Very Short Story: The Fog

Wet feet lightly tiptoe through the chilly grass.

There’s a dreamlike quality to this night as the fog sets into the moonlit garden.

Nadia pauses at a rose. One of those gut feelings tells her to run, but she’s frozen solid as fear grips her tightly.

Moving, she screams as her beloved kitty pops out of the tree and becomes entangled in her nightie.

No Answers

Your head is low; you sit and wait. The clock ticks loudly. Even in death, there is no escape from the time. 

The smell of anti-bacterial solution numbs the senses and leaves a sense of sadness in your thoughts.

You are sitting and waiting with such intensity; the flatlining beeps and the screams of urgency jolt you. Your head turns towards the sky, only the ceiling.

Anguish grips your chest. There is a knowing that this is the end; numb feelings and recollections of little things about the face you love.

You wait for answers, which never come. Time passes, and fatigue sets into your bones. A person arrives, trepidation increases, and you know your world is shattering: a knowing of sadness.

A person says, “Come with me…“.

The silence, as you look down. Ghosts wait in the wings for sadness to come so they can feed and devour on the stench of heartbreak.

One look and you know he is not there, yet his body remains on the bed. The sheets are white, his flesh is cold, and you know death has come to the love of your life.

Your world softens as a kind hand touches your skin. 

Even now, you feel love and know you will get through this. You know this, yet what of your love?

The Apparition

A string of pearls decorate her neck, fall past her chest, and create the illusion of length. 

Before the mirror, she holds a brush with a geometrical pattern in blue, silver and white; this precious brush holds sentimental value money cannot buy.

What is the sadness she feels darkening the patches of light from the overly rectangular windows?

Cassandra sits on the bed looking at the beauty in front of the mirror and the brush in her lovely hand, yet she does not know what to do; when she reaches out to touch the beauty, her hand moves straight through the pearls, her chest and nothing makes sense.

Then, without warning, the apparition looks at Cassandra with a longing so sad. Her mouth moves as she says, “Come to me so that I can brush your hair. It is so beautiful.“.

The words grip Cassandra, and she feels an overwhelming urge to be with this beautiful, familiar lady. The feeling intensifies, then it is unclear what happens next; One moment, she was longing for this beauty, and then she felt the brush running through her hair.

No longer feeling herself, she says to the apparition, “Why are you so familiar to me?

The apparition says, “Cassandra, I have been watching you brush your hair for so long. I’ve grown very fond of you.

Who are you?

Don’t you know?

Confused, Cassandra looks around. Her body lays deathly still on the floor. Her lips of blue and her eyes of cloudy nothingness frighten her so much, yet she must ask a question. “What is your name?

Cassandra, I am Rebecca.

Something jolts Cassandra’s memory as she remembers the mansion her husband refused to live in, for his wife died down by the cliffs. Her husband gave her that brush and sometimes watched her brush her hair. Something about the way he watched her seems relevant now, as she says, “Were you my husband’s first wife? Did he kill you?

Yes, he pushed me off the cliffs and into the sea.

Why am I dead?

You have been poisoned over many months. Perhaps it is a cleaner way to die.

I can do nothing now.

Perhaps you can come with me, and we can make things right.” 

They walk from the room together.


Alone with thoughts of the wolves, the forest and the way her body bent and bowed last night as he moved to the beat of a silent drum, she thinks of primitive sexual delights.

Tarella is swept into his world with such force that Matthew finds it hard to understand what the day will bring.

It was just a look at the club. There was not meant to be a connection, yet it happened, and now he is hooked.

Being with her flesh, bending their bodies together, biting her flesh, the way she pressed her thighs together in anticipation of what she called “the second coming“, and the beating of her Viking heart all cast a spell that they cannot break.

Still thinking of her, he is roused from daydreaming dark pleasures to a knock on the door. He thinks, “Who could be here tonight? I wonder if it’s Tarella? I wonder if my very thoughts willed her here?

Unable to think clearly, Matthew pads to the door with a carefree lightness and opens the door to find the wild and beautiful Tarella. “What is it about her teeth that are different?” he wonders.

“”Hello. I wasn’t expecting you. would you like me to cook something?

You have to ask me to come in, Matthew…, you know it’s only polite to do so…“.

Matthew falters, then denies his gut is on point, “Please come in, Tarella…“.

She steps across the threshold, and they kiss. “I was wrong to think anything was wrong. She is so beautiful and so lovely, yet there’s this feeling…“.

A sudden pain grips him tight as his mind screams, “It’s only her teeth in my neck! She wants me. Wait, what the fuck?

He breaks free from her bloodied lips to run for the cleaver, but her grip is crushing the life from his body. She sinks her teeth into his neck again, and life falls from him as the world goes cold and foggy.

In the darkness, he emerges cold and wired. He struggles to think, “It was a terrible dream. So close, yet I’m alive, yet…“.

Tarella smiles her sweet smile and says, “Hello, my love…now you’re just like me…“.

Matthew’s cold heart fails to beat. He whispers, “What have you done?

You’re a vampire now, you idiot! Get over it, and come play with me…“.

The Colours

There’s a way with the clouds today. As night approaches, the sky paints with the hues of grey, white, blues and pinks.

Anna never gets used to the sky colours, for those colours make her feel old and new things, dark and light things.

The sea is out over the cliffs. Tonight it’s still, which is an odd feeling. Although cool, there’s this mist hovering. “How peculiar”, Anna thinks, “It’s probably nothing.

Walking into the house sends a strange chill down her spine. Something’s changed, but not for the better. The light doesn’t help.

Anna mutters in reassurance to only herself, “I’m not scared. It’s nothing. No one can hurt me now. Not now…

The rattling begins soft, then gets louder. It’s as if the house has taken on a life of its own.

Anna screams inwardly, for the words no longer escape her lips. Terror grips her heart and then crushes her lungs.

Struggling through, she sees three ladies standing before her in a 1920’s dress. Their faces sneer and laugh as they pull her forward. The rattling starts again, they laugh at her, the rattling comes in louder waves, they smash her head against the wall and the rattling echoes.

Anna asks, “Where am I now?

In unison, the ladies playfully answer, “You’re with us now whether you like it or not.

Two Ghosts

You sit at that mahogany desk you love
diligently researching paranormal things.

You look for an answer to what isn’t clear;
sadness is cruel to your burning heart.

You miss me; I know this very, very well,
I miss you and hold on in this place still.

You held me in the last moments of life,
I remember all your words and actions.

You feel my touch, but I do alarm you so
I whisper in your ear, “Be my lungs, love.”

You look pained and move so violently
I cannot catch you as you fall from me.

You left those papers to be with me today
I’m sorry, yet it had to be this way, my love.

You see me now, but there is much horror;
I felt that way too, yet this horror will pass
you say, “It was always you here close.”

I say with conviction, “Yes. Always close.”

You look at me, and I look at you, and we see
we see the love we have for each other.

Death in the Snow

In the snow, the seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.

You’ve been down this road before: broken and broke.

There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now: free on this bench in the snow.

You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I had a poet’s heart, and I was more familiar with words, I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this; this is a photograph or a painting…

You sit still in the snow, and you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.

Your last moments were broke and broken, beautiful and sad, as you thought of the falling snow.

What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow as you sat full of a fading glow until the light turns to darkness.

Now you get the chance to do it all differently.

Australien Sun

My childhood home for a time in Mareeba.

Sometimes, when she sits on the step, she thinks about places and how they connect us to memories, as does music and scent.

Her mind drifts back to the cool water of Nelson Bay and the pretty lighthouse on the hill; Connected to her sister deep in thought.

Thoughts of grey days with coffee on every corner, a European feel, and a charm only Melbourne emits; Connected to her childhood home.

Thinking about younger days with a hammer for macadamia nuts and corkscrews for coconut eyes in Mareeba; Connected to her origins.

The memories play behind her eyes as she looks at the red dirt full of cracks under the Australien sun.