On A Lovely Little Cruise

This week, the Flash Fictions come back! Yep, I've been working my own prompts myself over the last few weeks. Well, this one is about a horror holiday. Mine went in a totally different direction... I've never been on a cruise, but my folks have.

enjoy.

1^st, January – I’m having a wonderful time on this cruise that my folks insisted I took. Despite having a slight case of sea-sickness and paying through the nose for the injection to get rid of it, I’m going well. My best friend, and lover, Dennis, came along with me and we’re having a wonderful time. The sea breezes are just perfect. The food is top knotch and our rooms are above the waterline, and we have a Queen Size Bed and a little balcony overlooking the lower decks. Yep, we forked out extra money for the best.

This is going to be the best holiday ever!

4^th, January – Oops! I haven’t been writing in here as often as I had hoped. We’ve been island-hopping and totally enjoying ourselves. I’ve been on so many places and loving the local culture. Dennis has been by my side the whole time and has made sure we got back to the ship an hour before we left the docks.

And there’s some lovely news we’d love to share! Dennis proposed to me! Yes! We are engaged! We’ve known each other for five years and now we’ll be organising a wedding when we arrive home. I can’t wait!

11^th, January – Some strange things have happened since my last entry. Our ship has taken a different route than what it was supposed to. Instead of Vanuatu then onto the Cook Islands through New Caledonia, it’s heading up into Malaysia, away from its usual route. We haven’t seen the Captain at his table in the past three nights and the nightly entertainment has been really, … strange to say the least. Instead of show tunes by a Tony Bennett look-alike, they’re playing Turkish and Russian music where men sit on one side of the room and women on the other. This is strange. And if you’re married, you sit at the back.

20^th, January – Last night I was dragged from my bed by the hair and Dennis was forcibly removed from my room as some people held me against the wall at gunpoint. I was too scared to say anything but cry as they took him out into the hallway and beat him until he was unconscious calling him names. Then…

24^th, January – I couldn’t finish my last entry because I had to go and be sick. I can hardly move because after they beat Dennis (I don’t know where he is by the way), the three in the room gang raped me… shit… I feel so dirty. And they keep calling me slut. But they’re calling all the women that who are either single or engaged; and they’re taking us away to … oh shit… I don’t know what to do.

30^th, January – I’m being held prisoner in my room with three other women and a young girl who’s barely out of her teens. She’s either mute or in shock but she’s stopped talking. The other women are too scared to talk too much about what has been happening and I’m wondering if the Australian government knows this ship has gone missing off its route. We haven’t seen any television or listened to the radio since the change in the route; and this worries me. I haven’t seen Dennis either. I wonder if he’s still alive.

7^th, February – I’m not sleeping. It’s dangerous to do so. Us women take shifts in standing guard over each other – particularly the girl – so we can be ready for them for when they come for us. We know that the ship has stopped moving because we can’t hear the engines anymore. But we don’t know where we are. It’s 3am and I hear footsteps in the corridor…

17^th, February – I’ve been at the Australian Consulate for three days. Two days after the ship went off course, the Australian Government knew something had gone wrong and took steps to make sure to keep the passengers safe. Unfortunately, not everyone on board was found alive. Dennis and I have been inseparable since we docked in Singapore. How we got to be so far off course was due to us being boarded when we made a supply run at some point in New Caledonia… but they’re not exactly when.

Actually, Dennis and I have decided to get married here at the Consulate. We don’t want to be apart any more than we have to be… not now we’re expecting a new little somebody in our lives. I was sick over the last few days because I had morning sickness – and that wasn’t seasickness either. I’m about a month and a half along; we’re so blessed something good came out of this horror.

You've Got Mail

I watched 'The Lake House' the other night and thought to write a story similar to it... well, kind of. I've been trying to write something like this for a long time; and this time I think I got it right!

enjoy!

The day was stinking hot when Tammy moved into the house she inherited from her agent and friend, Brian. They weren’t close, but he had gotten her her start in the publishing industry; and he didn’t have any family. He had never married or had any children. But he did buy some great pieces of land with houses on them. In his Will, he gave what the immediate family thought were worth something; and gave her the house down by the river.

It looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, but it appeared as though it hadn’t seen anyone to look after it in over a decade. As she pulled the old set of keys from her pocket, a car drove up behind the moving van and the real estate agent got out.

“Hi.” She walked over in her suit and heels, “Are you sure you want the house?”

“Yeah. My lease is up soon and I don’t want to share house anymore.” She said, “I want to have a place and space of my own.”

The agent cringed, “But this place is a dump.”

“You’re a real estate agent. Aren’t you supposed to sell these places?” Tammy asked.

“Yeah, but really, Brian bought this on the spur of the moment.”

“I find that’s when you can make the best decisions.” She smiled and walked up to the building to open the front door.

From the first day, she started receiving mail – and she hadn’t told the post office where she was living yet. There was a letter from a man welcoming her to the neighbourhood.

‘Dear Neighbour, welcome! My name is Ben. I live across the river in the other cottage. I noticed you were moving in and would like to come and say hi one of these days. Just leave a letter in your letter box to let me know when I can come and I’ll do just that. Yours neighbourly, Ben Cross.’

She smiled and wrote a quick note to him immediately, ‘Dear Ben, Thank you so much for your lovely letter. So nice neighbours still welcome each other! I’ll have the house straightened out by the weekend. So, do drop by on Saturday afternoon. Tammy.’

Tammy busied herself with her new house, her next book and started cleaning up the garden as well; and Saturday came just as quickly. During the week, she and Ben swapped notes on a constant basis. She found out so much about him through his wonderful penmanship and yet, wondered why the paper smelled like pipe smoke.

Then, the day came. She had been out to the local store and bought some food just for that Saturday afternoon visit from Ben.

However, he never showed up.

‘Ben, what happened? Did you get busy? Tammy.’

‘No, I was there. But you weren’t. I was about to ask the same about you. Ben.’

She frowned at the piece of paper as she stood by her letterbox when the postman walked by, “Miss Tammy Kramer?”

Looking up, she smiled, “Yes.”

“Boy, do I have some mail for you!” He gave her wad of mail and three cards, “You have to collect the rest at the post office.”

“Okay.” She smiled, “Hey, do you know Ben Cross?”

His eyes slowly met hers, “I did, yes.”

“Did?”

“He’s no longer here.” He turned away and walked to the next house down the lane, leaving her with her thoughts.

Tammy walked inside, put the mail on the table by the door, grabbed the car keys and drove into town to collect the rest of her mail. On her way there, she thought to drive around the long way to see Ben’s house.

But there was no house on the other side of the river.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” a voice shouted at her from the other side of the road.

She spun to find an old man standing in front of her car, “Hi. I’m looking for Ben.”

“He’s no longer here.” He snapped.

“People keep telling me this. But I want to know why.”

“Why would you want to know?”

“I’ve heard of him, that’s all.”

“He died last year in a house fire.” The man turned and walked down the road, his face twisted and bitter.

Tears filled her eyes, as she climbed back into her car, started it and drove into town, collected her mail and back home almost without saying anything to anyone. When she arrived home, she Googled Ben and found out how he died.

“Oh, my god… he dies tonight last year… at 10pm.” She looked up at her clock and found it was 6pm; plenty of time to write him a letter and warn him about what’s going to happen. To stay away from his place for that night and, ‘…meet me at my house on 23^rd, July, 2016 at my letterbox. I will be waiting. Please don’t go to your place… it’s going to burn down at 10pm. Trust me, because I love you. Tammy.’

She rushed outside into the night air, pushed the letter into the letterbox, put the flag up and waited next it.

She waited for the next four hours.

Tammy was sitting against the stone wall crying when she heard a car engine coming around the lane. She checked the time. It was a little past 10pm, and scrambled to her feet. Last year’s Mustang pulled up outside her house and a man – who looked very much like a younger version of the postman – stepped out of it.

“Tammy? I’m Ben.” He pulled out of his coat pocket a letter and smiled, “I’m not sure how this worked, but I received this letter a couple of years ago while I was living at this address to meet you here… but I had only started living across the river about three months before you moved in. Your letter to not go home on the day of the fire saved my life.”

“Where did you go that night?” she asked.

“My parents’ house.” He smiled, “I think you may know my Uncle, Brian. I believe he was your agent.”

The Garden

I got an idea tonight for a flash fiction and just ran with it. I hope it worked out just right. 

enjoy.

It was my responsibility to protect…

…to guard…

…the garden, and I couldn’t even do that.

Now, I’m here. I’m locked away in these large cells, left to rot for thousands of years – so long now that Humans have never known who I am. My name has been scrubbed from the records; and most of the Angels have never met me.

Father trusted me the most to care for his fledglings – the new Humans – of his new world he called Paradise and he left me to make sure nothing evil entered through those sacred gates. Most of all, I had to guard that tree: The Tree of Life. Now, what a tree! I’ve never seen anything like it. And yet, when the whole thing collapsed, I was blamed by all and imprisoned.

Nobody wanted to know my side of the story – especially not Father – and yet no matter how I told it, it seemed that I was at fault. Lucifer’s little pets were always the dreaded evil of all. Why wasn’t I warned he’d try to tempt me? Or was I supposed to be stronger than Father designed me to be?

I will never know.

But I have time to think. After all, I’m not alone; and yet nobody will pass the time of day with me because of my crime. Yes, this makes me the longest serving inmate… and so long I’m here, I will stay here without parole, because my crime was unforgivable.

In case you missed the hints about who I am: my name is Gadreel. I am the Angelic Guard who let the serpent into The Garden of Eden.

I destroyed the world as you know it.

If there’s anyone to blame for how Earth has turned out, don’t blame each other. Don’t blame your politicians. Don’t blame global warming. Don’t blame war, famine, rising oceans or the extinction of species… 

Blame me… if I hadn’t let the serpent into The Garden – allowing evil into the world – you’d be living a very different life right now.

Gadreel – remember my name, for I am to blame for it all going to Hell. 

Just Before Sunrise

Chuck has had insomnia lately... something I battle with on a regular basis (also known as being a nightowl). So, this week's challenge is to write a story about insomnia... this was fun!

enjoy!

It’s not easy being a person who lives on just four hours of sleep a night. I haven’t been able to sleep on any more than that for over twenty years – and no matter what the doctors have tried, they can’t seem to pin point it.

But after going to a neurologist, they think they’ll be able to help me have a full-night’s sleep. So, tonight is my last sleepless night ever… well, I hope.

“Now, there’s no promises that this will work. But it’s worth a try, okay?” the youngish doctor smiled, “And after all these years of not being able to sleep, I’m sure we’ll be able to pinpoint exactly why you’re not able to sleep through a new method of going back through into your primitive brain; which through my research holds your oldest memories from anything that might be holding you back.”

“Doc, I’m willing to try anything to get some sleep.” I sigh, “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep, it’s just that I think I’m missing out on some good health benefits from a good night’s sleep.”

He smiled, “And you are.” He rose from his desk, “Now, come on, we’re ready if you are.”

Artificial sleep isn’t the same as real sleep. But they had to put me under Twilight; this is where you’re not completely under, but can be woken easily and you recover better and faster than you would if they put you under completely – besides, they needed my brain to be working of its own accord and not off in la-la land.

I woke in recovery in restraints, “What the hell?”

A cop turned, “Shut up.”

“I don’t understand.” I said, “I just woke from a brain operation. I need to know the results. Can they fix my insomnia?”

The cop ignored me.

Another doctor approached my cubical, looked at me, referred to his file and turned to another cop, whispering in his ear, then turned back to me, “Do you remember anything from when you went under Twilight?”

“No. I went to sleep, and woke up in these things.” I looked at the restraints, “I don’t understand why I’m under guard for.”

The doctor nodded curtly, “Okay. Your neurosurgeon is dead.”

“What?”

“You killed him.”

“I was asleep.”

“No… you weren’t.” he said pulling up a metal stool and sitting on it, “You were put under Twilight. But you didn’t stay there. You woke up and became another person… you…” he looked down for a moment before continuing, “You…” his eyes were filled with tears as he tried to talk, but couldn’t.

The policeman touched his shoulder, “I’ll do it.” He whispered, “It’s okay.”

“He stood no chance.” He handed the folder to the cop as he rose and left the room.

The cop turned and looked at me as he dumped the folder onto the table at the end of my bed, “You seriously have no idea what you did?”

“No… like I said, I was sleeping.” I glanced at the other cop who had his back to me, but his head was down, looking at his shoes. My eyes moved back to the first cop at the foot of the bed.

“Okay.” He sighed, “You don’t sleep because when you do, you become another person.”

“We all do.” I said, “In our dreams… but I don’t dream because I don’t get that far into my sleep cycle; that’s what we were trying to fix.”

He nodded, “I understand this. But when they were looking at your primitive brain to find out what was holding you back, they unintentionally let somebody out.”

My gut turned cool, “What?”

He looked over at me and took a step back, “Um… what time is it?” he glanced down to his watch and started to sweat as he grabbed the folder and moved toward the door, gesturing to the guard next to me, “It’s time to leave.”

“We were told to guard him.” He turned and looked at me, then back away, “What the…!”

As the door slammed shut, I looked up at the clock above it to find it said 4:45am – just before sunrise. I was so damned tired. It was time for me to sleep. My breathing slowed down and I thankfully felt as though I was going to get some rest; but I wondered why they were so scared of me when I was just tired.

Sirens wailed as I ran along the river’s edge in the darkness of the night, as the sun’s last glimmer vanished below the horizon. The delicious coppery taste of blood lined my mouth and stained my hands, darkening my fingernails to an almost blackened state.

But I felt as though I was so filled with energy – with go-go juice – that I couldn’t be stopped, even if I wanted to!

The reflection of a shop window freaked me out and I stopped and looked at it…

“No… that can’t be me.” I stared into a mirror which was part of a display inside and found a distorted, tortured scarlet face staring back. The clothes I had taken such pride in choosing the day before – expensive clothes – were shredded and hanging from my body, soaked in blood, “Oh my god… what did they do to me?”

“Who?” a voice asked behind me.

I turned and found three cops with rifles leveled at me, “What happened?” turning back to the mirror, I watched tears leave clean streaks down my face as it – and my whole body – changed into the form I was so accustomed to, “Who did they let out?” but I knew who as I spoke… and didn’t want to know anymore, “Kill me. Please.”

“No.” a man said to my right, with a slight German accent, “You are somebody of interest to us. We wanted to bring you in alive.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course we do, Dr Jekyll. It’s Mr Hyde everyone keeps on meeting on a rather unscheduled basis.” The man said as he walked from behind the wall of armed police.

“And who the hell are you?”

“I’m Abraham Van Helsing.” He smiled, “I may be old, but I’ve been searching for you for a very long time.”

“How are you still here?”

He smiled as he approached me, “That, my friend, is a very long story. One I will share with you on the way to our final destination.”