Under the Clock

Yes, this is my response to the week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. It’s a little later than usual, but as today happens to be Friday, you could say I’m right on time.

Before we proceed with the usual excitement, I want to take a moment to celebrate. Although I married my wife before God, family and friends on a lovely May afternoon four years ago, today my state and my entire country finally recognizes our commitment to one another. To all the haters out there, I’ll simply say, “I’m sorry you feel so insecure in the love that you have in your own life. My love and my marriage is but one among millions. It is personal; it is real; it is a lifelong commitment. I pray you will someday find something as wonderful to keep you warm in this cold world.” To everyone else, I say, “LET’S CELEBRATE!”

The regular programming for the week is part of a challenge in which about 100 writers from all over the globe participate each week. Below is the photo prompt to which each of us respond with our own 100-word stories. You are welcome to participate by reading and commenting as well as by writing your own story to post on your blog. My story this week weighs in at 99 words and catches up with one of my favorite characters in my hometown of Kansas City. This one is meant to stand alone, but you are welcome to read other stories about him by clicking on “police chief” or “Ben” in the word salad along the right side of this blog.

Copyright Kent Bonham

Under the Clock

The hands of the clock in the grand hall slid passed 11:00 as Ben strode into Union Station. The legendary timepiece hung as he had always seen it—silent as the grave, an irony not lost on the undead police chief.

“Under the clock.” Ben muttered the phrase to himself. A pungent odor halted him 40 paces from his destination. Garlic. Leftovers, he assumed, glancing toward Harvey’s. Then he caught sight of the aroma’s source—ropes of garlic hanging above the shops in the station’s foyer. Someone knew something. He wouldn’t rest easy until he discovered who and what.

Interview with a Police Chief

First, please allow me to apologize to any readers who are feeling neglected these days. I’m working extra hard these days and have been short on time and energy. Thanks for coming along to read and comment. I appreciate you, and I promise I’ll be back mingling soon.

Now, it is time for Friday Fictioneers, and most of you know the drill. Write a 100-word story based on the photo prompt. Then join the rest of us by reading and sharing your thoughts. This week’s photo comes from the inimitable Jennifer Pendergast of Elmo Writes.

Copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Author’s note: It’s been a while since we’ve caught up with Lauren Shrecklich, and today she’s meeting another of my characters for the first time. I think you can enjoy this story on it’s own merit, but feel free to follow the links to read related stories.

 Interview with a Police Chief

Darkness enveloped the small Missouri town as Lauren turned south on Railroad St. She pulled up to the trailer home, and her cell phone rang.

“You found the place.”

“Yes.”

“Ben is not your mark.”

“But isn’t he . . .”

“A vampire? Yes, but he’s working with us. He’s been successful in eliminating several sexual predators, and I have reason to believe he has other insights to share.”

Lauren disconnected the call.

The trailer door opened before she knocked.

“Agent Schrecklich.”

Lauren gasped, recognizing the face of Maryville’s former police chief—the one recently killed in the line of duty.

Preying for Others

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers for June 6.

The challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo prompt.

Play along by writing your own, reading others and/or commenting on the flashes we fictioneers create.

My piece this week weighs in at exactly 100 words.

 

Copyright Douglas M. Macilroy

 

Preying for Others

Ben’s stomach growled. His hunger was growing, and the former police chief knew but one way to sate it. The urge to prey on others came as a mental shock to the man once known for his integrity.

Most distressing was his lack of guilt—indeed, of any emotion—over the killing. Suicide by sunbeam wasn’t a desirable option, so the vampire searched for another remedy.

The thought struck with surprising clarity—why not prey on predators? Ben powered up his laptop and entered the chat room under the profile “CheerGirlMadison.” In under an hour, he had his dinner invitation.