She’s here again. What does she want? I think she’s looking for something. In a graveyard? It’ll be dark soon, she ought to run along. I think I’ve seen her before… What do you suppose she wants? Perhaps she’s lost. I think she might be searching for something. Her marbles? She’s got a camera. Yeah, she’s taking photos. She took some of the sunset earlier. Right pretty it was. Over your grave there, Betty. She must have taken about a hundred. And she was talking to herself. Funny, aren’t they, these young folk, these days? The stuff they do for fun. I definitely know her. She was here years ago. I . . .
. . . would be honoured if you would go here to read the rest of this short story.
My greatest thanks to Spillwords for publishing my short story, flash fiction, whatever it is! It’s composed entirely of dialogue which was a new thing I tried and it started off as a bit of nonsense. Then I went back and edited it and added a few more lines and pretty soon it became what it was. It didn’t make the Halloween shorts but they published it as part of the general Halloween series and I’m happy enough with that 🙂 Hope you like!
I failed Goblin Finishing School for being too nice. Cause some goblins are sweet underneath they just pretend to be grieved to warn the crazies away. That’s humans to you. They’re not fans of your lot.
We have lofty dreams too, it’s just hard when people look at you like you’re some creepy skulking thing, you know? How dare you?
I’m a perfectly fantastic goblin. I have manners. I’m a bit different but then I always was. I failed the test for making a racket in the night
to wake the lesser sleeping folk. Instead I’d leave them little gifts like bouquets of hyacinths at special times like Hallow’s eve’s eve. And I’ve got my own grotto now.
All the other Gs got green-eyed about it but I never cared much for their iron floors and thorny walls. Mine’s got a lily-cushioned bed a grove for the peacocks, and the delicate chime
of yogi bells to wake me in the morning. I sometimes feel that there is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand, and I may be solely the only one, but I’d rather be alone than feel more alone somewhere I don’t belong.
Written for Shay’s Word Garden where we are given inspiration with Christina Rossetti (words used: goblin, grieved, hyacinth, iron, thorny, lily, peacocks, chime), The Sunday Muse (image as shown), and Poets and Storytellers United where the theme is quotes from scary films and books. I chose: “There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand,” from Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I decided to include it in the actual text as it just seemed fitting.
They can’t hear you in the upside-down. You would do well not to get caught there. It is the shadow thrown by the light and exists in the realm of barely real tipping over into the concrete world. There is no day, only a howling wind of eternal night, housing all the other howling lost things. Things with teeth and beating wings. Stingers. Go quietly now, tread with care. It holds all your nightmares, they shiver through the trees, not merely brain conjurings but entities. Your fears fleshed them and you didn’t even know it. Another’s nightmare birthed them and now you’re in it.
You would do well not to get caught in the upside-down. It is cold, so cold. Everything shifts in the dark, becomes other. How can you believe your own eyes? Illusions trick you at every turn. You, human, have no place there. Don’t will it accidentally, don’t get caught in the in-between and slip through. You may not return. Unless you are wily. Unless you have some fire and can keep your head. But even then, even then. Don’t give in to your fears.
But if you find yourself in the upside-down, you must face the shadow self of all that was. To solve the riddle of your escape. Your own death you must face. Take heart. Become stealth. Wear a costume of power, a trinity as talisman. Onward. Your beating heart. Onward.
Written for W3 Prompt #24: Wea’ve Written Weekly at The Skeptic’s Kaddish hosted by David, where the poet of the week (which happens to be me, I know, right? Pretty stoked 🙂) invites us to write an ekphrastic poem inspired by a horror film that gave you the chills. For example, Interview with a Vampire, Halloween, The Babadook, to name a few. Or it could be a comedy horror, such as The Addams Family or Shaun of the Dead, etc. You could write from the point of view of one of the characters, or respond to a particular scene, whatever you prefer.
Or, if that’s not your thing . . . you could write about an experience that gave you the chills, any form permitted.
*Despite this being my own prompt, it took me a while to get into it as I don’t deal well with horror films and I generally avoid them. Comedy horrors are more down my street. Having said that, you may have guessed that my prose poem was responding to popular horror series, Stranger Things (yeah, I know, that was an about-turn but this one’s an exception).
Written also for Shay’s Word Garden, where we are given inspiration with poet, Ric Masten, and musician, Neil Young. Words used: stingers / quietly / riddle / costumes / trinity. I’m a bit late to this Word Garden as Shay has already started a new one based on the poetry of Christina Rossetti, which you can also take part in here if you wish.
My Throwback Thursday is the suitably chilling Hell is Round the Corner by Tricky featuring Martina Topley-Bird, from his debut album, Maxinquaye. Tricky was originally a member of British trip-hop band Massive Attack (another Bristol legend) in the early 90s before he went solo. You may also recognise him from his walk-on part in Hollywood blockbuster The Fifth Element as one of the characters trying to steal Corbyn Dallas’ airline tickets 🙂