Crocked by Mina Lobo
“Stupid, not-working spell.”
“Sophia, how can you say that when the happy result sits before you?” Hecate asked, elegantly waving a hand over herself.
My eyes shot razors at the Witch Goddess. “I wouldn’t say ‘happy.’”
“Well, if you’re unsatisfied, you’ve only yourself to blame. Perhaps if you’d used an actual cauldron instead of that…that…what was it?”
“A crock pot.”
“Yes, that.” The platinum-blonde deity from ancient Greece sniffed her disdain. “Proper technique is the key to successful spell-casting, my dear.”
“Keep your voice down, unless you want everyone at this Halloween shindig to know who you are,” I snarled.
“I’ve nothing to hide, nor did I ask to be summoned.”
“I didn’t summon you, I invoked the ‘Beauty of Hecate.’”
“And here I am!” Hecate did the hand waving thing again.
I downed my fourth (fifth?) vodka shot. If only she hadn’t been so gorgeous. The diaphanous gown Hecate wore made her look all Sexy-Ghost-Going-To-A-Very-Adult-Party, whereas my jack-o-lantern ensemble miserably failed to highlight my (dubious) assets. Damn that costume shop clerk; I’d said pumpkin colored, not—
“Who’s that toothsome terror?”
I took another shot, then looked. My heart sank. “That’s Troy. The reason I cast the spell.”
Alerted by some sixth/sex sense, the muscular “werewolf” turned and locked eyes with Hecate, then goggled as she rose sinuously to her feet.
“Well, sack my walled city,” Hecate purred, beckoning Troy with a crook of her finger.
“Oh, no…you’re not going to—”
“—clear the cobwebs from my cave? Oh, yes.” She gave me a lurid wink as the wolf man panted his way over to her. “Leave a torch lit for me, would you?”
“Woof!” said Troy, proffering an arm.
“Indeed,” said Hecate, taking it.
And then they left me there.
Crocked.
* * * * *
This bit of psycho-erotic poetry was my effort for Spooktoberfest 2013, once again hosted by Jackie of Bouquet of Books and Dani of Entertaining Interests. Now, I tend to err on the more light-hearted side of supernatural or paranormal writing, but when I sat down to compose my entry, something darker took over. You can read more about the set-up for the thing here. Conjured follows poor Sophia from Crocked, told above, after she casts another, more ill-fated, spell. One wonders if the poor gal learns her lesson. (Do any of us?)
Conjured
I'm the wretch that lurks at the bottom of the stairs
with the long, sharp beak and the coarse dark hairs,
whom you summoned to your home in the middle of the night,
whom you called when quite alone; now I have you in my sights.
You thought yourself so lonely and you felt yourself to ache
for some pleasures yet unknown, thus this action you did take:
you dug out that old spellbook that you'd hidden long ago,
when your last attempt went sour; yes, you stashed it down below
In the basement of your duplex, just behind your ancient dryer.
(You'd have been better off if you'd tossed it in the fire.)
Skimming quickly through its pages, soon you saw the thing you craved,
little knowing it was you who would find herself enslaved.
As others' children left to go begging for some sweets,
you sought to entertain yourself with one especial treat.
You went into your room and bubbled up a potion,
then mixed it with some cream to concoct this haunting lotion.
The scent so arousing, the sentiment inspired,
by all your burning hopes, and your dreams, and desires.
And with the aid of beings you believed safe to enlist,
you crafted what a thing like me can't possibly resist.
It called me from the deep, and up your dirty steps,
I wake you from your sleep, your eyes go wide and next,
your throat prepares a scream; I keep it from this task
by covering your lips and sliding off my mask.
You moan as though it's tragic that what appeared is me,
well knowing that your magic is what caused this beast to be.
I lean into your body and whisper what I'll do,
then on your moonlit bedding, I lay right into you.
* * * * *
Mom Guilt
Romantic Flash Fiction (292 words) written for Cherie Reich's 2nd Annual Flash Fiction Blogfest Mom Guilt by Mina Lobo
Lightning flashed and I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming the house down. Nothing like a bit of middle-aged mom guilt to set you on edge, especially in the wee hours of the morning, as you stealthily creep out of someone else’s house.
Mom guilt. Because I finally gave in to all the longing and desire I’d buried in the dank closet of my tortured, tired soul, for so very long... Hah – that sounded like something my thirteen year old might write in her diary. Excuse me – her journal.
In fact, I didn’t feel like a mom at all, but a teen, trying to sneak out without waking her parents. Only, you know, less obnoxious.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped in place and the shoes I carried thunked to the floor. “What the hell do you think? Our kids will get back from that camping trip at eleven, so I’m going home.”
Greg rubbed the sleep from his eyes before crossing his arms. His longish floppy locks, adorably crumpled, were at odds with the serene, soul-searching look in his wise, dark eyes. I felt like I was being turned on by Spock.
“This could be your home.”
Thrilled and terrified, I sputtered, “But, but…our kids! Our exes! Our mortgages, our distinctly complicated lives!”
Lips I’d warmly received only a few hours earlier curved in a smile. “These can all be worked out. You just have to want to.”
My heart surged as nature’s fiery strobe light illuminated us. “And…you want to? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He reached for me. “Stay.”
I exhaled slowly, then gave him my trembling hand. “Fine. But I’m not making any promises.”
A gentle tug and he enveloped me. “You already have.”
~ The End ~
And here's the tune that sort of planted the seed for this story.
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