Street in California

Copyright–Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Here we are again. We’ve gathered at the tables of a virtual sidewalk cafe in Hollywood. We’re here in the movie capital of the U.S. to discuss our original stories for another week. Our hostess for this weekly event is the talented and gracious author and artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This is the coming together of the Friday Fictioneer’s group. The challenge is to each write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to include a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. The prompt this week was supplied by our hostess herself, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thanks again Rochelle.

The link for all the other stories is as follows:


Genre:  Humor Fiction

Word Count:  100 Words


Mamie Brunfield had been a big, big movie and TV star in the 1950’s. Now in her 80’s, with a great memory, she was going to write her memoir. She had known many men intimately and worked with many stars still alive. Fear in Hollywood was living and breathing.

She hired a ghost writer to come to her spacious mansion perched in the Hollywood hills.

Earnest Dithing was seriously thinking of suing Mamie for slander.

“What did I ever see in the old goat?” he asked his young, shapely blond wife.

“Will I lose my bee-oo-ti-ful diamonds Ernie-wernie?” she whimpered.






Copyright–Janet Webb


Here we are once more gathered in the virtual front room of our gracious and talented hostess, author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re here to share our original stories for the weekly meeting of Friday Fictioneers. Our challenge is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to include a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt supplied for the week. The prompt this week is supplied by Janet Webb. Thanks Janet.


Genre:  Horror Fantasy

Word Count:  100 Words


Terrifying dreams haunted Marjorie the last few nights. First came the tap at the bathroom window, next the moan. She was looking in the mirror when the window started to rise. Then the dream stopped and she woke, covered with sweat.

She was now alone since her husband’s death. Her fear increased, but she hesitated to tell anyone about the dreams for fear they’d laugh and think her foolish.

On Sunday evening she’d come home from her book club meeting. As she checked her hair in the bathroom mirror, there was a tap at the window, then a low moan.



Sewer Lid

Copyright — Adam Ickes

This is my June story for Storybook Corner hosted by Adam Ickes. Each story is supposed to be from 300 to 500 words in length, or longer if thought necessary, and be inspired by the photo prompt provided that month by Adam.


Genre: Horror Fiction

Word Count: 496


As old as oxygen, she now lived in the sewers of the city; there were no more caves. Caves were what she craved; cool and damp with the scent of the earth and the different animals that came. Eating them had filled her with strength and increased her power over life. Immortal, she wouldn’t have understood death.

Rats were plentiful, but she ate little these days and could feel her energy drain.  Sewage was gradually sickening her. She only knew she felt different. Was her life force leaving her after all these ages? What could she do? Survival once meant moving from caves to the sewer. Should she move out and seek other cover?

At times, other strange animals came, but didn’t stay long. They did something to the hard, hollow vines in her lair. Hiding was her protection against these animals. She hadn’t thought of them as prey; should she? They could be captured. Why not?

Raking her claws on the walls of her lair sharpened them. Saliva streamed down her chin as she thought of her new prey. This prey would take strength as did larger animals of long ago

Rob and Sid climbed down into the Summit Street sewer. A leak had been reported and they had to inspect for it. Sid was slender, Rob stocky. They started down the tunnel.

About one block along, Rob thought he heard footsteps, the splash of feet in the water. Something large moved off to one side. “Who would want to be down here besides us?” he asked in disgust. “It’s filthy and stinks.”

Sid had moved slightly ahead. He heard Rob’s last words, “…and stinks.” He heard no more. Turning, he glanced back. “What the hell?” Rob had disappeared. “Rob. Rob.” A patch of blood was smeared on the sewer wall, but nothing else.

Sid froze in place. That kind of fear hadn’t ripped though him since Afghanistan when he survived an attack by the Taliban. It all returned like a dreaded dream. His flight response struck in a rush and he started running until he spotted the next metal ladder. Grabbing for it, he climbed upward. In a surge of desperate strength he raised the heavy manhole cover which thumped onto the pavement. Boosting himself onto the night street, he laid still on the cool pavement, sucking in the night air. His heart banged so hard against his ribs it  threatened to burst through.

Within hours, a crime scene unit  searched the sewer. They found no body, just shredded clothing and blood.

It seemed she’d traveled a great distance from the city with the body of her latest prey balanced on her shoulders. At last she found a new cave, actually an old mine. Others like this one she carried were nearby in a small gathering of animal-made caves. She would now have all she needed to survive.