Halloween Story – Part two!


Henry jumped out of the van first as it made a stop at the front of a neighborhood. All around, kids with their parents were milling up and down the street, knocking on doors. Excitement filled Henry as he looked at the three other Power Rangers beside him in the fading light.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Andy’s mom said. “Then we’ll go to the next neighborhood.”

Andy waved her off as he closed the door. “Come on guys,” he said, leading them away. “Let’s go!”

Henry followed after his friends, watching Andy’s mom turn her car around and roll slowly down the street. “Your mom’s not staying?” Henry asked, knowing his mom would have a cow if she knew.

“No bro,” Andy said, plopping his helmet over his head. “I’m not a baby.” He turned to elbow Josh beside him. “What’s the matter, Henry? Scared?”

Henry sighed and pulled his helmet over his head. “Shut up,” he said, leading the way up a path to the first door. A cheesy skeleton sat outside the front door and he rang the doorbell.

The front door, with it’s Halloween wreath, swung open, and a grandma stood there, smiling wide.

“Trick or Treat!” the boys yelled in unison.

Henry didn’t listen to her words as she plopped a couple of candies in his bucket. He wasn’t entirely happy with her offering, but it was something as they walked to the next house.

The time felt like it flew by as they reached the back of the neighborhood. Their buckets were pretty full and becoming heavy, while the sun had finally sunk down behind the houses. The streetlamps were flickering on and a light chill was beginning to fill the night.

“Hey, you guys heard about the ghost house?” Andy suddenly asked.

Henry turned to look at him, watching him and Jeremy trade candies. “Ghost house?” he asked.

Andy grinned, his helmet perched on his brow. “It’s at the back of the neighborhood,” he said confidently. “Come on, I’ll show you guys.”

Henry and Josh traded looks, but followed Andy. Sure enough, at the very end of the last street, where the neighborhood street curved and went back toward the front of the subdivision, sat a lonely house. As they came closer, Henry could see that the doors and windows were boarded. The street lamp at the curb flickered every so often. A chill went down Henry’s spine.

“Let’s check it,” Andy said, walking toward it.

Henry trailed behind the other boys, feeling more creeped out as they came closer. “Dude, won’t your mom be back soon?” he asked half-heartedly.

Andy turned around then, backpedaling toward the house. “Don’t tell me that the baby’s scared,” he said teasingly. Josh and Jeremy laughed.

“I’m not scared, asshole,” Henry quipped. He glanced at the house again. “It just looks dangerous or something.”

“Well, you know the story, right?” Josh said.

Henry shook his head.

“The family that lived there was murdered,” Jeremy said ominously, wiggling his fingers in a dramatic way. “My older sister says their ghosts haunt the place.”

“How would she know?” Henry asked weakly.

Jeremy crossed his arms and lifted his chin proudly. “She said she and her boyfriend were here fooling around and a ghost chased them.”

Henry tried to summon some bravado. “You know she was lying,” he said. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Then why don’t we go inside?” Andy called, scaling the porch steps.

Henry stopped at the bottom, clutching his helmet tightly under his arm. “I don’t think we should,” he said. “Your mom’s waiting for us.”

“Stop being a pussy, Robertson!” Andy snapped then. Henry recognized his tone as something he’d heard Andy’s dad say to him. His mom said Andy’s dad wasn’t a nice man, but Henry pushed the thought away.

“I’m not!” he said, climbing the steps quickly. “I’ll prove it to you!”

Andy surprised Henry when he yanked the front door. Surprisingly, it swung open noiselessly, allowing the darkness inside to peer out.


Hope you guys are enjoying so far! Part three coming next Friday!


Happy Friday the 13th!


This month I want to do a scary story! It will be a four-parter, with two parts today since I didn’t post anything last week. Enjoy!

“Are you sure you’re not getting too old for Trick or Treating?” Mom asked, pulling at the front of Henry’s costume.

Henry pushed her hands away, sighing in exasperation. “Mooom,” he complained. “All my friends are waiting for me.”

His mother sighed shortly, noticing that the sleeves of his Power Ranger costume were a bit short. He’d grown since last October. “Is Steve’s mom driving?” she asked, trying not to be overbearing. Henry was 13 now. He deserved a little bit of responsibility.

“Yes Mom,” he answered, exasperated. He grabbed his candy basket up from the hall floor by the front door.

A horn honked outside and Henry jumped to the door, throwing it open. His mother followed him out, her arms crossed. She watched as a minivan door slid open, the other boys dressed as the corresponding Power Rangers. She waved when Steve’s mother, Karen, rolled down the passenger window.

“Hey, Kim,” Karen said, grinning. “The boys are so excited.”

Kim nodded, forcing a smile. “You’re a brave woman,” she said teasingly.

Karen laughed softly. “Is ten o’clock too late?” she asked.

Kim shook her head. “That’s fine,” she said, stepping back from the van. She waved to Henry as he moved to close the door behind him. “Have a good time, sweetie.”

“Bye Mom!” Henry called, swinging the door shut. Judging by the grin on his face, he was already consumed with thoughts of trickery and candy.

Kim gave one last wave to Karen as she started to back out of the driveway. Their excitement was palpable, but something was hanging just in the back of Kim’s mind, making her uncomfortable. She tried to tell herself it was just Henry’s-first-Halloween-without-her jitters, but it didn’t abate as she went inside and closed the front door behind her.

[WP] You’ve found your soul mate. There’s only one problem…

I had known for a long time that I had lived many past lives. I didn’t need regression therapy or hypnosis to help me realize that. The memories were always in the back of my mind, even though I was always in the present. I’m not sure why my brain was wired that way, but every body I occupied, it was the same.

I was okay with that. For several lives, I knew what to expect and what my purpose was. But all of that changed when I met Sylvia. Or, actually, the first time her name was Bakari. Born into a rich Egyptian family, she was beautiful, with dark hair and dark eyes that stopped me in my tracks the day I saw her in the market place. I knew she was meant to be with me, but she died at age 10, shortly before my 37th birthday.

Over the centuries, she’d been born into different bodies. She had different faces and different colors of skin, but I always, always knew it was her. No matter how the gods tried to hide her from me, I always found her.

I’ve never spoken to her. We always exchange glances in passing, but I know she knows. Most of the time, she’s too young to understand, or I am, but we know. Nothing needs to be said.

That’s the problem with soul mates. These days it’s somewhat of a romantic term, used to describe people who couple off and live happily ever after. But this…this is different. She’s the other half to whatever it is I carry inside me.

I like to think of it like pizza. She may be pepperoni and I may be pineapple, but we’re still halves to the same whole. We still have the same contents, underneath our toppings. But, unlike pizza, our halves never get made at the same time.

It was frustrating and demoralizing. For a long time, she would come into my life when I was an old man at the end of his days, and she just a small child. Then, it switched and she was a dying elderly woman every time I was born. No doubt some sick joke by the powers-that-be. But, there seems to be a cycle, and I think we are finally in the right place to meet. I hesitate to think that too hard or believe it too readily. It makes my insides twist like they do in the moment before death.

But this time, I have found her. I am a student at a university, much like I was the first time I saw her, but this time she is a student as well. I saw her in the library, bent over a book at a desk, reading, and when someone called her name she lifted her head. Gold strands of hair fell around bright blue eyes, which she happened to turn on me before to her friend.

I felt it then. That electricity that makes you feel like the world has stopped. If the confusion on her face was any indication, she felt it too. She hid it though, which makes me think that she doesn’t remember all of those lives; all those little moments when we were near but so far.

I have to remind her. I have to keep her this time. I need to know what the other half of my insides look like. I have to stop the cycle. I have to understand why we’ve been kept apart all of these years.

She’s sitting at a coffee table now, in an on-campus bookstore. She’s sipping her latte and reading, and I’m walking across the parking lot. My knees are shaking and my hands are tucked tightly into the pockets of my coat, but I won’t turn back now.

Finally, I’m within feet of her table, and her eyes are lifting to meet mine.

There it is again! That look…

I stop in front of her, offering a nervous smile. “Sylvia?” I ask tentatively.

For one long, heart-wrenching moment, she is confused, on the verge of telling me to go away. But then, her face eases and a smile pulling at her lips.


My heart lurches at the sound of that name, from so long ago. “It’s Henry now,” I say easily.

Sylvia’s smile widens. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

[Writing Prompt] Once Upon a Time…


This week’s prompt comes from the Promptuarium. Sorry for being lazy the last few weeks! If nothing else, there will be a writing prompt every Friday.

The actual prize didn’t matter. It was just a chunk of gold metal, or silver or whatever they were made out of these days.

No, what mattered was the roar of battle: the scent of leather and lathered hide, the snort of her mount, the sound of hoofbeats in the sand.

You’ll just get hurt, little girl.

She adjusted the goggles across her eyes, feeling the strap of her helmet digging into her chin. Her horse quivered beneath her, straining against the gate that kept them still. She leaned into the black stallion’s neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

A countdown had begun, the ring of a starting bell muted as the gate flew open. Her horse was all muscle as he plunged forward, her heart racing as he nearly unseated her. She realized she was holding her breath as he charged forward, taking the rail.

I wonder if you ride as well as you talk shit.

Her vision was a tunnel, all that was important was the stretch of sand before her. The dim sound of the crowd, the racing beats of the other horses; she couldn’t hear them. The wind in her face nearly took her breath away, and she had to remind herself to breathe as the black stallion carried her across the quarter-mile stretch.

His legs were strong and sure, his strides long and even and quick. He pulled away from the pack, leaving her competition in his dust.

Royals don’t belong on the track.

Her horse surged as he rounded the last bend, her chest tightening. He could feel her excitement as the finish line came into view, and he carried her harder and faster, like a charger into a fray, fearless and strong.

The cheering around her was deafening as her horse crossed the line, an announcer yelling in disbelief and excitement over the loud speakers. Her horse slowed finally, his body still pulling against her reins, his legs still yearning to run. Only when he came to a stop did she dare look up at the clock.

You can’t win.

Her horse had beaten out the rest by five seconds, leaving her rival to lead the rest of the pack. Her legs were shaking as she kicked off her stirrups, gasping as if she’d just run the quarter mile race herself. She turned her head, looking over the people who crowded around to congratulate her to meet the gaze of her rival.

Satisfaction filled her as their eyes met, his scowl fading into acceptance. He bowed his head in defeat.

She drew a ragged breath as a wreath was dropped around her horse’s neck.

Wild hearts never lose.

The Sword in the Ceiling

Writer’s prompt: The Sword in the Ceiling

By: Brian A. Klems | July 19, 2016 |
After a long, hard day of work, you return home—the only problem is, your front door is wide open, all your lights are on and there’s a sword stuck in the ceiling. The rest of your house looks normal, but you also notice several holes dug in your backyard. What’s going on?


My heart dropped to my feet. The sword in the ceiling? I knew what that was. I’d been found. They were here, and, from the looks of things, they knew that I had it.

I turned quickly, running up the stairs to my bedroom. I pulled a revolver from the bedside table, tucking it into the waist of my jeans. I knew they wouldn’t be here anymore. This was just a message; just the hello to a whole string of nasty about to be unleashed on me.

I threw open my closet door, grabbing my bag that I kept packed for emergencies and situations like this. I knew that I had become too comfortable. I’d gotten complacent, thinking that the bastards would never find me. I raced down the stairs, jumping the last three and sprinting to my car.

The engine roared as I gunned the ’67 Chevelle through the neighborhood. The only good thing was that they thought I was stupid. They thought that I would hide such a precious treasure in my own house. How stupid were they?

I knew where I needed to go. There was only one man who could help me. My former partner, Aubrey.

Aubrey lived in the shadier part of town. His home was a ramshackle double-wide parked on a piece of land filled with scraps of cars. I think he used to sell the parts in the cars, but nowadays he was too damn drunk to do much.

I could smell the alcohol through the front door as I stepped onto the porch and knocked. He shuffled around inside, probably dragging himself off the couch, tripping over bottles on the way to the door. I could hear muffled cursing.

Finally, the door swung open, and Aubrey’s glassy eyes met mine. He frowned at me for a moment, but then a smug grin split his face.

“Well,” he said. “Come to apologize to me finally?” He laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

I rolled my eyes, pushing past him. His home was disgusting and absolutely wreaked. “There’s no time for that, Aubrey,” I said, turning to face him. I placed my hands on my hips as he leaned against the door, dressed in a bathrobe, a t-shirt, and his boxers. His face was unshaven and his hair was a mess.

“Then what the hell you doin’ here, Lizzette?” he demanded.

I drew a slow breath, glancing away. My stomach was twisting in knots and as much as I loathed this jackass, I knew I wasn’t going to survive without him.

“They found me,” I said softly. I looked back at him, seeing confusion on his face.

“Those boys you hustled for that car?” he asked, his stupid smirk returning. “I always told you-”

“No, idiot,” I interrupted. “The knighthood.” I felt my voice stick in my throat, but I powered through it. “They were in my house. They were looking for the amulet.”

Aubrey seemed to sober up instantly. He shut the door quickly, sliding the locks on it. This was the first time I noticed the series of deadbolts on his front door. “I knew this would happen,” he mumbled, shuffling toward the back of the trailer.

“Where are you going?” I demanded, trailing after him. I was surprised when he reached the bedroom and lifted his mattress, revealing a huge cache of weapons.

That mischievous smirk came to his face again. “Ready to do some hunting?”