New Release! Slipping Through

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Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

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I have stories out in a new anthology!

It's now available and I can pass on the news! It's called Slipping Through (click on the title to take you to Amazon) and it's all about passing through to other dimensions, the afterlife, or, well, who knows?

I have three entries in this anthology. One is a short story (Memory Lane) and the others are flash fiction (On the Flip Side & Wrapped in a Mystery). The other stories are from Miranda Kate (who put this all together), Michael Wombat, and Victoria Pearson. Here's the table of contents:

As you can see, there are a lot of stories here, so there's a good chance you'll find a few that strike your fancy. I don't have all my "Amazon Author page" stuff sorted out yet, but that will happen shortly...

If you want to see how this came about, you can read my previous Patreon post here.

Also, if you would like to see other stories and poems I've done, please check out this list!

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© 2023 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 127

This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo is from American photographer Jerry N Uelsmann. He has some interesting pieces, definitely work checking out. This particular image is not on is site, but is on other art sites attributed to him. 

Here's a link to the prompt image.

A little dark magic in this one....

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 678 words for those who are counting (not including the title, scene break marker, and byline).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site (with free access to the story).

The Disappearance of Lori McCarter

K. R. Smith

    "Everyone picks on me, Kristen. Everyone. My parents, the teachers in school, even the other kids—well, most of them. I'm no worse than anyone else. Why do they always notice when I do something wrong? Or dumb. And sometimes they pick on me for no reason at all. Why?"
    "It'll be okay, Lori. I have a friend who can help. She knows how to do stuff. Meet me down by the water at sunset."
    "Who is she? What can she do?"
    "It doesn't matter. Just be there."
    "Okay. If you're sure it will help."

###

    When Lori arrived at the shore, Kristen and several others were waiting. One girl was holding a box, though she couldn't see the contents. She waited at a distance unsure what to do.
    "Come on, Lori," Kristen said, waving her closer." Then, pointing at a girl with long, dark hair, she said, "This is Maeve. She's going to help you."
    "Hi," Lori said. Her voice was weak. "You can really help me?"
    "What, exactly, do you want?"
    "For the people who pick on me not to notice me, not to see me when I do something wrong so I don't get in trouble all the time."
    "How strongly do you want this?"
    "More than anything."
    "Are you sure?"
    "Yes. Can you do that?"
    "I can." Maeve looked around at the group. "I need everyone to form a circle. Lori, you should stand at the center."
    As the girls formed a circle around Lori, Maeve placed items at the four points of the compass around the outside: a stone, a feather, candle, and a bowl, conveniently filled from the bay. She then gave each girl a small candle and a crystal. All the candles, including the one outside the circle, were lighted.
    Maeve took a position at the northern point of the circle and instructed Lori to face her. She told the others to hold the candles in front of them and follow her lead with the crystals. Maeve called on the spirits of Earth, air, water, and fire. She twirled her crystal in front of the flame; the other girls did the same. A thousand colors danced over Lori as Maeve asked for protection from the sight of her enemies. The chant was repeated with some of the girls adding to Maeve's voice. Lori turned within the circle at Maeve's command. She then called for the circle to be closed and pressed her palm onto the candle extinguishing the flame. With some trepidation, the girls emulated her action. With only the small candle outside the circle burning, Lori disappeared into the twilight darkness of the evening.
   As Maeve was thanking the elements, a man came up the beach, walking briskly and grumbling.
   "Have any of you seen Lori? Stupid girl should be home by now. She has chores to do. Someone said she was headed this way."
   "Who are you?" Maeve asked.
   "I'm her father, as if it's any of your damn business."
   "She was here earlier," Maeve replied, "but she's gone now."
   "Figures. Stupid, lazy girl." He mumbled as he continued down the beach.
   The girls waited until he was out of sight, then started giggling.
   "It worked!" one said.
   "Lori, did you see that!" Kristen squealed. "He didn't even notice—"
   The girls stood open-mouth as the consequences of the spell became obvious. They looked around while calling Lori's name, but no voice answered. Then they turned to Maeve.
   One of the girls asked, "What did you do?"
   "What I was asked to do." Maeve replied. "Were some of you the same ones who teased her, tattled on her?"
   The girls exchanged glances, but only Kristen spoke.
   "Maybe." Her voice quivered.
   "That would explain much," Maeve said. "Next time," she continued while walking away, "think long before asking my help."
   "Wait! Can't you bring her back?"
   Maeve turned and looked into each girl's eyes. "No. Only you can do that."
   "How? We don't know magic!"
   Maeve shook her head and smiled. "There is no magic required to be a good friend."

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

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© 2019 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 117

This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt was taking by Thomas Hawk, I think he has captured this particular sculpture really well from this angle. He called his shot, Woman. The sculpture is by mixed media artist Karen Cuolito and stands 30 feet high. The California-based sculptor’s towering figure of a woman titled Ecstasy is made of 9 tons of salvaged steel. When this was taken it was being exhibited in Hayes Valley, San Francisco, but is now part of a private collection.

Here's a link to the prompt image.

A post-apocalyptic story for this round.

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 744 words for those who are counting (not including the title and byline), and I had to do a lot of chopping to get it down that far!

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Legacy

K. R. Smith

    Beneath a rocky overhang, an old man was carving strange marks into the stone. Trilla had watched him before, though she'd never had the nerve to approach. Her curiosity had finally overcome her fears, however, and she moved closer, hiding behind bushes as she advanced. Then the crack of a twig underfoot gave her away, or so she thought. The old man didn't react. She peeked out to see him running his fingers along the stone.

    "It seems I have a visitor."

    Trilla ducked down, afraid to move.

    "There's no need hide. I won't hurt you."

    A dirty face with dust-brown hair popped up as the man waved his hand, inviting her to join him. She stopped about ten feet away and sat on the ground.

    "What's your name?"

    She hesitated, then spoke almost inaudibly.

    "Trilla."

    "Hello, Trilla. My name is Miklos. You've come to watch me work?"

    Trilla nodded.

    "I hope you don't mind if I continue. There is much to be done."

    Before the old man could strike his chisel, Trilla asked, "Why?"

    He replied with his own question. "Why?"

    "Why do you make marks on the rocks?"

    "For you. And those like you. It's a story."

    "A story?"

    "Yes. And a warning. Someday you'll be able to read these marks and understand."

    "I like stories. Can you tell it to me?"

    "You may not like this one, but I can give you a short version."

    Miklos set down his tools and gazed into the distance.

    "The life we all live—gathering what we can, some farming, and hunting at times—it wasn't always like this."

    "How?"

    "Life was easy. There was little to do outside of the arts. And plenty of food and drink, a thousand flavors to enjoy. Most people spent the day with friends and such."

    "Plenty of food? Where did it come from?"

    "Have you heard of the Valley of Death?"

    Trilla's head bowed. "I was there once. I was afraid. The dead metal monsters where there."

    "I see. Do you know where those metal creatures came from?"

    The girl shook her head.

    "We made them. Then we taught them to make others like themselves."

    She looked up at the man, her eyes wide open and unblinking. "Why?"

    "They did the work. They farmed, cleaned, built things. Soon, few people knew how to do the work the creatures did."

    "Didn't anyone know?"

    "All our knowledge, all our history, was stored in what were called clouds."

    Trilla looked up at the sky.

    "It wasn't quite the same, but it might as well have been. And the creatures were the ones who maintained those clouds."

    "Did they forget, too?"

    "Not exactly. Do you know what a comet is?"

    "No."

    "It's a pile of rocks and ice that comes from space, high in the sky. One struck our land. Although it wasn't very big, there was damage to a few cities."

    "Cities?"

    "It's where a lot of people live together."

    "Oh."

    "The damage wasn't enough to destroy our world, but within that comet was what they called a protovirus. It wasn't a problem for people, but the creatures you saw, now just metal, had a coating of living tissue, sort of a fake skin. They looked very much like us."

    "Really?"

    "Yes. I was not much older than you when it all happened, but I remember well. The protovirus attacked that tissue and quickly spread. Soon the creatures we made where nothing more than the metal you saw in the valley. Everything, all the work they did for us, soon came to a stop."

    "Why didn't you make new ones?"

    "Why." The old man laughed. "You're quite fond of that word, aren't you? That's a good thing. You'll do well."

    Trilla grinned even though she didn't understand.

    "Because the creatures were now the ones who made others of their kind and controlled the information to do so. Without their labors, the world turned into chaos. There was fighting. Many suffered. Many died. We were helpless to help ourselves. We had grown lazy and useless. This is why I carve these symbols. To tell others what happened, and to warn them. Few remain who know. And I am growing old. There is not much time left for me to finish."

    Trilla picked up the chisel and handed it to the old man.

    "I will read them. And tell everyone."

    The old man smiled.

    "You know, Trilla, I believe you will."

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

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© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 110

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Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

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This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt was taken by Alan Chaput, a Cozy Mystery author who lives in Savannah Georgia. I really love this image.

Took me a while to find something original, I had a couple of false starts, but I like what I finally came up with. Hope you do too.

Here's a link to the prompt image.

Somewhat of a classic-style horror tale this time. Not sure where it came from. That's how it works with me. I don't sit down to write a story about (fill in with any subject), whatever that may be. If a story is there, it just pops into my brain.

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 729 words for those who are counting (not including the title and byline).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Behind the Blue Door

K. R. Smith

    The old building had stood on the corner for as long as anyone could remember. It had always been shuttered. On occasion, workers would come by to do small jobs on the exterior. No one ever went inside. It was only basic maintenance, however: fix a downspout, paint the doors in the same gaudy blue as before, or, more rarely, replace pieces of the old metal roof that had degraded.

    It was the roof that initially spurred my curiosity. Metal roofs last a long time. How many years had passed that it now needed repair?

    Still, it was just an old building. There was nothing of particular interest about it architecturally, and no known local history was associated with the aging edifice. Perhaps a century ago it might have been an important place of business or thriving hub of a community, though there was no visible indication of that now.

    One day, a group of children were playing in front of the building. It was a favorite spot as little traffic passed along that street. A ball, driven with considerable force, struck one the painted panels comprising the main entry doors. The wood, dried from age and weak, shattered. In the opening appeared another layer of brick. The entrance, apparently, had been sealed for decades.

    I pondered this. Why block the entrance with such a massive amount of masonry? There had never been a problem with vandalism in the area and this would certainly make showing the building to any potential buyers all the more difficult. Why go to such lengths to keep anyone from entering?

    This puzzle consumed my mind on an almost continual basis for several weeks. One evening, while walking home from my position as a junior clerk, and as it was not too far out of my way, I stopped by the building to see if I might have missed some detail that would explain the situation.

    I negotiated my way around the exterior, twice I should note, before stopping at the entrance with the broken blue door. An inspection of the remaining woodwork showed excellent workmanship; only the age of the materials had allowed it to fail. I reached through the opening and into the shallow space between the doors and the bricks. With much effort, I found a sliding latch that, in normal conditions, would release the door allowing it to open. Multiple coats of blue paint were now all that was holding the doors closed. I tugged at the doors repeatedly. Eventually, the old paint cracked, and the doors swung open. Although pleased with the results, I was still no closer to entering the building than before; the brickwork was still in place.

    This did, however, give me an idea. Since the doors would also close and could be latched shut again, the removal of any bricks behind the door could be hidden. With the appropriate tools, and in the cover of night, I might gain my way into the building. Few people passed by there after dark, so my chance of being detected would be small. Once an entryway was made, I could close the doors, and no one would be the wiser.

    Within a week, I had acquired the tools necessary to gain entry, then waited for a moonless night. This reduced the chance of being spotted and I needed little light for my task. I placed a piece of heavy carpet against the brickwork to muffle the sound. A few blows from my heaviest hammer on the deteriorating lime mortar were more than enough; accuracy wasn't important in this case. Although stronger than expected, the bricks soon gave way, falling into the building. I climbed through the hole and pulled the doors closed behind me as best as I could to hide my clandestine pursuit.

    Finally, my curiosity would be sated. I lighted a candle. To my surprise, the entire building consisted of a single room which contained nothing except a small box on a table in the center. Setting my candle down next to it, the glow from its small flame illuminated the box. I brushed away a heavy layer of dust from the top. The box was finely finished and had an inscription on the lid. Just before opening it, I smiled. How quaint, I thought as I read the words aloud. "Pandora Box Company, Established 1817."

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

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© 2019 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 107

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Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

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This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt was taken by Russian photographer Daniel Kordan - he has some incredible pictures, definitely worth checking out his site.

Have you sussed what this is yet? It's not some strange photoshopped image, it's actually a photo of an ice cave being illuminated by a flare - an ice cave in Kamchatka in the Far East of Russia. He explored under the glacier near the Mutnovsky volcano. You can read about it here.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

Yet another sci-fi tale this week.

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 462 words for those who are counting (not including the title and byline).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Crack the Sky

by

K. R. Smith

"An ominous sign, to be sure," Glornacht said. His eyes scanned the sharp lines cutting through the hazy red hues glowing above.

"Hasn't anyone climbed up the cliffs to understand what's going on?"

"You're not from this place, David, and you must learn our ways. It would be considered presumptuous for a mortal to ascend the mountains. That is the domain of the Everlasting Ones. We have been provided for here, and here we will stay."

"How can a sky crack, Glornacht?" David adjusted the universal translator hoping the meaning of his words might come through somehow. "How?"

"It happens from time to time. I've read of such events in our chronicles. We go deep into the underworld until it is safe again."

"How long will that be?"

"It is difficult to say. A hundred cycles, or a thousand." Glornacht shrugged. "Perhaps more. When it pleases the Everlasting Ones, we will return."

David hung his head. "Let me explain again. I've been above what you call the sky. It's not the sky at all. It's a huge sheet of ice on a world we call Mars. The only reason you can live here is because the rocks shield you from radiation, the ice sheet locks in an atmosphere, and enough ice melts to provide you with water. And now, for whatever reason, that ice sheet is cracking. When it comes tumbling down, many of your people will be injured or killed."

Glornacht looked at the visitor and smiled. "Though I don't understand all your words, what would you have us do? Leave? Even if we were allowed to do so, the place you describe beyond the sky would not support our bodies."

"So, you'll remain here to die—all because of some ancient superstition?"

"Superstition? Perhaps. But we will not die. From what you tell us, we have survived, even thrived here, longer than species has existed. And why did your people leave their home to come to this place? Because your world is failing. At your own hand, I might add."

David had no reply.

"I know you're trying to help, and we are grateful, but it might be best if you helped yourself first." Glornacht put his three-fingered hand on David's shoulder. "And, of course, you—and those with you—are welcome to join us. The Everlasting Ones do not mind, I can assure you."

David looked into Glornacht's eyes. Only six months since landing and the colony was already in trouble. Farming, energy generation, even waste disposal was more difficult than they had ever imagined. Water was critically low. They had investigated the ice sheets as an easy way to obtain a suitable supply. How could he explain that, this time, he was the reason their sky was cracking?

While you're here...

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

---

© 2019 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 105

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Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

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This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

Today's picture prompt was created by Norwegian artist Erlend Monk. He has a few of these, and many images I find intriguing. I might just have to return to use more.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

Another sci-fi tale (with a touch of horror) this week. It may have even borrowed the germ of an idea from Miranda's own Slipping Through.

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 544 words for those who are counting (not including the title and byline).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Dark Dreams

by K. R. Smith

We were just being silly, letting our imaginations run wild. That's what they told us. Whatever we were seeing couldn't be real. Even if it was understandable, being isolated in a remote star system, working long hours and often alone. Of course, that sort of concern had no place in the corps. We needed to get on with our jobs. After all, not a single person had been harmed and there was no proof of any other large indigenous life forms on the planet. It was all in our minds, like some childish ghost story.

The higher-level technical types, the engineers and such, scoffed at our concerns. They didn't believe in spirits or phantoms, but then again, they were always safe and sound within the ship orbiting above. We were on the ground. They never experienced the fleeting, nebulous blur that seemed to follow along as we set up the sensors. Or the dark, wispy swirl of smoke that appeared from time to time out of the corner of an eye. Perhaps, they suggested, it was the low oxygen levels, or maybe the higher levels of cosmic radiation, that cause these visual aberrations. Without evidence, what could be done? Never so much as a footprint or bent twig had been found.

Still, at the insistence of the forward landing party, it was agreed they would look into the matter, if only to appease our concerns. Or humor us, I suppose. Despite their own opinions, they appeared to be professional, and quite deliberate, during the investigation. Yet neither the instruments, nor any of the surveillance cameras, detected anything. There were anomalies, of course, but there always are, aren't there?

Yes, it was all in our minds, they assured us. And they were right.

It was only by accident, while scanning for background radiation, that we began to understand. The instrument had been improperly set to detect frequencies far lower than intended, below ten hertz, the range covering theta brainwaves. Whenever an apparition appeared, there was a spike in this spectrum. It took us a while to figure out. As they slipped in or out of their interdimensional hiding places, this jump induced a vision, a dark, blurry dream as it were, directly into our brain. Once they knew we had a way of detecting them, they no longer concerned themselves with hiding. That made it all the worse. They were quick to turn this ability of mental induction into endless torment.

And now we were trapped. The ship had departed orbit to resupply. It would be three months before it returned, three months of fighting an enemy both around us, and within, too. We had come to colonize this planet. Unfortunately, they had, too.

So, there were no ghosts, no specters, no lost, wandering spirits. That would have been far easier to deal with than a never-ending nightmare that comes after you even when you're awake. The drugs help a little, I suppose, but you can't turn your mind off completely. Well, you can, and it's a dark thought, one that's has been whispered among a few on the team. I'm not sure if it's courage that allows a person do that—or desperation that would drive one there.

Three months is a long time.

While you're here...

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available:  If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

---

© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 103

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Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

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This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's picture prompt is from German Photo artist Veronika Pinke. She calls this one Magic.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

Wrote a sci-fi tale this week. Poor Wendell is having problems again. Whenever you see Wendell in one of my stories, you can be certain he's in some sort of predicament!

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 611 words for those who are counting (not including the title).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Empty Nester
by K. R. Smith

Wendell hated his assignment. Being posted to this backwater of a planet was like a slow death. It even had a fitting name: Aeterna. It meant eternal in an old Earth language, and appropriate in so many ways. The never-ending twilight, the flat plain that covered most of the surface, featureless other than the skeletons of a few tall tree-like plants and the omnipresent tufts of dead grass-like vegetation poking from the sandy soil.

Nothing seemed to change on Aeterna. No wind, no real clouds—only a moist, vaporous low-hanging fog. He had been here thirty Aeternian days already—the equivalent of nearly two Earth months. Even the star around which the planet revolved appeared to be in no hurry to move across the lifeless sky.

This was his first scientific mission to the outer systems. He'd finished the preliminary analyses. Oxygen levels were low, but sufficient for basic life, with atmospheric pressures slightly higher than Earth. Temperatures stayed within the range acceptable for colonization. Organic molecules were abundant, though there were no signs of active life. Everything here looked to have died some time ago. Wendell was used to having too much to study, of never having the time to devote to a thorough job. Here, the biggest problem might be sensory deprivation. Aeterna was a still and silent world.

He glanced back towards his transport vehicle. He had walked farther from it than safety guidelines allowed: When alone, always stay within 100 meters of the transport vehicle per safety protocol 11-06-A.

"Protocol," he snorted. "The most dangerous situation here is boredom."

Despite his contempt for the rules, academy training had been deeply embedded within his brain. His feet refused to take another step. He shook his head. "Yeah, whatever. Returning to vehicle per protocol 11-06-A."

Before he could finish his first step, something grabbed his attention. He wasn't sure what it was. Wendell stood as motionless as the Aeternian sun, waiting, listening for whatever had happened to repeat. He stopped breathing for a moment so the noise within his bio-suit would be minimal.

He thought he heard a faint click.

Wendell turned up the gain on the external microphone. Every now and then there was a clicking or cracking noise, short, but sharp. Sometimes it sounded faint or far away. Others seemed nearby.

He stood there, mesmerized by this eerie, ethereal song. Then a loud crack echoed through his ears from right at his feet. He turned down the gain on his mike, then scanned the ground around him. There was only a single grassy clump close by.

He knelt, peering down into it. The click came again. He pulled the stands away to see the center of it. An opening in the tuft showed a smooth, rounded surface between the dried filaments. He reached for it, but before his finger could touch the object, it cracked, and a claw as long as his foot poked out the top, waiving in the air.

Wendell jumped back and saw a mark on his hand. The edge of the claw had sliced through the outer skin of his bio-suit. It wasn't enough to cause a leak, but disarming, nonetheless.

He checked another tuft. It was the same. And another. They were all the same. The clicking sound was getting louder with each passing second. Even turning off his external microphone didn't help. He could feel the sound through his suit.

Wendell looked to his vehicle. It was impossibly far away, with the path between it and himself alive with thousands of flailing claws.

The tufts weren't just clumps of dead grass; they were nests.

And what was in them was hatching.

While you're here...

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available:  If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

---

© 2019 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 102

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Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

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This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post: This week's photo prompt is of a sculpture taken at a specific angle. This was created by Zenos Frudakis, an American sculptor and this is called the Freedom sculpture and can be found at 16th and Vine Streets, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He does interesting work. Here's a link to the prompt photo. I borrowed an idea from Jewish lore for this story. It's a little horror, a little romance, a little sad. I'm not Jewish, so take anything I write here with a grain of salt. Kosher salt, of course. No offense intended with the bad joke... Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 352 words for those who are counting (not including the title). 

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

The Golem's Dream

by K. R. Smith

Ezra looked down at his hands; they were strong, but rough and indelicate. He had been created from the dust and clay, brought to life by the words of his mistress. His duty was to serve, which he did gladly.

Why would he not? The tasks were simple enough: protect her, fetch food and drink, sometimes carry objects too large or heavy for her graceful frame.

Above all, he could enjoy her presence.

He had delivered the evening meal and was standing silently by the doorway as his mistress entered. Her sumptuous hair, her gown, her body all flowed effortlessly as she moved. It was so unlike his clumsy, plodding ways. She walked past him, then stopped suddenly and turned to face him.

"You are my crowning jewel, Ezra, my greatest achievement. You are of the earth, yet at times I look at you and feel there is more there than I know." She looked into the dark pits of his eyes. "Are you happy? Can you even understand what that means?" She shook her head and smiled. "If only you could speak."

If only. He raised his hand to reach for her but could not bring himself to do so. How could he defile her beauty with his coarse touch? He lowered his hand and gazed into the distance, embarrassed by his effrontery.

His mistress retired once the meal was finished, and Ezra returned to his small room. Many troubling thoughts filled his mind. Could he bear to leave her? Never. And yet, could he bear to stay, to be forever tormented by impossible dreams?

Ezra knew the answer.

He looked in the mirror at the word written on his forehead. His fingers dug into the clay, ripping away the one letter that would end his frustration. As his body failed, he staggered backwards, his limbs, his torso, crumbling. His only hope was, that perhaps, she would finally understand.

In the morning, all that could be found was a piece of clay with the mark א engraved upon its surface surrounded by streaks of dust in the shape of a hand.

---

© 2019 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 99

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Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 99th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt - as best as I can ascertain, I believe was created by someone under the name of Georgie69 back in 2008, as it appears on a blog with many other pictures designed around the same picture, but the blog seems not to be in use after 2009.

Here's a link to the prompt photo. 

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

This time I present a really short horror tale in a traditional style called Just A Job. It is also posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone that includes a downloadable PDF file of the story. Only 340 words for those who are counting!

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Just A Job
by
K. R. Smith

It's dark now. They're all asleep—or what passes for sleep by the ones inside. They never close their eyes. 

I know people will wonder why I did this. Why wouldn't they? It's such a beautiful place. The elegant buildings, the graceful bell tower that marks the hours with a peaceful chime—yet whose bright, clean walls serve only to hide those hideous beasts inside from prying eyes. 

It was only a job, I reasoned, a way to put a few dollars in my pocket. Taking care of the patients was all that was required. Clean them up, feed them, that sort of thing. And keep quiet about it when in town. We have to protect their privacy I was told. It seemed innocent enough though I was warned there might be situations I would find disturbing. I had no idea.

Patients? Ha! What a ridiculous distortion of the word. They're not sick. Whatever they are, they're thriving. A captive existence to be certain with each one chained to the floor, but thriving nonetheless. They grow stronger each day. It's their keepers who are the sick ones. 

Feeding time was the worst of all. Some of what I saw in their food bowls looked uncomfortably familiar. I assured myself I was wrong. I had to be. People don't do that sort of thing.

Last night, I heard the doctors talking. It was nearly time they said. For what purpose, I refuse to imagine. I had no choice but to act. Any sane person would agree.

The gas lines in the cellar have been loosened just enough for the fuel to escape. It will take a while to fill the rooms beneath the facility. Eventually, the vapors will find an open flame. I've made sure of that. The main door has been locked to keep anyone from escaping until that happens. I suspect some innocent people will die, too. There must be a few left there. 

Am I mad? Possibly. That doesn't mean I'm wrong now, does it? 

Well? Answer me! 

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© 2019 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 94

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Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 94th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

I picked this week's photo as it is Valentine's week and it seemed appropriate. It was created by a company called Ars Thanea, and it is an actual sculpture they made, called The Ash. An explanation about how they did it is here. 

Here's a link to the prompt photo. 

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

This week's effort is a short horror/noir story called By Any Other Name. It is posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone. The link is below!

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By Any Other Name

Follow this link to my Patreon site for free access to the story.

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© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 92

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 92nd Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo was taken by a guy called Garret Stark who likse gaming. From what I can gather he took a lots of shots of his dice, and this is one of them.
Here's a link to the prompt photo. 

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

This is a short horror story called Bones. It is posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone.

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Bones

Follow this link to my Patreon site for free access to the story.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 89

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 89th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's prompt photo I found online, probably through Twitter, but I can't find any results on its origins online on any searches.

Here's a link to the prompt photo. 

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

This story is a "second part," so to speak, of an earlier story I did. It was called Ave Maria. That  story, like this one, was also posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone.

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Ave Maria, Part II

Follow this link to my Patreon site for free access to the story.

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© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 87

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Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 87th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt was taken by Carlos M Almagro, a Tenerife based photographer. This was taken there. He has some incredible pictures on his website, definitely worth checking out. He calls this one Calm and Joy. 

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

A romantic drama this time. Exactly 750 words. I like to live on the edge...

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Expatriate

The cool morning air off the water blew down Fred's collar. He zipped his jacket higher and continued to walk along the shore.

This was supposed to be a vacation. Spending time together ended up being anything but relaxing. It was bad enough that his in-laws were living with them. With his own kids beginning to exert their influence on events, it was like dealing with two sets of quarreling children. Even here he couldn't escape. There was always another job, another decision made beyond his control, another day of pandering to everyone else's needs and desires. This was supposed to be a time to unwind, to regenerate while listening to the splash of gentle waves and haunting call of seabirds.

The morning had not been peaceful. He'd slammed the door when he left, telling them all to figure it out on their own. The beach, only a short walk from the rental, was good a place as any to go. The sunrise was beautiful, though his eyes only looked down. In his mind, an endless loop of the morning's events replayed.

He walked until he came across an old chair left on the beach. It was probably not worth saving and thoughtlessly left behind. He gave it a shake. It seemed sturdy enough to support his weight. He sat and stared out over the water, occasionally kicking one of the stones near his feet. He contemplated them for a moment, then stood up. He chose a few of the larger ones and placed them in an arc in front of the chair. Feeling oddly satisfied, he continued until there was a small area encircled by rocks. Once complete, he stepped inside the circle and placed his hands on his hips.

"I name this land Fredonia. I am its sole occupant and ruler. I declare my independence from all other lands, governments, people, authorities, foreign obligations, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."

He flopped back into the chair.

The sun peeked through the clouds near the horizon. He could feel its warmth on his legs. The rhythm of the small waves calmed him, his mind slowly drifting from the chaos of the morning.

"Fred?"

It took a moment for the voice to register in his mind. It was Cathy, his wife. He turned and looked, but didn't respond.

"Are you still angry?"

Fred took a breath and rubbed his hand over his jaw. "I don't know. Maybe." He looked back over the ocean. "I'm just so frustrated with the world, my life, with everything and everybody."

"Even with me?"

Fred turned towards Cathy. She was standing back away from where he sat. Was she afraid to come closer, afraid of him? The magnitude of her words, her distance, tore at him. How could he be mad at her? She had it no better.

"What can I do, Fred? Tell me and I'll try."

He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't know, Cathy. What can anyone do? It's just the way things are. I don't know what to do myself."

"Would you hold me?"

The idea that Cathy would ever wonder if that was acceptable, as if needing permission to be held, was more than he could stand. He held out his arm invitingly. When just a few feet away, however, Fred raised his hand and said, "Stop."

Cathy's eyes opened wide. She brought her hands up to her face, unsure what to do or say.

"I have declared this good place to be Fredonia," Fred said loudly while waving his hands over the stone ring. "It is a land unto itself, free of all worldly obligations. None may enter without the permission of the, uh, king? Yes, king would be appropriate. Which is I. Or me, I think." He looked at Cathy. "Do you have business with the king?"

Cathy stared at Fred, then repeated her request. "I would like a hug?" She waited for a reply, but none came. "Your majesty?" she added.

"I see." Fred nodded. "You may enter."

They held each other for a long while. He kissed her. She turned within his arms so the two of them could look out over the water.

"This is all I really want, Cathy. Just some time for myself, for us."

She nestled against him. "Can we stay here forever?"

Fred sighed. "Well, at least until breakfast need to be made—or high tide—whichever comes first."

She held his arms tightly against her. "That would be perfect."

---

© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 82

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Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 82nd Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt is of white Tulips taken by Olay Seven, a Turkish photograph from Istanbul. He has taken these from a few angles. You can check out his instagram page here. 

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

A sci-fi shorty for this challenge. Only 472 words.

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Mission Accomplished

Willard never dreamed there could be a world like this. He'd explored many planets during his career with the Unity Space Corps. Most were barren and rocky, either too hot or cold, or had a noxious atmosphere. Of all the places even close to being Earth-like, nothing compared to Silanius.

The air, slightly richer in oxygen that Earth, seemed to be blessed by the sweet perfume emanating from the flowering plants covering its surface. They were everywhere, yet it was never overpowering, just a faint, relaxing bouquet that made one wish to inhale deeply and long, to enjoy every breath, to savor the wonderful aromas of each blossom. And what plants they were! Marvelous, immense versions similar to those he knew, though they towered so far over him only the occasional glimpse of the system's central star was visible.

He leaned back against one of the huge stems and turned on his utility device to take notes. There was so much to learn here, so much to be excited about, yet Willard was in no hurry to start work. Surrounded by such beauty, how could he be? The plant he was using as a backrest swayed gently in the warm breeze. There were no known large animals to be wary of, only a few flying creatures and the soothing hum of what would be Silanius' equivalent of bees darting between the flowers. This was paradise, or as close as anything his mind could envision. Silanius overwhelmed his senses with wonder, rendering his brain into a state of rapture. Like an addicting drug, Willard willingly abused it; he couldn't get enough.

In a moment of clarity, he wondered how these plants could grow so large. He observed a handful of soil as he let it fall through the fingers of his glove. There didn't appear to be the amount of organic material one might expect. It was one of the mysteries he'd been sent to investigate. Willard, however, was going to take his time doing research here—he was in no hurry to leave. This was the first time in months he'd been able to unwind, to rest, and he was going to take full advantage of his situation.

Willard woke to a discomfort in his leg. He must have fallen asleep in an odd position, he thought. He tried to reach down to rub his calf, but his arm wouldn't move. Opening his eyes, he saw the tendrils wrapped around his limbs. The one on his leg had pierced the skin. Struggling against them only seemed to make their grip tighter. The utility device was too far away to reach. He called to it, hoping voice commands would work. The front panel shattered as a green shoot pushed through. He'd found the missing fertilizer, but no one was ever going to know.

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© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 80

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Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 80th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's picture prompt was taken by a friend of mine, Michael Sands, when he was in Oxford. This building is called The Radcliffe's Camera and it's part of Oxford University. It houses the Science Library.

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

General Guidelines:

Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead and write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

I wrote this in a hurry tonight, so if you see any missing words or other errors please let me know. It's a bit of fantasy this week, 631 words worth (no pun intended). But you have to read Miranda's tale first!

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On the Flip Side

The damp stones of the old building exuded a chill as he huddled in its shadow. A shiver went down his back. As uncomfortable as Fenton was, the shadows were his friends now. What he'd stolen was worth quite a bit. He expected the owners would want it back. Surely the police had been notified by now.

He glanced each way, half expecting to find them on his trail. He took a deep breath. Only a couple of people passing by—no one to worry about. It was then something caught his eye.

Though the morning rains had stopped, the street was still wet. There was movement in a puddle not far in front of him. He couldn't make out what might be causing it, but it appeared to be a shoe. Whatever the object was, it quickly disappeared. A moment later, a finger, then a hand, briefly appeared.

Fenton cussed. This was not good. "Some fool must have fallen into an open manhole," he said. "Probably flooded and didn't see it. Now he's drowning. I don't need murder added to theft if I'm caught."

Before he could figure out which way to run, two feet sprouted up out of the hole. Within seconds, an entire person had popped out of the puddle and was standing upright not ten metres away. The man seemed confused, though not as much as Fenton. Oddly enough, he wasn't the slightest bit wet.

He fought the urge to approach the man, still concerned about possible pursuers. Fenton ducked behind the corner of the building as the man turned towards him. When he peeked out again, he saw him running down the street. There was no trail of wet footprints to mark his path.

Despite his circumstances, Fenton's curiosity drew him to the puddle. It looked no different from the others along the street. He reached out to touch it. There was no ripple, no visible disturbance. He rubbed his fingers together. They weren't wet.

"Bloody..." he muttered under his breath. He reached in further, staring into the puddle trying to see what was within. He leaned closer and felt himself being pulled deeper. Whatever force was drawing him in was stronger than his efforts to resist.

He found himself sitting on the street—the same street as before—though in a world around him that was in ruin. The cold rain hitting his face brought him back to the moment.

Reaching into his coat pocket, the clandestine prize which had driven him to desperation was still there. The police were no longer his concern, but he felt an uneasiness as to what, or who, might be here instead. It was time to move. He would have to figure what had happened to him later.

He didn't go far until his path was blocked by debris. He worried about damaging the precious item in him pocket climbing over the twisted metal and stone. Fenton pulled it out of his pocket, still wrapped in an old cloth. He would set it up on some stones, then climb up to it, repeating this until safely over the top. He had just raised it above his head when he heard a familiar voice,

"So, what have we here?"

Before Fenton could turn, something hard and sharp went into his back. He couldn't breathe. As it all went black, a hand reached around him and took the package from his hand.

"Must be something mighty special," the man said. "What do you say we have a look?"

He started to unwrap his prize when Fenton's body fell over. Though life oozed from his mouth and the eyes were closed, the face was one he'd seen before—in the mirror.

"Bloody..." the man muttered under his breath as he backed away.

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© 2018 K. R. Smith All rights reserved