Creaky, squeaky, dusty, musty, drafty, wafty with gusts of cold. Tangled webs, sticky goo, moaning, groaning, and witches brew. Candles flicker left and right. Ghosts play checkers with goblins too. Frankenstein argues with the vampire Queen about the right way to get kids to scream. Skeleton's warble down the stairs that creak and crack and splinter. Tiny witches play with pumpkin goo and the great pumpkin Jack has to watch his back.
The headless horseman calms his steed as the full moon rises above the chimney. They have mere minutes until they'll come the kids who want candy, chocolate and gum will come tromping to their sharp metal gates. Tonight they are not afraid of anything goulash, dark or mean. Tonight they'll laugh at any monster green. The house is not safe one night a year, it is the night they've all come to dread and fear.
The doorbell rings with harpsichord tone, and the zombie butler lets out a soft moan. With a bat-bowl full of sugary treats he slumps toward the old metal door. Not he or not the house is scary enough tonight. Tonight this is not their home.
by: Cassie M Shiels
I lost both of my eyeteeth yesterday. My gums ache and burn. My teeth throb off and on and they flash hot and cold. My fangs are coming in. I've never had fangs before today but I know they are growing. All of the symptoms are there. It says so in my Vampire book.
I'd feel excited if I wasn't so knee knocking scared. The warning list is longer than the symptoms. Don't let them cut your lips. Don't let them puncture your cheek. Don't let them stay down around humans, etc. etc. etc. For three whole pages. This is a change I did not want. A change I did not expect to happen so soon.
With a searing hot flash of pain my fangs push through my gums. They slide slowly past my teeth and grow double in length. I watch the whole thing in the mirror. With a gasp they stop and the pain fades away. No more ache, burn, throb or heat. I turn this way and that way. They gleam in the light. A chuckle bubbles up from my chest and I smile fully smile. I've got fangs. Glorious, beautiful, sharp fangs.
By: Cassie M Shiels
It's dark. I'm stiff and cold. My body feels wrapped up tight. I cannot move. Am I dreaming? I try to bite my lip to see if this is real but my jaw will not move. A dream them I say. With all the effort I can muster I try to open my eyes. They are heavy and I start to doubt that I can lift them at all. Finally I do.
I cannot see much in the dark, but I swear something is covering my eyes. My lashes flutter and bang against something I cannot see. That's it I'm done. I try to move my arms but they will not lift. Wake up! I try to scream. With all the effort I can muster I lift my arm. It feels as if it's suck in a forever elbow bend like a barbie doll. I raise it inch by inch to my eyes and clumsily club at my eyes.
My fingers only feel fabric and I realize then, I am wrapped in the stuff. I inch my other arm along my leg. Strips of fabric. I do not like this dream. I must wake up.
"Wake up," I yell inside my head. "Wake up." I bite my lip again hard, but I feel nothing. Nothing but the fabric wraps around my head, my arms, legs, feet, and eyes. Fabric that is keeping me from seeing. Keeping me from realizing what I've become and I knew now I could only be one of two things. I was either lost in a dream I could not wake from or more unlikely a mummy. A mummy like in the old pyramids or in my paranormal books. A mummy who was waking up.
By: Cassie M Shiels
The sun rose up and so did she. What would this new day promise? A bubbling cauldron, a new bag of toads, a craggy new wart...or maybe a spell.
Yes! A spell. A wicked Spell. A delightful spell. An I'll show you spell.
She licked her finger, the air felt right. She turned around twice, no one was around. Today was finally the day. She rubbed her hands and got to work.
Into her pot went, spider broth, bat eyes, and cricket toes. Wart juice, boars blood and a tiny drop of ghost. She cackled and stirred up her spell. With a few secret words (no, you can't know them nosy) and a bit of her own spit. The spell was ready for drinking.
This will show him. She laughed ladling the purple brew into a caldron-black thermos. She packed it up tight, tied it with an acid green bow and put it in a box. With smoother writing than normal she wrote a note:
May your nose and toes always remain the same.
She waved her pet crow down from his perch and placed the bow in his claws. "Make sure he know's its from me."
Cackling she moved back into her kitchen for a snack of pickled toad.
By: Cassie M Shiels
My sweet daughter wanted to try a micro fiction of her own and asked me to post it for her and I couldn't help but feel overjoyed at her interest. Here is her micro fiction.
Title: Princess Shy
By: A Shiels
My name is princess shy, but why? Because I am a princess and I am shy a lot. My hair is always in my face I can't concentrate. I wear my baby blue dress every once in a while. I tingle from my head to my toes. So I am princess shy. Oh Why.
She's so cute!
My home is dark and dank and dim. Usually quiet and always warm. Sometimes it's squishy with hardly any room, so much so I feel as if I cannot breathe or move or wiggle even an inch. Other-times I feel almost alone, with room to fall or letdown with to much space, when my friends have been taken to other homes unknown. My home never smells of cookies, candy, or other sweets. Those things are not allowed. No gum, or chocolate, muffins or sugary drinks. My home is a library.
Once I was taken away and sensed such things, a few of my pages were even bent. It is a time I resent. But still I dream of going again, not for lack of comfort but because so many of my friends come and go. They share stories of other homes, places bright, dirty or far too clean. Places I think I might want to see. Places without so many books. Places with couches, beds, and baskets. Places I might find adventure all of my own. An adventure not contained in my pages or the walls of my home.
by: Cassie M Shiels
I used to fly on wings so light they billowed in the air. I used to have a fiery breath that would make everyone I knew run scared. My eyes glowed amber by night, sea green by day and hot red when I grew mad. But now. . . I am none of that.
Now I am as cold as stone. I cannot move to scratch an itch, or fill my wings with air. I cannot breath fire, blink my eyes, growl, stretch my claws or glare.
I cannot move, and probably never will again. This is the fate of a rampaging dragon, who fights for his own lair. This is the fate of a dragon who dared to take on a dreadful wizard. A wizard with a magic wand that's immune to fiery breath. A wizard who wanted what was mine and took it. The horror.
And now I watch with unblinking eyes as he swims in all my gold. I'm Plotting. Planning and waiting for the day I might unfreeze. And if I ever do. I'll get rid of the likes of him.
By: Cassie M Shiels
I lost my favoritest thing. A sparkly, beautiful thing. I can't go outside my room without it. I'm a mess. I've looked in my closet, my dresser and under my bed. It's gone. Probably stolen or put in time out.
Thats it! Mom must have taken it and hidden it from me.
"Crowns are only for Princesses who take care of them properly," she said only yesterday when she found my gold crown outside next to my tea party.
I pace my room. This is a disaster. How am I to prove I can take care of my crown and do what what I am told, when I don’t have a crown at all.
Worse of the worst, a Princess cannot be seen without her crown! “I’m stuck in my room!”
I grab my stuffed elephant and hug him tight, but my eye is level with his stuffed fabric crown. It’s all gold and shiny and perfect.
“AH! I know just the thing!” I jump and swing my elephant around the room. “If my crown is in timeout, then I will make one instead!”
With paper, tape, glue and gems from an old neckless I craft the cutesiest crown around and then pin it to my head. “I will prove I deserve a crown with this,” I shout as I stroll confidently out of my room.
I did not notice the wet glue slowly mixing in with my hair.
By Cassie M Shiels
Where I share my Microfiction. aka Really really short stories
I just wanted a way to practice and share my writing in a super fun but short way. Yes they will often become narrative poetry but that is. only because I like rhythm and rhyme.