Tag: Prompted Page 7 of 12

Stories inspired by writing prompts.

The Herculaneum Coin

On July 11, 2020

During an archaeological dig, Hyria found an unusual coin that she shared of photo of on social media. By doing so, she attracted some unwanted attention, forcing her dog to reveal he can talk.

Snuggled warmly in layers of blankets, Hyria released a happy yawn. Her mother’s friends were gracious enough to provide her with a place to sleep while working on her research project nearby. She couldn’t have asked for a more picturesque location than the countryside house they had outside Naples, Italy. Plus, they were awesome enough to let her bring Ace, her black Labrador Retriever.

Hyria couldn’t bear to be without Ace. He was her “Ace up the sleeve” and always there to protector her. As for their origin story, she found him when he came to her aid when someone tried to mug her. She looked around the tiny, cozy guest room for her precious old boy.

“He must be outside,” Hyria shrugged as she flopped back on the bed.

For the first time in ages, her plans for the day were going to be laid-back. She needed the chill day. Following her mother’s career path, she had received a grant that allowed her to join the archeological dig at Herculaneum. The ancient city was on the western base of Mount Vesuvius, which was destroyed—together with Pompeii, Torre Annunziata, and Stabiae—by the Vesuvius eruption of 79 CE.

She didn’t find much during her excavation–mostly household items–but yesterday, she found a purple coin depicting a muscular man on both sides. Although she knew she shouldn’t, she pocked the relic. In her defense, she believed it was modern due to its mint condition and intricate detail. Still, to be positive, she shared a picture on social media, asking for background information. With the grant depleted, she hoped she would discover some great local food and wine during her free time before going home.

Curious if she had gotten any replies about the coin overnight, she stretched her arm out to her cellphone on the rustic seashell white wooden bedside dresser. Without sitting up, she woke up her phone. On the notification was a comment from her mother on the coin post.

“Delete this photo and call me ASAP!” the message read.

Before she could swipe open her phone, Ace leaped on her bed, purposely stepped on her stomach, and got in her face.

“Okay, Ace,” Hyria groaned. “What do you want, boy?”

“Sorry, I know this is out of nowhere, and I thought we had more time, but we have to go.”

“Did-did, you just talk?” she stuttered.

“Yes, and we need to get going.”

Ace bit on the blankets and pulled them off Hyria. Hyria tossed on the clothes she had already set out for the day from the night before.

“Have you always been able to talk?” she questioned as she put on her jeans.

“Yes.”

“Why, just now?”

“Your father didn’t want me too.”

“Wait,” she paused as she dropped her shirt over herself, “you mean my step-dad?”

“No, your biological father.”

“Henry? But he’s dead.”

“That’s not,” Ace started to correct but then stopped. “We need to get going.”

Hyria tied her shoelaces and stood up. “Lead the way.”

“You know that coin you kept for yourself?”

“I was going to return it,” she immediately defended.

“If you didn’t take it, I would’ve put it on your bag.”

“Oh.”

“Now grab it and keep it in your hand. You might need its power.”

Ace ran out the door. Hyria pocked her cellphone and keys and grabbed the coin, which she held onto as requested. She chased Ace down the quiet wooden steps into the living room.

“There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

“In due time,” Ace whispered as they ran to the front door.

They were alone. Hyria assumed her host family had already left for work or the market. Everyone came and went without much communication, which was kind of annoying but also kind of refreshing compared to her mother’s constant contact. Though now, she was starting to wonder what her mother hadn’t been telling her.

Hyria opened the front door. Ace bolted toward the car parked beside the house while Hyria closed the door behind. Locking the door wasn’t a concern. After all, they were in the middle of the countryside.

She ran to the car while Ace started to bark at the sky. Confused, she looked up as the wind raced around her. Floating down on a flying motorcycle, a humanoid shark-like alien landed between her and her car. Decked in a neon blue suit and wrap-around sunglasses, Hyria felt tiny as the colossal creature stood up and marched toward her. Ace growled, signaling to Hyria this wasn’t a peaceful alien.

“Give me the coin,” the alien calmly demanded.

“Sorry, but it’s not for sale.”

“I’m not here to buy it.”

The alien lunged at Hyria. Ace tried to attack his legs, but the alien kicked him with his black boots, sending Ace flying, hitting the side at the house. Hyria screamed out in rage and punched her attacker in the gut, sending him back several meters down the hill.

“Holy shit,” Hyria cussed. “How did I do that?”

“That’s the power of the coin you possess,” Ace explained as he approached her side, uninjured. “Your father made that coin after losing a bet, but it was lost when Mount Vesuvius erupted nearly two thousand years ago.”

“Wait,” Hyria interrupted. “Who in the hell is my father?”

“Hades.”

Hyria soaked in what Ace revealed. “Like… the Greek god?”

“The very one.”

“Anything else important you want to drop on me?”

“Well, we’re out of the canned dog food.”

This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “You wake up one day to your dog sitting beside your bed. He suddenly speaks and says, ‘Sorry, I know this is out of nowhere and I thought we had more time but we have to go.'”

The Pacific Northwest Podcaster

By Dennis

On July 4, 2020

In Imaginary

A serial killer mistakenly targets a true-crime podcaster.

Whitney’s heart fluttered. Male, late 20s/early 30s with an alethic build? Check. Shaggy, blond hair? Check. Thick, black plastic sunglasses resting on a curved, wedge-shaped nose? Check. A prominent crescent scar on his right cheek? Check. She was positive the stranger jogging behind her matched the police sketch of the Noon Slayer.

Whitney kept a steady pace as she traversed the dirt trail at Stewart Memorial Park. The summer weather in Washington state never got uncomfortable for her noon jogs. The tall, western hemlocks and various evergreen trees provided ample shade, with the fresh rain bringing its petrichor fragrance.

She tapped on her headphones, which weren’t playing music. They never did. They were only on her ears for the same reason a worm would be on a hook. The serial killer caught up to her. Whiney smirked. He took the bait.

As the Noon Slayer was about to grab Whitney, she spun around and tased him.

* * *

The Noon Slayer’s eyes fluttered open to a microphone attached to a boom arm with a pop filter. White nylon rope strapped him tight on the metal chair.

“You’re awake,” Whitney greeted with the joyful tone of a morning radio host. “Don’t say anything. I need to hit record real fast.” She took a seat on her RV kitchen bench behind the matching microphone she had set up for herself and pushed the record button on her audio recorder. “Hello, crime-heads. I want to start off this episode by thanking my guest. I’ve gotten in pretty good shape since I started jogging about a month ago to get you on my show.”

“Where am I?” the Noon Slayer grumbled.

Whitney pushed the red button on her pop-out kitchen table, sending him a painful electric shock. It wasn’t enough to kill or do any serious harm, but the pain was enough to say, “I’m the one in charge.”

“Hey, I’m the host here,” she playfully scolded. “This is my podcast, so I’ll be the one asking the questions–until the end when I let my guests ask me a question before I let them go.”

He looked around the cozy fifth-wheel travel trailer that held him captive. Everything was clean and neatly organized. His gaze focused on a massive cork bullion board as long as him, pinned with newspaper clippings of all his killings. He nodded toward the murder board. “You a fan of mine?”

“You can say I’ve been tracking you. Oh, wait. That was technically a question.”

She pushed the button, shocking him again. When he settled, she took down the murder board from the easel (revealing another board covered in clippings about a different serial killer). She laid his board on the bed next to him so he could see her research and then returned to her seat.

“What do you think?” she inquired.

He reviewed the large board. In addition to the newspaper clippings, there were crime scene photos, a copy of the police sketch, and a pair of gold foil business cards with the word, “Congratulations.”

“How did you–” he stopped, catching himself. “I mean, I’m impressed you have my calling card. Two of them.”

“Thank you, but truth be told, one is a replica I made. The public doesn’t know about your calling card. I managed to sneak a photo from one of my sources investigating you. The other is the one I pulled out from your wallet, Trent.”

Trent tried not to laugh at his carelessness. “I knew I shouldn’t have kept my wallet with me.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve learned that nobody is perfect in all my years of doing this podcast. On the subject of mistakes, how accurate is my board about you? Are all of those yours? Am I missing anyone?”

“You’re missing my first one.”

Whitney sat up and leaned forward. “I am? Do tell.”

“It was different.” His eyes drifted up as he reflected. “I did it with my car. It was an accident–a complete accident. It was a hilly road. I wasn’t paying attention to the jogger when she ran in front of me. I thought I was going to get caught. But I didn’t.”

“Then let me guess, the thrill of not getting caught become intoxicating?”

“It did.”

“This happened around noon, just like all of the others?”

“Yes.”

Whitney nodded. “That’s what the psychologist Dr. Miller suggested when I interviewed him in episode 215. Well, Trent, you’ve answered all of my questions today. Before I let you go, as per tradition, I like to let my guests ask me a question.”

Trent didn’t say anything. Whitney added, “Don’t worry. I won’t shock you.”

Whitney pulled the chef knife from the cutlery drawer, walked over to Trent, and brushed the blade along the rope behind his back.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She sawed the rope just long enough to give him a false sense of hope before she stabbed him in the back. “I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”

Inspired by the writing prompt: “A well-known serial killer has been following you through town. He seems to be has been targeting you for a while now. But you’re not scared, in fact, you’re thrilled about it. Finally, you have a new target.”

I realized I hadn’t set any of my weekly stories in Washington state, where I grew up in my grade/middle school years. I got inspired by the writing prompt to have a serial killer stalk one of the woods there. Since it had been forever since I visited that area, the only park with a hiking trail I could think of was where my parents found a golden ticket for a radio contest. I texted my Mom for the name of the park. She asked why I was asking about it and I told her the premise of the short story. She asked me if I was going to incorporate a golden ticket into it somehow and I said I’ll see what I can do. Then she suggested it should be the killer’s calling card.

That’s the origin of this week’s short story. Thank you for reading!

The Oak Tree Box

By Dennis

On June 27, 2020

In Imaginary

After months of dreaming about a mysterious figure burying a box in front of a gnarled oak tree, Sydney stumbles upon the same oak tree during a jog.

Ripped away from the loving embrace of the comforter, Sydney fought to hold onto the dream as she tried to get a clear look at the mysterious person who had been regularly haunting her. She thought this would be the grand reveal. The faceless stranger would develop a face. This time she would succeed! But when that cover came off, Sydney drifted out of the dream, dragged backward by a giant invisible hand from her answer.

For the past few months, her dreams would start randomly (or be inspired to replay something stressful or embarrassing like dreams tend to do), but inevitably, the plot would shift toward her witnessing a small box being buried under a gnarled oak tree by a hooded figure, wrapped in red. Whenever they noticed her, it was dream over.

Sydney groaned, and she opened her eyes to her girlfriend, Chloe, standing beside her. Chloe sported a pair of bright, purple leggings (with the most enormous pockets she’s ever found on workout pants) and a tank-top with a creepy purple eye from some weird podcast she loved.

“Adventure!” Chloe declared as she tossed Sydney’s running pants in her face.

“I was so close,” Sydney mumbled with the pants on her face.

“To beating me in a race?”

Sydney tossed the pants on the floor as she sat up. “To getting a good look at the stranger burying that box.”

Chloe pitched a tank-top that read, “Adulting is Hard,” at Sydney, which she caught.

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And you woke me up early then too,” Sydney stated with a yawn. “Perhaps I should solve the mystery of how you can function this early without any coffee.”

“I’m freak like that,” Chloe winked. “Now, come on, adventure!”

Sydney did enjoy her morning jogs (and cycling on the weekends) with Chloe. They had been running together before they started dating. It was during one of their jogs when Sydney confessed her feelings for Chloe. She peered over at Chloe, who was wandering around in her imagination. She smiled, thinking of how happy she was with her.

Chloe tended to take random routes while jogging, cycling, car drives–it didn’t matter–she would get lost on purpose. “Adventure!” she would often proclaim as her excuse and defense. Today was no exception when she took an unannounced sharp right through a prairie grass field.

Sydney followed, making a mental note to check for ticks when they returned home as Chloe plowed forward. Shortly through the field, the ground dipped down to reveal a creek.

“A creek,” Chloe cheered. “This is so picturesque. Syd, you want to follow it up?”

Sydney shrugged. “Sure.”

Had Sydney known the path would lead them up a steep hill, she would’ve said no. Had Sydney known that the top of the secluded hill had an abandoned cemetery, she would’ve said hell no.

“Let’s see who can find the oldest tombstone,” Chloe challenged and raced to the nearest one.

There weren’t that many tombstones to inspect. Sydney’s best guest was 20. None of the grave markers stood out, but the gnarled oak tree off in the corner made Sydney freeze. Chloe shouted some date as she moved to inspect another, but Sydney drowned it out as she focused on the tree from her dream.

“No fucking way,” Sydney mumbled.

Chloe popped her head up. “What? What did you say?”

Sydney pointed. “It’s the same tree from my dreams.”

As Chloe turned to look, a person wrapped in a red cloak stood from the tree, coming into their view.

“No fucking way,” Sydney mumbled, again, louder this time for Chloe to hear. The stranger noticed them and ran off. Sydney bolted after them, shouting. “Hey! Stop! Who are you?”

Sydney chased them into a patch of prairie grass. A windowless, metal red door stood in the middle. The stranger was fast, faster than Chloe even. The stranger opened the red door and went through. When the door closed, it blinked out of existence.

Sydney stopped where the door once stood, with Chloe caught up.

“You saw that, right?” Sydney asked.

“Yeah, I saw that. That was the person from your dreams, right?”

“I think so.”

“Do you think they left that box behind too?”

Sydney paused. “You know what, we should go check.”

At the base of the gnarled oak tree was a patch of freshly moved soil. Sydney dropped to knees, declaring, “Fuck it,” as she started to dig with her bare hands. Without hesitation, Chloe kneed down and joined in.

After digging a foot deep, they unearthed a rustic wooden red box the size of a person’s head. Sydney lifted the lid off. Inside were a pair of red fabric facemasks and an index card. Sydney grabbed the note while Chloe took out a facemask.

“This handwriting looks like mine,” Sydney commented.

“What does it say?”

“You’ll both need these in three years for 2020.”

The red metal door opened. The stranger ran through, closed the door behind themselves, and took off their hood. It was an older version of Sydney by about five years. Together, under the night sky in an empty field, was a tall, slender man in a pink suit she knew as Loki and a woman named Raven with a similar slim build, but a little shorter and in a red dress. Behind those two was a door the same color as Loki’s suit.

“It’s done,” Sydney stated before she rapidly deteriorated into ash.

Raven tossed Loki a gold coin, which he ceremoniously caught. She tapped notes into her tablet.

“You won that round,” Raven graciously conceded. “She was willing to alter time, knowing it would cause her death, just to create a future with Chloe.”

“Don’t worry,” Loki teased as made the coin disappear from a sleight of hand trick. “You’ll get more opportunities, especially since those two live longer now.”

Inspired by the writing prompt, “Every night, you have the same dream. A small box being buried under a knarled oak tree, by someone you don’t recognize. The dream always ends when they notice you there. You don’t think too much of it, until one day, you spot the tree from your dreams, in the centre of a local graveyard.”

For this story, I decided to feature Sydney and Chloe from The Spiral Staircase in the Woods, to see them together as a couple. I struggled to decide what to put in the box. One of my first ideas was one of those personality cards from the Little Shop of Personalities, but then the whole face masks and 2020 warning came into my mind and I couldn’t think of anything else. I re-read their first story to make sure I didn’t anchor it at any time and then I ran with the idea. Originally I was trying not to feature Loki and Raven (and perhaps a new end-timer), but I liked that nice callback twist at the end I came up.

Thank you for reading!

Temple Guardian

By Dennis

On June 20, 2020

In Imaginary

After escaping to an underwater ancient temple, Nerine jokingly asks the temple’s god to save her from the mechanical mercenaries. Someone responded.

Another explosion. Nerine bolted out of the boulder’s path–narrowly avoiding getting her fin squashed–as parts of the ceiling collapsed in the underwater cave. Before she could return to hiding, her entire body became engulfed in a red beam of light from the eyes of one of those responsible for the destruction. She thought the mercenary looked like a centaur, but with a crab body instead of a horse and the whole creature was mechanical. They pointed at her, triggering a swarm of mechanical crabs the size of octopuses to march after them.

“Go! Go! Go!” Nerine’s best friend shouted.

Nerine followed Océane as the two mermaids swam out the tunnel they came through.

“Keep going straight,” Océane ordered. “I’ll take the path on the right at the fork.”

“Split up? No!”

“It’s for the best.”

“But, you don’t know where that other path goes!”

“I’ll be fine. I’m faster than you. Now go!”

“But–”

“Just do it for me!”

Océane turned right at the fork while Nerine continued straight down the familiar path. As Nerine got closer to the exit, the tunnel narrowed slightly, but she knew it wouldn’t be tight enough to stop the mercenary. She swam through the neon pink seaweed that concealed the cave’s entrance, emerging beside an ancient temple in Neplor’s Historic Square District.

Due to the holiday, the local shops were closed, making the district deserted. With no alternatives, she swam into the Hall of Poseidon to hide. The building had an extensive open floor plan when the merpeople modernized the temple to become a vendor market space. The temple got built initially when the Atlanteans’ first arrived to the Blue Planet after being exiled from Earth thousands of years ago. After some freak storm soon after the temple’s completion, it sunk to the bottom of the ocean where the merpeople claimed it. Nerine only knew all this because she recently turned in a report about the district for history class.

With the venue’s open concept, Nerine’s only option to hide was behind the towering white marble statue of Poseidon. In this depiction of the ancient god, he stood tall with human-like form complete with legs and chiseled chest as he warmly looked down at those in the temple. The metal trident spear stood erect in his hand, which Nerine had often seen it used to hang banners and flags whenever Océane and her came to the market.

The moment she got behind the statue’s base, the mercenary made their presences known with the sound of the mental claws dinging against the marble floor. Nerine clenched her fists, resisting the urge to sneak a peek. Océane crossed her mind. She hoped her friend was safe. As a yellow beam of light scanned the area, Nerine looked up at the statue.

“I wish you were real and here to defend your temple,” Nerine prayed.

The sounds of the claws clink, clink, clinking on the marble floor echoed louder and louder in the waves as the mechanical crabs crept closer and closer. Then the tapping came to a halt. The light turned red, followed by sounds of metal ripping and bashing against the walls.

“Is that the best you got?” a voice provoked.

More metal clashed as the intensity ramped up. The mercenary’s light flickered out, and silence followed.

“You’re safe now,” the unfamiliar voice welcomed.

Nerine popped her out. Floating above the pile of metal wreckage was a merman wielding a trident who bore a striking resemblance to the statue of Poseidon, but with a merman body and luxurious, curly sea-green hair. He ripped off the mercenary’s head from his trident and added it to the scrap pile.

“Thank you,” Nerine spoke as she swam out, still on the alert for any danger.

“It was my pleasure,” the merman replied. “It’s been ages since someone called out to me for help.”

That can’t be Poseidon, she thought. He’s just a character.

“My brothers are going to be upset for interfering,” he rambled. “Worth it, though.”

“Why would your bothers be mad at you for helping me?”

“We’re supposed to work in ‘mysterious ways,’” he mocked with air quotes. “But Hades is one to talk with what he’s been doing lately for Cassie. Families, am I right?”

“Yeah, families can be tough,” Nerine remarked. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Don’t drown people with a statue of my head as a tribute,” he joked.

“I can do that,” Nerine responded, confused, not understanding the reference. “Anyway, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to go find my friend. Thank you again.”

“Safe travels, Nerine!”

Nerine swam out of the temple, but when she reached the entryway, Nerine paused to look back when she realized she never shared her name. The merman was gone.

I wrote a second story featuring Nerine and Océane for this week’s short story. To me, this could work as the last half a chapter for a book about their adventure. In case you missed it, read Upgrade Cave for the first story I wrote with them. I also made a subtle reference to another one of my previous short stories, Sacrificed, and a nod to one of my books I’m writing.

This story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn’t expect them to show up in person.”

Thank you for reading!

Body Drop

By Dennis

On June 13, 2020

In Imaginary

A surprise date night takes a turn when a dead body falls onto the dance floor. The couple tries to solve the mystery using a music player that allegedly predicts the future using song titles.

Nervously gripped around her date’s arm, Robin Bee squinted as she walked into the Kruder Hotel courtyard decked in red neon lights. Surrounding the dance floor was a colosseum-like stage with three stories. People wore various red themed outfits on the ground level, enjoying themselves by dancing, talking with friends, and flirting with strangers. Two bars spanned the entire bottom of the stage, with seats stationed in front of them. Scattered on the second level were private red tents for more intimate activities, which Robin didn’t have access to visit. Exclusively on the third floor was DJ Red House. He used his purple tentacles to mix popular songs from around the Five Following Planets. The DJ adorned in his trademark red overcoat covered with a dozen pouches, a giant zipper track along the entire length, and a hood.

Robin considered reading more her jam, while Haley Riot was a feisty human filled with the energy of a burning star who could dance until morning. Robin wanted to do something special for Haley, and so she told her to wear a red outfit and meet up at the Crossroads Station for their date tonight. Both Robin and Haley ended up with similar casual apparel of red pants and red t-shirts that matched the event.

A sasquatch in a puffy red dress with three rings around the waist approached Robin and Haley with a tray filled with complimentary drink shots. Robin and Haley each took one, clinked their glasses, and downed their drink. While Haley hollered with excitement, Robin’s face clinched up from the bitter taste of the alcohol. They both thanked the sasquatch as they put their empty glasses on the tray.

“So, what do you think about this party?” Robin asked Haley.

“You slayed it. I love DJ Red House!”

“This concert was a last-minute deal since he was in the city for a business deal. Were you surprised?”

“Well, I might have cheated…”

Robin resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You still think that device predicts the future with song titles?”

“It’s been eerily accurate since I got it,” Haley explained as she pulled out the palm-size white metallic device from her red jeans.

Haley was hastily gifted the digital music player by an older woman with long gray hair. When Robin first heard about Haley’s encounter, Haley described the mysterious stranger as wearing a wrinkled purple robe and gold chains with purple jewels hanging from her neck. This stranger said the song titles would help Haley “right wrongs” before she floated into the sky on a cloud. Robin did admit she had never seen a music player like it when she first saw it, but people had hobbies making one-of-a-kind devices. Without much evidence for either side, Robin shrugged it off and let Haley enjoy her belief.

“How does Robin feel about this party?” Haley spoke to the device and hit the shuffle button on the music playlist. “‘Comfortably Numb,’ it says.”

“I think that’s an accurate description,” Robin admitted as she played with Haley’s rainbow dyed hair. “The music is making me numb, but I’m doing okay because I’m with you.”

“Aww,” Haley teased. She kissed Robin on her blue skin neck. “Good comeback. Let’s see, what is going to happen at this party?” Haley tapped shuffle. “‘Let the bodies hit the flood.’”

Robin mauled over her opinion as the DJ tossed fog bombs onto the dance floor and cracked the volume up. “That’s rather vague. I can attribute a literal meaning to people falling on the floor, drunk.”

“Fine. I’ll ask a more specific question to prove it. What’s the worst thing that’s going to happen at this party tonight?” Haley hit shuffle. “Oh.”

“What? What did it say?” Robin prodded with genuine curiosity.

“Dead Man’s Party,” worried Haley as she stuffed the music player back in her pants while attentively scanning the area for danger.

“You don’t think someone is honestly going to drop dead?” Robin questioned with sarcasm.

A scream erupted from the dance floor, causing the music to stop. Haley rushed over to the scene with Robin following behind, cursing under her breath because she had the feeling she was about to be proven wrong. In the middle of the dance floor was a dead human with his hands tied behind his back.

Haley let out a tiny joyful squee. “A mystery!”

As the hotel staff intervened and began pushing people away from the crime scene, Haley got out her music player.

“You think it can tell you who did this?” Robin asked without sarcasm.

“I’m going to give it a try. Where is the killer?” Haley hit shuffle. “’High Noon.’”

Haley and Robin looked up at the DJ booth and noticed that DJ Red House was gone but didn’t think much of it. High Noon was a vague clue. Neither of them noticed anyone else acting suspiciously on the second or third floor.

“Perhaps I can flat out ask, ‘Who killed the person on the dance floor?’” Haley tapped the player. “It just says, ‘Stranger in a Strange Land.’”

“That’s helpful,” Robin commented as she crossed her arms. “Maybe ask why?”

Haley asked why and tapped the button. “‘Taking Care of Business.’”

“This isn’t going anywhere,” Robin mumbled, resorting back to her belief that the music player couldn’t predict the future.

“Wait. It has to be DJ Red House. Think about it. He was up high in the center. He is a stranger in a strange land since he isn’t from any of the Five Following Planets. He was only doing this concert because of some last-minute business.”

“Maybe,” Robin hesitated. “How are you going to prove all this?”

Haley consulted her music player. “‘Telephone Call from Istanbul.’”

“What’s a telephone, and where’s Istanbul?”

Haley shrugged. “I’m going to question him.”

Before Robin could object, Haley ran off. Robin sighed and followed. As a precaution, Robin activated her danger app on her networker strapped around her wrist. The app had the authorization to record audio and visuals and send all relevant data to her predetermined list of contacts should it detect any harm.

Robin and Haley found themselves inside the hotel building, under the stairway, based on more clues from the music player. Above them was DJ Red House communicating on his networker to another person.

“I’ll meet you at Istanbul tomorrow,” the DJ said in a whisper. “That renegade wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. No trouble? No one suspects you?” the other person asked.

“The protectors will be here soon, but I made it look like his ex killed him in a drunken accident. I’ll stay here tonight so as not to arouse suspicion. May victory prevail.”

“May victory prevail.”

The DJ ended the call and walked down the stairs. Haley took a step up, confronting him.

“Hey, there, ladies,” DJ Red House flirted. “You looking for a good time?”

“I know you killed that person,” Haley accused. “Just ‘taking care of business,’ weren’t you?”

The flirty smile dropped from the DJ’s wrinkled purple face. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

He reached into four separate pockets on his overcoat, using all four of his tentacles, pulled out his fog bombs, and smashed them on the steps. The stairway filled with smoke, but that didn’t stop Haley from running upstairs after the murderer. The DJ escaped through the second-floor door with Haley not far behind.

“What can I do to stop him?” Haley shouted at her music player. The song title was, “Throw Me Hard.” Haley threw the device at the DJ, hitting him on the head, which, combined with his overcoat’s bulkiness, the DJ lost his balance and landed face-first on the granite floors.

Haley pounced on the DJ, pinning him to the floor. She screamed for help, which Robin heard and had brought two protectors. Haley explained to the protectors how they overheard the DJ talking about killing the victim. Robin collaborated with the recordings on her networker. Both Haley and Robin intentionally omitted the hints from the music player.

Haley and Robin jumped on the subway with the questioning done, leaving the Kruder Hotel mess behind.

“I think this is the beginning of a new career,” Haley proclaimed as she took a seat on the pristine subway.

Robin chuckled. “You going to have some kind of alias for this venture?”

Haley hit shuffle. “Call me, The Sounds.”

Body Drop - Kruder Hotel Courtyard Party - art by Chen Kang at Design Pickle - black and white

For Body Drop, I had a few different sources of inspiration. I wanted to write a story to serve as an origin story for my character, The Sounds, who I have in other unpublished works. The setting was inspired by the following writing prompt: “Everything was going along quite smoothly at the hotel party seeing as everyone was enjoying themselves, that is until a man falls into the middle of the dancefloor from the roof of the building with his hands tied.”

Finally, I asked people on social media to share song titles for me to incorporate into the story. I used the following songs: High Noon by Kruder & Dorfmeister, Stranger in a Strange Land by Leon Russell, Anything from Dead Can Dance, Red House by Jimi Hendrix, Telephone Call from Istanbul by Tom Waits, Let the Bodies Hit the Floor by Drowning Pool, Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd, Renegade by Styx, Taking Care of Business by Bachman–Turner Overdrive, Staying Alive by Bee Gees, and Dead Man’s Party by Oingo Boingo. Some of the songs I used the titles as the hints Haley got while others I wove in other ways with character names.

Story Artwork by Chen Kang at Design Pickle. Get a discount off your first month of Design Pickle via this affiliate link, which full disclosure, I earn a small commission as a discount for me as well.

Thank you for reading and thanks again to everyone for all their suggestions! This was fun and I’ll have to write another short story with The Sounds using social media to source song titles.

If you enjoyed this story, be sure to read the next installment, Testing Predictions on an Abandoned Village.