“It is a hollowgast skeleton,” Jacob said to the small congregation at his backyard barbecue.

The Chitten’s from two houses down flinched and began looking around.

‘It’s them,’ he thought to himself.

Jacob looked at his Peculiar wife Emily. She nodded and closed her eyes plunging the world into darkness. The Chitten’s yelped and tried to run but their feet were frozen.

Spotlights from nowhere illuminated the four of them. The Chitten’s dropped their rehearsed human qualities resorting to the snapping and snarling of hollowgasts.

“We are still eating your potato salad.”

Jacob snapped his fingers incinerating the Peculiar threat.

(This story was inspired by Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
a Novel by Ransom Riggs and the photo below.)


PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

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May 29th, 2015

Posted In: 100 Word Stories, Friday Fictioneers

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The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.

Yet, it is not ghosts haunting this quaint dusty village.

The true spook of Miners Hill is one Owen Grabbler. A very much alive rambling drunk rancher who wanders over the hill on his horse to talk to them.

“The spirits let me see spirits. Know what I mean?” Grabbler shouted to the ghosts he knew were avoiding him.

Owen stood outside city hall relieving himself into an old dried up fountain. He fumbled with his manhood and a bottle of whiskey with the same hand while his free arm maintained a questionable balance.

A group of frustrated spirits summoned all their energy to give the drunk Grabbler a little push. Maybe face down in the dirt covered in his own urine would teach him a lesson.

The horror they must have felt when a sharp rock hidden just below the soft dust at the bottom of the fountain made Owen Grabbler their newest permanent resident.

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

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May 27th, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story

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Jonas concentrated on his lunch trying desperately to block out the noisy lunch room. He read that if you could just imagine yourself vibrating faster and faster, you could leave your body. You could travel -to the astral plane.

“Jonas, stop being an idiot,” an apple followed the voice and crashed into the middle of his soup spraying beef broth all over his clothes. He looked up. His concentration, broken.

He wanted to leave his body. This small, weak and ugly body.

Jonas was approached by a strange man last summer and a conversation ensued that changed his life forever. He learned that the ethereal plane was real and that many real world objects were tied to things beyond the veil if only one could steady the soul long enough to see.

He took the same route home from school every day passing two massive old ship anchors where he saw the stranger. There was no sign of the man all school year.

One such day the school bully cornered Jonas and knocked his head hard into the ground. Jonas lay there for a long time, long enough for the blood on his smiling lips to dry.

“You okay boy? What you smiling for?” the pastor from the local church knelt next to him. Jonas pointed a finger to the sky.

There, in the birth of twilight, the belly of a ghostly ship floated in the clouds tethered to the two old anchors. From the deck he could see the stranger, waving and smiling.


A pair of Anchors

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May 26th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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They always ask the question. I’ll answer this just one… last… time.

“Look at this plant outside the window. Tell me what you see,” I said.

The interviewer stared as the last drops of rain fell and the sun pierced the clouds.

“Some rain drops on a leaf,” she said.

“Right. Just some rain drops sitting there. Soon they will evaporate into nothingness as if they never mattered,” I thought for a moment.

“I knew I was a writer when my mission in life became to ensure each one of those tiny universes could exist forever and never be forgotten.”


PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

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May 23rd, 2015

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The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.

Travers concentrated on the sub’s controls making their final descent into a deep underwater cave. They would ride just above ‘hull crush’ depth.

“What do you think is down here skip?” she asked the captain.

Captain Onslow watched the circular green sonar screen. “Doesn’t matter. We light up all the cameras and get the hell out if we find anything.”

The small crew of three each manned their stations with trepidation. A small beep echoed in the cabin and all twitched except Onslow.

“What is it Ray-Ray?” Onslow asked the sonar man.

Ray didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the screen and large. He furiously began banging his nose into his control panel. Clucking?

“Hit the flashes and turn around Travers,” Onslow screamed but it was too late.

She was already perched on her monitor -trousers down trying to lay an egg.

To be continued…

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham


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May 22nd, 2015

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