Category Archives: Writing Prompts

Mother’s Night

MothersNightShe’d dug the den just before the ice broke, it’s her first. It’d had been a good year. Plenty of seals. Now she’s waiting, half asleep beneath the snow. They should be here any time now, her body’s rhythmic signals tells her this. Within the rhythm of her half sleep she wonders what they will be like. She knows they will be two. She’s known since she dug the den. Here comes the first. So small! She moves a little to give him room to find her teat. He smells funny. She didn’t think he’d smell so…real. Here comes the other. A little girl! She too smells funny. It is done. She has completed the task given to her by her mother and her mother before her. Drifting down into the layers of her inner den, she smiles contentedly.

This is part of the Reflections at the Magick Tree 12 days of Yule Blog Party

Here’s my Wife’s corresponding post:

Blue Annis

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Message from under my bed

LiteraryLintMonster175x175I spent hours trying to find something to write that has nothing to do with my ‘novel’. Can you tell I am procrastinating?

“Writing Prompts!” I thought, and found this web site.

“When you were little, you could swear there was a monster under your bed–but no one believed you. On the eve of your 30th birthday, you hear noises coming from under your bed once again. The monster is back and has an important message to deliver to you.”

As an adult who still have monsters under my bed, I cannot resist this one :) so let’s see what I can concoct, shall we?


I come home late from a meeting. Throwing my clothes on a chair in the hallway I decide to go to bed right away. Tomorrow is my 30th birthday. Switching off the bedside lamp I snuggle in under the covers. Just before I am about to fall asleep I hear a sound I have not heard in twenty-five years. I stiffen, stifle my breath and listen. I pull the covers over my head, leaving a small gap to breathe through. A faint scratch. Small, sharp claws shuffling swiftly over the floor under my bed. A dry rustle. Small, clever paws shoving at old newspapers and paperbacks. My heart beats against the ribs in its cage. I widen the crack in the covers and peer out. Nothing but streaks of light and shadow born by the street lamps outside. A whispering chitter envelopes my bed, seeps into my brain. The scratch noises turn into shredding, the rustle becomes ripping, the chitter rises to a roar. Air tearing through my bedroom. Next nothing. Silence. The thudding of my heart, the breathing of my lungs and the rushing of blood in my veins batter my senses, but from without only quiet. My heart slows, my breathing deepens and my blood cools. I dare not take the covers from my head just yet. I listen. I hear nothing. A sigh of relief escapes me. I peek over the rim of my covers. My eyes sweep the room. I reach for the bedside lamp.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The voice is deep and distinct, like a bronze bell. I bolt upright in bed. Looking around in puzzled panic, I clench the covers to my chin. I blink in disbelief. There is a creature in the end of my bed. It is black, sleek, body and size of an average dog, with wings like a bat. It cocks its head to the side and smiles. A low rumble follows the smile.

“What are you?” I ask. My heart and stomach swap places frantically.

“Now, that is impolite.” It frowns. “Try again.”

I rack my brain. Impolite how?

“Who are you?”

“I am Brom.” The rumble increases. “I am your guardian gargoyle.” It smiles again, and bends to inspect a claw on one of its front paws.

“Guardian gargoyle?” Disbelief courses through me.

“Yes.” It blinks, abandons the claw and looks at me.

“I believed you were here to kill and eat me. That was what I heard from under my bed when I was a boy.” I shake my head, still not believing.

“I know. I was not alone under your bed when you were a boy. From now on I will be the only monster under your bed. Happy Birthday, Henric!” It flutters to the floor and disappears under the bed. I sit flabbergasted, no longer afraid. I chuckle. Imagine that! A guardian gargoyle under my bed. I grin.

“Good night, Brom!” I say and return to snuggle under the covers.

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Any Time

I nicked this from Ketutar, who in turn got it from Aheila. My response to the Challenge

A photo on the wall. She is so pretty. Smiling directly into the camera. Her dress is new. Any time he wants he can recall that photo, and smile at how beautiful she is with her hair nicely done – and that smile. She’s seventeen.

A room full of people. She’s dancing. Everything about her is wild and earthy and golden. Her skirt is green, her shirt is white and her eyes shine. Any time he wants he can see her, in that skirt, that shirt, wild, earthy and golden – and those eyes. She twenty-six.

A kitchen that is home. She’s reading and making pancakes. Her skin is soft. She smells of  wheat, butter and strawberry jam. Her hands move like little ballerinas. Any time he wants he can fill his mind with her softness, her smell of wheat, butter and strawberry jam – and those hands. She is forty-one.

One day she will not be. One day he can recall her, see her and fill his mind with her at seventeen, twenty-six and forty-one. Any time.

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