The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Sticky Notes 
by Christina Persaud 

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“Dammit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My clothes! They’re ruined!” I fished a red piece of paper out of the washing machine. Be it a ticket or flyer, it was now wet, crumpled, and shredded.

Solange came to my side. Her perfume, a blend of sandalwood and something I could not put my nose on, overwhelmed even the smell of laundry detergent. She stunk up the whole apartment with it, just like her strange foods.

“Lucky for you, you look fabulous in pink.” Solange offered me a bright smile, showing me a perfect set of white teeth. I hid a grimace.

“Gee, thanks.”

Solange’s smile fell. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. Just trying to make you feel better, Samantha. Maybe we can go shopping, get you some new clothes? We can make a day of it.”

I told her maybe. She slithered back to the couch like a snake, and I escaped to my bedroom, shutting my blinds to keep the sun out. I called my mom.

“Sweetheart, we’ll send some extra spending cash this month. But these things happen. It was just an accident. Remember that time your sister –”

“Mom, I think she did it on purpose!”

The woman paused on the other end. “Do you have any proof? Any reason to think your roommate sabotaged your laundry?”

I thought hard, digging, searching. “No. But I was out all morning. She was the only one here. And-and she’s still putting those annoying sticky notes on everything!”

I heard another sigh. “Sam, you’ve got to get along with Solange. She’s a good tenant. She doesn’t cause any trouble other than those stupid sticky notes you’ve been obsessing about. Have you been getting enough sleep, honey? Are you having bad dreams again? You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Our conversation died shortly after.

Outside my bedroom, Solange was still on the couch. I cleared my throat.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about—”

“My notes,” she said, already aware.

“Maybe you can try to learn French another way? Instead of labeling everything in the house?” I went to the fridge where a bright orange sticky note displayed a word I could not read. “What’s this say? It doesn’t look French.”

Solange didn’t respond. She watched me with those big brown eyes, studying my twitching fingers. Fingers that itched to toss her dozens of notes into the trash.

“This place looks like a kindergarten classroom,” I said. “It totally clashes with my decor.”

“I understand. Just let me leave them up until my next exam?” Solange chuckled, “You can’t have color without light. And honestly, they brighten up my mood and help keep the bad guys away.”

I could have cared less about her mood. However, I waited a week or two. In the meanwhile, I was growing impatient, and it was affecting me in the worst ways. I began snapping at everyone, including my friends and even Gary. One night, after our date, he came over, although I didn’t want him to. By that point, I hated spending time in my own apartment.

“Where’s your roommate?” Gary asked.

I shrugged.

Suddenly, he cracked open her bedroom door. “Whoa,” he said and disappeared.

“Gary!”

Gary didn’t listen. I followed him into Solange’s room. My mouth fell open. If I thought there were a lot of sticky notes throughout my apartment, the bedroom was a hive. Small, square pieces of colored paper clung to everything from the ceiling to the floorboards. Written in her scribbled handwriting were words I could not read. But they weren’t meant to be deciphered that way. It was only when I stood back that the words formed larger images. The many drawings began to shapeshift and come to life. A barking dog. A man’s smirking face. A begging woman. A butcher slicing meat.

“What is this?” I heard Gary ask. Suddenly, he began to tear them down. One by one, he pulled the notes off of the walls, off of surfaces, off of furniture like Solange’s headboard and office chair. And I helped.

I reveled in removing the colors dotting the rest of the house. It felt good. I felt lighter and safer, too. When I was done, I shuttered the window blinds. Before he left, Gary and I made love, and I showered and changed, feeling a shift in the air.

That night, Solange did not return home.

But my nightmares did.

The barking dog bared its teeth demonically. The smirking man chased me. Monsters jeered at me in my sleep. And then, I began to see them while awake.

In desperation, I found one of Solange’s notepads. I could hear them laughing as I stuck colored paper to the walls while writing words like “Get out” and “Leave.” But the monsters had escaped the realm of my nightmares; the evil Solange had so painstakingly kept at bay.

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Fiction © Copyright Christina Persaud
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Atonement
by K.R. Morrison 

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She sat on the sand, weeping, oblivious to the rapidly-rising tide. Her wings were dissolving almost as fast as the onrushing waters, and there was absolutely nothing that could stop them. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

Once the tears stopped, she raised her head and stared out at the horizon. Tears were getting her nowhere; she had to think of a solution, and think of one fast, before she became like the mortals she had chosen to dwell with.

That had been her mistake. She had been sent to do her duty, to draw these creatures to her Lord’s will. But she had become enamored by their lives and, little by little, had forgotten why she had been put here in the first place.

Today, when she felt the sizzling at her back, she remembered her mission with a nauseating jolt. And now she sat alone, cut off from her former existence, feeling her wings fading away.

Wait! What was that way out to sea?

It was a yacht, and it seemed to be having trouble. Her eyesight had not failed her yet, so she could see that it was floating aimlessly. There were occasional puffs of gray smoke from the windows.

This was her one chance!

“Just let me make it right for this ship!” she prayed. “I know I can become who I was!”

A surge of her old energy returned, and she stood up. She stared hard at the yacht, concentrating on the smoke that was now steadily rising.

About a minute later, she was rewarded.

The vessel had caught fire. Moments later it blew up.

She leaned her head back and laughed as her wings returned. At first white, they swiftly withered and turned a black darker than nightmares. Her fingernails curved and extended, and she could see her humanlike skin becoming twisted and burnt.

She had never felt so free! One deed done for her Master was enough. “This time,” she thought to herself. “There can’t be a next time.”

As she disappeared in a puff of sulfuric smoke, she resolved to be the best demon her Master could ever want.

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Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

More from K.R. Morrison:

Enoch’s Return: Pride’s Downfall Book 4

All hell broke loose, as demon fought saint, and undead fought mortal. Fangs and swords, fire and light, mingled in a cacophony of noise that would have awakened the dead — if they hadn’t already been in the pitch of battle.

Toby was looking forward to celebrating his 21st birthday with family and friends. However, the day is shattered by the arrival of his sister, Erica, fresh out of the juvenile detention center, where she has lived in isolation most of her life. There is something very wrong with her still; witness her biting the ear of her taxi driver and licking the blood from her lips, and the way she antagonizes everyone around her. The other thing that is very off-putting about the day is a gift he receives – a musty tent and a few iron spikes that have been lying in the ground for years. Toby faints at the sight of the “treasure,” while Erica reacts violently and runs off to who-knows-where.
While he is unconscious, Toby learns who he truly is, and of his mission.

Available on Amazon!