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Monthly Short Story Contest
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July 2020 Contest - Strange Occurrences
I don't know if this helps or not, but my first bit of research for this story took me to the old Google Machine to search for "Tree Tables" and then look at images - there are some really interesting tables that have been made from trees that one can draw inspiration from - just a thought. Happy Wizard Carpentry to all!!!
That's a great idea, Todd. I never would have thought of doing that. However, I already have a story outline. Just need to fill in the holes.
Todd wrote: "I don't know if this helps or not, but my first bit of research for this story took me to the old Google Machine to search for "Tree Tables" and then look at images - there are some really interest..."
Todd wrote: "I don't know if this helps or not, but my first bit of research for this story took me to the old Google Machine to search for "Tree Tables" and then look at images - there are some really interest..."
Mod
Todd wrote: "I don't know if this helps or not, but my first bit of research for this story took me to the old Google Machine to search for "Tree Tables" and then look at images - there are some really interest..."
Mod
TERRY wrote: "That's a great idea, Todd. I never would have thought of doing that. However, I already have a story outline. Just need to fill in the holes.
Todd wrote: "I don't know if this helps or not, but m..."
Rejoice! It’s been months since I’ve been here. Thought I’d check it out. LOVE your theme. Will write a story this month! Thank you.
Rejoice. I am working on a story. Wanted to post yesterday but it might be a couple more days. I like your theme.
Mod
Sandy wrote: "Rejoice! It’s been months since I’ve been here. Thought I’d check it out. LOVE your theme. Will write a story this month! Thank you."
Mod
TERRY wrote: "Rejoice. I am working on a story. Wanted to post yesterday but it might be a couple more days. I like your theme."
TALE OF THE COFFEE TABLE
by tturner 882 words
My mother was the queen of thrift. Our house was full of used furniture and knick-knacks from years of browsing yard sales and thrift stores. Many of those items, over time, became quite valuable as collector items.
Sometime after I was born, my mother replaced the glass-topped coffee table, for fear it would somehow get broken and injure a rambunctious male toddler such as me. It was at a barn sale where she found what she was looking for. The sale was confined to the main floor of the barn but, failing to find anything to pique her interest, she sneaked away, when no one was looking, to the hayloft above. Hidden away in a dark corner, partially covered with hay and dust, she discovered a wooden coffee table so unusual in that it was made from a single piece of wood. She had to have it.
When she told the old farmer she was interested in the table, he said, with a puzzled look on his face, that he didn't know what she was talking about. When she took him to the loft to see the table, he stared at it for several minutes as though he was lost in thought.
“Is it for sale,” she asked?
“Yes, it is but I don't think you will be happy with the table. I forgot it was even up here. My grandfather brought it to the barn about a hundred and fifty years ago and it has been here, forgotten, until now.
“When my great grandparents purchased this land, the house and barn were already here and the house came with a few pieces of furniture, including the coffee table. Let me tell you the story of the table as passed down to me from my grandfather.
"Shortly after my grandparents bought this property, a terrific storm blew up from nowhere. My grandfather went to the door to see what was going on when from out of the pouring rain emerged a very old woman with long grey hair wearing only a white smock and no shoes. She told my grandfather a story about two powerful warlocks who, while warring with each other, accidentally locked themselves inside a tree. She claimed she put a spell on the tree and turned it into a coffee table and the table was there in their house. She warned my grandfather never to dismantle or damage the table or great harm would befall them.
The old woman then turned and vanished into the storm from whence she came. When my grandmother heard the story, she insisted the table be moved to the barn where it has remained all these years.”
So my mother bought the coffee table from the farmer with a promise to keep it safe. She placed it in her art room by the bay window and there it remained until the day she died. It was then that strange noises could be heard coming from her art room which had been sealed since her death.
One night, during a severe thunderstorm, a bolt of lightning crashed through the bay window and struck the coffee table, splitting it in half followed by loud thumping and angry voices. An orange light could be seen glowing from under the locked door.
I will never forget that night when I pushed open the door and what I saw filled me with terror and fear for myself and my family.
Two warlocks stood facing each other holding large medieval swords, their faces displaying the torment of time, their voices mouthing a hundred and fifty years of hatred to all mankind for banishing them into their wooden jail.
I quickly slammed the door shut and turned the metal key to lock it again.
Then, from my front door came a loud knocking and a woman's voice shouting, "open the door, quickly, open the door." And in the doorway stood an old woman draped in a white rain-soaked smock and a mass of tangled grey hair.
“Listen well”, she said.
“Two ancient warlocks have been freed from their prison this night and must be banished again back from whence they came. Come with me,” she said.
Standing before the door, I began to shake because the noise coming from the room was horrendous. I turned to give the key to the old woman but she put her cold bony fingers on my hand saying, "I don't need that,” and before my eyes, she passed through the closed door.
Then there was silence. The thunder and lightning ceased and the cursing stopped and an eerie chill filled my house broken only by the old woman's voice saying, “You now must take the table and burn it to ash. They must never be freed again as their anger is too destructive.”
She then left my house by the back door. Turning she said, “God be with you,” as she disappeared into the early morning mist.
Gathering the two halves of the table, I carried them down to the old oak tree and set fire to them. The flames gripped the wood and danced in the light breeze until the table was no more.
Did I imagine it or did I hear the warlocks cursing in the dying flames?
by tturner 882 words
My mother was the queen of thrift. Our house was full of used furniture and knick-knacks from years of browsing yard sales and thrift stores. Many of those items, over time, became quite valuable as collector items.
Sometime after I was born, my mother replaced the glass-topped coffee table, for fear it would somehow get broken and injure a rambunctious male toddler such as me. It was at a barn sale where she found what she was looking for. The sale was confined to the main floor of the barn but, failing to find anything to pique her interest, she sneaked away, when no one was looking, to the hayloft above. Hidden away in a dark corner, partially covered with hay and dust, she discovered a wooden coffee table so unusual in that it was made from a single piece of wood. She had to have it.
When she told the old farmer she was interested in the table, he said, with a puzzled look on his face, that he didn't know what she was talking about. When she took him to the loft to see the table, he stared at it for several minutes as though he was lost in thought.
“Is it for sale,” she asked?
“Yes, it is but I don't think you will be happy with the table. I forgot it was even up here. My grandfather brought it to the barn about a hundred and fifty years ago and it has been here, forgotten, until now.
“When my great grandparents purchased this land, the house and barn were already here and the house came with a few pieces of furniture, including the coffee table. Let me tell you the story of the table as passed down to me from my grandfather.
"Shortly after my grandparents bought this property, a terrific storm blew up from nowhere. My grandfather went to the door to see what was going on when from out of the pouring rain emerged a very old woman with long grey hair wearing only a white smock and no shoes. She told my grandfather a story about two powerful warlocks who, while warring with each other, accidentally locked themselves inside a tree. She claimed she put a spell on the tree and turned it into a coffee table and the table was there in their house. She warned my grandfather never to dismantle or damage the table or great harm would befall them.
The old woman then turned and vanished into the storm from whence she came. When my grandmother heard the story, she insisted the table be moved to the barn where it has remained all these years.”
So my mother bought the coffee table from the farmer with a promise to keep it safe. She placed it in her art room by the bay window and there it remained until the day she died. It was then that strange noises could be heard coming from her art room which had been sealed since her death.
One night, during a severe thunderstorm, a bolt of lightning crashed through the bay window and struck the coffee table, splitting it in half followed by loud thumping and angry voices. An orange light could be seen glowing from under the locked door.
I will never forget that night when I pushed open the door and what I saw filled me with terror and fear for myself and my family.
Two warlocks stood facing each other holding large medieval swords, their faces displaying the torment of time, their voices mouthing a hundred and fifty years of hatred to all mankind for banishing them into their wooden jail.
I quickly slammed the door shut and turned the metal key to lock it again.
Then, from my front door came a loud knocking and a woman's voice shouting, "open the door, quickly, open the door." And in the doorway stood an old woman draped in a white rain-soaked smock and a mass of tangled grey hair.
“Listen well”, she said.
“Two ancient warlocks have been freed from their prison this night and must be banished again back from whence they came. Come with me,” she said.
Standing before the door, I began to shake because the noise coming from the room was horrendous. I turned to give the key to the old woman but she put her cold bony fingers on my hand saying, "I don't need that,” and before my eyes, she passed through the closed door.
Then there was silence. The thunder and lightning ceased and the cursing stopped and an eerie chill filled my house broken only by the old woman's voice saying, “You now must take the table and burn it to ash. They must never be freed again as their anger is too destructive.”
She then left my house by the back door. Turning she said, “God be with you,” as she disappeared into the early morning mist.
Gathering the two halves of the table, I carried them down to the old oak tree and set fire to them. The flames gripped the wood and danced in the light breeze until the table was no more.
Did I imagine it or did I hear the warlocks cursing in the dying flames?
Mod
TERRY wrote: "TALE OF THE COFFEE TABLE
by tturner 882 words
My mother was the queen of thrift. Our house was full of used furniture and knick-knacks from years of browsing yard sales and thrift stores. Many of ..."
A fun-filled story, Terry. Most enjoyable. TERRY wrote: "TALE OF THE COFFEE TABLEby tturner 882 words
My mother was the queen of thrift. Our house was full of used furniture and knick-knacks from years of browsing yard sales and thrift stores. Many of ..."
Greetings, Patricia, Rejoice and Glenda. Thanks for liking the story.
Mod
617 words
Tristan started his day by fixing breakfast and tea for both himself and Lord Eric, the knight he trained under. The bright summer morning was steamy yet welcoming. The birds chirped nearby as they searched for things to eat. After breakfast, he cleaned the clothes and then cleaned the weapons. He sat on a bench near the door to rest in between his tasks. Eric appeared in a dress shirt, breeches, boots, and his sword in its sheath on his hip.
“Come now Tristan. We’ve been summoned to the castle. Change into your formal attire. We have an audience with the king!”
“Yes, my lord.”
The boy made his way to his room to pick out his clothes. Pogo his tabby cat jumped onto the window sill to greet him. What would he do without his Pogo? They had been on some memorable adventures together: several run-ins with the Mongrelfolk (a cross between an ogre and orc), saving other cats from an ill fate by these monstrous creatures, dealing with elves from Willow Forest, and meeting Grughus the dragon.
“Sorry, Pogo. This event is for humans only.”
Pogo sprawled on his belly on the window sill and flicked his tail as if he took offense. But he’d get over it.
Tristan heard a commotion outside. He quickly went outside to see a woman and a man who were fighting. Each one, a wizard by trade, brandished a wand as they hurled powerful spells at each other. The boy could hear a couple of female servants nearby talking amongst themselves. One gathered her toddler in her arms.
“I heard tale that Dylena caught Vejo with another woman,” said the younger servant.
“Truth be told, I hope she blacks his eye!” replied the older woman.
The wizards continued to fight while the common people went about their business.
*****
When Lord Eric and Tristin arrived at the castle, they were given choice seats at King Arthur’s table.
“We are here to honor our dear Page, Tristin. Come up here please,” Arthur said as he motioned for the boy. Tristin came to kneel before the throne of the king. Arthur took his jeweled-handled sword and tapped each of Tristin’s shoulders saying, “Congratulations! You are now a Squire! Turn and face your kindred.”
The knights rapped their knuckles on the round table continually to express applause for the new squire.
*****
While the knights were gathered in the castle, the lovers’ spat continued between the wizards. Unbeknownst to them, a small group of Mongrelfolk were passing close by. The leader of the group, Grimber addressed his companions.
“I’ll give five cats to the ones who capture those wizards. We could feast on their flesh then be endowed with their magic! Then we would be unstoppable to humans! Let’s cut down a tree to make our own round table with their bones. It will be more grand than the king’s table of Camelot!”
The couple appeared to be slowing down their magical assaults on each other for they became weary. Grimber signaled for his foot soldiers to advance on them. Once the couple realized that they were trapped, they stood back to back. Their feelings changed from hurt and vengeance to love and protection for each other. They clasped hands, each raising his own wand, and together yelled out a very powerful spell. Power that looked like both smoke and flame enveloped the advancing Mongrelfolk.
*****
When the celebration was over in the castle, young Tristin, Lord Eric, the knights, and king Arthur came outside to be met with a very unusual sight: Grimber and his band of Mongrelfolk were turned into stone, a Stonehenge of the Arthurian Realm.
Long live the king!
Very creative, Glenda. I would have never thought of a male and female wizard/lovers.
CARRIEANNE’S TABLE992 words
The toddler pulled herself up, grabbing onto the couch cushion and sang an, “Emph, emph, emph,” as she stepped along between couch and the brown-black-white coffee table.
“For the millionth time, get your filthy elbow out of my ear.” And for the millionth time, Matilda tried to wiggle away, but she was too stiff.
The toddler stopped and rocked unsteadily on her pudgy legs.
“Ear? You’re complaining about an ear inconvenience?” Stephon replied. “What about your staff between my legs all these decades?”
“Quit your whining. It’s probably as dried up as the rest of you.”
“How dare you!” he shouted. “Shada ca rum.”
Matilda cackled, then mocked the brown-skinned wizard beside her with a “Shada ca rum-de-dum-dum back to you. Your pitiful spells can’t touch me anymore.”
“You saw to that with your hokey-pa-doky spell,” Step answered.
“Me? You were just as bad with—”
A tiny voice interrupted them. “Okey-pa-doky. Bop!” At the last word, Carrieanne’s hand slapped on the coffee table, startling the two wizards.
Stephon and Matilda froze, not that they had any choice. For the past three hundred years the two had been reluctant cell mates, bound together in a tree during their final battle, after which they stood entwined, yet still separate beings. That moment they’d uttered their fateful spells simultaneously, the words wrapped around each other and Matilda’s black skin swirled around Stephon’s brown skin, with the nearby tree’s natural white core twisting the three of them together. And now a coffee table.
“Carrieanne!” Mom called from the doorway. “You’re walking!”
The mother knelt on the floor three feet away. She smiled at her babe, holding out her hands. “Can you walk to Mama? She grinned as though the natural progression of development was unique to her child.
Carrieanne took the five steps before collapsing into her mother’s sweeping arms.
“You did it. You walked. Do it again, and I’ll send the video to your daddy at work.”
Carrieanne looked back at the coffee table, and waved her hand towards it. “Bop!” she said with a frown.
“Oh, honey, did you fall and bop your head on that bad table? Let me take you into better light to look. Oh. Wait. Here’s your binky.” Mom swiped the pacifier off the floor, wiping it onto her shirt before sticking it into Carrieanne’s mouth, and leaving.
The wizards were silent a long time. At last Matilda spoke.
“Do you suppose—?”
“She can’t hear us,” Stephon answered. “No one has heard us for hundreds of years. Not since we – you know? – had mouths.”
“And whose fault is that?” Matilda shouted.
“Bop!” came a tiny voice from the kitchen.
“Oh, honey,” the mom said, “quit spitting it out. Here.” And Carrieanne became silent again.
Over the centuries of same old, same old arguments, complaints, and blames, and now, something entirely different. It was unbelievably refreshing. After a while, Mom returned Carrieanne to the living room floor and sat on the couch to text her husband.
“I think she can hear us,” Matilda said.
“Nonsense,” Stephon replied.
Carrieanne stared at the coffee table.
“Can you hear us, little girl?”
“You expect her to answer? You’ve been stuck in this tree too long.”
“Shut up, you dried up mushroom!” Matilda yelled back. “If there was any possibility to get free from you, I would. Truly. I would.”
In their arguing, they hadn’t noticed Carrieanne had pulled herself up next to the table, staring down at the glazed top. Neither wizard spoke while the child moved her chubby finger over the lines of brown and black and white.
“Hello, child,” Matilda said. “I’m Matilda.”
“Ma,” the child answered.
The mother looked up from her cell phone. “Yes, dear. Your daddy is so proud of you.”
Carrieanne wiggled her finger around the black knot hole as Matilda mumbled her warnings and complaints…until Carrieanne plopped her pacifier into the hole.
Stephon roared with laughter. “That’ll teach you to yack so much, you old witch.”
“Bop!” Carrieanne said, slapping both hands on a brown section of the table. She then stepped around and crawled onto her mother’s lap.
When Father came home, Carrieanne repeated her newly found walking skills until she plopped down, refusing any more steps. After supper, they looked everywhere for her precious pacifier to get her to sleep, finally finding it on the coffee table.
Over the next several days, Carrieanne practiced walking until she’d tire of it and flop onto the floor to play with her toys. Or cried to be held. She usually played far from the wizards’ table. But as time wore on, she inched closer, even putting her toys onto the tree table top. The two wizards remained silent during that time. They hadn’t gotten a bop nor a pacifier in the hole since that first day.
“She really is adorable,” Matilda whispered one afternoon. “Her brown eyes remind me of yours.”
“And here comes your snide remark about my eyes.”
“Nothing snide. They’re…attractive.”
Stephon tried to blink. He hadn’t blinked in a long, long time. “Well, I’ve always admired your silky-smooth black skin. Especially right here.”
“Hey!” Matilda said, trying to pull away, something she knew would never happen.
Carrieanne glanced at the table. The wizards silenced. The child pulled herself up to the table and lay the side of her face onto it. “Ma. Da,” she said.
“Aww,” the two wizards sighed together.
Stephon used a levitation spell to raise the child to a laying position on the table top. She sucked her pacifier and fell asleep, arms stretched out on each side.
Later, her mother picked her up to put her into her crib, texting her husband how Carrieanne fell asleep, looking like she was hugging their tree coffee table.
It was not the last time Carrieanne hugged her wizard foster parents. A natural learner, she practiced the spells they entrusted to her. One day, Carrieanne knew, she would free them from the wood.
Sorry about the no-indent to paragraphs. There was a space between them when I copied and pasted, Please use your paragraph indenting imagination.
Mod
Thanks Terry. Inspiration didn't come easy with this challenge.
Mod
992 words
The toddler pulled herself up, grabbing onto the couch cushion and sang ..."
Sandy, clever dialogue between the wizards themselves & the toddler.
Mod
Glenda wrote: "Thirst For Power
617 words
Tristan started his day by fixing breakfast and tea for both himself and Lord Eric, the knight he trained under. The bright summer morning was steamy yet welcoming. The ..."
Glenda wrote: "Thirst For Power
617 words
Tristan started his day by fixing breakfast and tea for both himself and Lord Eric, the knight he trained under. The bright summer morning was steamy yet welcoming. The ..."
Mod
Sandy wrote: "CARRIEANNE’S TABLE
992 words
The toddler pulled herself up, grabbing onto the couch cushion and sang an, “Emph, emph, emph,” as she stepped along between couch and the brown-black-white coffee tab..."
Mod
Thank you, Ma'am. I aim to please :)
Mod
Here I am, sneaking one in at the buzzer.An old school type of lock-in with a twist - by Todd Folstad (1160 words)
It was your typical February blizzard in Edina, Minnesota on the day I found, the baby. I was finishing up in the men’s room at Lund’s & Byerly’s in the posh west end of one of the states oldest and overpriced neighborhoods, when the lights went out except for the emergency lighting. I quickly finished my business, briskly washed my hands and exited the loo to find that the store was empty, the lights were off and as far as I could tell, I was alone.
I ran to the front of the store as quickly as my two bum knees would carry me, only to find the doors locked and the security gates on the outside closed and chained. I pulled out my cell phone and literally started to laugh as I saw only one bar for signal and my power-level was at 10% and dropping fast. “Crap”, I yelled. I shouted into the store, “Hello, is there anyone here? I was in the men’s room and now the doors are locked.” I could see outside in the parking lot that there were no cars at all. I made my way to the back of the store and through the stockroom to try the back exit, but it too was chained and locked with a very severe padlock. No way out in this direction either. I went back out front to the café near the bakery area and sat down to think through my next several moves.
I decided that I needed to find a phone charger at least to see if I could reach someone, maybe to local police to find a way out so I could get home. There was a small kiosk of phone parts, but no iPhone accessories, so I was plumb out of luck on that front.
My mind started spinning, what will I do for the next 7 hours or so until the morning crew arrives to open up. I decided that a sandwich wouldn’t be the worst thing right now and maybe a cold soda. I set to my new task of rounding up something to eat, when I saw what I thought would be the oddest thing I might ever see, a young baby walking around the corner towards me, blanket in hand and a nuk in his little mouth. He saw me and started moving faster towards my table.
“Where did you come from little fella?”, I asked him. He was obviously too young to speak in conversational terms and just gurgled a lot. “Where is your Mommy?” I intoned. He just smiled up at me and offered up his nuk. “No thanks sport, you definitely need that more than I do.”
I got a small milk and some plastic glasses so he could have something in his belly as it looked to be a long night. About a half-hour in, he nodded off on table and I tried to find something to occupy my time.
There was an old pool table in the front of the café that looked about a million years old and made entirely of one or maybe two very old growth trees. It looked to be rock maple, hard as stone, but with a ton of character. A whole lot of interesting veining and assorted knots that looked like the tree had been in one helluva storm at sometime before it was felled.
I hadn’t played in quite awhile, so I pulled out the rack, tossed the balls to one end and prepared to have a game by myself. There was a cue rack in the corner with about a dozen very intricate cues, some looked to be hand-carved. I chose a one-piece that felt about 22 ounces. I couldn’t see any warp looking down the cue, so I placed it on the table and gave it a gentle roll. It rolled true so I figured this one would do for now. It was the heaviest of the bunch and I always liked a heavy cue for breaking. I set the rack, drew back the cueball at the other end and prepared to knock it down, when the cue began shaking in my hand.
I thought it was maybe a tick in my wrist as I hadn’t held a stick in quite some time, so I paused, took a deep breath and drew it back again. This time the cue literally jumped from my hand and landed on the table, butt-end in the pocket standing straight up. I looked around to see if there was anyone there as I felt I was being punked, but there were only myself and the sleeping babe in the whole place. I reached for the stick and it jumped out of the pocket, fell to the floor and rolled under the table to the exact middle where I’d need to get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it.
What I saw on the underside of that table, was now the oddest thing I’d seen all night. Two very distinct faces, one on each end of the table were staring at the cue and it began to move back and forth between them. I finally snared the stick and a voice cried out, “He’s MINE!”
I jumped out from under the table only to hear another voice, a feminine one call out, “Not tonight old man.” I was sure I was going mad when the cue bent ever so slightly at the tip and said to me, “Parents, what are you gonna do with them?” I slid on my butt back to the safety of a corner in the café, still holding the solid cue, and asked, “Did you just speak to me?”
The cue wiggled in my hand again and let out a short laugh. “I’m Woody, and this table that you’re trying to play on is actually my parents, Birch and Rock. They were very powerful wizards in the tribe of Sitting Bull over a century ago. They never could get along, so a master Shaman locked them in the tree of woe to consider a better way to get along.
The tree was struck by lightning in the 1850’s and eventually made it’s way to a large mill in Wisconsin, where they made pool tables by hand. It’s not a bad life to be a part of this game, but every night, they come back from their slumber and start going at each other again. I was just a branch on the tree and so the woodsmith carved me and several of my siblings into cues so we could watch over our parents and try to keep them from causing too much anguish. Sorry you got caught up in this.”
I simply shook my head, placed Woody in the cue rack, and decided that I’d be better off with the baby for the rest of the night. Heck of a lock-in if you ask me, though I'd still like to know who's baby this is.
Mod
Todd wrote: "Here I am, sneaking one in at the buzzer.
An old school type of lock-in with a twist - by Todd Folstad (1160 words)
It was your typical February blizzard in Edina, Minnesota on the day I found, t..."
Mod
Glenda wrote: "Rejoice wrote: "You did a great job Glenda. I loved your story. I'll never see Stonehenge the same way again! 😄 ..."
Thank you, Ma'am. I aim to please :)"
Mod
Glenda wrote: "Rejoice wrote: "You did a great job Glenda. I loved yo..."
No, there have been no talks about doing a Volume 4. Shae has been battling cancer. That's why we rarely see her anymore. Please pray for her.
On a side note, if anyone has an idea for an anthology, we can rally the writers and do one. I am still hopeful for an angel anthology. I was planning on doing a fallen angel theme / writing challenge for October.
THANKS FOR POSTING, TODD. ENJOYED YOUR CREATIVITY.
Todd wrote: "Here I am, sneaking one in at the buzzer.
An old school type of lock-in with a twist - by Todd Folstad (1160 words)
It was your typical February blizzard in Edina, Minnesota on the day I found, t..."
Todd wrote: "Here I am, sneaking one in at the buzzer.
An old school type of lock-in with a twist - by Todd Folstad (1160 words)
It was your typical February blizzard in Edina, Minnesota on the day I found, t..."
The Two Wizards...and JohnnyBy Jon Ricson
The two old wizards had been stuck together for over a thousand years. It was their own fault really.
Oh yes, each thought they had a defensible reason for attacking the other, although they had both forgotten the reasons by now.
Their powerful spells cast at the same time had imprisoned them both in an large tree, which had been cut down and turned into various things.
A house, a rocking horse, a boat, various weapons, and a table. Most of which had burned down, broken, sunk, or been destroyed in battle sometime in the past millenia.
All except for the table.
The table had been put into a king’s castle, and then passed down to his descendants for ages. It had been covered, refinished, painted, stripped, varnished, lacquered, and then through all the processes over and over again.
Now, the table sat in the quaint little house of the Cleese’s, a quiet couple who lived a quiet life in a smallish row of houses outside London.
The wizards had endured many indignities through the years. The king hid the table away in the dungeon of the castle as he thought it hideous. There it sat for centuries, until it was removed to dark storage...for many decades. Then for centuries it was passed from awful place to awful place. Sometimes stored in a shed filled with spiders and vermin. Sometimes left out in the elements to be rained, snowed, or pissed upon.
Somehow, the table had now ended up in the cozy, if garishly decorated home, plucked with many other sad items from a thrift store in Stepney Green. In some ways it was bearable for the old wizards, sick of each other, but at least out of the elements and of some use to someone.
Then, the couple in the house brought home....baby Johnny.
At first they only had to put up with his howling. His incessant crying and the parents nervous reactions. Nighttime feedings, and daytime pandering. Johnny was quite a handful for the Cleese’s.
One day while the wizards sat in silence trying to ignore the other’s presence, little Johnny was left alone on his blanket with his toys while his mum attended to the kitchen.
Johnny had been attempting to walk on his own in the past week, and he struggled to pull himself up. He stumbled and staggered towards the table, finally reaching it with an outburst of glee.
Johnny looked into the now reflective top of the table, replace by glass some decades ago. The wizards watched his eyes turn from baby blue to dark black. Little Johnny smiled a devious smile as he stared into their very souls.
Suddenly the wizards began to remember the past. The centuries unraveled and the day they cast the spells became clear.
They had not, in fact, been casting spells on each other. They were casting spells on a far more powerful wizard. Merlin!
The grand wizard they both studied under had found an elixir that would allow him to become the most powerful man on earth. He would live forever and sought to rule mankind.
The wizards had tried to stop him, but Merlin had used an even more powerful spell to stop them, and trap them in the giant old tree.
Was Johnny the living incarnation of their oldest enemy? Had Merlin been the old king and banished them to the dungeon? Had they been passed from one version of Merlin to another and been tortured through time by neglect and abuse?
They fearfully looked in the black, devious eyes of the little tyke, who then laughed a little baby laugh... and promptly drooled all over the table.
The mother came in and exclaimed “Well look at you, you little man, walking about!” Then she sat him back on the floor.
The father came home with a surprise for little Johnny.
“Hello love,” he said to his wife, then to Johnny, “and here’s a little something for you my boy.” The man turned to his wife. “Found it in another old store on the way home. The man in store said it’s hundreds of years old and had just been restored.”
Johnny’s eyes opened wide as he surveyed his new toy. As his parents cooed, Johnny turned his head toward the table, giving the old wizards a menacing glare, and rode the old rocking horse with delight.
Interesting story, Jon. I like the flow. Thanks for posting.
Jon wrote: "The Two Wizards...and Johnny
By Jon Ricson
The two old wizards had been stuck together for over a thousand years. It was their own fault really.
Oh yes, each thought they had a defensible reason..."
Jon wrote: "The Two Wizards...and Johnny
By Jon Ricson
The two old wizards had been stuck together for over a thousand years. It was their own fault really.
Oh yes, each thought they had a defensible reason..."
Thanks! At first I had no idea how to write with those prompts, then, like magic...
I have been known to get out of bed and write something down about a story I am working on or thinking about. But I am sure all of you have.
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An old school type of lock-in with a twist - by Todd Folstad (1160 words)
It was your typical February blizzard in Edina, Minnesota on the day I found, t..."
I enjoyed your story, Todd and the images that it conjured up in my head.
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By Jon Ricson
The two old wizards had been stuck together for over a thousand years. It was their own fault really.
Oh yes, each thought they had a defensible reason..."
If I may borrow the phrase...you must've been eating pickles and ice cream. Ha! Very creative and very interesting!
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Stories posted so far are:
1. Tale Of The Coffee Table by Terry Turner
2. Thirst For Power by Glenda Reynolds
3. Carrieanne's Table by Sandy Carlson
4. An Old School Type Of Lock-in With A Twist by Todd Folstad
5. The Two Wizards... and Johnny by Jon Ricson
I will share the Survey Monkey voting link tomorrow after submissions close.
TERRY wrote: "TALE OF THE COFFEE TABLEby tturner 882 words
My mother was the queen of thrift. Our house was full of used furniture and knick-knacks from years of browsing yard sales and thrift stores. Many of ..."
Awesome story Terry - very evocative imagery. I can see a table as you described in any one of hundred barns that dot the landscape of our fair lands.
Glenda wrote: "Thirst For Power617 words
Tristan started his day by fixing breakfast and tea for both himself and Lord Eric, the knight he trained under. The bright summer morning was steamy yet welcoming. The ..."
A nice throwback to the days of chivalry and swordplay. Loved the twist on the wizards, as many folks who fight amongst themselves will be emboldened when faced by outsiders and interlopers.
Sandy wrote: "CARRIEANNE’S TABLE992 words
The toddler pulled herself up, grabbing onto the couch cushion and sang an, “Emph, emph, emph,” as she stepped along between couch and the brown-black-white coffee tab..."
I love a good grandparents' story, even if the GPs are age-old wizards. The dialog was spot on for a baby and I loved what she decided to do with her pacifier - priceless.
Jon wrote: "The Two Wizards...and JohnnyBy Jon Ricson
The two old wizards had been stuck together for over a thousand years. It was their own fault really.
Oh yes, each thought they had a defensible reason..."
WOW - a young John Clesse as a version of Merlin - nice twist. I especially liked the way you broke down what had been made from the tree over the centuries only to have the rocking horse appear in the end. Nice touch.
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Terry, Glenda, Todd, and Jon...sorry I haven’t commented on your stories individually. It was wonderfully fun to see the different takes you all took on Rejoice’s challenge. Thanks for the prompt, Rejoice. Good luck to all.P.S. For me to produce any writing at all during this pandemic certainly took a wizard’s spell.
I am sorry I have been gone for so long. It has taken me MONTHS to finally get a working computer again. I hope to become more active in this group now. I have missed everyone, and I have missed writing.Thank you, Glenda, for the reminder!
So, here is your challenge for August. Before you start: I have a confession to make. Several months ago Heather suggested re-introducing some of the past challenges. This particular challenge was one of my favorites so I wanted to bring it back. I am excited to see your twist on this.
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
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Lynette wrote: "I am sorry I have been gone for so long. It has taken me MONTHS to finally get a working computer again. I hope to become more active in this group now. I have missed everyone, and I have missed wr..."
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Well done and thank you for participating. Without you there would have been no challenge.
And now, the winners:
Drum roll….🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁
THIRD PLACE 🥉
An Old School Type Of Lock-in With A Twist by Todd Folstad
SECOND PLACE 🥈
Carrieanne's Table by Sandy Carlson
Thirst For Power by Glenda Reynolds
FIRST PLACE 🥇
Tale Of The Coffee Table by Terry Turner
The Two Wizards... and Johnny by Jon Ricson
Due to a collision of powerful spells, two wizards are sealed into a tree during a powerful battle. That tree is now your coffee table.
Highlights:
* A toddler learning to walk
* An item of value
Setting – any
Plot – your choice.
Length: 500 to 1000 Words
Deadline: Monday 27th July 2020 at 11:59 pm GMT.
Voting will start 12:01 am GMT Tuesday 28th July 2020 and end 11:59 pm GMT on Friday 31st July 2020. Winners will be posted in this thread on Saturday 1st August 2020.
Genre: Fantasy, Thriller, Sci-Fi, Mystery, Crime, Comedy, Romance, or a mixture (BASICALLY, anything but erotica)
Purpose -
Some fiction writers are looking to win a short story contest, keeping in touch with making deadlines, and/or simply sharpening the skill of writing fiction. The main purpose of this contest is to sharpen plot and character skills, collect your own short stories, receive good feedback, make a good connection with other writers, and take a short break from your current novel to get a fresh view when you return to it.
Rules and Directions -
* Type in English - a minimum of 500 words; a maximum of 1,000 words; no erotica, no profanity.
* Post your title, by line, and word count total in the first line of your story posting.
* Writers are responsible for their own copyright. Authors keep all rights. PRIVACY POLICY IS ENFORCED. COPYRIGHTS AND INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS BELONG TO INDIVIDUAL AUTHORS. THIS CONTEST DOES NOT GRANT ANY PERSON THE RIGHT OR LICENSE TO COPY OR USE OTHER STORIES. EACH STORY IS PROTECTED BY THE COPYRIGHT OF THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.
* ONE entry per person, must be the writer's original work, a final revision, and a new piece of writing. Please do not delete and repost since this becomes confusing to the readers. Please post your FINAL revision.
Judging: The story will be judged on creativity, proper grammar, punctuation, and overall good quality of the story.
Voting: Please vote for first, second, and third place. You are not allowed to vote for yourself. If posting this month, you MUST vote, in order for your story to remain eligible.
Voting Link: A Survey Monkey Link will be shared on this thread when the contest closes.