The Store of Lost Dreams – FTS, Oct #6


The Store of Lost Dreams

Alastair Keppler loved music for as long as he could remember. For the past forty years he had playing the Jack Lemon band every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night at the Hightower Club. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else with his life. He didn’t want to do anything else with his life. The Hightower Club closed three months ago, and he had been unable to find work with another band. His money was gone–his life was gone–and now he had to sell his tuba to Mr. Franklin down at the Past Memories shop.

Louise Grayson dreamed of travel. When she was a child, she collected her father’s National Geographic magazine and read them cover to cover every month. She planned to travel to Paris, London, and Venice. She dreamed of seeing far off places like Russia, South Africa, and the Amazon. Oh, she had plans. Plans she hoped to share with John once he finished his studies at the University. She planned waited, and waited and planned as she worked as a seamstress to help support them. John went to New York to visit family. The telegram arrived shortly after he left in the carriage. Thanks was all it read. John never returned. He stole her dreams and left his nightmares in its place. There was nothing of value left in her tiny, one room apartment above the laundry. Nothing of value to anyone except her suitcase that held nothing but forgotten dreams. Maybe Mr. Franklin can find someone who needs a suitcase to hold their dreams.

The Past Memories thrift shop sat on the corner of Elm and Maple and has been owned and operated by Mr. J. Franklin and his wife for more than fifty years. People come in and out all day buying and selling their hopes and dreams. It is a cozy little shop filled with trinkets and knickknacks of every shape and size. Mr J. (As everyone called him) chuckled to himself, as he straighten the back shelf of super hero figurines. One Autumn day, oh about three years ago, a young boy came in with a brown paper bag.

“Hello!” The young boy bellowed.

“Well, good afternoon!” Mr J. returned. “What may I do for you today?” he continued.

“I love The Hulk! He’s so cool, and he’s strong. I’m not sure why he’s green; but, that’s ok. I still love him. I have these dentures that I’d like to exchange for a hulk figurine!”

Mr. J nearly spit his sip of tea across the room. Many a story has walked through his shop’s door, but, never such as this!

“Son, why did you bring dentures to use in the exchange?” Mr J. manage to comment in a serious tone.

“Well,” the boy added, ” You see. These belonged to my grandpa. Every year, about this time, my grandma gets sad and quiet. That’s not good. I don’t like when she’s sad. My mom told me she gets that way because my papa died. In his Will, he instructed his teeth to sit upon a shelf.. so his children would recommend to mind their Ps and Qs.”

“Oh!” Mr J laughed lightly. He’s thoroughly enjoy this visitor, but he had a question that he was dying to ask. “Say,” he quickly added, “Why did you bring dentures though. I’m sure your grandma has many items that remind her of your grandpa!”

“Well, my mimaw always used to call papa a antique, when he would say old. When my mom and I came past here, she said this is where antiques are sold. Since they’re his teeth, I thought I’d bring them.” the boy explained.

“I wanted to stop grandma from feeling sad,” the boy explained further.

“That’s very thoughtful of you!” Mr J. assured him. “I’m certain your grandma would appreciate the kindness.” He concluded.

With that, the two men walked back to the superheros, and Mr J. instructed the boy to simply pick one to take home. The boy couldn’t contain himself. He jumped toward the store keeper with the biggest excited grin and tightest sweet hug. Within another fifteen minutes, the boy was hurrying home with his treasure.

The memories of the store customers further occupied Mr J.’s attention, when the front door bell rang again.

Story died here

This story was brought to you by:

The Haunted Wordsmith

My Namaste 365 Online



Who Crashed The Party – FTS, Oct #5

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Image Credit: Zoomer Radio

Who Crashed The Party?

The party at Drac’s house was in full swing. The Crypt-Kicker Five were on stage giving the performance of a lifetime and everyone was dancing and grooving to the beat. Even Igor was happy for once. Hazel brought enough witches’ brew to last the evening and Frank offered to cater the event, but Drac hired outside professionals instead. The night was a blast until a screech of brakes outside the house caused by The Mystery Van and loud enough to be heard way above the din of I Dream of Djinn an absolute stonking cronking classic from The Crypt-Kicker Five nearly brought the house down! Frank had only just literally finished off his bubbling stein with his pal Wolfen and was laughing and joking with cousin It who had brought his stepmother to the bash, who spookily just happened to be an alien …………….. l know how cooly ironic is that? They were just about to refresh their goblets when the front door flew open and who should barge in gargling and blubbering but Shaggy and Scooby Doo looking atypical yikey!

“Swhaggy, oh no, no, no Swhaggy!!” Scooby yelped and yiked some more!

Literally the moment they appeared everyone in the house stopped dead in their tracks, which wasn’t that hard for the undead and the zombies, well if you didn’t mind bits dropping off. But the other guests were and had been in full swing and all sorts and  slammed into each other. Just as everyone was coming to their senses, and Shaggy and Scooby were shaking in their boots and paws, Freddy, Thelma and Daphne, who hadn’t been that far behind also came flying through the wide open door and slammed into the backs of their friends, causing everyone to tumble madly and wildly to the floor. All five looked up to a sea of blue, green, yellow and bloodied faces and they were all smiling grotesquely down at them.

Suddenly Freddy yelled, untangling himself from the cartoon heap! “We need your help urgently!! It’s the mansion, the critters they are running amok, someone watered them after midnight! If we don’t get this situation under control ……..”

Story died here

This story was brought to you by:

The Haunted Wordsmith

A Guy Called Bloke and K9 Doodlepip


The New Gingerbread House – FTS, Oct #4


The New Gingerbread House

Sarah lived a simple, quiet life on a quiet street in a quiet little town. She woke every morning six and fed the neighborhood cats their breakfast. Waved to the paper boy as he rode by on his bike. Everything on the outside said that she was a perfectly normal, average, everyday elderly woman who cared about her friends and family.

Her house was a lovely three-story Victorian that looked like it belonged in a winter scene surrounded by peppermint candy and gumdrops. Neighbors and friends loved stopping by and admiring the outside of her home, and she loved to entertain them on her front porch. Sarah was known across town as having the best lemonade or iced tea in town.

Every evening, Sarah would sit in her front parlor and watch young families walk by, point at her house, and smile. Sarah sat and smiled and quietly imagined what her life was like before all of this. Once, Sarah was part owner of a small but successful business.  “Ladies Trails” had become one of the biggest online retailers of women’s casual hiking sneakers in the Northwest.  It really started as a whim in her senior year at UCLA.  She and a few of her friends had a similar tastes in outdoor activities.   They occasionally would go hiking and camping whenever there was any downtime during their long semesters.  Sarah in particular always enjoyed learning about survival skills and living off the land. On one particular night around a campfire, Sarah and her three friends dreamed up an idea of selling better hiking footwear to women, that could be more affordable and comfortable.   Ten years later, after the occasional setback and numerous successes-the company was soon becoming a major force in the woman’s shoe industry.

One night months (years?) ago,  Sarah had been walking through an empty parking garage towards her car.  It was late at night and she had just finished up a long day at the newly renovated offices of her company.  As she approached her car, she suddenly felt something dark and suffocating being thrown over her head.  She screamed out as two unseen people grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into some type of vehicle.  Not too much happened after that as Sarah slowly felt herself passing out.

And that was basically the end of her life as she knew it.  The next thing Sarah remembers was waking up on the kitchen floor of this gingerbread house.  A hand written list of very specific instructions were posted on the front of the refrigerator. Things she had to do every day for the total strangers that lived throughout the town. Acts that were now part of her daily everyday routines. If she defied these demands one would be penalized, quite harshly by the town’s authorities.

But,  Sarah knew that they underestimated her.  She wasn’t going to be dominated like the others.  Others who were docile and mindless to the point of pure subjugation.

No, Sarah was different. She had been doing one thing all along secretly, to survive and escape……

Story died here

This story was brought to you by:

The Haunted Wordsmith

The Magic Shop

Note: Authors retain all copyright over their respective parts.

Number 604 – FTS, Oct #3

Tim Evans ••(601)606-5177

Number 604

David had been a postal clerk long enough to know not to think too much about what people receive in the mail. Under normal circumstances, he followed that unwritten rule, but Number 604 and their numerous mysterious letters, parcels, and the monthly large case wrapped in plain brown wrap fed his curiosity. All the mail ever delivered to Number 604 was stamped with vintage stamps, wax seals, and no return address. If that wasn’t enough, David swore that many of them were addressed with quill and ink or other calligraphy pens.

It was another sweltering day in the city, and as David made his rounds, the heavy postbag kept slipping off his shoulder and hitting the ground. He was very happy to see his last stop because that meant the bag would be empty for the mile walk bag to the postal truck.

David slipped the mail into their proper slots while singing to himself. He stopped mid-song when he turned over an old battered envelope with vintage stamps and found the wax seal had broken after being dropped so many times. With a quick glance around to make sure he was alone in the building’s lobby, his fingers teased the envelope flat.

Should he or shouldn’t he? Did he dare risk losing his job because he was curious about the mysterious owner of Number 604? What on Earth could have been in all those letters and packages?

Job be damned, his fingers slipped under the envelope’s lip and opened the envelope revealing  the single sheet of paper, so thin, like parchment, seemed to jump into his hand. He looked over the spidery handwriting and realized that no one ever wrote like this today.

My Dearest David;

It has taken so long for you to succumb to your curiosity. During this time I have waited and waited.

I realize that this is confusing to you, but know my love, I have been waiting throughout the cycles of time for you. Every life you have lead moved you further and further away from our love. Now though I sense that you are ready to find me.

I shall wait upon the cliff where first we met.

Please my darling, don’t make me wait.

Love Tabitha.

David stared at the words written and began to feel. Warmth. Desire. Memories teasing, just out of reach. He began to fold the letter up, realizing that he must deliver it. However, did he have to? It was actually addressed to him, even if the address was to Number 604.

David did not realize that he was being watched. That through the peephole of Number 604 a brilliant green eye gazed upon him. Crimson lips, wet with saliva, parted and a whispered breath whistled. She hoped that he would succumb, he would take the bait. For she had waited a long time to see him fall into her trap. As she looked at him, she allowed herself to wonder at her self-restraint. She had hated him and planned her revenge for so long and the waiting had taken its toll.

She was all alone now. Her parents, broken after her sister Tanith’s disappearance had given up on lives and died of broken hearts. Dave’s refusal to speak of the events of that day had destroyed her family. Two young kids, they’d gone into the haunted house but only one returned. Finally, she could make him reveal the events of the day.

She watched him read the letter. She knew he couldn’t resist the mystery, it was what had drawn him and Tanith to that haunted house after all. She knew he’d go to the cliff and she knew she’d be waiting to meet him, ready to extract from him his final confession, before exacting her revenge.

She was more than just her sister, she was her twin. They had done everything together until Dave had come along. He’d taken her away and then lured her into that place from which she never returned. She had felt the moment when her life had left her body. She had never felt whole again.

For years she had dwelt on it, wanting and desiring her revenge. It was pure chance that had led her to cross paths with David again. Serendipity that had caused her to move into this neighbourhood and made David her postman, and she was not going to let this bit of good fortune pass without taking action.

She ran upstairs to change into a more appropriate outfit. She could see from her balcony window that David was walking quickly back up the street. Would he go home to change, or would he rush straight for that lonely stretch of cliff?

She opened her wardrobe and put on her black tracksuit and grabbed the crossbow that she’d been keeping for just such an emergency.

She thought she had prepared everything but…..when she reached for the crossbow it wasn’t there. She flung everything out of her closet searching high and low for it, she knew she had put it in there only yesterday, so she could grab it and run. She frantically searched her house, thinking maybe she put it elsewhere and she was slowly losing her mind. She searched behind the sofa, under her bed, she even checked the freezer as she had once placed her car keys in there. She chuckled at the thought, “Of course you wouldn’t put a crossbow in the freezer, Tanith.” She said to herself.

Molly, her corgi was looking at her as if she lost her mind.

She grabbed the only other weapon she owned, a Model 70 Winchester rifle that had once belonged to Tabitha, the only difference they had, Tabitha loved to hunt.

“I can make this work.” Tanith said to herself. “I must finish this, only then will the spell be complete, only then can I save my sisters soul.”

She took one last look in the mirror and set off to the cliffs to await David.

Only when she got there David was already waiting for her, crossbow in hand….

Story died here

This story was brought to you by:

The Haunted Wordsmith

The Wonderful and Wacky World of One Single Mom

Bitchin’ in the Kitchen

Tales from the mind of Kristian

Life Lessons From Around The Dinner Table