NYC Midnight 100-word microfiction

One hundred words is a very small number of words with which to form a complete story. I re-remember this every time I get a prompt to do a 100-word microfiction entry in 24 hours. My prompts this time: genre – ghost story, action – picking up a coin, word – spark

The Ballad of Grey Sadie

You’ve never heard of Grey Sadie? Jilted bride, threw herself in the river, lures unsuspecting men to their deaths?

You bend down to pick up a stray coin and static sparks. With that touch, she has you. You’ll walk straight off the riverbank, your thoughts crowded out by her fury. That current is faster than it looks. And the weeds will pull you down. 

It’s just a story. Put that quarter in your pocket and listen to the river rush by. 

I’ll fall in and you’ll swim after me. It’s nice to try something different after a century or two.

NYC Midnight Round Two

In the second round of the 250-word micro fiction contest, I drew genre – fairy tale, action – collecting water in a bucket, word – decline

The Price of Magic

A charmed village sat in the shadow of a mountain. But when its fortunes declined, Council consulted their books. It was past time to refresh the well with water from the magic spring. A child was chosen to make the climb and warned of the monster who lived there. Jill walked all morning. She filled her bucket from the spring, then heard bone-chilling shrieks. Was it the monster? Or someone needing help?

She followed the cries to a cottage, its door wide open. An ancient woman shifted on a narrow bed. “Thirsty,” she croaked.

Jill found a mug and dipped it into the bucket. As the woman drank, years disappeared from her face. She jumped out of bed. “Wait, you’re my age! Who are you?”

“I’m Jacqueline. Five hundred years ago, Council protected the village with a spell. The spring flows only while I’m trapped here, but a drink from it frees me.”

“They just abandoned you here? A child?”

“They said it was for the greater good. Every hundred years, someone comes for water, but my cries scare them away. You came for me.” She hugged Jill.

“Will you come with me back to the village?”

“Never! I shall see what’s down the other side of the mountain. You may join me if you’d like. I’ve been alone so long.”

“They told me there was a monster here.”

“They are the monsters.”

Jill grabbed Jacqueline’s hand and they skipped away, the bucket forgotten.

The village awaited its fate.

The Curio Shop

“Harry sent me.” Unsettling things crowded the dusty shelves. Joe shivered. “What is this place?”

“I make #connections between #collectors whose interests have a certain #diversity. Like this #skull of a #lovesick man drowned in #freezing waters. Harry’s right. You’re perfect.”

#vss365 #vssdaily #bravewrite #vssparanormal #366FF #vsshorror

NYC Midnight drama

I forgot to post my entry into the most recent 250-word micro fiction contest. I drew Drama as my genre, which is not my favorite. My prompts were “getting an autograph” for the action, and the word “lean”.

Art Imitates Life

“Life-changing, isn’t it?” The woman nods to the book Jude is clutching.

“I just discovered his books. My mom died and left them to me.”

“He’s a genius. The whole ‘distinguished professor seduces impressionable coed’ premise is overdone, but he gives it such a twist.”

Jude flips through the pages, wishing she’d read it. 

“Are you looking for the really hot scene? It’s page 327. My book falls right open to that page. When Martin tells Patty that it was goodbye sex, it’s just devastating.”

“I kind of hated him.” She means the author, but it seems to apply to the character.

“Sure, when she comes back to tell him she’s pregnant and he laughs, you want to kill him, but—”


Jude’s hand trembles as she holds out the book.

“Who shall I make it out to?”

“I’m Penny’s daughter.”

“Your mother’s the fan, not you? Such a pity.” He leans closer. “I’ve got a room upstairs.”

“I already have your autograph.”

“Do you now?” He writes, “To Penny, whose daughter is a beauty, M. Porter” on the flyleaf.

She sets down a yellowed letter. “You wrote this to my mom after she told you she was pregnant.”

“You’re one of those? I guess you’re off-limits then.” He stuffs the letter into the book and waves her to the side. “Off you go, there’s a line.”

She is still immobile when the fan behind her finishes. “He’s amazing. I have chills!”

“Yes.” She drops the book. “Chills.”

A Rude Awakening

#Shuffling #bravely down the dark #passageway, Ruby wondered where she could be. The last thing she remembered was reading a #rare book of #poetry by an ancient #oracle. The distant light came into focus. It was…a #marquee? WELCOME TO #PURGATORY it flashed.

#vsshorror #vss365 #vssmystery #vssmagic #flexvss #vsslocation

That’s One Way To Put It

“I predict that your next #paycheck will be your last.”

Liz slammed down her #mug of tea. “They’re going to fire me?”

“I only #embody the spirits, my dear. I don’t make the #connections.”

Later, seeing the car #drive toward her, Liz thought, “Oh, that’s what she meant.”

#vsshumour #converstory #vssmagic #366FF #vssdaily

Our Lemon Means Death

I did the NYC Midnight 100-word microfiction challenge again, and had a lot of fun. Here are my prompts:

Genre: action/adventure

Action: slicing a lemon

Word: commit

“Ready the cannons, women!”

Clara poked the lemon among the nails with her cutlass, slicing through. “Scourge of the scurvy dogs!” A cannonball splashed beside the Puckered Lips. The Navy. After a decade of peaceful pillaging.


Nails and cannonballs rained down on the naval ship, tearing through sails and sending the crew running. Ruby peered through the spyglass. Flames were spreading over the deck and a cannonball had breached the hull. “Set sail! We’ve committed an act of war. Best not to stick around.”

Their yellow flag fluttered as they turned southward, shouting together, “Our lemon means death!”