PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The clock struck 11. Then, mysteriously the pendulum bounced off its perch.
“That’s it!” She’d hollered. “Shove it in the junk room; I’ve had enough of it disturbing the tranquillity!”
I did as bid. I remember it vividly.
As I went to resurrect the faithful old timer, a familiar shiver coursed through my whole being violently spiking every hair, tugging the skin from my bones.
The door’s always bolted.
(Keeps meddling small hands and curious minds from trouble.)
Nobody but me has a key?
Then I remembered…
… that was the time she passed away.
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
In the Hot House
“Oh wow, Grandad look! These are something else!”
“Look! They’ve got bright spotlights on them and… look, they’ve also got powerful water jets… they’re amazing… and the ladders… they’re really really long… and they’re winding out really fast!”
“Yes Bobby, let’s just watch a minute and see how they manoeuvre the ladders.”
“Wow, they spin right round too!”
“Can’t wait to tell Charlie what I’ve seen today…”
“…and wait ‘til I tell mum!”
Grandad took a deep, audible breath.
Oh dear, I’m in the hot house again!
“Now I know exactly what I want to ask Santa for Christmas!”
PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
“Oh you’re kidding me!”
“What number did she give you?” I shrieked in disbelief.
“I thought that was a house number!”
“No, an apartment number silly!”
“But I hate lifts!”
”How long have we got?”
“Just under half an hour.”
“Crikey, we’d better get a move on if I’m going to climb all those stairs and not look deranged on arrival.”
“I hope this is worth it.”
“If we get the contract, we’ll ask her if there are any really good coffee shops nearby that she’d recommend.”
“That way next time we can lure her down to ground level!”
PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall for this week’s Friday Fictioneers
Firmly, she held my hand leading me into the study.
The tension, blatantly tangible.
A lump manifest in my throat… my heart quickened.
With contrived aplomb, she waved me forward, as if addressing royalty.
“There they are!”
Oh dear… they… are… ugly.
Spotlight on me, I swallowed discreetly.
She waited… underlying tension lay between us…projecting her desired response.
Knowing lying contorts my insides, meekly, I offered…
“Thought you said you’d only bought a few.”
Her face dropped to a sullen sag.
“I thought you’d like them!” she spat.
“But they’re yours.”
“It only matters that you like them!”