Campaigner Challenges 2011
collected by Rachael Harrie and Katharina Gerlach
Smashwords Edition
copyright 2011 by Katharina Gerlach et.al.
Dear reader,
This e-book is for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not re-sell it or give it away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. All gains will aid a cancer research charity.
I know there are people out there who are parasites, thieves, but I do sincerely hope that you are not like them. To say it with Holly Lisle’s words: "…if one doesn’t value the work it took to create something one liked, how can one think anything one creates will have value? …"
If you suspect this book has been pirated, consider going to Amazon, Smashword or Barnes & Noble and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
Foreword
I’ll keep it short, promised!
From August 22nd to October 31st 2011, Rachael Harrie ran her Third Writers’ Platform-Building Campaign. The goal of the Campaigns is to link writers, aspiring authors, beginner bloggers, industry people, and published authors together and help them build their online platforms. Rach runs her Campaigns twice a year, from February to April, and from August to October. During each Campaign, participants (like me) can join Groups based on genres or types of book they write. Campaigners within the Groups get to know each other more closely, and some Groups hold blogfests, giveaways, or other events as well.
Participating Campaigners genuinely want to meet others, pay it forward, and make connections. They enjoy making friends, finding critique partners, and getting support in their writing. For bloggers just starting out (and even those who’ve been blogging for a while), the Campaign gives a head start in finding like-minded people to connect with.
For me, surfing through the net to read as many blogs as possible was a (time-consuming) pleasure. But best of all were the three Campaigner Challenges set by Rach—each was based around a certain theme/task, and the contestants could potentially win exciting prizes. The First Challenge reached nearly 400 entries, a blogfest record in the writing community, so it must have been very difficult for the judges to decide on the winners. The Second Challenge, even harder than the first, garnered 192 entries, and the last gained 131 entries. I call this a great success.
When I worked my way through the Linky Lists to read all the entries, every single one unique and interesting in its own way, I felt sad that these sometimes outstanding flash fiction stories would soon be lost in the Internet’s Nirvana.
So I decided to do something about it.
With Rach’s consent and help, I am presenting to you many of the stories that were entered into the three Campaigner Challenges (sorted by Challenge). I sorted the entries alphabetically by author surnames with the winning entries at the top. If you want to know more about a specific author, you can refer to the author-list at the end of this eBook.
Since the idea behind Rach’s Campaigns is to help others, we decided to use this eBook to help others too. Therefore, all proceeds from this eBook will go to Help Harry Help Others, a fund-raising organization of eleven year old Harry. He had an inoperable brain tumor and died shortly after we decided to support his charity. When his friend Robert, who had a brain tumor too, became very ill, he set up his charity. So far, he’s raised nearly half a million British Pounds that he has donated to Cancer Research UK, to help them find a cure for brain tumors. This charity and its goals also resonates strongly with Rach, as her father suffered (and still suffers) from a brain tumor and its effects.
I hope you enjoy the diversity of the stories that Rach’s Challenges have brought about, in the knowledge that you’ve done some good by buying this collection.
Germany, November 2011
First Campaigner Challenge
Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, "The door swung open". These four words will be included in the word count.
If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)
For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!
Dead All Over
winning entry
The door swings open…
Swarming from all directions, they’re on her. Pawing her, pulling her to the cold concrete, she crawls on her belly toward the light. The incessant moaning is everywhere. Above her. Behind her. Beside her. She retches from the rancid stench of decomposing flesh. Hurrying across the floor, she scurries like a cockroach. Grubby fingers fumble about her legs, her feet. Blindly searching. They smell her breath. They sense the life force pulsing inside her chest. The blood in her veins.
There, at the end of the hall, in a doorway, Heath waves his arms, beckoning her toward the light.
Almost there.
Pain rips through her right leg, and she screams, heightening their hunger. Reaching around, she swipes at her assailant. Its nails dig into the meat of her thigh. Its skin is sticky and moist, and she knows without looking, it is open flesh. Oozing, rotting flesh. She pulls free from its grasp, scrambling away.
"Laney! Hurry, c’mon!" Heath shouts.
He looks like an angel with the light haloed behind him. She picks herself up. A stabbing ache shoots up her thigh. They claw at her. She runs to the light.
…and the door swings shut.
The Girl You Like
winning entry
by K Hughes
The door swung open, and you see her, the girl you like. And you realize you’re staring, so you look away before she notices. It could be on a bus, at school, or in the park. The first time you see her, or the fiftieth. Something about her just catches your eye, the way she laughs, her hair skipping over her shoulder, or her hands fumbling with the knotted scarf around her neck. It’s never big. No flash of lightning. Just something small that you connect with. That makes you smile. But the girl you like looks past you, through you.
You’re so nervous when the girl you like is finally on your bed. She’s so perfect, so soft, but she’s crying and pushing and struggling against your hands, and all you want is for her to say your name. Say she loves you, but she can’t. You want to kiss her lips and hear her voice, but if you peel the tape from her mouth, she won’t say your name or say she loves you. She’ll scream.
There’ll be other times, other loves, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Together with the girl you like.
Sweet Revenge
winning entry
by Jocelyn Rish
The door swung open, and he crept inside, careful not to make a sound. She sat at the table with her back to him, absently twirling a lock of red hair as she balanced her checkbook.
He took a step closer. First she had ignored him. Another step. Then she had screamed at him to go away. Two more silent steps closer to his target. He’d show her no one treated him that way.
He unsheathed his weapon, its sharp tip anxious to taste her blood.
She cursed and slammed her pen to the table. He sank into a crouch, eyes boring into her, willing her not to turn around. Revenge would be so much sweeter if she didn’t see it coming until he ripped open her flesh.
With a deep sigh, she picked up her pen. He inched toward her until he was in range. Time for her punishment. He pounced.
She screamed as the point pierced her skin.
A small droplet of blood trickled down her ankle. She picked him up and hissed in his face. "I told you to stay outside if you can’t behave."
She shoved him through the kitty door, and the door swung shut.
DAMN YANKEE
winning entry
The door swung open. And practically whacked me on the ass in the process, as I knelt, scrubbing the floor clean of muddy boot prints. I rolled my eyes for what seemed like the millionth time, as I slung the wet rag over the rim of the bucket, rung my hands dry on the folds of my dress, and stood.
That damn door and its stupid lock. Why be called a lock if you weren’t gonna do your job?
Then again, I was the one that pretty much blew it clear off when I was aiming for his head, but missed. And instead, all I’ve got is splintered shards of wood and a gaping hole, a metal concoction of a lock hanging on for dear life, and a door that won’t stay closed.
Damn Yankee.
If it were his way, we’d be hitched with four kids and I’d be barefoot in the kitchen, cleanin’ somethin’. And then I realized as I looked down at my feet: I was barefoot in the kitchen, cleanin’.
With a curse and a final glare, I gave it a swift kick - and finally, it did what it was supposed to.
The door swung shut.
THE SOULLESS
winning entry
The door swung open.
"They’re coming."
My stomach tightened as Brad slid the deadbolt into place and turned the couch into a barricade.
"How long?"
The sound of the soulless flinging their bodies against the door was my answer. The knob twisted and voices began to hiss. They’d find their way in soon.
The soulless only wanted one thing—our hearts. Those who’d already lost theirs had slowly been taken by madness, joining the hunt for more.
"If we surrender they’ll let us live. We won’t lose ourselves if we have each other."
I felt the steady chug of my heart beneath my ribs and shook my head violently. "I’m not going to just hand over my soul."
Another body slammed against the door, and I jumped into Brad’s arms. He held my head against his chest, and I listened for the steady beat that always gave me comfort. Only this time, it wasn’t there, and I lost myself to unconsciousness.
***
When I awoke, the room was silent. I sighed with relief. Just a dream.
Then I saw it, the incision below my sternum. I looked up in horror, catching sight of Brad’s heels as the door swung shut.
The Door
made it to the second round of evaluations
The door swung open. I should’ve ignored it and continued on my merry way, considering it had a deadbolt the size of my kitten. But I didn’t. Instead, I projected insanity and found my curiosity manically appealing, like base jumping. I had no parachute, but I went in anyway.
My eyes adjusted to the dark. The space cramped, it smelled like wet dog. Cats were so much cleaner, in my opinion. A low grumble to my right forced me to step left. Rule number one when met with an attacker: know your exit. Mine just happened to get further from me.
A sliver of light hung like a transparent curtain between me and the monster in the corner. Its red eyes gleamed as it let out a low grumble. Its paw slipped forward into the light, and it retracted with a hiss. Hope swelled through me.
I reached for the door. Just inches from the doorknob and I would be free. But something skittered beside me and I jumped, missing the knob and hitting the black painted windowpane instead. I heard a high pitch meow. Dumb cat. I should’ve gotten a dog, I thought just as the door swung shut.
Lady’s Choice
by Tia Bach
The door swung open. The invitation was extended weeks ago, but she hesitated. Was she too old, too tired to give in to passion? What about the kids?
She smoothed her skirt, feeling the lumps that weren’t there twenty years ago. So much had changed, so many emotions closed away. Her marriage once so dear to her was now long dead. Too many tears.
Since she met him two weeks ago, needs began resurfacing—ones she thought she’d forever suppressed. She wanted to open herself up again, but it was all so raw.
There he was, standing at the window. His back was to her. She still had time to run, but the draw to him was greater than her fear. When was the last time she allowed herself pleasure, a bit of selfish indulgence?
Hand still on the door, she took in the scene. Champagne chilling, robes arranged on the couch, roses on the table. Then he turned. His blue eyes captivated her from their first meeting. Images of her husband and kids flooded her brain and heart. Yet her decision was clear.
She took one step, closed her eyes and made her decision. The door swung shut.
The Curse of Blackwood Manor
by Lesann Berry
The door swung open just as Sissy’s sneaker-clad foot left the top step. She’d expected something creepy.
She cleared her throat and swiped sweaty palms down the front of her jeans before pulling a thick envelope from her messenger bag.
Peering into the foyer she addressed the empty space. "I have a delivery for Abigail Blackwood."
The interior gloom swallowed her words. Thinking she was alone, her heart stuttered when a tall shadow moved at the edge of her peripheral vision and solidified into the notorious Anthony Blackwood.
Sissy couldn’t believe her bad luck.
The law office job of serving legal notices and hand-delivering letters was intended to provide income to fix her uncle’s vintage Edsel so she could drive to college this autumn.
That seemed unimportant now.
The black-haired man moved into the rectangle of light cast through the doors, highlighting the thin white scars across both cheeks. He reached for the letter.
Somehow he grasped her hand. His touch warm, he spoke in a husky voice. "Grandmother is unable to leave her room. You must bring it upstairs."
Sissy couldn’t drag her eyes from his pale narrow face.
He gently pulled her inside and the door swung shut.
Inside
by Deniz Bevan
The door swung open.
Her hands shook, though she could not tell if it was anticipation or apprehension.
There was a narrow atrium, and beyond that another doorway. She advanced a step, and a shadow filled the arch. A tall shadow with broad shoulders.
Her heart tripped faster, and she knew it was anticipation.
"Peri?" A whisper in the dark.
She barrelled forward as he strode towards her and they crashed together in the centre of the atrium, his arms wrapping tightly about her. He did not stop, but circled around with her in his arms, nudging her through the archway, repeating her name over and over, until her knees buckled against the side of a divan and he fell on top of her across the cushions.
There was a hunger in his expression she had not seen before, his dark eyes burning with need, the future in their depths. Her husband, Baha, in a city she had not imagined at all; yet off the ship and in their own rooms at last. It was real and she wanted it, but was she allowed to give in to that want, when her family would gainsay it?
The door swung shut.
Thai Massage
The door swung open and Nana found herself faced with a large, hairy armpit. A doughy lump of a woman in a spaghetti top and sarong overflowed from a revolving chair. A bird-like young girl bent over her, forceps in hand, plucking one hair after another. The enormous woman grimaced from time to time, but found a moment to smile at Nana.
"What you want madaaam?" she drawled in Thai contralto. If a python could sing, it would sound like her.
"Just looking to join my husband for a massage. He said he’d be in the last massage parlour down this road."
"Your husbaaand, madaaam? No man come here, woman-only parlour madaaam, come in come in," said the woman, shaking the girl off, rising to her small, pudgy feet.
"Oh, I’ll go find him then."
"Only come in that door, no go out, madaaam." The woman moved fast for someone her bulk.
"I’m sorry?"
"Pretty white girl like you get good price," smiled the woman, grabbing Nana’s arm, "in two days I get back all the money I pay your husband for youuu."
As Nana struggled, she felt a needle sink into her arm. Behind her, the door swung shut.
The Door Swung Open
The door swung open making its characteristic CREEEKKK sound, in the night filled with eerie silence. My ears strained to hear, above the thumping of my heart for any sign of trouble.
Tired I am running and running away from the foe I can’t see
"I know, you are here PUSSY!! My PUSSY can’t run away from me!! Can she?? Ha HA" came the shrill laughter from voice so deep, so metallic & so metallic that my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t see anyone entering from the door!!
My senses and body are moaning already, under the strain. I just want to end this.I wan’t to recollect my training and track him down!! I want to wake up, saying this is a bad dream! Alas, this isn’t a dream.
Boom Boom Boom
The paper-thin wooden floor burst into splinters and is getting dyed red.! My heart raced, listening to the rifle. He shot someone, another of those poor souls shot to death, while I am hiding under the bed here! But whom? Is it me next?
Has my end come? Will I have time to say my prayers? Then, to my relief, he walked away and the door swung shut.
The Coyote Pup
The door swung open, there he was, the sweetest little coyote pup Alicia had ever seen. The pup’s ears, pointy and white-tipped were standing straight up. Its tail hung down slightly from its back. Alicia thought back to an Indian story she had heard. Wasn’t it about the bluebird that swam in a magic blue lake and sang a little song to make himself blue? Yes, she thought, and Bluebird told Coyote to do the same but after Coyote swam in the lake; he had become so enamored that by looking back at himself and asking to be admired, he had run right into a rock and rolled in the dust. Dream spirit had punished Coyote for acting so vain and foolish by keeping him the color of dust forever.
Alicia started wishing she could keep this pup. She felt sorry for it. She thought he was beautiful, even if Dream Spirit had wanted it to be an outcast.
Then before she could ask her own mother, the coyote mother came in, took the pup by the hold on his neck and whisked him back outside. Before Alicia could think, "What happened?" the door swung shut.
Monster
The door swung open and Magnolia-Rose stared into her dark closet where a purple fuzzy animal sat.
"Aren’t you supposed to be under my bed?" Maggie asked.
"I…uh…"
"You’re supposed to be under my bed." Maggie stomped her feet. "You’re the monster, I’m the little girl and you’re supposed to scare me."
Grrump whimpered.
"I know you like the closet. I know it’s roomy and you like sleeping on my dirty clothes, but my closet is not where you’re supposed to spend the night."
Grrump unrolled. His body lengthened until he stood twice as high as Maggie. A white horn protruded from between two red and black eyes.
"Go," Maggie poked Grrump in the belly and pointed toward the bed. "Go do your job."
Grrump moo-ed and wobbled toward the bed. His flat feet crunched over blocks scattered across the ground. Bending down, he began to slide under the bed until his horn stuck against the bed-frame. "Too big," he said.
"But you have to fit." Maggie gripped the closet door.
The spikes on Grrump’s back swung as he made his way across the room to huddle on top of Maggie’s dirty clothes.
Maggie screamed and the door swung shut.
Lover’s Spat
by Angela Brown
The door swung open to fog. I crossed the threshold, trembling at the chill. I lifted a finger before my eyes, but couldn’t see a thing.
"Hello?" There’d been a knock at the door, the impatient rapping only Rig would dare. My hasty glamour kept my parents and neighbors asleep, but it was weak and wouldn’t last long.
The porch creaked beneath my bare feet as I braved another step, this time waving my hands before me, clearing a path to sight. There he stood, deliciously mere inches from me.
"Why won’t you let this go?"
"I can’t, Macy. You loved me once. I still love you." He grabbed me quickly. I hadn’t a chance to think before his lips were on mine. My Light reacted without call, building at my core and blasting Rig with a blue light that diminished the remaining fog.
"Don’t push me away," he pleaded, recovering at the bottom of the steps.
"For the last time, what I am rejects you. The taste of blood on your fangs sickens me. Fae and undead don’t mix."
My heart shattered at the finality, my mind made up. I backed into the house and the door swung shut.
Ghisolabella’s Surprise
The door swung open and Ghisolabella went in search of Saturn’s raincoat. As she was going through the closet, she found a strange pink raincoat. She knew it couldn’t belong to her mother, since Mrs. Cummings hated pink. Then she heard odd noises coming from her parents’ room and decided to investigate. On her way down the hallway, she was hit by a very strong odor of perfume.
For a minute she wondered if her older brother might’ve snuck a girlfriend home and decided to dishonor their parents’ bed, but figured he had to know enough to do such things in his own room and not risk even more trouble by choosing their parents’ room.
Ghisolabella screamed when she saw her father coupling with a strange woman, dropping Saturn’s leash. The strange woman pulled away from Mr. Cummings and ran into a corner to hide.
"What are you doing!" Ghisolabella demanded. "How long has this been going on?"
"It’s not what it seems. I didn’t intend to get a mistress. But after fifteen years and five kids, it’s normal to want a change of scenery. Can you keep this secret?"
Ghisolabella ran away shaking uncontrollably and the door swung shut.
Aftermath
The door swung open.
Where did you get this book?
Just an old hardcover book with a faded green cover. The title had worn off.
Matt’s hands shook, rattling the cuffs against the metal table; his body’s delayed reaction to the bombing. He was sweating, nauseous. He could still smell the blood, still see where Carter finished and that red, screaming thing began, and they were showing him a book.
Where did you get this book?
A book. Matt looked at the book, at the men in suits, at the blacked-out windows and the water-stained ceiling. Every time he blinked he saw how the vehicle in front of his had landed crumpled, burning, on the side of the road.
Where did you get this book?
Shh, Elodie had whispered when she’d slipped the book into his shirt, but Matt didn’t understand. He couldn’t hold his fractured thoughts together. He couldn’t stop shaking. He watched his fingers twitch like spiders’ legs across the table.
Elodie, he murmured, his secret incantation, his strength and consolation, his now and always. Her name on his lips was only ever worship: Elodie.
Realisation came too late.
The men thanked him.
Elodie.
The door swung shut.
The Ruined Prison of Richard the Lion-Heart
by Scott Bury
The door swung open with a drawn-out squeal. Two little girls echoed with squeals as they scampered out. One squeal turned into a whine as Daddy picked up the smaller one and admonished her in gentle French as she squabbled to stay in the ruins.
The door squealed again as Max bent his 6-foot-four frame to enter the dungeon. "Hey, Richard the Lion-Heart," I said as I got the camera ready. It beeped and whirred as Max shut the cage door and made a sad face.
I joined Max in the dungeon. Strange how it was so cool inside, high up on this mountain overlooking the Danube, which sparkled green, far below the ruined parapet of the Burgruine Durnstein.
"Is that where Richard was imprisoned?" Natasha asked as she stepped carefully down the path. King Richard I was imprisoned on his way back from the Crusades until he was rescued by a minstrel. Now, tourists picnicked and took pictures, and wondered about the people who built and lived in this place so long ago.
"Guess so," Max answered. He stepped out to freedom, and we followed him down, more mindful of the shifting gravel underfoot as the door swung shut.
When A Door Opens, It Usually Closes Afterwards
The door swung open, his fake silhouette framed by the light.
My muscles tensed, but I didn’t press against the wall. I was ready. Yesterday, exactly twenty-four hours ago, I hadn’t been. But today, I knew I was.
The simulation, the same one that came every day, stepped into my cell. His lips parted.
I interrupted before the preprogrammed message could start. "You’re not my father. Leave me alone. I don’t want to hear your lies. I’m not going to help you. No matter what you say. No matter what you promise."
His mouth hung open. A wrinkle line appeared between his eyebrows. "Vela, it’s me. We have to hurry. They’re close."
A knot wrapped around my heart, pulling tighter, tighter. A tear slid the down the side of my nose. "No. You’re lying."
I flinched when he reached to touch me. "Vela, you must listen—"
Then there were other people in my room, too many people. And they dragged him away, touching him, physically touching him, his body solid under their hands.
I realized my mistake too late. I ran forward, but was pushed back. I landed hard, a cry springing from my throat.
The door swung shut.
You Can't Even Tell
The door swung open. Instantly Cassandra's defenses went up, her body stiffened, and her mind filled with the anticipation of "the question".
He's going to ask me, I know he is. She thought as dread ebbed its way into her mind, next to the plethora of other emotions.
"Hi," Cassandra squeaked.
"Hi." Theo replied, busying himself in the fridge.
Cassandra started biting her thumb nail, but forced herself to pull it away from her face: it was a nervous habit she knew Theo would pick up on.
"Did you have a good night?" Theo asked, moving to the counter with ingredients for a peanut butter sandwich.
The question surprised her and she nearly choked on her on saliva before replying, "Yes, it was great. I had a lot of fun."
"Good. I'm glad you're getting out of the house again. I think it's good for you." Theo said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. He turned to leave, the peanut butter and bread left on the counter.
Cassandra smiled painfully, this was not what she had expected after coming home at five in the morning.
The door swung shut behind him.
I was with another man, and you can't even tell…
The Photographs
The door swung open and I jumped over the edge of the balcony into the middle of the brawl. I looked into Jake’s eyes and saw nothing but hatred and anger.
"What’s going on here?" I shouted.
Jake scowled. "You don’t want to know."
"Tell me." Jake just shook his head and climbed the porch steps. I turned to my brother’s best friend and asked the same question. Blood dripped from Peter’s nose and I knew I’d jumped into the fray in time to stop the battle that was evident. "What did you say to him?" I tried again. Neither man was forth coming with the truth and I was afraid I’d have to resort to the same violence to get an answer.
"He likes you," Jake finally shouted from the porch and there was so much disgust in his voice that I just didn’t understand the problem.
"Okay, that’s a little weird considering you’re so much younger than I am, but why the fighting?"
"He’s…he’s been…" Jake fought to find the words that Peter suddenly shouted.
"Taking pictures."
"Come here again and I’ll kill you." Jake growled before he stomped inside the house and the door swung shut.
The Sacrifice
The door swung open. Joshua peered into the small laboratory and saw the young woman who would one day be his mother. She was so consumed with her work that she hadn’t noticed his appearance. Around her were papers and notes, part of the research that the experts all agreed could have lead to a cure for cancer. On the other side of the room was a bunsen burner carelessly left on by a lab tech. In minutes, a stack of paper would fall on it and burn the lab to the ground, destroying his mother’s research and career.
She would move on to a teaching job where she would meet his father and fall in love. Joshua knew that if he turned the burner off, he would create a new timeline, an alternate future, in which his mother’s work would be finished and millions would be saved. Calculations also indicated that he would never be born. Could he really sacrifice his existence? If it meant there was even a chance that he could rid the world of the horror of cancer, then how could he not?
Tentatively, and with some fear, Joshua entered the laboratory.
The door swung shut.
Broken Promises
by Lena Corazon
The door swung open on rusty hinges, grating loudly in the predawn stillness. Leila scowled, for it was yet another mocking reminder that Bill Harrison was the worst of liars.
Their house, a tiny fixer-upper that the realtor claimed was "a diamond in the rough," enthralled him for a time, the same way Leila had once delighted him. Standing there on the front step, Leila could still hear his voice, echoes from a golden summer afternoon.
"Ignore those weeds in the front yard, baby. We’ll pull ‘em up, plant some roses. It’ll be a real home." As though to seal the promise, he’d kissed her shamelessly, right in front of the realtor.
Three years later, the memory of that kiss tingled her lips, but the yard was still filled with weeds, withered and brown. Those dreams they had cherished were gone, and so was Bill.
He might have cared for her once, but there were things he’d loved more. Whiskey was one, gambling another, twin demons that stole him from her side.
The house gaped before her, an empty shell, but there was nowhere else for her to go. Leila entered, and with another screech, the door swung shut.
A Whiter Shade of Pale
by Denise Covey
The door swung open and I dived inside, desperate to escape the cold. I tried to tug the monster shut behind me but it refused to budge. The centuries have made it less malleable. I flicked the light switch and giggled - a gas light would be more fitting. I threw my bag onto the ancient stuffed lounge where it lolled like a broken marionette. I turned back to the door, teeth chattering, fingers frozen inside my woollen gloves. I reached out for the gigantic doorknob, feeling anxious and alone.
Every year the winters in London were getting harder to bear. It felt like the cold had curled up in my bones and refused to be scraped out. My pale body was screaming for sun. I’d locked myself in a prison, a prison of my own making. I was the one who wanted to leave Australia for hip and happening London. But nothing hip and happening had happened to me. Instead I’d found a crowded, aggressive, uncertain land that’d stolen my optimism. As the snow tickled my nose, I imagined the sand tickling my feet as I sunbaked by the ocean. One final tug and the door swung shut.
The door swung open, and the little mouse jumped through.
Now, little mice should not just jump through doors whenever they open. Little mice do not know what is on the other side. Little mice are very little, and big rooms are very, very big.
But this little mouse did not know that. He was too little to know about big scary things. He was only just a baby not very many days ago. The little mouse did not know anything about the big, big world.
But he wanted to find out. So he left his house one day when his mother was not looking. And he came to a door. And when the wind blew the door open a little, he jumped through to the other side.
And there he saw a pair of big, scary eyes. And those eyes were staring right at him.
So the little mouse turned and ran as fast as he could back through the door, and into his house, faster than those big eyes could follow. As long as those eyes stayed on the other side of the door, he would be safe. Then the wind blew again and the door swung shut.
Good Grub
by Kerri Cuevas
The door swung open. A meatball whizzed by my head landing with a splat on a locker before sliding to the ground.
The cafeteria was wild with protest. I wanted out, but someone pushed me in and used me as a shield. Spaghetti stuck to my neck.
"Down with school lunch," they screamed.
I held my brown bag, picked off the wet noodles and ducked trying to make my way to the courtyard.
At the food counter angry lunch ladies waved spatulas and the principle’s bald head was now covered with sauce and overcooked carrots.
Crumbs of a dried brownie rained down into my hair. I clutched my brown lunch bag and made a dash to the door while avoiding the milk cartons and puddles.
I was one step away from food fight freedom when someone pointed and said. "You. Class President. Do something!"
I wanted to get food out of my hair, I wanted quiet; I wanted to forget that I, Jessie K. Burgenstein, was class President.
I climbed and stood on the table. "Principle Taylor I demand we have McDonald’s on the menu!"
It went quiet. They cheered. The lunch ladies stormed out and the door swung shut.
Tough Night on the Job
by Jana Denardo
The door swung open. At the sight of Detective Savage on his doorstep, Hikaru stumbled back a step, his breath rushing in. Savage’s red face, sweat glistening in the porch light’s beam, wasn’t so unusual in the Florida heat. It was the haunted blues eyes staring at Hikaru that made him shudder. A stench clung to the detective, thick, cloying. It was a scent that kicked the reptilian brain hard, making Hikaru’s pulse race.
"Liam, what’s wrong?"
Hikaru’s lover pushed past him. "I didn’t mean to stop so late. Saw your light." Liam ran a hand through his blond hair. "I only have a few hours, then have to get back to work. Family annihilator, killed her husband and three kids."
Those words momentarily stole Hikaru’s capacity for speech. He put his hand on Liam’s shoulder. "How does anyone kill their own kids?" Hikaru asked.
"You’re the hundred-year-old dragon. You’ve seen it all. You tell me." Liam held up his hand. "Sorry, that’s not fair. I…need a moment."
Hikaru put his arms around Liam, holding his lover tight. "You need to rest and shut the world out a little." With a nudge of his toe, the door swung shut.
All His Things in a Bag
by Rance Denton
The door swung open. I recognized his corpse at once.
All the steel drawers looked the same, aligned like checkerboard squares in a wall freezer. This was a place to keep human flank steak cool until someone like me could come along and claim ownership. Like you could put value to a corpse, right? Gather the keys, the blood-soaked wallet, the funeral bills, and you own someone’s soul.
The coroner said nothing. Looking at cadavers all day like frozen dough on an oversized cookie sheet probably did things to you.
I said it was him. I didn’t look at the face. I already knew what it looked like.
I got the belongings in a crinkly plastic bag. The sheet went back over. The nose had been crushed flat in the last few seconds of life. The head resembled a misshapen basketball under the fabric. I watched as the lumpy body got stuffed back in the unlit drawer. I wondered how they cleaned out the freezers. Probably some poor Mexican on his back with a bottle of Windex whistling something cheery and ethnic.
I left. No fuss, no tears, no sinking realization. I just drove.
On the way home, I laughed.
The Cottage
by Rebecca Emin
The door swung open before Kim had put any force behind her shaking hand.
"Go on, scaredy cat!" Tom said from behind.
The old cottage creaked in the wind. The trees around it whispered to each other as the fourteen year old girl inched her way forward.
"I don’t know what the fuss is about; it’s just an old building," Tom declared.
Kim remembered her terrible dreams and being huddled under duvets making up stories. But looking around the cottage, all she could see was neglect; cobwebs, dust and a broken chair. The building was deserted.
"Oh it’s ok," Kim said, looking for Tom, as the nervous tension left her.
"Tom?" she said, "quit messing around; I’m not scared any more."
The wind picked up and whistled around the house, as Kim peered into darkened corners, but failed to see Tom’s hiding space. She shrugged. "Come on you idiot, let’s go."
Kim heard a knock on the window, and a crash outside; the overgrown trees being whipped around by the wind. Kim laughed to herself as she turned to leave the cottage.
"Help! Kim, help!" came Tom’s desperate cry. And at the sound of maniacal laughter, the door swung shut.
The Door Swung Open
by Fairview
The door swung open with a slow creak, despite the lack of a rational explanation for the movement. There was only the irrational. A cold trickle of sweat ran down my back as I caught a little flash of something out of the corner of my eye. I shivered despite the August heat.
"Alex?" I called out to the empty room, the powder blue paint with the chocolate trim the only reminder that this was once his bedroom; the place we’d done "it" when his parents were out of town, the place he’d pledged his love, the place he’d come to die, still promising we’d be together forever.
But they were bulldozing the house next week and I was eager for one last look at the four walls that held my dearest memories. Alex, my love Alex, appeared to me then, his green eyes were as I remembered, twinkling just the same. He bowed to me, holding the door open for me, motioning me through. I laughed at his formality, the sound echoing eerily through the shell of the house as I stepped over the threshold and through the rotted floorboards, feeling my bones shatter as the door swung shut.
The visitor
The door swung open like across between a drawbridge and the cargo doors on a military plane. Faster than Angie would have imagined, she found she didn’t have time to decide whether or not to run. She had no doubt that the occupants of the cigar-shaped ship could already see her, standing in her pyjamas in the ankle-high grass. As Angie waited, she looked back in the direction the ship had come. It had knocked down the old oak tree with the tire swing before carving a black scar through her parents’ corn field, narrowly avoiding the farm
house where Angie’s family had been sleeping. Looking back at the gaping mouth door of the space ship, Angie was shocked to see not a little green man with a bulbous head, but a blond girl of about three years old, her wide brown eyes framed by dark lashes. The girl held out her arms as though waiting for a hug. A sudden longing brought Angie to tears. The child smiled an impish grin and Angie could no longer resist. She ran up the ramp and took the delicate creature in her arms.
"It’s okay," Angie whispered. The door swung shut.
Autumn
by Abby Fowers
The door swung open, letting in the cool crisp air of fall and a rambunctious four-year-old boy.
"Come play with me Mom," called his little voice. His breathing was heavy from running around the yard and I couldn’t help but laugh as I leaned over to kiss the cute brown freckles that dotted his cheeks and nose.
"Mom!" he complained as he brushed away my kisses. I laughed and rustled his hair.
He rolled his eyes and tried to smooth the mess of hair on his head. "Come on Mom. I need someone to push me on the swing."
I was in the middle of making dinner but couldn’t resist the excitement in his eyes. I looked out the kitchen window to see the sun painting the horizon to match the changing colors of the leaves. Dinner could wait. I slipped on my old boots.
He jumped up and down in anticipation. There was nothing he loved more than flying through the air on the large tire that hung from the old sycamore tree out front. He locked his small fingers around my hand and led the way.
We ran out kicking leaves and laughing as the door swung shut.
Rain
anthologist of this eBook
The door swung open. My foster daughter stomped in, arms akimbo. Sweat ran from her heavy breasts over her lithe body.
"You promised to wait."
"I only prepared the herbs." I placed the last dried twig on the white linen on the ground.
Juma flopped down beside me. "What if it doesn’t work?"
"Are you still a virgin?"
She nodded.
"Then, take heart."
"Tamdar will marry me if it works." She doesn’t look at me.
She had been pining for his love, but what could the village witch’s daughter offer the chief’s son?
Juma rubbed ochre into the dark brown skin of her face; I drew the Pattern whispering Mother Earth’s secret names. Together, we sang the matrimonial songs of Sky and Earth. The air around us sizzled. Heat-daemon Mubuntu opposed us.
Energy surged though me and I reached for the sky. Juma did the same. A halo of blue light surrounded her, and Mother Earth’s light tingled on my wrinkled skin too.
"Rain!" We shouted in unison. Magic raced through a hole in the roof into the sky.
Fat drops soaked the scorched ground. Juma’s eyes shone like diamonds as she ran to greet the rain … and Tamdar.
Nana Jumps at the End
The door swung open in the middle of a river, and Nana landed waist-deep, cutting her feet on the bottom rocks; blood mushroomed through rushing water. In front of her: waterfall. Behind her, the dragon strained, too large for the small door that Nana had cut. Her fist shook around the gold key.
Dragon wings shimmered between dimensional folds. Nana knew the dragon was about to break through, that she would never have time to run, and so at the same moment that the universe shattered behind her, she folded over backwards and held her breath. The dragon shot out over her, wings spreading over the waterfall.
Nana rose on bloodied feet, gasping for breath. No time for rational decisions. She raced for the waterfall, arced like a diver, jumped. Snow-capped mountains opened up around her like a venus flytrap. The dragon roared.
The key cut a door out of air, and Nana and the dragon and the door went down, down, down -
Flames ached on her back, her fingers slipped on the knob, rocks rose to meet her -
And then she rolled through sunflowers, and through the door, she heard the dragon crash.
The door swung shut.
Fiery Vanity
by Jani Grey
The door swung open and the last thing Ava expected to see was the little flowerpots filled with fiery blossoms scattered throughout a dilapidated dining room.
Rumor had it that swallowing one of the flower-like flames whole could turn any girl from homely to comely. She had yet to hear of anybody surviving such an attempt without scars.
All she needed was one blossom to trade with the witch. And what would be important enough for somebody of Ava’s standing to risk one of these minute flowers exploding and setting everything around it, herself included, alight with fire?
Hair of course!
Ava reached up and touched the dull, mousy brown strands that hung limply around her shoulders, and took a step towards the pot standing on a table, careful of the one at her feet. She dug around her cluttered skirt pocket, withdrawing scissors and a small jar.
With it, unknown, came an errant coin and she watched with horror as it fell towards the pot on the floor in slow motion. Ava raced for the door as the tips of her hair caught fire.
So much for prettier hair. The fire roared out of control as the door swung shut.
The Messenger
The door swung open and I looked up with a start, mouth as wide open as my eyes - a bad conscience can do that to you.
I just could see a dark silhouette against the grey storm clouds outside. The figure in the entrance wore a cape of some sort and it whipped around its shoulders like it had a life of its own.
Another flash of lightning, closely followed by its thundering mate, illuminated only the inside of the hut and probably my face. The features of that other one stayed hidden in shadows - but I could chance a good guess at his identity nevertheless.
"What do you want?" My voice sounded far more unsteady than I liked, but at least I was now able to stop gaping like a stupid fish and even regained enough of my composure to sit up straight.
As an answer, a small bundle was thrown towards me. I failed to catch it and it hit the ground with a surprisingly heavy thud and tumbled towards me with the rest of its momentum.
‘So the time has come’ were my last thoughts before I closed my eyes and the door swung shut.
Evening Begins
by Sheery Hall
The door swung open and a swarm of brightly clothed, happily chattering children sprung free. They gathered their equally bright backpacks, lunch boxes and cast their eyes about for their adults. A big, chocolate brown pair met those of her mommy and she came running forward. After thrusting the stuff she’d just obtained at her mom, she asked, "Can we stay and play?"
"Not today, sweetie. We have to pick up your sister and get groceries for dinner."
"Fine," she sighed and her shoulders drooped in momentary sadness. Then she smiled sweetly and batted her dark lashes. "Can we get ice cream?"
"Yes," laughed mom. "How was your first day of school?"
"Fine."
"What did you do?"
"I don’t know."
"Did you do math?"
"Yes, a little."
"Did you do an art project?"
"No. We’ll do one tomorrow."
"Do you sit near any of your friends?"
"No. I sit next to a boy I don’t know."
by now mother and daughter were at their car. As the little girl buckled into her seat, mom asked, "Do you like your teacher?"
"Of course," said the smiling little girl. She stuck her tiny fingers in the handle and the door swung shut.
The Door
The door swung open. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. I stood on the red carpet. I was still alive. Did I really think I’d be struck by lightning?
My heart was pounding as I walked down the hall. My hands clenched and unclenched. I licked my lips over and over.
What was I thinking? Why had I come?
I wanted to turn and run, but then I saw it. There on the altar was the cross.
I think someone spoke to me, but I kept going.
by the time I got to the railing and knelt, I was shaking all over. I broke down. I can’t remember what I said or did. I just remember feeling so empty, like I had dumped 20 years of my life.
Then an arm wrapped around me and a woman said, "He does forgive you and he wants you back."
It’s hard to explain what happened next. A warmth filled me and I felt what the woman was saying deep inside my soul. All the bad stuff I had done no longer chained me down.
When I left, I was changed. My old life was gone as the door swung shut.
Unhealthy Obsession
The door swung open and Colby walked in, smiling.
Ana stiffened and tried to reach the call button for the nurse, but he grabbed it and threw it to the floor out of her reach.
"You think it’s going to be that easy?" he asked, leaning into her. She tried to push herself further into her pillow. "I could have given you everything. He gave you nothing, and now he’s not here to protect you any longer."
He took the arrow necklace out of his pocket; the silver necklace she gave Matt for his birthday last week. Dried blood wound through the chain links. He dropped it on the white hospital bed sheet.
She grabbed it, closed her eyes and grasped it to her chest. Silent tears streamed down her face, but her damaged throat masked her whimpers.
"It didn’t have to be like this. You could have been so happy with me, and you threw it all away," he whispered, she cringed. "All you had to do was say ‘yes’."
He removed the pillow, and placed it over her head. "Let me help you get comfortable."
The monitor flat lined. He walked from the room. The door swung shut.
Sole Mates
by Sher A Hart
The door swung open and children poured through like sand from the seashore. Sand came in too. Yet not one child could shut that door to save old Mom an extra chore.
Where, in this tale, was my man of the sea? Suppose the old sailor went fishing, did he? I could not blame him for fishing each day ‘til he hooked the first one. But they all got away. I hoped he brought supper, for our cupboard was bare, with nothing to feed ten kids gathered there.
Calico cat ran in through the door, and gingham dog’s bone started all-out war. Two hungry beasts ran ‘round the Dutch clock, tore each other to shreds. China plate broke in shock.
A mansion we did never attain. Instead we lived on Lacey Lane—my ten little piggies all in a row, though never like latchkey children, you know. Mine were like latchets of a shoe—which I laced tight to get us through. So I fed them a supper of water and bread, spanked them all soundly and put them to bed.
At last, smelling fish in our shoe-size hut, this old woman thanked God as the door swung shut.
The Door Swung Open
The door swung open and as the lightning exploded behind us, we gasped. I had never believed that Harry Oakes actually haunted the Winter Golf Club. After all, he was murdered in The Bahamas, not North Palm Beach. But there he was in front of us, looking just like my cousin Tom swore he did when Tom saw him on the staircase. I turned to run and tripped over a loose floorboard. My friend fell on top of me and we scrambled to untangle ourselves in terror. Sir Harry calmly turned from the window he’d been looking out of and gazed directly at us. We froze. Harry moved toward us, he said, "I know who murdered me. The world needs to know so that I can leave this place."
From the floor, we nodded slowly and clutched each other even tighter. We had heard the story. Who hadn’t? Harry’s son-in-law had been tried for his murder and acquitted. It was rumored the detectives had botched the investigation. The murderer could have been Meyer Lansky or any one of a half dozen other suspects. Harry sighed and started to talk. The wind screamed through the broken windows….and the door swung shut
The Chamber
The door swung open. The next person in line entered the empty chamber. Dr. Ziegler fiddled with the control panel and the chamber door closed. A buzz filled the room. A light on the panel switched from steady green to flashing amber. A minute later the door re-opened on a barren chamber.
Next was a young girl holding a stuffed animal tightly to her chest. A woman, presumably her mother, prodded her. The girl hesitated.
"I told you, Eliza. One at a time. Hurry!"
The young girl carefully walked through the door. Zieglar repeated his motions. The buzz rose, the lights changed. The older woman practically ran through the door. Ziegler wondered how many more there were as the machine went to work. Ten more, then twenty. Finally Ziegler saw the man he knew would end the line, Josef, his second in command.
"Is this all?" Ziegler asked.
"Yes, sir."
All the rest entered the chamber one by one. Josef replaced Ziegler at the controls.
"You have the remote?"
"You bet, Doc. I’m not staying for the fireworks."
Ziegler nodded and entered the chamber, eager to be off the doomed asteroid. Josef adjusted the controls. The door swung shut.
EM-BRA-ASSMENT!
The door swung open.
Damn! Why the hell don’t they make better doors on changing rooms, she thought, hurriedly trying to pull it shut, but not managing to grab it in time.
She was in the middle of trying on a bra and stood there, exposed and vulnerable, with the clasps of the bra straining dangerously around her generous middle. Her large, heavy bosoms hung freely, resting on her rolls of fat. Three faces swiveled curiously in her direction as she looked up in utter horror. She was already hot and sweaty after a morning looking for new underwear and the lack of air conditioning wasn’t helping matters.
The slim, snooty shop assistant took the opportunity to grab the door and peer intrusively.
"Does Madam wish me to find a larger size?" she enquired loudly.
No! She did not want the skinny cow to find her a larger anything. She wanted to give up and go home, back to the safety of her cosy well-stocked kitchen, where the bloody doors didn’t open at inopportune moments!
"N-no thank you," she stuttered, in abject humiliation. "I’m fine."
And that was precisely why she hated shopping, she thought, as the door swung shut.
The Unexpected Delivery
The door swung open, Neville walked in and stopped in his tracks. Everyone had stopped writing and was grinning at him: even his teacher, Mr Ross.
His gaze traveled from face to face, trying to determine exactly what they found so amusing, but their expressions conveyed nothing. Nothing but those idiotic grins.
Finally, Mr Ross pointed at the three enormous cardboard boxes in the middle of the room. Neville walked over and saw they were addressed to him. He looked quizzically at Mr Ross then ripped them open.
Inside were packets of cake mix. Green cake mix. With purple icing. Hundreds of them.
Who would send Neville cake mix? His birthday wasn’t for another 37 days!
Then he saw a letter. It explained that the cake was from the company he had written to last month as part of his English assignment - they were so impressed with him they decided to send their cake mix not only to Neville but to everyone in his school.
He threw packets to all his friends (and one for Mr Ross). Then they all set off, shouting and celebrating, to deliver the rest around the school. Their cheering faded as the door swung shut.
Buster
The door swung open.
Buster smelled freedom.
He shot out of the door.
I sighed and said, "Not again?"
I ran off in pursuit.
Hannah followed
in her birthday suit
as Matthew grabbed the dog lead
and sauntered out.
The elastic was going on his pjs
so when he dropped the dog lead
and bent over,
he saluted the street.
Hannah ran off
down the neighbour’s drive
kicking her feet in the gravel.
Buster did sweeping loops all around the street.
Too fast for us to catch him.
Matthew tried calling out,
"Buster!" but she didn’t listen
or even turn around.
I stood,
ready to catch her
but she raced past at full speed.
Two policemen passing through on bikes
offered some assistance.
I managed to grab hold
of her collar and
walked her as far as Matthew.
We put on the lead
and sighed with relief.
"Come here!"
I called out to my
wandering child
as dogs and children
criss-crossed in the street.
Jack ran in first,
followed by Hannah
after
a quick pee
on the grass.
Buster and I
hopped in the rabbit hole,
relieved that no one from the fish tank saw,
then the door swung shut.
The door swung open, and a beautiful girl hurried inside, her finger held up to her lips and her eyes asking me an urgent question. For a second I was confused, and then I lifted the far section of the sales counter to let her come back behind. She crouched into the storage cubby under the cash register, and I was just starting to get naughty thoughts about the whole situation when a hand reached out to stop the door from quite closing.