“Fiction In A Flash Challenge” Image Prompt Week #7. Join in, have fun and let the creative muse loose. @pursoot #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and welcome to my weekly “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!”  Week #7 Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction or Non-Fiction piece inspired by that image in a format and genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by 4pm EDT on Thursday, July 9th. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll begin sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here on Friday, July 10th.

Here is the week #7 Image Prompt.

 

flash Free lighthouse beautiful

I hope the image inspires you! Come and join in the fun.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

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On Goodreads.

By Email.

 

 

“Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #6 Entries 1-3 @pursoot @KIngallsAuthor @dlfinnauthor #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

 

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to PART 1 of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week 6.

Today I’m featuring contributions from Karen Ingalls and D.L. Finn as well as my own contribution. Part 2 entries 4-5 will be posted here tomorrow.

Last week I set the following Challenge:

Hello everyone and welcome to my new “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction or Non-Fiction piece inspired by that image in any format and genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

#1. Contributed by Karen Ingalls.

FREE FRAMED IMAGE OF BABY AND DADDY SLEEPING WEEK 6

 FATHER AND SON

 POEM

by

KAREN INGALLS.

 

        I HOLD YOU WITH LOVE

MY HEART REJOICES

         YOU ARE A MIRACLE

 

 WE SLEEP TOGETHER

IN A SILENT RHYTHM OF BREATHES

         YOU ARE A BLESSING

 

   GOD’S LOVE EMBRACES US

ALWAYS WITH US

YOU ARE A GIFT

 

    YOUR SWEET SPIRIT

CALMS MY BEATING HEART

        YOU ARE SPECIAL

 

THIS TREASURED MOMENT

  IS ONE OF MANY TO COME

        YOU ARE MY SON

Karen Ingalls can be found on

Karen Ingalls Blog.

On Twitter:

Karen Ingalls Author Page Amazon

On Facebook

#

#2 A Haiku Contributed by D.L.Finn

FREE FRAMED IMAGE OF BABY AND DADDY SLEEPING WEEK 6

Chests rising in rhythm
A sleepy moment captured
Love’s perfection
D.L. Finn can be found here …

#3 My own Contribution;

FREE FRAMED IMAGE OF BABY AND DADDY SLEEPING WEEK 6

“I did it, Dad!”

by

Suzanne Burke.

Michael D’Angelo looked up from his laptop as his assistant knocked on the door.

“Problem, Danny?”

“Oh, no, sir. At least I don’t think so.” He handed across a large envelope, “This just came for you.”

Michael looked at the envelope for a brief moment. “Thanks, Danny. It’s from my father.” He flicked a glance at his watch, “What time are we leaving?”

“We need you to be ready to go in just over an hour.”

“Okay, can do. Uh, Danny, I’m taking a moment. Can you see I’m not disturbed?”

The man nodded and left the office.

Mike looked at the handwriting again. He’d be seeing his father in just a few short hours, so why this? A photograph slid out onto the desk as he opened the envelope. Mike picked it up. “What the? How have I never seen this one?” There was a letter waiting, and Mike’s hands shook a little as he opened it.

Hello, Mikey.

Now I know this is gonna seem strange, and maybe it is, but I needed to say some stuff now and it’s too important to risk me freezing up when I try to say it out loud later. So, I’m writing them down as they come to me.

I took that photograph of you sleeping with my newborn grandson.  I kept this picture framed on my desk down at the precinct. It was such a huge milestone in your life. I was privileged to be around to see it happen. I recognized the moment and I cherished it. But did I ever tell you that? I should have.

I was there when you took your own first steps, you tottered towards my outstretched arms and giggled with delight when you made it! You had a smile that your mother swore could melt ice cubes, and then there was the other smile that you shared only with me. I always called it your ‘I did it, Dad’ grin.

It surfaced often in those early years as you added other firsts to your journey. Do you remember the day I got called down to the school because you’d been in a fight? Man, your left eye had some black and blue shiner in the making. The principal sat me down and laid out the facts. “Michael was witnessed to strike James McGuire. We have strict rules about violence here. Now, if Michael will apologize to James and the McGuire family, we’ll avoid suspending him.”

I looked at you and recognized something in the set of your jaw as you spoke up, “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not unless McGuire apologizes to the little kid from the special needs class that he had shoved up against the lockers. He’s only nine-years-old, sir! If McGuire does that, I’ll apologize.”

You got suspended for two weeks. I took you out for burger and fries and tried to look stern while we celebrated. You gave me that smile. But did I say the words ‘I’m proud of you for standing up for what you believe in?’ I should have.

That kinda brings us over the mountains and the milestones that time hands us, to today. I love you my son and I’m proud of you. I’ll say that to you a little later.

Dad.

Mike shook his head and took a deep breath. Then he composed himself and dressed ready for the afternoon ahead.

***

Frank D’Angelo stood alongside his eighteen-year-old grandson. They held onto each other’s hands tightly as Michael Thomas D’Angelo was sworn in by The Chief Justice as the new Attorney General of the United States of America.

Frank cried as his boy flashed him his ‘I did it, dad.’ Smile.

He applauded with the others.

Mike hugged his son and his mother then turned to his dad, “Can you say it now, dad?”

“I’m so very proud of you, my son.”

Mike pulled him into a man hug. “It goes both ways, dad. So, let me get this formal stuff out of the way. Then you want burgers and fries?”

His father laughed, “You buying?”

“You know it. Let’s go celebrate our way.”

#

 

Thanks so much for stopping by. I’ll take this opportunity to wish all my American friends a safe and Memorable 4th of July 2020.

Don’t forget to drop by tomorrow for Part 2 of the entries.

The Challenge Photo-Prompt for Week #7 will be posted on Friday, July 3rd.

Contact me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

 

“Fiction In A Flash Challenge” Image Prompt Week #6. Join in, have fun and let the creative muse loose. @pursoot #IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and welcome to my weekly “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction or Non-Fiction piece inspired by that image in a format and genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by 4pm EDT on Thursday, July 2nd. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll begin sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here on Friday, July 3rd.

Here is the week #6 Image Prompt.

FREE FRAMED IMAGE OF BABY AND DADDY SLEEPING WEEK 6

 

I hope the image inspires you! Come and join in the fun.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

 

“Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Week #5. Image Prompt: Join in, have fun, and let loose your creative muse.#FictionInAFlash @pursoot @IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity.

 

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and welcome to week #5 of my  “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write either a Flash Fiction or Non-Fiction piece inspired by that prompt, in any form, and in a genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by 4pm on Thursday, June 25th. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll be sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here beginning on Friday, June 26th. (I’ll feature all posts in the order they were received over several days if the number of entries calls for it.)

I do hope you join in! Have fun, let the creative muse loose!

And now …The image for week#5

flash best marionette

I hope the image inspires you! Come and join in the fun.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

“Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Entries for week #4 @KIngallsAuthor @gmplano @pokercubster @pursoot @MarshaIngrao #IARTG #WritingCommunity #ASMSG

 

Hello everyone and a warm welcome to the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge” Week #4.

Flash Fiction best header

Last week I set the following Challenge:

Hello everyone and welcome to my new “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction piece inspired by that image in a genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by 4pm on June 18th. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll be sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here on June 19th.

***

AND Here’s the prompt image and ENTRIES…For #Week 4.

Flash Fiction Routte 66

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

By

Karen Ingalls.

 My name is Willie Nelson Johnson. Obviously, I was named for the famous country-western singer and actor. He was my mother’s favorite singer and his music played all day, every day. I know by heart every song he ever recorded.

I cannot sing or play an instrument, my hair is short, there is no beard, I am not an activist, nor have I ever smoked marijuana. The only thing I have in common with Willie, besides my name, is the love of the open road. The day I got my first car was the first day of being on the road. Over the years I have driven to as many places as my wallet and time would allow.

I grew up and now live in Wilmington, Illinois along with about 6,000 other folks. It is called “The Island City” because it is bisected by the Kankakee River. As you can see, Route 66 goes right through Wilmington.

Map for Karen's post

We have Route 66 Antiques, Rte. 66 Bar & Grill, and the famous (or infamous) Launching Pad Drive-In where you will see one of the many giant statues based on the Muffler Man along the famous highway. These statues of fiberglass were constructed for advertising or purely decoration. Here you will find “Gemini Giant”, a 28-foot spaceman commemorating the Gemini space missions.

On July 4, 1998, I took a three-week vacation and drove the entire 2,448 miles of Route 66, also known as Mother Road. I first drove north to Chicago where it begins (or ends depending on your starting point), and then headed south and west all the way to its final stop, the Santa Monica Pier in California.

Goin’ places that I’ve never been
Seein’ things that I may never see again

 In St. Louis, I saw Eads Bridge, the oldest steel bridge, the McKinley Bridge, New Chain of Rocks Bridge, and McArthur Bridge. They are all part of Route 66. Of course, I stopped at The Arch and took the ride to the top marveling at the vista below.

One of my fondest memories is spending two days in Lebanon, Missouri. I stayed at the Munger Moss Motel and visited the amazing Route 66 Museum.

Like a band of Gypsies, we go down the highway
We’re the best of friends

I met many people from all over the U.S. and the world. They were of all ages, races, and religions, and some of us became friends and we have stayed in touch. Sometimes we caravanned looking like a band of Gypsies.

I stopped in Catoosa, Oklahoma for only one reason: to see the “Blue Whale”, which is one of the statues along Route 66. I drove the additional 120 miles to have a delicious meal at “Ann’s Chicken Fry House Restaurant” in Oklahoma City.

Playing my Willie Nelson tapes, I sang my heart out while I drove across Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona making a few stops to see more of the Muffler Men statues including the two Paul Bunyan’s in Flagstaff, Arizona and in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I stopped at The Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo for a massive meal and visited the shooting range.

I finally crossed the California border into the very small town of Amboy. When I was there in 1998, the population was 5. It was up for sale on Ebay, but it never sold for the asking price of $1.9 million. A group of motorcyclists invited me to join them on their way to Santa Monica. They were a rough-and-tough looking group but as kind as the day is long.

The most famous place in Amboy is Roy’s Motel and Café. They refused to have their picture taken, so I snapped a photo of their motorcycles lined up.

Karen Motorcycles

We traveled from Amboy to the Santa Monica Pier, traveling the two-hundred miles in one day. The eight of us parked our seven motorcycles and one car. We walked to the very end of the 1909 pier. We cheered and broke out into chorus singing On the Road Again.

#

Karen Ingalls can be found on

Karen Ingalls Blog.

On Twitter:

Karen Ingalls Author Page Amazon

On Facebook

***

This Entry by Gwen Plano:

Flash Fiction Routte 66

John Steinbeck famously called Route 66 “the mother road, the road of flight” because thousands upon thousands fled the Dust Bowl for the hope of something better. His Grapes of Wrath captured the dire poverty that so many experienced and helped later generations understand why there was an epic journey West.

Though the road is now decommissioned, it basically follows Interstate 40 from Santa Monica to Oklahoma City where it changes to Interstate 44 through Missouri and Interstate 55 to Chicago. For those of us who have traveled this road, there’s a reverence for its history. My tanka poem (5-7-5-7-7 syllables) tries to capture that sentiment.

GWEN ROUTE 66 USE THIS ONE

You’ll find Gwen here:

Reflections on Life … Blog.

Author Page: Gwen Plano on Amazon

On Twitter.

Gwen Plano on Facebook.

 

***

This Contribution by D.G. KAYE

Flash Fiction Routte 66

From the first time I ever visited Las Vegas, I felt an inexplicable energy through me, an unfamiliar state of feeling that I should be living on the west coast. This feeling had nothing to do with the fact that Vegas is like a Disneyland Mecca playground for adults but more about the atmosphere – desert, climate and just being in the southwest.

It must have been my colorful childhood education from some of the shady characters I’d met in my mother’s circles that began my fascination of mobster stories. After my first Vegas experiences there were plenty more visits there, sometimes 2 and 3 times per year. After so many years of going to Vegas, and one helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon, I had an instant feeling that I needed to relocate our vacations to Arizona, more evidence to myself that it was the southwest calling me, more than the casino attractions in Las Vegas.

The first time I landed in Phoenix Sky Harbor airport, I remember strolling the carry-on through the airport with hub, on our way to grab a taxi, when I stopped myself in my tracks and took a pause when this incredible feeling of something inexplicable came over me and told me this was where I needed to be. A familiarity ran through me as though I were home, like I was familiar with a place I’d never before been other than in a helicopter landing in a canyon.

My long fascination with everything southwest, from the climate to the beauty to the rich history of the various Native tribes and cultures, felt familiar and I’d always had this longing to drive Route 66, pretty much inspired by Thelma and Louise. I’d flown over the spot where the movie ends and their car goes off the cliff, while in the helicopter, the tour guide made it a point to announce.

Our first trip to Phoenix was fantabulous. My husband loved all the cowboy stores, venues and paraphernalia, and me, well, I couldn’t get enough of the views, and of course, shopping anything southwest. Don’t even get me started on beautiful Sedona, but those are other stories for another time. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t going home without something ‘Route 66’ and it seemed only fitting when I spotted a set of luggage on discount while I was in the market for a new bag to return home with since what I’d come with was already overflowing. The luggage was colorful with Route 66 plastered all over. And along with some other goodies I found at a flea market when our new friends had taken us to in Mesa, I picked up this sign.

 

route 66

Here I am living in the east, still living in the dream of being a southwest coast girl someday. Who knows what will come when the new world opens up. Never stop dreaming!

DGKaye may be found here:

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

AMAZON

GOODREADS

***

My own Contribution:

Flash Fiction Routte 66

Déjà Vu

by

Suzanne Burke

FBI Field Office Chicago.

Special Agent Daniel Paterson raised his hand for quiet, “Okay, people, listen up! On all five case files, we have death by Asphyxiation. 5 Different states, 5 Different dates. The order appears random. But look at this on the map.” He illuminated the screen behind him.

“The small towns where the murders occurred can only be accessed from Route 66. The states however are in random order. This unsub could have begun his killing spree from either Chicago or Los Angeles. Traveling from Chicago to L.A We have eight possible locations … Illinois, Kansas, Texas, Arizona, Missouri, Oklahoma, and New Mexico, exiting in California.”

He stopped and faced his team, “However, our unsub selected five victims, located in crime scene order, 1. Illinois, 2. Missouri, 3. Kansas, 4. California and 5. Arizona. That leaves us with three possible locations to watch,” He circled them, “New Mexico, Oklahoma, and Texas. The profile suggests that if this perp moves to victim 6 it will be in one of these states. Questions?”

“Dan, given this info, we need to check all available footage on the exits and access from Route 66 to those town locations.”

“Good call, Tracey. Get on it.”

She nodded and hurried back to her laptop.

***

Two hours later:

Agent Tracey Prentice watched and re-watched the footage. She suddenly sat forward. “Dan! We may have a hit!”

Dan and several of her colleagues hurried across.

“Okay, we have the same vehicle exiting and re-entering Route 66, at the murder locations, in all five states! The dates correlate to the day before and the day after the murders took place. We have details on the RV plates. I’ll have them in a moment.”

***

“Yes! The RV is registered to Thomas Cranston. Thirty-six years old. Male Caucasian. I’m running facial recognition …”

“Jesus! This guy is a Lt. Commander and a former Navy Seal!” She read further … “Medically discharged, six months ago. Two weeks before our first victim. The last known address was here in Chicago.”

Dan spoke up, “Any request to access that file needs to come from The Director. I’ll arrange that now.”

“Dan, we’ll need teams moving into these last three locations. Let’s hope this guy hasn’t changed his M.O.”

***

It took thirty-minutes to be granted limited access to the Medical file of Lt. Commander Cranston. His mission briefs were classified as Top Secret and access to them was refused.

Dan and his team read through his discharge details, much of which was edited out. The commander was severely injured on his last mission. The collateral damage was high. Six of his team were lost. He began exhibiting signs of PTSD and was considered medically unfit for further active duty. His ramblings about retribution caused concern. He blamed the Government in Washington for the cost of his team.

Tracey shook her head. “None of our victims were employed in any capacity by our Government. Jesus, what if these victims are meant as a distraction? What if he has another agenda. But what, when, and where?” She stood, something was nagging at her and she couldn’t place it. She stepped outside, lit up a smoke, and felt the chill of the November air invade her lungs.

She glanced at her watch and the date suddenly registered. “Oh, hell!” She ran inside, “Dan! It’s November 22nd! The date President Kennedy was assassinated! Where is POTUS currently located? Please don’t let it be Dallas!”

Dan checked the morning’s National Security briefing. “Oh, sweet Lord. He is in Dallas, doing a meet and greet.” He grabbed for the landline and made an urgent call. Then turned to his team,  “Tracey, what exact time did JFK go down?”

“12.30p.m Eastern standard time. It’s now 12.18!”

Dan made a grab for the ringing phone and put the call on speaker. “In response to your call, ‘Operation Lockdown’ has been initiated. POTUS will be extracted. Secret service agents are en-route to the Book Depository on Dealey Plaza.”

“Copy that.” Dan ended the call.

He turned on the live TV coverage of the Presidential motorcade, and they all watched with hearts pounding.

The CNN reporter suddenly spoke up excitedly. “Something is happening here! The Presidential Motorcade has stopped! The escort vehicles and the one carrying the President have just slammed into reverse. Something is clearly very wrong! We have secret service agents and a swat team swarming the book depository! The motorcade is no longer in view!  … We have a shot fired!” The reporter moved closer to the shelter of her camera van.

She continued moments later. “We’re all praying that the President has reached a safe location.”

Dan turned from the screen and responded again to the ringing phone. He hung up and faced his team. “The President is secure. Lt. Commander Cranston was found deceased at the scene, apparently dead by his own hand.”

His voice shook with anger as he continued. “By order of The President, these case files are now closed. They are to be designated Unsolved and moved to the Cold-Case register.”

“The order is not open to question! Is that clear?

Tracey’s face paled. She walked over and placed her ID and her gun on Dan’s desk.

She turned as she reached the door and glanced back at her colleagues as they sat in stunned silence “Déjà Vu, anyone?”

#

This contribution shared with us by Marsha Ingrao .

Flash Fiction Routte 66

Get Your Kicks Right Here.

by

Marsha Ingrao.

“Cinnie, settle down back there. Where’s Teddy?” Bobby smiled at his two-year-old bundle of energy. “Put your blankie over you and cuddle up with Teddy.”

The bathroom break took forty-five minutes but Bobby didn’t care. He winked and grinned at his wife as they pulled away from the gas station. He was going to be a movie star.

“Are we almost there yet?” Cinnie asked bouncing up from her mattress laid across the back seat of the 1941 Buick.

“Honey, sit back down. Do you want a fruit cup?”

She and Bobby dreamed of going to California. He wanted to write songs after he got out of the military.

It was early May of 1946. Cynthia was due in late June. Bobby suggested they take a cross-country trip and check out Hollywood possibilities before she had the baby. Cynthia could barely turn around and touch Cinnie in the back seat.

“How long do you think it will take, Bobby?”

“It will be quicker if we take US 40 all the way to San Francisco,” he answered.

“True, but I’ve always wanted to see what the big deal was about Route 66, too.”

Cynthia handed Cinnie her book, The Carrot Seed. Tiny fingers thumbed through the well-worn pages as Cinnie recited the words to herself.

“She’s such a good girl. I can’t imagine doing this trip with a baby, too,” Bobby smiled, his white teeth flashing as he handed Cynthia the map.

“I can’t imagine trying to get this map to lie down flat on a stomach bigger than all of Cinnie.”

Cynthia punched the map, wrestling with the folds, turning it right side up to read the names all the small towns they would be going through. She trailed her finger trail along Route 66 reading the names out loud.

“Galena, Tulsa, Elk City. I wonder if we could get some pictures of elk. Shamrock, Amarillo, Tucumcari. I really want to go on Route 66, Bobby.”

On the third day away from home, the threesome drove through the green corridor from Pennsylvania to the Smokey Mountains. At lunchtime, they pulled to the side of the road and took out their sandwiches. Other lunchers stepped out of their cars and snapped pictures of their babies on the backs of the wild bears who had come to the road for food.

“Me want big bear, Daddy.” Cinnie jumped on her mattress, hitting her head on the headliner of the Buick.

“Too dangerous, Cinnie. We need to go. Let’s sing a song. Better, let’s write a song about our trip. Which one, Westward Ho on US 40 – Let’s Go or Motor Best on Sporty Forty?”

Bobby couldn’t get the crazy tune out of his head. Over and over he sang, “If you ever plan to motor west, Travel my way, take the highway, that’s the best. US Forty, Forty, Forty it’s so sporty, sporty, sporty.

Cinnie chortled. “No, no, no. Sing journey song.”

Bobbie cruned, “‘Gonna take a sentimental journey. Gonna set my heart at ease.” That one, Cinnie? That’s what we’re doing.”

Cinnie sang along until she fell asleep.

Two days later they had to make a decision, to finish the trip on US 40 or veer off onto Route 66. A cool, dry breeze blew through the open windows. Cynthia felt bigger than when she had left home. Cinnie woke up from a nap and laughed as a gust of air blew up Cynthia’s skirt almost blowing the rumpled map out the window.

Cynthia patted her map and started reading city names, “Winslow, Flagstaff, Oatman, Amboy. What about Get Your Kicks on Route 66?” she said humming the first strand of Bobby’s song. “If you ever plan to motor west, Travel my way, take the highway, that’s the best. Get your kicks on Route 66. It rhymes.”

“It shore do, beautiful lady.” Bobby reached over and took her hand. “It winds from Chicago to L.A. More than 2000 miles all the way,”

Five days later they arrived in Los Angeles. Bobby and Cynthia finished the song.

“I have a feeling this is going to be the one,” Bobby said as he wrote the last words in his journal. “Won’t you get hip to this timely tip When you make that California trip? Get your kicks on Route 66!”

And he was right.

###

Contact Marsha here:

 Always Write blog

TWITTER

Thanks so much for stopping by. The Challenge Photo-Prompt for Week #5 will be posted on June 19th.

Contact me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

 

 

 

 

“Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Week #4. Image Prompt: Join in, have fun, and let loose your creative muse.#FictionInAFlash @pursoot @IARTG #ASMSG #WritingCommunity.

Flash Fiction best header

Hello everyone and welcome to week #4 of my  “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction piece inspired by that image in any form and genre of your choosing.  Maximum word count: 750 words.

Please put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at My email address. by 4pm on Thursday, June 18th. Subject: Fiction in a Flash Challenge. If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be much appreciated.

I’ll be sharing all entries received, and, my own contribution here on Friday, June 19th.

I do hope you join in! Have fun, let the creative muse loose!

And now …The image for week #4

Flash Fiction Routte 66

I hope the image inspires you! Come and join in the fun.

Find me at …

My author page on AMAZON.

On Twitter.

On Facebook

On Goodreads.

By Email.

#BlackFriday #ShortStory “Just Lucky … I Guess.” #RRBC #IARTG

BLACK FRIDAY BANNER JUST LUCKY I GUESS

I do hope you enjoy my contribution to your Black Friday reading enjoyment.

 

Black Friday short story.

“Just Lucky, I Guess.”

Gabriel Christopher had always been considered lucky, both by his many friends and even those not disposed to like him at all. A few folks had commented and even gasped in amazement each time he pulled yet another rabbit from the bottom of his seemingly bottomless hat.

It had been that way since he was born

His devoted mother unhesitant in telling anyone within listening distance that the odds against her son Gabriel surviving his traumatic early arrival on earth were astronomical.

Another child too ill to play the lead in the school play? Too bad. Guess who was the understudy? Yup … that was Gabriel.

His friends clung to him at every social occasion, for it was always Gabriel that found a cab on those nights after a game or a concert when no cabs were to be had. Rain or shine, if they were with good old Gabriel, they knew they would always find a way to get home.

His looks alone would have drawn the women to him. His ability to provide them with Sir Galahad style safety was just another fringe benefit.

It was always Gabriel who somehow managed to get the great seats when the venues for major sporting events or a farewell performance for a world famous entertainer were meant to be sold-out.

Want a seat in a restaurant that’s booked solid for months in advance? Gabriel was your go to guy.

Gabriel had never acknowledged the ‘damn but you’re lucky’ thing, at least not publicly.

He preferred to think of himself as merely observant of everything important to him. Those observations prompted all of his actions.

He’d never needed to strive to be the best he could be, for that lucky star people said he’d been born under kept right on shining down on him throughout his life. Why work yourself to death for something, when not making any effort at all garnered you the same results?

He’d stopped thinking about it much at all in the past couple of years. Life had settled itself into a comfortable pattern. He was content.

Therein lay the heart of his problem. That craved for contentment had nudged him into a world both predictable and unrelentingly boring.

It was April now. Spring had arrived and reawakened what little spirit he still possessed.

He needed a change.

He mulled it over for a few days, weighing his options. Gabriel decided that quitting his job would be stupid, and he was far from stupid … not by his reckoning. He checked in with his boss, and as luck would have it, he had ample leave time accrued to take a long overdue vacation.

He rarely found anything that he wanted or needed enough to warrant him spending his savings. It had been years since he’d purchased his home. He had only his mother to be concerned about while he was traveling, and she was newly remarried and no longer appeared to be in such need of his undivided attention.

Gabriel knew he could easily afford another overseas trip. He’d traveled throughout Europe and even to Australia in those years when spring breaks really meant something.

***

He opened the laptop and began looking for a close location that wouldn’t need days of traveling to reach the destination.

He smiled with anticipation as he made his choice.

A short road trip would take him to Orlando Florida, where he could easily make the direct flight to San Juan in Puerto Rico. He used his phone app and found some great deals on both flights and accommodation. He wasn’t surprised.

Gabriel had traveled widely. But not usually this close to home. Now was the time.

The direct flight to San Juan would take only two and a half hours.

He confirmed his flight times and departure details; handed in his leave application at work, which was immediately approved, and counted down the days.

It was now Monday, and his excitement was building. He would fly out on Friday.

He made the road trip the day before, and spent the night of April 12th, in the Orlando Holliday Inn.

He happily drank the contents of the mini-bar and rang through to room service, ordering a bottle of his favorite scotch, and a meal of Lobster and salad.

He deemed the expense worthwhile and fell into bed late, both well sated and alcohol saturated.

***

Gabriel awoke the next morning and took long minutes to remember where he was and what he was doing there.

“Oh, shit!” He glanced at his phone. “Shit, shit, shit!” He’d been too drunk to set his alarm.

He scrambled from the bed and crossed to the window. The rain came in blinding sheets and the palm trees outside were blown about wildly in the ferocity of the wind.

His flight was due to leave in a less than an hour, and he knew security would be a nightmare to get through. “Damn it!” He haphazardly threw on some clothes, not giving a damn about fashion. He tried to book a cab. The response to his call when he’d finally been connected was that in this storm the cabs were all taken, with bookings piling up ahead of him.

He checked in with the airline, the weather was abating and the flight paths were clearing. The flight had been delayed but only for an estimated thirty minutes.

“Damn it to hell.” Gabriel grabbed his backpack and headed downstairs. He may just be lucky enough to flag down a cab. Anything was better than sitting around.

It had taken him twenty minutes, until in frustration he had walked out in the middle of the busy road and stopped the first cab he spotted.

The driver had the off-duty sign flipped up. He was clearly unavailable and unimpressed by the drenched guy with the backpack now standing in front of his cab and blocking his path.  Until Gabriel Christopher pulled out the Benjamin Franklin. “It’s yours. Just get me to the airport.” That hundred bucks sure changed the attitude.

“Anything you say, buddy.” said the driver, smiling at the man now sitting restlessly and drenching his back seat.

“You need to hurry!”

“No sweat, buddy. It’s only six miles. I’ll have you there in no time.”

“Yeah, well, no time is about all I have left. Step on it would you.”

The driver smiled again. “Sure thing.”

The cab made it to around a mile out from the Airport, before the traffic snarl forced it to come to an infinitely slow-moving crawl. The crawl finally ended in a traffic jam that stopped them and everyone else cold.

“I’ll get out here!” Gabriel exited the cab and was almost run down by a motorbike weaving its way through the traffic.

“Jesus!” The cab driver called out from the window. “Be careful, man. You almost wore that bike!”

“Yeah! But I didn’t.”

Gabriel started running. If the flight had been delayed by just a few minutes he could still make it.

He ran into the terminal. He had eight minutes to get through security and hand in his boarding pass.

Security was working at full speed, trying to clear the backlog of people without jeopardizing safety.

Gabriel was cleared quickly, he could see the departure gate not far ahead. His focus was fixed totally on that point.

He didn’t see the toddler stagger across his path sturdily pushing some wheeled toy … until he tripped over the small body and came crashing down in a heap on the floor.

Gabriel’s head bounced with a sickening smack on the tiles, and the parents of the little boy were frantically checking on their son’s wellbeing. The stranger lay at their feet, out cold and unmoving.

Other passengers came hurrying over to assist.

Gabriel came around and looked up into the face of the paramedic that gazed down with concern into his pale face.

“Take it easy.  You gave your head a damned good crack. Can you tell me your name?”

Gabriel was a little groggy, and he could feel the beginning of a headache making its presence felt.

“Uh … yes, Yes … my name is Gabriel Christopher.”

“How’s your vision, buddy?” The light was shone into Gabriel’s protesting eyes.

“It’s … okay. Yeah, yeah … I’m okay. Thanks.”

“We’re gonna need to take you to the hospital. You were out cold for a couple of minutes. An x-ray will show if you have any damage that needs treating.”

“What time is it?”

The paramedic checked his watch. “It’s gone three.”

“Fuck! I missed my flight.”

The paramedic was more concerned about assisting his patient onto a gurney. “Can’t help back luck, buddy.”

Gabriel Christopher was stunned at this crazy turn that his luck had taken. This type of thing just didn’t happen to him.

***

He was finally released from the hospital hours later once the test results had come back satisfactorily. He had a mild concussion and would have a headache for a day or two. He listened to the instructions and gave his word that he’d return immediately if any other symptoms should arise.

He managed to get another room back at the Holiday Inn.

Too weary now to be bothered with making fresh plans, he poured himself a stiff drink, threw on some boxer shorts and lay back on the king sized bed to watch the large screen television.

He flicked through the channels until the ‘breaking news’ headline came up.

He sat uncomprehending the significance of the news flash for a brief moment.

The attractive newsreader looked appropriately sad “Flight 1313 from Orlando to San Juan had disappeared from radar over the area known as ‘The Bermuda Triangle’ Air and sea searches are underway. No wreckage has yet been sighted.”

Gabriel Christopher’s phone began buzzing.

He took the call from his mother. She was hysterical with relief as she registered the sound of his voice. “Oh my God, my Gabriel. It’s Friday the thirteenth! Are you safe? I’m so glad you decided to take another flight, son.”

The enormity of the situation hit him hard as he listened to the sound of worry in her voice begin to diminish.

“Momma! I was meant to be on that plane. I missed it.”

“Of course you did, Gabriel. You have been blessed since birth.”

“Blessed, Momma? Maybe so … maybe so … Or I could be just lucky, I guess.”

He spent a further ten minutes reassuring her that he would stay indoors until after midnight.

He lay back and attempted to close his eyes, but dark thoughts of what the folks on that plane must have felt when it went down made his efforts at sleeping futile.

He thought about the strange incidents that had combined forces and caused him to miss that flight. He shivered.

The space around him felt wrong, it was suddenly crowded with the sounds of screaming helpless people.

He scrambled from the bed, hurriedly dressed,and headed downstairs and outside. Sucking in deep breaths of the spring air to help calm him. Gabriel began walking without checking direction … his usual keen sense of observation and acute awareness of his surroundings now gone, his feet moved with a purpose of their own that he appeared to have no control over.

He flicked a look at his watch. It was eleven forty-five pm. He shuddered as he acknowledged that this dreadful day was not yet over.

A building in the next block drew his eyes to the radiant glow of light emanating from within it.

He walked towards it without knowing why he did so.

He climbed the stairs and made his way into the warmth of the interior.

The light welcomed and encompassed him.

He moved slowly towards the statue of Christ.

A voice deep and rich permeated his senses. He was vibrating to the sound and the sensations as they echoed through his brain and pierced his soul.

“It is time, Gabriel. Welcome home.”

The church bells rang out the hour of midnight.

*

 

 

 

 

#NewContest “What is the Gender of this Author?” Submit a #ShortStory of 500 hundred words or less … in ANY genre.

BLOG POST WHAT IS THE GENDER OF THIS AUTHOR.jpg

You all know by now just how much pleasure I get from supporting my fellow authors.

It’s been quite a while since I came up with a contest here, and I do hope this one proves to be both challenging and entertaining.

I think it will be interesting for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is discovering just how diversely readers interpret what they read.

Just how perceptive are you?

So … what is this contest about?

The contest works in two parts.

 PART 1. I need authors to contribute a previously unpublished short story of 500 words or less in any genre of their choice.  Please include the title … and for my information and judging purposes only your name and indentifying gender.

Your short story will only be identified to the readers by a number allocated by myself. Your gender will not be revealed until after all votes have been counted.

In the subject line please write, “Submission for What is the Gender of this Author?”

SUBMISSIONS To be sent to me at suzieb4burke@hotmail.com

The author who has the least number of people correctly guessing their gender will have a featured article here on my blog, of any work of their choosing, the week immediately after the votes are calculated.

I only need three submissions each week to make the vote viable.

PART 2. Join in the voting process! If you haven’t contributed a story that week, please join in the fun and the challenge of identifying the gender that his author identifies as.

I will conduct a POLL to make voting easily accessible.

Those of you who wish to caste a vote will have a full week to read the entries and vote after the submissions go live.
 

I look forward to hearing your thoughts, folks!

Book Review: “The Hat” by C.S.Boyack. @Virgilante #Paranormal #Speculative Fiction #RRBC @StoryEmpire

BOOK REVIEW COVER THE HAT By C S BOYACK

BOOK Review “The Hat” By C.S. Boyack.

Meet the author.

BOOK REVIEW BIO PICTURE OF C S BOYACK

I was born in a town called Elko, Nevada. I like to tell everyone I was born in a small town in the 1940s. I’m not quite that old, but Elko has always been a little behind the times. This gives me a unique perspective of earlier times, and other ways of getting by. Some of this bleeds through into my fiction.

I moved to Idaho right after the turn of the century, and never looked back. My writing career was born here, with access to other writers and critique groups I jumped in with both feet.

I like to write about things that have something unusual. My works are in the realm of science fiction, paranormal, and fantasy. The goal is to entertain you for a few hours. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Craig

BOOK REVIEW COVER THE HAT By C S BOYACK

BLURB

Lizzie St. Laurent is dealing with many of the struggles of young life. She lost her grandmother, and her living arrangements. Her new roommate abandoned her, and she’s working multiple jobs just to keep her head above water.

She inherits an old hat from her grandmother’s estate, but it belonged to her grandfather. This is no ordinary hat, but a being from an alternate dimension. One with special powers.

Lizzie and the hat don’t exactly hit it off right away, but when her best friend’s newborn is kidnapped by a ring of baby traffickers, Lizzie turns to the hat for help. This leads her deep into her family history and a world she’s never known.

Lizzie gives up everything to rescue the babies. She loses her jobs, and may wind up in jail before it’s over. Along the way, she and the hat may have a new way of making ends meet.

Humorous and fun, The Hat is novella length. Wonderful escapism for an afternoon.

MY REVIEW … 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 A Captivating way to spend your reading time.

I have read and reviewed other works by author C.S Boyack and knew from experience to expect an enjoyable read. The Hat didn’t disappoint me! This author has a boundless energy and imagination which he shares quite beautifully in the pages of this novella. We humans all appear to be genetically predisposed to hunger for some small connection to our past. The central (Human) Character of Lizzie finds herself needing to have a memento of her connection to the family when she finds herself adrift from her familiar surroundings.

Denied the chance to take something she’d value she grabs an old box and runs with it.

What the box contains is ‘The Hat.’ And from then on the story takes you on a frantically paced and well thought out roller-coaster ride. The dialogue between Lizzie and her new companion is classic one-liners delivered with superb comedic timing. That timing doesn’t falter for the duration of this enjoyable read.

Attributing a personality to a supposedly inanimate object takes skill, as did the sketches included so beautifully within this paranormal framework. Author C S Boyack has a marvelous creativity that enhances the reading experience.

I will never look at a fashion accessory in quite the same way again.

A Must read.

Find Craig on TWITTER

Purchase THE HAT on Amazon.com

C.S. Boyack Amazon Author Page

Craig Boyack’s Website.

Cover Reveal & Book Excerpt #RRBC Writers’ Conference & Book Expo 2017. Suzanne Burke AUTHOR BOOTH. “MIND-SHAFT” #Paranormal #Anthology #RRBC #IARTG #IAN1 #KU #RRBC_ORG

 

RRBC WRITERS CONFERENCE BLOG PROMO DAILYHello and welcome! I’m both excited and delighted today! The Rave Reviews Book Club Writers’ Conference & Book Expo is finally here!  It promises to be an exciting time.Thanks for stopping by.  I can also be found here and at my Author Booth on the WC & BE site Author Booth RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB WRITERS’ CONFERENCE & BOOK EXPO as I reveal the cover of the newly edited edition of MIND-SHAFT. My Paranormal Anthology.

Mind – Shaft is an eclectic Anthology of Paranormal short stories in the paranormal sub genres of #Thriller #Suspense #Romance #Supernatural & #Horror.

MEET THE AUTHOR:

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Suzanne Burke resides with her daughter and grandson in a small country town located hundreds of miles to the west of her previous home in Sydney Australia.

Suzanne had long wanted to write, life interrupted and she didn’t begin her journey into the world of writing until she was in her early fifties.

Suzanne has written her memoirs under the author name of Stacey Danson, both her non-fiction books have ranked in the top 100 paid in Kindle on Amazon. “Empty Chairs” and “Faint Echoes of Laughter” continue to earn wonderful reviews.

Suzanne writes her powerful Thrillers “Acts Beyond Redemption” and “Acts of Betrayal” and her new Paranormal anthology “Mind-Shaft” as S. Burke.


 I’m delighted to share my latest book as I present my first adventure into the world of the Paranormal. I have included below a Complete short story from the Anthology for your reading pleasure.

Here we go! COVER REVEAL! I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

My thanks to Cover Creator Eeva Lancaster: EEVA LANCASTER on TWITTER

Mind-Shaft Kindle Cover HIGH DEFINITION

BLURB:

An Anthology of Paranormal short stories. An eclectic and exciting mix of Thriller, Romance, Supernatural, Horror and terrifying Suspense.

Sisterly Love. … Paranormal Horror. After the tragic murder/suicide of her parents, Pippa, at just Nineteen-years of age, finds herself taking on the full responsibility for raising her fifteen-year-old sister, Emma. Emma is … more than just a little different. The body count is increasing. Nothing and no one is as they seem.

Halloween Homecoming …Paranormal Supernatural. A Halloween party is the perfect venue for serving justice on the menu. Leighton Caulfield and his Lawyer are about to get their just desserts. In a way that nobody is prepared for.

A Place So Cold …Paranormal Suspense. Children are missing! Time is running out. Can the stranger from Australia lead the rescuers to them in time?

Spin … Paranormal Thriller Doctor Cameron Christopher is concerned that his patient Holly Daniels is caught in a downward spiral into complex Dissociative Disorder. Using Hypnotherapy he takes her back to explore when the nightmares began. Nothing in his experience as a Psychiatrist prepared him for what lay dormant … and waiting.

The Director’s Cut …  Paranormal Romance beyond time. Award-winning Director, Christopher Manning is searching for far more than a location for his next blockbuster. The emptiness that has permeated his entire life is crying out for resolution. Join him as he seeks the answers.

Mind-Shaft … Paranormal Supernatural Victoria Denton served revenge swiftly and without mercy. Her future happiness seems assured. If only the past would remain where it should.

To celebrate my cover release this eBook is available FREE from today (October 22nd) until OCTOBER 26th inclusive. Simply click the Amazon Link at the end of this post!

I have included a Complete short story from the Anthology for your reading pleasure.

The Paranormal Thriller short.

SPIN

By

Suzanne Burke.

 From “MIND-SHAFT” A Paranormal Anthology.    

Jenny Rivers looked over with concern at the woman sitting hunched in the corner of the waiting room. Her worry increased as Holly Daniels began rocking to and fro with her arms wrapped tightly around her slim body. Holly had been muttering something unintelligible to herself for a while now, and Jenny wanted to offer her some form of comfort.

“Holly. Doctor Christopher won’t be long, now. You arrived a little early for your session today. Can I get you a glass of water, or perhaps a magazine to read?”

Jenny wasn’t certain if the agitated woman had even heard her, as the muttering continued, now higher in pitch. It was a disconcerting sound. Jenny had worked here a very long time and was accustomed to witnessing unusual behavior. But, Holly had been deteriorating steadily over the past few weeks, enough to have Doctor Christopher reschedule his appointment times to fit her in again this morning.

Jenny was relieved when her boss completed his current session, she smiled up at Dan Jefferson as he left the Doctor’s room and busied herself setting his next appointment time.

She knew it wouldn’t be long before the Doctor buzzed and asked her to send in his next patient. She could count on the man being on time, he never allowed his sessions to go beyond their allocated hour.

Her intercom lit up, and the doctor’s deep voice requested that she send in the next patient.

“Holly, Doctor Christopher will see you now.” She spoke loud enough to be heard above the ranting.

The woman didn’t respond.

Jenny hesitated before leaving her desk, she wasn’t meant to interact with the clients apart from a greeting and making further appointments.

But the woman in the corner was clearly unable to hear her. Jenny approached her and coughed loudly to gain her attention.

The look in Holly Daniels eyes caused her to take a step back. She was unaccustomed to this patient being anything less than cooperative. “Holly? Holly?”

The woman shook her head as if in denial, then responded … “Holly? Yes … Yes, I’m Holly. I’m Holly … aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re Holly, dear. The Doctor will see you now.”

The painfully slim woman stood then, and keeping her arms wrapped tightly around herself she walked unsteadily across the room and into the Psychiatrist’s office.

Jennifer resumed her seat, and in a moment unusual in her recent experience, she checked that the silent alarm indicating that security was immediately required was clearly switched on. She hoped fervently that there would be no need to use it. Something about Holly’s behavior had made her usual, calm and unruffled self, feel more than a little jumpy this morning.

Doctor Cameron Christopher checked his watch as his patient entered the room, automatically setting the timer to buzz discretely when her session came to an end.

He masked his shock at her appearance, but not his concern. It had only been five days since they’d last spoken and his patient appeared to have aged years in that short time frame.

Forty-three-year-old, Holly Daniels had been experiencing night terrors and this continued deterioration was very concerning. He’d consulted several colleagues, and after lengthy discussions had made the decision to use hypnotherapy to attempt to get to the crux of the problem that was making this woman so visibly ill. His concern was that it may not work at all, each client responded differently to hypnotherapy and it was quite possible that his patient may not be receptive.

He hesitated to increase her medication, it hadn’t assisted her so far, and increasing the dosages would only continue to mask the rapidly escalating signs of complex dissociative disorder.

“Come on in, Holly.” He indicated the high backed chair next to his desk.  Sit down, please, Holly, please, be comfortable, I’ll be with you in a moment.

“Comfortable? Yes, I can do that. Is it safe here?”

“Yes, Holly it is a safe, my dear. You have nothing to be concerned about I assure you.”

The woman shook her head as if only just becoming aware of where she was now sitting. “Doc? I’m in trouble here. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I’m afraid all the time. Can you stop it?” She looked carefully around the room. “Do you want me to lie down on the couch?”

“No, Holly, we don’t work that way, do we? Unless you’d feel more relaxed that way, my dear. You must do what makes you feel the most at ease. Hypnotism is nothing to be afraid of. Do you recall we discussed the process last week when you were here? Let me just check my notes. These nightmares of yours have been recurring for several weeks now. They appear to have increased in frequency. What we’ll do together is take you slowly back to when they first began, to see if we can’t isolate an incident in your recent past that may have caused your subconscious to respond in this way. They are occurring how often now?

“They are happening every night now … I can’t sleep, I’m so afraid that I’ll have it again”. Her voice was shaking.

“Is it always the identical dream, Holly? With each one being exactly the same, or does it vary?”

“It’s getting worse. Maybe, ‘cause I’m so damned tired, Doc. I feel cold all the time and when I wake up, I’m freezing. Hell, Doc … it’s summer … I just shouldn’t feel so achingly cold.”

“Your physician can find no identifiable ailment causing those chills, Holly. Let’s assume for now that these dreams are the cause, and get them under control for you, shall we, hmm?”

His patient didn’t respond.

Doctor Christopher noted her appearance; she had paled visibly in the few minutes since she’d entered his office. He decided to press on. “Do you recognize anything or anyone in the dream, Holly?”

“Well … sort of … it kind of looks like a fairground with lights and Ferris wheels that my folks used to take me to when I was a kid. But, Doc, the colors are all blurred together, like a painting that got wet as it was starting to dry. Do you understand? All the colors are running together.”

“How do you feel talking about it?”

“I’m afraid. I’m cold; I’m always cold. It doesn’t make any difference if I sit in front of a heater, my hands are icy and my breathing seems to freeze in the air. And the screaming, the screaming is terrifying. I can hear it no matter whether I’m awake or trying to sleep! I put music on to distract me and leave my lights burning all night long, but it just keeps on … I need you to make it stop, Doc! Please … make it stop. I can’t do anything, I’m so tired all the time, and I keep hearing the same voice over and over again. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I know it’s not my voice. Over and over again. I hear it even when I’m awake now. It’s frightening me, I don’t seem to be able to make it stop. Maybe I’m going mad, Doc! Am I crazy?”

“No, don’t think of it that way, my dear … it’s simply a nightmare, something in your subconscious may be triggering it … that’s what we will attempt to discover. Are you certain you understand the process, Holly?”

“Yeah … I guess. Like you said last time, you hypnotize me and we find out what these nightmares are all about. Can we just do this please Doc? I want this shit to stop.”

Cameron Christopher pushed a form across the desk to his patient, “Sign the consent form then, Holly, and we’ll get started. “

Holly grabbed the form and the pen, “Where … here?”

“Yes, just where I’ve indicated with a cross, dear” He pointed, “Yes, that’s right.”

The woman signed it and pushed it across the desk. “So, do you dangle a watch or something that I have to look at?”

“No, no, my dear, nothing like that. You just relax and listen to the sound of my voice.

“The sound of my voice will make your body grow heavy, your arms will grow heavier … heavier; you hear nothing else, only the sound of my voice … nothing else, just my voice. Yes, Holly … yes, that’s good, you are so tired. Your arms and legs are growing heavy now. You are completely safe, Holly, just safe and relaxed and comfortable.”

He watched his patient begin to slump in the chair. “Yes, that’s it. Good, Holly, now you can feel your heartbeat slowing. You feel totally relaxed. Totally safe. Heavier …heavier, you are in a state of deep relaxation now. You can hear the sound of my voice, gently now … calm. That’s it, Holly, …yes. That’s it.”

“Where are you now, Holly, can you see?”

“Holly can’t play. She’s been bad.” The doctor flinched and then leaned forward, the voice was not Holly’s, it was a male voice and appeared to be quite young. Cameron Christopher took a deep breath trying to stem his excitement, and then slowly continued the questioning.

“Bad? What did you do, Holly, that was bad?”

“Holly can’t play. She’s been very bad.

“Where is Holly?”

“She’s in the bad place. She didn’t play right, she was bad. Bad, Holly.”

“Where is the bad place?”

“Everybody knows the bad place. You know the bad place. We all know the bad place.”

“What is your name?”

“Names don’t matter! Unless you are bad. Holly was bad.”

“What did Holly do that was bad?”

“You don’t know? You belong with Holly … in the bad place.”

“Tell me about the bad place.”

“Nothing breathes in the bad place. There’s no air. No air… no care … all gone.”

“Are you in the bad place?”

“Stupid, Holly. Stupid, bad, Holly. No air … no care … all gone.”

“Can Holly leave the bad place?”

“Nobody can leave. Nobody can. It’s bad. I’m sad … all gone.”

“You left the bad place … didn’t you?”

“Nobody can! Stupid man! Stupid, bad, man.”

“Why am I bad? What did I do?”

“You made Holly bad. You made Holly try to leave. Stupid man”

“Tell me about the bad place … can you see it from where you are?”

“Everbody can see it. Spinning wheels and candy floss. Lights and noise … and, them.”

“Them?”

“No air. Them. No care…them. All gone …………… Them.”

“What do they look like?”

“Musn’t look! Must not, lookedy-look! Noise and lights and spinning wheels. Bad Holly, to look. Now she stays.”

“What did Holly see? Did she see them?’

Holly… don’t look! Holly don’t! Holllyeeeee. Holly … All gone.”

“Gone where? Where did she go? Can you see?” The Doctor’s once calm voice began to tremble.

“Round and round, round and round … lights and noise … round and round.”

“Is Holly on the spinning thing … going round and round?”

“Holly is spinning! … Spinning away! Spinning with them.”

“Can she come back?”

“Nobody can. Spinning up … round and round. She looked! She lookedy-looked. Bad, Holly!”

“Can she see you?”

“Me?”

“Yes … yes, can she see you?”

“I … I don’t kn … can you see me, Holly? Holllyeeee can you see meeeeee?”

“Did she answer?”

“She’s been bad. Sad. All gone.”

“Can you see her?”

“Mustn’t look. It’s bad, to lookedy-look.”

“Don’t you want to see her?”

“NO! No air… no care … all gone.”

“She needs to come back, now.

“All gone.”

“Holly needs to come back to the safe place, now.”

No … all gone Alllllll gone! Lookedy-look … all gone.”

“She can’t be gone. I’ll help her. I’ll help you too.”

“Help, me?  Too late … all gone.”

“No, no, it’s not too late. The bad place is gone. You can look. See the bad place is gone now.”

“No … it’s here.”

Cameron Christopher took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. He needed to regain control. When he spoke again the edge of desperation was more muted.

“Holly …? Holly! Listen to the sound of my voice, dear. You are coming up through the levels of deep relaxation. Listen to my voice as you emerge feeling refreshed and safe. Nice and slow … nice and easy. Listen to the sound of my voice; only my voice. … That’s it. Good, Holly. … Slowly now, you will awaken feeling refreshed and safe on the count of three. One … two … three.”

“Ahh…back with us.” His relief was palpable. He whispered, “Thank God” then continued, “Good, Holly, very good. How do you feel now?”

“Feel?”

The doctor was shattered to still hear the young male voice. Something was wrong here. Something was terribly wrong. “I need you to feel safe now, Holly. It’s time to come back from that memory.”

“Holly dear, are you feeling relaxed?” The doctor’s voice held a last vestige of hope.

“No more Holly; Holly was bad. No air… no care… Holly all gone.”

“Oh, Sweet Jesus … Holly! Holly? Holly?”

***

Jenny Rivers looked at her watch. The next patient was waiting, the current session should have ended by now. She listened intently for a moment, caught unprepared by the agonized screams shattering the silence. She remained rooted to the spot, rendered paralyzed by the sound.

The silent alarm began flashing …

She froze as she entered the room, the stench was unfamiliar and overwhelming, making her gag. It was desperately cold in the room. The screams so loud, she covered her ears to protect them from the sound. She tried to take a deep breath but there was no air, her lungs became depleted.

The doctor’s chair and the chair the patient should have been sitting in were spinning so fast that the motion was blurred … a flash of blue-green light momentarily pulsed and encompassed the entire room. The screaming became strangled and distant.  Jenny watched on, gasping for air. Shaking her head in desperate disbelief as the spinning gradually slowed. Both chairs were empty. How could that be? The only exit from Doctor Christopher’s office was the one that would have brought them straight past her desk.

The police were baffled. The videotaped session consisted of spiraling lights on fast forward, and the audiotape gave them answers of sorts, none of which were acceptable by any laws familiar to them.

The secretary had been briefly questioned, but the woman was hysterical, beyond any help they could render.  The paramedics immediately transported her to hospital with sirens blaring, she was in deep shock and her core body temperature had dropped alarmingly. Her oxygen saturation levels were desperately low.

Another patient waiting for his now overdue appointment relayed quite a story. The shaken man spoke of lights flashing and a man and child screaming, he confirmed that he’d seen no one leave Doctor Christopher’s office.

No one at all.

***

I hope you love my new cover as much as I do! Please leave your thoughts and comments below.

For your FREE copy of MIND-SHAFT click on the following link …

THE FREE PROMOTION HAS NOW ENDED.

   MIND-SHAFT is available HERE on AMAZON.COM

CONTACT SUZANNE BURKE

Talent Spotter images links for Liza Oconnor

FACEBOOK

TWITTER

AUTHOR BLOG

Amazon Author Page for SUZANNE BURKE.

RRBC WC&BE PARTICIPATION BADGE

Thank you for making the time to join me here today! I look forward to responding to your comments and questions.

 

 

 

 

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