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Brent sat on his bed, trying to wake up and start his day. Rubbing his eyes, he stood and opened the curtains lazily to flood his bedroom with the hazy light of the spring morning.

    As usual the view was somewhat spoiled by the junk yard behind his house.

    “What the hell’s that?” he wondered aloud.

    Atop one of the many piles of rusting metal and assorted timbers, a shape lay slumped over the remains of a car door. Wrapped in plastic, whatever-it-was resembled a body, its head twisted back at an unnatural angle.

    He dismissed it as his imagination, hauled himself to the bathroom to wash up. Upon his return to the bedroom, curiosity getting the better of him, he looked over to the junk yard once more.

    His blood ran cold.

    The plastic-wrapped body was sitting up, head lolling painfully to one side, its gaze locked on to Brent’s wide eyes. He had to believe this was a nightmare, closing his eyes and wishing for it to end. Opening them again, he let out a sigh of relief as the body had disappeared.

    Think it’s time to lay off the sauce, he thought.

    Brent froze again, the sound of rustling plastic wrap coming from behind him…


This week’s prompt could so easily have been my chance to showcase my (in development) novel’s characters again, but I decided that it was another chance to continue using my newly-born character from both last week and, initially, the barbed wire prompt from the week before!

Thanks as always go to Madison Woods, without whom this (fast-growing) group wouldn’t even exist. Please visit the link there for her story and many other wonderful tales of varying genres.


My story this week…


Moonlight Sonata



The moon always brings out the crazies.


    He grinned in the moonlight, breathing in the smell of dead things and gorging himself on the sweet music of screaming creatures.

    He had decided the barbed whip wasn’t enough tonight. He cracked his knuckles, now sticky with blood. It didn’t matter which creatures had stained his fists, all that mattered was the freak’s face he was currently turning to pulp.

    He stood, shaking the blood off his hands, crimson spattering his long white coat. He didn’t care.

    A giant stood before him all tooth and claw, saliva pouring from its maw. He beckoned the colossus with one hand, relishing the chance for a real fight at last.


    After all, the moon did bring out the crazies.

In a bit of a new twist this week, the photo prompt Madison gave us is via Mary Shipman. I really struggled getting anything from it, but ended up finding something in the end – something longer than the usual #FridayFictioneers stories I write, coming in at a hefty 191 words! I cut it down from over 200 words but really didn’t want to cut it any further as it wouldn’t tell the story that I wanted to tell.

Anyway, for more excellent stories based on the prompt below, visit Madison’s story.

And once again, another warning that the following story of mine is almost twice the normal 100-word guideline, coming in at 191 words…


    Naomi awoke in the gloom of an unknown house. The windows were boarded up, only a few thin shafts of hazy sunlight dappled the bed she sat upon. The musty smell of damp filled the thick air, mixing with an acrid odour she couldn’t place – and it scared her.

    Boards creaked above, mingling with the unmistakeable sound of heavy footfalls. A metallic scraping joined in the spine-chilling chorus that dragged its way across the ceiling.

    She dashed for the door but the handle rattled uselessly. She shouldered and kicked to no avail.

    She was trapped.

    Gravelly laughter scythed through the house, freezing Naomi’s blood. Where’s it coming from?

    She felt the unnatural presence behind her and lost her breath as blades wrapped around her throat. Fighting the agony, she turned to see her attacker but saw only the barbed whip of blades reaching from the shadows.

    Gritty cackling seemed to come from all around as her strength faded and the blades bit deeper into her neck.

    “Even she-devils can’t hide from me.” The hoarse voice was the last thing she heard as the whip pulled taut, yanking her unlife away.

Friday is here again and with it comes the Fictioneers!

Once again, thanks go to Madison Woods for setting this whole thing up, and her wonderful addition this week is here:

The photo prompt this week was a rare one, with the story hitting me instantly.

So, without further ado, here’s my story this week:

Shattered Memories

Michael sat alone on the bench, listening to the cars passing on the road above. A melancholy smile played across his lips as he remembered the summers spent here with Sarah. Her midnight blue eyes used to look up at him as she nuzzled her head into his chest. Her smile would light up even the darkest night beneath the old country road.

     It had been two years since she passed, but she would always be alive at this spot.

     The hideous screeching of metal on stone startled Michael as it echoed from the dark tunnel beside the bench, the sparks within illuminating the angular shadow scuttling toward him.

Not an easy one this week, but Madison’s prompts often get me thinking!

With that in mind, here’s the picture we had to base our 100-word flash fiction stories on this week:

And here’s Madison’s story:

It took me a long time to find my story this week and I know it isn’t my best work, but I enjoyed the challenge and just the process I went through to get it written.

Here it is:

Out of Gas

James gasped for breath, his heart pounding. He’d been running for what felt like hours, though it was only a few minutes. He wanted to run forever, but even that wouldn’t be far enough away from that nightmare.

     That faceless…thing back at the motel.

     He looked back. The jagged, greyscale curtain shifted endlessly, the downpour concealing lurking shadows.

     Casting around James saw the old truck by the roadside. His heart leapt as he hopped the fence, hoping to hot-wire the truck and escape.

     He froze as his hand touched the hood.

     That featureless face watched him from the passenger seat.

Y’all know the drill by now, our good host, Madison Woods gives us a photo prompt to work from and we write a 100-word story based on said photo.

Here is this week’s image:


Her story is here:

There, we comment on her work and leave a link to our own. It’s helped build a wonderful little community of writers, one that I’m very happy to be a part of.

Anyway, enough babbling. My story for this week starts here…



The world is black and white. Always has been. The streets are empty of people but full of debris and destruction.

     A shifting, waving stream of red flows through the air from around the next corner, reaching my nose and filling me with a sense of dread.

     Red is the colour of death.

     My interest is piqued, however, and I’m compelled to investigate. Slowly, softly, I pad to the corner with my nose to the ground, following the scent.

     Peaking round the corner, I see my dread come to fruition.

     The dead walk.


     And they are hungry.




Please feel free to leave any feedback, as I’m always looking to learn!

Once again a Friday is upon us, and that means it’s time for some 100-word fiction! Thanks once again go to Madison Woods for lashing together this rag-tag group of wonderful writers and challenging us all to write flash fiction stories based on a single photo prompt.

This week’s prompt gave me an idea straight away and it’s more-or-less unchanged for the final story.

Here’s the prompt:

Madison’s story starts us off (read it here: and we all link to our own efforts in the comments section of her story.


Now, here’s my effort for this week…


Is it still out there?” Gina whispered.

     Emilia looked across at her friend in the fading light, her eyes filled with fear. “I don’t know,” she replied shakily.

     Whatever it was that was chasing them, the girls could no longer hear its rasping breath or the creaking of bones in its angular frame as it moved.

     At length, Emilia steeled herself and bent down to look through the hole in the old stone wall. She could see nothing but blackness.

     Then breath rasped and the twitching, bloodshot yellow eye stared back at her.




As always, please feel free to leave any feedback! Thank you for reading.

This is my first pass at a little serial I decided to write. I hope to make it a regular thing, with each part no longer than a page (or just over) to keep it running quickly and smoothly, plus challenging myself to write something interesting within a limited space.

Anyway, that’s enough rambling…I hope you enjoy this little taster, please feel free to leave feedback – I’m always looking to learn and improve in my writing!



Dawn was breaking over the town, sending shadows sprawling over roads and walls as the first carmine tendrils stretched from below the horizon.

     Green Gate was usually a sleepy town, but even at this early hour it seemed unnaturally quiet. The wind moaned and an empty soda can rolled and bounced noisily across the street, the tinny clattering sounding like thunderclaps in the silence.

     Dante looked around. He had been walking for hours, all hope of hitching a ride lost long ago when not a single vehicle had passed him on the narrow road that cut through the green countryside. He pulled a bottle of water from his bag and unscrewed the top, unable to shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. The water quenched his thirst in the warm air, when even the stirring breeze did nothing to cool him down.

     One of those days.

     Returning the bottle back to his bag, he took another look around. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but smelling an acrid odour on the breeze, he pulled the handgun from his belt holster.

     Something felt wrong here.

     He pulled back the slide, securing a round in the chamber but leaving the safety on for now. After all, if he shot at everything that made him uneasy, he’d be in prison for shooting his ex-wife.

     And cops don’t do well in prison.

     Being a cop was what told him to be prepared. He hooked the strap of his backpack over his shoulder before rubbing his hand over the fuzz of short blonde hair atop his head, shaking out all traces of tiredness as he made his way into the town proper.

     Further into the town his uneasy feelings came clear.

     Shop windows were smashed in or left with spider-web cracks covering the tougher ones, others were boarded up weakly, judging by the splintered holes left in doorways and house fronts. One building toward the end of the main road, about half a mile from where Dante stood, was still boarded up and intact. Shielding his eyes from the morning sun and squinting into the distance, he could just about make out the shapes of a few people milling about the boarded-up building. He shrugged and made his way down the street.

     As he approached the building, he realised it must have been the town hall or perhaps the police station, judging by the old white concrete and the scalloped pillars holding up the semi-circular veranda at the entrance.

     The normality ended there.

     A huge fence of jagged metal ran around the veranda. Pieces of rusting iron and steel had been grafted together hastily, with an old iron gate lashed across the front, held in place by heavy chains.

     A few rough-looking people shambled around what used to be the car park of the building, drunk by the looks of things, and Dante kept a wary eye on them as he approached slowly. He was about to speak when one of the men spotted him.

     Dante froze.

     The man’s face was torn to shreds, the flesh hung from ragged wounds and the blood had congealed within the lesions.

     How is that possible? How’s he even still standing?

     The man exhaled hungrily, blood dribbling from his lips, and his silvery irises locked on Dante with a mixture of wildness and…nothingness.

     His eyes were dead.

     He looked dead.

     What’s wrong with this place?

The inspiration for today's flash fiction story, courtesy of Madison Woods.


It’s the god-damn water!”

    The realisation struck Dante like a slap in the face. Those creatures stumbling around the wilderness had once been human, but the virus had twisted them into murderous monsters. This creek supplied the whole colony’s water, it was the only explanation for how quickly the disease spread.

    There was no time to think about it as inhuman screams cut the air and two of the creatures leapt through the brush, all jagged claws and mangled, bubbling flesh. Hissing and screaming in mindless fury, they sprinted at Dante.

    No time to think.

    Gunshots echoed through the forest.




This is part of a weekly Flash Fiction exercise put forth by Madison Woods, wherein a photo-prompt engages writers in creating a 100-word story based on an image such as the one above. You can read Madison’s story here:


Thank you for reading and please feel free to comment on my story. All feedback is welcome!

June 2018
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