The Tower

- October 29, 2019

I had tried every alternative, yet nothing had worked. The room lay silent as I paced, light swirling around me, lush velvet floors whisper soft beneath my boots. A key fashioned from your own bone, the prophet had said. But whose bone? Those of the entrapped, or those of the one who wish to enter? The prophet hadn’t answered then. The room offered me no answer now.

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Bone Deep (A Witch’s Daughter #3)

- October 15, 2019

The ebony-black door had been permeating my dreams, its silver bolts, inlay, and door latch glimmering as if winking at me. Dream me stood before it, and I hefted a small key carved from bone in my hand. The blackness of the empty keyhole called to me, and I leaned forward.

“Come away from that door, child. There’s only black magic that way.”

My eyes flew opened, and I had to blink away the image of the door from my sight.

I looked around the tower, but the Hags weren’t paying me any attention. I’d thought one of them had spoken, but if they had, it hadn’t been vocally.

I wiped drool from my chin as I sat up, struggling off the beanbag chair I’d fallen asleep in. My leg was asleep, though, so I rolled over onto my back, sprawling out on the plush rug that covered the lounge area of the Hags’ tower.

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October Stories at the Confabulator Cafe

- October 1, 2019

Autumn is officially here, Halloween only a month away, which means here at the Cafe, we finally have permission to up our creepiness level.

The prompt for this month was: “To open the door, a person must use a key whittled out of one of his or her own bones.”

We hope you’ll enjoy the two stories we have for you this month. Here’s the schedule:

Tuesday, October 15: “Bone Deep” by Sara Lundberg
Tuesday, October 29: “The Tower” by Isabel Nee

 

Blood and Darkness

- September 16, 2019

We lay naked, spooning, on her four-poster bed, the silk sheets having been thrown back during our nocturnal activities. I curl my body up, trying to avoid skin contact, but she curls more tightly around me, not letting me get away, this time.

“It will only hurt for a second, my love.” Her voice is nearly a purr in my ear. I tuck my hair behind my ear to keep it in place, to keep her breath from making it dance, tickling me.

“I don’t care about the pain.”

She traces a finger along my side, and I force myself not to flinch.

“What is it, then?”

I take a measured breath to avoid sighing. “You know what.” I may not be afraid of pain, but I am afraid of death.

“Oh, dear heart. You shouldn’t fear that. You are strong enough.”

Her tone, rather than making me feel better, makes me feel worse, like she’s talking an ignorant child, lying about how bad the day’s rations were going to taste. We always knew.

“How can you be sure?”

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September Stories at the Confabulator Cafe

- September 1, 2019

When does autumn officially start? Can it begin in September? I think so. The wild sunflowers are already peeking their heads out. Hopefully soon, the weather will cool down, the leaves will begin to change, and neighbors won’t mind Halloween decorations out this early.

To kick off the Halloween season’s mood, our prompt for this month was “the bite of a creature (insect, animal, person?) either kills you or gives you powers.” Could be spooky or could be super heroes. Only time will tell.

To find out what our sole Confabulator contributor did with the prompt this month, please visit us on the scheduled day:

Monday, September 16: “Blood and Darkness” by Sara Lundberg