Josh stood dead still, mimicking the statues surrounding him. Shadows bent, blending into the crevices of ancient stonework on the building in the center of the circle as they moved. The slight rustling of the snaking vines that enveloped the crypt was the only indication of their presence. Invisible guardians damned to Earth and charged with protecting the chalice for eternity.

A stagnant stench of decay hung in the air as he listened. His stomach knotted and he fought back the bile rising in his throat. The expedition watch on his wrist beeped as another hour passed and then silence once again.

“Rot” came the voice again, barely a whisper above the roar of nothing.

Josh remained frozen, waiting for the source of the voice before he dared move. He watched. He listened. His watch beeped again. Still there was nothing but him, the statues, the shadows and the crypt.

~

Josh explored the crevices of the ancient stonework for cracks that could be used for entry into the crypt. Snaking vines rustled as he brushed beneath them in his search. The passing of another hour was marked by the beep of the watch.

Movement outside the circle caught Josh’s attention. A man strode toward him, stopped and dropped his pack. He took a few steps forward, the fatigue on his face replaced with excitement in his eyes.

“Find the chalice and be spared the rot of humanity.” Josh whispered.

The man stood dead still, mimicking the skeletal statue with the watch next to him as he waited and listened. Josh began moving among the crevices, protecting the chalice resting within the crypt.

Inspired by a modified version of my own storystarters prompt:

The light fell on the ground in patches, splintered by the forest canopy above. It was like a disco ball for a party in Hell.

“Sure you wanna walk from here in this weather?”

“I’ve been gone for too long,” she said, taking a bill from her purse and passing it to the cab driver, “so I wouldn’t dream of passing up the opportunity.”

He rolled up the window and drove off as she turned back to the dirt lane ribboning its way off into the distance. The sweet fragrance of wild flowers in bloom tickled her nose, just like when she was a little girl. She giggled at the bright sheen of sweat on her skin thanks to the midday sun.

She clutched her purse to her chest, glad she decided against any other luggage. Unencumbered, she could reach the house in just over an hour even taking her time. There had been a storm the last time she walked it, so she was going to enjoy it. Skipping and humming, her first indulgence of such childish behaviour in twenty years, she set out down the long road home.

~~

He looked away from the television, surprised by the knock at the door. The dogs hadn’t barked and he hadn’t heard a car. Sighing, he glanced at the game and pushed up out of the recliner, setting his beer on the end table.

“Want me to get that?” came a woman’s voice from the kitchen.

“I got it,” he yelled as he stepped into the foyer. “Just get on with fixin’ supper.”

His drenched daughter stood dripping on the front porch. He peered around her, noting he’d been right about not hearing a car. He wasn’t sure where the dogs were, though.

“What did you do, walk up here?” He asked as she clutched her purse against her with both hands.

“Just like when I was a little girl.” She smiled, oblivious to being soaked to the skin.

“Come on in and I’ll get your mother.”

“No,” she blurted out, taking a step forward as he turned away. “Not yet. Can’t we have some special time, just the two of us, like we use to?”

He turned back, appreciating the way the fabric clung to her curves, and sneered as he looked her in the eyes. “So, ya decided ya wanted some more after all these years, did ya?”

“I just wanted to say thank you.” She dropped the bag and raised a pistol, levelling it at his face. “In the way you deserve.”

Thunder exploded as the gun fired. She let it drop, opened the shattered storm door, and stepped over the body.

She needed her mother to make everything right.

Thanks to @melissamurphy2 (Melissa Murphy) for the #storystarters prompt in bold at the beginning.

Wolf guided our people and gave us his superior hunting skills as the Sun traveled across the sky.  When the Moon chased the Sun from the sky, Wolf stole back his hunting skills and killed our people.  Being the animal he was, Wolf was unaware of these two sides and felt neither sorrow nor remorse for what he did.

This saddened the Spirits greatly.  Wolf could not be blamed, though, for how they had created him.  So, after much discussion, the Spirits came to an agreement of what to do.

Wolf was ruled by good and evil.  Good and evil were ruled by day and night.  The two ran together and it was either day or night.  So the Spirits split them apart and created a time when it was neither all day nor all night.  They would call this time they created twilight and it would be a veil when Wolf could see both sides of himself.

That is why at twilight you can still hear Wolf howling to express his joy and remorse at his two sides and the short time he is aware of both.

The old shed had been Grandpa’s favorite spot. It had a roof of used tin that had to be covered in tar to keep the rain out, three walls pieced together with a variety of salvaged materials, and a front open to the elements. Inside, on a dirt floor, was the stove Grandpa had made using an old fifty-five gallon barrel. And in the back corner, the room with the locked door.

Now, standing before it, all those years of wondering were about to end. All I had to do was use the key I held in my hand. I looked around the building at all the tools and odds-and-ends hanging from the rafters and on the walls: axes, chainsaws, fishing poles, and many other valuable items, all left out in the open. I contemplated once again what Grandpa had felt was important enough to lock up.

Despite the age of the lock the tumblers inside worked smoothly and silently as I inserted the key and twisted. It fell open with hardly a sound. Excited, yet still hesitant, I took my time removing it from the latch, removing the key, and sliding both into the front pocket of my jeans. Assuring myself one last time Grandpa wouldn’t mind me going in now that he was gone, I pushed the door open.

The hinges squeaked slightly as the door swung open to reveal a small room shrouded in darkness except for a few small shafts of sunlight spilling in from un-patched holes in the tin roof above. Dust particles danced as my eyes became accustomed to the lack of light. All I could make out were the outlines of a workbench and shelving. I reached for the flashlight in my back pocket and stepped inside.

The room was smaller than it had seemed to be from the outside, no more than five feet wide by eight feet deep. There was barely room to walk the length of it between the bench on the left hand side and the shelving lining the wall on the right. A vise was mounted to the end of the bench closest to me and a few tools were neatly organized along the rest of its length. The shelves were packed with items not discernable without a closer inspection. Grandpa’s long absence because of the cancer was apparent in the thick coat of dust that covered everything.

As I worked my way between the bench and shelves, the flashlight’s beam lit up different items–an old twenties era radio, a wine glass made of blue-tinted glass, a carved tobacco pipe, a pair of black baby shoes with silver buckles, a wooden baseball bat darkened by age, an ornate Indian-beaded necklace made of turquoise, and a small crystal vase.  As I looked at the random collection I couldn’t help but think of the small second hand shops that lined downtown Main Street. Puzzled, I tried to figure out what importance any of the items ever had that would justify their being locked away behind the door and brass lock.

Moving the beam of light beneath the workbench, I discovered larger items stored away there. As I reached out and touched the handlebar of an antique tricycle, a bright light flashed and the room dissolved away.

I stood on a long gravel driveway lined on both sides by young cedar trees casting their dancing shadows in the sunlight. It was the driveway leading to my Grandparents’ house. The trees were younger, but it was unmistakable. A young blond-headed boy came up the drive on a red tricycle and a man dressed in khaki work clothes walked behind him. The boy smiled as he pedaled toward me and the man laughed and clapped his hands as he watched him. I recognized them from old photos in the family album Mom kept stored away in a box beneath her bed. It was my Grandpa and my uncle.

The scene faded when I let go of the tricycle. Shaken, I looked around the small dark room. Not sure what had just happened, but wanting to find out, I blew the dust from the small crystal vase and tentatively placed my fingers on it.

Grandpa appeared before me again, even younger than before, standing on a large front porch, knuckles rapping on the door. He turned to gaze out over the railing at the end of the porch to the meadow that lay beyond it. In his rough hand he held a crystal vase with a single long-stemmed yellow rose in it. He hid it behind his back as the door opened and a young woman greeted him. It was Grandma, almost as she looked in the wedding picture that hung on the wall in their now empty house.

The scene faded again as I moved my fingers away from the vase. My hands trembled as I realized the importance these items had had for my Grandpa. Eager to learn more, I worked my way through them one-by-one. Each of them brought a vivid scene, from Grandpa’s first hunting trip with a Cherokee elder to my own birth. Hours passed as I discovered a side of my Grandpa he had rarely revealed when living.

Twilight filled the sky and tears swelled in my eyes as I walked out of the small room that night. With one last look, I took in the collection of items inside it before pulling the door closed. Fumbling in my pocket, I grasped the key and brass lock. With a quiet ‘clink’ I again locked away the memories of a life well lived and full of happiness.