Fiction that is Neither Flash Nor on Friday: A Cup of Tea

            It seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime. When the letter arrived, inviting me to meet with Madam Larosa, I hadn't hesitated for a second. Everyone knew of her power. There was no one better.

            In the taxi, I felt nothing but excitement and pride at the great honor of being singled out. But the moment I saw the house, misgivings crept in. I stepped out of the car, trembling, looking up at the massive building in front of me. It rose three stories, with a tower on the east side, and every inch of it was blacker than devil's magic. The windows were all shuddered so there was no chance to catch a glimpse inside.

            Tentatively, I ascended the black marble stairs and approached the polished black wooden door. A black crescent moon adorned the glowing round doorbell. When I pressed it, a chime like tolling church bells knelled within.

            A pale, pale girl with almost-white hair answered the door. She wore a dress as dark as the house, making her looking ghostly by comparison. There was something apologetic in her posture, and she kept her eyes on the ground.

            "Hello," I said softly, feeling that, if I spoke too loudly, I would scare the girl away. "My name is Lorelei; I have an appointment with Madam Lerosa."

            Nodding, the girl stepped back and let me in. Inside was as dark as out. As I stepped over the threshold, I felt as if I were being swallowed. Deep black wooden floors and black wallpaper, patterned with slightly lighter black flowers, did nothing to make the room warm or inviting. The walls were hung with mirrors that distorted the light from a handful of flickering candles, giving the room an otherworldly feeling.

            The pale girl pointed to a door.

            "Is Madam Larosa in there?"

            She pointed again, so I simply went in.

            The room was shockingly bright, though in any other house it would be considered somber. The furniture was made of black wood, but the upholstery was brown and grey. Golden picture frames hung on the taupe walls, surrounding pictures of stormy seas and crumbling castles. At first, I thought the room was deserted. Then something stirred at the desk and I noticed a small, ancient woman, dressed like a crow. She was as faded as an old photograph, her face indistinct and her hair, though still brown, somehow colorless. The only thing alive about her was her bright amber eyes that watched my every move.

            Curtsying awkwardly, I tried to smile but found I couldn't. My heart trembled within me and I knew without a doubt that I had made a grave mistake in coming here. Those eyes, like an orange moon, sent fear thrilling through every inch of my body.

            "Sit," the woman said, though I didn't see her lips move.

            Sinking down on the stiff brown couch, I watched her as closely as she watched me. Still, nothing moved but her eyes.

            "One lump or two?"

            Somehow, I was holding a teacup I'd never seen before. The tea streamed from a teapot floating at my side. But I didn't want sugar or tea, all I wanted was to get as far away from there as possible. I tried to think of any excuse to escape.

            "None, thank you," I managed to say, though my voice seemed oddly weak and quiet.

            The teapot settled back down on the table. Looking down into my cup, I saw the dark tea swirling, portents flashing across its surface but disappearing before I could comprehend them.

            "You have talent." The voice was low and rumbling, like a cat's purr. "Such talent. But you have wasted it. If only I had gotten to you sooner."

            I blinked in surprise. No one had ever said anything like this to me before. Certainly, I didn't flaunt my power or use it pointlessly, but I had honed my ability. I considered myself well-trained.

            "Ah well," said Madam Larosa, still without moving. She might have been a doll, except for those eyes. "We shall see what we can do."
            "Please," I burst, spilling my tea in my anxiety. The fallen droplets didn't make it to the floor, but held in the air like dark, sparkling rain. "Please," I said again, "I don't think this is right for me. Perhaps I don't have enough talent. I should just go."

            A rich laugh rolled around the room. It didn't seem to be coming from the little woman at the desk. It came instead from the pictures and the fire and the covered windows.

            "Oh, my dear. The choice is not yours to make."

            The door creaked open and the pale girl gestured for me to follow her.

            "She will show you your room. Tomorrow, our work can begin."

            The rumbling laugh echoed behind me as I stepped into the darkness of the hall.

♥/Kat!e

Read Kira's entry here. 

Flash Fiction Friday: Hitchhiker

            Lost gods are the worst hitchhikers. Technically, as a Lyft driver, I'm not supposed to take non-paying passengers at all, but what can you do? Even the weakest, most pathetic god, stripped of most of his power and forced to rely on mundane methods of transportation can make the life of a demigod like me miserable. Just ask my pal Murphy.

            I pulled over to let the latest wandering deity in. If it wasn't for my own godly heritage, I would have thought he was a wandering artist, nobody special. He looked like a guy who would play soft rock, the kind with heavy social commentary but that's so mellow you hardly notice. A soft black leather jacket hung loosely on his thin frame. His brown hair and beard were curly and greyed with the dust of travel. He wore faded jeans and dark sneakers. It was kind of a surprise that he wasn't lugging a guitar.

            Sliding into the front seat with easy grace, the god gave me a tired but friendly smile. I don't know how I know they're gods, it's just an innate ability. Though everything about this guy said he was ordinary and pleasant, I knew I had to treat him with the utmost respect.

            "Where can I take you?" I asked politely.

            "Just drive," he said.

            This is what I hate about gods. They throw out orders, and I can't do anything but follow them, even though I have no idea where it might lead.

            Pulling back onto the road, I did as I was told.

            "Thank you for stopping for me." His voice was calm, and surprisingly humble. Most gods take it for granted that everyone is eager to do their bidding. And, the more forgotten the god, the more of his shrines have been dismantled and his powers have faded, the more arrogant and demanding he tends to be.

            "Of course," I said, glancing sideways at my passenger.

            He nodded. "Of course. You think I'd strike you down if you didn't."

            What could I say to that? It felt like a threat, even though his tone was friendly. I gave a sort of shrug.

            "I wouldn't hurt you, Brian. You could toss me out here and I wouldn't do anything."

            "Then what do you want?"

            "I want you to not be afraid of me." He sighed softly. "I wish everyone would stop being afraid of me."

            I raised my eyebrows. I was wary of all gods, but nothing about this one seemed particularly frightening.

            "I'm not afraid of you," I assured him.

            "You are," he said, looking out the window at the winding road ahead of us. "You always have been."

            "Who are you?"

            Maybe I was too intent on the conversation, too focused on the calm, melancholy man beside me, but I didn't see the truck. It came skidding around a bend in the road, driving on the wrong side. There was a squeal of collapsing metal, a blaring horn, a burst of fabric as the airbag engulfed me. Pain like I'd never known ripped through every piece of my body. In the senseless confusion, I heard a soft voice beside me answer my question.

            "I am Death."

Read Kira's response here.

♥/Kat!e

Flash Fiction Friday: Assassin

            "It's too early in the day for killing princes," Havar grumbled as he fitted a bolt into his crossbow.

            "I know," the crossbow said in its soothing, matronly voice.

            Staring up at the tree that would be his perch, Havar heaved a long sigh before hauling his old bones up into its branches. "I should never get up for anything less than a king."

            "Times are tough," the crossbow said. "We have to take what we can get."

            Still grumbling, Havar stretched out on his stomach high above the ground and aimed the crossbow at the path, trying to stay alert. This was getting harder of late. His mind wandered over previous days he'd spent in similar positions, sometimes waiting hours for his target. He'd never missed a shot, though he was sure the crossbow had more to do with that than his own talent.

            "You remember that king we killed back in Uldava?" he murmured. "Took us six weeks of scouting. I never thought we'd get him away from his guards."

            "That's the job that put you on the map," the crossbow said fondly.

            "It was a long time ago." Havar sighed again and shifted uncomfortably on his perch. "Wish this blasted boy would show up. I should be in bed."
            "Are you waiting for me?"

            Startled out of his wits, Havar barely managed to cling to the tree branch. He twisted his neck to see a boy of about twelve standing behind him, on the ground. The boy's bright blue eyes were friendly, his freckled face tipped back to stare up at Havar.

            "You're not a very good assassin," the boy said, swinging himself up onto the lowest branch of the tree. "I could hear you talking. 'Course, if I'd ridden down the path like you expected, I'd probably be dead now, wouldn't I?"

            "Why didn't you?" Havar demanded, having managed to slow his racing heart. "My intelligence told me you ride it every morning."

            "Oh, I've got a good luck thing," the prince said with a shrug. "Fairies blessed me at my birth, you know. It's a real nuisance for everybody who's trying to kill me."

            "It's not going to protect him from being shot point-blank," the crossbow said, seeming to wriggle in Havar's hand. It was eager for blood.

            "I'll get to that," Havar told it. "You don't seem very concerned about people trying to kill you," he said to the boy.

            "Well, they're not doing a very good job. Where'd you get a talking crossbow?"

            Sitting up and rubbing his aching back, Havar smiled. "I got it from a goblin who didn't know how to handle it."

            "Nasty, rough fingers he had," the crossbow remembered.

            "He had me pinned down, but none of his shots would fly straight. I managed to pick up one of the bolts that missed me and jam it down his throat."

            "Cool!" said the boy, leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

            "We've had lots more exciting adventures since then." Havar ran an age-worn hand across the smooth wood of the crossbow. "And lots more exciting than shooting a young boy."

            "You're not backing out now," the crossbow said sternly.

            Looking down, Havar studied the pale, round face of the child he'd been sent to assassinate. "Who's trying to kill you, boy?"

            "Oh, a lot of people. My sister, mainly. But there's a king in Perrin who's tried a few times, too. Don't you know who hired you?"
            "My clients prefer anonymity." Squinting down at the boy, Havar thought for a long moment. "You're blessed with luck, you say?"

            "Yup. That's why I'm still alive."
            Havar nodded. "Good. We'll need that."

            "What for?"

            "I'm not going to kill you."

            "What?" cried the crossbow.

            "I'm going to help you stop the attempts. Now, move. I'm coming down."

---

This isn't really a "flash" fiction, since it's rather long and obviously just the beginning of a story... It's been a long time since I've written anything, so I'm just happy I got this out. Thanks to Kira for getting me to do it! You can read her response to this prompt here. 

♥/Kat!e

2015 Reading Challenge Wrap Up

I have just finished reading The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers (translated by John Brownjohn,) which marks the final book in my reading challenge for 2015. This has been an awesome experience, and I'm really glad I did it.

One great thing that came out of this challenge was that it encouraged me to keep track of my books for the year. No, I didn't blog about all of them as I had planned, but I did update my Goodreads more faithfully than I ever have done. This is a habit I hope to keep up on, as it's really helpful to see what I've read and what I thought of it (information I tend to forget.)

The best thing that came from this challenge was a feeling of productivity connected with reading. It's my belief that we should all read as much as we are able, especially those of us who wish to be writers. Reading is a productive pastime. The trouble is, I never seem to be able to convince myself of this. Whenever I read, I always get this anxious feeling that I should be doing something else, something "more productive." Having a check list of books to read helped combat this feeling. I'm stubborn enough to be determined to complete the challenge, and I knew I had to put in time to do so. There was a feeling of fulfillment every time I checked off a book, and apparently I need that.

I will be doing another challenge next year, although this one will be rather different. More on that later.

For now, here are the books I read as part of my 2015 Reading Challenge (reviews attached.)

A book with more than 500 pages
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

A classic romance
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

A book that became a movie
Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

A book published this year
Winter by Marissa Meyer

A book with a number in the title
Ramona Quimby, Age 8 by Beverly Cleary - ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

A book written by someone under thirty
Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

A book with nonhuman characters
Etiquette & Espionage by Gail Carriger

A funny book
The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner

A mystery or thriller
The Ghost of Raven Hill by Emily Rodda

A book with a one-word title
Cress by Marissa Meyer

A book of short stories
The Unicorn Treasury compiled by Bruce Coville

A book set in a different country
Five Weeks in a Balloon by Jules Verne

A nonfiction book
The Story of Hans Anderson by Esther Meynell

A popular author's first book
Carpet People by Terry Pratchett 

A book from an author you love that you haven't read yet
Mike by P. G. Wodehouse

A book a friend recommended
The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo

A book your mom loves
The Ivy Tree by Mary Stewart

A book that scares you
The Thing on the Doorstep and Other Weird Stories by H. P. Lovecraft

A book more than one hundred years old
Dracula by Bram Stoker

A memoir
Ride the Butterflies by Donald Davis

A book you can finish in a day
The Door in the Wall by Marguerite de Angeli

A book with antonyms in the title
Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford

A book set somewhere you've always wanted to visit
The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

A book that came out the year you were born
Winter Moon by Dean Koontz

A trilogy
The Rondo Trilogy by Emily Rodda
The Key to Rondo
The Wizard of Rondo
The Battle for Rondo

A book from your childhood
Backyard Angel by Judy Delton

A book with a love triangle
Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas

A book set in the future
Cinder by Marissa Meyer

A book set in High School
Rebel Belle by Rachel Hawkins

A book with a color in the title
Scarlet by Marissa Meyer

A book that made you cry 
Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech

A book with magic
The Iron Trial by Holly Black and Cassandra Clare

A graphic novel
The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask by Akira Himekawa

A book by an author you've never read before
The Farwalker's Quest by Joni Sensel

A book that takes place in your hometown
Meet your Match by Stephanie Fowers

A book that was originally written in a different language
The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers, translated by John Brownjohn

A book set during Christmas
Skipping Christmas by John Grisham

A book written by an author with your same initials
Hannah by Kathryn Lasky

A play
The Tempest by William Shakespeare - ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

A banned book
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll - ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

A book based on or turned into a TV show
Avatar: the Last Airbender - The Search

A book you started but never finished
The Golden Journey by Agnes Sligh Turnbull

A book on the BYU honors list
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight translated by Simon Armitage

An LDS nonfiction
Mary, Martha, and Me by Camille Fronk Olson

A book of poems
Forgive Me, I Meant to Do It by Gail Carson Levine

Book Challenge: A Book Written by Someone Under Thirty

Book: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (age 21 at publication)
Pages: 197
Date Read: 12/5 - 12/7/2015
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Other Categories this book could have fit into:
A book that became a movie - I haven't seen any adaptations yet, beyond parodies which are amazingly inaccurate
A book with nonhuman characters - just the one
A book with a one-word title
A book set in a different country - it goes all over, actually, though predominantly set in Switzerland
A popular author's first book
A book more than one hundred years old - published in 1818
A book set somewhere you've always wanted to visit
A book that made you cry - we all know I cry in everything
A book by an author you've never read before


I'm unsure how I felt about this book. I adored the beginning. Having read many books from the 18 and early 1900s recently, I was expecting something similar in tone. But I found Frankenstein to be impressively readable, and with a pleasant and easy to follow story structure.

It was about halfway through that I went from loving this book to feeling uncertain about it. The thing that changed for me were my feelings about Frankenstein and his creation. I began liking them both. Frankenstein had many aspects of foolishness, as to be assumed from someone rash enough to try to create life without first considering the consequences, but he was not the cruel, devilish mastermind popular culture had led me to expect. And his creation was duly sympathetic; I wept knowing he would not have the happy ending he sought.

But both characters took unforgivable turns for me. Time and again, Frankenstein showed criminal lack of decision. After allowing his creation to roam free (seeming unconcerned as to where it had gotten to,) he failed to kill the creature, even knowing he had killed his young brother. He did have a plan then, to create a female, but when he turned away from that plan, he again failed to try to stop his creation from killing anyone else. And then again, later, while he had plans to fight with the creature, he did little to ensure that this battle would actually take place. He seemed constantly wrapped up in his own tragedies that he failed to do anything to stop more from occurring.

And, yes, I know that the creation of Frankenstein ought to be sympathized with. But he had some example of the difference between right and wrong, and still he murdered. He didn't do so blindly, unwitting of the crimes he committed, but with intent. And I truly believe that there were those who would have sympathized with him, if he'd been able to give them a chance (Walton actually did, returning to hatred only by recollection of the horrors the creature had perpetrated.)

Both Frankenstein and his creation were so convinced that they were the only ones who knew suffering - that their suffering was greater than any known being had ever felt - that they time and again did horrible and foolish things. Perhaps it's only my state of mind as I read it, but I felt that this was the greatest lesson to learn from this book; that we must look out at the trials of others and realize we are not alone, rather than trying to aggrandize our own miseries. Frankenstein and his monster both possessed an obsession with self (perhaps forgivable in the creation, but not in the man) that led to their downfall.

Anyway, I suppose all of this is me philosophizing and not actually reviewing the book. In spite of my frustrations with the characters (especially difficult as I grew to detest the first person narrator,) I did adore it. The writing is thoughtful, yet constantly moved forward and never became heavy-handed. The characters were thoughtfully crafted, and each stood out individually. There were a lot more moral implications in the book than I here discussed, and so much food for thought that it's hard to take it all in at once. It is a beautifully crafted book; thoughtful and engaging, full of adventure and horror. And I feel the need to point out the descriptions; they were handled really well, to the point where you felt like you got to enjoy lovely scenery, without having it bog down the narration. I'm not sure I've ever read a book that handled description so well.

I would absolutely recommend this classic -- it is quite sad, and in some ways unbearably frustrating, but it's worth it for the ideas and the beautiful writing.

♥/Kat!e

Book Challenge: A Book that Scares You

Book: The Thing on the Doorstep and Other Weird Stories by H. P. Lovecraft
Pages: 365
Date Read: 10/31 - 12/5/2015
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Other Categories this book could have fit into:
A book with nonhuman characters
A mystery or thriller
A book of short stories
A book by an author you've never read before

I discovered in this reading challenge that I am not easily scared by books; though that might be because I am not willing to delve too deeply into horror. But this book introduced me to the genre, and did have some terrifying aspects, so it qualifies.

Lovecraft is a classic author, and I'm really glad I decided to give his stories a try. He's a prime example of early American writing, while clearly influenced by Poe, Bram Stoker, and Robert Louis Stevenson. I loved this collection and will be looking for more of his writing.

Each story was so individual that I would like to go through them and review them separately. Bear with me, there are a lot.


The Tomb 

"In relating the circumstances which have led to my confinement in this refuge for the demented, I am aware that my present position will create a natural doubt for the authenticity of my narrative."

Those were the first words of Lovecraft's I ever read, and I immediately fell in love. How could you not?  The greatest horror stories always begin with the insane, and the voice was perfection.

This story had elements of a classic ghost story, with the draw of death and the appeal of all things beyond. The twist at the end, though heavily foreshadowed, was still worded perfectly to send a thrill through you. Though most of the following stories were written from the perspective of someone outside the horror, this one is up close and personal with the madman (but is he mad?) himself.

The tone and pacing of this story had me excited to read the next.


Beyond the Wall of Sleep 

"I have frequently wondered if the majority of mankind ever pause to reflect upon the occasionally titanic significance of dreams, and of the obscure world to which they belong."

There were some familiar science fiction elements to this story that felt almost Ray Bradbury-esque. Of course, Lovecraft came first, writing science fiction before that was officially a genre. This piece was thought-provoking, and opened my mind to the expansive world that Lovecraft imagined and explored in his other stories. There was also the classic insane asylum, which reminds me a lot of those sections from Dracula and lead me to believe that Lovecraft was heavily influenced by that book.

This is one that I look forward to rereading, as I am sure there is more to be gained from it.


The White Ship

"I am Basil Elton, keeper of the North Point light that my father and grandfather kept before me."

This story was lovely, and most intriguing in that the mythology felt familiar while being entirely new to me. I wonder how much Lovecraft's work has made its way into other stories I've read, that I knew his worlds before I was ever officially introduced to them. I don't have a lot to say on this one, other than that I would like to reread it and follow up some of his references, tracking down some of his other stories, so that I can get a firmer grasp of the ideas he was exploring. Reading it the first time it was a bit beyond me, but I look forward to going deeper into it.


The Temple 
(Manuscript found on the coast of Yucatan.)

"On August 20, 1917, I, Karl Heinrich, Graf von Altberg-Ehrenstein, Lieutenant-Commander in the Imperial German Navy and in charge of the submarine U-29, deposit this bottle and record in the Atlantic Ocean at a point t me unknown but probably about N. Latitude 20°, W. Longitude 35°, where my ship lies disabled on the ocean floor."

Definitely the best part about this story was its voice. Though a bit slow, dry, and military (as you can tell from the first line,) there was definite character. And a German U-boat captain written by an American in 1925 was interesting to say the least. He captured the exaggerated German pride and over-logical thinking to a nicety.

Then there was the lovely ghost story aspect to this story. Ghosts at sea are a special favorite of mine, and this had all the best elements of such a tale. There was a definite sense of impending doom that made the ending inevitable. There were also some really wonderful, eerie visuals. This story may have been a bit harder to get through, but it was definitely worth the read.


The Quest of Iranon

"Into the granite city of Teloth wandered the youth, vine-crowned, his yellow hair glistening with myrrh and his purple robe torn with briers of the mountain Sidrak that lies across the antique bridge of stone."

This story was downright tragic, easily the saddest in the collection. It was also beautiful and haunting. I think it was my favorite.

"Wherefore do ye toil; is it not that ye may live and be happy? And if ye toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you? Ye toil to live, but is not life made of beauty and song? And if ye suffer no singers among you, where shall be the fruits of your toil? Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end. Were not death more pleasing?"

There was a lot in this story about the nature of man and dreams. It broke my heart, and I look forward to reading it again.


The Music of Erich Zann 

"I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care, yet have never again found the Rue d'Auseil."

One of the great things about Lovecraft's horror writing was that Hitchcock-esque quality of never quite showing us everything, but leaving the greatest of the horror to our own imagination. However, this story, I felt, left too much to the imagination, to the point where I felt like we didn't get the story at all. Something terrifying was no doubt happening, but I can't even begin to guess what, which makes it less terrifying than it could be. The setting was on point, and the characters distinct, but I would have liked more details. As it was, I found this story obscure to the point of boring.


Under the Pyramids
(with Harry Houdini)

"Mystery attracts mystery."

This story was ghost written for Harry Houdini, which was really exciting. I love Houdini, and hadn't even thought about him and Lovecraft being contemporaries. They go together perfectly.

However, this story was a bit... long and slow. Sometimes you get the overwhelming feeling that Lovecraft was being paid by the word. Scenes of this story were really interesting, and some truly horrifying, but I think several pages could have been cut to the story's betterment. That said, it was fun to get the Houdini style, and still have all the Lovecraft horror. Plus, there are some really interesting descriptions of Egypt. Overall, I enjoyed this story, but it did drag a bit.


Pickman's Model

"You needn't think I'm crazy, Eliot--plenty of others have queerer prejudices than this."

And here we come to the story that made me count this book as "a book that scares me." This one struck a little too close to home as being possible and horrific. I'm glad I don't ride the subway. This is exactly the sort of thing I want from contemporary horror -- taking distant and ancient evils, and then bringing them right up to your door. I also really loved the voice, which was conversational and familiar. The dramatic plot twist at the end was obvious from about halfway through, but it was horrifying enough that knowing it ahead of time really just served to make things worse. I really loved this story, though I'm creeped out just remembering it -- which I suppose is a compliment to a horror story.


The Case of Charles Dexter Ward 

"From a private hospital for the insane near Providence, Rhode Island, there recently disappeared an exceedingly singular person." 

This is the longest piece Lovecraft ever published, crossing the line from short story to novella. But, to be honest, Lovecraft's strength was in brevity. His longer works tend to be redundant, exaggeratedly mysterious, and simply not as clean-cut as his short ones.

That said, this still had a lot of quality in it. The premise was properly disturbing, with necromancy being practiced in a way that almost made it seem almost logical. And Lovecraft did have a gift for making the horrific seem possible, even plausible, which makes it that much more terrifying. The characters in this one were distinct, and you felt bad for Charles Ward, in over his head and exploring things that ought to be left alone. This one was certainly thought provoking; I only wish it had been pared down a bit.


The Dunwich Horror

"When a traveller in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork at the junction of the Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean's Corners he comes upon a lonely and curious country."

This wasn't one of my favorite stories, and was quite slow in spots, but it had some great visuals. It had more action than some of the others, and some classic monster attacks. Honestly, it could have been done as a really great horror movie from the 1960s -- and I wouldn't be surprised if it inspired some of those B monster movies. It was entertaining, and had great characters, but wasn't as thought provoking as some of the others.


At the Mountains of Madness

"I am forced into speech because men of science have refused to follow my advice without knowing why."

Again, this story is longer, and I just think Lovecraft did better with fewer words. Writing has changed a lot in the past hundred years, and Lovecraft's story structure is often meandering and over-explanatory. Sometimes I really enjoy that, but with this story I just got impatient to get to the exciting things that he was referencing time and again.

I would like to reread this story when I'm in perhaps a more patient frame of mind. I did really love some elements of it. They explore an ancient city, its art and history, built by beings that predate earth life, and it was truly fascinating. The descriptions were gorgeous, and it built a whole idea of this culture without actually showing it to us. I also felt like the narrator was refreshingly understanding, and it was cool to have some non-evil aliens. And there were some exciting scenes at the end. This is one where I felt like Lovecraft left just enough to our imaginations to be haunting, without being obscure.


The Thing on the Doorstep

"It is true that I have sent six bullets through the head of my best friend, and yet I hope to shew by this statement that I am not his murderer."

First off, that may well be the best first line I have ever read. Second, this story was perfect. I completely adored the characters and the concept. It was hugely stressful, since you worry no one will listen to the narrator and the horror will just continue growing. The fact that it didn't really end was perfect for a horror story. As for the rest of it -- walking corpses, hypnotic possession,  a quest for immortality -- it had all the perfect elements for a truly creepy story. It was exactly what I wanted, and made for an excellent ending to this anthology.


Over all, I really enjoyed this collection. I would recommend it to anyone who's interested in classic horror, similar in style to Edgar Allan Poe. Lovecraft's style is beautiful, and his stories dark and deep.

♥/Kat!e

Flash Fiction Friday: Demolition

            “Look, lady, it’s not my idea to destroy them. But it’s my 

job to get it done. So get out of the way.”

            “Please!” She clasps her hands. “I’ve worked so hard on it! I’ll get more money.”

            “Can you get it in the next five minutes?”

            “Well, no, but-”

            “Then move. It’s coming down.”
            It’s beautiful, but then they always are. Its crystal spires sparkle towards the heavens. She must have poured months into it.

            And now I have to use my power to tear down her Dream Castle because the money has run out.

            I hate my job.

♥/Kat!e

Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "It wasn't my idea to destroy it. But it was my job to get it done."

Read the other responses:

Quinlyn Shaughnessy

Lady Violet

Ginny Romney

Brianne Dosch

Tiffany Jones

Click to read my other FFF responses

Flash Fiction Friday: Excuses

            “I have to go... iron... my cat.” I winced, unable to believe that I’d just said those words.

            He arched a perfect dark eyebrow in classic romance novel fashion. “I see. Well, I’d hate to keep you from something so important.”

            “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

             “It’s alright. I understand. I won’t bother you again.”

            He walked away and I let him go. I had to. Nothing could interfere with my mission.

            But as I set off to find the landlocked mermaid, I wished that I could have just one ordinary Friday night.

♥/Kat!e

Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "I have to go... iron... my cat."

Read the other responses:

Quinlyn Shaughnessy

Lady Violet

Ginny Romney

Brianne Dosch

Tiffany Jones

Click to read my other FFF responses

Flash Fiction Friday - Death Date

            “I think I’ve been dead since ’98.” Marianne stirs her smoothie with her lips scrunched to one side.

            “Can’t you keep anything straight?” Karlie asks over her coffee mug. “It was ’99. I remember you complaining about just missing the millennium.”

            “It doesn’t matter anyways,” says Max, “Y’all know I died in the eighties.”

            “But Richard died in ’76.”

            “Richard doesn’t count. I’m the oldest in the group.”

            “I think youngest should decide where we haunt next.” Hayley grins, licking her ice cream cone.

            “Hasn’t even been dead a week, and already she wants to boss us around,” Karlie complains.

♥/Kat!e

Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "I think I've been dead since '98."

Read the other responses:

Quinlyn Shaughnessy

Lady Violet

Ginny Romney

Brianne Dosch

Tiffany Jones

Click to read my other FFF responses