October Gave a Party
Tomatoes and lots of spooky stuff!
Photo by Denise Shelton
October is one of my favorite months. It's that time when an invigorating nip in the air inspires us to gather our acorns and prepare for winter. I don't know about acorns, but with a frost threatening the other night, I picked all the tomatoes left on my plants: 22 lbs! They'll ripen inside, okay. I've already got a lot of sauce in the freezer, some canned tomatoes, and salsa, and I even made some tomato paste. Next up is tomato soup. It's a good thing I like tomatoes!
Here's a story I wrote about what to do if you find yourself in my shoes:
How to Use Up All Those Tomatoes You Grew
Just in time for Spooky Season, one of my flash fiction stories, "The Creeping Dread," has been included in a new Written Tales Magazine anthology called Night Terrors. It's available on Amazon in Kindle and hard copy formats, but as a special treat for my loyal readers, I'm posting it here for you to enjoy. It's based on a real-life incident, and the story is pretty much how it happened (until the end, of course),
At the bottom of the page are a few more links to ghoulish delights I've written lately on Medium. I hope you enjoy them!
The Creeping Dread
by Denise Shelton
Photo by Nathan Wright on Unsplash
“Let’s play a game!” said the director.
It was our theatre group’s first rehearsal of a new play. Because of a scheduling conflict, we couldn’t rehearse in the theatre, so the director offered his house as an alternative. We had to get directions because he was new to the group, and none of us had been there before.
After the rehearsal, the director suggested a bonding exercise. I hadn’t been able to get a sitter, so my four-year-old son Logan was with me.
“Can I play?” he asked, hopping from one foot to the other and tugging on my sleeve.
“Sure,” I said. “But you have to follow the rules.”
The director laid out the parameters. “This game is called The Creeping Dread,” he intoned. Has anyone played before?” No hands went up. He rubbed his hands with glee.
“Oh, you’re in for a treat!” he said. “Take a card from this pile.” He placed a homemade deck on the coffee table. Everyone did. “Don’t show anyone your card. One of you will be the murderer, and everyone else is a potential victim. I’ll play the detective since it’s my house and I’d have an unfair advantage. The object of the game is to avoid getting murdered by making it to the bathroom where I, the detective, will protect you.”
Logan piped up, “How do we know we got murdered?” Everyone laughed.
The director smiled. He crouched down so that he was eye to eye with my little boy. “That’s easy. The murderer will tap you on the shoulder, LIKE THIS!” He shouted in Logan’s face, shot out his hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. Logan was startled, and, for a moment, I thought he was going to cry, but the director tickled him and ruffled his hair. We all chuckled nervously, and Logan smiled. The director continued, “When the murderer taps you on the shoulder, fall to the floor. Stay there until everyone has either been murdered or made it to the bathroom safely.”
One of the actors raised her hand. “Aren’t we going to know who the murderer is as soon as they claim their first victim?”
A slow, sinister smile spread across the director’s face. “No, because we do this in the dark. You’ll be surprised once I turn out the lights how dark it gets in here. Trust me; you will not know who it is until the lights come back on. Are we ready?” We all looked at each other and nodded or said yes. There were some nervous giggling. “Okay, spread out around the house. I’ll count to ten and then turn out the lights. Wait until you hear the bathroom door slam shut, and the game will begin. Let’s go!”
Once the lights went out and the door slammed, Logan got scared. He clung to my leg. We could hear people moving around the house. “I don’t want to play anymore,” he said. “This is scary!”
I assured him it was okay. “Stick by me. Look, we can huddle in the corner by the front door. We can stay right here. The murderer won’t find us if we’re very quiet.” I put my arms around Logan and held him close.
As we crouched in the corner, we heard the mock screams and groans of one or two of the others and listened to their bodies hit the floor. Logan’s heart was hammering. I was scared, too. There was something about the situation that triggered primal fear. I knew what it must feel like to be among the hunted. It was just a game, but it was still terrifying.
All at once, the bathroom door opened. “Somebody made it,” I said. In the dim shaft of moonlight that snaked through a gap in the blackout curtains, I saw Logan relax. He looked up and me and smiled. “This is fun!” he said. And then the real screaming began.
Murder She Wrote:
History Stories
Was What Happened at Mayerling Really a Murder-Suicide?
Five Famous Poisoners and Their Hapless Victims
When Serial Killing Runs In the Family
Poetry
Really Nice But Tough as Nails (Trigger warning, this one is true and pretty disturbing.)
Well, that's it for this month. Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear your comments. If you like what you see, please tell your friends. Stay safe, everyone.
Cheers!
Denise