Fenton Friday: July Wk 2-Collaborators WANTED

Happy Fenton Friday which is also Friday the 13th (Cue: ch ch ch ah ah ah-did you know that there is some debate about that?). With it being dark and stormy out and the date it’s almost fitting for me to leave work, go home, and horror movie it up. Nope, got to be an adult.

Last Friday I posted asking for input some things about our character(s) and the setting. The first Episode for Fenton had some holes that I just didn’t think of at the time and thought it would be great to get y’alls input with this being a collaborative writing project. Read through the previous post’s questions and chime in. There are NO WRONG IDEAS.

Kristian (I can’t get enough of his short fiction-inspiration to be found over there) offered some BRILLIANT ideas:

  • Abigail does become friends with Fenton, she knows some things about the town but like Fenton, she doesn’t know everything. However, she occasionally knows something unexpected that sets Fenton off in a different direction. Sometimes on a wild goose chase. Fenton sometimes wonders if she is actually deliberately misleading him.
  • How about Lyall’s Deeping? That’s just a suggestion. Deeping is a hollow, it is also an indicator of something hidden.
  • The town is a strange place. A lot of the big stores that blight other cities, like Walmart and Starbucks, cannot seem to get a foothold in this town. Walking into this town is a bit like going back 20 or 30 years. There are a lot of independent small stores and a quaint almost too-good-to-be-true feel of old-time nostalgia. People are neighborly and friendly, but up to a point. If outsiders try to get too close, the shutters come down hard.
  • The towns founding mother is Josephine Baker Lyall. A woman who founded the town to hide a family secret. Her father and she were great scientists who discovered some amazing things, but the cost of those discoveries had to be kept hidden. (How’s that sound?)
  • His Grandmother had a sister who disappeared in Lyall’s Deeping. She spent her life trying to find out what happened. The desk belonged to someone whose name she managed to trace. In the drawer is her sisters Diary.
  • The person who used to own the desk worked for the Lyall family.
  • How about Abigail turns out to be a Lyall. ?

So please check out the last Fenton Friday, comb through and offer up some ideas. This is a collaborative fictional writing project. I’m working (and saving) to get Fenton his own site. Something more fitting to hold episodes but for right now he has his own page here to call home. You can also help by sharing Fenton Friday’s so more artists, writers, anagram gurus and the like to chime in as well. If you would like to personally help with creating collaborative episode check out Fenton’s page and let me know what you can do to help.

 

Fenton Friday: July Week 1

The first episode for Fenton has been posted and I can’t thank everyone enough that has helped with contributions and ideas. We introduced Fenton and the shopkeeper, the founder of the town-a craftsman, Abigail the shopkeeper, and the desk.

Questions are:

  • Is Abigail an important character? Does she become friends with Fenton? Does she offer valuable education about the town and or desk? Does she know the true secrets of the town?
  • We need a name for Fenton’s town. Something foreboding and mysteries. A hidden secret much like the contents of the drawer. A mystery to be solved. There are many town name generators but let’s come up with something awesome! A fitting for a town holding secrets.
  • What does the town look like? Is it busy? Is it small? Is it completely being bought out by big box stores and the desk/secret society hold the key to its survival?
  • The town’s founding mother-she needs a name. Does the town’s name have her name in it? Is it an anagram?
  • And why is Fenton purchasing a desk? Does his grandmother have anything to do with it? Is his grandmother, even though passed away, hold secrets?
  • Does the desk’s previous owner have any significance to the story? Is it a generational tradition?

I still needing help constructing the written episode (writers help!), copy editor (yeah, Grammarly only does so much for free), a possible anagram expert (if we go this route), and researcher.

I would also like to add some visuals to the posts. We need a desk. Picture or painting something mysterious and possible ominous looking. I would also like to add pictures of our made up town. This means-artists, doodlers, photographers, hobbyist you name it, submit a piece and voting will commence.

As always, submit in comments, by email, or form on the Fenton’s very own page. If you would like to help in a different way please share and reblog Fenton’s Friday project.

 

Grotesque Angel: Pt 2

Continued….

Minnie giggled then her face went blank holding a photo.
‘Minnie, what’s wrong?’ I asked with all the concern a friend would have.
‘This guy right here looks like the one in the schoolyard. EXACTLY like what’s in the schoolyard.’ She said.
‘Oh him? He was on the Brittania at 527 West 110th Street and they call him the scholar. I’m pretty sure that it’s a replica of a suitable figure for a school. I don’t think the school could afford the original even if the Brittania was parting with the grotesque.’ I said shoving some southern seasoned green beans in my mouth. Minnie looked through the rest of the picture and we chatted about the news that I missed and I told her more about New York. Then it was back to the office. I decided a walk home would be best as I gorged myself of fried goodness and thought it best to burn off the million calorie dinner. I took the photo out and thought that the gargoyle did look exactly like the one in the picture I held. Shrugging it off, I did my daily routine at home and went to bed.

I was woken up by what I thought was thunder but when looking outside there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I turned on the 24-hour weather station out of curiosity and the doppler didn’t show anything in our area not even a blip of green on the screen. I listened closely but this time it didn’t sound like thunder. It sounded like something heavy was thrown from a high distance. This time I stood on the porch but couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t even a breeze. I waited just a few more minutes for the thuds to gauge distances but nothing happened. I fell back to sleep surprisingly quite quickly. When I woke up the next morning I had faint recollections of a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare but I remember feeling scared then safe. There was a beautiful blonde man but I couldn’t remember the face. I was distracted the rest of the day playing the dream over and over in my head. Like lightning hitting the water, a small movie clip from my dream played in my head. The blonde man was standing in front of me but behind him was a gargoyle with his head bowed then in the next sequence he looked as if he was lurching in my directions and wings spread. I realized I have seen this gargoyle in New York but his head was tucked as if to graciously bowing. Another tiring day behind me as I collapsed in the bed when arriving home. I didn’t even eat dinner or water my plants.

Weeks passed with only a few dreams and the only difference was that my gargoyle would be just a smidge closer. At the end of the month, I noticed more stone creatures showing up all over our small town. First my neighbor Sal, then it was the school but now the library, grocery store, and even the bars were homes to these statues.
I was walking to work when I saw my neighbor sitting on her porch drinking coffee,
‘Morning Sal, so, where did George find that beautiful specimen?’ I nodded down towards the stone figure.
‘You know it’s the damnedest thing. George told me he didn’t buy him,’ she said puzzled but not all that concerned. However, I felt uneasy.
‘Oh, you’re not the least bit curious as to where he came from? Worried some random serial killer could be marking homes with these things?’ I asked.
‘How do you know it’s a boy?’ I just looked at her in response to her odd question.

‘I’m only guessing? Wouldn’t you think the gargoyle would be a male? Men can be scarier and more threatening,’ I said with a smile.
‘I think I can top the scare scale when I haven’t had my coffee,’ I giggled and waved as I headed into work.

TO BE CONTINUED…..

Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

And a Reminder about Fenton Friday’s…Fenton needs more story and details. Check out the past two Fridays.

  1. Who is Fenton?
  2. Fenton Friday: Week Two Collaboration Project

 

Pat York, Pat. “Front View of House.” Flickr, Jonesboro, http://www.flickr.com/photos/60464669@N06/5681550750.

Solitary Truth

A mystery is a subgenre of narrative fiction; often thought of as a detective story.There are a number of sub-genres within the broad category of mystery/detective/crime fiction. They overlap and are open to subjective interpretation. I’m not a fan of mysteries with the whole cop-whodunit scene. I don’t even like the good cop bad cop scenes. So I tried something different after doing a bit of research.


We all rarely seen the old woman out in town. We rarely saw her at all. The occasional sightings are when she’s in the local hardware store or at the grocery store to buy M&Ms. We never saw her buy meat, bread, fruits, or vegetables. She kept to herself in the house by the river with woods surrounding the structure at the end of town. She had honeysuckle growing wild which brought beautiful birds and butterflies but we never witnessed her outside enjoying them.  When she was outside it was to tend to her massive garden, fish in the river, or care for her mini orchard of the fruit-bearing trees.

Holidays she wouldn’t decorate and wouldn’t hand out candy. She wouldn’t go to town gatherings or parades. The elementary children thought her to be a witch and would be afraid to look her in the eyes.  Some adults thought she was the reason that people went missing in the town. She was even interviewed a couple of times by law enforcement as a last resort. I thought she was happy in her solitude until I had her go through my checkout line at the hardware store. Beep-fishing line, beep-lightbulbs, beep-nails, beep-vegetable seeds. ‘Is this all for you?’ Her eyes met mine and that’s when I witnessed a teary response. Was she sad? Was she thankful someone said something to her? She didn’t reply but paid for her items with gold coins. I haven’t seen those in a long time. I know that they make newer ones but these were the old coins. I asked for her to wait a minute as I spoke to the manager. ‘She pays with those because they are easier for her to count. Take however much you need and put them under the till. I exchange them at her bank the next town over. It’s the only bank that I find will take them.’ ‘Do you know anything about her? She doesn’t speak, she’s always alone, and today I think I made her cry,’ I said sadly. ‘No one really knows anything about her, she was one of the first people to live in the town.’

I took her coins and handed her bags over, ‘Have a good day,’  I said but she didn’t even turn to acknowledge my farewell. I left work that evening and decided to walk by the river on my way home. It was shorter and quieter since people think the old woman is cursed or does the cursing. The sound of the river was soothing until a sound of a massive current of electricity echoed through the woods. As if a transformer was being turned on for the very first time. As I walked past her house I noticed that she was flipping larget switches and lights were turning on around the house, through the woods, and by the river. It wasn’t just lighting up her house. ‘Hi,’ I waved over at her. She jumped and came over to where I was standing. ‘Hello, young lady.’ Her voice was soft and comforting. ‘You really need to get home before the sun finishes setting. I can’t help when the light is fully gone.’ I looked at her puzzled. ‘The sun has already set. It’s dark and now you’re lighting everything up.’ She begged. ‘Please get home, come see me tomorrow.’ I nodded and hurried home.

I couldn’t sleep that night and was at her house at first light. I thought I would wake her up but she was already on the river bank casting her fishing pole. ‘Good morning,’ I said timidly. ‘There’s a fishing pole against the tree that I have prepared for you. Come cast a line and see what happens.’ I grabbed the pole and noticed that there was already a fish on the hook.  I looked at her and she nodded for me to cast. I picked a spot and let loose the line. We both sat there is silence until my pole jerked. ‘You’re going to need to hold on, it’s going to be a big one,’ she said to me in a warning tone and about that time I was nearly pulled into the water. I look at her with a surprised-regretful look. She smiled and patted me on the shoulder. ‘It’s ok dear, at first I lost many poles after I lost my husband.’ She withdrew her rod and started walking towards her house. What did she mean about losing her husband and rods? She was married?

She opened the door for me to walk ahead of her in the house. She has a beautiful cottage style home. Her kitchen had a beautiful wood stove, wooden cabinets, and homemade bread dough rising on the back counter. ‘Sit down dear, I’ll tell you what you need to know.’ I sat down and she placed a teacup in front of me along with some homemade cookies. ‘My husband, Frank and I were the first to move to this town. He built this house with his own hands always reminding me that this is the perfect piece of land. He was excited to fish, garden, and live off the land. ‘Wow, how old are you?’ I instantly regretted the question. She smiled, ‘I’m old enough to watch this town grow from just a few settlers.’ ‘Settlers? The first settlers of the town arrived…’ I trailed off watching her sip her tea. ‘That means that you are..’ she interrupted. ‘I’m old enough to watch the town grow,’ she said slowly. I would like to show you how to survive this town and help others live there day to day lives. I’ve been protecting this town for decades. I’m getting tired and need to teach a young person. Someone who loves this town like I do and can handle being alone and misunderstood.’

I do like being left alone and I do love this small town. ‘What about my job?’ I couldn’t believe I was considering the proposal of learning whatever she was teaching. ‘This will be your job and you would never want for anything, ‘she said as she gestured at the surroundings. ‘Let me explain. When we settled here we thought we hit gold. The land was fruitful and no one around. We built our house and waited for neighbors but no one came. That’s when we learned of the secret the land held. The river is full of creatures that come on land as soon as the last glimmer of light is gone. Even though the sun is gone the last bit of light is gone 14 minutes after the set time. My husband and I learned this the 1st night we were here. We were able to set a fire which kept them at bay. We would fish for them and use them as fertilizer for our garden and trees. We thought after years of fishing they would be extinct. That night we didn’t light any fires. We sat outside enjoying tea and the stars when out of nowhere my husband was drug into the water. There was nothing I could do for Frank. I come from a long line of white witches and part of my promise was to protect this town and I cast a spell for me to live longer. Not be immortal but live long enough to fight these creatures. What I do know is that they live underwater and they breed faster than rabbits. All the missing person reports that you see are of people the creature took.’ I looked at her in disbelief. Before I could say anything she interrupted, ‘Go home and think about it.’

I was home before dark and I walked into an empty house. There was no life and no messages or voicemails, no plans, just me. I went to the internet and searched missing person reports for this town and discovered some that dated all the way back to the 1800’s. In those articles, I found a woman had been committed to a psychiatric hospital a town over for ranting about creatures from the water. I also found a picture of the town’s founders and our very own solitary woman that everyone judged was there, smiling. She was beautiful. The next morning I was over at her house. ‘I would love to protect this town but I would like to know one thing. What is your name?’ She smiled and gestured for me to enter the house, ‘my name is Elizabeth. Are you ready to make the transition?’ she asked. ‘I would be honored but I’m not a white witch and I don’t know how long I’ll live.’ I said. She sat down and clasped my hand, ‘My dear, when I said that you would inherit everything that includes my powers, the house, the money, my skills, and knowledge.’

Here I am, being judged as I’m buying fishing line 82 years later. The rumor is that the last hermit took me as her slave and now I’m looking for mine. Little do they know, my sacrifice keeps them and this town safe.

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