I hummed softly to myself as I read the newspaper, taking a sip of some black coffee I'd ordered a couple of minutes ago, not wincing once as it burned my tongue and down my throat.

I closed the newspaper and once again read the front page, something about a dangerous event happening on the bus.

I nodded discreetly in acknowledgement and continued on, flipping it open to the deceased people within the last month.

Nothing very note worthy, mostly elderly people that had passed of heart attacks and such.

Mostly

I continued to hum.

I lightly kicking at my messenger bag under the table, not paying much attention to it. I chanced a quick glance at my phone.

Then, the chiming of the bell could be heard through out the coffee shop. I chanced a quick glance towards the door.

My humming stopped.

My right leg slowed to a halt.

My eyes glanced over the rest of the cafe, and everyone else had halted their movements as well, fingers had stopped tapping and objects were now left alone. I smiled to myself and tapped at my phone.

The timer had started.

So the game begins

Always avoid potholes! They’ll wreck your tires: each pothole you hit wears away at them until they’re beyond repair and you’re left stranded in the middle of the road that cuts through the woods. You get out of your car and look around. There’s no one in sight. You sigh and lean down, examining the faulty tire. It’s a cold night, the air is completely still. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees nearest you. The air is completely still. You fish your phone from your back pocket and call your roadside assistance provider. While your phone rings, you glance around at the trees. Do you see it? It certainly sees you. A nice lady answers the phone and a tow truck is sent your way. You hang up and slide back behind the wheel as it watches from the backseat. You meet its eyes in the rearview mirror. It smiles.

When driving in thick fog, use low-beam headlights! If you use high-beams, the light just gets reflected back to you, minimizing your visibility. You squint at the road ahead and feel your car hit something. You hear a scream. Panicking, you get out, scanning the fog around you for the person you hit. It wasn’t a person. You think you see a body on the ground, just at the edge of your vision. You run towards it. It isn’t there. You go back to your car to get your phone. Your car isn’t there. There’s nothing but fog.

*purring*

I opened my eyes startled to hear the noise. My hand moved toward the bed lamp. I flicked the switch, but the lamp was still off.

Ah, just my luck. No power and whatever had been purring was now staring right at me.

It blinked & I stepped out of my bed. But its eyes started to follow me. I ran down the hallway and hid in one of the guest rooms.

I placed my hand on my chest. My heart was beating quite fast. After I thought all was clear, I heard a knock at the door. I gulped.

Oh no. Uh, I forgot to lock it. Whoever it was opened the door and left it ajar.

I crawled under the bed and waited silently. All was suspiciously too quiet.

I jumped when I saw a pair of eyes staring at me. The same ones that had been in my room.

The eyes were fixed on me and seemed to peer into my soul. I couldn’t look away.

The thing took all my memories. My mind was (now) a vacuum.

My heart ached at the loss of something that was stolen, a vital part of me. I couldn’t recall what was taken, I just laid on the floor feeling lost & afraid.

#VACUUM

Challenge—

#VeryShortHorrorStory.

. . .

VIII

A ghostly, arthritic Marquis,

was locked in the attic, so she

played the piano,

with hands limp and callow,

but still never found the right key.

. . .

IX

There’s a “man” who lives in the nook

(he has a translucent look).

We approached, walking slow,

and whispered hello,

but he never looked up from his book.

. . .

X

Said a ghost to the cook, “It’s a crime

that you simply don’t think I’m sublime.

I’ll love you forever;

in every endeavor,

I’d offer you flours and thyme.”

. . .

XI

“I can’t go to sleep,” said Grace Sue,

whose bedtime was long overdue.

“Something’s under my bed—

it’ll bite off my head!”

Said a voice from the dark: “That’s not true.”

. . .

XII

An inclement mite felt no penchant

for the house and its terrible tenants.

He chewed at the beams,

devoured the seams,

and toppled the rafters to wreckage.

First day of class in media writing: "The best reporters are the ones who replace fear of the unknown with curiosity."

[A.N.] I would add, "The second best reporters are the generally nervous ones who square their shoulders and replace fear of the unknown with a trembling bravery--the ones who decide that making a fool of themselves is better than never taking any chances"

Starlight hid behind the veils

Rain showers drowning weeping wails

Moonbeams sunk beneath the sea

My sorrow’s depth engulfing me

Sunbeams tucked beyond the edge

Of evening’s tattered, blackened ledge

Hope seeps out in purple clouds

As Day parts Night’s encompassed shroud

Things I’ve lost:

my mind

my figure

that one

sock

Those

Miu Miu glasses

Well:

I gave good face

once

I focus on that damn sock:

lost in tangled bedsheets

like the thoughts

on my tripped

up tongue

Gone to the dryer

in heat

like myself:

We are both strung up

to dry

Everytime I think I’ve

Found

the right words

I’m overextended on the metaphors:

I become a meta whore

Well:

Losing your life is a sure path to

Sainthood

Finding a penny’s

A sure sign to do good

And lost socks sit silent

Wherever they go:

Warm heart

Cold feet

with nothing to show

I rarely miss anyone enough for it to be painful

I miss time

And spaces

And places

And minutes

But the tangible slips

It is leaky-faucet drips

People are context

People are stillborn

Dead-aching

Unmoving

Unyielding

Stagnant

I miss hands and mouths

I mourn words

I mourn touch

I hold funerals for sunbeams that fell through leaves long since passed

You will find me penning epithets to hungry breath lost on cold air

I will leave flowers where music once rang

I will dig holes 6 ft deep for ghosts

And leave the bodies to rot, carrion-feast

And I will drown weightless in their graves as I stitch myself to phantoms

When i was young we ran together -- i, the eldest son, was in middle school

and You taught in a seminary -- we were both young but it's a difference of degrees. Beginning of middle school and beginning of middle age in earnest.

On the road near the beach, we ran three miles -- you measured the distance with your car's odometer -- distance we measured with our feet.

We always finished at sunset, and it was beautiful over the ocean

as the sun sank away and we whirled with the beautiful Earth into

nascent darkness and the bats flew

up and over the fields, and it would remain this way until the

dark swallowed you

one bite at a time.