Magenta Monster

Selorian Raising up her hair to fasten the necklace, Trent discovered a zipper pull just inside her hair line on the back of her neck. #storystarters

Selorian Ripples of time crashed in, trapping him in a turbulent inner storm born from his own past mistakes. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks “Have a care, dear,” Grams said, patting my hand as my boyfriend got the car. “Monsters don’t advertise themselves as such.” #storystarters

jessrosenbooks His eyes were solemn. “You cannot know what will come. Everything leaves ripples beyond your vision.” He held out his hand. #storystarters

Selorian “If I died tomorrow, I’d still love you forever.” Tears welled in her eyes as he spoke. “Words of love can break hearts too.” #storystarters

Selorian There are places where rules don’t apply. The laws of physics mean nothing & reality is an illusion. My town is one of them. #storystarters

Selorian Too many times my hands have gotten me in trouble. They make gestures, pick up things, and hurt people. #storystarters

katirra Cinderella didn’t expect a Fairy Godmother to be riding in on a Harley with a t-shirt, saying ‘Born to Spell” & a gun rack. #storystarters

katirra Thanksgiving was officially out of hand when Auntie Em hopped on the table & started singing “I’m too sexy”. #storystarters

katirra Opening her eyes, she saw a spider the size of a cat crawling on the bed. Jumping for the door, she saw a 2nd approaching. #storystarters

Selorian Tarot cards vibrated on the table. The fortune tellers eyes widened as they flew into the air and fluttered around the room. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Why weren’t the neighbors coming out, too? The thing that landed in the street lit up the night sky & kept calling her name. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Mary thought she might love Lyle. So nice, made her smile, feel special. Feel tingles. “Hello, Millie,” he said as he passed. #storystarters

Selorian Time crashed in, eating away at him like vultures tearing flesh from a carcass. Was time travel really worth the pain? #storystarters

Selorian Leaping. Backstepping. Television had plenty of terms and methods for time travel. None of them came close to the real thing. #storystarters

Selorian Flies circled the body but didn’t dare land on it. The two figures approached it in full biohazard gear. #storystarters

Selorian The wind smelled foul and sounded unsettled. It wasn’t going to be a good day. #storystarters

Selorian Enough coffee in me now to try some #storystarters to get the day, and the muse, to rolling. #amwriting

jessrosenbooks Sleep eluded Maria. Like a greased marble, it slipped from her grasp. Hours yawned before dawn. #storystarters

valeca The night began with “Oh, and Mr. [Patient X] has flesh-eating disease”… and went downhill from there. #storystarters

valeca It all started to go wrong when she asked, “Do you mind if I kill you?” #storystarters

jessrosenbooks The Freyan was exotic, smooth skin & wearing a sarong. So different from home, where everyone had soft fur and clothes. #storystarters

Selorian Her breath caught in her throat as tears filled her eyes. He’d been her world. Fifty years he had promised. Now he was gone. #storystarters

Selorian Air shimmered in front of him like a mirage in the desert. Wind whipped the trees & a dark figure stepped out to look at him. #storystarters

Selorian Veins wiggled beneath his skin as the bugs entered the bloodstream and moved from his hand to his forearm. #storystarters

Selorian He stared down the barrel of the gun pointed at him. ” You better shoot me, because if you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” #storystarters

Selorian It isn’t what the government doesn’t say we should fear, but those they do say. #storystarters

Selorian There was more to the noises we heard than the settling noises made by a hundred year old house. Something was there. #storystarters

Selorian “Roswell was a media decoy. It was fabricated to draw attention away from what actually crashed in upper Washington state.” #storystarters

Selorian “Go ahead and be the heroe. I’ll be remembered for the bad I did long after the good you did is forgotten.” #storystarters

Selorian He had finally accepted the duality within him. The knowledge of what he was capable of was still crippling at times. #storystarters

thefourpartland The sword flickered in the early morning haze, catching Malcolm by surprise. #storystarters

thefourpartland The sun crept over the horizon, illuminating the battlefield beneath. #storystarters

Saffy Gone was the time of choices, gone was the hope of a 1000 peoples, doom scented the air, which vibrated purple #storystarters

entrebat “Keypad with a rotating code, biometric locks, laser sensors, pulse monitors,” Ruth gave a sidelong glance, “you in?” #storystarters

entrebat The job was the job. He just had to squeeze the trigger. Lane looked down the barrel at his brother and whispered a prayer. #storystarters

Selorian Broken promises she could tolerate. Even a broken bone once. But when he broke her spirit, it was time to leave. #StoryStarters

entrebat The tiny needles penetrated Jose’s skin as relentlessly as the android administering the torture. Jose hated the machines. #storystarters

entrebat The sandstorms were hell. Sara came out of the desert upon what remained of the city. There had to be something left to loot. #storystarters

Selorian Simple spells had a way of never being that way. She once destroyed a house trying to turn the page of her book. #StoryStarters

Selorian It was depressing to look up at the desolate surface of the Earth. #storystarters

ClaireGoverts Sometimes it came down to a matter of who one knew. And apparently she didn’t know the people she needed to. #storystarters

ClaireGoverts Revenge is a dish best served cold, he thought while placing the files in a spot sure to be noticed by the right person. #storystarters

entrebat Smiles were erased at once. The sheer terror that gripped the crowd was overwhielming. Someone screamed. A gun fired. I ran. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Cars sat still, crowded. “I wonder what happened,” my wife said. “A man died in his car,” Ellie responded. “He just told me.” #storystarters

Selorian “If it were true only four leaf clovers brought luck, then there would indeed be very little luck in the world.” #storystarters

Selorian Lines stretched for blocks as people waited for their rations. Starvation instead of annihilation. The aliens were smart. #storystarters

Selorian She wore her Master’s mark. No one but her knew it was there and that made it even more delectable. She’d go to Hell for him. #storystarters

kristengajdos He needed find her before time ran out and she was gone forever. #storystarters

Suzanne_Rock Darien Lange only have a few short hours before the demon lord would awaken. #storystarters #WIP #amwriting

jessrosenbooks With care and precision, she shaped the chocolate chip cookies, hiding a little tablet in each one. #storystarters

Selorian ‘Space, the final frontier.’ How fitting a saying for the afterlife we all eventually end up in after we die. #storystarters

Selorian Leaves drifted down lazily on the fall breeze as he sat on the steps looking at the graveyard in his back yard. #storystarters

Selorian She tested the water with the tip of her toe from a flat rock. The lake had to be tolerable if she was going to drown him. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks Shoving my hands in my pockets to hide the shaking, I turned and walked away from him, fully aware this walk may be my last. #storystarters

Saffy Crystal bars had her locked in tighter to this nightmare than any iron in the history of man, Mil shuddered… #storystarters

jessrosenbooks The veg garden was gorgeous this year. The neighborhood was quieter than last year. Nice when a plan comes together. #storystarters

entrebat Troy stared hard at the blank page in front of him wondering if he could truly kill her instead of just writing about it. #storystarters

Selorian Mechanical gears engaged & the steel doors began to close. Caden watched the dust blot out the sun as the doors sealed. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks As every morning since the meds ran out, she shook the bottle as though it would change. Today, something rattled in it. #storystarters

Selorian He knew the woods like the back of his hand, but in the dark & running for his life, they were as foreign as a distant land. #storystarters

katirra Looking into the pinic basket bewildered, Tim saw only condiments and his date holding a large butcher knife. #storystarters

Selorian The road home was a dirt lane that I had promised myself I’d never to go back down again. Yet, there I was. #storystarters

Saffy The darkness crawled behind Alice’s eyes, she waited controlling her breath, chiding herself for being childish #storystarters

katirra As Dan slithered away, he wondered at his wisdom in telling the witch that he was leaving her for another woman. #storystarters

Selorian “She’s the Keeper of Things That Must Never Be Spoken Of,” he said, waving to the woman behind him. “And you’re one of them.” #storystarters

Selorian Fissures spread across the sky, opening wide to reveal a glowing darkness within that pulled everything toward it. #storystarters

Selorian He cast aside any remnants of self-doubt still clinging to him after the words she had spoken and ran after her. #storystarters

Selorian When he rose, the sun rose. When he slept, the sun set. The days and the seasons gathered around him and became one with him. #storystarters

milwaukeewriter Trying is the first step to failure. So what do I do? Not trying works just as good, with minimal effort expended. #storystarters #amwriting

Selorian: The swamps were filled with gators, poisonous snakes , and other dangers. None of those were what worried him. #storystarters

The swamps were filled with gators, poisonous snakes, and other dangers. None of those were what worried him. After all Jeramy had grown up in these swamps, he knew the calls of the animals and the slipper-soft sound of an alligator. People where always supprised how fast they moved - Even lethargic, they were lethal!

He punted his flat wide boat across murky water towards stilted houses. The grey milky wood of them, smooth and skeletal, was decked with fresh flowers, vines cut from monsterous trees around him. The flowers, fleshy and sweet smelling, would live for a few weeks, then puss into brown sludge over night - they were already dead, they just didn’t realise it. Just like the inhabitants of the houses.

Jeramy tied the boat up and hefted himself up the rope ladder, swaying, feeling heavy in his leather trench coat and armaments, his hat trapped sweat on his brow - clothing unsuited for the muggy swamps. He had known this but they were his identity now, his life away from the infested swamps. His body remembered this world though, remembered daring to swing across the gator pools and licking poisonous frogs with his play mates.

He remembered cheering as the older boys went off to do their initiations and how he had been confused when his little sister Miriam had gone with them and not come back. How he had searched the swamps for her and seen the coldness grow in his mother.

The flowers, looking like dismembered body bits, hampered his rise to the platform. Drums were banging out a fast tempo that hung in the air. Every five years this came round, every five years, this would be the second since his own coming of age, since his own failure to become part of it. He shouldn’t have survived the punishment for that failure - the scars on his arms tingled.

‘Halt! were do you come from?’ Asked the withered man before him, the milk teeth necklace he wore jangled as he rose. Mariam’s smiling face surged in Jeramy’s memory, Jenna’s frightened one replaced it, sobbing with blood gushing from her mouth.

‘I am no stranger here, Padre,’ Jeramy rasped. Vocal cords did not mend well.

The priest looked at him, skin browned by the wind and sun that streamed through the trees over the stretches of murky water. ‘I do not know you are you from one of the neighbouring homesteads?’. Jeramy shock his head. Others had begun appearing around him, little bare legged children, in tattered threadbare clothes. Women, solemn in age and bright with youth.

‘Ah but Padre, you created me.’ Jeramy smiled. His mother, old and haggard, appeared. His smile shuddered.

‘Jeramy?’ she asked in a whisper, how could she know? He face was different now, his voice, everything really.

The Priest gave a signal, Jeramy saw the men of the village edging in for the attack. ‘Jeramy, our accursed son! You are back are you? You failed in you rite of passage - banishment is the punishment! You should not have returned.’ With a flick of his hand the Priest set the strength of the village on him. He sliced through them, indiscriminatly knowing he was cutting down kin - but they had gone through the rite, they must die. The bile rose, anger threatened to mist his vision at the thought of his sister and how some of them passed that rite.

Women and children huddled around, splattered with their men’s blood, crying softly. The Priest still stood, white with shock; he looked grey and dirty. Jeramy smiled, ‘Exiled? He tells you all those who fail are exiled? And what of the girls? What does he tell you of them?’

Silence filled the room, except swamps are never quiet, and the weeping of children could not be stemmed - he didn’t want it to be - a lot more tears needed to be shed - more blood to be spilt.

‘He says they go off to the Dome-Cities to be educated and have a life we hope they’ll return with one day.’ One of the women said.

‘Have any?’ he asked knowing the answer. They shook their heads.

‘Tell them, Padre’ he rasped, ‘tell them what you actually do with their children,’ the Priest shuddered, glaring.

‘I founded and saved this community! After the great war! The war to end all wars! There are no domed-cities, we are what’s left - here in the swamps.’ Whispers surged, fear had gripped these people.

‘Then where do you send the little girls?’ his mother asked suddenly.

The Priest stood, not answering.

Jeramy smiled lopsidedly, ‘I failed the ritual because I couldn’t stomach what he said should happen to Jenna.’

He spotted the woman he thought was Jenna’s mother - her head flicked up from the child she was cuddling. ‘He takes us to a cave at the edge of the swamp and then… then he takes the girl and gets the boys to do the same, after each had pulled one of her teeth out.’ Cries went up from the women. ‘I do not know what comes next as he slit my wrists and pushed me in the gator pool.’

His mother and the other women were all staring at the Priest. He smiled. ‘But ladies the girls live on, they are with us still! I bring them back to the village’ he said. More horror as they realised whaat the ceremonial meat was. His mother was trembling, she picked up the Priest’s ceremonial stick.

‘I have to keep the population down! We are the only survivors!’ he said.

‘We are not,’ Jeramy hissed, ‘there was one bomb, a team from the cities found me, skull fractured, drowned and half eaten - the world still exists, they re-built me father!’

‘Then why did you return?’ the Priest asked.

‘To kill the guilty ones, that’s my job now, and all of these… men they had tortured a child too death they had not said no, and worse they did not tell the women!’

Jeramy, pulled out a blunt nosed gun and stood resolute, but he could not pull the trigger, the Priests eyes were yellow like the a true preditor, his mother swung the staff with a sickening sound, the other women moved in, ripping the Priest apart.

Technically they were guilty too, but Jeramy decided to ignore that fact - just this once.

This story is from a #storystarters by Selorian

DOOMSDAY

The dust settled on the Google Wars of 2012 on December 21st & the internet juggernaut’s victory led to the Mayan doomsday - well sort off anyway.

China, incensed at Google, decided to put all their resources into DOS attacks taking out the economic hub of the western world right around christmas and killing the January sales. They also sliced, bombed and generally messed up any peer to peer cables they could get their hands on - which was, oh, all of them. They then blasted all satellites out of the sky, bar their own.

The world was in turmoil - no internet, no shopping, no TV. Mass global communication was down - economics ground to a halt, banking had stupidly relied on systems that were nuked by the DOS attacks. Mobile phones ceased to ring. Financial apocalypse.

But Amy didn’t care about most of it. The panicked doomsday riots had been scary but she had hidden in a storm drain and slowly worked her way through the tinned food she had stored near by. After the riots had calmed down and the police had bashed a few heads she had sneaked back out with her rucksack and filled up on food and clothing from the trashed shops. She went back five times that night and repeated the process every night until the shop keepers got their acts together and boarded up the windows and doors. She was very careful - living on the street for the past five years had taught her to vary where she came from and where she went too. She had caches of food and clothing all over the place. If you always went to the same place people noticed - the wrong type of people noticed.

Amy was maybe 17; she wasn’t sure and she looked older now, the elements and cold nights had aged her, she was thin but robust, nicely rounded by the layers and layers of illsorted clothes. And out of most of the population of the UK she had guessed the truth and was waiting for the invasion - she had seen the tactic played out a few times - once unfortunately on herself. The boys would follow you to your nest and rough you up a bit, rape you none too gently and leave - telling Ricardo, or Gary or Al where you were. He’d wait until you emerged from your stinking hole, all friendly and smiles, offering you resources such as pain killers, food and a warm bed to sleep in.

And then you found yourself hooking for him, fucking men three times your age to line his pockets; but you where warm and fed until - and this was the inevitable bit - he got stabbed or shot or ODed or even arrested for something or other. Then you were back on the streets having lost your edge.

This is what would happen now to the western world, Amy surmised, and then China would be heros and the populations and resources of the western world would be laid at their feet. For Amy wasn’t stupid and she had seen the news reports before things got bad - it was unknown international pirates who had cut the P2P networks and pirates who had sunk the transport ships that bought cheap food into England. And that was something that worried Amy - England had built on its farm land, had forgotten how to farm; her mother, before the paranoia got too bad, had explained the island’s history to her. She knew there would be mass starvation soon.

Amy frowned and looked at her bitten fingers, with infections pussing next to at least three nails. There was that old World War Two bunker she had found in the woods just outside town - she got the jitters and moved her stashes there - a few a night, being clever about it. She had more than she thought, but not enough. She took a shopping trolly and broke into a ware house and stole medicines, then in another part of town she stole bottled water, then camping supplies and more food.

She did this for what seemed an age and the ice melted and the nights grew shorter. She went to different towns, always fearing that they would catch her, but cameras were dead all relying on the infastructure that wasn’t there anymore; and security guards were recruited into the police. Then one night, with daffodils pushing out of their green pods, the sky flashed white. Amy was pushing a trolly of books from a library - she didn’t know why she had taken them but it seemed the right thing to do. She was behind a building when it happened.

But she still wet herself. Blinded momentarily by the blast, she ran, and ran to her bunker, emptied the trolly of books down the hatch and scambled in behind them. She closed the hatch just as the rain begain to pour.

Panting, she flicked her torch on and hooked a car battery up to some LED lighting she’d nicked. She changed and washed and then sorted the books. She picked up a rather old battered book she’d found on the libarian’s desk - it obviously belonged to them personally - she almost hadn’t taken it.

It was called “Life After Doomssay”. She had a feeling she’d made the right decision.

I have found like the most useful hashtag on twitter for short story writers! It is: #storystarters - I have gone back through the archive and extracted the ones I want to use in future and I will do a round up of the ones I like in future Looking at the list it looks like Selorian is my favourite but then he is also the most active My Friday Flash Doomsday yesturday was from one of his starters!

Selorian: Nightmares can be woken from and forgotten. There isn’t that luxury with real life. #storystarters

Selorian: Strong convictions only get in the way of a successful political career. #storystarters

Selorian: The swamps were filled with gators, poisonous snakes , and other dangers. None of those were what worried him. #storystarters

Selorian: It was driven into him that he was the bad kid–a monster. He was neither; he was autistic & people were too scared to care. #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters Death seemed to follow her, leaving a swath of suffering in her wake. Would there be no end to it?

Selorian: The coffee was a special alien blend. Twelve varieties of beans chosen for their ability to raise creativity. #storystarters

The tender spot had moved overnight. She winced as she felt her stomach & pain flared. Then something moved under her skin. #storystarters

Selorian: The giggling grew louder. Two girls, younger than his daughter, sat cross legged in the darkness in the cemetery. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: She ran. Her pulse was so loud, she didn’t hear footsteps. The window was her only chance. Jerked back, she heard ripping. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: The snow was maddening. Its cold. Its smell. The brightness, the quiet. The crunch of footsteps split the silence. #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters . Her lifeless body was being tossed back and forth mercilessly against the cliff wall by the huge angry waves.

Selorian: She dipped her fingers into his chest and played with his heart. Hatred morphed into love within his watching eyes. #storystarters

Selorian: She clutched the faded blue cloth rose as she ran through the swaying wheat.He’d kill her for taking it, just like her mother.#storystarters

Selorian: Sixty steps true west from the twisted tree. A slab of limestone protruded from the ground. Hell waited below it. #storystarters

Selorian: Concern etched across his face as listened to the person on the cell phone. She watched tied & naked from the bed as he left. #storystarters

katirra: Between dodging bebe guns & amorous males, she regretted her wish to spend a day as a squirrel. No wonder the genie laughed. #storystarters

Selorian: RT @melissamurphy2: #storystarters She heard the cries of pain and terror from a dozen or more anguished voices at once and felt his del …

Selorian: The dust devil crossed the parking lot as she waited, picking up litter in its small, but very real, fury. #storystarters

Selorian: The weight of the pistol grew with the realization of what he’d done. She stared wide-eyed, waiting for him to join her. #storystarters

ClaireGoverts: So this is the end of the world? She’d thought there would be more fire. #storystarters

gregmcqueen: He stuck out his tongue to catch a falling snowflake. Then he spat, as his mouth filled with the bitter taste of ash. #storystarters

Selorian: There was no hiding the wonder in her eyes as she looked out across the frozen landscape of standing corpses. #storystarters

Selorian: The switching of life forces had been outlawed, but he didn’t have any choice if either of them were going to survive. #storystarters

katirra: A six-foot hot pink alien woman wearing lime bib overalls was not what Bruce was expecting when he opened his eyes. #storystarters

wotv: “I dare you,” she said, her eyes cold. “I dare you touch it.” #storystarters

wotv: Standing at the edge of the pool, she swallowed the remaining scotch and prepared to die. #storystarters

katirra: Dashing for the bathroom Fred now knew why “The Beast” malt liquor was on sale for $0.69 a can. #storystarters

summoner2100: He sat at his desk typing an email. The phone rang. It was his boss. He didn’t want to pick it up but he had to. #storystarters

Selorian: The maple tree shook as he tapped it, as if hit by a stiff breeze, and crimson liquid began slowly dripping into the bucket. #storystarters

gregmcqueen: As he let her lifeless body drop from his hands,Ray’s mind burned with a question that had plagued him for years. WHY? #storystarters

Selorian: “Two hearts beat within him. His and the heart of the man who died two hundred years earlier.” #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters The swirling colors and lights dancing with shadows twisted in front her and Alisa was spell bound, unable to look away.

CascadeLily: The man with eyes the colour of night stood over the body. “You are going to hell,” said the old lady. The man simply smiled. #storystarters

summoner2100: He stood at the end of the corridor. The empty elevator shaft was his only escape. @storystarters

darcknyt: #storystarters She took a long slow drag from her cigarette, blew out the plume, and licked the blood off her fingertips one at a time.

darcknyt: “Do…do you see that?” she said, eyes wide. He followed her stare, and pointing finger. The he saw it and his breath caught. #storystarters

marisabirns: Just before he left home for good, Hal made a pot of soup for the family. #storystarters

Selorian: She enjoyed the lingering feel of him on her skin. Mixing his ashes with a little aloe was a wonderful idea. #storystarters

FutureNostalgic: Now just what is that doing there he thought, poking the festering object with his toe. #storystarters

HeatherMeMaher: He scratched and dug until the skin broke, fascinated by the perfect sphere of blood forming at the top of the bug bite. #storystarters

melissamurphy2: #storystarters She glanced around the room nervously once more as if searching for hidden demons still lurking in the shadows.

jessrosenbooks: The time came for her to stay in the house alone. Trembling, she tried not to remember scrubbing the kitchen ceiling. #storystarters

Selorian: He knew they called him the Jester King. He supposed it was appropriate. Make him laugh and he spared your life. #storystarters

Selorian: Setting off explosions to create controlled avalanches was dangerous work, but he enjoyed the power too much to give it up. #storystarters

Selorian: The pitter-patter of little feet in the hall normally woke her each morning. Today it was the absence of it that did. #storystarters

katirra: Mystified and frustrated by vague instructions, he dumped the bicycle parts on the sidewalk. #storystarters

katirra: Drinking moonshine while cooking turned out to be a bad idea. #storystarters

Selorian: The end of time is when the clocks slow down, stop, and begin ticking away again backwards. #storystarters

Selorian: It’s in our darkest hour that the darkest part of us, our primal instinct to survive no matter the cost, is revealed again. #storystarters

Selorian: It took the end of the world for peace to prevail. #storystarters

jessrosenbooks: Theatrically, he proclaimed, “How do I love thee?” His grin became wolfish as he reached into his pocket. “Like this.” #storystarters

HeatherMeMaher: “This one time I was eating a french fry and I choked and died.” Dan shook his head. Goddamn five-year old liar, he thought. #storystarters

Selorian: “Once in a lifetime experience,” the man shouted from the exhibit. “Experience death at the hands of Jack the Ripper!” #storystarters

Selorian: “Keep the damn dog,” she hissed, dragging her luggage out the door. “He requires too much attention, just like you!” #storystarters

Selorian: The blades flashed and a sudden pain erupted in his chest. Stumbling back, he looked down at a sword buried between two ribs. #storystarters

Selorian: “Time to die,”came the whisper again. The basement had been the morgue. Was it a threat or a statement the spirit was making? #storystarters

Selorian: Playing a ouija board in the middle of an Indian graveyard at the stroke of midnight is never a good thing. #storystarters

Selorian: It came into town through the train tracks. A crackling blue energy riding the rail and intent on dragging us all to hell. #storystarters

Selorian: “The only thing I hate about fingerfood is when they forget to remove the fingernails and the rings.” #storystarters

Selorian: He took a sip of the strawberry shake as he removed the covers from his scope. One shot and it was off to see a movie. #storystarters

HeatherMeMaher: It was Freeman’s day to kill. But the knife, still crusted with last week’s blood, seemed dull. #storystarters

Jessy and her mother opened the door of The Old Bakery and crunched their way through the foot or so of snow. They went up the steps to the Lawn behind the Mill and began to collect the snow to make a snowman. Jessy was excitedly instructing were the snowman should go but her mother was struggling, she didn’t really like the lawn bit of the garden. It gave her the ‘willies’ at the best of times but the snows blinding half light made things worse, with the sound of the waterfall whispering around her.

If she dwelt to much on that then her imagination would spark and that was not a good thing in a property as old as this one. She’d been the one drawn here though collecting its history - the lawn had been the Mill pond.

Jessy was calling to her, obviously her attention had wandered, she assembled the snowman in Jessy’s exact spot. The four year old was most adamant that the snowman had to be there and got upset that it was too tall so being the mum she was it got shortened.

They dug out some stones from under a bench and used a long dead feather lilac flower for the nose. Jessy’s mum looked at it and shuddered. It was awful, scary as hell but Jessy was bouncing about it. ‘You like your snowman do you?’

‘Snow-girl mummy!’ she insisted.

Jessy’s mum felt very cold, ‘lets go get hot chocolate.’ she said ushering the two of them in away from the snowman.

Later Jessy’s dad shrugged at the snowman, ‘looks freaky.’

‘She doesn’t!’ said Jessy upset, ’she’s my friend!’ the parents looked at each other.

Then when they were putting her to sleep Jessy asked them when the snow-girl would come alive and come into the house. Thinking of the snowman story, they pandered. ‘Maybe tonight,’ shivered Jessy’s mum.

Later on when they themselves where in bed they really wished they hadn’t, there was a rattle and a thump - dressing rapidly they scrambled onto the landing expecting burglars. Jessy was stirring in her bed. They got to the stairs; the snowman’s miss-matched eyes looked up at them.

Where Jessy’s mum had made a groove for its mouth it split and tried to talk, but the language sounded brittle and like Shakespeare. They understood the gist of it, scared Jessy’s mum began down the stairs, ‘Elizabeth no!’ her husband shouted.

‘But Daddy’ Jess said from his side, ‘Catherine just wants to come home and be with her mummy.’

Jessy’s mum stood and looked at the snowman with its misshapen head, ‘would.. would you like to sit by the fire?’ she asked swallowing hard. It nodded, she lead it to the living room. It seemed confused but settled down. Jessie’s daddy closed the door and stared.

Jessy got some toys out and to her parents surprise begin to play with the monster.

The parents watched as the snowman slowly became a puddle socking their little girl who held a mostly one sided conversation with the thing. Finally it was too much for Jessy’s mother, ‘Jessy tell your friend goodnight and go get some dry pyjamas on!’ Reluctantly the child left. The snowman stared at Elizabeth forlornly. ‘G.. goodnight Catherine’ she stammered and to her own surprise covered it up with the throw from the settee, ‘that should warm you up’ she said.

On their way up the stairs Jessy’s mum began to cry, ‘its been so cold and alone’ she whispered. The door banged open once more and the two parents turned in dread, the smell of fresh baked bread wafted over them and a timber voice hovered in the air, the same Shakespearean tongue but they understood what it meant, ‘I told you she’d find her way home mum,’ and then the breeze was gone and the door closed firmly behind it.

…..

The New Bakery languished in the snow drift as the young man of 15 made his way with hand cart through the wall of snow, there was bread to deliver and later there would be provisions to bring back for the Bakers and Millers across the way. The set up worked well on the water from the stream, he snorted, if the ice lingered much longer the river would freeze and they’d be reliant on the stored flour. He huffed up the hill, ‘Thomas! wait for me!’ came the high little voice of his sister.

‘Go home Catherine its too cold out.’

‘I can make it! I can be helpful! Please?’ she begged, her eyes on him, large with hope.

‘No back to the Bake House!’ he demanded. He heard the resignation in her voice and stop to check, she would be safe back in the house soon and he wouldn’t have to worry about were a miserable 8 year old was.

Catherine skipped in the snow, powdery clouds bloomed around her and her thick skirts made a strange trail behind her she seemed to like the snow.

He sighed and continued his cold boring journey at least there was a tavern in the village and another on the high road that lead to the cities.

It was getting dark by the time he returned, brushing the snow off his boots he could smell the bread baking, the door opened, ‘Yes Catherine I’ll tell you all about it!’ he said almost crossly but mostly amused.

‘Is she not with you?’ came his mothers voice, tight and frightening, Thomas looked up from his boots and straightened shaking his head, his stomach leaping.

His mother yelled and his dad stomped down the stairs and Dudley came out of the bellows house. They were all focusing on Tom. ‘I… I told her to go back at the end of the lane this morning.’ His mothers paleness told him everything. ‘I’ll go to the Millers! She’ll be back probably just playing’ he said turning back into the snow.

Alex hated his life, his home, his family, they had become a millstone around his neck, they were demanding and lovely and he hated them, even his five year old daughter Nina who would spend her days painting him beautiful pictures.

His wife had insisted he take the children to see Santa Cluas. He couldn’t see the point, surely all it did was foster silly ideas in their heads, but he had smacked Milissa again and she couldn’t take them as she couldn’t show her face in public. Guilt and loathing racked him and so he took the three kids with their runny noses and sticky hands to the shopping mall.

Nina was bouncing visibly with excitement at the glittering and annoyingly flashy lights. What a waste of time and resources - this was not going to be teaching them how to save the planet. Inside there was a Santa Grotto surrounded by bored looking students in elf hats and ears and a very very long queue. He sighed and tagged them onto the end.

‘Daddy?’ Nina asked quietly, he ignored her, ‘Daddy? Why don’t we go see the other Father Christmas?’ She tugged incesently at his sleeve. He looked into the old covered market annexed to the new shiny mall and there was indeed another grotto.

‘Oh yes please Dad!’ Jeramy said. There was no queue and it looked like it would be a lot cheaper, made of wood with some grey looking fake snow that did not glitter.

He conceeded and they headed over to it. The gotto was constructed of silvered wood that looked like it belonged on a beach rather than in a shopping centre, there were shutters with no glass or perspex in the windows. No Christmas lights and just a few pine bowers dropping needles forlornly on the floor intertwined with some viscous looking holly denuded of its festive red berries.

‘Oh wow real reindeer!’ Cheryl his eight year old squealed and begain patting the smelly creatures, Alex’s nose begain to sting from the cold, the air con must have been switched on to get rid of the animal smell - well, it wasn’t working.

There were no cheery elves either; just an old woman dressed drably and bulkily in coarse looking material; she smiled, but still looked like she had eaten far too many of her own home made pies. Alex asked her how much it cost and was pleased to hear it was free, but when he saw Santa he was not suprised that there was no queue.

The man looked more like a lumber jack in a similar brown ‘dress’ to Mrs Claws. He had a dirty looking flowing beared and a mass of white yellowed hair cascading from a fur lined leather hat. Bright beetle black eyes glinting in grooved skin, crinkling his whole face in loud silent laughter. The man was repulsive. The kids however flocked to him, in his large wooden… throne.

Nina smiled at him. ‘Can I have a happy mummy?’ she said quietly. Alex caught the words and angry shame flared in him. He glared at his little daughter. Santa boomed a laugh and fixed him with a stare. Alex felt even colder and stomped his feet impatiently.

Santa reached into a rough brown sack and brought out a snow globe which he handed to the delighted child. She cradled it as if it were a new kitten. ‘Daddy what are you going to ask Santa for?’ she said innocently.

‘For you lot to fuck off.’ he said meaning it. Ninas brown eyes brimmed with tears, Santa’s dark ones where studying them both, the old man smiled mirthlessly at Alex.

Alex dragged the kids home feeling unsettled, especially as he’d noticed one of the riendeers had been deformed - six legs. Creepy. Maybe he’d had too much whisky last night after all.

…

That evening he took his guilt out on his pasty faced wife with her puffy eyes and limp hands. She looked a sight when he’d finished and the kids lay silent and wide eyed in their beds, holding their breaths till they heard their mothers sobs.

The stupid snow globe was on the mantle piece with its light-house and seashell resin base. It was, to his suprise made of actual glass and quiet heavy. He threw it at his fucking miserable wife.

The world twitched and jurked, he felt like he was falling.

…

He awoke to the sound of the sea, there was a chill in the air, dazed he looked around him. Was he in the attic? His head felt a bit odd but he stood up. He could smell something like electricity. Milky white light was streaming in. A large beveled glass triangle took up most of the room, giving him the strange impression a fish was looking at him from three different directions at once. Puzzled, he noticed a door and stepped out onto a circular balcony. The sky was a wierd distortion of colour making him dizzy. He looked over the rails to a sea of white below.

Breathing hard he looked into the sky once more. A pair of large brown eyes clouded the sky, distorted… and then they where spinning, now they were upside down; now just shuddering across the sky.

The sky settled again but his view of it was obscured by the large white flakes that swerled in instant blizzard around him. He retreated shivering inside - where the hell was he?

…

Nina put her snow globe back on the mantle piece watching the white swerl, it was strange but she thought there was a person in the lighthouse, she hadn’t noticed them yesterday when Santa had given her it. Mrs Nelson from next door was fixing them some dinner. Mummy was still in the hospital and the police hadn’t been able to find her daddy. Nina felt sad but also hopeful, she felt sure it had been the real Santa they’d seen yesterday and somehow she felt both her parents had got what they wished for.

Deceived and broken she lay, her body twisted and inert now, the body she had hated so much as she had grown up. They’d left it there like so much rubbish, but she had not been rubbish, she had been a buetiful woman - something she had always wanted, she hadn’t quiet been there, had still been saving but no one could tell that from the outside.

They had told her she was pretty and had merely smiled when she had explained her predicament and had told her to follow them for a good time. So thrilled to find people so happy to be with her. They had plied her with drinks and took her out into the back ally. And there they had called her a faggot and striped her naked, told her she was the deceiver - of how she polluted the minds of the young. What a freak! *Despicable* - all truths she knew. She begged them to stop but they said her kind had to go, they said many had to go, they said they’d leave them all in the gutter just like her.

*But* she mused as she sat there looking at the corpse, they had deceived themselves, they took what they really wanted from her, pretending that it was punishement, denying their own intenations. She at least had known what she was. And now she was free and she was most definitely a she - she just had to make sure she picked the right body this time round.

If I had a mirror that could look back in time, what would I see in the playground of Langtons Infant school. I would see one little blonde haired child, she hasn’t got a lot of hair, just a lot of dandelion fluff and tight little curls - one of which falls in the middle of her forhead. She hates this curl and is always trying to blow it back up onto her head.

If the mirror some how had sound what would I hear? The screams of the damned – otherwise know as children at play. The little girl who I can’t quiet believe is me, is hopping up and down and saying she’s going to become something. What is she going to become?

The Kissy Bunny.

She has the spare tights from her P.E. kit and they are being pulled onto her head like a hat. These are the Kissy Bunny’s ears. A few experimental bounces show that they move in a sufficiently bunny like way for this child. Satisfied she sets her sights on the dark haired boy with the basin hair cut, his name’s Stevan and he lives across the street from her. He stole her My Little Pony - Sweety, at the weekend and now it’s time for him to pay, and pay he shall.

Poised the little girl begins her bouncy whilst chanting, ‘Kissy! Kissy! Kissy!’

All the boys scatter, some of the other girls start the chant. Off she goes - boing, boing, boing. Steven doesn’t notice until it’s too late. She grabs him and lands a big sloppy kiss on his cheek - sticks her hand out and says, ’Where’s Sweety?’ he looks at her blankly then realisation dawns.

‘Erm buried with Jessy’s Keeper.’ Silly boy he hasn’t noticed the other girls closing in on him. This little blonde girl likes dinosaurs; this little girl knows about veloceraptors - about their hunting techniques and though rabbits are vegetarians that doesn’t mean they can’t kiss someone to death.

…..

I am quiet glad that such a mirror does not exist so this event will never be spoken of again – will it? Kissy, kissy, kissy.

Rosa slept fitfully, the cold draft causing her to bury her head further beneath the blankets. Her eyes flickered lightly in the upper levels of REM sleep. Images and memories more real than those things she had experienced during the waking day, flittered across her unconscious - her body moved slightly with remembered motion. The draft was so keen, November the fifth had not yet passed - though the rigours of Halloween parties had left her drained.

The metallic twang of ice shimmered purple to her in a precarious dream state. Suddenly a noise disturbed her, jolting her from fitful slumber to full attention. Sitting up staring at her window. Why the hell was it open?

Concerned she got up and closed it - icy fear made her hands shake more so than the bitter breeze that seemed to be caressing her body, clinging her cream pyjamas to her breasts and stomach. Feeling invaded, somehow, she retreated to the apparent safety of the covers.

Exhausted she fell readily into that fitful sleep once more.

The room appeared to shudder and a deep thrumming noise filled the air, but with the icy draft stilled Rosa slept on. The air seemed to condense, darkness grew and swirled, forming humanoid shapes - distorted and grotesque.

The forms grew more solid in the gloomy half light, ‘My Lord?’ asked the middle of the shapes -nothing more than shadow though growing denser and more substantial.

‘You have checked her birth right?’ asked the biggest form, the voice was deep and liquid, heavier than the first, it seemed to boom in the air, Rosa murmured and turned over in her sleep. ‘She can hear us?’ he asked.

‘Many can in their sleep time Lord.’ This was a third voice, wheedling and almost shrill, like the split reeds musicians hate so.

‘She is young still.’ The deep resonance of his voice again disturbed Rosa, her eyes momentarily flickered open and for a split second seemed to focus on the figures but then they rolled back in sleep.

‘She is only a potential Lord, there are others, others more suited to your normal tastes.’ Amber eyes gleamed as the Lord looked down on Rosa, her pale skin seeming luminous in the shadowed room, her dark hair escaping charmingly from a French braid, thick and full that lay on her pillow. ‘Is she innocent still?’ he rumbled.

A sickening laugh, unsure of itself escaped the smallest shape, ‘My Lord has never cared much for such niceties in the past?’ The atmosphere seemed to coalesce into cold stone.

‘You question me?’

‘No! Lord no, never.’

‘Tell me,’ the Lords shape seemed to loom at the middle shadow, ‘what do you think?’ he asked the liquid dark next to him, with its green flecked amber trained on the sleeping Rosa.

‘She is lovely, her soul is fighting itself, she is not whole, twisted - broken. She is perfect.’

The Lord nodded he looked to the slightly smaller pool of darkness, a slighter cut of himself, his amber eyes flared briefly but the other did not notice - too intent on the sleeping girl.

‘The other candidates?’ He asked.

‘Beautiful Lord, just beautiful, and power hungry - oh yes, and malicious.’ Gleeful and almost jubilant. ‘My Lord wishes to see them?’ The dark shape nodded. The smallest shadow detached himself and went to the window. Throwing it open he moved almost cat like to the window sill. Looking back with red coals for eyes, ‘follow me my Lord.’ He jumped out of the window, his hunched shape uncurling.

The large shape of the Lord moved to the window, he smiled revealing little pointed teeth, then like the first he was gone.

‘Rosa,’ whispered the third, he looked upon the silver waif as he had come to think of her, so pale was her skin. He looked at the rough grey of his own and sighed. So beautiful, he wanted her. But he knew the penalties for those thoughts. Still on the window sill he could not help but look back at her, to his surprise she was sitting up looking at him. Fear and wonder looked at him from her large dark eyes. Like the deer he had killed earlier that evening. He smiled at her, he wanted her too much and she was looking at him - she could see him even when fully awake. He felt rather than heard her sharp intake of air. Of course, he thought miserably his fangs. Fear tinged her scent adding a red hue to his vision.

‘I would give you the cosmos my angel,’ he whispered as he jumped.

‘No!’ Rosa called as she dashed from the bed, standing at the open window she saw nothing but the normal street scene - all silver and purple in the golden glow of the street lamps.

Shuddering with more than cold and fright she closed the window - perplexed as to how it had become open once more.