In 2024 letâs broaden our horizons with a weekly writing challenge that calls upon us all to write a story using the prompts below. Just a few guidelines otherwise it wouldnât be a real challenge now would it:
More than 100 words but no more than 200 words.
Must use the WORD of the WEEK in your story.
Must use at least 2 of the 3 prompts provided (person / place / thing).
WORD OF THE WEEK
PERSON | PLACE | THING
Once you have a story, copy/paste it in the comments! I canât wait to read what you come up with.
BONUS
If you want an added challenge, write a story using the WotW, all 3 prompts, PLUS is exactly 200 words in length.
My typewriterâs made me famous. It was six months ago today when it started typing a story about a murder that hadnât happened yet. Took a lot of convincing for my boss to accept I wasnât the killer.
Doesnât change my problem either. My typewriter types that a murder is going to happen and I could possibly save a life. Or I could let it play out. The most sensational murder and Iâve got all the details.
This could launch my career. I just have to pretend I knew nothing. Too bad the murder victim is my childhood best friend.
âYou should admit what you did, Sylvester, and stop this nonsense. A jury isnât going to declare you insane because your wax figure did it,â sheriff Donnelly said.
Sylvester looked down at the table and whispered, âI told you. She killed my wife,â his voice getting louder, âI knew no one would believe me so I buried her in the back yard. I admit that but I didnât murder my wife.â
The sheriff chuckled. âWhat kind of man blames their murders on wax?â
âSheâll get you next. She doesnât like when Iâm laughed at.â
Flossie has ambitions to be a great detective. So, when a body drops dead on her best friends living room floor, she sees this as an opportunity to uncover who committed the murder. But with the kingâs guardsmen on high alert looking for a stranger, first, she must work with Felix to hide the body.
TOLD FROM THE POV OF FLOSSIE
Words = 2,772 | Read Time = 11min 05sec
The content below was originally paywalled.
Charisma and Flossie returned to the main room with mere seconds to have a look round for any incriminating evidence of a once dead man lying on the floor before the front door was forced open.
âExcuse us, but what is this all about?â Charisma asked, folding her arms in defiance as half a dozen guardsmen filed into the room. Their leader stood out only by the cleanliness of his uniform. His beard and mustache matched the auburn color of his hair, all curls that bounced about when he removed his helmet.
âBegging your pardon, misses, but the king has ordered us to search every flat, starting with lower Wondermere and working our way back towards the colosseum. This will only take a moment.â
âAnd what, may we ask, are you looking for? We might save you the trouble of tearing apart my friendâs flat,â Flossie interjected, standing shoulder to shoulder with Charisma.
âA very dangerous man,â he answered, eyeing the two women suspiciously. âAre you saying this isnât your flat?â
âIt is not. Weâre here to check on a sick friend. We live next door, you see. Her father is the wand makerââ Flossie started but was cut short.
âYour father is Chester Price? THE Chester Price?â The gentlemanâs eyes lit up at the mention of her fatherâs name. Charisma was used to this happening and although she hated to use it, she knew that now was the time to set her personal feelings aside and use it to her advantage.
âThat is indeed her fatherââ Flossie said, trying to interject but was again cut short.
âThat means youâre Charisma Price. Well, blimey. You probably donât remember me, but the first time I ever entered your fatherâs shop you were no higher than me knee,â he continued, gesturing the height with his hand beside his leg.
Charisma took a closer look at him and realized he was older than he looked. His facial hair hid the signs of aging evident in his eyes. Though his smile was so large and bright when he realized who she was that it managed to take considerable age off him as well.
She spent many hours at her fatherâs shop when she was a child as he could not afford to pay someone to look after her and she was much too young for school. Those were happier times.
âMy father had many customers and I was just a child. Were you there shopping for yourself?â Charisma asked, raising one hand to scratch the side of her head awkwardly, nudging Flossie in the process to try and get her to notice the guardsmen were getting closer to the closed bedroom door at the other end from where they stood.
âNot me, miss,â he chuckled. âI could no more pull a rabbit out of a hat as my own wife could cook one.â He threw his head back and guffawed louder than was necessary considering how close they were standing to each other. Flossie startled at the sound but she and Charisma managed to return a smile at his flat joke just the same.
âWe didnât catch your name?â Flossie asked.Â
âSir Gareth Ravenswood,â he said, extending his hand to Charisma to shake, even though it was Flossie who asked him his name. âPleased to make your acquaintance.â Charisma reluctantly extended her left hand. She was surprised at how soft and smooth it was. She was expecting it to be not unlike her fatherâs hands. Calloused and scared. A true craftsmanâs hands he would often say. She knew straight away Sir Gareth likely received his rank within the kingâs guardsmen by inheritance. This meant the men under him did all the grunt work while he stood around talking to ladies of the house, as he was doing now.
One of the guardsmen approached Sir Gareth and whispered in his ear. His eyes examined Charisma then Flossie before nodding and dismissing the young guard.
âThe bedroom door is closed. May we enter it? Just a routine search, of course.â
Flossie stepped forward defensively. âIs it absolutely necessary? Itâs just that we just put our dear friend down for the night and he may not appreciate all of you barging in there unannounced.â
âI will be the only one to enter. You have my word,â he said and stood beside the bedroom door, waiting for either Charisma or Flossie to open it. The last thing he wanted was word of how he treated Charisma to reach her father. His rank could be taken away just as easily as it was given to him.
Charisma opened the door slowly then stepped to one side for Sir Gareth enter first. The room was dark so little could be seen by anyone entering. It contained a four poster bed tucked away in the farthest corner, tattered and faded drapes hung all around, concealing whoever was sleeping within. The shuttered windows made it reek of dust and dampness. It was a smell most unpleasant to Flossie when she assisted in carrying the corpse into the room. But she remarked how it would at least serve to mask the presence of death in the room.Â
Beside the bed was a desk with few personal effects covering nearly every inch of it. There were papers with scribbled notes and illustrations, half melted candlesticks, and more dead rose stems than anyone should have in their possession, let alone an elderly man. Nearest the bed was one solitary candle, it was lit but it barely illuminated the table it sat upon as it flickered in the stillness of the room. In front of the bed was a large chest with neatly folded blankets and extra pillows on top.
As Sir Gareth entered, his heavy boots thudded across the hardwood floor. He walked to the middle of the room and looked around at every shadow and furniture before his eyes stopped on the bed. With all the curtains drawn he could not see who was inside.
âI assure you, he is fast asleep,â Charisma said. He raised his hand to silence her as he approached the bed. He leaned in close before carefully pulling back the curtain just as a low snore emerged from within.
Thick blankets covered Felix who was fast asleep, his nightcap still on his head. Sir Gareth looked around the bed that appeared to only occupy one person. He let the curtain return to its original place and gestured back towards the bedroom door. He, Charisma and Flossie exited together.
âSatisfied?â Flossie asked, putting on an air of agitation by the invasion of privacy, hoping it would get them to leave sooner.
âNot quite,â said Sir Gareth, letting a hint of frustration towards Flossie show. âHave you ever been to Ember Hall?â
âWhat are you insinuating? You know that would never be allowed let alone possible. Her father would have her head if he caught wind of his daughterââ
âI can answer for myself, Fliss,â said Charisma, cutting off her best friend from coming to her defense as usual. She can tell when Flossie has been pushed just a hair too far and she was afraid that point had been reached long time ago. If she didnât intervene she may be visiting her childhood friend Fliss within the palace walls, their prison wing. âNo, Sir Gareth, I have not been to Ember Hall. As you well know, it is for members of magicianary only and their assistants. Iâm afraid I cannot have the privilege of such an honor and as for working for an act? Well, as my dear friend Fliss here pointed out, that is indeed out of the question. Why do you ask?â
âThe stranger we are after was last sighted leaving there, headed in this direction. I simply want to make sure you steer clear of places like that at night.â
âYou can rest assured I go to work at the colosseum every morning and come straight home in the evening. There is little time for late night dalliances at halls or pubs for the daughter of Chester Price.â The way she spoke her fatherâs name made Sir Gareth realize their relationship wasnât as close as he expected. He only wish he had a father like herâs, who got to work with magicians all day, fitting them with a wand in the evening hours. Instead, he was left with a family legacy that was relegated to service and duty to the crown for his life and the life of his children and his childrenâs children.
Sir Gareth bowed his head slightly to Charisma to signal his departure. When he reached the door he spun on his heels and asked, âDoes your father know youâre spending time with strange men at night?â
âFelix isnât a strange man. Heâs my friend. And of course my father knows I check in on Felix from time to time. Living alone can be lonely sometimes. Fliss and I like to keep him company when we can. Will that be all, Sir Gareth?â
âYes,â Flossie said, âwe must see what mess your men made of our flats while we werenât there to observe them. Iâm sure theyâve left us with quite a lot of work to do before we can retire for the night.â She pushed past Sir Gareth and waited for him on the other side of the front door threshold. He whistled to his men who, upon hearing it, stopped whatever they were doing, wherever they were, and filed outside immediately to await further instructions.
âItâs not safe out here at night, miss,â said Sir Gareth, taking a step towards Charisma, whispering so only she could hear his words. âThis stranger is believed to be dangerous. Iâd hate for something to happen to Chester Priceâs only daughter on my watch. If you see anyone suspicious just scream. My men are posted everywhere. You may not see them, but they are there. One of them will be sure to hear you.â
He held a hand out for hers. She hesitated and that was enough for him to know his instincts that she was hiding something was right. âI shall be sure to tell my father of the care and interest youâre taking in his only daughter at night. Iâm sure heâll want to extend his thanks.â She placed her hand in his and they locked eyes as he raised it to his lips, placing a kiss upon her fingers before letting go.Â
âNo need. It is a public service I am commanded to provide to everyone of Wondermere.â
Once he and his men were out of Felixâs flat, Flossie reentered and slammed the door behind her.Â
âWeâll have to keep an eye out for him. I donât like the way he said my fatherâs name,â said Charisma. Flossie peeked out the window beside the front door to confirm there was no one in sight before pounding on the bedroom door. âAnd why tell us about Ember Hall so freely. A trap to see if weâll go there?â
âIf it was then heâs smarter than I give him credit for,â Fliss said, stepping back from the window before shouting, âAll clear. You can come out now!â
âFliss, we canât,â Charisma said, recognizing the smirk on Flossieâs face all too well. The last time she saw that smirk was when it was her first day working at the colosseum. Charisma got the job through her father and vouched for Flossie who was in desperate need of money after her aunt and only means of support became too ill to work. She was given the task all new members of Miss. Pomroyâs staff are given, to sweep the entrance of the colosseum. It was a right of passage that Flossie nearly failed had Charisma had not caught her scheme first. There Flossie was, availing herself of a cigarette, leaning against the entryway of the colosseum, while a couple of vagrant children sheâd met only that morning were busy doing her job. When Charisma confronted her about it she explained Miss. Pomroy would be pleased with her initiative and that perhaps Charisma needed to take up smoking to relieve the strain she was clearly under. It was then that Flossie understood why Charisma was Miss. Pomroyâs protege and her best friend. She finally relented, once the children were done and properly paid, of course. And as it happened, Miss. Pomroy arrived not a moment later to congratulate Flossie in her exemplary work and in half the time that anyone else, including Charisma, had done it on her first day.
âCanât what?â Fliss asked with a wink.
Felix came bounding out of the bedroom, filled with excitement. âDo you think they suspected anything?â
âHe didnât even bat an eye at your chest in front of the bed. Stroke of genius having us put him in there. I just hope he wonât be too much trouble to get out. We had as tough a time as any getting him inside,â said Flossie, her heard racing from the excitement.
âJust a moment, Felix,â said Charisma, trying to keep her line of questioning from getting changed to the subject of the body in the chest. âFlossie, we are most definitely not going to Ember Hall tonight or ever.â
Felixâs eyes widened at the mention of Ember Hall. He knew it very well. âWhat is this about Ember Hall?â
âSir Gareth of the kingâs guardsmen saw fit to inform us thatâs where our gentleman friend in your chest was last sighted before headed this way. I can think of no better place to go next if we ever hope to find out who he is and why he dropped dead at your feet after giving you this,â said Flossie, pulling out the deck of cards she had hidden in her pants pocket and holding it in the air.
Upon seeing the deck Felix staggered back. âI donât believe it. I mean, I had a feeling he had it but not until now did I truly believe it. You two have no ideaâŚnone at allâŚâ
Flossie furrowed her eyebrows in Felixâs direction. She knew he was hiding something and now was as good a time as any to come clean. âIâve had about enough of your cryptic words and behavior, Felix. Out with it. What exactly do you know about all this?â
Felix took a deep breath and tried to straighten his back before looked only at Charisma. âIf he is who I think he is, then I know him very well. In order for you two to understand I have to show you something. Wait here please,â he said, and disappeared to his bedroom, returning only a few moments later with a book that he gripped with unsteady hands. âThis book and that deck belong together. That is to say, the owner of the deck wrote this book.â
Flossie handed the deck to Charisma. âYou meanâŚThatâs the lost Magic Codex of Cards?â Felix nodded his head before taking a seat at his table nearby. âI donât believe it. That book is a thing of legend.â
âSo is the deck you hold in your hands. Both believed to have been destroyed long ago. And yet, here they are. Not only very much real but back together as they were meant to be. Now, that I do not believe is coincidence or chance luck.â
âNo Felix, it surely isnât,â said Charisma. âItâs a damn reason good enough for going to Ember Hall.â
âThank you, Charisma. Here I thought Iâd have to talk you into you. I do believe being my friend this long has brought about your curiosity too.â
âDonât thank me yet, Fliss. You forget how difficult it is to gain entry to a place like Ember Hall. As women we canât simply walk in. We need to have employment with an act that is a member of the hall. We neither have employment nor know what acts are members of that particular hall.â
âI do. I know an act that should still be members of Ember Hall,â Felix said, shifting his eyes away from Charisma and Flossie.
âNow Felix, why would you know such information? Thatâs usually kept very much a secret within the inner circles of magicianary. Not even a magician would divulge that kind of information to another magician for fear their performance and tricks could be stolen. UnlessâŚI donât believe it.â
âWhat?â Charisma asked, looking from Flossie to Felix and back again.
âMy dear Charisma, we are standing in the presence of the Greatâno, the SHAMED Carnelian.â
There are some really great mystery and suspense stories out there in the wild. The best of the best can be found through the works of Agatha Christie, Ian Fleming, Shirley Jackson, Arthur Conan Doyle, Rex Stout, to mention but a few.
Here at the Poison Pen we specialize in murder. Whether you aim to solve for the killer or commit the crime yourself is entirely up to you. This is a judgement free zone, of course. But we do want a great story. At the heart of every good killer and crime solver is a compelling story. Can you craft such a tale?
Every calendar year will feature three opportunities for you to spin a tale that will captivate a ready and willing audience. Each contest allows for one entry per person that must be easily identifiable as either a mystery or a suspense story. Any underlying genre (ex. sci-fi, fantasy, romance, etc.) is entirely up to you. It can take place any time and anywhere so long as it contains the basic tenets of mystery and suspense. Every story, no matter the genre, should contain a great mystery. Something the reader wants to find out and the writer is all too willing to be a guide towards the answers. The keys to how can be found in the following ten areas. Use them as guides, but not as hard and fast rules or you may find yourself stuck. To break the rules you must first know what some of them are:
A strong hook: A great mystery should invite the reader to try to solve the crime, and a great opening is critical to piquing their interest. A mystery should start with just enough information about the crime to build intrigue from the first line. This is the defining moment when a reader chooses whether or not they want to continue.
An atmospheric setting: Stories in this genre should create an ominous, uneasy mood through setting to support the anxiety of an unknown antagonist lurking in the shadows.
A crime: A crime is the event that fuels the plot in a mystery (or suspense) story.
A sleuth: At the heart of every mystery is a main character determined to solve the crime. Mysteries can center around an amateur investigatorâan average citizen who solves the case. The character development of the sleuth is important; they need a backstory that connects them to the crime or the killer, and a motive that explains why solving this crime is important to them.
A villain: A mystery is often called a whodunit because the culprit is unknown until theyâre caught at the end. The story follows their movements, which propel the story forward. The main character and the reader discover the criminalâs identity as the plot reaches its climax.
Narrative momentum: A mystery plot is in constant motion thanks to a cat-and-mouse narrative thread. The pacing will quicken the closer the plot moves towards the climax and the closer the main character gets to solving the crime.
A trail of clues: Clues are the literary element that allows mystery stories to engage readers on a deeper level than other types of fiction. The reader becomes an amateur sleuth, following the trail of clues to try to discover the identity of the culprit.
Foreshadowing: Mysteries often drop hints of things that will happen in the future. This is known as foreshadowing. A writer can hint at a future event with a small clue or through character dialogue.
Red herrings: A good mystery throws the reader off track. These false clues build tension by creating other suspects and distracting the detectiveâand the readerâand leading them away from the real culprit.
A satisfying ending: At the end of great mystery novels there is the big revealâthe sleuth discovers the identity of the culprit.
These ten points come from the following article on the MasterClass website. I recommend reading it as they expand on it further with additional reading as well.
So, letâs take a peek at 2024 and when you can start submitting your stories of murder:
February 1st – Submission Post opens for 2 weeks.
February 15th – Submission Post closes.
March 1st – Voting Post opens for 7 days.
June 1st – Submission Post opens for 2 weeks.
June 15th – Submission Post closes.
July 1st – Voting Post opens for 7 days.
October 1st – Submission Post opens for 2 weeks.
October 15th – Submission Post closes.
November 1st – Voting Post opens for 7 days.
Your story doesnât have to be written during the two weeks that the submission post is open. But it does have to be written in the same calendar year. That means only stories posted publicly in 2024.
I look forward to reading your stories and hope to get many entries as well as even more readers and voters! Iâll share more on the annual award later but for now there will be a few essays and reviews to come as we venture forth on this journey of murder together.
Itâs the end of the day and Iâm being followed. Iâve felt their eyes on me ever since I exited the elevator and started walking to the train station. Maybe I should change my routine. Just to prove Iâm being followed.
I walk past the train station to the bus stop. Itâll take longer to get home but will be worth it. A police car at the light. Should I tell them? Green light. Too late.
Iâm standing at theâ
TECHNICAL SUPPORT RESTART INITIATED. 3, 2, 1âŚ
Work day has ended. I walk away from bus stop, towards train station.
âWhatâs that you got there?â Jane, my sister, asked as I ran past her towards our treehouse, motioning for her to follow me.
âA man from spaceship gave it to me,â I whispered, holding out a metal ball. âGo ahead, take it.â I let the ball drop from my hand into hers. âHe said I could have it if I gave him something for it.â
âWhatcha gotta give him?â She asked, mesmerized by the shininess of the ball in her hands.
I crept up behind her and shouted âYOU!â So startled, she dropped my ball and fell out the treehouse.
âI double dog dare ya, Herb.â The rest of the patrons at the bar all drunkenly joined in. They know why Iâm too scared to visit Jackals Cross. My worst enemy is buried there in a shallow grave, waiting for me.
Jackals Cross is where I spent most of my childhood before the great fire burned it to the ground and I had to start doing grown up things. Now I work all day and drink all night to forget that place ever existed.
But theyâre making me go back there. To the grave. To the place where Iâm buried.
REMINDER: Collaborative writing with me is the FIRST Friday of every month. See you again on February 2nd. Till then Iâll still provide an image prompt each week to get your inspirations going into the weekend.
IMAGE PROMPT
I could tell you where to go with this image but thereâs just too many options and the last thing I want to do is influence you one way or anotherâŚletâs see if you can impress me! đ
You donât have to write your story today! Free write all weekend long!
WRITE YOUR OWN 100 WORD STORY
Write exactly 100 words. Not 99 or 101. The Word Count Police are tracking!
Genre? Writerâs choice! So long as you give us all the thrills and the feels.
To Fic or to Non-Fic? You decide. What matters most is that youâre satisfied with the output.
Copy/paste your words in the comments, then share on your own Substack, and maybe, share to social media!
A Note on Substack Notes | Click the đ âRestack with a Noteâ and copy/paste your story for added reach and growth.
Fiona hasnât left her apartment for anyone or anything ever since she saw Death take a womanâs life while standing in a long line at the grocery store. Keeled over onto her cart filled with healthy fruits and vegetables. Then Death looked at her, and smiled.
Fiona is retired now. Her groceries are delivered. As long as she never leaves and meets a stranger in the street, Death cannot get her.
One day a little girl knocks on her door. Lost and afraid. âI canât find my mommy,â she cries.
Fiona opens her door for the little girl. For Death.