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The 2010 Halloween Hootenanny for Fiction!
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Wordworx
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PostPosted: Thursday, 30 September 2010, 19:38 PM    Post subject: The 2010 Halloween Hootenanny for Fiction! Reply with quote



POST ALL ENTRIES TO THIS TOPIC AS REPLIES, PLEASE!

Rules and Requirements are as follows:
Any interested member may submit poems and tales of Horror, Ghost-stories, Fright-comedy, or other Halloween-related subjects in the Hootenannies---as many as you wish!

The only rule is that no adult or derogatory content will be permitted. Entries will be judged on originality, creativeness, execution of technique, and entertainment value. The deadline will be midnight on All Hallow's Eve (in whatever your time zone), and the winners will be announced as soon as all votes are tallied. The Moderators' contributions will be judged as a separate category from the general members. All participants will be voting for the Top Three winners in both categories this year, as I judged all entries last year.

Prizes and reputation points will be given to the top three contributers in each genre; the material prizes will be announced at a later time. First Place will receive 70 points, Second will garner 50 points, and Third will have 30 points.

I will also be awarding additional points for any Honorable Mentions, depending upon the quality of submissions. Should anyone have any questions, please send me a PM or e-mail.

These competitions are meant to not only for having fun, but to generate some spurious creativity as well. So put your arcane imaginations in gear and let's get this party started, Bogles and Ghouls!

THERE'S SOMEONE . . . OR SOME THING WAITING FOR YOU HERE!!!

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Cyrille
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PostPosted: Monday, 04 October 2010, 6:27 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

In the medieval town of Ouestfallan* in northwestern France near the North Atlantic Coast; there stands,near the steps of an ancient church the images of a half-dozen gold plated snakes.
These snakes or Les Serpents as they are known to the townspeople commemorate a "miracle" that took place during the Black Plague. This is the story behind those images.

In the year of our Lord 1349 the Black Plague was raging through Europe.
In the small village of Ouestfallan in Less Britain** which by some quirk of fate escaped the ravages of the disease there lived a family by the name of --- "Serpent" is what it translates to from Breton into English.
Anyway, this family wasn't well liked by the other inhabitants of the village or I should say were looked upon with suspicion of practicing witchcraft.
It was not that the people of the village had anything concrete that they could pin on the Serpent family. It's just that they (the Serpents) had come into good fortune a few years ago and were now the owners and operators of a thriving sawmill located on the only freshwater source for the village.
The sawmill didn't in anyway affect the stream and the townspeople had no real cause to complain it's only that some were jealous of the Serpent's good fortune.
As the story goes, their youngest son, a boy of about ten or twelve stumbled across an ancient cairn*** in which had been placed a small fortune in Roman Denarii**** and they had used this treasure to purchase the mill and surrounding land from the landlord who was mostly absent from the village.
The Serpents lived at the edge of the village near where the forest began. They kept to themselves, not joining in the various village holiday celebrations during the year. In fact they rarely went into the village save only to buy supplies which they themselves couldn't produce.
On really special occasions when what they needed couldn't be purchased in the village the entire family traveled to Brest.
Except, of course, in the time of the full moon, it was then that strange happenings occurred on the property owned by the Serpents. There was loud hissings and noises that were heard only at the advent of the full moon, there were shadows that writhed, twisting , curling, crawling, creeping, slithering beneath the the brush on the edge of the forest, loud snappings were heard as if tree limbs were being broken.
Now everyone knows that reptiles are sluggish during the cold months, this however didn't seem to lessen the activity around the Serpent's cottage if a full moon was shining.
As it was told to me, on an All Hallows Eve, during the height of the Black Plague a village herdsman was returning to the village after having corralled his livestock for the night and had to pass near the Serpent's cottage.
He saw in the moonlight what appeared to be large golden colored serpents slithering near the forests edge devouring small rat-like creatures that had ventured too near the the village. The herdsman stood and watched dumbfounded as these huge serpents whose scales glittered and flashed beneath the moon chased down and swallowed rodent after rodent. Finally all became quiet and the herdsman continued on his way home.
The next day shortly after sunrise the herdsman returned to the Serpent's cottage along with the mayor and shire reeve of Ouestfallan.
However no sign of the moonlighted serpents was in the offing. They knocked on the door of the humble cottage and were greeted by a sleepy little boy.
Everyone else, the boy said, had gone into the woods.
The herdsman, the shire reeve and the mayor searched throughout the cottage but could find nothing save small greysh piles of fur and bones. Not one sign of the yellow hued serpents could be found anywhere.
The three investigators heard noises like heavy objects being moved or moving through the underbrush and went to see who or what was disturbing the early morning quiet.
A little ways into the forest they found three men of the Serpent family loading sectioned logs onto a wagon, the morning sun playing over the golden tan of their half bared torsos. And two women roasting what looked to be tree squirrel carcasses over an open fire pit.

*Ouestfallan--- A fictitious village
** Less Britain-- Brittany a peninsula in northern France that juts into the Atlantic Ocean.
***Carn-- A pile of stones put together in such a manner as to provide a secure place to store goods, built as a monument or signpost to disguise it's true purpose.
****Denarii--A gold or silver Roman coin equal in value to ten donkeys.

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Cyrille "A poet when he writes is like a lover in his lady's arms. All seems true, you understand---that's half the joy of writing"
(from the Play "Cyrano De Bergerac," by Edmumd Rostand"


Last edited by Cyrille on Monday, 04 October 2010, 9:49 AM; edited 3 times in total
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Maggie
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PostPosted: Monday, 04 October 2010, 8:56 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hi Cyrille,

This is extremely interesting!!!!! Your vast background reading gives it an expert's perspective which is exceedingly appealing!!!!! I think the topics of witchcraft and the black death to be extremely appropriate for the Halloween season.

I look forward to reading more!!! Laughing Laughing Laughing Laughing Laughing Laughing Laughing Laughing

Peggy

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Wordworx
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PostPosted: Monday, 04 October 2010, 9:06 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Frightfully interesting, Cyrille---even moreso in that it's authentic medieval folklore!

Thank you for posting this spine-tingling tale of domestic terror!

Restless RShockedy

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PostPosted: Monday, 04 October 2010, 9:08 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Cyrille:

What Peggy and Roy said.

WOW! So far, so very good! Eagerly awaiting the rest.

~ Cindy ~

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Cyrille
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PostPosted: Monday, 04 October 2010, 9:44 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

There is no more to this tale but there is at least one more may be two and a slew of poems that will be posted when ready. Dancing
Roy,FYI this came from me own unballanced brain.

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Cyrille "A poet when he writes is like a lover in his lady's arms. All seems true, you understand---that's half the joy of writing"
(from the Play "Cyrano De Bergerac," by Edmumd Rostand"
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Currently Reading: True Ghost Stories of Ireland

PostPosted: Monday, 04 October 2010, 9:52 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

No matter, Cyrille; it's a fine tale nonetheless! We'll be eagerly awaiting your further offerings!

Rattling Roy

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Helen Herliana
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PostPosted: Tuesday, 05 October 2010, 6:51 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

I know you can write fictions as good as you write poetry. This one is a proof. two thumbs up my friend! I enjoy reading it.
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Cyrille
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PostPosted: Tuesday, 05 October 2010, 6:59 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thank you Helen your comments are always welcome on my pieces be they praiseworthy or not.

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(from the Play "Cyrano De Bergerac," by Edmumd Rostand"
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Janice J Kennedy
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PostPosted: Tuesday, 05 October 2010, 7:19 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

WOW Cyrille!!!

I am glad Helen posted to this and brought it up. How have I missed this spooky tale? And it's from your own talented imagination. Frightfully fabulous, story!!!! Keep'em coming!!!


Blessings J.J. icon_salut Applause Applause Applause Dancing Applause Applause Applause icon_salut

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PostPosted: Tuesday, 05 October 2010, 7:21 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ah dear Cyrille. Compared to mine (as my first language is not English) your vocabulary and style is very amazing. I often wish I could write with like you all.
All your works are praiseworthy. If not, you won't post them here.....
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Cyrille
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PostPosted: Wednesday, 06 October 2010, 16:59 PM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Racing through the chill October twilight I catch a glimpse or two of the large orange colored moon flying through the trees as I peddle furiously toward your house. "If that moon were any larger one could carve into it like a Jack-O-Lantern." I'm thinking as I stand on the coaster brakes and fishtail to a stop near your white picket gate.
You hear the brakes and peep out through the screen door. I motion to you.
"C'mon Mooneen, ya gotta see this! Get your bike,we gotta hurry. C'mon Moon-girl this is your night to howl, big pumpkin moon in th sky 'n all---
You ain't gone trick or treatin are you? We're in Senior High now can't go trick or treatin like kids. Let's go!
Ronnie says we gotta get there as the moon rises or we'll miss the whole thing! Says it's spooky, he can't be there tonight gotta work late at the feed store.
I pause to catch my breath as you mount your bike. Then we're off racing through the darkened streets toward the empty pasture where two old gnarled oaks stand as they have stood since we were children, dripping with Spanish moss, standing guard on the edge of your uncle's corn field.
The moon is a huge pumpkin tinted glow in the sky slowly growing larger and turning a deeper, darker red as though reflecting onto earth the fires of hell.
Out of breath we lean our bikes against the rusted barbed wire fence near where the wire bites into the old oaks' bark. The dried corn shucks rustle ominously in the cool night wind.
It sounds as though someone is brushing a wisk-broom over a taunt drum head. Then it changes--- to the sound of something running through the corn field.
You look at me your eyes wide, I feel the thrill of fear as you cling to me. Slowly I lift my arm and point toward the field. There moving with jerky motion is a tiny point of light, then another, then a third all moving
spasmodically toward the corner of the fence where we are. You almost scream but cling to me tighter shivering not altogether with cold.
The next thing I know you are slapping me and Ronnie is standing on the side laughing his fool head off---We had planned to give you a fright but when Ronnie came charging through that field swinging an old army saber, his head hidden below a high collared costume (which I had no idea he was planning to do) it was me that fainted instead of you!

*Dedicated to the Headless Cowboy

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(from the Play "Cyrano De Bergerac," by Edmumd Rostand"
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Janice J Kennedy
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PostPosted: Wednesday, 06 October 2010, 17:22 PM    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hi Cyrille,

Excellent, great imagination you have. Roy will be surprised I am sure. I enjoyed it right up to the end. It has a great ending!!! Keep' em coming!!!

Jangling Jan

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PostPosted: Thursday, 07 October 2010, 0:48 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

I intend to J.J but story lines are getting hard to come by I may have to resort to poems

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(from the Play "Cyrano De Bergerac," by Edmumd Rostand"
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Cyrille
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PostPosted: Friday, 08 October 2010, 0:59 AM    Post subject: Reply with quote

A real estate company had an old mansion on it's books that it was eager to get rid of. It had been on the company books for about five years, but no one had bought it because it had the reputation of being haunted.
So a wily old agent, Jonas, by name, who had been with the company for a decade or so came up with the idea of having someone spend Halloween night alone in the old Forsythe mansion to prove once and for all that it wasn't haunted.
One evening after work he goes to the town's "watering hole" and who is there but Robert the local barfly bothering patrons for drinks.
Jonas, the real estate agent, knows Robert well enough to know that this guy will do just about anything for liquor or beer. He buys a bottle of rye and invites Robert to join him which he does with alacrity.
"Robert", Jonas asks after a couple of "warmup" drinks,"how would you like to make a hundred dollars?"
"What I gotta do," Robert asks in return, "I ain't gonna do nuttin bad."
"Oh no", Jonas replies, nothin like that, all you have to do to earn the hundred is spend Halloween night, all night in the old Forsythe house., I'll provide you with a supper, a breakfast for the next morning and all the beer you can handle, think you're up to it?"
"For a hundred bucks, supper, all the beer I can handle, and breakfast the next mornin--- You betcha, I'm up to it!"
"O.K. then meet me Halloween afternoon around 4:00 and we'll get you settled in."
Halloween afternoon Jonas drives up to the old Forsythe mansion and finds Robert already there sitting on the stoop.
"Eager to get settled eh? Jonas asks, smiling broadly.
"Yeah", replied Robert, "even brought my T.V so's I can watch tonight's football game between L.S.U. 'n OLe Miss."
"Great! Let's get you moved in."
Jonas returns to his pick-up and loads a hand-truck with three cases of beer. After bringing that into the house, he returns to get Robert's supper, a steaming plate of red beans, rice & sausage and the fixins for the morning breakfast, a half dozen eggs, grits, and more sausage boudan.
He helps Robert ice the beer in the small fridge he borrowed from the office, and places the red beans and rice on the nearby table along with the breakfast fixins. Then they both settled back to enjoy the football game.
Along about half time it was growing dark, Jonas rose and said," well I have to go, enjoy the game, I'll see you in the morning, have a good night."
"Where's my hundred dollars? Robert asked.
"You'll get that in morning, if you're still here. Jonas repied as he pulls away from the curb.
Robert returned to the house grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled down to await the second half to begin.
While watching the game and eating supper, he hears a knock on the door. When he opens it there's a small man about three foot two standing there.
The little man looks up at Robert, who after four beers isn't too steady on his feet and asks;
"Are you gonna be here when Phillippe gets here?
Robert looks at the little man and asnwers
"Git, ya ain't nuttin but a figment of my imagenation." and with that slams the door in the small fellow's face then returns to the game and the couch after grabbing a couple of beers.
Five beers, and the game finished Robert decided it's time for a nap. He curls up on the sofa and is soon asleep.
About midnight he is awakened by a strange yet very beautiful woman nuzzling his cheek--- when she sees he's awake she asks---
"Are you gonna be here when Phillippe gets here? If you are we'll have us a party!
Robert, a bit bleary-eyed looks at the woman and says,
"Y'u ain't real." she just smiles, "If y'u real, git me a beer from the fridge"
The woman still smiling, gets up goes to the fridge and comes back with two. She hands Robert one and sits next to him---- After about a half dozen more beers he falls asleep with the woman still there.
Around three o clock he's awakened by a loud crash, frightened he jumps behind the sofa just as as this huge hairy creature walks into the room. Robert watches in amazement as the creature cooks the budan sausage, grits and eggs, then gulps them all down in a few bites and drinks the hot grease from the frying pan as though it was coffee.
The creature turns toward where Robert is hiding, wipes it's mouth with the back of it's hairy arm and bellows---
"Are y'u gonna be here when Phillippe gets here?"
Robert springs up from behind the sofa looks at the creature and says---"
"Man if y'u ain't Phillippe , I'm gone!" and with that he races out of the doorless front room into the night never to be seen again.
Rumor has it that as Robert was crossing the covered bridge that spans the river and leads to Madison Parish [county] He was met by a Loup Garou and dragged screaming into the swamp.
Needless to say the old Forsythe mansion is still listed on the books of the real estate company.

_________________
Cyrille "A poet when he writes is like a lover in his lady's arms. All seems true, you understand---that's half the joy of writing"
(from the Play "Cyrano De Bergerac," by Edmumd Rostand"


Last edited by Cyrille on Friday, 08 October 2010, 9:46 AM; edited 1 time in total
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