#91. Listeners' Short Stories Rock! - Getting Into the Halloween Mood

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Hello imaginative people. I’m Anna Tizard and this is episode 91 of Brainstoryum.
 
Today I am especially excited to share with you the incredible responses I got from listeners on the two writing prompts I suggested in the last show. One is going to get us in the mood for Halloween, the other is more odd, more quirky. These microfiction responses have been coming in thick and fast, and they just keep getting better and better. I feel so proud of my listeners!
 
But first, I always like a little bit of a chin-stroking moment on the writing life. Regular listener and contributor of words to the Socks of Destiny, Paul Benfield, responded to my previous discussion on handwriting versus typing, and had some interesting points and practical tips. He said:
 
“I'm a Computer Scientist so typing is much more part of my life than hand-writing, and like some of the other commenters on the previous episode I have terrible hand-writing. However, despite my obvious affinity with the digital world, I do handwrite some of my creative content. Mostly I use pen and paper to generate ideas and to plan future plots. I do this to disconnect, I hate typing on a smartphone so when I'm at a coffee shop or on the beach I'd rather just have a trusty notebook and daydream up new ideas. It's also about life balance and disconnecting from screens more regularly.”
 
Oh, good point there, Paul, about disconnecting. Daydreaming is such a vital part of inspiration, and kind of feeds that state of mind we need to get into when we’re looking for inspiration; and yes, in a way, because we spend so much of our lives in front of a screen for work—for almost everything!—it does make intuitive sense that to disconnect from one is to disconnect from the other, all the obligations and distractions of normal life, and to enter a freer mode of thinking, with a notebook in front of you.
 
Paul added, “In terms of keeping organized,” (OK, this is something I was asking for help with), “I usually manage to type up any ideas worth keeping once a week, Sunday mornings are good for this kind of "creative admin". I'm very conscious of not losing work to a spilled coffee or lost notebook. When in the past we managed a holiday, I'd sometimes take photos of the pages I'd written as an easy and rough and ready backup of the work. I imagine there's even various websites and services that offer AI-driven transcription of handwritten notes these days, not something I've tried yet but it could be a good future solution to save time on typing up!”
 
Aha—very conscientious, thanks for your reflections on this, Paul. You’ve actually taken me back to my days pre-pandemic when I used to take the bus to work every day. And it was a bit of a crush, I didn’t have a laptop (and if I did, I probably wouldn’t want to risk it), so I handwrote drafts in an A4 pad on the way to work, and then the weekends were consolidation time, typing up to transfer and edit as I went. Overall, it was a much slower method and I’m very grateful for having more time these days in front of the computer at home, but I still see this benefit of sometimes, as you say, Paul, disconnecting from the screen.
 
This is taking me on a bit of a tangent… because I’ve often wondered if the rise of the digital world, and of our seemingly never-ending screen-time, might in some subtle way increase the value of physical, tactile things, like notebooks or paperbacks, even if a lot of people seem to think the opposite: that digital is taking over. But when e-books first came out, loads of people were bewailing the death of the paperback as if that were completely inevitable, and in some sense had already happened. But I think people will always like paperbacks. I love my Kindle, but I also enjoy reading physical books. In some way, maybe there is more of a novelty factor to holding a physical book in my hands. Maybe I appreciate it more than I used to, because I also read e-books.
 
And while a part of me sometimes worries that young people who’ve grown up with the internet and mobile phones, and don’t know any different—and haven’t learned to daydream in the way my generation often had no choice but to daydream (on a bus, or walking down the street, or in a waiting room with nothing but old newspapers in it, trust me, we did a lot of daydreaming in the 80s and 90s)… Whenever something rises up that seems extreme, always, its opposite shall arise, too. There is no light without shadow; trends that grow really big tend to go as far as they can, and then there’ll always be a counter to that. The balance in the universe has to assert itself when something goes too far. People will always enjoy real life experiences, and fantasy. And maybe someone who gets completely hooked on screentime, to the point that it becomes detrimental to their mental health and relationships… Maybe that’s the one person who’s motivated to pull themselves out of it and then, once they’ve tasted it, they’ll appreciate more than anyone the living art of daydreaming. The joy of disconnecting, and the creativity that comes with that.
 
For the rest of us, let’s keep the balance so the pendulum doesn’t swing too far one way or the other.
 *******
 
Now, in the last show, I couldn’t quite make up my mind between two prompts that came up, so I invited you to respond to whichever one sparked off ideas for you. I’m not sorry I did this, because what came back was some really fantastic microfiction.
 
The first prompt was the “murderous blood moon”, to get us into the Halloween mood:
 
Paul Monteith wrote:
 
“A Murderous Blood Moon

“Selene, the sunlit night orb, reluctantly put on blood-red umbra as Earth slipped between her and the sun. Like a shape-shifting man transforming into a murderous werewolf, Selene became a bloodthirsty creature of the night. The umbra assisted her inner beast until, overpowered, she succumbed to the ravenous predator within. Breathing death threats and bodily harm, Selene drove her crimson horse-drawn chariot furiously into the night to kill and lay waste to the mud walkers below.”
 
This is just so atmospheric. Reading it feels like you’re sweeping through images in a gothic style comic book that’s coming to life… Or maybe I’m thinking like that because my own story interpretation of the murderous blood moon in show 90 involved a comic book shop full of tantalising, dark stories? Love it, thank you Paul Monteith for capturing the mood.
 
Patrick Towey wrote: “When astronauts land on the Moon when it is red, they become murderers after returning to Earth. No one knows why...”
 
This is an intriguing idea! And I love that it flips the accepted science that a blood moon is red because of an optical illusion. You’ve found a fantastical explanation for it. In a way, isn’t that what we all do through fantasy writing? Find a new, made-up reason for something, and then follow it along a new path of logic… Thank you, Patrick, you’ve got me chin-stroking again.
 
Now we move to interpretations of the other writing prompt, which was the “forgetful elevator”:
 
Paul McMillan aka Bookmarksloveandlore on X, wrote:
 
“At Hôtel de la Lune, the elevator had the memory of a politician’s promise: thin, slippery, and soon gone. It forgot floors, directions, even the purpose of doors. Marcel the bellman coaxed it gently, as if steadying a wild thing: “Up, Gaston, but not into the attic.” The guests laughed at its quirks. Marcel did too, just less loudly, since he was the one preventing a scenic detour to the boiler room.”

Ah, you’ve got a real character emerging here. And while there’s a touch of humour, there is something… disconcerting about this elevator with a mind of its own. Maybe it’s the comparison to a politician’s promise at the beginning, or the part about forgetting floors and the purpose of doors—but there’s a hint of danger about this, lurking under the light-hearted laughter. Thank you, Paul McMillan, I am intrigued.
 
Nick Vracar wrote:
 
“The Hamblin Hotel was haunted, and new travelers ought to be wary of the spirits within, like Gus, the ghost of a bellhop, who would bring you a luggage cart. Nancy, the maid, haunted the halls, sweeping as she floated by. Donna haunted the bar, a spirit of spirits.”
(Haha!)
 
Nick added:
“Edward haunted the elevator. You wouldn’t see him, but you could ask him to bring you to a floor. You’d say, “Edward, fourth floor, please.” He would bring you to the sixth floor, or the eighth. He spends most of his time on the fifth floor. He likes the fifth floor.”
 
This is absolutely classic! Just a whole range of ghosts, with their own particular ways. I can only begin to imagine the mayhem that could ensue. Thank you, Nick!
 
Finally, Alessandro Bozzo combined the two prompts and wrote:
 
“The Forgetful Elevator and the Murderous Bloodmoon
 
"It's just this way. Not much further now," Ivan said, gesturing toward the rusted elevator. Ivan Bloodmoon had paid dearly for dabbling in dark magic. A demon held his family hostage, demanding a hundred souls. Ivan never killed anyone himself—he only led them to the possessed elevator that carried them into Hell. The spirit inside, bound to the Devil, had long forgotten its origin or tally. It only longed for peace. Ivan remembered every face. The promises—money, shelter, pleasure—were just bait. The old, forgetful elevator may have lost track, but Ivan never did. The elevator doors groaned shut in front of the dishevelled man, who stood there clueless with a grimy, toothless grin on his face. A tear slid down Ivan’s cheek. "You are murderous, Bloodmoon," he whispered to himself as he turned and walked away.”
 
Wow, I cannot believe you put the two together! But it works. An elevator to hell? There’s a depth here. Can Ivan change his fate, somehow? He’s the sort of villain you want to root for, wracked with guilt. And the idea of a curse, and trying to break a curse, is such a tough obstacle for any character to get past, this has so much potential. Thank you, Alessandro!
 
And thanks to everyone who sent in stories, I was just blown away by your creativity. Each one is like a little piece of magic, so individual, like a glimpse into a completely different world.
 
But now it is time to find new worlds, or at least, new doorways into worlds that are, as yet unseen, unimagined. Let us grasp the door handle together as we reach into the Socks of Destiny…
 
*SOCKS OF DESTINY ORGAN JINGLE*

This part of the show is un-transpose-able! There's much giggling and rustling of paper as I pull words at random from the Socks of Destiny to create three unique sentences according to the rules of Exquisite Corpse, going: “Describing word—noun—action—describing word—noun.” Today’s resulting sentences are:
 
1. The intricate forest spirit jet-washed the stoic dirigible.
2. The undead date acted precipitously about the curious old, dilapidated garden shed.
3. The sassy clairvoyant was afraid of the weary porcelain doll.
 
After some initial brainstorming, I use the "pause button" (at length!) to draft a scene or short story, using one of these as my chosen writing prompt. Here goes (fingers crossed)…
 ********

Tessa kept her gaze on the door as she pulled another pint. Someone would come in tonight. Someone with a problem. It was a Thursday evening, after all. Her kohl-rimmed eyes stared from flyers around the entrance, promising secrets of the future: readings she gave in a small room above the tavern.
 
She didn’t like to dress the part, but her manager said people liked it, expected some kind of gypsy past. An aura of mystery, he said. He gifted her an intricately patterned headscarf to wear, as if this made her transformation complete. But at least it covered up her red hair. There was no knowing when her real past would catch up with her, and maybe the dark brown dye, fading so quickly, fooled no-one.
 
She set down the pint and counted the man’s change, her bangles jingling against her wrist.
 
Even if she wasn’t a gypsy, the concept was uncomfortably close. She’d uprooted herself, and was ready to flee again the moment her family closed in.
 
Her hands trembled at the thought.
 
Tonight, “someone” turned out to be Laila, a woman with thin shoulders and an awkward smile. Tessa coaxed her into the chair opposite her. It was a shame about this finnicky old office desk, but it was all they had in the upstairs room, and it helped to keep a little distance from the customer.
 
“A piece of your past for a glimpse of your future?” Tessa said, the way she always did.
 
Laila reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a small, ragged-looking bear.
 
Tessa’s smile broke free as she held out her hand. “How sweet.”
 
At least Laila hadn’t brought a doll. Tessa couldn’t abide dolls, and their blank, painted-on stares. If she had, you’d have no choice, she silently chided herself.
 
Tessa frowned. Just like her grandfather, the toy-maker. His message lived on inside her, no matter how far she ran from that place. She would spend every day of her life, if necessary, proving to herself that she had just that: a choice. And yet, wasn’t it her upbringing, immersed in woodwork, sewing and carving, that had revealed her skill for reading someone’s future in the old toys of their childhood?
 
She held the teddy bear in her palm, letting the head flop back. “The joint here is weak, I can reinforce it with a few stitches, if you like?”
 
Distractions. The woman wants a reading. Tessa could see it in Laila’s eyes, even as the woman beamed and muttered her thanks. Her customer’s pupils were dark with begging desperation. OK, leave the sewing kit, for now.
 
Tessa breathed out, half-closing her eyes. The bear’s head drooped. The thinness around the neck: that was where the woman had clutched it most, as a child. Small, strong fingers. Tessa brushed her own fingertips over the area, the trace of a bald patch in the fur, and sensed the grip of many years ago.
 
“You felt trapped,” she said, the words forming before she’d had a chance to check them over.
 
Was it true?
 
The grief in the woman’s eyes told her, Yes.
 
Tessa met Laila’s gaze. Customers came to her for the future, not so much the past, but also to discover how much the two were intertwined.
 
“Are you trapped still?”
 
It was Laila’s turn to drop her eyes. That was a yes, then.
 
An abusive relationship? Tessa didn’t like to ask outright, but it was often the way; the reason why women came to see her. Mostly, they wanted to know if there was a way out.
 
“We are… cyclical creatures,” Tessa said, cradling the bear.
 
“Are you saying…?” Laila shifted in her chair. Swallowed, building up courage. “Do you mean I’m stuck in a cycle? That there’s no breaking it?”
 
Tessa pinched her lips together before answering. The idea that her own life cycle, of running and being caught again, could ever be broken was at once vital, and impossible.
 
“The past clings to us. The pattern is set from an early age. But we can still choose. Choose to not be bound by it.” She sat up straighter, imploring the woman with a stare that said, You can do this.
 
Silence spread its dark wings between them. Tessa gave a weak smile. “It’s easy to say, much harder to do. Now, let me see if I can mend this teddy’s neck. It helps me think—it helps me read you—the more I handle him, the more I sense your past, and your future. What’s his name?”
 
Laila giggled, embarrassed. “Terence. So old fashioned…”
 
As they chatted, Laila’s shoulders finally relaxing, Tessa tugged open the drawer next to her. Rummaging for her sewing kit, her fingers skidded over a smooth, cold surface. She glanced down, and leapt out of her seat.
 
“What?” Laila cried, all her calm frightened away.
 
Tessa said nothing. A white face stared up at her from the cradle of the drawer.
 
A porcelain doll. Her brother’s calling card. Her toy-making family had found her again.
*********** 

What? What is going on here? I’m frightened of these toy-makers and I don’t know why. But it’s not a ‘weird creatures’ story… unless, of course, the doll comes alive.
 
Oh. So creepy.
 
And that is why, or the beginnings of why, “The sassy clairvoyant was afraid of the weary porcelain doll.”
 
Well, speaking of creepiness, the next show, number 92, will in fact be closest to Halloween, on 25th October. So it has to be the Halloween special, right? I mean, I can’t predict what comes out of the socks, but somehow, I think on previous Halloween shows, it’s always ended up being spooky. I mean, if you’re in the mood, and thinking along those lines, your imagination will just take you there, won’t it? We shall see—although certainly, you can help make the show Halloween-worthy, if you fancy having a go at one of the writing prompts from today’s episode, as we already have two word combinations that are perfect for the spooky season, and I want to know what you are going to do with them (or one of them).
 
Will it be “the undead date” (if that’s a date on the calendar, or someone your character is dating), or will it be the “weary porcelain doll”, if you want to try your hand at that one.
 
Come on. Let’s make the Halloween special special together. No gore though, please: while this show isn’t ‘for’ children, there are some younger listeners. (And I’m a bit of a wimp myself. It’s more about inventiveness, fantasy, and psychology…)
 
You’ve heard the kind of thing that comes up on the show, and you know what to do: go to annatizard.com, hit the contact button on any page footer, and write a paragraph or so; maybe a couple of paragraphs since it’s a special show; or a poem if that’s how you roll. Make sure you get it to me by Friday 17th October so I can capture it in the next recording.
 
Will it be your “undead date” or your “weary porcelain doll” that I get to read out?
 
Until next time, go forth and be inspired.