FOWC with Fandango — Substance

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Our neighbour and erstwhile mysterious person Mr Fango was known from time to time to dabble in the creation of various substances that could be said to be potions of a magical nature.

We know this because one night my mate Jack and I were coming home from the movies and as we walked past his place, the aroma of a substance of magical propensities came wafting up our noses.

For a second or two Jack and I thought the other was exceptionally beautiful, but the notion thankfully passed quickly.

I told my mum who told me Mr Fango thought of himself as a wizard and the potion he was most famous for was a love potion.

Having told me I was fascinated until she told me she and dad had used the potion to rekindle their love life and that image was far too much for me to bear.

I did not want to hear anything as to the substance of my parent’s private life.

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2018/08/14/fowc-with-fandango-substance/

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Twittering Tale #97 – 14 August 2018 – Things That Go Bump in the Night

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It was a stinking hot night, not a breath of cool air anywhere.
We sat on the veranda for in the house was unbearable.
The air was so still, and at first, we didn’t hear the bump.
Then there was a second one then a third.
Dad investigated and discovered a kangaroo in the kitchen. (277 characters)

 

Written for:https://katmyrman.com/2018/08/14/twittering-tale-97-14-august-2018-of-things-that-go-bump-in-the-night/

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Photo Challenge #226 – The Girl in the Red Coat.

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Image: – Anka Zhuravleva

The first time I saw the girl in the red coat was out of the corner of my eye. I thought she was an illusion as it had been raining and she was standing in amongst the bicycles all stacked by the side of the street.

It didn’t make any sense to me that she’d be there in the rain, eating a strawberry sorbet of all things.

I turned to get in a better look but she was gone, and I thought it was my imagination playing tricks on me.

I didn’t pay her any more attention as I had a lot on my mind from the pressures of work and thought she was my mind giving me a pleasant distraction.

The next afternoon as I made my way home I saw her again. This time as I approached she gave me a wink and turned and walked off down a side alley. I looked to see where she had gone but the alley was bare, somewhere inside it she had vanished.

She wasn’t someone I could dismiss easily. Her red coat made her stand out, that and her jet-black hair cut provocatively drew my attention, and as I recalled her once again with sorbet in hand and her tongue licking her lips I wondered what she was on about.

I didn’t see again that week, but the next week she was there again, and this time she allowed me to get that little bit closer. Her eyes were the bluest, they focused on me, and I was smitten there and then.

She smiled at me in the cheekiest way and intimated she wanted me to follow her. Once again, she turned down into the alley which was now dark and foreboding. I did so, and she turned into a doorway, and I followed her like a puppy after a treat.

A door slammed behind me, and I didn’t care where I was going as I was concentrating on following the tail of her red coat as she skipped along down a long corridor.

She stopped at a large red door, turned to make sure I was still following and looked me up and down before knocking on the door.

“You’ll do nicely,” she said as the door opened and we went inside.

It was then the lights went out, and I woke up sometime later tied to a chair with burning hot lights beaming down on me.

“You’ve done well my dear,” said a voice to my right.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“You’re here,” a voice to my left announced before breaking into an insidious laugh.

It was then I felt the hands and fingers on my head. They wrapped around my throat more caressing than pressing.

“We need your brain,” I heard a girl’s voice say.

The girl in the red coat stood before me, opened her coat to reveal not what I expected but rather what appeared to be a universe in the place her stomach should have been.

“Welcome to our world,” the voices chorused as I sat there mouth open mesmerized by what was before me.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/14/photo-challenge-226/

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FOWC with Fandango — Love

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Our neighbour Mr. Fango had fallen in love with a woman who came to his house selling dishcloths.

Mr Fango was an anal man in many ways, cleaning being one. The dishcloths were out of this world and Mr Fango, normally a reserved and level-headed chap, found his heart beating like never before and his bits tingling a tune he hadn’t heard in a heck of a lot of years.

My mum noticed it first and mentioned that Mr Fango was all starry-eyed and floating in recent days.

We noticed the change, and we saw the flash the car outside his house on the following nights. Mum and dad wondered what this new woman in his life called him as we had only known him as Mr Fango. Dad said his name was Frank, but mum insisted it was Fergus.

Either way, he was Mr Fango to me.

 

Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2018/08/13/fowc-with-fandango-love/

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Bonus Wordle “Sick Day” – Cyril Comforts Mildred.

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This week’s words: Calescent ((adj.) growing warm; increasing in heat) Sheets Paroxysm ((n.) any sudden, violent outburst; a fit of violent action or emotion: a severe attack or a sudden increase in intensity of a disease)Temperature Tea Kettle Window Breeze Kneel Forehead Dizzy Damp Comfort

Cyril Rum, an angel on sabbatical, chose to live in a house like all others to not attract too much attention to himself. He had befriended his neighbour, Mildred Thrup because he wanted to know as much about life on earth as he could during his stay. In his opinion, humans were a complex lot, and he needed to understand them.

Mildred had been a great source of his education. Most days she dropped over to see him and answer any of the many questions he threw at her.

Today he expected her to come bounding through his back door and park herself in his kitchen. She only went that far as the rest of Cyril’s house was basically bare for as an angel he didn’t need any of the trappings of human life to exist.

With his tea kettle boiling away in expectation of her arrival and wondered what she might ask him once he’d stopped asking her.

But there was no show from Mildred and looking out his window he could see much sign of life at Mildred’s place.

Outside a gentle breeze blew but he could feel the day warming up. The weather man the evening before had referred to the calescence of the coming days and warned people to keep plenty of ice in their freezers.

Today he was concerned, so he ventured over to Mildred’s back door, something he had never done. There was no sign of Mildred, but he did sense some trouble within her house, as an angel he had that sense and his was working overtime at that very moment.

He pushed open her back door and called her name. From inside he heard a slight cough. Venturing further in and calling her name he came to her room. There he found Mildred. She was lying in her bed, her sheets wrapped around her. She was shivering as he knelt to feel her forehead which was damp with perspiration.

Suddenly Mildred went into a paroxysm of coughing that doubled her in half, she gasped as she sucked in a deep breath and it was clear to Cyril that she had a temperature which was not as it should have been.

She lay back, he heard her say she was dizzy and that she needed a doctor. Cyril was distressed knowing his neighbour and good friend was unwell, and this was his first experience of a friend in discomfort.

Now being an angel Cyril never knew illness and pain and thought how he could offer Mildred some degree of comfort at this time.

He placed his hand on her brow and felt the illness inside her working on her to weaken her as it took from her the life she usually enjoyed.

He moved his hand down over her eyes and Mildred fell into a deep sleep. He waved his hands over her sleeping body knowing that when she awoke she’d be a recovered friend, just the way he liked her.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/13/bonus-wordle-sick-day/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “Rorschach Test 3” – The Doctor’s Last Patient.

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It had been a long day, and the Doctor looked at his last patient for the day.

The man was middle-aged and obviously disturbed as he continuously fidgeted in his seat looking out the window as if embarrassed to be there.

As it was the man’s first visit, he decided to find out through observation what he could about the man seated before him.

The Rorschach Test might be a good way to achieve that goal.

So, he spread the image in front of his patient and asked him to describe that he saw in it.

‘I’ve had a bastard of a life,’ said the man. “I’ve so many health issues it isn’t funny anymore. My doctor thinks I make many of them up, but I don’t. See those bits on the right that look like broken tubes? That’s my heart, broken, shattered and useless. I have had so many bad relationships I can no longer entertain the thought of engaging in another one.

The curled images on the bottom left, and right are my colon, twisted, in pain, retreating into my body, refusing to take food, and when it pleasures itself, it gives me diarrhoea which puts me on the toilet for hours, sometimes days.

In the centre, there’s a face, the face of my domineering demon. That demon tells me what a shithead I really am, good for nothing, a waste of space and I’d do everyone a favour by ending it all here and now.

The only positive I can see is at the centre bottom where there is a glimmer of light as if there is some degree of hope for me, but it’s so minuscule as to not really be worth engaging in.

That’s what I see in that image,” concluded the man who by now was on the edge of his seat, his focus on the test page and his feet tapping.

The Doctor hearing all this felt uncomfortable with the man in his presence, he had a thing for really crazy weird people, and this man was up there with the best he’d experienced.

He pressed his panic button just as the man stood up and looking at the Doctor said something that sent shivers down his spine.

“You look so much like my demon. Maybe it’s you I want to kill?” The man pulled a large knife from inside his shirt and plunged it down….. The Doctor gasped, the man fell, blood poured, security arrived.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/12/sunday-writing-prompt-rorschach-test-3/

 

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Worth A Thousand Words # 26

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Image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/Tama66-1032521/

When the time came to demolish the old house, everyone was surprised to fine the front door still standing.

Several times the bulldozers came in, and overnight the door reappeared.

We began to understand there had to be a reason and the reason we figured had to lie in the house’s history.

As far as we knew the house had been abandoned a long time. Records told us it was an orphanage once run by the Sisters of Saint Kinesha the Prostitute. History tells us the orphanage was a terrible place where children worked day and night, where abuse was common place and where pedophile rings operated with no protection for the children involved.

The house was taken over in the 1930’s by a company who used the premises for making shoes. They had a thriving company, and the boot factory operated until the 1980’s.

Within the company records, there are reports from workers of seeing a child in the fetal position in one of the toilet areas even though no children were ever allowed into the factory and no evidence was found to say there ever were any children there.

When demolition started on the site, and the buildings were cleared the bones of deceased children were found in the basement area, buried in the ground and later a floor laid over their burial site. It was estimated there may have been as many as three hundred children buried in that grave alone. A similar graveyard was found when the laundry drying room was cleared. Under that floor lay the remains of two hundred children.

Back in the day the ‘Holy Sisters’ had no trouble finding children. It was common for mothers to die in childbirth and for fathers to feel ill-equipped to care for their children and so places like the orphanages thrived on other people’s misfortune and in turn subjected their charges to a misery they never could escape and ultimately resulted in their death.

There was not a reliable method of record keeping, so it is not known how many children over the years the orphanage took in. If there were any records, it’s likely that when the orphanage caught fire in the 1920’s the records as they might have been were destroyed.

We do know that the Sisters practised a policy that hard work and penance was the only way a child’s soul might be cleansed and therefore make it into heaven. Punishments, therefore, were harsh and frequent. It would appear from the few letters that somehow survived that children born out of wedlock were particularly hard done by. This was because they were seen by the ‘Holy Sisters’ as the devil’s spawn.

Why the door remained is a mystery, and in time after years of attempts to dispose of it, the planners decided it would be far easier to build around it. So today we have a building with a blacked door, scratches on the inside have remained with no amount of sanding and painting over being able to expunge them.

The door sits at the western end of the building, the streets around being redesigned, so the door and all its hideous memory is well out of sight.

But at night the door creaks as if there is still some life left in it. People in the new building claim to hear children crying at night and the child, once seen in the fetal position in the old boot factory is still there appearing on the bottom floor, frightened, dirty and so very alone.

 

Written for: https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/08/11/worth-a-thousand-words-26/

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