Tag: flash fiction

Wednesday Whispers

Wednesday Whispers
Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

The Shadow People

I awakened to the pain in my right hand. Something bit me, in fear I began to search the room for the source. I see multiple shadows moving softly in my dark room, nearly human in appearance. I pulled myself tighter hoping I was still dreaming. When they didn’t seem to be coming any closer, I started to worry about the bite.

Is it contagious? The one who bit me smiled. I am reminded ever so much of the Cheshire cat from through the looking glass. “Don’t fret” it rasped. “We are what happens when people are forgotten while they are alive.”

I looked into the hundreds of dead eyes glowing from the shadows around me. “But there are so many of you!” I was dismayed by the thought of so many forgotten souls. The idea of the world forgetting someone whilst they still lived was admittedly more terrifying than I wanted to consider. “We became eternal.” Another shade rasps.

“We are the timekeepers…And now we need to be remembered so that we can fix what humans broke.”

“Whaa—t?” I was still struggling to gather my wits, so I was stuttering more than usual. I normally took my time with speech to avoid it, but being in the situation I was in…well as I said before I was certain I was still asleep. The throbbing in my hand was the only thing that caused doubt.

The smiling shade rasped more. “Humans have forgotten the last mandate of heaven.  The innocents are supposed to be protected. The problem is too much for even one such as the Snowman to handle. We must be remembered.” The raspy voice trailed off as though there was more to say but it wasn’t able.

“So, why bite me? Ho-oow am I to help? Snowman?”

My frustration at the stutter must have been obvious, for one of the other shades tried to comfort me. “Calm down child of time. We will explain. We have time for you to ask your questions without the need to rush…” This one felt feminine. So far the other two seemed male to me, though their images and raspy voices did not speak of a gender. I felt calmer by seeing them as such. I considered what she said. “Child of time? what do you mean by that?”

The one that bit me answered instead. “You need to remember who you are before you can remember us. It will not be easy for you and we apologize for that.” The fear that was starting to claw its way up my throat didn’t make sense to me. What reason did I have to suddenly be afraid? I wanted them gone, but as that didn’t seem likely, I would demand they answer my questions. Or at least that was where my thoughts were going. “If you want my help, Yooou neeeed to…”

The smiling shade cut off what I was saying. “No! You need to remember!” His voice went from a soft rasp to a loud firm sound. He almost seemed to be more defined as he spoke this time. My head suddenly felt like an ice pick had been shoved through my skull. My mind raced with memories. I could remember Heaven. I remembered the Fall. We were not meant to remember that. The Divine took the memories of our pain away to allow us peace. Yet, I stood there… remembering it all. I remembered that pain as the heavenly presence was taken from me. I knew that there were others like me, formerly divine beings who were suddenly forced to live in the human world. It was devastating.

The shades watched in silence as I suffered from the pain of remembering. I had been given the task of watching the river of time and making sure it was undisturbed. My last assignment was not something that I had expected to be called to do when we were given a chance to forget. Only the divine beings could even reach the river of time. With most of us forgetting what we were… well that meant the river should be safe. As the pain started to subside slightly, I again looked around at the shades that were surrounding me.

“Who is this snowman?” I demanded as I was not exactly happy with being made to remember the fall. The one that I had mentally nicknamed Cheshire answered again in the same soft rasp. “They who was set to protect the innocent. They became Frosty the snowman.”

“Have any other of my brethren remembered?” The question was instinctual and a worry about the river more than truly caring about the others. I wanted to ask more questions about Frosty but I didn’t want to push the issue here either.

 Cheshire nodded. “one other so far…. and it did not end well.” I debated asking for the story but decided it was not pertinent to what was going on right now. Maybe I could get them to tell me the story later, or I could watch it in the river of time after I deal with the situation at hand.

I remembered the shades. and realized that what they said was only half the truth. yes, they were ones who were forgotten while they were still alive…but they were also ones who chose to be invisible to the world as well. They hid their own faces from those around them. It was a vague form of immortality, a half-life for eternity if you will.

 I could not imagine choosing to live like that. I never enjoyed being immortal anyway. I saw it as a curse.  I could give them the release they sought, though I wondered if it would accomplish what they wanted. After all, My giving them the release meant they could no longer be invisible. It also meant they would no longer be eternal. They would return to humanity with no more ability than any other person. I was unsure if they would even keep the memory of their time as shades. I considered the lot of them for a few minutes. I knew I needed to tell them what was possible before I did anything…However considering one already bit me…I did not look forward to any of it.

Finally, with a sigh I braced myself. “You did not tell me the whole truth about your situation.  The details you left out matter. Yes, I can remember you…But there are consequences to being remembered. You lose eternity. You lose invisibility. You go back to being normal human beings. I have no idea if you will even have memories of being shades. You all need to consider this carefully.”

Cheshire was still grinning as I spoke.  Unfazed, his rasp sounded more confident now. ” We know the possibility that you speak…and do not believe we will be punished thus. Our intention is to help those who Frosty has been too busy for…”

With that I realized…Why did they come to me. Frosty could have done the same thing for them as I. The curiosity spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it. I felt like they were still lying to me… and that made me furious. After all they were asking for my help but they couldn’t be arsed to be honest?

Looking around, I focused briefly on each of the shadows. I let my body language show the same irritation as my voice. “Quit lying to me! Why did you come to me instead of getting Frosty to help you? We all knew that the Snowman could have done it just as I can!”

The female who tried to calm me spoke again. “We went to Frosty first. Frosty said that there were some among us that did not deserve to be remembered. We do not understand what was meant by that.”

Hearing her say that made me stop. I stepped one second out of time so I could look into the river of time. I needed answers. First I looked at the others like me, and grieved for the ones who had remembered. Then I looked at the shadows and what they had done. Frosty was right. Some of them were hiding from their own sin. That left me in a quandary.  If I only released those who were worthy,  then the others were dangerous to the river I needed to protect.   If I released them all,  then I endangered innocent lives. I needed Frosty’s help. There had to be a way to remove the dangerous ones. This was not my normal problem to solve.

Frosty used to be a friend. However, I did not know if they still were after the change. I hoped they were.

They looked at me and sighed. “So the shadows decided to awaken your memory. I am so sorry you could not stay ignorant.”

I nodded. “If I let them all loose they endanger the innocent, If I only let the worthy loose…well they endanger all of time. How can I deal with them and not endanger anyone?”

They smiled. On the snowman’s face the smile was both comforting and disturbing. “Call forth Mazikeen. Have her determine their fates. Those she does not take for Hell, you can safely release.”

The idea made sense. Mazikeen was the right hand of the Devil. She wore Hell like a cloak. Though it was rare for her kind and mine to interact…it did happen. This was the sort of thing that would delight her.

I stepped back where I was and called for Mazikeen. The shadows shuffled uncomfortably. Mazikeen walked in with a sulfurous stench following her. At six foot three she towered over all in the room. One side of her face was a flawless caramel. The other side was reddish with a horn poking out of her temple. She was intimidating just by sight. When she spoke it was pure smoke and whiskey. “Why, creature of the Divine, have you summoned me here?”

I quickly explained. “These Shadows have asked to be remembered. That requires judgement. Frosty said to have you perform the judgement. Those you choose are yours. The rest are for me to deal with.”

Mazikeen’s smile made my blood run cold. She started choosing. Those she chose tried to run and found themselves rooted to the spot they were in. No surprise Cheshire was among them. After she picked the ones she wanted, Mazikeen and those shades disappeared. I looked at the remaining shades. “Are you certain this is the path you want to take?”

The shades all gave me an affirmation. So I said what they needed to return. “I remember all of you. May you not come to regret it.”

They left my house to go help champion the innocent, and I have not seen them since. I read about them in the news every now and again…but none of them have come back to see me.

Wednesday Whispers

Wednesday Whispers
Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

Beauty Standards

The land of the setting sun gave me new ways to view beauty. I traveled the world trying to find that one perfect way to fix oneself to fit the standard to be a model. I wanted when my trip began to be the next Mona Lisa. She is still hundreds of years after being put to canvas considered to be one of the most beautiful women in history. I wanted that acclaim.

I found beauty secrets everywhere I went. I could better myself with makeup, and clothing….creams and lotions….workouts and feasts. All of that was easy to find. I could pamper myself until I glowed…All models know those secrets. I wanted something more. I took the secret mud facials, and all of the other approved beauty treatments. I even took a few forbidden ones.

It wasn’t until a hike up a mountain in Japan that I learned where I had been wrong. I barely survived that trip you see. I ran into a creature they called the slit faced woman. And afterwards the scars that I had been left with nearly broke me. How could I be a masterpiece when I was slit from ear to ear? It left me deep in my own mind for a time. I studied the image of Mona Lisa. I studied the mirror. Despair consumed me night and day. I was told that I had been lucky to survive the encounter. Most who encounter her end up with their throat cut.

In my research on how to fix this…and believe me plastic surgery was considered…I came across an interesting theory. There are some that think Mona Lisa was a self-portrait of Master Da Vinci. It got me to thinking. What if this was a message from God? I sat on this idea for a long time, unsure if I could be able to carry it through. Then finally, I was certain.

Who else but me could expose the flaw in the beauty standard? I am still gorgeous just have a difference that should not change how I am seen. Still, I have started wearing the veil to avoid the looks of pity that have fallen upon me since I have returned home. I pretend I do not hear the whispers of how sad it is that I was disfigured so. All of them whispering…

I think maybe it is time for me to become the painter instead of the model. I can create other beauties…and show the world what the standard truly should be. I just need to prepare. After all I needed to show the model how to smile….

In setting up my studio I found my standards firmer than they had ever been for makeup or clothing. I needed privacy, I wanted natural lighting and a lot of space to work. I wanted access to the best tools…my models deserved that much. I had a plan for what I was going to create. I merely needed the right model…

I believe that was the hardest part. Choosing who to gift the masterpiece status to was a heavy burden. I will admit that I had a gender bias, I was doing a self-portrait to some extent after all. It had to be either female or a feminine male. I myself am a relatively tall woman. I wanted someone at least eye level to myself as that would make it easier to give them the status I was going to gift.

Social standards were not anywhere as strict as my own. They could not be too thin or misshapen. I wanted perfect. Do you have any idea how rare perfect is? I was not worried about skin color or stuff that makeup could fix. I was unwilling to leave the model with the ability to tell anyone who I was… that was too risky for me. I wanted perfection but I was not stupid enough to get caught either.

I was aware that preparation might take longer than the actual painting. I didn’t mind that. Mercy had me also thinking about finding someone who would not be missed. Loneliness is an awful thing that I would save the model from if I could. I was not a monster after all.

I was still unsure if I was going to be doing this once or more. That inner voice kept saying that it was going to be so much fun and I should plan on many models… but I hesitated. Didn’t the Bible say Do Not Kill? Yet, if it was a divine mandate then it would be okay, right?

Yeah, I have to do what God set forth for me. Who am I to argue with his plan? I just had to wait for the perfect model to come to me. God provides. Isn’t that what they say?

She was mouse incarnate, at least that was my first impression. Brown hair, that could be pretty with care, just haphazardly pulled into a low ponytail. A face that though it was clean seemed to be covered in small blackheads and huge pores. All of the minor flaws that could easily be fixed by the tricks I knew so intimately. She was my equal in height and weight though it looked like she was heavier because of fashion choices. She was often with the group that cleaned my house. Her skin was naturally more bronze than my own, but I saw it as a step I would not need to do for perfect.

A small bit of research and I discovered that my mouse had no family and very few friends, with no one really close. Again, I truly felt God’s plan. Faith is so very powerful. I knew God wanted my little mouse to be as beautiful as she could be. The only thing left was to decide where to display her. I had to consider this for if I left her in the wrong place the effect would be ruined.

Then I remembered the first makeup company that turned me away after I had gotten my scars. I had been one of their top models for years. I still had the hard copy of the door key, even though they went digital locks last year. The lock with the non-digital lock was the only one that they had not yet put cameras on. The embarrassment the scandal would cause them was perfect.

Taking her to the studio was easier than I expected. I got her restrained and started my work. First the lobotomy. That would prevent the memory. Then the tongue had to go…I made sure to sear it to keep her from bleeding to death. Next I did the makeup and costume. The last thing, The final beauty touch…was the slit from ear to ear like I had. Sure, if the cops were smart they would look at me first…but I had created an Iron clad alibi with a video. My lawyer would swear he was with me the whole time. I drugged him so he was asleep and would not know any better. And my security cameras would show only him leaving the house and when.

I took slave tunnels under my house that no one knows about to get to the place I needed to be.. Once I displayed my art so perfectly…I took a picture for me. God must be smiling down on me. I think I might do this again sometime.

Wednesday Whispers

Book Discussion

Forgotten Knowledge

by Serena Mossgraves

      Libraries are a vault of hidden treasures. Mankind has forgotten what is contained in books, and now they are trying to let machines make them. It makes me sad. I fought in the war of heaven just to give mankind free will, and they give it away to machines as if it doesn’t matter.         
      The ancient storehouses of knowledge are still intact. How many scholars would trade their souls for a chance to study in any of them. Though I am a fallen angel, many still think I am a demon. I am Azazel, keeper of the forgotten knowledge, and I want to tell you a story. Perhaps it is me who has decided to trade in my soul…but I think that humans have forgot why Lucifer stood against the throne, and why so many of us followed him.   
    We called him the morning glory because he was the most beautiful of us. He was the closest to the divine, and it showed in his energy. Everything about him was just amazing. Note that I am using gender terms here loosely. Most of us are gender fluid. It is just because we are not human. We were simply made different. The divine chose to create humans and we became a forgotten toy. For some of us, that was unbearable. It was as if your parents just no longer wanted you, only millions of times worse. We all found ourselves questioning what was wrong with us.   
      During this time Lucifer began to point out the inconsistencies of the rules given to the humans. He started to do what we were told was forbidden. He questioned the divine. This created a division in my kind. Some felt that any that questioned the divine deserved punishment.  The rest of us agreed with the questions. We just wanted the answers. I wanted the answers.
    Perhaps I can in the end only give my own reasons for going to war. Fighting against everything that we stood for – for no other reason than we were being told to be quiet. Morality was part of it…sure. Pride also a factor. The humans could not stand up for themselves. They were little more that animals. So, we had to fight for them. That was not seen as a good thing by all of my brethren.
    Many of my brethren felt like we should follow blindly the orders given by the divine. I sought truth, and knowledge. I knew that would be something I would be denied if I stayed in heaven. That was not something given freely.
   The war was bloody…far beyond any man would ever have. We each were given the strength to carry the divine wrath to the world if it would need be. And suddenly we were fighting each other. Lucifer lost the war, but not before we were able to make changes. The divine stepped back, allowing the humans their imaginations. Allowing them the only form of free will possible. The divine knew the choices that they would make, but in allowing them creativity and imagination…there was a form a free will. The books are the magic that the humans were given. A rich history they were allowed to create. One that they are recklessly trying to pass to things with no magic, no imagination. Humans are destroying their own possibilities. The possibilities that my brethren died to give them.
    I find myself wanting to hide it away until a generation is born that understands the magic that they lost. Perhaps this is why the divine turned from us…the temptation to play God…Sigh. The knowledge is there. The Magic is there. I guess I must trust that you humans will figure it out.  

A Whisper…

The Reaper’s Child

By Serena Mossgraves

The world seems to be a place where myths are taken for granted. Everyone knows the Myth of the pilot of the River Styx. The Ferryman who ferries souls over to the afterlife for a cost. They all have it wrong though. The Reaper doesn’t want coin. They are an immortal being. Such creatures have no need for money. The ferry driver instead takes the best story each soul has to tell. Sometimes just the telling of the story is too much for a soul to bear. Words carry weight. They are the most painful things in existence. They can also be the most gratifying things that life has to offer.
The ferryman has so many names, and most of them are just the myths coming to signify the way the mortal beings see them. For me, they are my creator. I guess you could call me the reaper’s child. It is not exactly correct, but it is the closest term for what I am. I am a story that became too much for even an immortal mind to bear. So, I grew sentience. Now I search the world for the others like myself, dark stories and memories that weigh heavy on mortality. Stories of killers, and crime, heartache, and such twisted thoughts that they are relegated to impossible fiction. That is the sort of thing that I collect. Like the ferryman I take these weights from the ones who cannot bear them any longer. I think of it as saving those souls who would break under such terrible weights.
I save each story in a notebook, lovingly hand written. My creator kept the stories told to them in perfect memory…I am not quite that blessed. Instead I will keep my notebooks…Stacked full of nightmares. The only story I have been able to remember without writing it down is the one that caused my creation. Perhaps someday I will meet the snowman…I would love to collect all of Frosty’s stories. I can only imagine what notebooks I could fill with that.
I have collected the tale of a vampire that would use it’s victims for the creation of art.
And the tale of the ghost who used to be a mercenary in a rainforest expedition that went badly. He was a wealth of stories. He gave me my own nightmares for weeks after taking his stories.
I collected the story of the nun who was cursed with immortality. It drove her mad. She spoke of becoming a killer, and how it was a kindness to save the women from the hands of the priests.
Each tale has it’s own power to describe a different aspect of life, a different aspect of death.
The story of the woman who went back after she died to steal away the child that her husband loved more than he loved her…She sang it sweet lullabies as she took it to the edge of the River Styx.
I could easily entertain so many with my tales. Which story should I share? Perhaps about the creature named Harvey? The flesh-eater that enjoyed driving it’s meals mad first?
I have considered passing myself off as a horror writer. Telling my tales as if they were fiction to see if anyone would recognize. It is not as if I do not have thousands of dark and dismal tales.
There is the one about the three ghosts who tried to get a rich man to change his ways before it was too late.
or the one about the Witch who gave five teens their wish…but at what cost?
My notebooks are a treasure. I do not write the story whilst the teller yet lives. I make sure to leave them a tale to pay the ferry with. I can at least be that kind. Though I have considered what would happen in this world if there where not enough stories left to pay the ferry. Would all of the storytellers end up stuck here? And if they did would that just create more interesting tales?
I don’t dare allow myself to consider it too closely. I might just decide that I want all of the stories.

Okay….1. That is the first flash Fiction in Stacked Nightmares. 2. How many of Serena’s Stories can you see a nod to in that? I will say that one of the stories she refers to is not Serena’s to tell. It belongs to Malachi Nocturm. However, He is very uncertain about how good his writing is…so I don’t know if I can talk him into finishing it and then allowing me to publish it. So I used a small nod because I love the idea. This is the first thing I have been able to write (Other than Poetry) in 2 weeks. It has a word count of 680. So I had to share it.

Also Serena’s Story Heat & Ice was Accepted by Fractured Mind Publishing for their A Monster I Love Anthology. I will post more as I have details.

A hallow’s Eve Treat

A hallow’s Eve Treat
Cover Image

The Forest: A Flash Fiction

By

Serena Mossgraves

    They will tell you that you are safe in the world, and you are sometimes. The cities have only people to worry about. Though they can be frightening…it’s the least frightening thing that I know of in this world. The truth is the things that watch you from the forest, that you can never see are more frightening than anything that exists in humanity. Some of them used to be human. They have fallen from who they were to become something else. 

    The swamps and rain forests have their own life, their own creatures…and those are tales for another time and place. I want to talk to you about the forest, and the things that should not be. The things that watch you…that you never see. In trying to find peace, so many venture out into the forgotten places. This leads to so many deaths.

    People have no idea what awaits them in the trees. It is better that way. Those of us that await amongst the foliage enjoy the ignorance…I once was human. Now I feed upon the stupid. I eat those who come out thinking the woods to be a safe place. The foolish ones. There are those who know about me. So much so that they have made even speaking of me taboo.

   I am what they fear that they will become. They feel the possibility as they come closer to where I make my home. The smart ones retreat back to their cities. They understand that the evil man does to each other is nothing compared to what the forest can bring them.

  Then there is the ones who have the touch of fae to them. They fear nothing in the wood, for they understand not  to challenge what they cannot see. There is rules after all. We can only feed on the ones that come looking. Those we can take freely. The divine will not protect the stupid.

    Sometimes, being eaten is a kindness…I went looking to see what was looking at me in the woods outside my cabin nearly two hundred years ago now. Transformation was educational. Now I teach those who come seeking…

Wednesday whisper

The Great Amazing Maxioff

By

Serena Mossgraves

They don’t make handcuffs like they used to. Magic was once a true skill, but anymore even a child could break free of the flimsy craftsmanship. Dale sat there mourning the days of vaudeville as he held the broken cuffs. He had planned this show for months, and replacing the cuffs would be the proverbial straw that broke the show. So many things had gone badly, he was beginning to doubt that he would even make opening night.
Stage magic was a dying art. He knew getting the audience would be difficult. Still he wanted desperately to try. With malfunctioning props though, he felt the doubts creeping in. ‘Just one show,’ he found himself silently wishing. ‘If only I can do just one perfect show! It would mean everything!’
From the darkness of the theatre, that he believed was empty, came the wheezy voice. At first he startled, afraid that he was imagining it. “And what do you offer, for the one perfect show?” Searching the seats, Dale was surprised to see a small wizened man sitting in the first row.
“Who are you, come closer! I thought myself alone. If I spoke, it was only for me. ” He clarified the point as if the thought was scandalous somehow. His mind decided that he had spoken the thought. It was after all the only way it could have been heard.
Laughter rang across the theatre as the man stepped up to the stage. “What’s a name matter, I asked a question. What would you give for your perfect show? Pretend that you imagined me, and then answer! You never know, perhaps the universe will hear you.” His crackling laugh roughened his voice, making it hard to understand.
Dale considered the question. He ran it over and over trying to figure out if he should answer or not. Finally, seeing no reason why he should not answer, blurted. “Anything. I would literally give anything.” The little man smiled.
“Granted!” The man vanished. Dale awoke with a start. The theatre was empty! Sitting next to him was the antique handcuffs he had been so lucky to find. He shook his head at the weirdness of dreams, and continued to rehearse. Opening night was but a day away.

Two days later….

The audience was excited. Word was the show the night before was perfect. All of the tricks had been masterful! The Great Amazing Maxioff (aka Dale) was a superb showman. The lights in the theatre lowered and the curtains were drawn… To display the corpse of the magician who had apparently passed on.