Skeleton in the Closet

Challenge #4 – The Writers’ Hub – Where the Skeletons Live

The door to my closet is slightly open. I knew I had shut it. I’m OCD about that. The closet door has to be kept closed. But it is open and I am freaking out. I want to walk over and stick my head inside to see if there is someone in there.

My fear isn’t about the theft of my clothing because I’m not particularly attached to any of my clothes. On second thought, maybe a few things, but not enough to risk my life for them. Of course, there are some outfits that are “to die for.” But on second thought of that thought, not literally. Not literally meaning, to die for, that is. So I don’t think I will.

There are a lot of things stored in the top of my closet and in the back of my closet. What could they be after? I can’t think of a single thing that anyone would want, even though they obviously meant enough to me to keep them. It reminds me that I need to get rid of half of it. That is, if the thief leaves anything.

I’m trying to remember what is in my closet and why anyone would want anything that might be there. I have some old games from my childhood, Scrabble, Monopoly, Yahtzee, Dominos, and various books of cards that haven’t been used in years. Canning paraphernalia, envelopes, craft supplies, books and that is just about it. Nothing of worth really. So it has to be my clothes. Or maybe my shoes?

If the robber wants my shoes, he (or she) can have them. It would give me a good reason to buy some new ones. I always like to shop for shoes. I love shoes. Maybe I will just tell the thief to please take my shoes. Maybe I will tell him (or her) to take the clothes too. “Please take the clothes.” I would have a good reason to go buy some new ones. Clothes that are more in style and won’t make my butt look big.

On second thought, maybe I do want a thief in my closet. I am going to encourage him (or her) to just take it all. (Please, please take it all and leave).

I decided to quietly walk out of my bedroom. As I am tiptoeing down my hallway I hear a loud ruckus noise and rattling sound. My heart almost stops. “What is that?” Surely it doesn’t take that much noise to steal clothes and shoes?

I swallow my heart after it jumped up and landed in my throat and walk back into my room ever so quietly, hoping that whoever is in there doesn’t hear or see me. I notice there is no one in my room, so what made that sound? Maybe something on the top shelf fell to the floor?

I say a quick prayer and walk up to my closet door with my heart beating so hard I think it’s going to jump right out of my chest and land on the floor.

I slowly and carefully open the closet door wider, ready to jump back in order to avoid me turning into a bloody mess. I keep myself hidden behind the door as it slowly opens. My eyes need a few minutes to adjust to the darkness. The noise stops. I take a big deep breath and move my unwilling self into the closet a little further trying to see anything at all that could be making that kind of noise.

My shoes were all lined up perfectly on the bottom of the closet floor, the better shoes still tucked inside the three-drawer plastic chest. The clothes were all lined up hanging perfectly. The shirts all hanging together in perfect order and by color. Shirts, then sweaters, then pants, then skirts, and last the jackets. Seems nothing had been touched at all.

Just as I was about to take a huge sigh of relief, a pile of white bones flew out and jumped up at me. I screamed,

“Oh dear God a skeleton!”

I kick it right in the shin and am about to go for a second kick when it falls onto the floor into a pile of bones. I keep kicking the bones until there is nothing left of them. Gone. Vanished.

Finally! I am free! I am free of the skeleton in my closet. It no longer has power over me. I cannot begin to tell you how good that feels.

 


For those who have never heard the phrase, “Skeletons in my closet.” It is an idiom, meaning, “something embarrassing or incriminating that we want to keep secret.”














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The Window

My submission for the weekly Writers’ Hub Challenge. Pick one to three pictures and write a story about them.

My dining room windows are large and let in a great deal of light into our home. I love to sit near these windows and watch the going-on’s in the streets below. I have learned so much about my little village from watching people go about their daily activites. One window looks out onto Main street and the other window looks out on Oak Street, the side street that interesects with Main street. (We live on the corner).

Mr. Thomas, the Baker and his wife always open their bakery at 8:00 am in the morning when they put a sign in the front window that says, “Fresh Donuts.” I watch people come and go from the bakery holding a fresh donut in one hand and a hot cup of steaming coffee in the other. Once the breakfast rush is over, Mr. Thomas and his wife stand out in front of their bakery with their arms around each other and enjoy the fresh air. I can tell they are still very much in love although they have probably been married forty years or more.

One day as I was watching out the window, I saw a man walking down the sidewalk carrying a huge backpack on his back. There were a lot of other items that were attached to it. I took this picture of him. The load was so large I didn’t know how any one person was strong enough to carry it. But he didn’t seem to be having a problem with it. Although, he did almost run into Mrs. Thomas, the bakers wife, as Mr. Davis, the owner of the Cigar Shop was looking on.


My sister, Molly, is a mid-wife. One evening when it was raining cats and dogs, Agnes Shoeman called and told her it was time for her baby to be born and Molly needed to get there as quickly as possible. This is the picture I took of Molly as she ran to her house.

Much of the money that Molly made doing mid wifery work, she saved for more than five years to take us both to Europe for a vacation. It was such a wonderful vacation that we both enjoyed very much. This picture was taken by Molly as we were at the edge of a small Switzerland village. (I don’t remember the name of it). That man in the picture?…..That’s me!

 

 

The Haunted House

Very real looking monsters lurked around every corner. “Dead” souls, trapped in eternal anguish, reached out from behind bars to grab me. The rooms were filled with zombies, ghosts, and monsters. There were large bowls filled with blood and guts that we had to stick our hands in. Blood-curdling screams and wailing filled each room. With every step the terror continually built up inside me. The other people going through the haunted house were screaming. Half-way through I ran out terrified, with my three year old daughter bundled up safe in my arms. No! This was not for me.


(100 Words)


Mini-Challenge: Write a Halloween Story in 100 words or less.

 

Oh Dear, Dear Me

Why is it so easy to talk about ourselves until we are suppose to talk about ourselves? That’s a funny thing isn’t it? Suddenly you have this “deer in headlights” look,

“What? You want me to talk about ME?

These lights are so bright they’re hurting my eyes and I’m sweating like a pig in a blanket. (Haha! Get it?) This stool is uncomfortable and I am tempted to start twirling in it, around and around, but I don’t think the camera men would like that. (Oh goodie! Now I think I will!)

Hmm (clearing my throat). “I am here to talk to you about me. I am going to tell you about what I learned in Writing 101 and how I have grown as a writer.”

“CUT! CUT, CUT, CUT! Cut it – the hell out and start all over again, but for gawds sake, be REAL!”

(I am starting to get the giggles because that is what I do when I get nervous and this dam.. dang, producer is making me nervous). Hahaheeheehee. Hmm (clearing my throat again).

“Okay! Stop glaring at me with those evil looking eyes look!” (By the way, bite me!).

The best thing about Writing 101 is that it motivated me to start writing again. For some reason, I had stopped writing. I quickly learned that not only did my writing suffer, but my creativity suffered as well.

My favorite writing is spontaneity writing. It is my favorite writing but also the hardest writing for me because I get brain farts when I am under pressure. This type of writing also brings out things hidden deep in my heart and soul. This is where the “real” stuff is that makes writing fun and reading it enjoyable.

One of my most favorite assignments was to open up a book and focus on one word on that page and write a letter To Whom it May Concern about this word. The first book I opened, the word that stood out was confession. After thinking about writing about that word for awhile, I decided I would cheat and open up another book and pull out another word, a word that would be more fun to write about. The second book I opened, the word was….(I am NOT kidding you!!!) …. C-O-N-F-E-S-S-I-O-N!

This freaked me out because I knew that forces of the universe were pointing at me and saying,

“You –W-I-L-L– Write About Confession!” I did write about the word confession and had a little fun writing about it, but it still gave me the chilly-willy’s.

I enjoyed “finding your voice”. Seriously. Think about it. How does one go about “finding” their voice?

“Here voice, here voice, here voicey voicey.” And you sort of expect it to jump up in your face and scratch at your eyes and say, “Here I am! Mweow Mweow. Feed me!”

I can’t say that I ever found my voice. I don’t know if I will ever be able to say that I found my voice. Maybe I shouldn’t find my voice. Maybe my voice should find me. Picture this, you’re walking down a nice winding path through a deep and mysterious forest with all types of creatures making guttural sounds deep inside that forest. The smell of pine, right after a summer rain, strong and glorious, pass affectionately into your nostrils and suddenly you trip over something. Lo and behold! There it is! YOUR VOICE!!

The assignments, A Room With a View and Happy Comfort foods challenged me to dig into my memory bank and write about pleasant memories. Those written pieces not only brought me comfort, they also gave me an outlet to share them.

Death of Adverbs was enjoyable to write because I wrote about the little hummingbird that I rescued and rehabilitated.

Although the Serially Lost series wasn’t my favorite assignments, Serially Found: Third Time is the Charm was one of my favorite assignments because I wrote about my dad, and finding a relationship with him at the end of his life.

My writing evolved throughout the Writing course because, for one thing, I became more comfortable with my writing “voice.” (Still not sure I found it). Also, I became more comfortable sharing more intimate things about my life, that normally would have been too difficult for me to do. I have to struggle through all the “shame” that surrounds these difficult times of my life, and the Writing 101 course helped me find the courage to do so.

The most important thing that I focused on during this course was, finding my voice. I still keep thinking that when I find my voice, I will find me.


“CUT! That’s a wrap!”

The bright lights dimmed and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I felt this huge relief. I stepped away from the stool and realized, I had just gone through a lifetime of growing up.

 

Broken and Repairing

Passing through the oversized revolving door, he danced on the precipice of bad decisions. He glanced down at the tear in his sneaker – a battle scar from a skirmish that reflected no aggression. It had been playful. Fun with a hidden element of danger not yet apparent. His head was just beginning to display early signs of imbalance – like a bobble head. Except the almost imperceptible bobbling was happening on the inside. It was a time when darkness loomed.

Now, many months later, the light has beaten back the dark in a war that was anything but playful. The lurking danger that had pounced on the back of fun has retreated. The bobbling has ceased. His head has reclaimed its stability and clings to it for dear life. His toe has healed, but the tear in his sneaker remains. As does the one on his heart.

*************** by whisper2scream


She was waiting at home for him gnawing on her nails with nervous fear. She knew he had been up to some shenanigans but couldn’t put her finger on it until now. Today, she planned to find out if it was true. They had been happily married for ten years, surely this wasn’t the end of their marriage? Most men stray at times don’t they? Does that make it okay? Hell no! She wasn’t going to allow it in her marriage and she would make that perfectly clear to him.

The knot in her stomach grew tighter and she felt the anxiety building up inside her bones. What if this is the end of their marriage? What if he is having an affair? What if….??

Her mind became filled with fear from the “what if’s”. That question made it hard for her to think straight. She had to think straight. She had to have it all together when he got home. She had to! But, could she? She felt her heart breaking more and more with each painful thought.

Someone was walking up the hall toward their apartment. Was it him? She sat up straight and flicked the ashes off her cigarette into the small glass ashtray. She held her breath as the front door opened.

**************by pricelessjoy