Once the blue flames faded, she allowed herself to look again. The circle had done its job – there was no damage outside the black line she’d carefully drawn with charcoal from a hazel log. The demons had been kept inside, and returned now to whatever dark dimension they came from. Not even sound escaped the circle.
Shame about the luncheon party. The guests had expected to consume, not be consumed.
She shrugged. They had challenged her, after all, sniggering at the idea that she was an archimage. She wondered when they’d stopped sniggering and started screaming.
Photo by Fatima Fakia Derier. Prompt by Rochelle.
There was a film left in the camera, the night Uncle Steve disappeared. We had to send it off to be developed – his dark room was a mystery to us.
When the prints came back, we clustered round the kitchen table as Aunty Barb opened them.
She never said a word. Her hands shook more and more as she went through them, and her face froze. Then, suddenly, she got up and left the room.
She never mentioned the photographs, or Uncle Steve again, and we never asked her what she’d seen.
Ninety three words for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. I could have added the days of the week…image by Ted Strutz, words by me, prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Maddie approached the stick, fascinated. It had just been left, jutting out of a snow drift, glowing softly – as if it wanted to be noticed. She picked it up and shook it.
Snow started to fall, gently at first, then faster – snowflakes whirling under the street lights. Maddie laughed, delighted. She waved the stick like a conductor’s baton, wanting more snow, but it stopped almost immediately.
She shook the stick again: snow. Waved it: no snow.
She tried over and over again. It worked every time.
Maddie grinned. She was going to have a lot of fun with this…
Photo prompt by Dale Rogerson. 100 words of flash fiction For Rochelle, at Friday Fictioneers.