Jillian Chantal

This week we have a picture prompt and are limited to 300 words. There were a number of choices of photos and since my new story is based in New York City, I chose that one. So far, this story has no name but it’s a contemporary thriller- or I hope it will be.  LOL

Check out the other tales here. See what pic they chose and how they wrote around it.

It’s funny how smells can send you right back to childhood. When the girl with dreads walked past me on the subway, the Hawaiian Tropic coconut oil she had glistening on her skin sent me right back to the beach I grew up on. Memories of girls, surf and sand flooded over me. Right there in New York City, I was instantly transported. Way too skinny again—although I’d always thought I was pretty buff as a teen—and with surfer dude hair past my shoulders, I could almost feel the stickiness of the salt water on my skin.

Closing my eyes and leaning my head against the solid glass window pane, I let my mind drift into those memories. In the moment right before I dozed off, a female voice called loudly through the car, “Hate to break it to you but this is a shakedown. Everyone sit still. It’ll only be a moment while I divest you of your jewelry and cash.”

Oh no, she did not. Good lord, was I never to have one second of peace?

“Sir, I’d advise you not to pull that emergency cord. You see this gun?” The woman went on.

Letting out a deep sigh, I opened my eyes. The girl with the dreads—all eighty-five pounds of her—stood there with a .44 magnum bigger than her head in her right hand. In her left, she carried a pillowcase. She shook it in front of the woman closest to me. “Put your gold and your wallet in here.”

“All my jewelry is costume,” the woman dressed too nicely for the subway said.

The pillowcase reminded me of another childhood memory. Halloween candy collection in momma’s best linens. Did this chick who probably had zero Rastafarian beliefs think this was her own personal trick or treat? She’d get a trick for sure as soon as she turned her back on me.

This week’s word for Tuesday Tales is strap. I used a form of it as I couldn’t quite use just strap. This is my horror story that will be submitted this week to my publisher. The heroine has completed her first quest to save her friend from the fungus growing out of his eye and is on the second quest.

Check out the other tales here.

I glanced behind me and saw what she was truly fleeing. A massive man dressed in pants way too short for him lurched toward me. His huge feet practically shook the ground as he moved in my direction. My grandmother would call him a strapping lad.
Turning to run as well, I noticed his face as I made my pivot. It had to be the saddest face I’d ever seen.
Since I couldn’t imagine anyone that sad being mean, I stopped in my tracks and faced him.
He kept coming but I stood my ground.
When he was within a few feet of me, he said, “Ain’t you scared?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“Everybody else is. Why should you be different?” He glared at me as if that would make me run. Almost as if he wanted me to go even though I could tell he needed a friend. I’d seen this before at school. The kid who no one wanted to pick for their team or eat lunch with.
“I’m not afraid. I can see you’re lonely and need a friend. How about talking to me for a minute?”
Tears formed in the big guys eyes but he didn’t let them fall. “What about?”
“Where am I?” I thought I knew now since I’d heard his accent but wasn’t sure.”
“Yer in Ireland, lass but how did you not know? Do you have something wrong with you?”
“No, no. I’m on a quest to help a friend who may be dying at this very moment and I’ve been moved magically from place to place. I wonder if you could help me.”
“What’s your name?” he asked with a tentative smile.
“Emily. What’s yours?”
“Liam.”
“Nice name. I think I’m in Ireland. Is that right?”
“You are.” Liam nodded. “I guess you’re smart even though I didn’t think you were at first.”
“When I ask you my next question, you might think I’m not.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you ever seen a unicorn?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re funny.”
“See? I said you’d think I was not very smart but I’m serious.” I fiddled with the shell locket on my neck. I needed desperately to get to Jacob. I could only imagine how bad the fungus was now and my imagination made me want to hurry.
“No. I’m not laughing at that. It’s funny because you’re one hill away from them.”
“What?”
“There’s a whole pasture of them over the next rise. By old man Shanahan’s potato farm. He even sells their leavings for fertilizer. That’s why potatoes from these parts are so delicious.”
“There are unicorns in the next field?” I couldn’t believe it. They weren’t even supposed to exist. Life as I’d known it was such a lie.

Tuesday Tales this week is a picture prompt. All posts are limited to 300 words- (I dd 309 only because I wanted to get to the end of a paragraph). I have started another story. This one is for a young adult anthology call from one of my publishers -if I don’t make it into that, I’ll publish it at Halloween as it’s a little but horror and a little bit fun. It’s called Fungus Amongus.

Be sure to check out the other tales here.

It seemed I’d get my wish to explore that igloo after all. I followed her into the shambles of a house and could barely contain my awe and fear as we made our way through several rooms toward the igloo. I saw things that made me wonder if I was on some kind of drug. Had I somehow ingested some mold spores from that thing growing out of Jacob?

The main living room area was normal. Other than stacks of papers piled up and a caldron on top of a potbelly stove in the corner. It was going and made the room feel like it was over a hundred degrees.

The next room was more sinister. The walls were painted black and olive green. I thought I saw an alligator with red eyes in the corner. I was pretty sure there were three snakes draped over the shredded curtains.

The third room which was right before the igloo, had some kind of weird flooring as well as sheetrock. Underfoot, my sneakers squished and the floor undulated with each stop, as if it wanted to make me trip and fall. God only knew what would eat my face if I did.

The thought of face eating increased my pace. I had to help Jacob. Had to.

“What will happen to my friend if I don’t get back in time?” I kept walking but the walls were moving, breathing, almost panting. I wanted to flee but made myself stay steady and focused.

“He’ll be covered in the fungus and made a part of the landscape. That’s why I laid him out in the moss. He’d be uncomfortable if he grew into and around a bed or a sofa. It’s best to let him grow into a natural environment.” She nodded. “It was the humanitarian thing to do. You understand, don’t you?”

This week’s word prompt for Tuesday Tales is stone. I am still working on my pirate story set in the 1700s. I am almost done with it but am still sharing as I go along. This week, the heroine is in a jail cell in Port Royal, Jamaica after shooting a pirate who tried to shoot her first.

Be sure to check out the other tales here. 

“Good evening, Miss Vane. I’m Captain Cornwall.” A huge man entered the cell followed by two other men. “These are the witnesses and stenographers who will be taking down what happens here.”

Knowing I must look a mess due to my circumstances and being caught in the deluge earlier, I did my best to smooth my hair, remembering I had dirt on my hands from the wall explorations earlier. It was a good thing it was dark in here.

My neck and back ached. The stone floor was hard and I wished I had a soft mattress with a thick coverlet. I sobbed as it crossed my mind that I may never have those things again.

To my shock, Captain Cornwell handed me a square of linen. “I have some questions to ask and want you to know I’ve already spoken to the man you shot.”

“And you’ll be comparing our stories?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as weak and shaky as it seemed to me.

“That’s partly right. I’ll also be seeing where they differ. As I’m sure you know, people will try to make their side of things sound better than what the accuser may say.” He indicated a large boulder-like structure near the far wall. “Let’s move over there since the top is flat and we can sit more comfortably.”

He held his hand out to assist me to my feet. While I allowed him to help me up, I wasn’t going to give him my trust as quickly as I gave him my hand. I might be naïve in some ways but in others, I wasn’t.

Once we were seated, the two clerks leaned against the walls and looked like they were settled in and ready to take their notes. I wished I would’ve been given the chance to have someone on my side to be there making sure these two were taking down things as they were truly being said.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me what happened and then I can ask my questions,” the captain said.

“May I start with something that happened before today?”

He nodded. “Wherever you want to begin.”

“A few days ago, when I came to Port Royal, I was at the cemetery and saw that man who came into my room tonight. He stood there and stared at me. Later that same night, I noticed him staring up at me as I looked out the window from my room in the inn. He also confronted me and my friend about my claim to be Captain Charles Vane’s daughter. He didn’t like that at all.”

“And when was the next time you saw him?”

“When he came barging into the room I rented at Rosie’s.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I’d just returned from Nathaniel’s—sorry I don’t know his last name—plantation. Mr. Mountbank took me there to speak to Nathaniel about Captain Vane.” I rubbed my cheek. “When I returned to my room, I was tired and without cleaning myself up, I took off my stockings and footwear. Once I loosened my stays, I reclined on the bed and closed my eyes.

When I heard the door open, I initially thought it was my traveling companion, Benedict but as soon as I inhaled, I realized it wasn’t.”

“Inhaled?” he asked with what I thought was a laugh at the end.

Not allowing myself to hope he believed me, I said, “Yes. The man reeked. Benedict would never allow himself to be in such a state.” I shook my head as the memory of what came next.