Jillian Chantal

Once a month, those of us at Tuesday Tales write to a photo prompt as opposed to a word prompt.  I chose a cozy ornament photo for mine. We are limited to 300 words for the photo weeks.

I’m writing a short story called Ugly Christmas Sweater Quest. It won’t be published this year because there’s no time to edit it but since I was inspired by the season, I am writing it now.  The main character has been invited to a party by a guy she’s been crushing on for a while. She has found her sweater and met a guy who was also looking for one- they helped each other find embellishments to add dimension to their sweaters. He’s cute but she’s focused on her crush and impressing him.

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No one ever said she was beautiful. Heck, not even pretty. It was always that she was the fun one or the witty one, never the gorgeous one. Not that she really wanted to be known by her looks but once in a while, it’d be nice to be told she was lovely.
“Thanks for the compliment.” Yvette glanced down at her watch. “I better go.”
“It was nice shopping with you. I guess I’ll see you around since our friends seem to have hit it off.”
“Sure. Thanks for the help with the pins.” She held them up and headed to the cashier to pay.
He followed and got in line behind her. “I’m really not stalking you, but I can’t steal these fabulous earrings and spectacular hat.”
“Of course not. They’re so valuable, you’d be arrested for a felony.” Yvette handed over the cash for her items and said, “I’ll be seeing you.”
When she got to her car, she tossed the bag inside and headed for the dollar store for some stockings to hang on her fake mantel and candy canes to add flair to the sweater.
Happy with her purchases, Yvette returned to her on campus apartment, smiling when she walked up and saw the ornaments she and Maggie had hung in the windows that morning. They didn’t have room for a tree much larger than a tabletop one, so they tried to get more festive by decorating the one window they had that faced the parking lot of the complex. She sat at the small table in their tiny, one-wall kitchenette and got to work making her sweater stand out. She had to make sure Mark noticed her.
As she sewed the stockings onto the sweater, she thought about the Nordic Guy. She couldn’t believe she didn’t even get his name.

This week, the word we writers of Tuesday Tales have chosen to use is hot. I’m still sharing my time travel story. We find the hero visiting with a man of magic he’s heard about. He wants answers to what has happened to him.

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Pembroke sat in the overly-hot, dark room deep in the woods. He thought he might be like one of the young ladies of his acquaintance and have an attack of the vapors. It was almost unbearably warm. He wished he could take off some item of clothing to give himself some relief.

Finding his way to this cabin had been difficult. He’d had to be subtle yet daring in order to learn the correct person to speak with. And now here he sat in front of a wizened old man who had such wrinkled skin Pembroke was sure he was over a hundred years old. The man’s complexion was an odd color as well. Almost as if he’d eaten too many green vegetables in that hundred years.

“And you say you ended up in the year 1788?” the man asked.

“That was what I was told and I also was led to a fine library where I was allowed to read many volumes and learned things about our time.”

“Like what?”

“For one thing, I learned how the house of Stuart will eventually fall and become the house of Hanover.”

“Hanover? Never heard of a Hanover. And this came to pass when?”

“I can’t recall the date right now. That was never my strong suit.” Pembroke gave a little laugh. “But what I really want to learn is if this was really possible. That such a thing could happen to a man.”

“It happened to you. How do you explain it otherwise?”

“Perhaps I fell into some kind of deep sleep after the battle and imagined it all. It seemed so very real but could it have been all in my head?”

“Didn’t you say you brought that cloak back with you? The one you set on the chair beside my door? How would you have gotten that in a dream? Or your armor? Where would it have gone?”

“Maybe someone found me asleep and took it. Left the cloak as a trade?” Pembroke didn’t believe that but he wanted to know what this man who’d been recommended to him thought.

“No garment that fine would be given to someone who wasn’t even aware he was being robbed. And make no mistake, if some person was able to divest you of your armor while you slept, that person would’ve been one of great daring and hardly one to pay for what he took.”

“You make many good points but you’ve yet to tell me if a man can travel through time.” Pembroke wipe his brow. He’d soon have to walk outside if he didn’t want to fall on the floor. How could the man even breathe?

“It would be my belief that you have done so, Mr. Pembroke Burroughs.”

“How do you know my name?” Pembroke had not introduced himself and the man who told him how to get here had surely not come on ahead and told this man anything as Pembroke hadn’t told him his name either.

This was becoming stranger by the moment. Pembroke now truly believed this man had some magical abilities. How else could he know Pembroke’s identity? “How is it you ken who I am? Did someone apprise you of my possible visit as I made my way here? He knew in his heart of hearts that couldn’t be as he’d told no one for his own safety.

Tuesday Tales’ word of the week is frost. We’re a group of authors who get together each week to write to a word prompt.

This week, I’m still working on my time travel story. Our hero has accidently traveled back into his own time.

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When the wind quit blowing and it became light again, Pembroke could barely fathom what had happened. Glancing about, he realized he was in the exact place where he’d stopped when the battle was over and he was too fatigued to move another step. He’d gotten separated from his regiment and planned to join them the next day at the rendezvous point. Not knowing what day it was meant he wasn’t sure if he would find anyone he knew there now.

Wondering how he’d gotten here, Pembroke scratched his head. If time travel was really possible, wouldn’t he have traveled to the exact spot he left from? Why would he move hundreds of miles as well as hundreds of years? He idly wondered exactly how far the Orkney Islands were from this area outside Glasgow. He’d never been curious about that at all. No reason to be. But now the thought of a girl with hair the color of a winter frost made him curious.

As soon as his thoughts turned to Rowena, his blood ran cold. What happened to her when he vanished? Was she safe? Being chivalrous meant protecting those weaker than oneself and now he’d left her alone to fend for herself. It was unforgivable. Then he remembered he didn’t plan to leave her. He’d merely touched the tree.

Thinking he should do the same now and go back to her if he could, the sound of a cow’s bell down the lane distracted him for a moment. Turning to the noise, he noticed a young lass walking at the head of the animal who she had by a tether. Curious if he’d really made it back to his own time, he called out, “I say, do you ken the date?”

She didn’t respond until she was by his side. Peering into his eyes with her head tilted, she asked, “Are ye wounded? I don’t see any armor but were you part of the recent battle? Have ye lost yer memories, then?”

Realizing he’d left his armor in 1788 was a blow. He’d invested quite a bit of coin in his suit. To say nothing of the cost of the helmet.

“Have ye been taken mute of a sudden?” she asked.

“No. I’m sorry. I was in the battle but lost my armor.”

Reaching out, she flicked the lush fabric of Rowena’s grandfather’s cloak. “Traded it for these fine garments here.” Her eyes widened. “Perhaps you were on the losing side and are trying to sneak away dressed as far from a soldier as you could be.”

He shook his head in denial. “If that were true, would I have told you I’d been in the battle?”

“Perhaps.” She studied him. “Maybe you think I’m merely a cowherd but I’m the daughter of the magistrate out walking my cow to our pasture. How about you come with me and we’ll see if anyone can claim to have seen you on or near the battlefield and if so, which side you were on.”

Realizing his regiment could still be nearby, even though she was a mere lass with no weapon to force him to do her bidding, he nodded. “Let’s do that and perhaps on our way, you could tell me what year this is.”

Everyone knows it’s 1568. What game is this?”

This week’s word for the writing prompt for the Tuesday Tales authors is appropriate for the time of year. It’s thank.

For National Novel Writing Month, I’ve changed gears from my thriller (will get back to that) to writing a time travel story.  Today, I’m sharing a bit from when the hero had told the heroine he was born and lived over 200 years before the current time. She thinks he’s a bit mad and as her servants are gone to the village, she trying to make sure she stays safe while there alone with him.

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It seemed nothing would shake his story but she had an idea. “When we finish eating, I’ll take you into the library and we can find some books for you to take a look at from the time Queen Mary was executed to today.” Rowena took another bite of the delicious, tender lamb.

“Queen Mary was executed? Did her brother do it when she was defeated? I’d heard she escaped capture.”

“She did. She made it back to England. Her cousin, Queen Elizabeth, had her beheaded.”

“Did she plot against her too like she did her own son?”

Not really being a person who read a lot of history, Rowena was almost tapped out of information to give him. “I’m not sure but the books should tell you. My grandfather prided himself on his vast array of books. I’ve heard tell he wasn’t much for the written word himself but liked to appear educated to his guests.”

“I’ve known some men like that. Do you have many guests come to call?” Pembroke set his knife down and rubbed his stomach. “That was excellent, Miss Maitland. Thank you for taking in a cold, hungry knight and showing him some sympathy.”

“Let’s make our way to the library. I have some things I need to take care of and if I can safely ensconce you with some books to peruse, I can get my chores done.”

She stood to lead him out of the room.

Behind her, he asked, “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have many guests?”

“I believe the house was very active while my grandfather was alive. It hasn’t been for years.” She held the candle aloft to light their way. She wanted to get him settled so she could retrieve one of her sleeping draughts and put it in his ale.

Even though he seemed nice, she was aware that men sometimes took advantage of women when they were alone. Rowena had no idea what that really meant but Abigail had stressed to her that she should never speak to strange men she might happen upon.

It had never happened but now here she was in her own home and vulnerable in some unknown way so she thought she might as well make him sleep soundly until morning.

For Tuesday Tales this week, we’re writing to the word prepare. I’m working on my NaNoWrimo story set in 1788 but thought I’d share one more posting from my thriller story since I won’t get back to it until the madness of the November writing craze is over.

Be sure to check out the other tales here. We’re got some great stories going on.

I followed Dawn down the side of the building with my weapon drawn. A few moments before we made it to the large door we could see ahead, shots rang out.

She and I both hunkered down lower as if making ourselves smaller would make us bullet proof. Moving faster now as we were sure our comrades were under fire, we arrived at the door.

Dawn nodded to me. I interpreted her signal as she would lead as I opened the door and covered her.

Moving as a single unit, we entered the building and cleared the area. There was still gunfire—way too much fire—but we pressed on.

Coming around a corner, Dawn stopped so abruptly, I almost crashed into her.

Peering over her shoulder, I was completely unprepared for the sight in front of me.

There were a number of nasty, smelly, mattresses strewn around the room in some semblance of order. Each of them held a woman or girl. Some were either passed out, some attempting to sit up as if to try to figure out what was happening and a few may have even been dead. It was hard to tell but the odor in the dingy room had the distinct flavor of a dead body or two.

Before my eyes truly adjusted to the darkness, Dawn said, “To the left. Two men.”

They came at us with guns blasting.

Dawn took one out and I got the other.

As they fell to the ground, I said, “Keep your eyes open. There are probably more.”

“Ya think?” She practically snarled the words but I didn’t take offense. This was serious and deadly, there was no time to be a sissy with hurt feelings. It was take down time.

It’s fitting that today’s word is ghost since it is Halloween but I am not using it in a spooky way. I’m still working on my thriller story and this week, we’re finally getting to the part where the hero is attempting to rescue some women from human traffickers.

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Eventually, we came upon a clearing where there were a number of trucks parked and several old, rundown sheds. Large sheds that might have once been considered warehouses but were so dilapidated they couldn’t have been sound for protecting products any longer. But was this where they were keeping women? On cold nights, the wind had to penetrate all the cracks in the siding of the buildings.

A shrill whistle startled me but I couldn’t think about it as men came charging out of the buildings and leapt into some of the trucks parked there.

Bennett called over his shoulder, “Get out, find the women while we chase these guys.”

Dawn flung her door open at the same time I did. I rolled to the ground with my Glock in my hand. I just cleared the tires as Roger squealed off in pursuit of two trucks.

As I stood, I noticed others of our group chasing more trucks. Shots fired wildly and I glanced around to see who we had left to help us round up any victims we could find.

It was down to me, Dawn and two guys I’d met earlier.

Signaling to the two of them with my gun, I pointed toward the left side of the building near the back. I hadn’t noticed anyone coming from it when chaos ensued so I was hopeful the women were there with minimal guards.

Looking at Dawn, I said, “You follow me around the right side and we’ll cut them off with those other two guys.”

She gave me a ghost of a smile and slammed the clip into the bottom of her own gun. “Show time.”