Posts Tagged ‘Ghost’

6
Nov

Former Glory

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

She sits in a worn wheelchair, slightly swaying to the raspy and sultry melodies playing on the radio behind her. Drunkenly sloshing the dark brown liquid in the bottle she’s nursed throughout the night. Her eyes are as heavy as her heart, drooping with sadness and weeping with grief. Taking another sip, she sighs as the liquid scorches down her throat. She hums along to the music, reminiscing times when she played the same syncopated rhythms on stage. Her knobby and wrinkled fingers dance in the air on her ghost piano while swallowing sobs, thinking about her glorious old memories.

From Guest Contributor Sa’Mya Hall

28
Mar

Ambrose Bierce Walks At Midnight

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I recognized him from his picture in an old literature textbook. It had been over 100 years since he had mysteriously vanished. I asked where he had gone and why and what he had done there. He wouldn’t answer. When I added I was a big fan of his writing, especially the Civil War tales, he just snickered. I didn’t know what to say next but felt I had to say something. “You like being a ghost?” I asked. He gave me a sly little grin. “You get to sleep all day,” he said, “so you can work at night.”

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.

6
Dec

Crossing The Threshold

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

The greatroom was full to bursting, ghosts everywhere: playing charades, talking, resting, dancing, darting between clusters of spirits engaged in various means of whiling away time.

A newly-born ghost appeared at the doorway and paused at the chaos. The chaos paused in return, all eyes upon the newcomer.

“Come in, Dearie, and welcome,” Eve, the oldest of them all, beckoned.

The new arrival apprehensively crossed the threshold. The others returned to their various activities.

Eve helped the new ghost settle in. Did she have any questions?

Just one, the young ghost said, voice wavering: “When do they notice you’re gone?”

From Guest Contributor Melissa Ridley Elmes

Melissa is a Virginia native currently living in Missouri in an apartment that delightfully approximates a hobbit-hole. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Reunion; The Dallas Review Online, Eye to the Telescope, Star*Line, Gyroscope, In Parentheses, and other print and web venues, and her first book of poetry, Arthurian Things: A Collection of Poems, was published by Dark Myth Publications in 2020. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @MRidleyElmes

15
Mar

The Angry Camper

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Stuart had a heart transplant last March and felt lucky to sit around a campfire with Paul.

The drunk from the next campsite stumbled over again. “Stop all that damn noise!”

Paul stood and yelled, “Look buddy, we’re just talking. No way you can hear us.”

“Stop banging on those drums. Next time I’ll have a twenty-two.”

“Call 9-1-1, Paul.”

Twenty minutes later they heard all the commotion of the arrest.

“You guys gonna be on the news,” said the park ranger. “That guy was wanted for the murder of Alex Edmund.”

Shocked, Stuart said, “Alex Edmund was my donor.”

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E has works in The Purple Pen, The Haven, Spillwords, Centina Pentina, Entropy and the anthology NanoNightmares.

1
Jun

Ghost Milk

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Before going back to the backyard she checked on her husband and her two-month-old kid who were fast asleep. The bed was undone, the dishes were huddled up in the sink unwashed, the rugs were clumsily rolled up. She knew that the child would wake up in an hour exactly. Those midnight crying fits. Last Sunday the infant was inconsolably crying, craving for milk, while she was in the backyard. She wanted to feed him, but couldn’t. Her breasts were heavy with ghost milk. The newspaper on the table read, “Delhi woman electrocuted by wet electric pole in the backyard.”

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar

21
Feb

I Bring Her Diamonds. My Hands Are Full Of Them

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I bring her diamonds. My hands are full of them.

“Please,” she sobs heavily, “stop coming back.”

I had no money for diamonds, once.

When my car crashed, the exploding windshield sent diamonds rushing deep into me – my eyes, throat, hands – all shining in the moonlight. The pain was overwhelming. And then it stopped. And all I could think was I finally had something to give her.

Every full moon I come to her porch at midnight, to show her how they shine in my open hands. But every time she only holds her head and softly cries.

From Guest Contributor Eric Robert Nolan

20
Feb

Off Her Rocker

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Annette sits in her favorite rocking chair, by a big window. A gloomy afternoon.

She cradles her dead baby in her pale arms. Hair as white as a ghost. Lips cracked and bleeding. Her body fragile and weak.

She sings a familiar tune. Rocking back and forth, as if trying to put the baby to sleep.

Her watch beeps. Medicine time. She throws the bottle out the window.

The Devil calls her name. She stops her singing. Her body freezes.

“He made me do it. He made me do it. He made me do it…” She repeats.

The devil exists.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

7
Dec

What Happened To Ben?

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

“So, uh, what happened to Ben?”

“Twitter. Once he discovered that, well, he just sort of fell into a black hole.”

“Do you talk to him on Twitter?”

“Oh yeah. All the time.”

“That’s funny. I can’t get him to return my calls. I even went to his house one day and he didn’t answer the door.”

“Just tweet him. He’ll respond.”

“That seems weird. Does he make sense? Talk in complete sentences?”

“He’s hilarious. Same old Ben.”

“Only he’s not really there. He’s just a digital ghost.”

“When you put it that way it just sounds sad.”

“I know.”

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten

31
Oct

Halloween

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

Harold is frightened into a jolt. “Who’s there?”

He recognizes the silhouette standing before him. “Lois?” he answers staring wide-eyed. “If you’re here, who’s in your grave?”

“Spirits are allowed to visit on Halloween, the first anniversary of their death. I’ve come to say I love you. Now I must go. We can only appear and say what we’ve desired.”

“Don’t go, Lois!”

She backs away into the trees.

Harold awakes, his head leaning on Lois’ gravestone. “I can’t believe I dreamt I’ve seen Lois.” He drives away out of the darkness, and Lois appears blowing him a goodbye kiss.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

14
Jun

In the Paris Catacombs

by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

My tour is just two thousand meters of the hundred kilometer labyrinth that forms this subterranean ossuary.

The tunnel walls are stacks of femurs, tibias, scapulas, et alia, interspersed with grinning skulls.

Six million dead unceremoniously disinterred, generation upon generation, from centuries ago.

Good, evil, male, female, beautiful, ugly, aristocrat, artisan, everyone has attained an undignified égalité here.

I could laugh myself to scorn at this macabre absurdity. Not a ghost in sight, merely piles of bones!

Back in the land of the living, I emerge into the rush hour: busy throngs of stick people, all sharing the same destination.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.