Finish the Story – Dec #4 – The Snow Angel,

Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith has tagged me in one of her brilliant Finish the Story challenges.


  1. Copy the story as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose
  3. Be sure to pingback or comment on the original post please. Please use the tag THWFTS.
  4. Tag only 1 person to continue the story
  5. Have fun!

Part One: 

Harriet loved the Christmas season. Everything went up Thanksgiving evening and didn’t come down until New Year’s Eve. People could see her Christmas tree from the other end of the block. 

This year, Harriet’s theme was the snow angel. Her tree was flocked with white, glistening snow and decorated with cherubs and angels of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Tiny angels surrounded snowmen on the mantle and Santa even had a young angel girl riding in the sleigh with him, while Mrs. Claus entertained a Snow Angel Brownie troop back at the North Pole.

Her house was filled with Christmas music and everywhere she looked, there was joy. Everywhere except in her heart. No one knew how lonely Harriet was and how much she longed for company. Oh, neighbors would stop at the door when caroling and families would wave as they walked past, but none came to visit.

Two weeks before Christmas a snowstorm struck the town and left behind nearly a foot of snow. Mr. Chen and Mr. Howard were kind enough to snowplow the neighborhood’s sidewalk. They salted the main walk and all the way up to Harriet’s door. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said as they tossed a final handful of salt on her porch. “Would you like to come in for hot chocolate?”

The two men smiled and made their apologies for not having time, and went on their way. Harriet understood, but was saddened just the same. She closed her front door and went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup. While looking out the back window, she gasped. 

“Well, I wonder who made that,” she said. “It’s a perfect snow angel.”

She looked around for footprints, but there were none. Just a perfect little angel in the snow.

Part two:

Then as she stood there in her pink woollen cardigan, with her slippers slowly getting wet from the melting snow, Harriet, gazed up and saw something amazing, something magical.

As Angel hovered in the sky, just by her old Oak tree, flapping its white’s wings. He was a male angel, who looked quite old and had a lopsided golden halo over his bald head.

“Oh, Excuse me. I do apologise for making an impression in the snow. I’ve not had these wings for very long and I jumped out of your tree, but didn’t get the hang of them in time, so I landed face down in your garden. I am sorry. I’m just so clumsy, I fumble all the time.”

Slightly bewildered, Harriet gaped open-mouthed and just managed to mumble “That’s quite alright”.

“My Names Clarence. What’s yours?” he flew down towards her and held out his hand then awkwardly nearly knocked her over. 

“I’m Harriet,” she said as she shook his hand. It was warm and he had a nice friendly smile, so she decided to be hospitable. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” she offered.

“Well, that’s very kind of you. Yes, I would, very much. I haven’t had a good cup of tea in simply ages.”

As she put the kettle on, she heard banging coming from the living room. He certainly was a very clumsy Angel.

Clarence had knocked over her easel and there was paint all over the floor. He picked up her latest picture, it was a painting of the local park, with the ducks on the pond and some children playing with a toy boat.

“Did you paint this?” Clarence asked.

“Yes, yes I did. Do you like it?” Harriet was so pleased. She had learned to paint at college and had always enjoyed it, but no one had ever come in for long enough for her to show her paintings to. They were mostly of the local area, they usually had children in them.

“I think it is a masterpiece,” Clarence said, “I think you need to share this with other people. In fact, I’ve made up my mind, I am going to……”

To be continued …….

So Who shall I pass the Baton on to? Who would like to have a go? 

How about Sadje at Keep it Alive?

Finish the Story Nov #3 – The Map


I have been tagged by Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith in one of her excellent ‘Finish the Story’ challenges. See the link below:

Here are the Rules

  1. Copy the story as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose
  3. Be sure to pingback or comment on the original post (here) please
  4. Tag only 1 person to continue the story
  5. Have fun!

Part one – by The Haunted Wordsmith 

The Map

Harold’s father, Trevor, travelled the world looking for antiques for the family store in Boston. “One day you’ll get to come with me, Harold,” his father would say, but that day never came. And it probably would never come. Especially now. Two weeks ago, his father disappeared. His plane landed safely, he checked into his hotel, then disappeared. He never showed up for the appointment at the Owl Emporium in London. The family has not given up though, that’s not like them. Megan and Harold run the shop together just as they had when he was away. It was best to convince themselves that he would be back shortly, then never at all.

The door to the shop clanged early one Saturday afternoon. Harold was manning the shop while his mother bought lunch.

A short man with a grey, Herringbone jacket and a black homburg hat entered the store carrying a long tube under his arm. “Good day, young man.”

Harold was perplexed, but hey, a customer was a customer. “Hi. Can’t I help you find something?”

The man chuckled lightly. “Ah, it is I that can help you find something. It is Harold? Harold Glade is it not?”

Harold searched his memory, but couldn’t find this strange man. The look on his face made the customer chuckle.

“We have never met, young man. You can put your mind to rest. However, I have met your father, and he needs your help.”

“My father?” Harold stiffened and gasped. “How do you know my father?”

“There is no time for that. He is in danger. This map and time compass will help you. You have no time to lose. That’s all I can do to help.”

The customer put the tube on the counter, looked around quickly as if he expected some masked assassin to jump out from behind a set of armor, and ran out the door.

Harold stood there with his mouth agape and opened the tube. Inside was an ancient map and what appeared to be a compass, but neither the map nor the compass looked right. For starters, the compass not only had the four points, it had a dial with numbers on it that ranged from zero to current year. The map shifted and changed place names as Harold turned the time dial on the compass.

“What is going on?”

Just as Harold asked, the door to the shop burst open and three men in black suits stood in the doorway. Without thinking what he was doing, Harold grabbed the map, turned the time dial, and pushed a tiny button on the side of the compass.

His stomach lurched and he shut his eyes until the sudden rush of wind had stopped. When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t believe it. Instead of being in his family’s antique shop, he was …


Here is my addition…

Part Two – Tales from the Mind of Kristian


… in a beautiful garden. He gaped amazed at all the trees and flowers. The fresh, clean air was nothing like his poor polluted lungs were used to, living in a huge sprawling metropolis. If this was Boston, it was one he was not familiar with, Boston from many years ago.

There were no buildings or people. It was incredibly peaceful, the kind of atmosphere that makes you want to whisper.

Harold wandered around and heard the sound of running water, off in the distance. As he got nearer the trees thinned and he saw a little lake with a fountain gushing in its centre. This was evidence that whatever time this was, there were people around somewhere.

He continued walking around the lake and saw a sundial on a plinth. It wasn’t much good as the sun was behind a thick layer of cloud, but carved on the stone plinth was a year. 1773! Something about that date tickled the back of his mind. He was a Bostonian, born and bred but he had little love of history. The fact that his father owned an antique shop had rather tainted any love of history he may have had.

He took the map out of his pocket and examined it. America was only roughly drawn, it was clear that whoever drew the map knew of the existence of the Americas but didn’t really have any idea what they looked like. It was also clear that whatever this map was meant to help find, he was on the wrong side of the Atlantic to find it. He had to go to the old world, not the new one.

Turning over the map, he saw scrawled in tiny writing on one corner a few words in a familiar hand. It was his fathers writing, written with what appeared to be an old-fashioned quill pen, judging by the scratchy marks.

The writing gave the location of a city in Europe and a date. The date wasn’t 1773 it was even earlier than that. Harold took out the compass and turned the dial to show the coordinates and the date but before he could press the tiny button……..

to be continued…… 


I have also included the word prompts from another of The Haunted Wordsmiths Challenges:

whisper, little, sundial


So, who shall I nominate to continue this story…..

I choose Melanie B Cee from Sparks from combustible Mind.

Have fun, I can’t wait to read what happens next!



(Finish The Story Oct #3) ‘Number 604’

The Haunted Wordsmith has a story tag which she starts and then passes the baton. You can continue it to where you want! There are no set number of days/ blogs it must run so anyone can choose to finish it or extend it. This is her start to the story and the following progress so far:

I have been tagged to write the next part by The Britchy One from Bitchin in the Kitchen

(Finish The Story Oct #3) ‘Number 604’

Number 604

David had been a postal clerk long enough to know not to think too much about what people receive in the mail. Under normal circumstances, he followed that unwritten rule, but Number 604 and their numerous mysterious letters, parcels, and the monthly large case wrapped in plain brown wrap fed his curiosity. All the mail ever delivered to Number 604 was stamped with vintage stamps, wax seals, and no return address. If that wasn’t enough, David swore that many of them were addressed with quill and ink or other calligraphy pens.

It was another sweltering day in the city, and as David made his rounds, the heavy postbag kept slipping off his shoulder and hitting the ground. He was very happy to see his last stop because that meant the bag would be empty for the mile walk bag to the postal truck.

David slipped the mail into their proper slots while singing to himself. He stopped mid-song when he turned over an old battered envelope with vintage stamps and found the wax seal had broken after being dropped so many times. With a quick glance around to make sure he was alone in the building’s lobby, his fingers teased the envelope flat.

Should he or shouldn’t he? Did he dare risk losing his job because he was curious about the mysterious owner of Number 604? What on Earth could have been in all those letters and packages?

Job be damned, his fingers slipped under the envelope’s lip and opened the envelope revealing …


The single sheet of paper, so thin, like parchment, seemed to jump into his hand. He looked over the spidery handwriting and realized that no one ever wrote like this today.

My Dearest David;

It has taken so long for you to succumb to your curiosity. During this time I have waited and waited.

I realize that this is confusing to you, but know my love, I have been waiting throughout the cycles of time for you. Every life you have lead moved you further and further away from our love. Now though I sense that you are ready to find me.

I shall wait upon the cliff where first we met.

Please my darling, don’t make me wait.

Love Tabitha.

David stared at the words written and began to feel. Warmth. Desire. Memories teasing, just out of reach. He began to fold the letter up, realizing that he must deliver it. However, did he have to? It was actually addressed to him, even if the address was to Number 604.

David did not realize that he was being watched. That through the peephole of Number 604 a brilliant green eye gazed upon him. Crimson lips, wet with saliva, parted and a whispered breath whistled. She hoped that he would succumb, he would take the bait. For she had waited a long time to…….

Bitching In The Kitchen

…see him fall into her trap. As she looked at him, she allowed herself to wonder at her self-restraint. She had hated him and planned her revenge for so long and the waiting had taken its toll.

She was all alone now. Her parents, broken after her sister Tanith’s disappearance had given up on lives and died of broken hearts. Dave’s refusal to speak of the events of that day had destroyed her family. Two young kids, they’d gone into the haunted house but only one returned. Finally, she could make him reveal the events of the day.

She watched him read the letter. She knew he couldn’t resist the mystery, it was what had drawn him and Tanith to that haunted house after all. She knew he’d go to the cliff and she knew she’d be waiting to meet him, ready to…

My Addition:

extract from him his final confession, before exacting her revenge.

She was more than just her sister, she was her twin. They had done everything together until Dave had come along. He’d taken her away and then lured her into that place from which she never returned. She had felt the moment when her life had left her body. She had never felt whole again.

For years she had dwelt on it, wanting and desiring her revenge. It was pure chance that had led her to cross paths with David again. Serendipity that had caused her to move into this neighbourhood and made David her postman, and she was not going to let this bit of good fortune pass without taking action.

She ran upstairs to change into a more appropriate outfit. She could see from her balcony window that David was walking quickly back up the street. Would he go home to change, or would he rush straight for that lonely stretch of cliff?

She opened her wardrobe and put on her black tracksuit and grabbed the crossbow that she’d been keeping for just such an emergency.

She thought she had prepared everything but…..


I think I will tag my pal, Kristian of Life Lessons from around the Dinner Table.


I have also included the following Word Prompts:

FOWC with Fandango — Balcony

What can I say? I like to weave as many challenges and prompts together as possible and it also helps to raise awareness of all these excellent blogs.





Finish the Story #11 – The Private Detective Part V

Welcome to Finish the Story

The Haunted Wordsmith will start a story, then another has to pick up the story and add to it, then hand it off to another person, etc. until the story is complete. This has proven to be quite fun in a blogging situation since we all have different approaches.


1 Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)

2 Add somehow to the story in whichever style and length you choose

3 Tag only 1 person

4 If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that The Haunted Wordsmith knows.

5.  I volunteered, but this is the part where you’d list who might have tagged you for the singular honor of adding to the story..


I would like to thank Melanie B Cee from Sparks of a Combustible Mind for inviting me to take part in this challenge.

The Private Detective

One of the first lessons Eric learned the hard way after leaving the force and going into business for himself was to never ask the client why they wanted his services. The less he knew, the better it was for everyone. Something about this case, and the creepy man who hired him last week, just didn’t sit right though.

As he sat in the old blue Buick flipping through his notes, he saw her coming down the step of the opera house. He snuffed out his fifth camel and started the car. She was all dolled up in a Victorian get-up. Looked like something out of an H.G. Wells movie. Eric watched as she crossed the street, entered the park, and hailed a carriage.

“Shit!” He couldn’t follow her in the car through the park.

The carriage turned the corner and …

A Guy Called Bloke

… and disappeared from his view!

“Buggerations!” Eric snorted as he quickly got out of the car and hop, skipped and jumped his way across the street into the park. He could just see the end of the carriage as it made its way merrily across the lawn tracks!

As Eric chuffed along behind the carriage, he was becoming more and more startled as he saw smoke billowing from the top of the carriages’ roof, “What on earth?” Eric thought.

After only a few minutes, the carriage came to a standstill beside the fountain of Silver Waters, and she stepped out. Eric quickly hid behind a man selling balloons! He saw her talk to the driver, who doffed his hat and moved the carriage forwards by fifty or so feet before coming to a standstill again.

He watched Vicky [he had called her this because of the garb she had been wearing when he first caught sight of her. He didn’t know her name, Mr Creepy hadn’t passed on that nugget of information, so Vicky would have to do for the time being] walk up to the fountain, and as she approached from within her bulky skirts she withdrew a large bottle of something. The contents he could see were bright green almost luminous!?

“What on earth??” Eric gasped!

Vicky stopped in front of the fountain of Silver Waters and seemed to be speaking to the statue on the top, a funny looking gargoyle [l know, who would have thunk it?] and as she did so, the statue moved and so spake back in a kind of sing song accent and turned  and looked at the balloon seller – who was already becoming quite twitchy as he didn’t usually have another man quite this close to him when hiding!

Suddenly the balloon seller disappeared in a plume of green smoke with silvery tinges and Eric saw the balloons take flight to the skies!

“Blimey! That’s burst my bubble of disguise!” Eric thought, “Now what?”

Meanwhile Vicky and the gargoyle were looking directly at Eric and seemed to be speaking in the language of the elephant shrew [Eric knew this as his Son was studying the very same language in the elephant shrew school – l know how freaky as a coincidence is that?] As Eric tried to look as inconspicuous as possible which was somewhat difficult in his bright yellow zoot suit, Vicky and the gargoyle were speaking rather fast now and as they were doing so, the air around them cracked, and groaned, and creaked – yes creaked! The more Eric looked the more he could see wrinkles appearing before his eyes, the air seemed to be visible, the atmosphere was heavy, was that a portal opening, and was that another Vicky stepping out, was that another Vicky stepping out, was that another Vicky stepping out?

Eric closed his eyes for a moment thinking alternative reality and feeling somewhat faint and when he opened them again …

… he sat on his old Harley flipping through his ipad, he saw her coming down the step of the museum. He snuffed out his twenty second Marlboro and started the Harley. She was all dolled up in a Gothic get-up. Looked like something out of an old, well Gothic movie. Eric watched as she crossed the street, entered the zoo, and hailed a camel.

“Chocolate Smarty Cake!” He couldn’t follow her on the bike through the zoo.

The camel turned the corner and Eric thought, Thunder Pants and then he ….

The Britchy One

…..started to feel very giddy. What was going on? He was uncoordinated, disorientated and sank slowly to his knees as he lost consciousness.

He woke with an IV in his arm Ina hospital bed. A nurse was busy with a chart and it took her a minute to realise he was awake.

“Welcome back! You had us all worried for a bit there!” She chirruped. “What happened?” asked Eric “I’ll see if the doctors here to see you” she replied, neatly avoiding his question as she sashayed out of the room. Eric noticed wryly that her scrubs fit in all the right places – obviously, he wasn’t too out of it!

He looked around, bored. The room was a bland, beige, instantly forgettable room with a stunning view of a solid brick wall six feet away. If you weren’t sick before you would be after a couple of hours here he thought.

There was a peremptory knock on the door. Before Eric could respond and officious looking man in a bespoke suit walked in. His shoes looked expensive. Handmade burnished Italian leather glowing as only shoes polished by a valet could. His apparel and demeanour screamed upper class like the foghorn on a cross-channel ferry.

“So you’re awake” he barked in a short staccato burst of verbal gunfire. “Do you know who you are?” “Yes of course I do,” said Eric giving his full name “Why am I here and where are my clothes?”.

“All in good time my man, you were brought in without any identification two days ago. You were dehydrated and had concussion. Let’s get some details shall we? He proceeded to ask Eric’s full address, profession and if he knew what day of the week it was, what year it was and other questions Eric presumed were to assess his cognition. “What happened do you remember?” the man concluded.

Eric’s Mind was a blur. Full of bizarre dreams – or were they?

“I don’t really know” he admitted. “Do you know why you were in the park?” I was following someone on orders from a client.”

The man leaned forward quivering “Ahh and what do you know of this client? he purred.

Just as Eric was about to answer there was a knock at the door. A short tired looking Indian man shuffled in. “Hello, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Doctor Raina”

Wait! exclaimed Eric turning to look at the first man “If this is the doctor then who are you?”….

There was no one there, although the air looked oddly thick where the strange man had stood.    Dr Raina looked puzzled.   “What are you asking?” he said, a concerned frown on his face,  “That concussion must be worse than we first thought.”   He wrote something on the clipboard he clutched.   

Eric asked if he might get some extra strength aspirin, because really.  His head was pounding now.  And not just from that cheap cigarette he had barely puffed on before coming on this journey.   Dr Raina explained that concussed patients could not have any painkillers due to the effect on an already overtaxed brain.   Or something.   Eric was having trouble following the good doctor’s words.  At least in any cohesive fashion.

“How did I get here?” Eric finally managed.   Dr Raina smiled.   “Oh, that lovely woman – she said she was your sister? – brought you in.  Such strange clothes though..  Said you’d been in some sort of accident with your motorcycle…”

Eric sat up very straight, shocked at the thought of his beloved soft tail being damaged.   “What happened?” he asked.   His head throbbed more strongly.  “I guess you were on your way to an audition for that new film “Grotesque” when somebody sideswiped you.   You were lucky not to die!”  The doctor looked at his watch, clearly needing to move along.   “Your sister said I was to let her know if .. *ahem excuse me* WHEN you woke up ..”

Eric looked at the tired little man before him.   “Don’t do that please,” he asked.  “Because you see, I don’t have a sister!”   Dr. Raina looked startled.   “Well who is she then?”  he queried.  “You’re asking ME?” said Eric.   “The only woman I’ve been in contact with recently was my … oh never mind.”   Eric thought of the fat fee that the creepy man had paid.    He needed the dough.   Smokes weren’t inexpensive for the first thing, and second, now there would apparently be repairs to his bike, and third and perhaps most important: he didn’t get so many clients, he could refuse even creepy ones.   Plus there was the rental for that blue Buick.  Some stake-out car.  Hmpft.

But what was going on?   Eric stared as the door began to swing open.   Dr. Raina continued writing his endless notes in utter disregard of the opening of the door.   “Look OUT!” Eric shouted, as the long dull metal barrel of a Colt 45 poked through the opening…


My Addition – 

Dr Raina looked to where Eric was staring. There was nothing there but he was clearly agitated. He walked to the door and opened it, there was a strange odour of eau de cologne but apart from that, nothing.

Eric was still in a state of agitation, his breathing was laboured and he could see spots appearing before his eyes and the dizziness that came before passing out. 

The doctor made him lay down and checked his pulse again. 

“I’m going to give you a sedative, you are clearly in a state of high dudgeon about something.” Dr Raina filled a syringe, quickly found a vein in Eric’s forearm and injected him with something that quickly made him feel calmer and more relaxed, like sinking into a warm bath.

“There, that’s better isn’t it?” Said Dr Raina. “Tell me, how many cigarettes do you smoke per day?” he asked looking at the four packets of cigarettes that they had taken out of his pockets and placed on the bedside cabinet. There were two packets of Camels and two of Marlborough and each were half empty.

“I suppose I smoke between forty and fifty cigarettes a day. When I was in the police I smoked sixty a day, but I’ve cut down since then.”

“I think you are suffering from nicotine poisoning, it’s causing you to have hallucinations.”

Eric thought to himself. Could I be having hallucinations? Could all this have been a figment of his imagination? The Victorian lady, the Gargoyle, even the creepy man who’d hired him in the first place? It all seemed too real.

Just then there was a frantic knock on the door and a nurse came bursting in.

“Doctor, there’s an emergency in the next room, you must come quickly.”

The doctor rushed out of the room with the nurse. Eric could hear the persistent beep of the kind one of those machines make when they can’t find a pulse. 

Eric lay back in his pillow, the sedative seemed to be working, taking away all his anxiety. “maybe it was all in his head.”

Then a woman walked in, she was wearing ordinary clothes and her hair was hanging loose, but he recognised her face even without her Victorian clothes.

“You!” He cried, sitting up in bed…..


I will pass the baton over to….

Cyranny at Cyranny’s Cove.

Which Way Challenge – Sonofabeach96

I hope you enjoy the challenge, but if you don’t want to, please let The Haunted Wordsmith know.


Finish the Story #14, 06 Sept 2018 – Part Two



I have been tagged for this challenge by The Haunted Wordsmith – Thanks, Teresa. 🙂

Welcome to Finish the Story

I start a story, then another has to pick up the story and add to it, then hand it off to another person, etc. until the story is complete. This has proven to be quite fun in a blogging situation since we all have different approaches.


  1. Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in whichever style and length you choose
  3. Tag only 1 person
  4. If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that I know.


The Art Student

Amy checked herself in the rear-view mirror one last time before heading to C101 in Hawthorne Hall. Just a year ago, she walked those halls as a student, and now she was teaching her very own class.

The door was unassuming, but behind it, magic happened. The class was exactly as it was when she was a freshman. Easels and stools filled the center of the room while cabinets were filled with paints, sponges, canvases, and everything anyone needed to learn how to become an artist.

Students started filing in. Right at 10:00, Amy started her first lesson.

“Hey everyone,” she said, “thanks for signing up for The Human Form. This class is an introduction to drawing the human body.”

The students groaned. That surprised her because this had been her favorite class, but she carried on anyway.

“For our first lesson, I have requested a model who,” she paused and looked at the clock, “should be here any minute. Today –”

A knock on the door interrupted her. Fifteen students gasped and Amy looked stunned when …..

To be continued


My Part:

An enormous guy with the weirdest skin came into the room. He was so large, he had to duck to get under the door frame and had to step sideways so his shoulders could get through the opening.

He had no hair on his head and his skin looked like a melted wax candle.

Amy took a breath then asked the man. “Excuse me. Are you from the agency? The Model agency?”

The man’s voice was deep yet soft. “Yes, they told me you asked for something different. I must admit I was surprised when they said you wanted me to pose for students. I’m usually sent to horror movies to be an extra or jobs like that. Halloween is my busiest time of year.” He sounded sad about it but resigned to his fate.

Amy replied “Well, I did ask for someone who looked a bit different, not a conventional beauty. Can you stand on that platform and remain as still as you can.

The man removed all his clothes. It was clear that the melted skin was pretty much all over and not a hair grew out of it. Standing on the platform his head brushed the ceiling tiles.

Amy couldn’t resist asking him “Your skin, were you born like that or….” She couldn’t finish the question, but he answered anyway, it’s what most people asked him.

“No, I was a firefighter, at 9/11. I was caught in a fireball.” He could say it now, seventeen years later, without breaking down.

Amy turned to the class with tears in her eyes “Class, take out your pads and pencils, I want you to draw what you see.”

After twenty minutes, Amy began to walk around the class to look at what people were drawing. She couldn’t believe it that…..


Over to the next person…..

I nominate Paula Light at:

Finish the Story #6, 11 August 2018 – The Road

The story started with a challenge set up The Haunted Wordsmith, to be continued by the next tagged writer.

Teresa’s Rules–

  1. Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in whichever style and length you choose
  3. Tag only 1 person
  4. If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that I know.



Chapter 1 The Haunted Wordsmith

“It’s in your blood, hun.”

His mother’s response to the announcement that he was leaving home echoed in his ears. He knew she would be supportive, but he never expected to feel both exhilarated and let down at the same time. They were close, and always had been, but a little part of him now felt she had already let him go years ago. Pushing that thought from his mind, Eric picked up his loaded backpack and set off for the adventure of a lifetime. With one last hug and long look at his old life, he …

Chapter 2 Light Motifs II

… began walking down the familiar sun-dappled path toward town and the bus station. Eric still appreciated the quiet, peaceful beauty of the old trees as their leaves donned autumn’s colors, but his mind was elsewhere. His imagination conjured up images of vibrant city life, the music, the lights, the faster pace. He’d have to get a job, of course, and was prepared with various resumes. He couldn’t wait to begin his new, exciting life, and was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he didn’t hear the rattle as he stepped over the log…

Chapter 3 This, That, and The Other

Eric braced himself for the rattlesnake bite that he knew was coming. He looked down at the log expecting to see a coiled rattler poised to strike. But he was totally unprepared for what he actually saw. There, in a small wicker basket, was a baby, no more than a few months old, Eric guessed, rattle in hand, looking back up at Eric. The baby shook its rattle and then smiled up at Eric. Eric reached down and lifted up the basket. The baby looked healthy and, given the circumstance, remarkably happy. It even started cooing when Eric lifted it up out of the basket. And that is when Eric found the note attached to the baby’s diaper.


The typed note said, “I am a victim of incestuous rape and I am not fit to be a mother. I named her Tuesday, because that is when she was born, but who ever finds her can rename her whatever they want.”  Eric being the genius that he was, realized that the baby was only two days old, because today was Thursday, or possibly it was a week and two days old, but he really had no idea and it could have been a few months old and two days.  Eric felt that this was better than getting bit by a rattle snake, or for that matter getting hit by a javelin, but Eric knew that he did not want this baby and he would have to figure out something to do with it, so he could get on with his busy life.  It was kind of a cute baby and he always liked that song Tuesday Afternoon.  Eric wondered how any mother could not feel any emotional attachment for their own baby and that is when he crouched down to pick the baby up.  As he grabbed the baby, he heard a voice say, “No stupid, you have give her proper support because she is still developing, so put your hands under the baby’s head.” Eric looked around and saw…

Chapter 5  Reena Saxena

He put the baby back in the basket, blew a kiss and moved on,

“All the best, Tuesday! May you find a parent who deserves you….”

He had barely moved ten steps, when he heard the baby’s cooing again. Reluctantly, he looked back and found her smiling. She even managed to wave at him, or was she imploring to be picked up…. He was now sure that she was more than a month old, as she could communicate so well. But how had she survived for so long? Did the callous mother take more than a month to abandon her? He was imagining a face similar to the baby’s … maybe, the mother is young and beautiful, but callous … no helpless or .. innocent or .. what? Darn… it was not his problem to think about that.

Another cooing sound, and he had picked up Tuesday again. He looked into the baby’s innocent eyes, and knew that he was hooked. But how was he going to manage this?

There were only two options. One, go back to his Mom and seek her help. She might suspect something else, but it didn’t matter. Or look for the baby’s mother ….

Chapter 6 Sync With Deep

The thought of searching for Tuesday’s mother sounded hectic. Eric decided to take the baby home to his mom. When mom saw Eric, she was quite surprised by his return. She was taken aback to see a pair of tiny toes peeking alongside Eric’s shoulder. The baby’s cries filled the room. Mom quickly grabbed Tuesday in her arms.

‘I had doubted mom unnecessarily,’ thought Eric and smiled a sign of relief.

‘What’s your story?’ asked mom.

Eric quickly started from the rattle sound to the note in the diaper.

Mom’s eyes were clouded with tears. ‘The history repeats,’ she said to herself.

She remembered that day how Eric arrived at her. It was the time of sunset and she was having her usual walk along the neighborhood park when she heard a feeble cry. A day 1 old baby was found in a brown cardboard carton wrapped in a piece of bloodstained cloth. She frantically waited for an hour to see if anyone came to claim the baby. Finally, she took the baby herself and a homeless baby got a home and a mother too.

She named him Eric, meaning Ever or Eternal.

Chapter 7 Morpeth Road

Eric’s mother was quickly hard at work fussing over the baby. There was so much to do and first thing was to change the baby’s nappy as it was considerably wet and smelly after so many or few days.

Eric knew his mother was a good mother after all he had her to blame for being the man he was.

His thought of adventures in the city were put on hold as he and his mum discussed what to do. Tuesday would have to be handed in as his mum knew the mother would in time want to know where her child was.

They decided to put a lost child sign up on every post in the village. Surely someone would come forward.

After a week there came a knock on the door…

Chapter 8 Pensitivity 101

The man stood on the porch, taking off his hat when Eric’s mother opened the door.
‘I understand you are caring for an infant which I believe is my daughter. I’ve come to take her home.’
Eric’s mother distrusted him on sight, and rather than invite him in, decided to keep him on the doorstep.
‘Yes, we are looking after a young child temporarily. And who Sir, are you exactly?’
‘My name is Edwin Mallor, and I live in the next village. My fourteen year old daughter ran away with her sister some weeks ago, spreading malicious rumours about misconduct under my roof. I have come to claim what is rightfully mine, and will see to it that you are well compensated for your time and trouble.’
‘And what Sir, has happened to your older daughter? Has she been found and returned safely to you?’
‘Sadly no. Her body was retrieved from the river eight days ago. It is believed she had left the babe unattended whilst she bathed.’
‘And where Sir, might this have been?’
‘In the woods over yonder. May I take the child now?’
‘How old would your daughter be Sir?’
‘About six weeks of age.’
‘I am sorry Sir, but the child we are caring for is about a year old. I will bring her to you if you wish, but I am confident she is not your kin.’
‘That will not be necessary then, so I’ll bid you good day.’

Eric could not believe his mother could lie so blatantly to the man, and asked why she had done so.
‘Eric, son. You are a good boy, but you don’t understand these matters. Tuesday may well be his daughter. She may also be his grand daughter. How convenient that her mother drowned and cannot defend her actions.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Eric asked.
‘I want you to remove all of the notices in the village. I need to think of a way to keep this baby safe……………..’

Chapter 9 The Dark Netizen

Eric nodded. He did not quite understand how these things worked, just like his mother had said. However, he knew that little Tuesday would be safer with them. He blew a flying kiss to Tuesday, and ran off towards the village. He had to remove all the notices.

He returned in the evening. He knocked on the door. He heard his mother’s voice coming from inside.

“Mom, it’s me.”

“You know the password, Eric.”

Eric sighed. When he was a little kid, Eric had been fond of making makeshift tents inside the house. He would let his mom enter the tent only if she used a password he had made up. Eric spoke towards the door.


Mother opened the door to let Eric inside. To his shock, Eric saw an assortment of weapons laid out on his dining table. Bows, knives, swords, axes, it was a complete arsenal. He looked at his mother with questioning eyes.

“Mother? What is all this?”

Mother placed her hands on Eric’s shoulders.

“Child, you should know. Tuesday is no ordinary baby. Men will come to take her away. Evil men. We need to keep her safe.”

“But, mom what about the oath you took? And what do you mean by Tuesday not being an ordinary baby.”
Mother ruffled Eric’s hair.

“See Eric,….”

Chapter 10 Jo Hawk

“See Eric, we have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Eric had been so annoyed with Mother’s password nonsense and surprised at the weapons he had not seen the figure sitting next to the fireplace. He watched as it unfolded from the chair rising until her head nearly touched the ceiling. She was thin, her face full of sharp angles and sharp eyes. The flowing amber-brown fabric of her dress fell from her shoulders to the floor, softening her bony structure.

“What…” Eric blinked several times. “Who are you?”

“My name is Laila. I am a fairy and Tuesday’s godmother.”

“A fairy godmother?”

Laila’s pale face might have been alabaster. She stood motionless, her slender fingers dangling from the sleeves of the gown.

“Tuesday’s fairy godmother? Some godmother you are. Aren’t you supposed to protect her?” Eric’s voice rose as he spoke, he clenched his fist and shook it at the being in front of him.

“Eric,” his mother said placing her hand on his shoulder.

“I led you to her. You required guidance holding the babe,” Laila said.

“It was you I heard?”

Laila slowly closed and opened her eyes. Her chin dipped a fraction in acknowledgement.

“What do you mean you led me to her? Me? Why me?” Eric shook his head.

“It is as foretold by prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

Laila’s eyes closed again and though her mouth didn’t move her voice filled the room…

Chapter 11 Gina@Singledust

“You have a restlessness young man but your conscience will always lead you to do what is difficult but right”.

Eric was mesmerised by the softness and timbre of her voice; she seemed to speak in echoes. His mother had stopped fussing and even the baby was silent, hushed by Laila’s melodic voice.

“The note was written that way to pull you in, once you read its contents you would want to take this child and give her a safe place” Laila continued, gently touching the baby’s forehead.

“Eric, you have a destiny. You know this; unconsciously it’s been simmering in your psyche” Laila moves a little closer to the fire as she speaks and Eric sees sparks bounce off her lips.

“I had to protect this child from the evil sent to retrieve her. That man who pretended to be related to her, he was in good disguise but your mother spotted it immediately. I thank you Madam” and Laila bows and her gown rustles like leaves falling on an autumn day.

Mother smiles shyly and nods, “Yes I felt he wanted to destroy the magic, he had a muddy, streaked aura that was quite menacing”.

“Indeed he was not here for the benefit of this special child, the girl he mentioned was not his daughter though she was this baby’s mother. She was ill and had run away to save her child, sadly her body was too weak. I protected the child while waiting for you to appear Eric.”

“There is a prophecy you see…..

 Heed the owl on a full moon night.
Tell the mother hold on
until the owl passes over town,
or the caul will be torn
and the child have no sight
behold the transparent veil
the mystic cover
remove with care
there’s magic beware”

 Eric stood and………..

Chapter 12 – My Addition.

…..Cried. Those words he had heard in his nightmares. All his life he had had the same recurring dream. He would have to face the Nighwatcher. In the dream, he travelled through the darkest parts of the forest at night, with only a special candle to find the Nightwatcher who appeared in the form of an owl. The Owl would sing to him the same words that Laila had just told him. Only the Nightwatcher knew the rest of the prophecy.

“Mother, you need to keep the baby safe, Laila will help you. They will come for her, she is the Lightchild. You remember the nightmares that I’ve had since I was small? You used to cradle me in your arms and sing to me until the memories of those terrible dreams faded. In those dreams, I was told the words to that prophecy and I was given a mission. I think you know all about it. You must give me the candle.”

His Mother’s eyes went vacant suddenly. “What candle? I don’t know what you mean by the candle.”

“Those horrible dreams told me you would have the candle. Only that candle will light my path to the Nighwatcher and only he can tell me what I must do next. I am the Pathseeker and I must return the Lightchild to her rightful place, only then will the evils of the world, released by Pandora all those thousands of years ago, be returned to their box and the world will be at peace again. I know now what our family secret it. You are a Witch, and Pandora was your ancestor. You have a black candle and I must have it.”

“Eric you don’t know what you’re saying. A black candle is a wicked thing, made from the rendered fat of an infant. I would never have such a thing!”

“Mother, I know you could never make one but nonetheless I know you have one.”

The tears ran down her face as she nodded her head. She ran upstairs and he could hear her open the door to the attic. There was a lot of weird stuff up there, he remembered sneaking up there as a child. After a lot of noise of boxes being moved, his mother came back downstairs. She held out a black satin bag as if it was a venomous snake about to bite her.

“Here, Son, take it. I could never bear to see it, not after my Mother told me what it was. It has been passed down the female line in our family. Use it soon. I fear time is short. Once lit, the candle will only burn for six hours. The wax never burns, but it will not light again until it receives fresh blood to recharge it.”

Laila smiled at them. “You have discovered your destiny. I am the guardian of the child, you are the Pathseeker. Your Mother and I will keep the child safe but you must go tonight to find the next part of the prophecy. There is only one more thing you must know…………………..”


Now I tag…..Kristian of Life Lessons around the Dinner Table

Finish The Story # 7 – The Date, Part Two


This is a new challenge by the great Theresa at The Haunted Wordsmith –

I have copied the idea and rules of the challenge in her own words below:

Welcome to Finish The Story

I start a story, then another has to pick up the story and add to it, then hand it off to another person, etc. until the story is complete. This has proven to be quite fun in a blogging situation since we all have different approaches.


  1. Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in whichever style and length you choose
  3. Tag only 1 person
  4. If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that I know.


Here is the first part:

The Date

Emily Elizabeth stretched as she sat up in bed. The early morning sun peeked through her blinds casting golden tiger stripes across her room. A quick shower finished waking her up. As she leaned against the kitchen counter waiting for her morning pot of coffee to finish brewing, she glanced at the calendar.

“Hmm,” she said, “I wonder why today’s circled.”

She checked her phone’s calendar, but there was nothing there. Her coffee finished and she started running through the past few days trying to remember as she poured herself a cup.

Emily Elizabeth took a few sips of her coffee, staring at the calendar on the wall. “Oh my gosh!” she yelled. “I completely forgot …

Here is my addition:

“….I promised to meet that guy in the park for lunch.”

It was easily done. She was at her friend, Carol-Lynn’s 21st birthday party and enjoying herself rather a lot. This guy came up to her and started dancing. He had slicked back dark hair and really white teeth. He had a nice smile. She already had quite a bit to drink and so she could only vaguely remember him. He wouldn’t leave her alone all night. He’d been one of Carol-Lynn’s many cousins, she came from one of those huge families. She was one of seven herself and apparently, her Mother came from an equally large family. She’d had to admit that, what she could remember of him, he was quite nice and handsome. She’d not long split up from A.J. and so was not particularly looking to tie herself down to another guy, but he asked her to meet him at the Park today. She remembered now, coming home in a bit of a state, circling the date on her calendar, drinking a pint of water then going to bed. The hangover the next day had been terrible and it must have completely slipped her mind.

Gosh, she couldn’t ever remember his name!

Checking her watch, it was still a couple of hours until midday. Looking down at her attire, she’d put on a casual tracksuit, she had to change, and do something with her face and hair.

After an hour busying herself in the bathroom, she emerged with her dark brown hair arranged in braids and her face lightly made up but her eyes, her best feature so she’d been told, emphasised with black eyeliner with a flick at the corners.

She opened her wardrobe. What to wear? She’d been wearing her red dress that night. It had a high neck, bare arms and came down to her mid-thigh to show off her legs. Her Mother had drilled it into her, show off legs or bust but never at the same time.

She picked out a light summer cotton frock, with broderie anglaise on it, but when she tried it on, the frills made her look a bit frumpy. She discarded it on the bed.

Pulling out dress after dress, it wasn’t long before the bed was covered in most of her summer wardrobe.

Then at the back, she saw a dress she hadn’t worn in a while. It was a cotton dress in a pale yellow gingham, with a loose long skirt but tightly fitting halter neck. It was a bit folksy, but as he was one of Carol-Lynn’s country cousins, he would probably like that. Not that he was a corn chewing yokel. Although, she couldn’t remember much about him at all, only his nice white smile. This dress was perfect, the colour went well with her brown hair and it made a feature of her top half that he wouldn’t have seen. At least she thought he hadn’t seen, she was sure she would have remembered THAT!

putting the dress on, she slipped on a pair of yellow pumps on her feet, grabbed her wide-brimmed summer hat, her Jackie-O sunglasses and her small leather bag. She was ready to meet her Date.

Well, she thought she was ready, but it was still a shock when……..

To be Continued……


I choose to tag:

Mel at Crushed Caramel.

Are you up for the challenge?

Finish The Story #2 — 07 – The Opening of the Circus



The Haunted Wordsmith started this story and nominated A Guy Called Bloke to continue it. He, in turn, has nominated me…..

Finish The Story #2 — 07


Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)

Add somehow to the story in whichever style and length you choose

Tag only 1 person

If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please tag me (the Haunted Wordsmith) so that I know.

The Opening of the Circus

Gustav had never been to a circus before and when the newspaper announced the opening of the Hippotheatron in 1866, he was ecstatic. There were to be horses, monkeys, and even a …

…… pair of Ostriches! He had only read about them in the books, but if that wasn’t exciting enough by itself there were to be other animals also His father had talked of strange and exotic beasts from far off lands! Barbary lions, Tasmanian tigers and other animals his Father had not heard of either. Oh my this was going to be show, a great great show, possibly the greatest show on earth! Gustav just wasn’t excited about the animals, from what had been read to him there were also going to be the ….

…..greatest collection of freaks he’d ever seen. His Father had spoken about it at length.

When they arrived at the Circus his Father lead him past the rows and rows of seats.

Weren’t they going to sit down? Gustav wondered to himself. He could already smell that animal smell, a bit like the farm he’d grown up on only ten times more powerful.

His father lead him past cages containing some very strange animals. Some that looked like horses but with black and white stripes and another animal with a long neck and brown patches all over it.

Finally, his Father pulled him up to a man wearing a red coat and a top hat, who was twirling two enormous moustaches.

His father spoke “Well, Here he is, your new addition to the freak show. I told you I had the hairiest and ugliest child you’d ever seen. Twenty bucks and he’s yours.”

“Done” The man in the red coat said taking out a huge wadge of cash and counting out twenty dollars.

That was how he joined the circus……



Ok, that’s changed it about a bit 😉


Now to continue the story, I choose:

Mel Finch at Crushed Caramel: