WEP - The Jewel Box of Mystery

Any container can hold surprises, and jewels or keepsakes can be cursed. Beautiful and detailed or worn and dusty, it's a risk not knowing where the box and its contents came from. . .

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THE JEWEL BOX

Working in her study one morning, Madeleine heard a knock on the front door. Putting her book aside, she went to see who would call at this early hour. 

She opened her door cautiously, keeping the chain link attached between the door and the wall. No one was there. After removing the chain, she looked side to side but saw no one. About to close the door, she looked down and saw the wrapped parcel. It had her name and address on the front. She felt a shiver run up her spine. 

"What the . . . ?" 

She hesitated, remembering Pandora's box. That box would have been better left closed. Suppressing her curiosity, she picked it up and brought it inside. Setting the parcel gently on the dining table, she carefully opened the mailing box and unwrapped the object it contained. Inside was a jewel box made of a translucent ivory material that seemed to shimmer, with delicately carved symbols she didn't recognize.

She could feel the jewel box calling to her, open. . . open. . .open. . . So she did. A gasp escaped her lips as she two items in the box and a small bit of writing on a yellowed scrap of paper. Secured with a pearl hatpin, she saw an elegant sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds, and a triple strand of pearls of a choker-style necklace. They sparkled as if new, not hundreds of years old.

The jewel box belonged to someone named Gudruun, or so it was written on a strange type of paper inside, dated 1475. So, how had it survived so many years? And more to the point, how did it get to her door? Was this charmed or cursed? Hidden under the choker she found another piece of rag paper with a warning.

A beautiful chest contains the power, which attaches to the person who receives these objects, but know that the ring will give but the choker will take away. 

As she read these words, Madeliene felt a strange warmth infuse her body with a sense of contentment. Her mind was pushing her worries into a small corner and changing her resistance to put the ring on her finger. She felt no need to worry. . .

"Why not?" she said as picked up the ring. It was a perfect fit.

WC story 386

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Would you be tempted to open the box? If not, why not? If there was no warning, would you wear the jewelry, or arrange to have it destroyed?

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here. I'll respond. Thanks for reading my entry to this month's challenge.

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WEP - Write, Edit, Publish, a flash challenge
Prompt: Jewel Box

It's time for another WEP challenge - with the support team of Nilanjana Bose and Olga Godim and L.G. Keltner adding their imaginings and creativity. Thanks to Denise for being the host.

Click on the link for WEP  to see the list of participants and read their stories. Joining the WEP-ISWG challenges is easy. See information on the WEP website for details, if you're interested!

Our Partner in Writing

IWSG  - The Insecure Writers Support Group
Click on the link to learn more! .

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Silhouettes - A Short Story Collection Review

A collection of short horror stories by Roland Yeomens that will make you look over your shoulder, and avoid the darkness. 

Cover for Silhouettes Stories, Roland Yeomans

Silhouettes in the Key of Scream


The theme is revenge, and the different ways it can manifest itself in the minds of those who now reside on the 'other' side. Be warned that you should never underestimate the strength or the depth of revenge. . . Following is a list of the short stories in this collection and a snippet about them.

The Dead Have No Say

A tale set in Hollywood, and served with the movie industry's flair for style and drama. An undead actress has a score to settle with her past coworkers. She sets the stage to
unveil her plan. 


The Town That Hated God


A seraphim, Darael, is sent by the Vatican to settle a problem in a town lost to evil. He confronts the dangers in his own way. Although Darael's history is known, his powers are not. 


Dead Not Yet

When a ghost from your past comes back to visit - do you welcome them or run the other way? Running might be the wise choice, especially if the ghost is a sultry red-haired female.


Murder As A Kindness

Sometimes a 'past' interrupted comes around again, like a second-hand second chance. You may get what you want, but not the 'way' you would have chosen. . .


A Shore Never Reached

This tale goes to the past in memory of loved ones, those who were taken from their son. A harsh decision must be made so fewer will suffer.


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Do you ever think of revenge or do you just let it go and try to learn from it ? Do you like collections of stories?

Please leave a comment so I know you were here, and I'll respond. If you like Roland's novels, you might want to read this collection. 

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Roland Yeomans was born in Detroit, Michigan. But his last memories of that city are hub-caps and kneecaps since, at the age of seven, he followed the free food when his parents moved to Lafayette, Louisiana. The hitch-hiking after their speeding car from state to state was a real adventure. Once in Louisiana, Roland learned strange new ways of pronouncing David and Richard when they were last names. And it was not a pleasant sight when he pronounced Comeaux for the first time.

He has a Bachelor’s degree in English Education and a Master’s degree in Psychology.  He has been a teacher, counsellor, book store owner, and even a pirate since he once worked at a tax preparation firm.

So far he has written thirty-four books.  You can find Roland at his web page: www.rolandyeomans.blogspot.com  or at his private table in Meilori’s.  The web page is safer to visit.  But if you insist on visiting Meilori’s, bring a friend who runs slower than you. 

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Images in this post property of Roland Yeomans. Photo of Roland's cat, Midnight, courtesy of the cat.

Midnight. A helpful friend of the author.

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Note: I was going to post this review in part on Amazon Reviews, after I purchased and read it, but the controller, Amazon, blocked me from doing that as I had not spent a specific amount on books ordered from them in the previous 12 months. This is not customer friendly, IMO.

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WEP Ribbons and Candles - A Christmas Space Story

Ribbons are like roads tying different places together in time and in place. Candles project warmth and light the path for each person to find their way to what they are seeking. 

Hubble Image - Free Use

A CHRISTMAS SPACE STORY

This is a continuation story told as part of a series. Links to the previous stories in this series are at the bottom.

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Seek and you might Find

Wait and that which you seek might find You.

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ODIWA

Odiwa and Dev sat in the captain's office, sipping something like tea. Dev had come to discuss the explorations team that would go down to the Lower Levels.

"Well, Dev, I think you need to talk to Noot before you make any plans. We can always add you to the team later." 

"Why Noot? Aren't you in charge here?"

"They don't call me Capt'n for my good looks, Dev. Noot is my right hand man. I'd trust him with my life. He usually heads up any expedition. Besides, you just got away from those Lower Levels, and I think Noot might have something to say to you, too."

"Okay. I like Noot, I have no problems talking to him. He brought us to the Upper Levels to meet you, and I'm grateful for that."

"Drop by later and bring Moby with you. I have something I want to tell him."

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NOOT

Dev knocked on Noot's door and heard him say, "Come on in, I'm just looking for some maps."

As he looked up to see who had knocked, Noot felt a little strange and his heart was thumping as he saw Dev. Was this his long-lost son? 

"Hello, Dev, what brings you to my place?'

"Odiwa wanted me to discuss the exploration team and whether I should go or stay behind. I'd like to help out, but I hate to leave my family alone. I guess you will be in charge of the explorations, won't you?"

"Yes, and I think you should remain behind now. You can go on the next exploratory team, but for now that son of yours needs his dad.

"Oh. You're right, he's had a tough time. He sure likes you, though. I almost forgot, Odiwa wanted me to tell you my kidnapping story. We got to talking about how we got here and he thought you'd be interested."

"I am. Very much. Sit and I'll make us a hot drink. That was a brave move that you did, escaping from those slaver types."

"I didn't have a lot of choice, I knew that my wife and son wouldn't be safe if we stayed. I had a lonely childhood myself, after my mother was killed and my father disappeared. The kidnapper told me my father did the killing, but for some reason I couldn't believe it. He raised me and then left me alone for a while so he could continue raiding. He took me and my family with him when he came out here to avoid the Galactic police. Then, he died on the way from some virus he contracted and his gang decided to make us slaves. That's how we arrived here in the Lower Levels. How did you end up here, Noot?"

"I had nothing left to lose. I came home to find my wife dead, and my son missing. The planetary police wanted to frame me for it since they had no other evidence. I did what most smart guys do, and left for the Outer Reaches. I didn't know who did the dirty deed but my life was worthless after that. I searched and tried to find out about my son but always came up empty. I was a hermit here until Odiwa decided to pull me out of my melancholy."

"Your story seems almost parallel to mine. What was your wife's name?"

"Nita, my only love." Noot saw Dev turn pale.

"Is something wrong, Dev?"

"My mother's name was Nita. The kidnapper changed my name to Dev."

"What was your birth name?"

"I only remember my mother calling me a nickname, Dari."

"Dari is a fine name, usually used for the proper name Darielo."

"And what was your son's name?"

"Darielo Newt. It's why I'm called Noot here on the space station. . ."

Dev swallowed but his mouth still felt dry. "It's very hard hearing all this, yet it makes me feel hopeful. You think I'm your son?"

"It's hard for me too," said Noot. "I'm afraid to believe it, yet it would make me the happiest man if it's true. I praise the Fates that brought us together. Do you think I'm your father?"

"I don't think all these things are just a coincidence. My brain is spinning, though. I don't think you could have killed my mother since you said she was 'your only love'."

"A kidnapper will say anything to cover himself. Perhaps he wanted a son like you. I don't understand why he would have killed Nita though."

"Mother tried to fight him. She tried to protect me from him. I could hear them yelling and he must have hit her because I heard someone fall. When I ran in to the room, she was lying in a pool of blood. I was terrified. I didn't know where my father was."

"I was working out at the asteroid field. That work used to take me away for weeks at a time."

"I'll have to tell my wife, Jio and Moby."

"We'll tell them together if you want."

"I would like that, Father."

"I like the sound of that, Son, it makes an old man feel like life is good again."

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MOBY
Odiwa had carved a spaceship from a scrap of wood he found in the storeroom. Dev's son Moby would get a gift while he told him the ancient story of Christmas, an old Terran legend.

When the boy came to see him he told him about candles left in the windows to help travellers to find comfort if they were far from home. He told him of the ribbons given to tie back the hair of men and women in the early days of the celebration. For the children, gifts were left by a jolly man who dressed in red, and lived at the North Pole, making toys to give to children. It was a tradition in some countries.

Moby listened quietly with eyes as round as could be, but those eyes were staring at the small carved spaceship sitting on Odiwa's desk.

"Toys? Is that a toy?"

"Oh that, some guy in a red suit must have left this toy here. There is a name on it. Well, my goodness. . ."

"What?" Moby couldn't sit still. "I wish it was for me."

"That seems to be a wish come true. It says, 'for Moby'."

Moby's mouth dropped, "For me? Are you sure?"

Odiwa smiled and handed the small wooden spaceship to the boy. "For you, and I hope you will remember to tell your children that story, too. We must always remember our home planet of Terra, where humanity originated."

A few minutes later, Moby's parents and Noot come back and tell Moby that he really does have a grandfather, Noot.

"Then all my wishes have come true, Mr. Odiwa. Will you thank that man in the red suit for this spaceship?"

"I sure will, Moby."

Moby turned to Noot, "Hi Grandfather, I knew, when I first saw you."

(The End of Noot's story. More character stories to come.)

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Do you think Christmas will become a legend in the future, when humanity is spread through the stars? 

Please leave a comment so I'll know you were here and I'll respond. Thanks for visiting and reading. 

Remember to visit the main WEP page to find the other participants and other entries.  

Merry Christmas to you and Best Wishes for the New Year!


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WEP - Write, Edit, Publish, a flash challenge

It's time for another WEP challenge - with the support team of Nilanjana Bose and Olga Godim and L.G. Keltner adding their imaginings and creativity. Thanks to Denise for being the host.

Click on the link for WEP  to see the list of participants and read their stories. 

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Hubble Space Station Images
https://www.spacetelescope.org/search/

WEP - Change of Heart - Discovery (3)

WEP - Unraveled Yarn - Lower Levels (2)

WEP - Road Less Traveled- An Outpost Story (1)


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WEP - Haunted Memories, A Ghost Story

I didn't hear that noise. It's my imagination. . .

Hosted by Denise Covey

A moonless night with a storm approaching, and I'm all alone in this house.  I checked all the doors and windows on the lower level when I arrived, except one, but that one is hardly ever opened and always locked. I don't have the TV on since the radio weather advisory warned of nearby tornadoes. The howling winds of the storms are something I'll never get used to. It always sounds like the roof will blow away. Maybe I've watched the Wizard of Oz too many times.

The house was as silent as death before the sounds started. Great. First, I heard what sounded like a footstep. Then another. Quiet footsteps. A door creaked, but old doors do that when they settle. A house like this, which has seen many people come and go, must sigh every now and then. Can a house sigh? It seems like it. 

So much misery has been bottled up here. Why did I say I would watch the place while my family went for a short visit? I remember the stories about this house. We kids used to relate them to each other when we had sleepovers. There it is again, almost like a door closing gently.

Perhaps the ghosts in this house aren't angry ghosts, just sad ones. I'll get the flashlight in case the storm blows the fuses and the lights go out. I can hear the rain starting to fall harder now. If any of the large windows are open on the second level, I have to shut them.

As I ascend the stairs, I try not to look at the landing after the 13th stair where the staircase turns right to go to the second level.  My bedroom was on that level when I was younger. That landing features in a family story about a man who hung himself. Bereft and depressed after the death of his brother by a lightning strike, he committed suicide.

I arrive at the top step and the same window is open at the end of the hall. The window where the first brother was killed, burned by the ferocity of the lightning as he left the bathroom beside the window. The wind is blowing through the hallway, bringing in the rain. I shut the window quickly, careful not to look at any relfection that may be there, and listen for thunder announcing a coming strike. As kids, we learned to count the seconds between the thunder and the strike to gauge how close the lightning was. 

I need a cup of tea or something stronger. My nerves are on high alert. As I turn, I notice the suite across from the one we used to occupy. It's used for storage now. The house was built raised above the ground in 1875. It's easy for rats to get in the storage areas, even though the fireplaces in each room were sealed long ago. 




Not the same house but similar vintage - WC-PD*

 

As I descend the stairs, the house sinks back into silence and I think of grandmother and the man who gave her this house for a pittance. He was in love with her, but married her sister as she was already married to Grandfather, a man twenty years her senior, when she met the younger man.  He was a doctor and lived in another town. His daughter was our erstwhile aunt. Only one photo we have shows them talking in front of the house. How sad that they never got together. Both Grandmother and Grandfather died in this house, as did others before them. That used to be the way of families, the elderly died at home. I make my tea and reminisce. The spirits settle now, my fear is gone, but I still feel uneasy. I don't know if I can sleep here tonight.

Maybe I'll just sleep on the couch over there in this one room next to the lower kitchen where it seems peaceful.  Then again, maybe not. I wonder if I can stay awake all night?

I might need a lot of tea.

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(For more details on this same house see DG's 21st Century Journal Blog), A Gothic South Tale

For a peek at Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris: 2013's post at Halloween
http://dghudson.blogspot.ca/2013_10_01_archive.html 

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Have you ever felt the chill of 'otherness' in a house, room or even in an area outside? Are you fond of ghost stories, and the unknown? OR are you a fan of Halloween?

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here, and I'll respond. Thanks for dropping by and hope you can check the other WEP stories sometime before Halloween!

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*WC-PD NOTE:
http://abnf.co/Ohio.htm Photo credit, free use image, used to set the mood. Not the actual house, as the real place on which this story is based has been renovated extensively and has a new owner.
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WEP

Would you like to challenge yourself? Try Write...Edit...Publish! aka WEP

Join us for a monthly signup and some very interesting reading. It's flexible. I joined the once-a-month bloghop to write a few short stories or write in installments like the old-time serials. I've also met fellow writer-bloggers with the same penchant for responding to Denise's challenges. WEP can help you practice short writing and the prompts will invigorate your creative thinking.

Write…Edit…Publish! welcomes you to submit any of the following – flash fiction, poetry, non-fiction or playscripts to a word count of 1,000 words – artwork and photographs accompanied by your written inspiration in creating your work/s.

Next Challenge: November - Affluenza

Denise Covey - WEP in detail, the list of participants and prompts

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