by John Cox

Likes: 4
Words: 200

I would tell you what my problem is but I know what you would say. "It is what it is."

Yes...I know.

"Everything happens for a reason"

Does it now?

"There are worse things in life"

Yes, there certainly are.

"God works in mysterious ways"

Doesn't He?

"That's just the way things are"

Do tell.

Maybe I am, "Just being too sensitive."

Perhaps I should, "Trust the process."

I shouldn't, "Rock the boat," after all.

You know, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," right!?

Besides, "Who ever told me life was fair?"

True.

I will not argue.

Is there anything I forgot?

Do you have something meaningful to say?

Yes, I took the words out of your mouth didn't I?

The truth is I will not tell you my problem because you are not worthy to hear it.

It is an honor to hear the sorrows of a friend.

It is a privilege to be on the inside of a loved ones thoughts.

It is a trust you are not worthy of. What's that? Oh, I see. "God has a plan."

Well thank you. I thought He was just, "Winging it."

By now, "The clock has struck twelve."

by Kathy Goddard writer

Likes: 1
Words: 200

Alec woke with a gasp as the clock chimed, his nightmare still playing before his eyes. His brother Robbie, who loved to torment his younger sibling, had been telling ghost stories before bed time.

Alec didn’t know if the chime that woke him was the first of midnight, or the fifth or the tenth.

‘The monster lives under your bed,’ Robbie had whispered, ‘He’s always there, watching you. He’s waiting for the right moment to slither out and creep over the side of your bed. His icy fingers will inch across the sheets, searching for you…until he finds your face.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Yes you do. You’re whiter than your pillow and your voice is wobbly.’

‘It’s not!’

Alec was lying and Robbie knew it. Clambering to his own bed he’d said over his shoulder, ‘On the last stroke of midnight - it’ll be coming for you.’

Another chime struck. How many was that? Alec had no way of knowing.

Clutching his sheet, he shivered - but the scream that pierced the night wasn’t his.

As Robbie fled the room Alec fumbled for his bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. Something scuttled into the shadows beneath his brothers bed.

by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 3
Words: 200

At 11:40 the constable saw a gentleman wobbling home after having had one too many, his gait unsteady, and his passage attended by a popular music-hall number, sung off-key and interrupted by dyspepsia. Before he caught up the man turned up the path to one of the large homes on Napier Street. A door opened and someone made sure he got inside, so there was no reason for the law’s intervention.

At Host Street he turned toward the mansions of the wealthiest people. Their homes clustered near Jacobus Street, and the constable knew his job was to make sure that they remained safe from any gunns, grafters, tools, or snoozers that might be lurking, but tonight there were no such of riff-raff about.

A housemaid slipped into the servants’ entrance of Balfour House, returning from some assignation, but such domestic matters were no concern of the law, so he passed on.

The constable’s beat led him northward, toward the downtown. The clock struck twelve in the old Presbyterian Church as he passed – the witching hour. He shook the shiver he felt off, and continued on his way. He did not look up to see the figures on broomsticks, overhead.

by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 4
Words: 200

It was late. I could hear the bell at old St. Bartholomew's begin to ring. Surprisingly, the resonance of the bell carried all the way down here.

"Got another one, Si?" Silas wheeled in the guest of honor. I was a newbie at this job compared to Si.

The second bell rang.

Si rolled the stainless steel gurney into place and went back for the paperwork. As he left, the poor fellow's arm fell out from under the sheet.

Third bell.

The horizontal gentleman had a nice wedding ring. Reminded me of my own. Twenty-seven years now.

Fourth.

Si returned.

"Who is our newest resident, Si?"

Si turned on his tape recorder. "46-year-old white male." Si pulled down the sheet to begin his examination.

Fifth.

"Poor sap's face is destroyed."

Sixth.

"His face got beat up in the wreck. Old sternotomy scar."

Seventh.

"I've got one of those. Rough recovery. So how did he die, Si?"

Eighth. Ninth.

"I guess I better get started, old friend."

Tenth.

"Si? How did he die?"

"Alright, Jimmy. Let's open you up and see what happened."

Eleventh.

"Not funny, Si... Si?"

"Proceeding with Y-incision."

"No. Say it ain't so. It can't be! How..."

Twelfth.

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 3
Words: 200

Alice’s heart stopped when the clock chimed.

“Eleven... it isn’t time.”

She crossed the ballroom, her dress grazing the glass floor. Laughter cut through the shimmering lights. She lifted a drink to her lips when a shadow darkened her.

“May I have this dance?”

She couldn’t see his face. Tall. Broad. Strong.

“Yes.”

He guided her to the center of the room. His fingers entwined hers with gentle certainty, his other hand warm upon her back. Their feet stepped in time. Energy wisped between them. The world blurred.

Their eyes met on the fringe.

She tried to speak, but he swept her outward and drew her close, her cheek pressed against his chest.

The dance intensified. Everyone disappeared. Just the two of them.

The first midnight chimes struck. She ignored it. The music ended. His dark eyes traced her on the third. Their breath mingled. Five… six... his lips brushed her cheek.

Reality exploded. She pulled away. Frozen, facing each other. She ran

Alice burst through the doors into the frost-tipped night, breath spilling in waves of white air.

The twelfth chime rang.

Warmth crushed her. Home wobbled into focus. Her breath heaving—mind wandering. “Alice, where have you been?”