Ghosts – Hugh's Views & News

Flash Fiction Friday – The Ghost Bones

Published on October 28, 2022October 28, 2022 by Hugh W. Roberts39 Comments

October 24, 2022, prompt: Write a story about bones in 99 words (no more, no less). It can be any genre or tone. Is it spooky, irreverent, or poignant? Go where the prompt leads!

The Ghosts Bones – by Hugh W. Roberts

Death ruled in Aunt Marjorie’s apartment.

When I returned, she wasn’t there; only her bones remained.

The floorboards still creaked, and Mrs Sinclair was still next door.

“When is your Aunt Marjorie due back?” she’d asked.

Shrugging my shoulders, I wish Mrs Sinclair had minded her own business, but I had invited her in.

The whiteness of the human bones wasn’t as bright as the white light that appeared when Aunt Marjorie killed me in her apartment or when I killed Mrs Sinclair for murdering my aunt.

Now we roam the earth as murderous ghosts. Yes, ghosts are murderers.

Written for the 99-word flash fiction challenge hosted by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch.

Image of the skull of a bird — Image credit: Charli Mills

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Enjoyed this piece of flash fiction? Then you’ll love ‘More Glimpses.’

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32 short stories and flash fiction pieces take the reader to the edge of their imagination.

More Glimpses

Available on Amazon

Paperback – £4.99

Kindle – £0.99

Follow Hugh on his social media platforms by clicking the buttons below.

The Welsh Valleys #WordlessWednesday #Photography

Published on September 7, 2022September 7, 2022 by Hugh W. Roberts32 Comments

Wordless Wednesday – No words, just pictures. Allow your photo(s) to tell the story.

Photo of the Welsh Valleys showing mountains, fields and clouds in the sky — What can you see in the Welsh Valleys?

Not sure what Wordless Wednesday is or how to participate? Click here for full details.

Are you participating in Wordless Wednesday? Leave a link to your post in the comments section, and I will visit it and leave you a comment (providing it is Wordless). I will also share the post on Twitter, providing you have connected your Twitter account to your blog.

Eerie Encounters: The Ghost In The Shower #WordlessWednesday #Photography

Published on August 31, 2022August 31, 2022 by Hugh W. Roberts41 Comments

Wordless Wednesday – No words, just pictures. Allow your photo(s) to tell the story.

Photo of shower cubicles with a ghostly figure in the background — Can you see the ghost in the shower?

Not sure what Wordless Wednesday is or how to participate? Click here for full details.

Flash Fiction Friday – The Ghost In The Dress

Published on August 12, 2022August 12, 2022 by Hugh W. Roberts31 Comments

August 8, 2022, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about “the one who left the dress.” A 1940s-era dress still hangs in an abandoned house. Who left it and why? You can take any perspective and write in any genre. It can be a ghost story. Or not. Go where the prompt leads! Click here for details.

The Ghost In The Dress – by Hugh W. Roberts

The ghost always returned on the night of February 14th. Dressed in World War II uniform, we’d watch as it undressed and put on the dress we’d found behind the wood panelling in the main bedroom.

Our mother didn’t want to keep the dress in the house. She referred to it as an evil piece of cloth, but we couldn’t allow her to dispose of this piece of 1940s history.

“Does it still fit me?” the ghost always asked.

We’d nod our heads, smile and reply with the same answer.

“Yes. And you look so pretty in it, David.”

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Image of a 1940s dress hanging up in an abandoned house — Image Credit: Charli Mills

Written for the 99-word flash fiction challenge hosted by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch.

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Enjoyed this piece of flash fiction? Then you’ll love ‘More Glimpses.’

***

32 short stories and flash fiction pieces take the reader to the edge of their imagination.

More Glimpses

Available on Amazon

Paperback – £4.99

Kindle – £0.99

Follow Hugh on his social media platforms by clicking the buttons below.

Do You Believe In Father Christmas?

Published on December 16, 2019December 16, 2019 by Hugh W. Roberts70 Comments

When I was eight-years old, I did the most despicable thing.

On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five- year old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.

Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.

My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.

I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.

I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.

However, worse was to come.

I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.

Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.

“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.

“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”

He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it but he somehow did.

I couldn’t believe what I saw.

I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.

“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.

“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”

Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.

The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.

Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come but only briefly.

It was the sound of laughter that woke me.

I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning and they were already downstairs.

How could they have forgotten to wake me up?

I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?

I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.

“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.

That’s when I saw the strange boy.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.

For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.

I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.

The next morning, my mother woke me up.

“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”

“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.

“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”

I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.

Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.

You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.

I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.

Do you believe in Father Christmas?

#fiction #christmas #shortstory #shortstories

Story taken from the short story collection Glimpses – Available on Amazon.

When The Clocks Go Back

Published on October 28, 2017February 7, 2022 by Hugh W. Roberts87 Comments

Old Tom watched the clock. At two in the morning, they always came back to haunt him, but only on this day of the year when he’d forgotten to put his clocks back an hour before going to bed. The same ghosts, year after year, but only on the night that the clocks went back.

An hour later, they were gone, and he could sleep, but one year he never woke up again.

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The day before the clocks went back, Monica moved into Tom’s old house the following year. Tired, she decided to put the clocks back an hour when she’d wake up the next day.

She was woken at two in the morning to the sound of her bedroom door opening. She froze in terror as the ghost of an old man danced around her room while slowly making its way over to her.

“What are you doing in my house and in my bed?” the ghost bellowed.

When the clock struck 2am for the second time in an hour, Tom’s ghost disappeared, and Monica’s eyes opened. Had she just had a nightmare?

Monica noticed that her bedroom door was wide open, sitting up in bed. She was sure she had closed it. She always closed her bedroom door at night.

As the cold autumnal air hit her bare skin, Monica felt a shiver go down her spine as she got out of bed, walked across the room and closed her bedroom door.

Getting back into bed and pulling the covers over her head, Monica soon fell asleep.

When the clock struck 2am for the third time, it was the sudden movement of something under her bed that convinced Monica it hadn’t all been a nightmare.

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