#6 Flash Fiction B&W Challenge
“Merry-Go-Round in black and white, it spins a tale as old as time. It flies away and turns around. It haunts even the bravest of souls,” mortal silence invaded the room when Timmy started to speak.
“The story goes, ladies and gentlemen, that a young lady sat on one of the horses of the merry-go-round for a spin or two. Merrily, anticipating the happiness of a fleeting fantasy feeling of freedom, she pulled her cape closer to her neck, lifting the collar to protect her from the cold. Spinning around is indeed chilling.
While others got ready as well, sitting here and there on the horses and unicorns and on all sorts of magical creatures, she looked around and smiled. She wasn’t smiling for any particular reason. She was just smiling a contented smile of approval. After all, the merry-go-round had been brought by her father to be gifted to the town and she kind of felt entitled to enjoy one free ride.
As the carousel started spinning, she could hear light giggles of enthusiasm that grew as the carousel sped up. In a few seconds only, they were spinning so fast that the giggles of enthusiasm gave place to anguished shrieks.
She tried to steady herself on her horse, but realized her scarf was trying to flee, so she turned half way backwards to grab its end. That’s when her long radiant blond wavy hair, the same hair that only a few seconds before shone in the sun and sparkled with delight, got loose and became entangled in the center pole.
It was horrendous. Everyone screamed. The children cried. Mothers and father ran to take them away from the merry-go-round as soon as it stopped, which fortunately to all present didn’t take long.
I’m not sure what happened to her…” That’s when he paused, in mid-sentence, aiming for an enhanced dramatic effect.
“Must you always tell us utterly grotesque stories each time we gather?” protested Molly, a petite spinster who took the opportunity to snuggle closer to Emery, the middle-aged wannabe Romeo who couldn’t believe his luck.
“My dear Molly, weren’t we supposed to tell scary stories?” asked Timmy.
“No, my dear fellow, we are supposed to tell ghost stories and that was definitely not a ghost story,” replied Emery instead.
Timmy stood up, pushed his chair back onto its place by the dining-table and walked away.
Everyone look at one another baffled by the abrupt unannounced departure. They did discuss it for a few minutes after which the next storyteller, who happened to be Emery, moved on with his tale.
Half-way through it, they heard a tremendous noise. The lights went out and a shadow crept into the room. It waltzed towards Molly and Emery without anyone noticing it.
Suddenly, a ghostly shriek reverberated through the room. When the lights came back, Timmy was standing, victorious, looking at those present still recovering from the dreadful fright. That meant everyone except petite Molly.
“Here it is. We finally have a real ghost. Well, at least we do hope our dear friend does her job and become one to haunt us at our eerie soirées,” concluded Timmy, wearing a silly old wig.
Needless is to say, these storytelling evenings never took place again. Timmy still holds on to that wig though, the one with long radiant blond wavy hair, which seemed to shine in the sun and sparkle with delight.