The Duck Pond

This was inspired by a Writing Prompt where you pick three spooky words and write a poem or story based on the words.

I chose Banshee, Corrupted and Creep.

 

Banshee blood

corrupted, cursed and revolting

it’s pooling in a pond where I used to feed  the ducks.

 

Who will cage it?

will anyone  swim in it?

Who will watch it creep towards the shore?

Will anybody grab a bucket, sponge scream out in fear

more likely then not

everyone will  pretend as if it’s not there.

 

Banshee blood

corrupt,  cursed and revolting

I wonder if the Ducks that I used to feed

wished it wasn’t there.

 

Cassandra Nevada Gets Fired

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She timed it so that she would be seated in the boardroom first, before any of those little pissants that were about to do her in drove up the ramp into the car park of the building that she built brick by brick with her own two hands.

Well she signed the paperwork  and brought in the workers that did the actual work but why split hairs now?

Cassandra Nevada was about to be ruled irrelevant and fired and turned away from the only job she had ever had or done well for that matter.

She could have played with her phone as she waited, she could have carved a litteny of profanity- Profanity being one of the many languages she had mastered- at her Father’s insistence and her Mother’s overbearing ‘support’ so that she could be the very best Cassandra Nevada the world had ever known.

She spun around and around in her chair and wondered what she would do with all of the time that would be dropped into her lap. Eating a lot of pizza and drinking heavily she guessed. She saw a lot of cats and in her future too.

The door opened and for a minute it would appear it had opened on it’s one because no one was in the doorway.

But then one pallid face after another gathered in the opening and they filed in- trying very hard to pretend that they were looking her square in the face. Of course they weren’t and that brought the tiniest of smiles to the corners of Cassandra’s mouth.

” Good morning Ms Nevada” Pert and sassy Kirsten Simpson chirped as she closed the door behind herself.

Ah. Kirsten Simpson, it appeared, was the designated Hatchet man. Of course. Send her in last. Just like a Bride walking down the aisle to meet her Groom.

This was Kirsten’s  day apparently.

” I’ve had better, not many but you know. Better.” Cassandra rocked back and forth in her chair and out of habit she motioned for her Board to sit and they sat obediently- if Cassandra had dog treats she would have tossed them around the table.

Kirsten jumped right into the fire.

” The direction of this company, your company has changed and it comes with no small pleasure that you as an individual have not changed with us.”

” Really?” Cassandra was honestly surprised. ” I thought you’d be over joyed with that. I mean, ” Cassandra stood up and at least 8 eight chairs slid back from the conference table and the rest of them tried for no good reason to push themselves closer to it. ” look at all you’ll have to gain.”

Cassandra rolled on: ” Everything- every single pie I have put my fingers into, every single deal I have ever made, every man, woman and child-even the ones who aren’t born yet that will call on us and the services we offer to help them in their time of need.”

” That’s the problem Ms. Nevada. You own so much and all of it is built on old technology, dated research and to be honest your public image…”

” Careful there Sweetheart.”

” It’s a bit- intimidating for-

” Don’t.”

” A woman.”

” Christ on a horse, you really went there.”

” The point is, we need a more approachable and user friendly image and you are not able to project that.”

” You know Kirsten, that was the point. We do serious deals with serious people. ”

” That model-”

Cassandra was trying very hard to not let- to coin a phrase her Mother used- to let her devil’s horns show. Once you lost control of yourself her Father believed you were toast. And he would know. He had a long history of popping arteries.

” The model where we actually ask for signatures- written- not printed, not followed by little emojis on actual paper? That we only used clocks with faces and hands in our offices That I demand my employees are fluent in at least three languages and that yes we are actually closed down on Sundays?”

” Locking us out of our system on Sundays puts us behind, we spend all day-”

” Working. Which is what you get paid for.”

” Come on release me. Go ahead. ”

And they did.

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Cassandra found herself in those last moments in her Company with Kirsten.

” You know, my parents insisted I master Math and Latin. Did you know that?”

” I think we put that out on one of our older info promos we did back in the day.”

” They believed that Math like music is the Universal language. And Latin. So many rules,so many lessons in Latin. It was painful to have to learn a dead language. It’s not like I could trot up to the executive washroom and shoot the breeze with people in it. I am literally the only person in this entire organization that knows it.”

Kirsten looked smug. Cassandra was outdated and old school and she just proved her point- thank you very much.

” Why did they insist on it, if it was a dead language. Your parents were a bit on the theatrical side if not practical from what I understand.”

Cassandra Nevada leaned into Kirsten’s ear and whispered, ” Because, you can raise all sorts of hell with that dead language. All kinds of Hell. ”

And then Cassandra pushed her hair away from her face and she went ahead and let her horns show because it was that kind of day.

 

 

The Blessing

From The Danse Macabre Prompt: Standing on a Literary Legend’s Shoulders

We meet another of The Prince’s guests:

I had found a place to get off of my feet

maybe catch a quick bite

and chew the fat with the locals

 who call this  town I wandered into home.

But before I could settle in and settle down for a spell

at the Diner called ” Lorna’s “

the Sheriff walked in and put a bullet between my eyes.

Good thing it wasn’t silver.

Good thing indeed.

I Want To Dance Like Salome

Inspired By The Bancroft Prompt: Fantasy Destinations :

You could spend the night in this painting, courtesy of the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts or perhaps you could be lucky enough to be selected to stay with Mona Lisa at the Louvre.

Franz von Stuck (1863–1928), Teasing (1889)

If I could choose a painting to  spend one day, one hour, or even a very long night inside of, I would choose a painting by Franz Von Stuck.

Why?

Because they are full of monsters  and  unhinged desire-in his works  passion, fear and beauty are mashed up and then it all  goes right off the rails.

If I had the chance to know what’s it’s like to be let off of my chain and run.

I would.

It’s a dream of mine to have the nerve to do that.

Salome by Franz Von Stuck

In planning my Von Stuck inspired Destination Trip  even a trip to Hell is not out of the question.

I am captivated by the story  the ” Inferno” tells because in this painting there are faces and bodies occupying ever square inch- even the flames seems to reflect the images of the damned.

Still, each figure is alone in it’s own way and oblivious to what is around them.

At least that I what I think and I am curious enough to ask them if that’s the case.

But that is Hell isn’t it? Feeling alone in an ocean of souls.

Inferno by Franz Von Stuck

The worlds that Von Stuck created in his portraits have a sense of danger, adventure and humor- there is a lot of smiling going on in his works.

They’re wolfish smiles.

But does that matter?

Not to me, not if I’m planning my Fantasy Destination.

In fact, I would prefer to meet a wolf or two along the way.

Dissonance by Franz Von Stuck

Info On Paintings:

Salome

Teasing

Inferno

Trick Or Treat? That Is The Question

From The Red Death Project– meet one of Prospero’s Guests.

She’s getting into the Halloween Spirit of things.

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If you knock on my door on Halloween

I promise not try to act scary.

Not that I can do that anyway because I wear glasses and I like to wear sweatshirts with dogs on them. Who would I be fooling? Not you, that’s for certain.

If you knock on my door on Halloween

I promise to only hand out the tastiest chocolates shaped like severed heads and bloody  fingers and  eyeballs with a sweet mushie surprise inside and the crunchiest Candied Sugar Bones you have ever popped into your mouth and ground  between your teeth.

My candies wrapped in orange and black tinfoil and I make them myself.

I’m a very skilled candy maker.

If you knock on my door on Halloween

I promise I will  answer the door the minute you knock

I’ll let you take as much candy as you want

and after you’re done and walking away

I promise that  when I let my monsters chase you down the walkway- my werewolf, I call him Darwin, will probably get to you first-

cross my heart and hope to die- well- not me obviously-but I digress

I promise to not eat your share of candy, except for maybe the Crunchy Sugar Bones.

Those are my favorites.

If you knock on my door on Halloween

I can promise you this-all kidding aside, your Halloween Night  will never end.

Miss Venka’s Cakes

ravencake

” Miss Venka! “

The stangers, a middle aged couple were as pale and watery as the sunlight that was filtering through my somewhat clean windows and into my small cool sparsely furnished sitting room.

I didn’t use it often because I don’t do much entertaining.

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He rose from the settee and put his slice of cake- I noted with dismay- on the end table to his left.

She stood and set to her slice of cake next to his.

The portrait that hung behind them looked down in disapproval.

Then the tall thin watery couple both reached out to me with their pale bony hands and smiled, ” It’s so good to meet you at last Miss Venka ” they both said together.

” I see you enjoyed the cake- ” I waited for them to introduce themselves.

” Oh. Pardon us. Britta.” The woman said with tears lighting up her eyes ” Britta and Rasmus Rundstrom.”

” We hope you don’t mind . The man who answered the door invited us in. He told us to make ourselves at home. And then he left. Just like that. Well, we saw that delicious cake and the plates and forks.” Rasmus began the thought and then Britta finished it:

” We honestly couldn’t help ourselves.”

I sighed and shrugged. ” It’s fine really” I said not meaning it.

Our compliments to the baker Miss Venka.” Rasmus said ignoring the ice in my voice.” It was quite delicious.”

I ignored his compliment.

“That was my Father at the door. That Devil. He should have offered you some tea and almond cookies instead of leaving you with just that cake. It’s terribly sweet. The cookies would have been better.”

They didn’t say a word. They stood there expectantly.

” They’re imported.” I added. ” They’re quite good.”

I walked over to the sideboard where my now butchered cake was sitting.

I took up the cake knife and wiped it clean on a napkin.

” So what do I owe the pleasure of this nice…” I looked down at my cut up cake and sighed. ” Visit.”

” We’ve heard that you are a wonderful baker Miss Venka. Your sweets and pastries and cakes are famous.

I was confused. ” Famous for what?”

” From what we’ve tasted, it’s true.” Rasmus went back to the table and picked up his slice of cake.

He plunged his fork into this partially eaten slice and took another bite.

I winced.

” It so sweet it touches your soul. It overwhelms your senses…” he sang out.

I stopped him before he went over the edge and lost his sanity.

” Thank you. I took the plate from him and sat it down on the little table. ” But I don’t cater events. I don’t bake for other people.”

” We can’t persuade you?” Britta asked. ” Are you sure? Money is no object and we are having a very important party. Your cake would be the highlight of the evening.”

” Very sure. I’m sorry. But my answer is no.” I said.

” I’ve never tasted anything so fine. It touched my soul Miss Venka. Truly. It’s the finest cake I have ever tasted.”

I thanked my guests and saw them out.

Then I went to the kitchen, which is light green and empty all but for a set of knives hanging from the wall and a single chair in the middle of the room.

I walked to the back of the kitchen and opened the door that led down into the basement.

” That was my favorite cake!” I yelled down into the darkness.

The door pulled itself out of my hand and slammed shut with a bang.

I walked back into my sitting room, which was dark now and a little chilly.

There were two new soulfully delicious cakes sitting next to my beautiful cake which fully restored to its uncut state.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes in relief.

I did not wonder if Mr and Mrs Rundstrom would be back, begging for more cake.

I did not wonder if they would ever question why they offered to give up their souls to the Devil himself for another bite.

I did not wonder if my Father who lives in my basement would take them up on that deal.

He collects souls the way other people collect stamps.

Of course. I don’t collect souls for the Hell of it, like my Father who is trapped in his old ways does.

I dabbed a little frosting from one of the new cakes on the tip of my finger and touched it to my tongue.

I closed my eyes and swooned a little.

I put them to better use than that.

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