Six Sentence Stories: The Safe House Women VS The Masked Man

Starburst masks small ad. 1987.


I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences based on a cue word given.

This week’s cue word is Random

 

 


Editor’s note: the following is an extract from a larger work in progress, a ghost story, and features the characters Henry and Marling. This new instalment introduces two other major characters: Wendy Harper and the the Masked Man. You can read previous extracts here and here.


The Safe House Women VS The Masked Man

When they entered the bedroom they saw that the window was wide open and the curtains were flapping about like two demented phantoms, and that two metal coils were bobbing in the distance between Mrs Parker and the bed, which made it evident to the women that Mrs Parker had deployed her taser – further confirmed by the hooks of the coils which had attached themselves to the torso of the biggest man any of them had ever seen, a man wearing a mask – a buffalo mask of all things – and who was slouched upon the bed with the grin of the devil beneath his disguise, and Wendy thought… there’s no goddamn way this creep is gonna get the better of her and her friends.

Eighteen female eyes burned like lasers into his massive form, and his devilish smirk was wiped clean from his mouth as Wendy launched her knife – just missing the head of Mrs Parker in its trajectory, before embedding itself into the man’s left bicep… and the man – he didn’t so much as blink or yelp or cuss, but did nought else than pluck the blade from his arm and toss it to the floor, and then he growled, and then he roared, and he snorted, and he bellowed, and he made to rise his bulk from the bed to charge at the nine women standing before him, as though they were flimsy matadors to be tossed in the air before the goring began of each of their throats, which he swore in unsaid oaths he would rip open in one minute flat.

But the launching of Wendy’s knife served only to set off a wild and impressive catalyst, as the women began shouting and hurling missiles at the man who received body blows and headshots from such random items that included books, slippers, a bottle of mineral water, a table lamp, a cassette of Blur’s Greatest Hits, perfume, shampoo, a hairdryer, a set of hair straighteners, and a Hello Kitty toothbrush.

The man, understanding then that the women were about to charge him, did nothing more than leap from the bed and flee his tormentors, and in two long strides he was among the flapping phantoms the curtains still made, and hurling himself from the open window to return from whence he came.

They stood there in utter exhaustion, the nine women, puffing, panting, exclaiming enough curses between them to make a sailor blush.

“Well, that’s something to tell the grandchildren about one day,” Wendy said to no one in particular.


In zany we trust – you do have to be mad to work here…

“There is no great genius without a mixture of madness.” Aristotle

Greetings, vintage mates. A funny thing happened to TVTA on the way to archives… we got a little more zanier than usual… I blamed the cat, and he blamed me, then we called it quits and decided to blame Denise over at Girlie On The Edge Blog

If you would like to blame Denise too, then why not follow her lovely blog and join in the zany fun that is Six Sentence Stories!

Here is our zany detour in all its kooky glory…



Oxford English Dictionary definition of zany

adjective

(comparative zanier, superlative zaniest)

(informal)

  1. strange or unusual in a humorous way
  2. synonyms: wacky; crazy; funny; kooky

… and now… TVTA brings you (a most zany): SIX SENTENCE STORY

Zany Janey

 

I.

There was a young girl called Janey

who everyone thought was zany.

II.

T’was largely her diet

which caused such disquiet

for Janey ate everything with gravy.

III.

Cornflakes and gravy, poached eggs with gravy,

bananas and gravy, hot chocolate and gravy,

peanuts with gravy, fish fingers and gravy,

pancakes and salad and croissants with gravy.

IV.

With certain dismay, her mum said one day: ‘Janey it pains me for you to be zany and eat all your food mixed up with gravy.’

V.

Replied Janey quite sanely and with words spoken plainly: ‘Mum don’t berate me for being zany, when at school my friend Daisy says gravy with everything makes you brainy!’

VI.

Zany word origin: late 16th century from French zani or Italian zan(n)i, Venetian form of Gianni, Giovanni ‘John’, stock name of the servants acting as clowns in the commedia dell’arte.



… yes, you do have to be mad to work here, and it helps 🙃

Thank you for being zany with us!

Six Sentence Stories: The straight line of footprints

Walkaway Fairy. Artwork by Ford, TVTA.


I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences based on a cue word given.

This week’s cue word is line

 

 


Editor’s note: the following is an extract from a larger work in progress, a ghost story, and features the characters Henry and Marling. You can read a previous extract here.


The straight line of footprints

Henry went over to the sole window of Doctor Lessing’s office, and when he looked with his sole eye he spied the water fountain on the lawn where he had arranged to meet Marling tomorrow at noon; beyond this lay the sprawling avenues and groves of many trees, and the patients wandering the grounds – twinned by their long shadows which fell about them on the grass like phasmids and mantises from the sun’s late afternoon toil.

‘Not a bad view eh?’ Inspector Du Maurier said, joining Henry at the window. ‘If you enjoy looking at crazy people that is.’

‘How do you know they’re crazy?’ said Henry

‘How do you they’re not? Tell me, how’s the eye?’

Henry ran a finger across the lower seam of his eyepatch and replied, ‘There is no eye.’

Du Maurier stared at the one-eyed Henry then looked away, his gaze falling to the same fountain Henry had been looking at in monovision, his detective eyes – even from the second floor of Doctor Lessing’s office – not failing to see the straight line of footprints embedded in the mud, which led from the fountain and into the hospice, as though the ghost of Marling was deliberately leaving clues.