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 Blog created for the WDC 21st Birthday Blog Bash plus many sundry stories. |
| This blog was created for the WDC 21st Birthday Blog Bash Relay. Never needing space for more than three items, I have since decided to use it for things that don't fit elsewhere. |
| Visitation Winston had already seen several excellent costumes on the night he answered that fateful knock at his door. It was a good year for trick or treaters and many of the kids had gone to great lengths to appear as weird figments of their imaginations. So he was not completely surprised to see the group that waited on his doorstep. They were unusual, to say the least. Although none of them were any larger than the trick or treaters he’d seen that night, there was something odd about them even so. They looked older. Size is not the only thing we look for when assessing the age of children but it is hard to say just what clues we notice that affect our estimations. And, with these kids, it was something in their eyes that made them seem much too worldly wise to be dressing up for Halloween. Their faces, too, lacked any sign of the puppy fat that softens the features of the young. All of them looked thin and hungry, perhaps even attaining the description of “gaunt.” They were dressed in ragged clothes, dingy in hue and dirty, as though they had rolled about fighting in the dust before assembling as a group. One wore a battered old top hat, another an ancient aviator’s cap and goggles. The one standing at the front held a tall stick with a flickering lantern at its tip. He was the one who now spoke to Winston. “Trick or treat,” he intoned without expression or enthusiasm. His voice was hollow and seemed to echo into the silence that followed. It was enough to spur Winston into action, however. He turned to grab the bowl of candies waiting on the small table next to the door. Before handing them out, however, he asked a question. “What are you guys supposed to be?” “Fears,” replied their leader. Winston looked puzzled and the little fellow continued, “We are the things that others fear.” “And why would they do that?” asked Winston. The leader shook his head. “You don’t understand. We are those things. My name is Poverty. All fear me.” Turning he pointed at the tallest of their number, the gaunt one. “He is called Starvation.” Then he pointed at each of the others in turn. “This one with the pale face is Sickness. And my friend here is named Thirst. Cold is the shivering one with the blue nose. Him at the back is Fatigue and the lady holding his hand is Dementia.” He turned his gaze back on Winston. “Trick or treat,” he repeated in his dull, monotone. On his part, Winston was more fascinated than repelled by these revelations. “So you are the actual manifestations of these things?” When Poverty nodded, Winston continued, “And what will happen if you have to trick instead of getting a treat?” Poverty sneered. “I’d have thought that was obvious.” Winston saw in his eyes that he was deadly serious. The temptation to withhold the treats was still there, but good sense prevailed. He lowered the bowl so that the grubby hands of his visitors could take what they wanted. They cleaned out the bowl, stuffing the candies into unseen pockets within their rags. And so the strange little creatures turned to go, Poverty leading the way with the lantern swinging from his stick. The last to go was Fatigue. He looked up at Winston and said in a gravelly voice, “Happy Halloween. Perhaps we’ll see you again some other night.” Then he was gone into the dark with the others. Word count: 694 For “13,” 10.31.24 Prompt: “We are the things that others fear.” —Lestat, The Vampire Lestat |
| The Cardinal and the Witch Cardinal Ignatius relaxed in the comfortable chair behind his desk. The report was complete and would be despatched in the morning. All that remained was to reflect on a good day’s work and prepare for a sound sleep that night. Outside, above the roofs of the town, smoke still rose from the site of the burning. The last thing he expected was to be interrupted in his moment of triumph by a loud pounding on his door. Yet there was no denying that it happened. The thin, reedy voice of his clerk, Minus, accompanied the rapping. “Your Eminence, your Eminence!” The voice seemed panicky as its high-pitched tones shattered the Cardinal’s peace. It had to be something important that drove the timid clerk to disturb his master at such a moment. Ignatius called for the lad to enter. The door flew open and Minus fell into the room, only just halting before he cannoned into the red-robed figure now standing by the desk. “Your Eminence, the witch is back and there be hell to pay,” blurted out the clerk. Ignatius gazed at him in disgust. “What witch? What the hell are you talking about, Minus?” Minus pointed out the window at the smoke still drifting into the upper atmosphere. “The witch Mildred Evangelista,” he panted. “She’s come to the palace and demands to see you. Says she brings demand for payment.” “What nonsense is this? The witch Evangelista is dead. We burned her at the stake but a few hours ago.” “But I seen her meself,” gabbled the clerk, all thought of propriety before the cardinal gone in his distress. “I dunno how but she’s back and all blackened and smoking.” The Cardinal fingered the triangular beard at his chin. It was annoying but it seemed he would have to investigate the matter. “Calm down, Minus. I will come solve the problem.” He paused before adding, “And attend to your manners when addressing me.” When the clerk had slowed his breathing and seemed a bit more steady, Ignatius pointed at the door and Minus led the way into the maze of corridors that led to the audience hall. Once there, the Cardinal was most surprised to see that his clerk had been quite accurate in his description of the witch. Her clothes were charred and still emitted a lazy column of grey smoke, and her face was black with soot, her hair a tangled remnant of once-luxurious curls. She stood upon the richly patterned carpet, her clothes dropping ashes and black embers to sully the precious weave. In spite of her altered state, Ignatius could see that she was indeed the witch Evangelista. “Well, Mildred,” he said, “have you returned to allow me to burn you again? I don’t know how you escaped, but it seems a pretty trick at the least.” An enormous grin split the witch’s features. “Escaped I did not, your Eminence. I have been down among the sinners and return now with a message from the master of that dark realm.” “I see,” said the Cardinal. “And why should I believe this nonsense?” “Oh, it’s true alright,” responded the witch. Turning away, she yelled a word into the great vault of the hall. “Abardinacuum!” An enormous figure, well over seven foot tall, green, and heavily built, appeared beside her. The witch turned back to Ignatius. “This is my demon escort,” she explained. “He’s here in case you need any additional persuasion. You’re to come with me to the Underworld. You have a bill to pay.” The Cardinal was surprisingly cool in his response. “An official visit, you mean?” For a moment the witch stared back at him in consternation. The demon nudged her and she spoke. “Er, yes, I guess you could call it that.” “Excellent,” said Ignatius. “Lead on then, Mildred.” As they turned to walk down the length of the hall, the Cardinal called out, “Have dinner ready for my return, Minus. This won’t take long.” Minus hurried off to do his bidding. He had nothing to lose. If his master returned, all would be well. If not, well, Minus would have a decent dinner that night. Word count: 693 For “13,” 10.30.24 Prompt: "The Witch is back and there's hell to pay." —Winifred, Hocus Pocus |
| Scooby Don’t “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!” Andrew Melchor shouted the words at the four teenagers and a dog watching him being bundled into the police van. His face twisted in rage as he spoke. It galled him to see the satisfaction on their faces at having solved another haunting mystery. Yet his expression changed as he took a seat on the bench in the van. A satisfied smile creased his features and he permitted himself a quiet snigger. Stupid kids, he thought. They think they won by unmasking me. How little they know. As the van lurched and began the trip back to police headquarters, Melchor slipped out of the handcuffs and moved to the locked doors at the rear. When he judged that the van was out of sight of the house, he melted through the doors and slipped away into the night. He laughed and spoke his pride into the darkness. Can’t hold a good ghost down! he declared. Word count: 171 For “13,” 10.29.24 Prompt: “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!” —Every Villain, Scooby Doo. |
| Kweekwee and the Geese Everyone knows that geese fly south for the winter, but there was one year in which they did not do so. This was all because of a mouse named Kweekwee, and this is his story. In those days, the geese lived out on the open plains in the land of many lakes. They never went into the forests that covered the higher land, but one night they had a visitor from that place. It was the mouse they came to know as Kweekwee. He was tired, bedraggled and afraid, having only just evaded an attack from one of the owls that lived in the forest. Rather than become the owl’s dinner, he had run out of the forest and found himself in the goose camp. The geese were kind to Kweekwee and allowed him to stay with them that summer. He spent the time feeding on the grass seeds so abundant in that area and entertaining his hosts with stories from his vast store of mouse lore. Everyone liked the little mouse and was glad that they had helped him in his hour of need. One day Kweekwee heard that the geese were preparing to leave the plains and fly away. In the evening, when they were settling down to hear his stories, the mouse asked them why they were going. “We do this every year,” explained the head goose. “We fly to other lands where the sun is hot and food plentiful.” “Is it far?” asked the mouse. “Could I walk there?” He quite liked the idea of a place as bountiful as the geese described. “Oh no,” they said. “It is many, many miles away and even we are exhausted at the end of our flight.” “Then why go there? There is enough food here.” “That is not what we have heard. The owls told us that a great cold falls on this land at the end of the year and we should escape it by flying south.” Kweekwee thought about this. He knew it was true that the great cold would come but he wanted to stay in the protection of the geese. “Why do you believe the owls?” he asked. “It is well known that owls are the wisest of creatures,” answered the head goose. The mouse saw his opportunity. “The owls are not what they seem,” he declared. “They aren’t?” “No,” replied Kweekwee. “While it is true that it will become much colder soon, there is much shelter in the forest and food if you know where to look for it.” “But you did not want to go back to the forest.” “It would be safe for me if you were there to protect me. And I could show you where to find food and dens to shelter from the cold.” The geese discussed the idea and decided that they could not desert their little friend who knew so much about the forest. They would stay. When winter came, they all moved into the forest as planned. They made little shelters from the branches and leaf litter and the mouse showed them where to find the secret food stores of the squirrels. Unfortunately, this annoyed the squirrels and both groups found the winter a hungry time as the food grew scarce. The cold too bit hard at the geese and they soon wished that they had flown south. The owls shook their heads and said things like, “We warned you.” And the geese learned the lesson. When spring came, they eagerly returned to the open plains. Kweekwee, whose popularity had dwindled over the winter, stayed behind in the forest and went back to a furtive life, keeping out of the way of marauding owls. Out on the plains and lakes, the geese were happy again in the sunshine. And that is why owls may be called wise, but geese are often deemed silly. Little is said of mice, however, perhaps because they are small enough to escape notice. Word count: 663 For “13,” 10.28.24 Prompt: Day 10: “The owls are not what they seem.” —The Giant, Twin Peaks. |
| A Tale of my Grandmother My grandmother always claimed that she never drank alcohol. When pressed, she would doggedly maintain her abstinence. Her sister, Elsie, would support her in this, asserting that she, too, was a teetotaller. We accepted their claims, knowing that it probably originated in their adherence to a less than popular Christian denomination. Which also accounted for my being christened in a Congregationalist church, long before I was old enough to have a say in such proceedings. Some time after Elsie’s death, the old lady became incapable of looking after herself, and my wife and I agreed to move in to help her. It was then that we became aware of my grandmother’s nightly ritual of “the tonic.” Every evening, she would look at the clock, see that the time had arrived and go to the cabinet in the corner. From this she would extract a small glass and a bottle of dark liquid. Having poured herself a glass of this liquid and with the bottle safely back in the cabinet, she would proceed to her favourite chair and sit there, sipping at her glass contentedly. Our curiosity as to the nature of the liquid was aroused, naturally. Any enquiries were always met with the assertion that it was “the tonic.” My wife and I exchanged looks at these junctures and, eventually, decided that we should find out the truth for ourselves. We examined the bottle in the cabinet. It was sherry. We pointed this out to her. “It’s tonic,” she asserted. “I never drink alcohol.” “Actually, Gran, it’s sherry,” I advised. “I know that’s what it’s called,” she said. “There’s no alcohol in it.” “Yes, there is. In fact, sherry is quite a strong wine from Spain.” “Nonsense,” she replied. “I never drink … wine.” I decided to let it go. It was a harmless habit at her age, anyhow. And maybe it was a tonic after all. She lived to the age of ninety-seven. Word count: 323 For “13,” 10.27.24 Prompt: Day 9: "I never drink...wine." —Dracula. |
| Seeing is Believing “There’s a little witch in all of us,” said Millie Davis. Her sister, Sarah looked up from her book. “Not me. Not interested in all that nonsense.” Millie looked around the computer monitor. “I can prove it.” “ Don’t be silly. There’s no way to prove such a vague statement.” “Yes there is. Come and look at this.” Sarah rose from the armchair and moved to stand behind Millie, looking over her shoulder at the monitor. It was open at a page from Ancestry dot com. “Hermione Grav Murdock,” she read aloud. “That’s our great great great great grandmother,” said Millie. Sarah shrugged. “So what?” “Read on.” Sarah did so. “Accused of being a witch, probably because of her dwarf stature.” “See?” said Millie. “There’s a little witch in all of us.” Word count: 131 For “13,” 10.26.24 Prompt: Day 8: “There’s a little witch in all of us.” — Aunt Jet Owens, Practical Magic. |
| Home Sweet Home Justin was ready for Halloween. But things were going to be different this year, of that he was certain. For one thing, he had not put any decorations outside the house this time. No jack o’ lanterns in the porch, no eerie lights in the trees or grotesque figures on the lawn. He had even made sure that the light above the front door was turned off. Inside, he had kept all the lights off as well. It made things a bit difficult in the evening, when the light began to fade, and it was no longer possible to read. And the television remained cold and dead in its corner, completing the night’s lack of entertainment. It was going to be boring for a few hours, he knew that. But it would be worth it to evade the whole business of Halloween. No more the silly pretence of being impressed with the costumes of the kids who came knocking. And no need to buy candies to hand out to undeserving little customers so confident in their expectations. This time Justin was taking no part in the proceedings, as ridiculous a festival as it was. Of course, he knew that the darkened house might not be enough to discourage the most persistent of the revellers. There was always the chance that they might come peering through the windows to see if anyone was at home. Well, Justin was prepared for that. He had set up a comfortable little nook for himself behind the couch. A folded blanket in the narrow space, together with a few scattered cushions, and a cell phone to amuse himself with a few games or perhaps a foray onto the net, and he’d be able to spend the hours in comparative comfort. It was bound to be better than standing at the door on this cold night, digging into a bowl of candy to hand out to packs of expectant little horror impersonators, he reasoned. How he resented all the previous times when custom had forced him to waste his time in so idiotic a fashion. As the gloom in the house thickened into genuine darkness, he made his way to the living room and inserted himself into his prepared refuge. For a while he lay there listening. It was not long before he could hear occasional shouts and laughter from outside but no one knocked on his door. He relaxed, confident now that his ruse had worked and he would be left alone to spend the hours as he wanted to, free from interruptions and irritations. He flicked his cell phone on and started to play his favourite game. An hour later, Justin awoke from a doze. He had heard a noise from inside the house. Someone was in the living room. He froze and the sound came again. It was the noise of a cough, muffled and held back, but instantly identifiable. Justin froze, certain that a burglar had somehow found a way into the house and was now in the process of robbing him. He dared not confront him, doubtful that he could do so without being roughed up at the least. Time seemed to stretch the moments into minutes and Justin began to wonder if the burglar had taken what he wanted and gone. And then a voice cut through the silence. “You might as well come out, Justin. I know you’re in there.” The voice was quiet, slightly hoarse and followed by another smothered cough. “Damn this cold,” came the mutter. It seemed the game was up. Justin popped up behind the couch. There was a creature sitting in his favourite chair by the window. The darkness made it hard to see any detail but Justin could make out enough to realise that the shape was not quite human. It was too large, seemed totally hairless, and had enormous, pointed ears protruding from its head. A costume, perhaps? “Who are you?” asked Justin. “Ah, introductions to begin with,” said the creature. “How quaint. Well, I suppose it was time you learned about me. I, Justin, am your friendly neighbourhood demon.” He paused for a moment, presumably to allow this information to sink in, and then continued. “No need to introduce yourself - you’re sort of a special interest of mine and I know all about you. My name is Gastripugabaggle but, seeing that you’ll probably find it impossible to pronounce correctly, I shall permit you to call me Gassy.” He laughed then and added, “Which you will find appropriate, I’m sure.” A enormous fart erupted from his behind to lend emphasis to his words. Justin moved from behind the couch and sat down on it instead. “Why are you here?” he asked. “All these questions,” answered the demon. “Well, I have the time…” He looked hard at Justin. “Not that you have. Anyway, I noticed your lack of preparations for Halloween this year and figured you were going to give it a miss. Which suited me, because it gives me a chance to speak to you alone on this most special of occasions. Always good to take such opportunities, don’t you think? “You see, it’s not that I don’t agree with you regarding the modern way of celebrating Halloween. Quite disgusting, in fact, is my opinion and I long for the old days when it used to mean something. But, if you had turned your back on it, there wouldn’t be a better time to take advantage of what you have become. “I’ve come to take you home, Justin.” He fell silent and watched as Justin absorbed the impact of his words. For a few moments, Justin could not speak but then he managed one word. “Home?” The demon smiled. “Oh, you know, Justin. The hot place you’ve heard so much about. It’s only the just reward for all your miserable deeds and all that. You’ve heard a lot about it I’m sure. We’ve been waiting for you to reach the threshold score and today you managed it.” He gestured at their surroundings. “Crouching in the dark like the pathetic wretch you are, it’s really your lowest point, Justin.” His smile grew broader. “But, never mind. We’re going to have so much fun!” Word count: 1,040 For “13,” 10.25.24 Prompt: "So how come Halloween is such a big yawner? I mean, do the demons just hate how commercial it's become?” —Buffy Summers, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. |
| Interactive Dream Therapy Dr Venner found himself in a darkened room with moonlight forming bright squares on the timbered floor. There was enough light to see that there was no furniture and the walls were peeling and gaping in places where the plaster had crumbled. An abandoned house therefore, he thought, though hardly nightmarish. He listened for a while but the house was shrouded in silence. Which meant that he would have to search the place for his patient. Karl would be here somewhere, Venner knew that. But he had not expected that it would take an effort to find him. Usually he was delivered right next to the patient without ado. There were two ways into the room. Venner chose one at random and moved to it. The hinges grumbled as he opened the door. Stepping though, he found himself in a lobby, an even darker space with fewer windows. There was a doorway in three of the four walls. One was larger and imposing, clearly the entrance to the house. Opposite this, a staircase ascended into stygian blackness. Venner investigated the remaining door and found it much like his arrival point and just as empty. Then he felt his way along the narrow passages on either side of the staircase. They led to a kitchen and a bathroom, both dilapidated and without furniture or decoration of any kind. Whoever had lived here had taken everything with them when they left, that was obvious. Returning to the lobby, Venner began the climb up the stairs. His eyes well adjusted to the darkness now, he could see that the landing he came to had three more doors. Two yielded the same results as the ground floor. It had to be the last room then, he reasoned. He opened the door. At first, he thought that this room, too, was empty. But then he saw the hunched figure crouching in the darkest corner. He approached. The figure shrank down even further into the corner and peered up at Venner. Its voice was broken and hoarse as it spoke in little more than a whisper. “Leave me alone. I’ve suffered enough.” Venner could see now that it was Karl. Totally transformed from the six foot Adonis that had come to the doctor’s office in search of help but somehow the same person as this shattered and fearful wretch. “Karl, it’s me, Doctor Venner. I’m here to help you.” The whites of Karl’s eyes showed as they bulged in fear. “Why would you do that?” he asked. “You remember, Karl. You’re in IDT and this is part of the treatment. We can work out this problem together.” “IDT? What’s that?” “Interactive Dream Therapy,” explained Venner. “We can get inside your dreams now and help patients to solve any problems they’re having. You came to us because you’re having terrible nightmares. Remember?” Karl began to relax as he recalled the events of the last few days. He was still guarded, however. His next question revealed this. “I thought this happened in dreams. Where is this place?” “You are dreaming, Karl. And this place is in your dream.” The man looked around as though seeing it for the first time. Understanding began to show itself on his face and he unfolded himself and began to stand up. “So it’s just a dream?” “Exactly,” said Venner. “Although I’m a bit surprised that it isn’t more frightening. The way you described it, the word “nightmare” was more appropriate.” Karl looked sharply at him then. “So you haven’t seen them yet?” “I suppose not,” replied Venner. “When do they appear?” Again, Karl looked around the room in fear. “At any moment,” he said. “But maybe they’re waiting because you’re here. It’s me they’re after really.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “In which case, you should stick with me. That’ll be a help, at least.” “It’s what I’m here for.” Karl smiled. “Thank God for that. Oh, and welcome to my nightmare, Doctor. Who knows, without monsters, you might even enjoy it here.” Before Venner could answer, a low growl issued from outside the room. Karl looked up in terror. “Oh no, they’re here after all.” He stepped back into the corner and began to slide into a crouch again. Venner held out a hand. “They can’t hurt you, Karl. It’s just a dream, remember.” “That’s not all I remember,” replied Karl. “I haven’t told you the half of it. They…” He stopped, clearly having had an idea. “But you’re right, I’m dreaming.” Once again he paused before continuing. “And, if I’m dreaming, I can wake myself up.” Venner started forward immediately. “No, no, don’t do that! Let me get out first or I’ll be trapped without a way…” It was too late. Karl vanished and the doctor was left alone in the room. “...Out,” he finished. Now he would have to continue the dream until Karl slept again. And there was something outside the door. The growl came again. Word count: 830 For “13,” 10.24.24 Prompt: “Welcome to my nightmare. I think you're gonna like it." —Alice Cooper, “Welcome to My Nightmare”. |
| Grimly Arnold Grimly was at the laboratory window again, staring out at the moor receding into the distance. The cloud had lowered itself down upon the heath, threatening, but not quite delivering, rain. It was a familiar sight to Grimly and echoed the misery of his thoughts. How typical it was of the company to build its headquarters in so lonely and desolate a spot. Other corporations chose bright, green, and modern sites that reflected their ambitious and adventurous spirits. But not Grandma’s Famous Remedies Inc.. No, their image of a solid dependence on tradition demanded they work in such serious, Gothic surroundings as Cragley Moor, that they live up to their motto of “Medicines that kept Granny healthy.” What puzzled Grimly was that the company’s approach seemed to be so successful with the public. Customers were most impressed with the claims of the tried and true and still bought the old remedies, rather than trusting the claims of newer pharmaceuticals. People were so gullible. Much of Grimly’s job involved research into new and more effective cures, so he knew the company’s adverts were nonsense. He turned away from the window and made his way back to the large cauldron where he produced his concoctions. Sticking to such outdated methods was just one of the irritations that beset him. Grimly stared down into the steaming sludge that represented his latest combination of unlikely constituents. Laboratory assistant, he thought. That’s all I am, a laboratory assistant. Sure, they can give us fancy titles like “Apothecary,” but we’re really just laboratory assistants. Even my boss, Mannerton, he’s just another lab assistant. No wonder he’s given up and does nothing more than drink himself into oblivion in his office these days. Probably how I’ll end up if… Let’s not think about that. If this latest batch behaves as it’s intended, I won’t have to worry about anything like that. And this company will pay the price for what they’ve done to me. He picked up the giant ladle that graced the table by the cauldron and began to stir the disgusting mixture. A familiar rhyme echoed through his mind, as it always did at this point. Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble. There was a pause before he thought, Correction. Make that “lab assistant witch.” Grimly had a plan. It had grown alongside his increasingly dark thoughts as he pondered on the way the company had mistreated him. Not content with enticing him into its employ with false promises and gross exaggerations, they had ground him down slowly by leaving him isolated out here on the moor, far beyond the reach of job offers from competitors, and on a pay scale that ensured he would never be able to afford a bid for freedom. But now he had a plan. His hopes lay in this very batch of Granny’s Patent Elixir (good for indigestion pains, flatulence, stomach ache, nervous disorders) that he was currently working on. It had taken him a long time to come up with the perfect “extra” ingredient to transform the mix from a fairly effective laxative into something much more interesting. And at last he was certain that he had succeeded in his quest. It would be a subtle change, nothing lethal or harmful, but its effect would be to make the patient happier than ever before. They would become so happy that their largely imagined illnesses would recede into the background and be forgotten. And happy customers don’t need medicine for imaginary ailments. Grandma’s sales would plummet as a result, with the inevitable outcome of staff “rationalisation.” As the sole producer of Grandma’s most popular and yet suddenly immovable product, Grimly would be the first to go. It would be freedom at last! The thought brought a smile to Grimly’s face as he stirred and stirred, the fumes from the syrupy elixir wafting up into his face and perhaps adding to his euphoria. And then, with the thought of telling the other cauldron stirrers the secret before he left, filling him with enthusiasm, he threw his head back and laughed out loud, a terrible, screeching sound that could only be described as a witch’s cackle. Word count: 700 For “13,” 10.23.24 Prompt: "Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble." – From Shakespeare's Macbeth. |
| The Fuddler Wonder Woman pressed the button to ring the door bell. From inside came the strains of heavy, thumping music and the decorative windows in the door flickered in changing colours with the lights from inside. It seemed the party was in full swing already. Then the door opened and the noise of music and chatter swept over Wonder like a wave. The flushed face of Batgirl peered out at her. “Oh, Wonder - you made it after all.” The words came breathlessly, as though Batgirl was fresh from her keep-fit exercises. The dancing had become strenuous, it seemed. “Black Widow’s covering for me,” replied Wonder. “She was never a great one for parties.” Batgirl nodded in understanding. “But come in, come in. The party’s really getting hot and you’ll need a drink.” Wonder stepped through the door and was led down a short passage decorated with balloons and streamers. The noise reached a crescendo as they passed through a door into a large hall. It was pulsing with the beat and flashing lights from a DJ’s set-up at one end and the floor was filled with superheroes engaged in energetic dance. A few chatted on the outskirts of the heaving mob, obviously those who were less inclined to such aggressively social pursuits. Batgirl took Wonder’s hand and dragged her to one side where there was a table laden with various drinks. Then a hand reached out from the dancers and dragged Batgirl into the melee. “Help yourself to a drink,” came her shout as she disappeared among the writhing forms. Wonder poured some punch into a plastic mug and then leaned back against the table to survey the action. The pounding music made it hard to think and the constant movement became a mass of confusing shape and colour as the lights blinked on and off. Just a few paces from the table, and drawn back against the wall, Batman and Robin stared gloomily at the crowd. Wonder wondered, not for the first time, what sort of relationship bound those two together. Vixen provided some sort of answer as she appeared from the crush and pulled Batman into the fray. Wonder turned to look the other way along the wall. A most unusual figure was advancing towards her. In that scene of garishly coloured and costumed characters, this person seemed as out of place as it was possible to be. She was short, a little old lady, so different from the statuesque young heroes that dominated the dance floor. Dressed in black weeds like a widow, shod in solid, sensible shoes, and crowned with a Spanish lace headdress, she gave a fair impression of the evil witch fairy at the princess’ birthday party. Wonder watched as the figure drew closer to her and stopped within a distance that allowed conversation in the midst of the racket. The wrinkled face cracked open and she shouted an opening line. “You must be Wonder Woman.” In contrast to the wizened figure that produced it, the voice was strong and unwavering, in complete contrast to Wonder’s expectations. “I suppose I must be,” answered Wonder. “And who might you be?” The woman laughed, a light, attractive sound, so surprising in its ease and confidence that Wonder glanced around to see if it came from someone else. “They call me The Fuddler,” said the woman. “Funny name. Are you a superhero?” “Oh yes,” came the answer. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Well, your costume isn’t exactly the kind of thing superheroes usually choose. What’s your superpower?” The Fuddler struck a pensive pose, finger pointing upwards to touch her ancient lips. “You’d be amazed how often I’m asked that,” she said. “I do have superstrength but I’ve never had occasion to use it. My talents are in, err, other directions.” Wonder was fascinated by the contradictions the old woman presented. “So why the costume?” she asked. The Fuddler spread her arms with hands open upwards, as though the answer was obvious. “"A person should always choose a costume which is in direct contrast to her own personality.” Wonder Woman humphed. “Never heard that one,” she said. “Who said it?” “Lucy from the Peanuts cartoon. You’d surely not argue with the wisdom of Charlie Schulz?” The Fuddler winked and the room seemed to brighten with the power of her smile. Wonder shook her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She paused and then added, "But you, Fuddler, have me completely befuddled.” The Fuddler laughed. "There you are, you see? It’s working already.” Word count: 752 For “13,” 10.22.24 Prompt: "A person should always choose a costume which is in direct contrast to her own personality.” —Lucy, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. |
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You always create the most fun characters. Maybe it's my overactive imagination, but I had a Disney scene all pictured as I read through this. And Gecko's menu for the party sounds delish. 
