The Wizard’s Curse


 Copywrite–John Nixon

This is my story for Friday Fictioneers this week. It’s a weekly challenge to tell a story in 100 words with a beginning, middle, and end. It is to follow the picture prompt provided for that week. It’s hosted by the talented and gracious author and researcher, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo prompt is provided by John Nixon. Thanks, John.


The Wizard’s Curse by P.S. Joshi

In ancient times there lived a powerful and cruel ruler, feared by everyone.

One day he saw a beautiful maiden in the village and fell deeply in love. He decided to ask for her hand in marriage. However, when he proposed, she refused him. Furious, he called his wizard and demanded she be cursed.

What he didn’t know was that the wizard had secretly married, and this girl was his daughter.

“Daughter,” said the wizard, “I will hide you and curse a tree to wither, saying it is you.”

This he showed to the vengeful ruler, who was mightily pleased. friday-fictioneers


Sunday Photo Fiction–Fog Bank


Fog Bank by P.S. Joshi

It was a pleasant evening at the boat club. A wind had sprung up and waves were slapping against the moored yachts. A fog bank was slowly rolling toward shore.

Tom, the grizzled night watchman, limped toward me, his cap pulled down on his head.

“She’ll show up tonight. It’s about time.”

He leaned forward and peered out at the fog. “There she is now. Ain’t she a beauty?”

I focused and I saw her, a stately luxury yacht, confidently gliding through the choppy waves on the edge of the fog bank.

“What a beauty.” I whispered back. “Who does she belong to?”

“That’s the Helena. Belonged to Mr. Jack Bingham. He’d inherited a gold mine or two.”

“What do you meaned ‘belonged’?”

He chuckled. “Just what I said.”

“Then he couldn’t afford to keep the boat?”

“Wasn’t a matter of affording.” He then said with a maddening smile on his wrinkled face.

“Does someone else own the boat now?”

“Nope, Mr. Bryce. He took a deep breath. “You’re lookin’ at a ghost boat. Only time you see her is on nights like this. Went down twenty years ago. A storm. Never found her, Mr. Bingham, or the crew.”

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction.




This is my story for Storybook Corner for March. It’s a monthly flash fiction prompt held on the 21st of each month and hosted by Adam Ickes. The story can be from 300 to 500 words in length and must follow the prompt for the month. Anyone is welcome to send in their story.


George by P.S. Joshi

I was sure glad to get this job. I understood the basic work, and was willing to put in some extra hours without pay while learning. Sid Mackey introduced me to the night guard and gave me my personal key to the office door.

The first night I was there I met George. George Binder, from an office down the hall, was also always staying after regular hours. He told me, “I’ve been doing that for years and nobody’s complained yet. I work better at night when it’s quiet.”

We always spoke in passing each other. He kept to himself otherwise.  A conservative guy, I doubt he’d bought any new clothes in years. I respected that as I’m not a big spender either, just to keep an up-to-date wardrobe.

It was August and blistering hot. Just on the walk back from the corner diner, my shirt got soaked with sweat. The air conditioning in the building seemed to vary from floor to floor. The lobby was cool. On our Third Floor hall, I could see my breath.

One night I asked George, “The temperature on this floor ever bother you?”

He just laughed. “I don’t let the temperature on this floor worry me. I’m used to it by now. I have worse things to worry about.”

No one else ever complained, and they seemed annoyed if I did, so I just kept my mouth shut about it.

Sid Mackey said, “Bring a sweater.”

Dick Boynton said, “Drink hot coffee.”

However, Ajit Shah looked worried. “Bill, don’t complain about such things. Complaints will make these guys unhappy with you.”

A week ago, as we passed in the hall, I noticed something about George I’d somehow missed before. He had what seemed to be a wound on his throat at collar level. It seemed to have bled as there was dried blood on his shirt collar. I hated to say anything, but it worried me.

“George,” I said cautiously the next day. “You should see to that neck wound. It could get infected.”

It was the only time I’d ever seen him angry. “Mind your own business!” he snapped back.

After that, I did. He also walked with a noticeable limp, but I’m not nosy. I hate nosy people.

This morning I decided to find out more about George. I asked Sid as he seemed the most easy-going of the guys.

He paused for a moment as he seemed to make up his mind how to put what he had to say. “Bill, you’ve met our resident ghost. He was killed about ten years ago by a guy trying to steal his wallet. The guy kicked him in the leg, then stabbed him in the neck. They never did get the guy who did it. I guess George is just the kind of dedicated person who has to do his job, even after death. The office where he worked closed up and moved when he started to appear.


The Neighbor


Copyright  —  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

This is my story for Friday Fictioneers this week. It’s a weekly challenge to write a story in 100 words with a beginning, middle, and end. It follows the picture prompt provided for that week. It’s hosted by the talented and gracious Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week the photo was also provided by her. Thanks Rochelle.


The  Neighbor by P.S. Joshi

I live on Floor Five of the old Ramsey Hill Towers. Every day elderly Mrs. Judson from Floor Four gets on to go for her morning walk, as I’m riding to the basement parking garage. We say, “Hello” and a few words about the weather. She then gets off in the lobby.

This morning she seemed pale and a little confused. She didn’t say anything. I thought about it during the day since it was unusual.

When I came home this evening, my husband said, “Guess what! Mrs. Judson’s son found her last night. She was on the floor dead.”


The Wetland


  Copyright  —  Adam Ickes

This is my story for Friday Fictioneers this week. It’s a weekly challenge to tell a story in 100 words with a beginning, middle and end. It follows the picture prompt provided for that week. It’s hosted by former Girl Scout, the gracious and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week the picture is a photo supplied by Adam Ickes. Thanks Adam.


The Wetland by P.S. Joshi’

George asked his dad, “Why is there a bridge over the land?’

“Well son, it looks like land but it’s called a wetland. You’d sink down and get stuck if you walked on it.”

“Can they drain it?”

 “Yes. They could. It’s been done. There’s a lot of life there though that would get destroyed. Also, if a bad storm comes, that area can flood.”

He remembered having been shown homes built on drained wetland.

The agent said, “We never get bad flooding here. Never happened.”

A few years later, people from those homes had to be rescued by boat.




Copyright —  Danny Bowman

This is my story for Friday Fictioneers this week. It’s a weekly challenge to tell a story in 100 words that follows the photo prompt for the week. It’s hosted by the gracious and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week the photo was supplied by Danny Bowman. Thanks Danny.


Dad finally agreed to call the County Extension agent to come and look at our back yard.

Dad had done everything he could think of to bring it back to life. He dug to loosen the soil, watered, fertilized, seeded, dug again, watered again. He’d been raised on a farm and loved the land. Retired, this was his hobby.

Chuck Wilson, the agent, finally pulled up. He shook his head and dug a bit. He then solemnly looked at Dad. “Tom, Tom, I told you easy does it. You really overdid this time. You’ve gone and killed all the earthworms.”


I got up at 4:30 this morning and published a book. What did you do today?

To anyone who reads my blog I’m reblogging this for Adam Ickes since he’s just published his book. P.S. Joshi

Adam Ickes

Yes. You read that title right. I was up at 4:30 this morning, and I used that extra hour and a half to publish a book I’ve been working hard to finish. I apologize if that makes you feel a bit less productive. To be honest, I hadn’t planned on getting up any earlier than normal. I had planned on waiting until tonight to publish this bad boy, but I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Whether that was due to anticipation or my wife’s snoring I dare not hazard a guess. In lieu of sleep, I decided to be productive and push this project past the finish line.

And now, the great reveal… Say hello to my little friend:


100 stories.
100 words each.
Tiny snippets of terror for your consumption.

Take them in one at a time and savor the twisted flavor of death and destruction…

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