#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 447

Welcome back to the home of Paranormal & Dauntless Romance. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re at the beginning of our ninth year of weekly prompts. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 447 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook and the Group on MeWe.

Need the rules? Read on.

Here’s how it works:

  • The prompt is a line from the previous week’s winning tale.
  • The prompt can appear ANYWHERE in your story and is included in your word count.
  • The prompt must be used as is. It can be split, but no intervening words can be inserted or tenses changed.

Rules to the Game:

  • This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.
  • The story must be new writing, not a snippet from something published elsewhere with the prompt added.
  • Incorporate the prompt anywhere into your story (included in your word count).
  • Post your story in the comments section of this post
  • Include your word count in the post (or be excluded from judging)
  • Include your Twitter handle or email in the post (so we don’t have to look for you)
  • The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time
  • The winner will be announced on Friday, depending on how early the judge gets up.

How it benefits you:

  • You get a nifty cool badge to display on your blog or site (because we’re all about promotion – you know you are!)
  • You get instant recognition of your writing prowess on this blog!
  • Your writing colleagues shall announce and proclaim your greatness on Facebook, Twitter, MeWe, and Google Plus, etc.

Our Judge for Week 447:

Kaylee Haynes

The Writing Procrastinator (Master Level), Kaylee Haynes.

Facebook | Twitter

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Do you know who it is?”

All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Comments do not represent the views of the host and the host reserves the right to remove any content. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!

15 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 447”

  1. Sorry, posting again as the formatting didn’t come out right!

    Title Pride.

    ‘Apparently she told them she was dying today or tomorrow.’

    ‘Told who?’

    ‘That woman, Grace, you know the one she always thinks is such a brilliant mate, but slagged her off behind her back the other week after the harvest service? And that bloke, Keith, who she always thought had the hots for her, but didn’t.’

    ‘She’s delusional.’

    ‘She’s on morphine, so it’s no surprise. Oh, she’s sent another one, to Alan this time …’

    ‘Do you know who that is?’

    ‘Is he the guy that read out the story in church the other day?’

    ‘No, he’s that bloke that she had an affair with – the one they say gave it to her.’

    ‘Oh! He stopped coming to church after everyone found out, didn’t he?’


    ‘Do you think he did give it to her?’

    ‘Oh yes, everyone knew he had a penicillin course for an STD. She was too proud to go and get checked, denying anything had happened between them and that she was fine.’

    ‘Now look at her.’

    ‘Yep, Syphilis is no joke once it’s past the untreatable stage.’

    @PurpleQueenNL 183 Words

    Just in the nick of time, I needed to write something today.

  2. I grieved for my husband. I buried my husband as he had wished a glass coffin, with a chisel in his hand and a trowel; so that he might dig himself out. Though my mind said no my heart said yes, he was alive and I stayed at his grave listening for sounds that he might be truly buried alive.
    The first sounds came as night fell, I beckoned to my maid
    “Do you hear that?”
    “Do you know who it is?”
    “It is Helena Mackintosh.”
    “The witch? Help me dig her up,” I begged.
    After two hours of us digging with the undertaker’s shovels we found nearby the coffin was laid bare. I pried open the coffin to find Helena’s nails bleeding her lips dry and covered in dirt but she was alive. I gave her water from my husband’s pouch and she thanked me and asked how she could reward me .I begged her to resurrect my husband.
    “You maybe sorry,” she said but she did as I bade.
    My husband was much changed. I grew afraid as he would disappear never sleeping at night. Following him I found him feast on the body of our neighbour offering me a leg. I ran to Helena’s cottage and begged her to reverse her spell. She asked if I was sure and I nodded.
    I am a widow again and I accept it; for once dead men are more trouble than they are worth.
    245 words

  3. The flower arrangement stood like a sentinel, overwhelming my desk with its blooms. A thrill of excitement tinged with fear ran through me.

    “Hey Lenora. Was there a note this time?”

    For the third week in a row, I’ve been greeted by such a bouquet and none of them had a note. By now, I would’ve expected a secret admire to reveal themselves.

    “No note, but I know who it is,” Lenora reached up and patted her massive hair-do.

    “You know? Who?”

    “It is,” she paused for dramatic effect, “the person you least suspect. It’s ALWAYS the person you least suspect.”

    I rolled my eyes at her comment. “Lenora, if you don’t know, don’t say you do!”

    The first bouquet made me smile and I left it on my desk until the flowers faded. The second bouquet left me wondering and I moved it to the credenza. This third bouquet – it’s starting to creep me out. I grabbed it and walked towards the trash can.

    “You aren’t throwing them out!”

    “This is too weird, Lenora. How do I know it’s not some homicidal maniac sending me these?”

    Lenora worried her lip with her teeth. My eyes narrowed at her.

    “Tell me, Lenny. What do you know?”

    “I promised I wouldn’t, Nicky.

    “Out with it. Now.”

    “Fine. It’s Leroy. He’s real sorry about what happened and he wants you to take him back.”

    My heart hardened, I dropped the flowers in the trash.

    “Lenora, some things there’s no coming back from.”

    248 words

  4. Death Shudders

    It occurred to me as I stood there facing down Mona’s pistol with nothing more then a goofy grin that I should have taken that workshop from a few years ago…what was it called?


    Understanding Women in Relationships.

    Not that they would have covered the topic I was currently engaged in, facing an armed woman who’d just killed a cop.

    That’s the trouble with most workshops.

    They don’t cover every eventuality.

    No matter how hard they try.

    Mona, on the other hand, was covering all of my pathetic eventualities quite well.

    I was scurrying through them myself…with calculator-like efficiency.

    Top of that short list: Getting out of the situation alive.

    Standing there in my frozen in fear state, other thoughts flashed by like fictional machine gun fire. The most serious was…did the just riddled with three slugs Detective Wick Waters have a partner?

    He was certainly a lone wolf. A greedy hungry wolf apparently.

    “Mona?” I tried to bust into her post murderous rhapsody, “does…make that did Waters have a partner?”

    Nada. She was glassy-eyed.

    “MONA?” I yelled.

    “DON’T YELL AT ME!” she yelled at me.

    “Sorry,” I whispered, gently offering a hand gesture suggesting that she aim the gun elsewhere rather than in my precious direction. “Do you know who it is? His partner?”

    That query seemed to give her something other than my imminent slaughter to consider.

    Her head started to shake.

    It could’ve meant anything.

    Finally, “No, no one will work with him. Usually.”

    250 WIP

  5.  “The people won’t like it. They have issues as it was with the king and his mistresses and extravagant spending. Any further spending and people will revolt. Some blame you for his dalliances.”
    Shena looked up from the paperwork and squinted at the man in front of her desk.  He shifted uncomfortably as she continued to stare.
    “I have nothing to do with my husband who decided being faithful wasn’t in his blood and his continued complaint about the lack of a heir. I refuse to be the one to blame. It could be him, considering all the women he spent his time with. What people think are ridiculous and I will not be to blame. But I will make sure that he stops spending good coin for the women he pays to spend time with him.”
    He cleared his throat and bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty. I didn’t meant to imply that you were the one to blame. Just that the kingdom can’t continue along this path.”
    “I’ll take care of it. Even if I have to tell some of them to leave and pawn jewelry to pay for things.”
    “Your Majesty-” He took in a breath when the horns from the main portcullis sounded.  
    “Do you know who it is? We weren’t expecting any visitors until the Solstice festival.”
    The old man shuffled over and stared out the window.  Shena saw him grow pale as the curtains.
    “Who is it?”
    “The Black Magister.”

    245 words (of something)

  6. “Yes, my lord.”

    He wasn’t sure why they kept calling him with the honorific, but at the moment, it was working in his favor. “Okay then. Have at it.”

    The healer closed her eyes and held her hands over his body as if warming them on what little body heat he possessed. But he felt heat from her hands as they drifted above him, the energy seeping through him like he slowly submerged in a warm bath. It was both unnerving and relaxing, and he watched her face to see what she discovered.

    Crystal’s brows dipped a few times as she continued her energy analysis and he shot a look over at Kendra. The witch had her eyes closed as if she followed Crystal’s investigation and he wondered if she saw what the Fae saw.

    Crystal opened her eyes and lowered her hands.

    “Well?” Phinn raised his chin.

    Crystal’s face flashed with unease before it smoothed into serenity again. “It appears you’re healing well, though the energy doing the work is peculiar.”

    “Peculiar?” He shot a look at Kendra, who stood with her face impassive. “What do you mean?”

    “It doesn’t seem to be Fae healing energy, yet it works similarly to it to work correctly.” Crystal swallowed hard. “Do you know who it is from, my lord?”

    Phinn kept his gaze away from Kendra. “Is this some sort of trick question, Crystal?”

    The Fae Healer frowned. “Uh, what?”

    “I’m sure you know whom the healing is from.”

    248 ineligible #CloudburstColorado words

  7. Pike Dumont was the first to see the strange ship from his favorite vantage on Old Flattop. He always used to love monitoring the work of the fishing fleets before the war called the men away. Pike himself would have been drafted if he’d been just a little older. Or less scrawny. Now only a few ships a day went out. It felt like everyone was waiting for a world they’d never see to finish forgetting them.

    Once the villagers noticed the ship on the shining spring sea, they began hiking up to ask Pike about it.

    “Is it coming our way?” They’d ask.

    “Looks like.” He’d answer.

    “What kind of ship is it?”

    “Not one I’ve seen before. It looks like a galleon, but with outriggers.”

    “Do you know who it is?”

    “The colors are Great Navy, but I haven’t seen anyone aboard yet.”

    Their few fishing vessels came in early, though none were so bold as to sail out to investigate, and an intrigued village gathered on the beach. Pike maintained his vantage. By the time the curious craft dropped anchor, Pike had spied a dwarf operating the ship practically by himself. There was other movement too, but it slipped overboard with the anchor.

    “How do ye like me ship?” A sea-soaked girl shook herself out at Pike’s shoulder.

    He gaped at the girl with mismatched eyes and cat ears who had snuck up on him.

    “I’ve never seen one like it!”

    “Would ye like a tour?”

    249 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  8. The sky had gone from grey to purple-black as we’d sat on the bench, but neither one of us had spoken yet. Sometimes there’s too many words, and sometimes there’s too few, and sometimes both are true at the same time. I wanted to tell her everything, but I didn’t know how to start. I watched the breath leave my mouth in clouds and tried not to cry.

    “Do you know who it is?” I’d never heard her voice that flat, as if she’d had to turn herself into an automaton to speak without screaming.

    “Well, uh, I do now.” I paused. “I didn’t at the time.”

    “How could you not have known? Didn’t it matter at all? Or were you so desperate that you just leapt at the first one who happened by?” I would have been relieved to have heard anger in her voice, but the automaton still had control.

    “No. Yes. It…it wasn’t like that.” How could I explain in a way that she would understand? That I’d known what I was doing, and why I shouldn’t, and still did it anyway? That something as simple as a glance meant that nothing else mattered? That even though it was a choice, it wasn’t?

    Her questions hung in the air like a barrier between us. I had to tell her, I had to say something. But what could I say that would make a difference?

    Eventually, she got up and walked away. There was nothing more to say.

    250 words

  9. I don’t normally take pictures of dead people in caskets, but it was a special request by Mom for out-of-town family who couldn’t make it. The man in the black suit, black top hat, and grey cravat wasn’t at the funeral. Next to me on the couch, my brother leans over, his bushy brow matching mine.

    “Do you know who it is?” he asks, pointing to the man.

    “No. You?”

    He shrugs, loosening his tie. His black loafers are scattered under my coffee table with my black flats. His tie joins them, and he musses his short brown hair. I lean back, tucking my feet under me, flipping through a couple other pictures. Grandma is laid out nicely in her favorite dress with the blue and yellow roses, rosary entwined in her gnarled hands. This gentleman is standing near her feet.

    “Not a clue,” my brother says. “Maybe a relative?”

    “Maybe. But I didn’t see him.” His brows find his hairline. “Yeah. I wasn’t aware I could do ghost photography for real.”

    We’ve messed around with long exposures creating fake ghost pictures, but this is creepy. And he’s smiling, eyes crinkling and all. I wonder if Mom has any old photo albums.

    “Best not let her see that, she’ll flip,” he says, reading my mind. “Time to do some ancestry work, huh?”
    I set the camera aside. “Not until I’ve changed.”

    I scurry upstairs, the man in the picture on my mind. I have to know who he is.

    249 words

  10. After Diana slapped me, she screamed at me, “Do you know who it is?” She pointed at the body on the concrete floor of the warehouse, leaking blood everywhere.

    “Some dude trying to rob us.” I looked at the freshly dead body, “He didn’t succeed.” I looked back at Diana, “I stopped him.”

    “Some dude? Some dude? Seriously? Do you know who it is?” She slapped me again. “You gun-happy ass hole!” She slapped me a third time. Then a fourth time before she said anything else. “Well take a good look at him, you idiot!” She pushed me toward the body.

    “I’ll get blood on my shoes.”

    “Tough shit.” She pushed me again.

    I tried not to step in the corpse’s blood, which formed a growing circle around his remains. I wasn’t too keen on stepping in blood. Diana shoved me toward the body, and I stumbled into the red puddle. Got that shit all over my shoes.

    “Take your flashlight, and take a good look!”

    I did. “Wait. Wait.” I looked at Diana. “No! This can’t be him!”

    Diana glared at me, hands on her hips. “Well, it is him! And you’re one dead motherfucker, you idiot!”

    “Holy shit.” I stared at Chipper’s body, dead on the floor, with four big damn holes in it, and blood leaking out everywhere. “Jesus, I’m one dead motherfucker.”

    Diana was already on her cell phone sending a live video to Chipper’s boss, “Been nice knowing you, ass hole.”

    247 Words

  11. The Bouple with Couples

    I was still trying to piece everything together when I heard a voice demanding I tell them everything, while another internal voice told me to say nothing. I wasn’t in too deep yet, but if I spoke too soon, or said the wrong thing to the wrong person, it was going to be all over before it even started.

    I settled for focusing on breathing as I tried to get my head to stop swimming. It was on the tip of my tongue and they wanted me to say it, but where’s the fun in that?

    I smiled. “What were we talking about?”

    “What?” A second voice demanded.

    “It’s the drugs,” the first voice explained.

    Drugs. That explained a lot. “Sodium Pentathol?” I asked. Hell, I sounded stoned to me.

    “Why don’t you tell us about the couple?”

    “There was a bouple?” I asked. “There were a bouple of couples, a veritable cornucopia of boubles.”

    Cornucopia… Damn, I’m hungry.

    “He’s stoned?”

    “It’s how the serum works,” the first voice answered and I could practically see the person waving them off before continuing. “The couple.”

    “I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” I said, then put my hand to my mouth.

    “The couple?” the first voice asked and I reached out my hand, covering their mouth.

    “Do you know who it is? It’s a secret!” I think I giggled.

    “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the second man explained

    Its amazing how much people give away when they’re looking for answers.

    250 words not including title.

  12. Just Keep Walking

    Myra drug her feet along the broken, gray sidewalk. Her mother hated the sound, and that fact delighted her. It was payback for dragging her from store to store on a beautiful Saturday morning. She wanted to be playing at the park or using her iPad to watch YouTube videos. Instead she was stuck looking at back-to-school clothes with her mother and grandmother.
    Finally, Myra could take it no longer. She twisted up her face in preparation for the penultimate of temper tantrums. She could feel the crocodile tears forming in her eyes when the sound of screeching tires and smashing glass pierced the air.
    Her mother spun in the direction of the sound. “What on Earth was that?”
    Myra followed her gaze. Five hundred feet away, a black SUV had slammed into the side of a rusted green van. A man in a business suit climbed out of the SUV, but the driver of the van was slumped over his steering wheel.
    Nana Ruth put both of her hands over her mouth. The color drained from her face. “It can’t be him.”
    “Nana, do you know who that is?”
    Ruth grabbed Myra and her mother by the arm. With a firm hand, she spun them around. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her lips barely moved when she hissed, “Just keep walking, girls. Just keep walking.”

    233 words

  13. #ThursThreads Week 447 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.

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