This weeks’ challenge from terribleminds
and Chuck Wendig, was to use a random fantasy generator. It gave you five
options at a time. I seemed to get lots of armies of orcs for some reason, but
in the end, I chose ‘A stiff trespasser is afraid of her uncontrollable powers.’
Less than one thousand words. My effort is 979.
No idea what to call it… oh, oh, I
know. The accidental trespasser. That’ll work!
The accidental trespasser
He was half asleep in front of the
TV when he heard a noise like a rushing wind and then a thump from the vicinity
of his kitchen. He lived alone and didn’t even own a cat so his first thought was
that someone was trying to break in. He froze and listened intently.
Then, he heard a metallic crash
followed by a muttered swear word.
Nope. They had already broken in. That was the sound of
the cookie tin he had left too close to the edge of the kitchen counter hitting
the floor.
He rose, looked around for a
weapon, realised he didn’t have one and decided to investigate anyway. He tiptoed
for the door. He rejected the surprise shouting approach, or calling out ‘who’s
there?’ inanely.
He peered in the doorway and got a
glimpse of a woman trying to pick up the broken biscuits and put them back into
the metal container. She was tidying up? Some thief.
He glanced past her. The door
looked undamaged and still latched. That was weird. The back of her head looked
familiar. Wait a second… he knew her. She lived next door. She was the aloof,
unfriendly type of neighbour who never acknowledged his smiles or waves.
“What are you-?”
“EEK!” She emitted a startled
screech noise and dropped the tin again.
He probably could have just
shouted at her and terrified her less.
“You’re home!” she squeaked at
him.
“Yeah… duh.”
She looked around like a
frightened rabbit. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“It’s my home. I can be here. The question
is what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I was
just standing in my kitchen, thinking of the view I can see into your kitchen
from my window and the next thing, I was over here!”
“What?” She could see into his
kitchen? He wondered if she had ever caught sight of his midnight milk raids;
he was usually naked.
“I know it doesn’t make sense and I
can’t even believe it and I am the one saying
it.”
“Ah… okay.”
“You don’t believe me!” She looked
wildly around. She was going to run for it; he knew it. The door was still
locked so she glanced towards the hallway. She tried to dash across in front of
him and he made a grab for her. He had no idea what he was doing; he just didn’t
want her to leave before she had explained herself. He had just got hold of the
top of her arms when there was that wind rushing sound again and a dizzying gamut
of images swept past his eyes. He shut them to stop feeling sick and he clung
to her. They stopped with a jolt almost enough to throw them off balance.
“Oh, no!” she wailed.
He opened his eyes carefully. They
were at the park. Standing in the fountain.
“What the hell just happened?” he
asked.
“I don’t know. I told you that.”
She looked down and realised rather belatedly that he had no shoes on and that
his jeans were wet to the knee. “Oh, no. And now you’re all wet.”
“Well, you are, too. Should we try
and get out of here before anyone notices?”
He kept his hand gripped firmly
around the top of her arm in case she tried to disappear on him again. They waded
to the edge of the fountain, ignoring the gooey squishy things underfoot. A small
boy pointed and laughed and he glared at him until he ran back to his mother.
He helped her step over the wide stone
rim. He walked over to the grass to wipe his feet. She sat on the rim.
“Why are we at the park?” he asked
her.
“I like the park,” she replied as
she emptied water out of her shoes. “I come here a lot for peace.”
“Were you thinking of the park?
When you tried to run?”
She paused and frowned as if she
was trying to think. “Oh, I think I might have been.” She stood and slid her
wet shoes on with a grimace.
“You think?” he asked.
“Are you criticising me?”
“Heck, no. Just trying to work out
what happened.” The thought occurred that she could flash off and leave him
here without a way of getting home. He reached over and grabbed her arm again.
She stared at his hand as if she
had laser eyes.
“Ha,” he said. “That didn’t work.”
She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“You looked at me as if you wanted
me to burn. I don’t think you have that superpower.”
“Super power?” she repeated.
“How else do you explain moving almost
instantaneously to a place you are thinking of? You’re the Nightcrawler.”
“Excuse me?”
“Comic book character. X-men?” he
tried.
“Never seen it.”
“No, not the movie, the comics.”
She still looked blank.
“Blue guy, with three fingered
hands, a prehensile tail and adhesive hands and feet.”
She glared at him. “You’re the
only one with adhesive hands,” she accused.
He rolled his eyes. “He teleports.
That’s the point.”
“Oh, I see.” She seemed to think
about it. “So you think I go to the place I am thinking of?”
“Yeah. Like my kitchen. And why were you thinking about my kitchen?”
She just stared at him and blushed.
He put his hand over his eyes and
muttered to himself. Crap. She had seen him. “So for God’s sake, don’t think of
anywhere-”
His words were cut off with another
rushing sound.
His feet were burning on hot asphalt.
He hopped in place for a second before a blared horn, followed by a stream of
abuse from a cab driver told them to get out of the middle of the road. The cab
was yellow.
“We’re in New York.” He sighed
resignedly.
“Oops.”
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
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