Tuesday Tales Picture Prompt: Krampus Waits

It has been a long long LONG time coming, right? I’m finally (FINALLY, I know) getting back into Tuesday Tales, and I’m very happy to be doing so!

This week was a picture prompt with a max word count of 300 words. It’s such a peaceful, glorious scene, yet I couldn’t help but feel that I’d missed out on a lot of holiday-themed prompts. And there was something I’ve been wanting to do…someone I’ve been wanting to write about. So, since I like to shake things up, I decided to go with my first instinct and write a short about who might be looking down at such a glorious view and the villages that might be waiting at the bottom of the mountains. Obviously this would be Krampus, Saint Nicholas’ demonic henchman helper whose job it is to punish the naughty children. (Nope, totally not making that up. For a complete head trip and some educational information, you can learn about Krampus HERE

You know you missed me. Heh.

Krampus Waits

The snow was crisp and the air cold, giving a pleasant tint to the scenic view. Trees sloped downward to the valley and mountain after mountain rose on its other side.

Soon.

Everyone in the tiny villages below was readying themselves for December sixth, for the feast of Saint Nicholas and all the good things that would bring. Somewhere, though, there were also those who shuddered, knowing that to get to those pleasant times, they had to get through December fifth.

The creature smiled at the thought. The cold couldn’t touch him through his heavy, dark fur. His claws twitched in anticipation and tendrils of saliva trickled off of sharp teeth.

Soon.

Wood smoke and pine curled his nostrils, but his keen sense of smell could pick up other smells, too. The smells of hot blood and young meat, the scent of youth and innocence just slightly tainted with disobedience. Children.  Naughty children.

The demon smiled, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth in anticipation. It had been a whole year and he’d worked up an appetite.

Very soon.

He could just make out the worried cries.

“He won’t get me, will he, Mama?”

“Is he real?”

“Have I been good?”

The innocent pleas of children. Parents reassured them, but they were nervous, too.  Terrified of the one who came down and helped the good saint. The one who would judge their children. The one who would drag them to Hell if he found them lacking.

Soon the old one will come for me. Soon it will be time to deliver gifts and good cheer…and other things.

It’s my favorite time of year.

Krampus cackled and went back to his den to wait. Far below in the village, for  no apparent reason at all, little children began to cry.

***

For more awesome stories written around prompts, check out the Tuesday Tales Blog!

Tuesday Tales Picture Prompt: Beyond the Arch

Today’s Tuesday Tales is another picture prompt. We got to choose what photo we wanted to work with and I chose this lovely little picture here!

Beyond the Arch 

One did not go past the Guardian Arch.

It was a simple enough rule. Who knew what destinies and dangers lay outside the mossy stone that guarded all? Elaine was risking her very being just by getting so close to it. It was bad enough it was daylight; she should have been resting.

“Mother says there’s nothing beyond the arch that is any different than what’s on our side,” she whispered. The sound was so gentle and delicate – another mid-day breeze. Maybe what she’d been told was true and maybe it was the sort of thing parents told their daughters to protect them. Elaine could only look so far around the bend and it seemed to be just as her mother insisted: more stone. They were the same chiseled shapes that had greeted all her ancestors.

Shadows danced and trickled over the cracks and indentations, calling to Elaine, tempting her. She could barely hear the faint footsteps receding from her He was leaving her, probably forever. I shouldn’t have hidden from him like everyone else. How long has it been since people have visited us? What was I supposed to do? He’d been with a group that had studied the walls of her village, studying it all and making strange marks on little things in their hands. She could care less about them, though. One look at him and she knew that it didn’t matter who he was and where he came from, or any of the obvious differences between them. She was his. She just had to make him believe it…if she survived crossing Guardian Arch.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she called, well knowing that everyone would hear her. With that, the restless spirit of the thousand-year-old girl took a breath and a chance and travelled under the arch.

***

…because apparently I have a thing for supernatural unrequited love or something. Anyway be sure to check out all the other great Tuesday Tales!

Tuesday Tales Special Edition: Picture Prompt!

Hey all! I know,  I missed the regular Tuesday Tales prompt this week – my weekend kersploded and things got away from me. Luckily,  we’re also doing a picture prompt this week so I’m able to get in on that!

This was the picture we were given as a prompt with the theme Tropical and we were given the added challenge of keeping it at 300 words. Of course,  prompts like this always send my mind on a curve.

***

             It didn’t matter that the sky was perfect, the sand warm. The luscious palm trees, the still water – all of it was the setting of the damned. Alanna  looked back behind her where he stood on the island, looking too happy for his own good. Well, you’d be happy too if you were in his shoes.

“Why me?” Alanna stared at the long stick thrust out towards her.

“You couldn’t pay the fee,” Charon shrugged. It was that simple.  All I wanted was a damn vacation, she thought. One week away from the job, the boyfriend, the to-do lists. 

            She bit her lip and wondered what the corpse-like figure would do if she took her top off. Her long fingers slid to the hem of the cami she’d worn on the plane. Strange, I don’t even remember when it went down.

“Sorry, sweets, those parts don’t work anymore,” he muttered.

“This is a dream,” she challenged, and flipped her dark curls over a shoulder. There had to be a way out. “I’m going to wake up any second now.”

“Keep telling yourself that, princess,” Charon smirked, his robes floating on top of the perfect water as he followed her. “Maybe that’ll get you through the first hundred years.”

“I thought you were the ferryman to hell,” she stalled, though backing up just brought her closer to the boat, closer to her doom.

His broad grin cut through the fog in her head and with a sudden thrust he put the oar in her hands, sending her falling back into the boat.

“A tropical paradise and you can’t enjoy it? Believe me, it’s hell.”

She had no choice but to row away and curse her luck as the waving Charon’s robes morphed to a Hawaiian shirt and ridiculous Bermuda shorts.

****

And of course,  don’t forget to check out the other great stories at Tuesday Tales!

Payment

“I’ve done as you asked,” he growled and cast an impudent glare towards the old woman. “I’ve done your dirty work, practically sold my soul for you! Now give me what I’m owed.”

She listened to his demands with a wry, knowing smile. “Aye, you did much for me…or was it for yourself, for a cheap way to glory, I wonder?”

Her chuckle was wind over dry grass. Even though the soldier was younger and more hardened than the crone, still he shuddered.

Though her eyes were bad he got the distinct feeling that she saw right into his scheming heart when she looked at him. “Aye, you’ll get your payment. Mayhaps you’ll learn your lesson and not do what you’re not prepared to live with for a quick coin, eh?”

He went for his dagger as she reached into her robes, but it was only to draw forth a fat money pouch. With another shiver-inducing laugh she turned it upsidedown and watched gleefully as the soldier dropped to his knees to collect the golden waterfall that spilled forth.

He ran his hands through the long grass to collect the coins, sure that what he had forced himself through had been well worth it, only to have calloused fingers rake up pile after pile of shimmering golden leaves. The rising wind lifted the delicate plant remnants, taking them away towards the horizon.

Cursing, his stomach empty and dignity torn, the soldier looked up but she was already gone, her fading laughter the only other proof that she’d ever been there.

(originally posted in my DeviantArt)

photo stories: The Transition

I’ve long had a flirtation with photography. I’m not very good at it, but I enjoy taking walks and clicking whatever interests me. Those who really know me know that my head isn’t flipping from side to side because I’m distracted and I don’t hold my head down on these walks because I’m depressed — I’m always looking at things from different angles and perspectives. I’m also always thinking of what things could be, merging fantasy with the very real-world settings around me.

A few months ago I started flirting with taking some of these pictures as inspiration for a quick story or scene. I wanted to make things as short as I could make them and somewhat relevant to the picture, yet their own world, as well. This first one is from my deviantArt.

“You pass under those trees, lad, and there will be no comin’ back. I brought you out here to warn you, not to encourage you.”

The youth shrugged his shoulders and tried not to look too eager or too hungry. His curiosity had always been his undoing. “What lies beyond the arch, Father?”

The elf sighed, knowing that by asking that one question his son was already lost to him. “The mortal world, such as it is. It wasn’t like in the old days. You wouldn’t be welcome, or even feared. We aren’t the Good Neighbors anymore. We aren’t even Neighbors.”

The boy leaned forward on gangly legs, his long auburn hair that had caught many a maid’s eye gleaming in the sunlight. He had such a bright future ahead of him, and now his attention was turned. Even if he went back home now he’d dream of nothing else and eventually deny all food and drink, wasting away at the draw of the temptation.

“The adventure isn’t worth the price, son,” the elf lord sighed, though the warning was half-hearted. The boy was already walking, already doomed.

“I just want a peek,” the son said to himself. “Just a look at the other side of things. I’ll just lean through, have one foot in and one foot out.” He chuckled at his cleverness, though deep down he knew it was a lie.

“Good-bye, my foolish lad. Be careful,” his father whispered.

As he stepped under the bowed limbs he was momentarily cooled by their green canopy. The grass under his soft leather boots gave way to something hard, a path that had not been there moments ago. A strange crackling buzzed around him. His stomach dropped and an overwhelming fear grabbed him round the throat.

He turned. There was no forest, no familiar village hidden among the trees. Only the path. He turned back and kept walking towards the little fence and the giant, unfamiliar-looking dwellings that were nowhere near as fine as what he was accustomed to. From somewhere he heard the laughter of children, though none of their words were familiar to his ears. Even the air smelled different and he shook as it hit him fully how unprepared he was to make his fortune in this foreign realm.

The elven youth turned and took stock of his surroundings and thrust his chin out sharply, defying his trembling hands. “Well then,” he murmured to himself. “I suppose this is how stories start, isn’t it?”