The Boogeyman

The Boogeyman

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Yarnspinner for this week’s prompt.

Yellow House
PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinnerr

I froze, eyes fixed on the ramshackle yellow house in front of me. Fifth-graders sniggered, calling us sissies, but fourth-graders knew the Boogeyman lived in that house. My eyes shifted downward, to the papers and books splattered on the sidewalk, dropped in my haste to race past the house. As I squatted to gather my belonging, I heard a car engine. Looking up, I saw the open garage door, brake lights flashing red as blood. Slowly, the car inched toward me.

I was never so glad to be in fourth grade. A third-grader would have peed herself.

 

This tale is based loosely on a an experience I had in elementary school. There was an old house that I passed on my way to-and-from school, and there was a mysterious rumor about the old man living there. One day, on my way home, I dropped my papers in front of his house (full disclosure; I was on the opposite side of the street and there were four lanes of traffic between him and me). When I saw his car backing out of the driveway,  I hastily picked up my belongings and rushed home. Dry as a whistle, I might add.

Star Witness

Star Witness

 Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Al Forbes (A Mixed Bag) for providing this week’s challenging photo.

April 15 2018
Photo Prompt: Al Forbes

Overweight white male. Mid-40’s. Balding …

“Looks like a heart attack. Happens with these guys. Out of shape when the mid-life crisis hits. They forget they aren’t 20 anymore.”

Detective Harris ignored his partner’s observation and studied the dead man sitting in the back of the gondola. His eyes told a different story. Wide-open and full of terror. This guy knew he was about to die.

“No visible wounds?” Harris asked.

“Nothing obvious,” his partner replied. “No blood. I tell you, it’s a heart attack. The guy….”

Harris cut him off. “Who was he sitting with?”

“Blond chick in a pink ski jacket. Said she barely noticed him,” his partner huffed.

“Any identification?”

“Lift ticket in his hand said his name was Franklin Matters.”

Harris recognized the name. Matters was a key witness in a Senate investigation and scheduled to testify next week. Star witnesses do not go on ski trips days before testifying. Not without security, that is. Harris peered out the gondola window and noticed the small group of detained passengers. No one in the group was wearing a pink parka.

“This was no heart attack.” Harris raced toward the door, shouting, “Find me that blond!”