Morgan Delaney

Dark, strange and fantastic fiction

Flash fiction

Worm

by

Coffee cup and name badge
Photo by Allie Smith on Unsplash

Hi all,

networking, eh? Here’s a short story about that. And Sex and the City. Enjoy!

‘Hello. My name is— ’
Busy. Face looked familiar. Television? That ad? The loud one, where he shouts not to be a fool, invest with him?

I read a tip: if you’re in a room full of people and just standing against the wall, then go up to someone else standing at the wall and introduce yourself.
What’s Plan B if you’re the only one against the wall?
Ha! They’ll shoot me first when the revolution comes! As I’m already up against the wall. Ha.

I’m drinking water. I need coffee but what if it makes my breath bad and someone comes over? Coffee on a nervous stomach isn’t a good idea anyway. Makes me gassy.

I see Loud Man is a backslapper, whacking meat left and right.
Glad I was able to get rid of him. Ha.

I’m going for a walk. Maybe someone will say something as I pass and I can chime in. Come on! Somebody talk about Sex and the City! Series or film, I don’t mind.

My collar is itchy because I’m stressed, it makes my skin sensitive. But if I start scratching I won’t be able to stop.
What are they all talking about? I don’t know the names. I don’t recognise the subject.

I’ll hang around the refreshments table, people always need refreshments.
Hey you’re drinking water? Me too, hello! My name is—
Nobody comes over. Surely nobody knows who I am?

There’s someone coming.

‘Hi there!’ I stick my hand out. She shakes it, but it’s slippery. Her hand slips out of mine. ‘Juice?’ I say, looking at her glass. She shakes her head. ‘I’m—’ She’s gone, holding a finger up to signal she’ll be back. She won’t be.
Perfect place for a serial killer this. It’s impossible to give away your identity. Ha. The clock on the wall doesn’t seem to have moved at all. I give myself five minutes to talk to someone. If I can tell them my name that’ll count, okay? I move back to my wall, go the other way around to listen in.

Pass Mr Loud. And slap him on the back. It’s not a good slap, timid. But it gets his attention. He turns. There’s a split second when he can see me. And already his eyes are glazing over.
I slap him again. The people he’s with are all staring at me. Nobody slaps the Big Man, right? I have one second to do it.

‘Hello.’ My voice is calm and I’m not squeaking or quavering. ‘My name is Worm. I Am Death. Happy to meet you. Take your time, I’ll be waiting.’
There’s a hush around the room. I hear mobile phones buzzing in pockets.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Sex and the City. Who’s your fave character?’

I used to do a lot of networking, hopefully that comes across in the story (and the tips are useful?). But I’m not a Sex and the City fan. That’s where it becomes fiction…

Want more? Click here or check out the tag cloud at the bottom of the page

Holiday

by

Black and purple silhouette
Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash

The chair collapsed. I took a photo of the dust as it settled in the abandoned factory.

There were noises outside. Not a security guard, they came stomping around to scare off intruders. It wouldn’t be Vanessa either. Sometimes she comes with me. My most popular photos are of her posed around diseased and dying buildings. In red at the old hospital at Dahlem, I got thousands of downloads for that. But she’s bored, on her phone in the car, ‘keeping an eye out.’ Things haven’t worked out as she wanted. Timo is telling her he can get her in front of more eyeballs, I know he is.

That sound again. It could be paper, blown around, all the windows are cracked. Could be rats. Birds.

I creep upstairs. I’m careful on the stairs, push plaster and bottles and wrappers off each step before I trust them with my weight. I won’t fall. But I’m in trouble if security does turn up. The guard’s not going to chase me. All he has to do is wait for me to come down again.

It’s starting to get dark. One photo of the rat or the bird or…. And that’s it. Time to go home.

Loud. Must be the acoustics. I send Vanessa a text with lots of emojis. She’s turned off read notifications. If I plunge through the stairs it’ll be the last thing I ever write.

It was David who got me into these places. Old buildings, boarded up and locked. But always with some way in for the determined. He was a quiet guy, responsible. It didn’t seem like him at all, breaking into private — if unwanted — property. But his eyes lit up as he squeezed through whatever door or window allowed him in. I think he was looking for something. Because I’m looking for something too.

Right now I’m looking for that rat, though it must be a whole family of the fuckers judging by the noise. One shot. It could be a rat king, how cool would that be? That’d get me downloads again. Maybe enough to….
I have to shout this internal monologue in my head because the rustling is so loud. If the stairs were easier to navigate I might well turn back. I have the collapsed chair and the dust: that’ll make a fantastic gif.

But I’m looking for more than the photo. What? When everyone has moved on, what’s left? I want to document that in my photos. I wish Vanessa was here. The last of the sunlight is shining through a window at the top of the landing. I could get such an amazing shot ofher silhouette.

The rustling. I follow the noise to the end of the corridor, my camera held out protectively. I can’t afford for anything to happen to it (I can’t afford for anything to happen to me either?). The windows are boarded up and it’s dark but it’s the right place. I can hear it, I can see the movement. Like the whole floor is shivering but it’s the plaster and the paper and the rats underneath. There must be dozens. It’s the whole floor. One photo and I’m out of here.

In the flash I see the room for one tiny second. I’ve found what I’m looking for.

There are no rats in the room, no birds. The floor is shivering and there is no plaster and no paper. It’s the floorboards. There’s a bed in the corner and a person — or what used to be a person, or what will be a person on it. They stretch a hand out to me, the wasted skin is awful. The floor is shivering because it’s growing a carpet. There’s a wall paper pattern seeping onto the walls. There’s a hole where all the dirt and plaster and rats have been sucked in and swallowed.

The room is remaking itself to suit the person in the bed. I realise where David went. Because the same thing s going to happen to me. Because I’m in the bed. The building wants me. I want to stay.

Drag

by

The bottom of a pier
Photo by Analise Benevides on Unsplash

Hi all,

more flash fiction for you. This one’s got a teddy bear in it so it’s really nice. Enjoy!

I wanted to stay at the candy floss place. I had my stick full of spun sugar but there were plenty of other people waitng. I loved watching the lady make it, dipping in with the overlarge toothpicks and turning them until they were covered in pink clouds. The smell was wonderful. But Daddy wanted to go on.

We went to the fortune teller’s tent. I was allowed to eat my candy floss but the lady said be careful not to drop it. I sat on a plastic stool that had a limp faded cushion while she told Daddy what was going to happen next. I like to know what’s going to happen. Usually Mammy and Daddy just pull me with them wherever they’re going. Daddy didn’t like what the old lady was telling him. He said thank you but he didn’t smile, which is how I know.
“What did she say?” I asked.
He looked like he’d forgotten I was there and I hid my face behind my candy floss, wisps sticking to my cheeks. He shook his head. Next was a shooting range. You could shoot at tin cans with a small rifle. I don’t like shooting and Daddy doesn’t either. Past that was one where you could throw rings around ducks and win something. There was a large teddy as a prize but I knew I’d never win it. Still though, I imagined I had won and was dragging it the same way Daddy was dragging me but nicer. I pretended I offered the teddy some candy floss but he didn’t want it in case it got stuck in his fur. We threw some rings and I tried not to look at the teddy because I knew I wouldn’t win him and it wouldn’t be fair to get his hopes up. Anyway I had my imaginary teddy and I didn’t want him to get jealous. There was a girl beside me and she stared at my candy floss the whole time.
On we went. The crowd was getting thicker and I had to walk half behind Daddy. My candy floss stick was almost finished and I wondered what I should do with it. I liked to keep the sticks but somehow never did. I made up my mind that this time I would keep it on my pocket and then put it in the shoe box under my bed, so nobody would throw it away when I was at school.

Once we reached the end of the pier we’d look out at the sea. Daddy would say he loved me as much as the sea and more and then we’d go home.
I forgot that I was holding my imaginary teddy but I was able to imagine that he caught up to us, dodging through the crowd’s legs. He’d been looking at the van that sold all the sweets and didn’t notice when we moved on. He looked scared and sad and I told myself that I would tell him I loved him as much as the sea and more before we went home.
At the end of the pier we had to wait until there was a space free at the railing. People were taking photos of themselves. Daddy thought that was vain. I knew he was right but I wished he would take a picture of us together. He looked out over the sea and I nestled in close to his side, it was getting chilly.
“Finished?” he said.
I nodded without thinking and he grabbed my candy floss stick and threw it into the sea. We walked back home through the crowd.

When we got to the car I realised I’d left Teddy at the end of the pier and he didn’t know what our car looked like so I couldn’t imagine him finding us.

I think the voice in this one is quite different to my usual voice, which is good. What do you think?

Tremendous

by

Smoke stacks beside the sea
Photo by Felix Tchverkin on Unsplash

Hi all,

another piece of flash fiction for you, enjoy!

The tide is out. The smoke from the stacks is pulled over my head and out to sea.
There’s no one on the beach. There are lots of men and women running around inside the power station, heaping coal into the furnaces. Or sitting in fake leather chairs, staring at green computer screens.

I’d hate to be out at sea. The wind is already strong on the beach and it gets worse the further you go from the shore. And the monsters out there, of course. That’s why the power stations all point their smoke out to sea. Something in the smoke. They’re allergic, that’s why they don’t come any closer.

I walk towards the power plant. Not so close that the security guards have to worry. The stacks are mottled from rain and age but still impressive. The smoke is almost the same colour as the clouds. A little whiter, a bit more yellow. The tiny soft stones under my feet squish in a puddle.
I look at the clouds. It’s been… 59 days. And 83 days since the time before that. So easily another 3 weeks before we can expect to see blue again. If the smoke stops the monsters could come in from the sea. Better to live with grey. But the grey makes it colder which means the clouds keep growing.
Once I saw a ship, far out and hazy with smoke. I remember shivering at how dangerous it must be, out on the ocean with just a little smoke stack to keep them away. If there was a fault it would be gobbled up immediately. Our power station was sending out plenty of smoke to help them on the water.

My mother tells me about black and white films. When she was younger films had no colour but real life did. Now its the other way around. The films show plenty of colour but life is black and white and grey and empty wet beaches and me by myself.

Scissors

by

Hands reaching up out of water
Photo by Arun Kr from Pexels

Hi all,

hope winter is treating you kindly? Here’s some hot flash fiction to help you cope. Enjoy!

We never saw him again after the day at the beach.

He was the most popular guy in school. We couldn’t believe when he started hanging around with us. And we lost him.

It had been humid for weeks. Had rained just before school finished, the clouds trapping all the moisture. It was like walking around in a sauna. People sweating, even when just sitting around and talking. When they blinked a trail of heavy water rolled down their cheeks.

There was a murder epidemic. People going crazy.

In front of The Arcade (they had one Pac-Man machine, always Out of Order but it was our spot) a red car got blocked by a yellow car. The red car beeped and the guy came over and kept battering at the window until he’d punched through it. Screaming that he didn’t get paid enough. We have videos of it. The guy’s forearms bloody, reaching through the window.

And Erkan approaching, calming him down. He talked to him, took him back to his car. A man got the woman in the red car out, took her to hospital. Someone else must have called the police.

It was always women that summer, I don’t know why. I was 12, more likely to fight with other boys. But it was women who suffered in the madness.

A week before school was to start, long after we had given up hope, the clouds lifted. I woke one day, wondering what looked so strange. It was the light. The sun was out. My eyes weren’t crying, I wasn’t damp with moisture. It was the most wonderful feeling.

We went to the beach to swim.

Past The Arcade, past where the yellow car had bashed the red car and onto the rough, warm sand of our beach. We lived north of town so the beach was small. But we were all friends and there were no tourists. We rolled our jeans and t shirts up and splashed into the water.

The air was dry. We had a plastic football. Threw it too hard at each other’s faces. Wiped salt water out of our eyes. And Erkan joined us.

The most popular boy in school. He’d been working at his father’s office. He was destined for great things. It was only a matter of time before he would expect us to bring him coffee or mow his lawn or fix his toilet.

But today he was just another boy. Hot and tired form a long summer. He joined us in the water and we threw the ball too hard at his face. He wiped salt out of his eyes.

It might have been me who hit him first.

Rich Erkan. Lucky Erkan. Erkan who was famous as a hero for saving the woman.

The sun blinded me. I shouted. I remember that.

And the other boys came over. I remember that.

He held his hands up to calm us down. I remember his hands in the air.

But we were in the water, so we didn’t have our phones.

Maybe if someone had recorded what happened I would remember the rest.

The prompts were the picture above and the random word ‘scissors’ for the title.

Not too many scissors in the story, I admit. But I was thinking about the gap between rich and poor. I knew my narrator was poor right from the beginning. There were more hints in the original piece such as him and his friends needing to rely on The Arcade’s free Wifi.

And that’s got something to do with scissors, does it?

Yes! Because then there’s Erkan, who’s quite well off.

Go on…

So I was thinking about the gap between rich and poor.

My bus will be here in a minute!

And in German the phrase for ‘the gap’ between rich and poor is ‘die Schere’ – the scissors.

It is!

It is!

Marked

by

Two girls standing in water
Photo by Whoisbenjamin on Unsplash

Hi all,

sorry for missing a few weeks. I’ve been refurbishing and updating the site and it’s been a lot more complicated than I was expecting.

How complicated was it?

Oh. Em. About as complicated as …your mother?

Hey!

Sorry, you caught me off guard. I didn’t see you there.

Hmph.

Anyway. Here’s some lovely writing prompt fiction. This one didn’t even require much editing.

I’ve tagged it as ‘fantasy’ for the benefit of my international audience.

Irish readers will know better.

Enjoy!

The statue moved in the mornings.

Ella had seen it. She slept badly, often getting up while it was still dark.

Norah had never seen it move. She slept well.

But everyone knew the statue moved.

Busloads of tourists prayed to it. Tanned Italians. Pale Poles. They unfolded wheelchairs, lifted out those who needed help. After twitching their collars up they would go up the narrow gravel path between the lake and the mountain to the statue of Saint Mary. Some would do it barefoot or on their knees.

Ella said it never moved for them because that wasn’t the way: you had to go through the water. So you were clean when you stood in front of her.

Norah heard the tap on the window. It was dark outside. Her room had cooled overnight and it was hard to even think about getting up. It sounded again, louder. Ella. Who else? 6 am according to the pale glow of her alarm clock.

Ella, her eyes dark with shadows, wearing trousers. She almost always wore skirts, unless she was covering up bruises. Norah opened the window.

“Come on,” said Ella. Her teeth were chattering. “She’s moving again.”

Norah started to pull on tights. Took them off. Leggings and jeans and two pairs of socks. If they were going through the lake then tights were a bad idea.

She climbed out the window. “We have to get back before 8,” she said.

Ella grabbed her hand, pulling. Norah had to jog to keep up. There was a thick mist and Norah’s hair stuck to her face. At the lake they pulled off their shoes and socks and stepped into the water. The first step was so cold it burned but Ella was still pulling at Norah’s arm. She had to keep going to avoid falling over, the cold deadening her feet against the stones on the lake bed.

The grotto was invisible under the mist.

They got closer. Norah could see the statue. The blue-robed Mary was moving towards them, walking towards them. Running towards them.

Her mouth was open. “Go back!” she said. “Go back!”

Ella kept pulling Norah onward.

Behind the statue was emptiness. It carried the statue. As Norah reached it she was swallowed up.

The prompts were the above picture and the random word ‘marked’ for a title.

My usual writing prompt rules apply (only changes to typos and punctuations as well as deleting is allowed). Otherwise I would definitely change ‘…up they would go up the narrow…’ to ‘…up they would ascend the narrow…’ Tidier and avoids the repetition of ‘up’ in the sentence.

And ‘under the mist’ should be ‘behind the mist.’

On the other hand I was able to change

‘Ella was outside. Her eyes were dark with shadows. She was wearing trousers.’

to

‘Ella, her eyes dark with shadows, wearing trousers.’

Good call?