THE MIDNIGHT MELODY

 

hh-spinet--Jan W. Fields

Photo Copyright: Jan W. Fields

Here we all are again for another week. Today we’re gathered in a virtual room with a virtual harpsichord on display. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our challenge this week and every week is to each write an original story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was supplied by Jan W. Fields. Thanks, Jan.

To read the other stories by the group, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/22-january-2016/

Genre: Humor Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE MIDNIGHT MELODY By P.S. Joshi

My friend Marge and I had often heard about the haunted Fritzen mansion. We decided to pay a fee and spend the night in residence.

It was said the ghost of Mitzie Ann Fritzen, the unmarried daughter of millionaire Horace Fritzen, had haunted for years since her tragic death of a heart attack as she played her favorite plaintive piece on the harpsichord.

It was a chilly, full-moon night.

We arranged our sleeping bags and waited with trepidation.

At midnight. her spirit appeared and began to play.

We both agreed on one point. Mitzie Ann could have used more lessons.

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Written Act of Kindness Award

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ONE STEP BEYOND

Bookstore that's no longer there

 

This  is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction for January 25, 2015. Every Sunday a new picture prompt is given by Alastair Forbes, the host. The weekly challenge is to write an original story with no more than 200 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read all the other stories.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/01/25/sunday-photo-fiction-january-25th-2015/

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words

ONE STEP BEYOND  P.S. Joshi

John had worked in the old book shop for years.

He thought to himself, “I know it’s closed, but I feel I have a duty to still dust and shelve.”

Day after day he came–alone, all alone. He lovingly wiped the shelves and checked the order of the books. He swept the floor.

This was a second home to him. He’d never married and had children.

He never found the woman who could fill his life as completely as his work. His parents never got along. They fought constantly. Mr. Wilson, the shop owner, was always so kind to him. Life became a set pattern. Change became too difficult.

One day he heard a voice, “John, its time to move on.”

Unafraid, just startled, he felt real love for the first time in his solitary life. He was understood and no longer isolated.

A light appeared, and he felt drawn toward it.

A man and his friend were passing the shop one day. Looking at it boarded up, he said, “You know, I once heard that place was haunted.”

His friend said, “Oh, get real. You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

Sunday Photo Fiction Image

 

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THE WINDOW

 

 

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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.

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/09/10/12-september-2014/

Genre:  Horror Fantasy

Word Count:  100 Words

THE WINDOW By P.S. Joshi

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.

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