A Reservation For Six

We’ve only one table left sir, the one by the forest. Do you know it?

Oh, I see sir, you read about it in the paper. A most unfortunate incident.

We’ve always known the creatures were there of course. We’ve even had been brief glimpses of them. But for a group to come right up to the table was most unusual. As for them attacking and eating the guests, that was so out of character.

But rest assured sir, the whole area has been thoroughly cleaned, you’d never know anything had happened.

What time shall I make the reservation for?

MikeJackson©2018

A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Fatima Fakier Deria

The Demise of Old Oakey

Tree ZA34657, known locally as ‘Old Oakey’, you have been found guilty of aiding and abetting acts of obscene behaviour. On January 31st of this year, you allowed two young people of this Parish, namely Sally Mary Andrews and James Herbert Matthews, to engage in carnal activities beneath your branches. On the same day, you allowed the said James Herbert Matthews to carve a token of this wilful deed into your trunk. It is decreed you be chopped down in this place and your body dismembered and the parts scattered across the Parish and burnt. God have mercy on you.

MikeJackson©2018

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Memories

It was in here somewhere, it had to be.

This is the box where I kept my most treasured possessions.

I pulled out a half-finished dream, that wasn’t it. Next came an argument still fermenting, then a small silver box containing the lies you told me, my broken heart wrapped up in brown paper, the remnants of our last fight, a jar of tears shed when you left me.

Then I find it, tucked away in the corner out of sight, the memory of our first kiss on that ride at the fair.

I hold it tight and cry.

MikeJackson©2018

A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of J Hardy Carroll.

Humans for Supper

The enormous mechanical arachnid watched on from the shadows. As he eyed the two large pods hanging from the ceiling, oily saliva dribbled from his fearsome jaws. Very soon the first cracks would appear in those silver shells and the tiny infant humans inside would emerge. He knew that their first instinct, after being enclosed for nine months in that shell, would be to eat. With their eyes still closed their sense of smell would attract them to his steely web smothered in the milk from a human female. He savoured the prospect of his first decent meal in days.

MikeJackson©2018

A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of T © Victor and Sarah Potter

Chicken Paste Sandwiches

I stood behind the tree, hands in my pocket, collar pulled up high. Would I ever get used to these miserable Earth winters? I doubted it. I’d asked for my next assignment to be somewhere warmer but my request had gone unheeded.

I looked across at the white car where my next victim sat. James Peterson – a lowly civil servant who regularly took to his car at lunchtime to eat his chicken paste sandwiches and drink lukewarm coffee from a flask.

James was a loner. No friends. No family. The ideal host.

By midnight his body would be my new home.

MikeJackson©2017

Picture courtesy of Dale Rogerson

Another 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Yours For Just £100

As I said in my e-mail Mr Jones I’ve got this stuff I need to shift. The youngest is moving back home and we need the space. You can see I’ve collected some interesting items over the years. Take those windows back there, portals they are, programmed to take you anywhere in the universe. In fact, I’ve got one at the back that’s an entrance to a parallel universe. Then there’s my pride of joy, the lavatory. Straight from Hogwarts. Even comes with its own ghost. All yours for just £100 and I’ll throw in the bath for free.

MikeJackson©2017

Another 100-word story for this week’s prompt from Friday Fictioneers.

Photo Prompt © What’s His Name

Gran’s Coming To Live With Us

“Well, mum, which one do you fancy? Remember it’s going on the mantelpiece at our house, not yours so go with one of the bigger ones if you want. Don’t worry about the colour. Just choose the one you like and we’ll redecorate our front room to match.”

Gran looked at Dad and then at me. I shrugged my shoulders. Like her, I had no idea what we were doing here.

“What are they son?” asked Gran, “And why do I need one?”

“They’re urns mum. You’re going to need one – somewhere to stay when you move in with us.”

MikeJackson©2017

A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Ann Hall