#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 566

Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads. Wow. Year 10. A whole decade. I’m astounded.

Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing, like we have for 10 whole years. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 566 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 566:

Her Royal Hotness, historical and contemporary romance author, Sabrina York.

Facebook | Twitter

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“That one may be true.”

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!

13 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 566”

  1. The Whistleblower

    “So, Harry, I read your latest blog.”

    “Maxie, great to see you. Been a while. Glad you read it. Reason I posted the story. Build interest. Make people aware.”

    “Yeah. About that. You level some serious charges. Corruption! Secret payments! Profiteering! Foreign Government hanky-panky!”

    “I did allude to those things. Don’t think I mentioned hanky-panky. Should have, come to think of it. Might next post. But follow the money. That’s the key. Always gets you into the deep pockets of those who buy their way to the top…”

    “Aren’t you worried that they may come after you. You mentioned that you have a dossier of documentation that you plan to turn over to the authorities. You haven’t done that yet?”

    “Cat out of the bag is a loose feline. Gotta keep that tabby on a leash until the right moment.”

    “You lost me, Harry. What cat?”

    “The facts, Maxie. The straight goods. What Hitchcock said…the MacGuffin?”

    “Harry, Hitchcock was pretty clear that the MacGuffin was a ruse, ultimately not the object of the story.”

    “Exactly. My post was a ruse to draw them out. The villains. Point of my post. That one may be true. I think it is but the fallout, the repercussions will tell the big tale.”

    “Harry, seems to me you might be out on a limb without a paddle.”

    “Maxie, Maxie, Maxie, fear not. They’ll stumble. Blow the damn whistle on themselves…”

    “Or sue you! Or worse!”

    “Truth will out friend. Truth will out.”

    250 Words

  2. I bought my first home it was small but beautiful and a steal in this housing market. The first night I was there I heard creaking, the second night thumping. The third night I heard voices, someone was trying to make me believe the house was haunted and that made me mad no one was going to ruin my enjoyment of my house. I’d fix them I wait for the noise to begin again and I followed it to the conclusion only to find no one there. I was bound and determined I was going to catch them so, I pretended to go out then snuck back in I entered the living room and saw him. He was dressed in pantaloons and a frilly white shirt.
    “Dressed up for the occasion, did you?”
    “You can see me?”
    “Quit pretending.”
    “Touch me.”
    “Not on your life bud.”
    “Take my hand.”
    Something made me do as he asked only my hand passed through his.
    I jumped back.
    “You’re a ghost?”
    “That one may be true but don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. Can we coexist in this house?”
    “You want to stay here?”
    “I’ve nowhere else to go.”
    “This is my house.”
    “Actually, it’s mine. I built it.”
    “Sixty years ago.”
    “Possession is nine tenths of the law.”
    “Okay, but there’s rules, you don’t spy on me, and you don’t haunt guests.”
    Which is how I became the owner of a house and inherited a life challenged sexy roommate.
    249 words

  3. Conversation flowed as free as the Guinness streaming from bar taps. The men seemed intent on telling the tallest tale but it was Mick who hushed the table. In fact, the whole bar took a collective breath and listened.

    “Now granted, I was but a wee lad m’self and Ronan not much older. There we were at the green grocer’s, shirtails full of purloined apples. One of Boston’s finest had me by the collar and then I was free. Someone had beaned him square in the forehead and knocked him right out.”

    The story got a round of derisive comments.

    “That one may be true,” Ronan said quietly.

    Maura stared at him. Was he serious? She didn’t know him well enough to even make a guess. Relying on the instincts she’d honed in the courtroom, she asked, “May be? Are you hedging your bets?”

    “I’m not a gamblin’ man, especially when I’m sittin’ next to an assistant district attorney.”

    She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “Trust me, the statute of limitations have run on a petty larceny.”

    Mick chimed in. “But what about the assault with a deadly weapon?”
    “I’d hardly consider an apple a deadly weapon.”

    “No, you wouldn’t,” Mick counterd. “But that copper? Knocked him on his arse and clean out with a concussion to boot. He’s never forgiven us for it.”

    Maura’s eyes widened. “He’s still on the force?”

    “Aye,” Ronan said. “He’s a homicide cop now.”

    “Please don’t tell me it’s Alan Bragg.”

    “Then I won’t.”
    250 Moonstruck Mafia WIP words

  4. Emily sipped her coffee and tilted her head. “I have a personal question if you’re up for it.”

    Barrett sat back and nodded. “Go for it.”

    “How old are you? I see the crows-feet, but you move like a young person.”

    They gasped in mock-horror. “Crows-feet? Shut your mouth, woman!” Then they grinned. “I earned every smile line I have in my forty-two years of life. How old are you?”

    She glanced around like she was sharing state secrets. “Forty-five, but don’t tell anyone. My platoon thinks I’m the youngest of the bunch because I have no silver in my hair.”

    They sat back in their chair and studied her. It was true, she didn’t have silver in her hair, but the more they looked at her, the more they realized she had a maturity not disguised by her youthful appearance.

    “Ooh, an older woman. I can definitely go for that.”

    She snorted. “As long as you don’t call me a cougar, I’m good with it.”

    They tilted their head and narrowed their eyes. “Even if that one may be true?”

    “Shut up!” She grinned. “You’re only three years younger. You have to be at least ten years my junior to call me a cougar.” She drew herself up primly. “Besides, I don’t growl unless my partner is really, really good.”

    Barrett raised an eyebrow. “Really good at what?”

    She let her lips curl into a smug smirk and they felt blood rush to their lower extremities, stiffening their dick.

    250 ineligible #Sirens words

  5. Rita Skeeter (on voice-over).
    “And tonight, on ‘Lifestyles of the Witch, Who’s Famous’, we have Delores Umbridge, the Malign Menace from the Ministry. Here’s your chance to put the record straight at last.”

    Delores U:
    “Oh, Rita. It’s so good to talk. It’s not easy being unpopular. People tend to blame you for everything, whether you’re responsible or not.”

    Rita S:
    “Like what, Delores? I heard your abilities were beyond compare. And besides, surely it makes people think you’re more powerful if you’re getting the rap for the worst of the most nefarious acts being done?”

    Delores U:
    “Not at all, Rita. It doesn’t do to get implicated with dross. It’s a matter of style and ability. And the meddling of Voldemort’s meagrest heel-suckers nobody ought to notice.”

    Rita S:
    “Such as who? Come on, give me the Goss. Give me a name and a couple of misdealings you’d like to distance yourself from.”

    Delores U:
    Take Bellatrix Lestrange. Such a nasty piece of work. And as for the things she’s done – where do I start? But she’s generally involved in anything requiring brute force and a blunt instrument.”

    Rita S:
    “I hear you about that. She’s one of the few witches that makes me shudder. But what about your dealings with the boy who lived? Wasn’t it you that banned Harry Potter from playing Quidditch?”

    Delores U:
    “There are so many rumours, but that one may be true. Poor Draco, that’s all I’m willing to say about that.”

    250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  6. Noises in the seagrass on the dune caught my attention. In the bright moonlight, I spied the grass moving in a wavy pattern as if a snake wove its way through the tangled weeds.
    I stood. Whatever approached was invisible. Should I run or stay? Never one to run, I stood taller. “Who dares approach a woman during her midnight meditations?”
    The air shimmered as waves of energy circled me.
    My breathing slowed. “What do you want?”
    “Tell me where you don’t belong.”
    “Why not?”
    “The wizard trapped me here until I love him.”
    “You, too, have trapped something. Would you trade that to be free?”
    “My heart. Never!”
    “I’ve given it away and protect it from any other.”
    “Why don’t you belong here?”
    “I will never love the wizard.”
    “I have a cure.”
    “At what cost?”
    “Your heart.”
    I thought this another trick and sank to the ground in tears. “Never, my true love promised he would come.”
    “That one may be true, or not. Is that promise worth being trapped here without love?”
    “Oh, yes!”
    “Pity! I would have made you happy.”
    “No thank you. Please leave”
    “First, my dear, tell me the name of this true love.”
    I searched the moonlit sand for the speaker. “Malcolm.”
    Moondust swirled, taking shape.
    “Again, Margaret.”
    “Malcolm. Is this a trick or a miracle?”
    “And again, Margaret.”
    “Malcolm? … Can it be?”
    “Margaret, my true love, I am here. Kiss me quickly!”
    My lips met his.
    Then the wizard appeared.

    250 Words

  7. ‘I just fancied a break.’ He lounged backwards, arms draped along the back of the seat. The large umbrella kept the worst of the sun off us beside the pool but somehow he was still wearing his burgundy suit jacket. He hadn’t even taken his tie off.
    I glowered at him as I struggled with the stifling heat. I was used to drizzle and cloud, not this. He was smirking, he tried to hide it, behind his dark sunglasses, but I could see.
    ‘You can’t just take a break.’ I spoke slowly and quietly; I couldn’t risk any of the nearby holiday-makers overhear us. ‘You, are the Prince of Hell. You have responsibilities.’
    ‘Seriously, you just pfft’d me?’ I was starting to get the nerve twitching thing over my right eye again.
    ‘You can look after things for me.’ He waved a hand as if it would make everything go away. I winced, just in case it did.
    ‘No, no I can’t, I’m just a run of the mill mortal. You are the Devil.’
    ‘I’ve never liked that name.’
    ‘The Prince of Darkness. The Father of Lies.’
    ‘Bit over-dramatic.’
    ‘The Tempter.’
    ‘That one may be true.’ He glanced over his sunglasses at me and I could feel my resolve crumbling.
    ‘Why? Why do you always do this to me?’
    ‘Because you’re my only friend in the whole of Creation.’
    I closed my eyes. ‘One week. That’s it. Then I’m dragging you back no matter what.’

    246 words @Lexikonical on twitter

  8. “Won’t you say anything?”

    Katla’s mother reached out from her sickbed to place one hand weakly over Katla’s. The stoic teen did not respond. Though she had not left her mother’s side all night.

    “What’s the matter, Little Lamb?”

    Katla had nearly killed her mother in training yesterday. It was still too soon to say if the veteran would recover. Her mother lightly squeezed her hand.

    “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

    Of course it was. It was an understood risk, but that didn’t change whose fault it was. There wasn’t anything Katla could say—and very little she could do—that wouldn’t be perceived as weakness.

    “It’s okay to share your feelings with your mother.”

    No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t even okay to have feelings in the first place.

    Katla had finally earned her late father’s helm. The Black Death Mask. Once she put it on, it would become her identity until such time as she passed it on to her heir.

    And she wasn’t planning on having an heir anytime soon.

    “I’m so proud of you, Little Lamb. You’re ready for this.”

    That one may be true.

    188 words

  9. I always loved watching her when we went to a hardware store at the beginning of a project. I knew the basics, but she was an expert. She could look at shelf after shelf of whoozits and whatsits and know exactly what we were going to need.

    I was her assistant. I’d fetch whatever she needed, and sometimes I’d even get it right the first time.

    Her eyes lit up when we’d get to the lumberyard. There was something about the smell, I think. It wasn’t the same as her smell at the end of the day – a combination of sawdust and sweat that never failed to excite me. It was more the smell of potential, of *possibility*. These boards and sheets of plywood could be anything in the right hands.

    I’d grab a two by four for her inspection. “That one has too many knots,” she’d tell me, or “that one may be true,” or “stop making ‘wood’ jokes.” Well, that last one was more of a look than words.

    She was the foreperson now more than the lead carpenter, guiding the kids through their own projects. I knew that someday, we wouldn’t be around, but she’d still be with them every time they went to the hardware store. “That one may be true,” they’d hear in their heads. And they would know, just like I did, that she wasn’t always talking about lumber.

    235 words

  10. “If you going to cast a killing spell, could you at least not butcher the Latin?”
    Jake turned and saw the bum from outside Caruso’s.

    “I am an agent of the Crossroads.” The man intoned solemnly.

    Jake shook his head, “Are you serious?”

    “I come seeking retribution.” The man raised his wand.

    “Okay, that one, I grant you, that one may be true.”

    A blast of cold lightning ran down Jake’s arm and out his hand.

    When he finally stopped smelling like a burnt burrito in a convenience store microwave, Jake realized the bum was finally ready to have a conversation.

    “What kind of deal did you make with the ‘Roads?” Jake asked.

    “I signed the contract, same as everyone.” The man answered.

    “Tell me you read the contract?”

    “Why do you care?”

    “Because if the roads wanted me dead,” Jake snapped his fingers, “they’d just kill me.”

    “What you did… what you signed…that was a deal with the devil, so you got bigger problems than me.”

    “He’ll kill me if I come back alone…” Jake removed an ancient Colt revolver from his coat, “you’re assuming I won’t, if you don’t.”

    “You wouldn’t … you … couldn’t.”

    “I can and I will,” Jake cocked the gun, “if I have to. Start running,”

    The man turned the other way and ran.”

    “Tell your master, if he wants me dead, he’ll have to have the guts to do it himself.”

    237 words

  11. A Monstrous Truth

    “Krystavos Calvo.”

    “Ms. Green,” Cal repeated echoing her tone. “Or should I say, Detective Green, newly transferred from NYC. to what do I owe this pleasure?”

    “I don’t know if it’s a pleasure or not,” she answered. gesturing toward the seat across from her.

    “Well, I ain’t in handcuffs and we’re not in an interrogation room—so, let’s assume it’s a pleasure. How may I help you?”

    “I’ve heard a lot about you, some wild stories some of them, too wild to believe.”

    “You know how those go—dey’s a lot like legends. Probably some hint of truth to ‘em, but usually a bunch of tall tales and bald-faced lies, like dey say, da devil, he in da details.”

    “Rumor has it that you are the one to talk to when things seem—strange.”

    “Dat’s one way of puttin’ it. But if we talkin’ bout what I think we talkin’ ‘bout, we need to go elsewhere.”


    “Because, cher, dey tink you come over to my way of thinkin’, you stepping off NOPD turf, and straight into no man’s land.”

    “The Under Belly?” her voice low.

    “Dangerous talk for a law-biding cop.”

    “Rumor is Mr. Andre LeBeaux, is not a law-biding type.”

    “LeBeaux, he a monster needs to be stopped,” Cal confirmed.

    “Rumor is you’re the one to stop him.”

    “Okay, that one may be true.”

    “So, I can count on you?”

    “You can try, Cher, but da truth of de matter is—we all monsters here.”

    250 words, not including the title

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