(Update: dang, almost got this done on Wednesday as promised. I’m going to blame Jeff for coming over tonight and keeping me talking for hours about this weekend’s fantasy football draft. Yes, that’s it, its Jeff’s fault!!!)

“With Icarus quill and ink from the blood of nameless things,
I here pen words no mortal should ever speak
Of horrors beyond the ken of man yet in possession of his senses.
Ere the hour of peace dawns upon mankind these abhorrent scratches
Will find their way into the hands of one whose eyes will be consumed
By my accursed remembrances.
It is in that day that all courage will fail you, for your doom is at hand
And things unspeakable will haunt your waking dreams…”

~Calvin Renct, 1698 (hmmm…do those letters also spell Carl Vincent? 😉 )

Yes indeed, after an overdose on Lovecraft last year out flowed that opening to last year’s Tiny Stories Challenge for R.I.P. II. No prize was ever awarded, an embarrassing boil on the bottom of my heart, so today is a reckoning of sorts. Though R.I.P. II has been laid to rest, we will honor his ghost by bringing to completion a few past contests here at the start of R.I.P. III.

Before we start, a reminder of the Tiny Stories rules:

1. Your Tiny Story must be exactly 100 words long, no more, no less.
2. You may only use a word one time in the story.
3. Contractions, for example don’t, only count as one word.
4. You may use different forms of the same word, but (this time) you may not use a word and use its plural. For example, if you use the word haunt you cannot use haunts.
5. This time, your story must have a title and the Title is the one place that you may use words that you used in the body of the 100 word story. The title words do not count as part of your 100 words.
6. Your Tiny Story must be in the vein of the R.I.P. II Challenge. That is, it may be in the scary, spooky, eerie, gothic, mysterious, atmospheric, etc. vein. It can be serious, funny, horrific, etc., but it must fit, at least loosely, into the spirit of this challenge.

You will see just how hard not repeating words is as you read the entries. I applaud everyone for their attempts. Choosing a winner was not easy.

First up, the Tiny Story entries. Read them at your own peril…

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

“Buster won’t come in my room.”

“Really? Move must’ve been unsettling.”

“No. Something’s scaring him.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Dogs know stuff. Sixth sense and all.”

“God, Lily. Run away from black cats too?”

“Don’t joke. Only one of us lives there.”

“We’ve discussed this. Just because your bedroom’s smaller doesn’t
mean it’s haunted.”

“That’s not why. Small usually equals cozy. But the atmosphere feels
-for lack of anything better- off, somehow.”

“How, specifically?”

“Well, I wake up choking. Gasping, actually.”

“Sounds like sleep apnea.”

Sighing, she rolled down her turtleneck, revealing a circle of livid,
fat bruises.

Fingermarks.

“Oh.”

(Eva: A Striped Armchair)
___________________

Poisonous

Pinprick bite just there. Sole of your foot. You trod in something delicate that bit.

Take up embattled velvet from where heel met ground. Smooth each milk-white petal. Slightly fragrant, heady like musk, dizzying every sense. Brush lips to little palmed flower.

Swelling soft unnoticed. Sting underfoot grows grey; winding ivy veins around one leg. Entranced by this fragile cradled thing, dew it with rapture tears, protect against ice wind spite. All while snaking tendrils climb, trailing pallor along straining chest. Blinded eyes betray life.

Tiniest nip really. Shattered mind can’t believe the venom coiled through such a pretty bloom.

by Corinne S.
____________________

Crawling out of the page

“Words. And the story starts breathing, awakening.

Skeletons of old graves rise, coming towards me. Closer with each sentence.

Legs make small sounds touching ground. An animal cries. Another howls its victory.

They are hungry for their own place. Meatless fingers cling to paper. Frail feet dance in strange ways. Dried skulls chat, laugh, playing life.

Cold lips caress my ear, pale mouths whisper:
“Hear no voice but our crying, smell only your fear. Write us down.”

Can’t move. Pen scribbles away, tainting pages.

I am terribly afraid bones will fall from this book. One white claw at a time. ”

~Cristina M.
_________________________

Adam’s Apple

Vampires, fairies, goblins, little red riding hoods descending from porches. Moms wave on sidewalks. Grinning jack-o-lanterns glow beside straw stuffed scarecrows. Tonight tummies will ache but now neighbors smile and nod to each other.

Except…

Eyes peer behind yellowed curtains. Mothers grab hands, veering past that house. Innocent faces gaze back. He giggles. Pushing razor blades, staples, pins. His trick. No treat. Yawning, job nearly done. Just one left. Scarlet skin, white flesh. Stomach growls. Eve tempts Adam. Taste…bite. Sinful fruit. The man reaches…

Apple’s gaping hole reveals paraphernalia of madness. A gory miscalculation. Juice, blood pours down chin.

~Chris (Book-o-rama)
_________________________

Waiting

Waking, feeling searing, wretched pain, hand clutching chest, deciding next stop, clearly, hospital emergency room.

On arrival, another man waited. Obviously, similarly desperate, he had not even dressed properly and sat wearing only his robe which covered him head to foot, features barely visible beneath hooded cowl.

The other fellow looked near death. Skin gray. Pallid complexion to match. Offering condolences I spoke words of comfort. “Cheer up old boy, don’t look so grim.”

Looking upward, an ancient face adorned with evil grin comprising ugly, crooked teeth.

“Mr. Reaper,” a nurse called.

At that moment my eyes noticed the scythe.

~Stuart Clark
_________________________

Spiders of Three, 100 Words Are Thee

Three big, creepy, crawly, icky, sticky, leggy bugs loomed over our bed, freaking me out majorly, leaving breathing air not an option. Loud shrillness started screaming inside wanting to be heard but neither sound nor air, could force beyond my lips.

Adam sat quietly half asleep in the dark, cozy den watching sports television, specifically baseball and I was frozen still.

Brooms, mops, newspapers, even clothes, all mentally meandered about as options of escape. Insurance plans’ coverage won’t cover death from spider phobia.

Finally it retreated away from any nearness. Running, leaving fears behind, one bathtub provided safe retreat.

~Michelle S.
_________________________

Sometimes Once Is Enough

I am weaving a web of enticement, readying myself for love.

Might someone such as you remain devoted throughout time?

Even though beauty abides not?

Whilst thou be passionate, adoring and obsessive about me everlastingly?

Come let us incite these feelings…

Run, romp, play, tease, touch tenderly, gently, warmly–no longer alone.

Feel the excitement pending? We will mate till death pounces upon one or another!

Entwining rapture, souls merge, ecstasy lies but moments ahead.

Turning towards him, with all remembrances immediately wiped from memory, he is completely devoured.

The red hourglass on my body affirms it always ends thus.

~Deslily
_________________________

The Cicada’s Call

The reverberating hum sounded by hundreds of cicadas filled his mind as dusk’s orange glow faded away into night’s torturous void. All safety left with day’s golden disc sinking downward – forced under, abiding midnight’s wishes.

Rituals offered no protection against spirits so pervasive, yet each calendar mark received equal treatment. Still, that first shrill cry came without fail – echoing, guttural screaming, sorrowful and empty, harkening other restless souls to join.

Her skin shone brilliantly, white like moonstone; those lips – rubies, poppies. Blood lay where he ruined a once pristine throat.

She spoke: “Will you answer me tonight, love? Why this?”

~Chris H.
_________________________

All Hallows Eve

The bright light of day must run and hide

As darkest curtains fall outside.

Blood rests like dew on every stone

While deathly voices sigh, cackle, scream, moan.

Flesh falls away, jagged bones remain

Jaws open wide in silent strain.

Nothing mutes the mean jagged sound

Boney fingers clawing cold ground.

Mean headstones quiet atop steepest hill.

Who digs a grave that death shall fill?

But bury not small shadow white,

Floating clouds shadow misty fright.

Desires beyond old buried frame

Raising some unnerving game. Full moon

they seek sweet pulsing veins oh living

Victims willing but for long giving.

~Melody

__________________________

The Witch

Seventy years old, Mrs. Josephine Rice decided to live. Widowed two
decades ago, vitality had inexorably ebbed away. No longer.

Hallowe’en night found, camouflaged amongst youthful costumed hordes,
a magnificently garbed matron, archetypal mother of all witches loosed
upon Earth. Well, at least, the neighborhood. Baba Yaga, Nightshade,
Jadis and Elphaba resurrected. Perfected.

Their doorbells rung, generous revelers answer expecting tiny imps,
mischievous mites. Instead, wrinkled hands proffer gaping pillowcase.
“Trick or treat!” Voice rasping, yet exuberant, anachronistically
conveying childhood’s highest ideals. Momentarily taken aback, most
homeowners hesitate mere seconds before bestowing candy, joyously,
thinking, “May I be so alive.”

~Nathan W.
_________________________

ABANDONED BUT NOT ALONE

When the baby girl came into this world she didn’t know there would only
be a few days to spend in the presence of her mother.

Dressed in white, hand-embroidered with pink rosebuds, our infant was
handed over to other eager hands.

An instant bond formed, one of understanding and appreciation.
Beautiful girl loves her new parents.

But, deep inside, a question lurks; never spoken, thought unbidden. A
tortuous question involving one’s worth. “In this free-fall that is my
life, will I be left again?”

No ghost on earth is able to comfort, only the holy one above.

~Bellezza
_________________________

Change of Plans

Stepping out onto crackling, broken mirror shards. Shattered bits of reflective glass, upon which I behold an appalling tableau, a bizarre hierarchy spelling utter gruesomeness.

One.

Rat, stereotypically beady eyes reflecting amber moonlight. Still defying death, according to his occasionally twitching tail. Becoming history soon enough.

Two.

Cat, black as the bile churning about my stomach, with jaws clenched tightly around said rodent’s midsection. This despite her own horrifying demise.

Three.

Crow, beak dyed in brilliant, dripping crimson, indulging on feline flesh and entrails. Lone survivor.

Retreating quickly back indoors—“Uh, sorry kiddos, but I’m afraid we’ll be skipping trick-or-treating tonight.”

~Debi
_________________________

A Knight in Vein

Crisp, russet flushed leaves crack beneath quiet footfalls as night descends; they disintegrate, caught like dust or ash, ascending under autumn winds. Shadows play, entwine, in the nooks where light cannot follow; a stranger hunts there. Sodden ground, decaying Oak, each death scent calls to him. Passing beats – heart, hoof, hound – are metronomic symphonies: Life. Need grapples for control, urging motion, deceit. Stalking streets until, there, ahead, flashing red hair, trailing down, tangling around smooth, golden skin; hunger burns. How sweet she would taste on his tongue. Reaching, taking, tearing; liquid warmth eases an ancient soul. For now.

~Chelle

Before we declare a winner, how about a little visual reminder of the prize pack:

This was certainly hard as I was, and am, absolutely thrilled with these stories. What made it easier, and yet agonizing at the same time, was finding repeated words. This is so hard to catch. I’ve checked the winner’s several times and hope I haven’t missed any repeated words in it. I am so thrilled with everyone’s effort. Despite my sincere difficulty in choosing just one, I am picking….

Change of Plans by Debi!!! Congrats Debi, and congrats to everyone. You’re all winners in my book. But only Debi gets the fun prize pack. 😉

On to the next!!!
_________________________

The winner of the random drawing from those who visited the 123 sites for the R.I.P. II Visitation Contest is:

Susan of Bloggin’ ’bout Books. Congrats Susan, shoot me your snail mail address to cvincent68 (at) comcast (dot) net and I’ll get it on the way to your door! 🙂
_________________________

And finally, the very successful photo contest for Colleen’s latest book, When Twilight Burns. As with the writing contest, this one was a difficult one to choose. I loved the entries this year…lots of creativity out there. You folks are a fun lot!

The winner of the creativity prize is:

Qugrainne!!! Congrats to you!!!

Believe me, that one was indeed hard to pick. Really, really hard!!!

The winner of the second prize, by random drawing of all entries:

Jeff S., and family!!! Congrats to you as well!!!

Again, if I could give more prizes I would, because in my opinion there are certainly some ties for most creative. Thank you all again for participating. I hope that you all join in the next contest. Here is a preview of the next book, due out in March of 2009. You have plenty of time to plan and get creative for the photo contest for As Shadows Fade. I know I have some interesting ideas brewing…

Whew, feels good to have resurrected and put to rest all the left over contests from last year (thank God for that!) as well as the man-that-was-a-hard-choice photo contest that ended last week.

There are some incredible prizes and contests coming your way over the next 2 months for R.I.P. III (which I promise will be resolved immediately…no more year delays!!! 😉 ). Janet Gordon, Lisa Snellings, Anne-Julie Aubry, Quixotic, and many other wonderful artists will play a part in the weeks to come. Stay tuned!!!