Psychological-thriller | a little bird tweets

‘So you think that listening to those bland records over again and drinking yourself into a stupor is a good way to live your life then, Danny? Because it certainly isn’t the life I want to join you in.’

‘Yeah I do think it’s a good way to live my life as it happens, Anna! I enjoy myself, alright?! All you ever seem to do is drift around me like I’m invisible, or nag me with that annoying voice of yours! Why do you think I turned to drink in the first place, eh?! Come on Anna, let’s face it, you don’t enjoy life, do you? You don’t sing or dance or have a laugh anymore! Seriously, what happened to the fun-loving Anna I knew back in the day? Where’d she go?’

‘The Anna you once knew disappeared a while back, Danny; when she realised that her husband would never change and would always choose drink over her. I think that’s enough to stop any woman from singing, dancing and having a laugh, don’t you think?!’

So why don’t you fuck off then, Anna, if I’m that bad?’

‘Oh, I am. I have a cab booked. I’m fucking off today.’

Tagged alcohol, cab, Dance, Fiction, Flash fiction, Husband, Laugh, Life, Psychological-thriller, records, Relationship, Sing, Split up, Up to 200 Words, Wife

May 25 2013

2 Comments

Flash Fiction

The Locket

Annabel encased the ancient locket with her soiled hands; and in the twinkling of a second, a silver luminosity radiated through the gaps in her fingers. It illuminated her pulsing ruby blood, reminded her that she was alive, that she was still capable of loving herself.

She pulled the clasp, opened the locket, and studied the intricate hieroglyphics etched inside. She blew away the seeds of earth that had managed to cling to it; in the years since it had last been dug up, opened.

Her steely breath fired life into the locket, and waves of white light encircled her, warmed her soul. She smiled, closed her eyes, and finally released the self-doubt that had, for a long time, devoured her.

Tagged Ancient, Aura, Breath, Clasp, Earth, Faith, Fiction, Fingers, Flash fiction, Hands, Hieroglyphics, Light, Locket, Love, Psychological-thriller, Self-doubt, Soul, Up to 125 Words

Apr 21 2013

9 Comments

Flash Fiction

Elsie

Elsie swirled the teacup around in her crumpled, conical hands; working the tea-leaves into a symbol. She had provided readings for many people over many years; it had given them an insight into their future.

‘What can you see, Elsie?’ The young woman asked.

‘My dear, I saw my own face merged with a skull. The skull is a symbol of demise. I am going to die very soon.’

The woman trembled at Elsie’s words. As she became pinned to her chair with fear, she witnessed Elsie’s face contort; her eyes bulge and her head slither slowly to the table.

Tagged 100 Words, Chair, Death, Demise, Eyes, Face, Fiction, Hands, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Readings, Skull, Symbol, Table, Tea-cup, Tea-leaf, Tea-leaves, Writing

Apr 14 2013

29 Comments

Flash Fiction

Doppelganger

She stood at the side of the darkening country road with her hands behind her back; effectively recreating the stance of the blonde actress in the Hitchcock film. She had become fixated by the character and had perfected her dialogue, her accent, her wig and attire, to the finest detail. She stared at the horizon and yearned for a car to flash its blinding headlights into her eyes. She longed to wave it down, to take position in the passenger seat, and to ask the driver for a light so that she could blow circles of smoke through her red-perfumed lips, to illustrate her elegance. And she hoped that during the nights journey, that she would make the drivers eyes weary with her oddly behaviour, and that he’d be kind enough to drive her to Bates Motel.

This story has been critiqued by Eric Keys;

https://erickeys.wordpress.com/2013/05/29/a-response-to-the-doppelganger/

Tagged Actress, Bates Motel, Blonde, Car, Dialogue, Doppelganger, Double, Fiction, Film, Flash fiction, Hands, Hitchcock, Horizon, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Road, Smoke, Up to 140 Words, Wig, Writing

Apr 06 2013

7 Comments

Flash Fiction

Miranda

Miranda refused to rummage in her handbag for keys, on dark nights, at her front door. She had watched numerous horror films and knew that someone would likely creep up on you in that second that you became distracted. So, when she found herself wobbling home from parties, too nauseous to take cabs, she would grip the keys in her hand, always ensuring one chub was pointed outwards, so that it would slide into the lock with ease, when she arrived at the door. She had never contemplated that one night the keys would become a weapon, become imbedded in her attackers’ eyes.

Tagged Cabs, Door, Eyes, Fiction, Flash fiction, Handbag, Keys, Parties, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Up to 125 Words, Weapon

Mar 16 2013

10 Comments

Home

Half a World Away

He staggers up the path to the front door and bellows an incoherent song into the dark silent streets; and she listens to him from their bed. Her body is tense and her mouth is dry from the dread of him bringing home the fighting spirit of the pub. Her mind races with memories of drunken insults, of stings of pain inflicted upon her from the fury of his hand, of bruised skin, of being knocked into unconsciousness.

Shall I pretend I am sleeping? Shall I confront him with the little strength I have left? She thinks.

He ascends the stairs to the top landing where he stops, sways and hiccups; and she observes him through the gap in the door.

I will confront him. I will no longer be afraid of him. I will tell him that I don’t fear him, that I no longer love him. I will tell him I am leaving tomorrow, that it’s over.

He enters the bedroom and switches on the light. She observes his face, his hollow cheeks, his enflamed eyes, and her thoughts and intentions dissipate, and her mouth fails to communicate the words she longs to speak.

He approaches the bed and raises his hand, as he finishes off the violence he began eight hours earlier. She closes her eyes, blanks out the pain and pushes her thoughts away from her sunken life into one that is half a world away.

Tagged Bed, Bedroom, Domestic Violence, Drunk, fear, Half a World Away, Insult, Landing, Pain, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Pub, Up to 250 Words, Violence

Mar 03 2013

The Oasis

With time, she longs to wither away; like a flower that has succumbed to frost, in the onset of autumn. She seeks solace in quiet corners, in solitude, where four walls assist to extract the misery from her mind, the tears from her heart. She shifts her head to a dry, soothing part of the pillow and stares at the ceiling; her watery eyes flick to a spider that meanders purposefully, and she wonders where it is headed, she longs to follow it.

‘Please find me a new magical world, far from this coldness, this darkness.’ She whispers.

Her pleading words reverberate repeatedly off the walls, and lull her eyes to close, her thoughts to float aimlessly; and then her monochrome world begins to disintegrate.

‘Welcome to the enchanted land of Bali.’ A voice speaks.

She smiles at the hospitable words of the guru. The creases in his forehead express much wisdom; his aged hands would no doubt dramatize many a virtuous story from his past, she thought.

‘You are invited to absorb this beautiful paradise, where people come to heal. Take warmth from the dazzling sun; let it infiltrate your body and renew you. Let the wondrous tropical fish overwhelm you with their beauty, colour and movement. Fix your senses on the nearby orange gerberas and let their fragrance calm your spirit, awaken you. May all of the nature here hypnotize; fill you with joy and wonder. Remember, you can visit this Oasis at anytime. It’s your retreat.’

She absorbs every word the guru offers, and explores the lands in delight. She smiles at his hospitable words once more; before the Oasis slowly disappears from her.

She awakes. She is content. She is transformed. She looks up to the ceiling; the spider has gone. She thanks it for its inspiration. She thanks the guru for her journey. She thanks the world for offering its warmth, its gift. She thanks the world for her life.

Tagged 325 Words, Bali, Ceiling, Darkness, Flower, Frost, Guru, Heart, Misery, Nature, Oasis, Paradise, Pillow, Psychological-thriller, Renewal, Retreat, Solitude, Spider, sun, Tears, Time, Transformation, Tropical Fish, Wisdom

Feb 17 2013

Vogliatemi bene (Love me, please)

Puccini’s Madame Butterfly permeated the kitchen with its melancholy, as pungent tones of Bolognese elated their senses. As they chinked flutes, sipped on Sauvignon, kissed and embraced, she closed her eyes and envisioned that they were a couple, in love.

Tagged 40 Words, Bolognese, Embrace, Eyes, Kiss, Kitchen, Love, Madame Butterfly, Psychological-thriller, Puccini, Sauvignon

Feb 10 2013

4 Comments

Flash Fiction

The Dying Swan

The haunting notes of Tchaikovsky satiates the emotions of its listeners; and as the dancing swans pirouette effortlessly and transversely upon the stage, the spectators will gasp in horror as the one I love falls to her death. I have witnessed her demise a thousand times; and my heart never fails to be wounded. Her blood seeps through layers of tulle and feathers, in the same moment that her dark-shaded eyes close and the curtains fall. As I rise from my seat for what will be the last time, I enter the dark streets alone; knowing that her gaze had never met mine, knowing that she never knew how enthralled I was by her beauty.

Tagged Alone, Ballet, Beauty, Blood, Curtains, Dancer, feathers, Fiction, Heart, Horror, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Stalker, Streets, Swan, Tchaikovsky, Theatre, Tulle, Up to 200 Words, Watcher

Feb 04 2013

5 Comments

Flash Fiction

Naomi

‘You’re not the woman you think you are.’ Stephen whispered.

With wary eyes, he watched his wife rotate before the mirror in a black satin dress. He remembered when she used to dress so strikingly for him; when they were in love.

‘Did you say something, honey?’ she asked, as she sprayed musk to her throat; completing her dress-up session for the evening ahead.

‘No, I didn’t say a word.’ he replied.

‘Well, I’m done here honey. I probably won’t be back until late, so don’t wait up. You know what it’s like when the girls get together! Anyway, there’s lasagne in the fridge, if you get hungry later’.

‘Thanks.’ he replied.

She leaned over to kiss him goodbye, but he rejected her. The thought of her red poison lips upon his, caused acid to circulate around his stomach. How can she go on acting day after day like she loves me; to put on this one mad hell of a show?

As she turned to leave, his heart fell to his feet. He grabbed her throat and pushed her against the bedroom wall. As his knuckles whitened she choked several times, drawing at her last breath as she grabbed at thin air with her hands. She slid to the floor, her eyes glided to the back of her head. Then life left her.

‘I’d rather see you dead, than with him.’ he said, walking away.

Tagged Deceit, Dress, Fiction, Lasagne, Lies, Mirror, Murder, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Throat, Up to 250 Words, Writing

Jan 13 2013

10 Comments

Flash Fiction

The Raven

That day had been notorious. I had strolled across the tribe-island where I had glimpsed a raven perched sternly upon a birch branch. I had gazed at it but had not met its eyes. My grandma had warned me over again as a young boy to never look, not even in a time of weak curiosity. I would question why and she would reply, ‘Danton, it will bring with you much danger and bad luck. The red gleam of light that comes from a ravens’ eyes will weaken the soul of any that look into them; just like the sun is danger to eyes on a searing day.’ I had gazed at the black plumage of the raven perched there as I recalled her words, and my feet had become unsteady with terror. It had begun to squawk, to make a racket with its heavy wings; then it had flown from the branch, over the bank towards me; the shadow of its span had buried me into darkness, and my legs had begun to crumble beneath me. Its sharp beak had struck my head many times. I had fallen to the ground in pain, in silence, frozen with fear. Then it stopped, and as I looked at it I had witnessed my own blood stains drenched in its feathers; red on black luminous plumage; so beautiful, so ugly. Then it had flown into the sunset horizon, leaving me marred with its violence. I was twelve years of age on that notorious day, and there has been no day pass since, when I haven’t looked a raven in its eyes.

Tagged bad luck, Blood, boy, branch, danger, Eyes, fear, feathers, grandma, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, raven, sun, tribe, Up to 300 Words

Dec 02 2012

6 Comments

Flash Fiction

Anna

It’s four in the morning, and I’m sat in this room of gloom, eyeing pictures of you, of us. The rain clouts against my window, violent yet so soothing. I stroll to the door with my head tilted like a broken doll because I sense you standing in the hallway. The door creaks open, and there you are my love, with those dark eyes of yours; the ones I fell into. I run to you but you run from me, and I can only scream, urge you to return, but you are gone. Then I remember that time has slipped by; almost a year has passed. The panic subsides, yet the pain lingers on. Your voice calls from outside and I wander towards the lake, where I sense you. The front door of the house bashes in the wind, and I leave it behind, allowing silence to envelope me as I walk. And again I remember that time has slipped by; almost a year has passed. I’m at the edge of the lake but you are not here. Where are you? Don’t you want to exchange conversation with me? Don’t you remember us laughing that night, when the sun melted into the sky? Don’t you miss me? I sink to the ground, and my heart can take no more. He played games with the one that loved him. I slide into the water. The coolness soothes my soul, my mind; and slowly I sink into darkness, and I am gone.

Tagged Doll, Door, Eyes, Fiction, Hallway, Lake, Pain, Photo, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Rain, Room, Scream, Suicide, Time, Up to 250 Words, Wind, Writing

Sep 30 2012

4 Comments

Flash Fiction

The Letter

I stagger along the tree-arched footpath; the bronze light through decaying trees no doubt casting cracked contours upon my face. I take a swig from the bottle. I seek the nearest bench and curl up on its mouldy slats. I eye every passing stranger who looks at me with fear and disgust. I must look vile. I abandon the thought and take out the torn notepaper from my pocket; a letter that he’d left upon the kitchen table for me to find, one year ago. I read it for what must be the billionth time; each and every word causing my heart to bleed, my soul to cry.

My dearest Sally,

I spoke with the doctor today. He said I only have three months to live.

I am devastated. I am lost. I need to run.

I cannot let you see me deteriorate every day.

I want you to remember me for who I am.

I am headed to a place far from here; the sea shall wash away the pain.

Please do not look for me.

I will always love you my angel.

Our love will never die.

Smile your beautiful smile, always.

Your husband,

Charlie.

I take another swig from the bottle, close my eyes, and fall into stagnation.

Tagged abandon, alcohol, bench, Death, doctor, footpath, Heart, letter, Love, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Sea, Up to 250 Words

Sep 17 2012

2 Comments

Flash Fiction

Daphne

“The storm had come up strong and wild. I remember there were three men, and a woman. They were screaming in the midst of the deafening wind. The noise was unbearable. I tried to run to help them, but they fell into the river before I could reach them. Then I looked up to the clouds and I saw it…it was looking at me.”

Daphne sat awkwardly, rocking back and forth upon the hospital bed, her knees clenched to her chest, as she recounted the storm to Rowena.

“Saw what? What was looking at you, Daphne?” Rowena asked, “Honey, I know this is uncomfortable for you, but it is important we revisit the storm so that you can be free of your recurring nightmares. Do you understand?”

Daphne stopped rocking. She stared up at Rowena with vacant eyes and formed her mouth into a large oval and screamed, “I saw the evil of the storm…and it is going to get me and you, all of us! It’s just a matter of time!”

Rowena shuddered and didn’t reply. She recorded the conclusions of her session with Daphne in her notebook.

Day 53: Symptoms of psychosis; namely ‘lack of insight’. Daphne is still experiencing frequent psychotic episodes. She is totally unaware that her delusions/hallucinations are imaginary.

“Thank You, Daphne, that will be all for today.” Rowena said, getting up to leave.

But before she reached the door she stopped suddenly as she listened to the cold words that were leaving Daphne’s mouth.

“Rowena, you are next.”