Writing Challenge

Writing Challenge

Time for a new challenge… it’s been awhile.


  • Write a short response to the prompt.
  • Read and respond to other responses.
  • Vote for your favorites by clicking the thumbs up. (Note, it will only let you vote once per user or per IP address)
  • After enough responses and votes come in, a winner will be chosen.


At this time, the winning entry will receive a custom illustration for their story, and a featured post on my website. (For you to bedazzle everyone with!)



It is said that a ghost roams this shanty farm. Who (Or What) is it? How long has it been there? Why does it lurk here? What does it see? Tell us its story….

6 Responses to “Writing Challenge”

  1. Adam21 says:

    When is the deadline for this?

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  2. Adam21 says:

    The story I tell is of a farmer called Bell,
    And of a tailor who was named Drake.
    Gin and Poker were their sins.
    Rivals they were, at this game of cards,
    The title of champion was the stake.
    They played all day, never once giving bay,
    Loathe even to stop for food was their lot.
    They played through the night, both knowing that light,
    Brought with it the dawn of a Sabbath.
    “Confound it,” said Bell, “I will risk hell,
    To play for all eternity for just this one win”.
    So it was with the turning of a card,
    That Bell saw his wish was granted.
    Into the barn strode, garbed in extravagant clothes,
    The Devil, for it could be no other.
    “I come at this time, to take what is mine,
    A bargain was made, on my side I have fulfilled”.
    Sobbed Bell “They were just words, nothing was meant,
    It was out of frustration that I spoke”.
    “I have little time,” the Devil replied,
    “For those who try to break a deal”.
    Fixing Bell with a stare he pointed to the chair,
    Bell dared not act not but to sit,
    Watching with trembling fingers as the Devil did deal.
    It is said of the farm, especially the barn,
    That it is haunted by a man dealing cards,
    Even though the barn has fallen to ruin.
    This story I tell, was of a farmer called Bell,
    And how he coveted the title of champion.

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    • Lori Moritz says:

      Adam, I love this! How long did it take you structure this out as a poem?

      The poem itself is rather upbeat and silly. Perfect to read to kid who want a ghost story…. and a lesson.

      L, Lori

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  3. Julie says:

    Friendly Fire

    Drox loomed in the darkest shadows between the tops of the rotting hay bales and the sagging roof. To his eyes the brick walls, broken doors, and missing shingles appeared as solid constant blackness, yet he could easily perceive every aspect of the human plane through senses honed over innumerable centuries. His only companion was his peridot aura which seethed like mist rising from a lake in the first light of dawn against the pure darkness of exile.

    On the other side of the veil war raged once again during the twentieth century in the French countryside. The tremendous chaos and carnage wrought upon and by men thrilled every part of Drox’s spirit. He often wished that he could have been a key demon in the catalyst for war, but he had already chosen another existence where he had no chance of influence in powerful positions. But outcasts had their own power.

    His gaze snapped to the right. What he had eagerly been sensing was finally on its way toward the barn in a staggered file. The men came to a halt just outside the main gate with a signal from their Sergeant.

    “Peabody and Lowell, you each take one of those outbuildings in front.” Sergeant Morrow made eye contact with each soldier as he called their name. “Jalbert, take the section on the far right. Hogan, I want you in the main barn, and I’ll take the one out back.” A final look and, “Let’s go.” Each man stood up and ran from where he squatted in the mud and into his assigned building.

    Drox hovered in place patient and silent watching his mark make his way toward him in complete ignorance. With is Browning Automatic Rifle leading the way, Hogan made quick work clearing the main floor’s straw littered empty animal stalls. He headed up the stairs eyes darting in the darkness for anything unknown. The squirrely American private approached each doorway in a sturdy stance prepared to employ the full power of his weapon at any sign of the enemy. First room: clear. Second room: clear. Third and fourth rooms: clear. All that was left was the towering mass of hay stacked against the far wall. He scanned the bales and they seemed benign enough, but something drew him closer.

    With slow and steady steps, the human crept closer to the exact where spot Drox wanted him. It often astounded him how easily manipulated humans could be. After Hogan’s final step Drox swooped down from the top of the barn and skillfully stretched the veil.

    Peabody and Lowell quickly cleared their buildings without spotting a single German. Jalbert and Morrow completed theirs shortly after with the same outcome. The whole squad felt sure that the farm was empty so they stood around in the dirt clearing out front waiting for Hogan to finish.

    “Hey guys!” Hogan yelled urgently from inside.

    Dropping their cigarettes and picking up their rifles, the squad rushed in after their man. Along with all the other thoughts in Sergeant Morrow’s head, there was something wrong with Hogan’s voice that he couldn’t put his finger on.

    First in was Jalbert and before he could ask Hogan answered, “Up here!” Jalbert bounded up the staircase after the shout trailed by the Peabody, Lowell, and Morrow. Jalbert’s eyelevel broke the top of the stairs and landed on the muzzle of Hogan’s B.A.R. A heartbeat later the weapon went into action catching Jalbert in the face and the others in their chests, hot lead shredding their vital organs. The last man to fall was the last man Hogan would ever see. With the end of his strength Sergeant Morrow raised his Thompson and cut Hogan right through the middle.

    Four bodies, their entangled limbs cascading entangled down the stairs with their friendly murderer’s corpse facing them from the top drew a wicked grin across the perpetrator’s face. Poised through the floorboards between the two levels of the barn, Drox peered down at Hogan and studied his features until they were engraved in his mind’s eye. He then rose up with his feet even to the floor and mirrored Hogan’s gate as he stepped through a straight slit in the veil and appeared exactly as Hogan on the other side.

    Many years past, the bodies long buried, the war unfortunately over, but that day in the barn lives on through Drox’s flawless reenactment which takes place whenever he is in the mood for carnage, whether or not any humans happen to wanders in.

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    • Lori Moritz says:

      How innovative! I am fascinated by the concept of ‘the veil’ and how a demon navigates within it.

      Your specific details really work for me. I love that you researched the name of the rifle the men used. I had a real sense of place and time without getting distracted by it.

      I’m quite fond of the concept of possession. It is a major theme in my own work as well.

      Your piece has made me think twice about wanting to see a ghost! I wouldn’t want to run into Drox, or anything like him.

      Makes you wonder, how many instances of insanity can be explained through the veil?


      Great entry!!!

      L, Lori

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