The stories haven’t reached 
Tales written in the lore’s of time 
Warning of such as her 

And there will be one too 
Following the haunting sound of her voice 
Filled with curiosity to venture 
Deep within the dark city shadows 
And just as the cat in stories old 
They shall never see another day

Copyright: authorchrisbrown 

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Night Visit

First, there was nothing.

Then there was pain, like a knife cutting deep into the very fabric of my chest and moving down towards my stomach. My eyes flung themselves open but I could see nothing. Everything was black.

I felt my insides being twisted and pulled, as if my very core was being removed by unseen hands. The pain was now unbearable and my eyes closed drifting me away to nothing.

Time passed in limbo, feeling and sensing nothing. Then my eyes opened.

I was in bed, in my room. Just as I remember before falling asleep. There were remnants of sweat on my brow and a dull ache in my chest. I looked down to see nothing but a very fine scar, about the width of a hair running the full length of my body.

What had happened? How had it happened? Was I awake in a dream or dead and remembering? Outside it was still dark, and I’ve never been more afraid of it than I was right then.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Limbo 

We all leave a footprint,
Some within the hearts of others,
Others upon the tops of heads,
Where boots keeps us down.

Within that footprint lurks a past,
Skeletons within cupboards,
Bad choices that come back to haunt us,
All the while we wish to stop history repeating.

We bury those misdemeanours,
Turn a new leaf and start afresh,
But the rot never dies,
It festers ready to consume again.

They find out in the end,
We slip up or bury them too shallow,
Then we wait in limbo,
Awaiting a new executioner for our crimes.

It is those that touch our hearts,
Those that forgive and forget,
But the ones that use the past against us,
They’re the oppressors that keep us forever down.

And so I wait in this limbo state,
Awaiting the verdict upon my past,
I inhale a deep breath,
And wonder if you’ll ever love me again.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Old times sake

Tom began to rouse from his slumber conscious of a weight bearing down upon the lower half of his body, and a slight searing pain across his chest as if sharp manicured nails were being dragged across it. He tried to bring his hands up to his eyes so as to wipe the sleep away, but found them restrained making them impossible to move. The more he tried to open his eyes and adjust to the light, he found all he could see was darkness.

“Blindfold eh?” he said, smiling broadly. “Kinky!”

The pain to his chest increased, and although just about enjoyable, it made him wince that little bit more. As he did so, the weight shifted in a rise and fall motion causing him to become almost instantly aroused. Faster and faster the tempo increased until he could resist no longer. Arching his back he groaned loudly as he allowed himself to let go.

A voice whispered sofly, almost at a whisper. “You were amazing,” before trailing off into nothing. The weight had vanished, his arms could move again and sight returned to his eyes.

Tom looked over to his wife to find her blissfully asleep, the duvet tucked tightly around her. “What the fuck?” he whispered, rubbing at his chest. It felt wet, yet warm to the touch. Curious he made his way to the bathroom to investigate. It was blood, his blood, and it was smeared across his chest. Hastily he looked at himself in the mirror. There across his chest were four words deeply engraved.

“For Old Times’ Sake”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Writing Challenge #2

To write a Sci-Fi story that must contain the following words: Whisk & Neoprene Knee Support.

Caught amidst the crossfire of two opposing forces hell bent on destroying each other, wasn’t exactly the kind of rebellious run away he had in mind.

These weren’t no tippy tappy ricocheting bullets, but full blown military grade, melt your face off, laser blasts.

Huge chucks of debris burst away from the remnants of once tall buildings as speculative fire strafed in search of a lucky hit. On several occasions he thought he’d been spotted whilst cowering within the shell of a burnt out land cruiser, such was the closeness of some of the blasts.

He had only explored the vehicle on a hunch that it had at one time carried medical supplies. Save from a few charred bandages and a neoprene knee support that looked as much use as an empty blaster pistol, there was little here worth salvaging.

As the battle ensued, he contemplated his chances should he break cover and run. He reasoned them to be ‘slim to none’. What he hadn’t factored in was being discovered by some kind of alien humanoid carrying a fallen comrade.

Upon seeing him, the alien let out a deafening scream. Tendrals span from the gapping hole that was presumably its mouth like some kind of primitive whisk sending ochre coloured bile everywhere.

His comrade had been hit and was losing a lot of blood. It too was ochre in colour making him wonder if those tendrals has tried cleaning the wound at some point. He’d been told some crazy stories about aliens.

“Here!” he said, pointing to bandages and knee support, gesturing as to how they should be used.

The alien replied in some indiscernible dialect whilst laying his companion down. It watched as he once again gestured as to what to do with the supplies.

Some of the stories had been wrong. Here first hand the myth about these creatures being devoid of compassion was being dispelled. He wondered how many others were false too.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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