The Unicorn Challenge.
A magical new weekly writing opportunity from her – Jenne Gray – and me.
Visit her blog every Friday to see the photo prompt, and post your amazing story in her comments section.
Or on your own blog, and stick the link down in her comments.
The rules are:
Maximum of 250 words.
Based on photo prompt.
That’s it.
To hear me read my story, just click here:
Monster Dreams
The boy wakens with a jolt, screaming for his mother.
‘Jackie, baby, it’s okay,’ she arrives in seconds, kneels at his bedside. ‘You’ve just had a dream.’
He throws his arm around her neck, his tears soaking the shoulder of her nightgown.
‘The monster came again, mum, he ate Whiskers and Tabby, then he came through my window!’
‘Hush, baby, the cats are fine, they’re downstairs snuggled up in their basket, all safe and warm. I’ll go down and talk to them once you’re asleep, okay?’
‘Look, mummy, you can see through the curtains, the shadow of the monster, it’s there!’
‘That’s the big oak tree that you love to climb, Jack, and the streetlamp shining up through the branches. There’s no monster, baby, honestly.’
‘I wish daddy was here, I miss him! He’d keep us safe.’
The mother wipes away tears, her son’s and her own, knowing she can never tell him the truth, that his father was a bully, an abuser, a monster.
‘I know, honey, but I’m here now, and nothing will ever harm you. I promised you when daddy went away, and I promise you now. Please, you need to trust me.’
‘I do, mummy, I’m sorry.’
They embrace for a while, then he settles down, no longer trembling, and she strokes his hair, singing softly, until his eyes close.
She checks the cats – a promise is a promise – and goes back to bed.
On the branch of the big oak tree, the monster creeps closer.






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cycle of abuse it’s a bitch (the thing about the savage: they tend to be immune to reason, all too often deaf to pleas, an argument for force can be opposed only by force.)
good story-telling
Thank you, Beta-Man!
Well of course it does.
And I will sleep with one eye open tonight.
Apologies for tardy response.
I hope you have both eyes closed again!
A chill has just gone through me for that mother and son – the chill of the last line.
‘…she can never tell him the truth…’ – but you show a child who seems to have assimilated the knowledge of threat anyway, despite all the warmth and love his mother is giving him.
A real undercurrent of menace…
Excellent.
‘assimilated the knowledge of threat’ or just scared of the dark?
Happy to chill, Jenne!
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