The Masquerade

PHOTO PROMPT – © Kent Bonham

As a weekend partygoer he was a true nocturnal animal, sleeping during the day, but showing considerable activity by night.

It wasn’t just him even his whole brood would turn up.  This narrow street with its dim crepuscular lights was their Elysium.  It was a gathering place for the Kindred who maintained a little Masquerade for any mortals around.  What better than fresh garlic braided together and hung over doors?

It made him smile, over the last hundred years the clan had acquired immunity to its repellent properties.  The bulb’s flavourful and aromatic deliciousness had even won the vampires over.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other bright bulbs from Friday Fictioneer  go here. 

Update: Changed in in interests of accuracy.  Crepuscular animals are active primarily at twilight (the time not the the vampire series), so this time the context is about the dim twilight type of light.

The Lights of Hyde Hall

PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I know it’s her, my own mother, Ann Low Cary Cooper Clarke and her vindictive agenda.

She made father build this place just to spite the Coopers.  It took seventeen years and he died without enjoying the fruits of his labor.  I’ll be damned if I let her curse on Hyde Hall scare me.

Let the piano keeping caterwauling all night.  She could never play a tune anyway. The cloud of mist on the hallway and her booted footsteps may scare the ground keepers but I still won’t move.  I’ll keep the lights burning all night if I have to.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other bright lights from Friday Fictioneer  go here. 

I did some forensic examination of my own for this story, the image file name (hyde-hall-light.jpg)  was the start for me.  Found the link to Hyde Hall and it;s fascinating history.   There is a link between Ann Cooper Clarke and the writer James Fenimore Cooper who also wrote this fascinating bit of history The Legends and Traditions of a Northern County

As far as the writing goes I am not sure how this submission goes but then I struggle with doubts over each submission.  But writing this was still enjoyable due to the research I had to do.

Her Last Gift

After the funeral was over and all the relatives had left, I stayed alone in my mother’s house.  Next morning I sat in the empty kitchen and recalled the days gone by in the house.

From the moment we woke up to hot cups of milk to the time when we returned famished from school, it was the hub of all activities and the very soul of our house. 

Sitting at the table my eye fell upon a notebook on the sideboard.  Inside in her unmistakable longhand was a collection of family recipes that she had been writing for us.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other recipes from Friday Fictioneer kitchen go here.  

So I thought the lovely warm photograph also deserved a story with a happier ending, thus here is my second offering for the week after this earlier submission http://subrotopant.blogspot.com.au/2015/06/bakers-delight.html 

Baker's Delight

I sit in the warm kitchen filled with the aroma of baking.  She sits opposite me with her curly white hair, a crinkled smile and innocent blue eyes.

I take a bite of the cookie she had proffered me earlier and sigh inwardly with pleasure.  But hard questions still need to be asked.

"This is the third time in five years madam, so my employers need an investigation before any payout."

**

He sits before me, the hard hearted man, not listening to how I cared for my elderly husbands before their heart attacks.

That cookie should do the trick tonight.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other recipes from Friday Fictioneer kitchen go here.  

It is also two for one this week with this second entry http://subrotopant.blogspot.com.au/2015/06/her-last-gift.html

Chains of Love

PHOTO PROMPT – © C. Hase

Every year my family would escape to my Grandfather’s house in a remote village by the sea.  Long before movie stars and wealthy holidaymakers redefined it as a trendy resort, my cousins and I would meet and explore its unspoiled charms. 

We would feast on fresh catch from the sea - fishes, oysters, clams, mussels and shrimps - cooked in delicate gravies or simply fried with spices.    

On the beach were the remains of the old fortress, its crumbling ramparts awaiting our imagination. Tripping over those ruins were the happiest days of our lives.  We remain chained by those memories.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  
To read what the links in the Friday Fiction chain go here.  

This must be the last link in the chain for this week's entries.