Rusty Tin Can – For Speakeasy

SPEAKEASY CHALLENGE #102 – These are the firm submission guidelines-

  • your post must be dated March 24, or later
  • the speakeasy is designed for submissions written specifically for the grid. Please do not submit an entry if you intend to showcase it to another blog link-up, ‘cuz we’ll be forced to remove it like an old horseshoe.
  • though your post is NOT about the photo you must make some reference to it
  • you must start with the first line our last winner, Suzanne, has provided. “It was impossible.” Please do not post explanations, qualifications or other stuff prior to this sentence. If you need to clarify anything, feel free to do so briefly (like really briefly) at the end.
  • your post is either fiction or poetry, including fictional accounts of true stories
  • keep it 500 words or less


It was impossible.

Three words that repeated themselves, over the last two weeks.

Patricia was exhausted, sleep deprived from the reoccurring nightmare that invaded her brain night after night.  I’m overtired, too much crap at work, plus Josh having the damn flue, I’m losing it. Ed already looks at me weird, get a grip, idiot.

The phone rang startling her, disturbing her thoughts.


“Mrs. Knights?”

“Yes speaking”.

“My name is Angela from the Calista Farm and Entertainment Park, we found a purse which we believe is yours. Someone handed it in, I don’t know if any…”

“Oh thank you so much”, Patricia interrupted, I’d given up getting it back, I can collect it now if you’re open”?

“Yes, but we close at 4”.

“I’ll be there in an hour, thanks so much for ringing”.

Patricia hung up and climbed the stairs to wake Josh from his nap, she knew he wouldn’t be happy but he’d fall asleep in the car and she was pressed for time.

The uneasy feeling returned, her breathing became laboured.

Cut it out you idiot, they’ll lock you away if you keep this up.

The drive over calmed her, Santana played gentle guitar rifts with Josh quietly asleep in the backseat.

She reached the park. Grabbing her very disgruntled son, she hoisted him onto her left shoulder and walked to the entrance.

“Hi, I’m Patricia Knights, Angela phoned me about my…”?

“Yes I’m Angela, here it is, at least it was given back, pains aren’t they.”

“Yep, so annoying having to cancel the damn cards, wasn’t much money in it anyway, Patricia laughed. Thanks again for letting me know, really appreciate your honesty”, she said before walking back to her car.

Fear struck her, she stood transfixed gazing towards the barn.

“Bloody hell, this is ridiculous”,  shaking her head trying to negate the uncertain feelings that rose.

She put Josh into the car seat and started rummaging through her purse to see what,  if anything had been stolen.

In the notes pocket she pulled out a slip of paper, not her handwriting, not Edwards.

She read the words out loud.

Are you crazy? Come back to the barn”.

Patricia’s eyes hit the barn door.

“What the hell is this?”

Making sure Josh was settled with the window partially down, she strode determinedly towards the barn.

She hesitated, glued to the gravel path beneath her.

Stop being so pathetic, what on earth are you afraid of, we were here two weeks ago, hell knows why I’ve been dreaming shit about this place, but I’m ending it now.

She walked in, the same worker was there from their previous visit, working again on the anvil, hammer and chisel in hand.

His raised his head in acknowledgment of her being there.

All she saw was the rusted tin can and the bloodied finger bone he was neatly carving, a caustic smile spread across his face

She hit the floor.

For Speakeasy – my 1st submission – 491 words. Posted 28th March, 2013.


Shall I write of what I dreamt?

Oh my such a dilemma I face. I wait with baited breath for a new challenge to be posted. Yet last night when I lay in my bed, this went through my head, so I cannot wait for a photo. I write this NOW because I have the need to, because it kept me awake half the night. I write this, because of my compulsion to do so. Now all I have to do is remember the words that ran through my head! Who indeed shall read and comment…. for those that do, I welcome you and I thank you.

Josh walked up to the barn door, though large and heavy, he lifted the wooden latch and slid it open with relative ease. He blinked, his eyes trying to accustomise to the light, that shot it’s way through the opening into the cavernous surrounds before him.
An old rusted plough to his left and on the wooden railing in front of him, two leather collars hung on rusted nails that the Shire horses would have worn heavily around their necks,  as they trudged through barren soil opening the way for seeds to plant.
Out of the corner of his right eye, he thought he saw something move, a shadow, a flash of dark.
He had bought the house and the barn and the acreage, knowing the stories from the village, the old wives tales of the property he had bought, was haunted. It was the 20th Century, witches, ghosts, simply do not exist.
Yet his body shivered, a feeling there was something else in the barn, apart from him.
The door, thankfully allowed enough light for him to adjust, regain composure.
As much as he tried, something troubled him, a presence he couldn’t explain.
The shadow…the dark moved again, his peripheral vision caught it and he quickly looked in the opposite direction.
Curiosity, stupidity…he looked up and to his right, beyond the wooden palings.
Transfixed, body taut and breathing heavy.
He saw it….she?
Dressed in black… a figure.
He took one step forward.
He swallowed hard, he looked upon a face… ashen…distorted.
The barn seemed to close around him.
The figure clad in black, bare footed, hung from the beam in the loft above.
The noose that strangulated her, was taught enough to cause her eyes to bulge, her arms hung limp by her side. Blood droplets, painted the edge of her bottom lip, the colour contrasting against her pale skin.
Her hair matted, the texture of straw, nestled on her shoulders, under the hood of evil.
He stared.
Her eyes opened, she smiled with yellow teeth… her body moved back and forth,  as if on a swing.
The barn door shut, he heard the latch close.