Roaring in the Night

This was written from aldersprig's fourth prompt.

“Get up, Mummy!  There’s a monster in the lounge room,” said Charlotte, tugging on her mother’s hand.  “His roaring woke me up.”

Emily surfaced from deepless dreams and automatically went into getting-Charlotte-back-to-bed mode.  Then she heard it.  The noise.  From the lounge room.

“I told you,” said Charlotte in what she thought was a whisper, “I looked.  It’s got big furry feet and ears that stick out both sides of Grandad’s special chair.”

Comprehension dawned and Emily said, “Charlotte, I’ll grab the torch and show you something, but you have to be quieter than a mouse.  Can you do that?”

“Yes!”  The little girl nodded her head vigorously.

The torch held level with her head, Emily led her daughter into the lounge room.  The light spilled down to gently illuminate the room.  They could see the chair back, tall, hard and grey with a soft brown point sticking out at each side.  Charlotte gripped her mother’s hand harder as Emily led her around the side of the chair to see what was sitting in it.  There was another roar and Charlotte almost fled.

Emily pushed on and suddenly Charlotte could see that seated in the chair was her grandfather, Emily’s father, dressed in his fuzzy slippers, dressing gown and two sleeping caps, asleep and snoring.  Her eyes widened in surprise and they hurried softly back to Charlotte’s bedroom.

“Why’s Grandad sleeping in a chair, Mummy?”

“He has chest trouble and sometimes he can’t breathe lying down.”  Emily eased Charlotte back into her bed.

“Why does he snore like that?”

“Keeping the cave bears away, that’s what your Grandma used to say.”

“That’s silly,” Charlotte giggled.  “There’s no cave bears around here.”

“Your Grandma said that proved it worked, ’cause it kept them hundreds and hundreds of miles away.”

Roaring in the Night

This was written from aldersprig's fourth prompt.

“Get up, Mummy!  There’s a monster in the lounge room,” said Charlotte, tugging on her mother’s hand.  “His roaring woke me up.”

Emily surfaced from deepless dreams and automatically went into getting-Charlotte-back-to-bed mode.  Then she heard it.  The noise.  From the lounge room.

“I told you,” said Charlotte in what she thought was a whisper, “I looked.  It’s got big furry feet and ears that stick out both sides of Grandad’s special chair.”

Comprehension dawned and Emily said, “Charlotte, I’ll grab the torch and show you something, but you have to be quieter than a mouse.  Can you do that?”

“Yes!”  The little girl nodded her head vigorously.

The torch held level with her head, Emily led her daughter into the lounge room.  The light spilled down to gently illuminate the room.  They could see the chair back, tall, hard and grey with a soft brown point sticking out at each side.  Charlotte gripped her mother’s hand harder as Emily led her around the side of the chair to see what was sitting in it.  There was another roar and Charlotte almost fled.

Emily pushed on and suddenly Charlotte could see that seated in the chair was her grandfather, Emily’s father, dressed in his fuzzy slippers, dressing gown and two sleeping caps, asleep and snoring.  Her eyes widened in surprise and they hurried softly back to Charlotte’s bedroom.

“Why’s Grandad sleeping in a chair, Mummy?”

“He has chest trouble and sometimes he can’t breathe lying down.”  Emily eased Charlotte back into her bed.

“Why does he snore like that?”

“Keeping the cave bears away, that’s what your Grandma used to say.”

“That’s silly,” Charlotte giggled.  “There’s no cave bears around here.”

“Your Grandma said that proved it worked, ’cause it kept them hundreds and hundreds of miles away.”

Shadows of the Past

I wrote this from kelkyag's first prompt.

The statues stood there, mute before the broken columns that were all that were left of the archway.  The grass grew around their feet, smothering the remains of the marble tessellated floor that had surrounded the arched gate.  The broken columns hosted lichens, birds perched on them and passing animals marked territory on them.

The statues were pristine.  They were made of stone so white it was almost luminescent.  No dust settled on them, ever.  No bird perched on them.  No wild animal went close enough to mark territory on them.

“They’re alive,” whispered the shepherds who wandered the hills in summer following the flocks.

“It was a temple,” said the scientists who somehow never dared chip the statues for samples.

“It was never a temple,” corrected the priests quietly.  “Never a place of godliness or of unrighteousness.  It was always the place out of phase.”

“It was the doorway to the desire of the soul,” said the man who would once have been a wizard.  “What does your soul desire?”

“Three went through,” ran the nursery rhyme.

“Three will come back,” added the schoolyard skipping song.

The television archaeology team had three days and big plans.  They cleared off the soil covering the old marble floor, stacking the turf in a neat pile so it could be replaced, eager to begin,

Then they started calling people.  Etched into the stone floor in concentric circles were words in many languages, many scripts.  Some of them the archaeologists could read, the others had experts drooling over a potential key to their ciphers.  They all said the same thing, that was the point after all.

“Let not the three return lest the five burn the world and thrust it into the fall of darkness.”

Shadows of the Past

I wrote this from kelkyag's first prompt.

The statues stood there, mute before the broken columns that were all that were left of the archway.  The grass grew around their feet, smothering the remains of the marble tessellated floor that had surrounded the arched gate.  The broken columns hosted lichens, birds perched on them and passing animals marked territory on them.

The statues were pristine.  They were made of stone so white it was almost luminescent.  No dust settled on them, ever.  No bird perched on them.  No wild animal went close enough to mark territory on them.

“They’re alive,” whispered the shepherds who wandered the hills in summer following the flocks.

“It was a temple,” said the scientists who somehow never dared chip the statues for samples.

“It was never a temple,” corrected the priests quietly.  “Never a place of godliness or of unrighteousness.  It was always the place out of phase.”

“It was the doorway to the desire of the soul,” said the man who would once have been a wizard.  “What does your soul desire?”

“Three went through,” ran the nursery rhyme.

“Three will come back,” added the schoolyard skipping song.

The television archaeology team had three days and big plans.  They cleared off the soil covering the old marble floor, stacking the turf in a neat pile so it could be replaced, eager to begin,

Then they started calling people.  Etched into the stone floor in concentric circles were words in many languages, many scripts.  Some of them the archaeologists could read, the others had experts drooling over a potential key to their ciphers.  They all said the same thing, that was the point after all.

“Let not the three return lest the five burn the world and thrust it into the fall of darkness.”

Prompt Request Closing After (my) Lunch

I have to go out for a while now, but I will close the Prompt Request After I have luinch today.

Prompt Request Closing After (my) Lunch

I have to go out for a while now, but I will close the Prompt Request After I have luinch today.