Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 686. Year Lucky 13! The last year of the cycle, the Moon Year. To those who keep coming back, I’m delighted to see you again!
Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing on #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Discord 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 social media handle or email in the post (so we easily notify you)
- The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time US.
- 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, Bluesky, MeWe, and Mastodon, etc.
Our Judge for Week 686:
Dead Thing Specialist, Mining Geologist, and Original Book Boyfriend, George Varhalmi.
Facebook |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“She screamed anyway.”
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 in the Moon Year. Good luck!
What Doris Wants
It’d been a month since my last serious misstep. That one was a doozy…not a fatal doozy, as must be obvious. Ethical, some high-toned moralist might call it. Me, I’d say a $10,000 buck gift to look the other way in a minor corporate swindle was passably okeydokey …as long as no one twigged to it.
Who would? I’ve had a squeaky-clean rep for decades. It was about time I took advantage of that. I wasn’t getting any younger and the cost of living was going through the roof.
Now, here I was, staring down the barrel of a 38. Maybe I was slipping. Isn’t that what happens to older folks. They trip themselves up and take a fall.
“I’m sorry its come to this,” Doris said. She was as calm as a dead kitten. Soft, still, transfixed.
I was at a loss for words. She might be sorry but I was also full of remorse. I should have vetted her. Got greedy, I suppose. A slick matron in her early forties comes to you, wants the goods on her cheating hubby, Walter, knows where he and his frowsy little tart, Sally something or other – her words, by the way – were shacked up, it seemed a slam-dunk.
Now Sally and Walter were bleeding out on their cheap motel bed and Doris was about to dispatch me.
I ducked, she screamed anyway, just as my bullet struck her in her best assets.
It was time to retire.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
The hotel’s dining room was mostly empty. Their waitress had moved off after refilling their coffee cups.
Druic chewed and swallowed the last bite of his omelet. “Then what happened, Ariel?”
“She screamed anyway.”
“Is that a punch line?”
Ariel offered the dragon a scathing look. “This is not a joke, Nikos.”
“So what was hiding in the dark?” Druic broke in before the older Magicks could get into another argument.
The youngster did his best to look brave but Ariel noticed the white-knuckled grip with which he held his coffee mug. He didn’t blame the kid. Traipsing through the dark tunnels beneath the library unnerved him as well. Taking moment to consider, because he certainly didn’t like his initial thoughts, Ariel sipped from his cup. He eyed Nikos. “It was none of your kin.” His tone made the comment a statement rather than a question.
Nikos nodded agreeably. “My kind prefer warmer, dryer weather and lairs.
Ariel hated the conclusions he’d drawn and the idea of notifying Oberon and Titania left him nauseous. “The magic here tastes of the Wild.”
Druic’s eyes widened until the whites glowed all the way around his irises. “That can’t be. King Oberon banned the Hunt after the Veil ripped.”
Nodding in agreement, Ariel continued. “He did but there is still a realm where the Wild Hunt rides.”
The kid’s face drained of color and he stammered. “B-but the Shadows are locked inside the Dark Court.”
“I think they’ve found a way out.”
****
249 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
The waiting room is busy tonight. Deathers wait with departed souls as the door to the Afterlife opens and shuts like a revolving door. The woman next to me glances around nervously, as if afraid no one will come to meet her. Her husband died only six months ago, so they will be reunited and able to enjoy their eternity together again.
“Did you know my speciality was off-stage screams?”
I glance at Beatrice, whose white hair is recently curled, smelling faintly of perm solution and hairspray. She shuffles forward with the crowd, knit slacks and white turtleneck nearly uniform with several other elderly women in line. It seems that the S.A.S shoes my grandmother wore have been replaced with modern day tennis shoes, but the perms and clothes are the same.
“Oh? Community theatre?”
“I did film and stage both. That was fun, sitting in a movie theatre and hearing my voice from off screen. No one knew unless they read the credits.”
“That would be fun! Did you meet anyone famous?”
We make the front and cross the thin veil that separates the living from the Afterlife and the door opens.
“Humphrey Bogart was so handsome,” she says, smiling wistfully. “My friend was with me and I told her to be normal; she screamed anyway.”
I laugh, fully understanding. “It’s hard to be calm when you meet someone famous.”
Her husband swoops her into a hug as they walk away, catching up on six months apart.
@Aightball
250 words
It was my in-laws’ turn to host Thanksgiving and for some reason we didn’t get a hotel room. Even with her brother and his family squeezing into the house, her mother had insisted. “Like a real family,” she bubbled.
The reality, though, set in quickly. My wife’s old room still had a bed. Her trinkets and trophies from her youth were gone but the bed remained. It was a small, single bed. Two people could not sleep there, so I was relegated to the sofa. But I was so wired from the drive and from eating late after we’d arrived on the dinner her mother saved for us, I couldn’t get to sleep. In desperation, I wondered whether my wife was having the same difficulty.
I went upstairs to the dark, quiet hallway. Each bedroom door was closed. I lightly knocked on hers. I heard a muffled, “come in” in response.
Her light was still on. She had a book on her lap, but she closed it and took off her glasses when she saw me. She scooted over and tapped the bed.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked. I shook my head and sat beside her.
“Do you promise to be quiet?,” I asked as I leaned in to kiss her. She pulled back her head and nodded then returned the kiss.
But, in the end, at the end, she screamed anyway.
At breakfast, her mother gave her a stern yet knowing look. She pretended not to notice me.
She Screamed Anyway, @JPGarlandAuthor 249 words.
When I was a child, it was miserable going to visit my grandmother who abhorred noise. I vowed my child would not be subjected to this but here, I was with my daughter on the way to help my aged grandmother. I warned Ophelia she must not scream around grandmother as she found noise difficult. Ophelia screamed anyway when she saw the inside of the house.
I should have known the place which had given me nightmares as a child caused the screams. Instead of the admonishment I had got as a child, my grandmother looked into Ophelia’s eyes and said, “At last a child worthy of us.”
My grandmother now had snakes growing from her head as did Ophelia. As I touched my own head, I felt snakes move.
“I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“Ophelia’s true notes in her scream, has broken our families’ curse,” My grandmother explained “You are the sire of Medusa. We can all be ourselves and or enemies will regret how they cursed us.”
“Who cursed us?”
“Eons ago, the family of Gregoria cursed us.”
“My last name is Gregoria,” Ophelia volunteered.
“That is a true apology to mingle with our blood. Now blink your eyes child, the snakes will disappear temporarily, but if you need to strike your enemies, just scream, and they will reappear.”
Ophelia and I are the descendants of Medusa, and we have a lot of work to do to learn to control our anger, pray you don’t make us mad.
250 words @sweetsheil.bsky.social
Mourn made the others uncomfortable. This wasn’t unexpected. Her family had made the good people of the world so uncomfortable that heroes rose up and exterminated them while then nine-year-old Mourn hid in terror.
Still, since she only knew the outside world from reading about it, it seemed prudent to venture forth in the company of others with first-hand experience. Fiona, Connor, and Roy seemed as suited to this purpose as any. And Mourn’s books indicated adventurers always appreciated having a wizard in their party.
“You might want to lower your hood,” Fiona glanced at Mourn. “You look a bit suspicious.”
“Oh… I thought it might be good to hide my horns and eyes.”
Fiona jerked her head toward Mourn’s back.
“The tail’s probably gonna give you away, anyway.”
As the four turned onto the town’s market street, Mourn lowered her hood with a sigh. She didn’t want to make anyone suspicious. And she certainly didn’t mean to make her companions jump. She screamed anyway.
“What!? What is it?” Connor clutched at his chest.
“It’s perfect,” Mourn breathed, pointing at a more gloriously macabre black dress than she’d ever imagined.
Fiona gagged.
“That’s a funeral dress. And it costs more than good armor.”
Mourn’s eyes shone at the vision on the other side of the glass.
“Do we have money?”
220 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
The screams faded away as Chloe stared in horror at the monstrous sight in front of her. Everything was true. Everything he told her countless times was true. Lucifer really was the Devil. She scrambled back as far away as she could, until tree bark dug into her neck and shoulders. She was trapped between him and the tree they had been hiding behind.
The primal part of herself insisted that she run as far away as she could to get away from danger, but her mind rejected it. She was still trying to fathom the concept that her handsome partner was also the Devil, despite the hellish evidence standing in front of her.
“Detective, please don’t be afraid,” the Devil begged, his voice raspy and ancient.
Chloe could still hear her partner’s voice when the terrifying creature spoke.
“I would never hurt you,” he continued.
“I-I,” she stuttered, terrified and confused.
A sharp cry from the clearing distracted both of them. Chloe craned her neck over the fallen tree. Persephone and her coven had finished up their ritual that had upset the world and everything Chloe knew. They were making their way toward where Chloe and her partner were hiding.
Lucifer took a single step towards her. “Detective, you need to get out of here.”
Her head whipped around and she whimpered, pushing against the tree even harder.
“Don’t scream, it’s not safe.”
She screamed anyway as she got up and ran. He watched her go, his expression resigned.
@mlgammella.bsky.social
Sequel to The Veil Lifts at Dusk – a Lucifer fanfiction
250 Words
Momma told Lucy not to scream, that the bad lady would come get us if she screamed. Momma begged and begged. She promised Lucy an extra roll at dinner and the first scoop of ice cream next summer and a ride on Maisie when the heffalump circus comes back to town. She said lookit your sister, she’s quiet, lookit little Elisabeth, and I was too, I was quiet as a mousie. Momma said the bad lady pretended to be a good lady but she was really bad and that she hurt children, usually boys but also girls. Momma cried and said not to scream, but Lucy, she screamed anyway. She screamed about no meat with supper and cleaning the rugs and school, but mostly she screamed because she liked the bad lady who pretended to be a good lady. I coulda kept Lucy quiet, I knew the siggils to draw on her skin and how to make myself bleed without crying. I wish I had done that it was my job, but I didn’t. Lucy screamed a lot when the bad lady came and she screamed when she killed the bad lady and became the new bad lady and when all the good ladys were dead she screamed the loudest. Momma begged Lucy not to scream but she screamed anyway and Lucy and the bad lady ate Momma up and I ran away quiet as a mousie and then she screamed the loudest when I found her in the dark.
250 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
The tether clicks; she steps into darkness. Floating into the void, she looks back at the station. It’s empty. It has to be for her measurements to be precise. Only she can do this research. She reminds herself every morning why she’s here.
Day Twelve she writes at the beginning of today’s log. She records radiation levels, noting an interesting spike. She writes down everything that might be useful to her research.
A sound. Something against her helmet. A tap? A piece of debris? No. Nothing. It was always nothing. With all that she’s recording, there’s always nothing. Must be her imagination.
Day Thirteen. More measurements. More nothing. She stares into nothing. Tap tap. She turns to look at the sound. This time she sees something. No. She sees Nothing. She reaches out. She touches Nothing. She’s starting to doubt her mind.
No. She’s a scientist. Her mind is the only thing she can trust. She brushes it off. She has to be able to trust her mind, or there’s no reason for her to be here. Back to the station for the day. She needs to rest.
Day Fourteen. More measurements. Tap tap tap. She doesn’t look this time. She closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, and then slowly looks up at Nothing.
She’s gotten used to the quiet. She knows nobody was there to hear her. And in space, as they say, nobody can hear you scream. She screamed anyway.
—
First time entering! Originally posted at https://microwords.goodevilgenius.org/o/190643402e324886b1487583ab083eb7. 244 words. Fedi handle: @danjones000@microwords.goodevilgenius.org
Thunder crashed loud enough to shake the house and Mawrhi bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Sweet glory!” She pressed a hand to her chest and took a few deep breaths. The storm raged outside like a warning of difficult times to come.
With the rain lashing the shutters and the thunder grumbling in the sky, there was no way she’d go back to sleep without some tea. She pushed out of the tall bed and set her feet on the floor. Hissing at the cold tiles, she searched the darkness for her slides and shoved her feet into them before grabbing her shawl off the nearby rack.
Mawrhi wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and went to check the hearth fire in the next room. It was mostly glowing embers, so she added wood and blew on it to rouse the flames. It took a moment or two, but when the fire rekindled, she rose and turned to grab the kettle.
A flicker of light near Sabina’s comfortable chair caught her eye. Her mind recognized the form as that of her erstwhile neighbor, but she screamed anyway. By the time her mind caught up to understanding, she was out of breath again.
“Sweet glory! What is happening tonight?”
“I figured it had been long enough for you to get used to the idea of the D’Gah and the Ourai. I didn’t think I’d be that much of a surprise.”
Mawrhi blinked. “Sabina? But you’re dead!”
248 ineligible #WIP words
socel.net/@SiobhanMuir (Mastodon)
#ThursThreads Week 686 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.