The Dance

November 23, 2019 at 11:34 pm (Fantasy, Short Story)

The Dance

Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain 
But I’d have to miss the dance.

-song by Garth Brooks

Peter came through the front door and his mother asked from the kitchen, “So, are you going to ask a girl to the Christmas dance next month?”.

“No,” said Peter angrily, “I don’t know how to dance.”

“But I thought you’ve been taking dance lessons in school the past few weeks,” his mother said.

“The class was full and I couldn’t get in,” Peter replied.

“Why didn’t you say something?” His mother inquired, “I could have paid to send you to private lessons at Madame Cotillard’s Dance Studio in town.”

“You know we can’t afford dance lessons,” Peter opened the door of his bedroom, entered and closed the door.

He’d have liked to ask Maria to the Christmas dance but he could just imagine making a fool of himself on the dance floor.

Peter looked over at his book shelf.

There was an old book on the shelf called Teach Yourself How To Dance.

A do-it-yourself book, Peter laughed, and yet the old saying was, It takes two to tango.

Despite that thought, he took the book off the shelf and opened it.

An old photo fell on to the floor.

Peter had never opened the book when he bought it at the rummage sale last year.

He just needed one more book for the 10 Books For 50c sale and grabbed that one.

He looked at the photo:

“Wow, I wouldn’t mind learning to dance with her,” Peter said.

He put the photo beside his bed.

After supper, he came back to his room and fell asleep.

When he awoke, the girl in the photo was standing in his bedroom.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m Simone,” the girl answered, “and I’m here to teach you how to dance.”

Every night for the next 2 weeks, Simone appeared at the same time and taught Peter how to dance.

So Peter asked Maria to the dance.

And she accepted.

Maybe he would end up being made fun of for his dancing.

And being made fun of would bring him pain.

But it’s like Garth Brooks once said.

He could have missed the pain.

But he’d have to miss the dance.

-A short story 
written by Christopher
Saturday November 23rd

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The Helpful Guest

October 15, 2019 at 10:55 pm (Short Story) (, , , , )

The Helpful Guest

A man and a woman from Denver, Colorado were staying at a large hotel in Waikiki, Hawaii.

They were attending a convention at the hotel and the convention festivities would begin with a dinner and dance to be held in the hotel’s main ballroom.

They put on their best formal evening attire and took the elevator from the 11th floor (where their suite was located) down to the main floor and lobby.

As the hotel was extremely large, they had no idea how to get to the main ballroom.

They went to the front desk and asked the desk clerk for directions.

He gave them directions which they faithfully followed.

They wound up at the hotel’s entrance on Kalakaua Avenue which is the main thoroughfare through Waikiki.

There was no sign of a ballroom in sight.

They walked back to the front desk and again asked for directions.

The clerk gave them the directions.

They followed the directions and again wound up at the hotel’s entrance on Kalakaua Avenue.

This procedure then took place half a dozen more times.

Embarrassed they decided to go back to their room rather than again ask the clerk for directions.

The husband would call a friend also going to the convention and ask if he’d drop by their room and walk them to the main ballroom.

They took the elevator up to the 11th floor and walked down to their room.

They saw approaching them a very beautiful young Hawaiian woman who appeared to be in her early 20s.

She wore a very elegant evening dress which almost looked Victorian in its elegance.

Struck by a thought, the man asked the girl, “Are you going to the convention dinner and dance in the main ballroom tonight?”.

“No, I’m not,” the girl answered.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said the man, “we keep trying to find the main ballroom and we get hopelessly lost. We’ve already asked the front desk about half a dozen times for directions how to get there and we always wind up at the same place- the hotel’s entrance on Kalakaua Avenue.”

“This is an extremely large hotel,” the young woman admitted, “and easy to get lost in. And always winding up on Kalakaua Avenue? For two people from Denver, Colorado, walking around Waikiki at night can be dangerous sometimes. I’ll show you personally.”

The husband and wife then deduced that the woman was not a hotel guest but a hotel employee since she knew they came from Denver, Colorado.

They rode down the elevator with the young woman and went through the lobby following the beautiful young Hawaiian girl through the vast expanse of the hotel.

They came to an escalator.

“Go directly up there,” the girl pointed, “and up there is the main ballroom.”

The husband and wife looked up the escalator and hanging from the ceiling was a huge banner welcoming people to the convention.

“Thank you very much,” said the man, “What is your name by the way?”.

“My name is Victoria,” the young woman smiled.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to give the girl a tip.

But when he looked up, she had gone.

“Did you see where she went?” The husband asked his wife.

“No,” the wife shook her head.

The next night after a day of convention activities, the man and his wife would be going on an evening tour.

They had gone to the lobby and were about to make the walk to the parkade where their rent-a-car was parked when suddenly the man said, “Let’s stop by the front desk. And ask who that Victoria was that helped us out last night. I really do want to give her a tip.”

They talked to the same clerk who had been working the night before.

The same one they had constantly pestered about directions.

“I don’t recall a Victoria who works here,” said the man, “but I’ll check the employee registry.”

There was no Victoria listed.

The husband asked if the clerk would mind checking the hotel guest list for anyone named Victoria.

No Victoria registered.

Puzzled, they left the front desk and began the long walk down the hotel hallway to the parkade.

They suddenly passed a painting and the wife nudged the husband and said, “The woman in that painting. Isn’t that the girl who helped us?”.

The man looked.

“Yes,” the man said, “It is. She must have won an Employee of the Year Award and they painted her picture and hung it here.”

They walked back to the front desk and told the clerk that the woman’s picture was hanging in the hallway and she must be an employee here.

The clerk asked the couple to show him the picture.

They took the clerk to see the painting.

“And you said this woman told you her name was Victoria?” The clerk asked.

“That’s right,” the husband nodded.

The clerk asked the couple, “Did you look at the name below the painting?”.

“No, we didn’t,” the husband replied.

“Look at the name,” said the clerk.

The name below the portrait read, 
Princess Victoria Ka’iulani.

“That woman,” said the clerk, “was the last Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Hawaii.”

. . .

Later that evening, the man and wife were telling their story and their experience to the tour guide of the tour they were going on.

The tour guide (who had a vast knowledge of Hawaiian history) seemed to be astounded by their story.

“Two things,” the tour guide held up two of his fingers, “One. How did the woman know you’re from Denver, Colorado? And the second thing… yesterday’s date… March 6th 1999. Now that date doesn’t of course mean anything to you and it obviously doesn’t mean anything to the clerk working the front desk. But yesterday March 6th 1999 would be 100 years to the day that Crown Princess Victoria Ka’iulani died on March 6th 1899.”

-A short story 
written by Christopher 
Tuesday October 15th

-based on a true story 

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Reblog of A Missile Fired, Sir Paul Reflects

August 30, 2019 at 10:15 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, News, Short Story, Vampire novel) ()

A post that was both a short story and a vampire novel chapter that I wrote 2 years ago today after North Korea had fired a missile that flew directly over Japan.

Dracul Van Helsing

Sir Paul sat in his hotel room and watched the television showing the North Korean missile launch over Japan.

It seemed the world was getting to be a more and more dangerous place all the time.

All over the world it seemed to be a summer of violence, hatred and terror.

Sir Paul picked up his guitar and played a song he hadn’t played in a long time.

A song he had written so many years ago.

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

And when the broken-hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be…

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Badlands Passion Play

July 13, 2019 at 9:52 pm (Short Story) (, , , , , )

Badlands Passion Play

Across from the Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, a band was setting up.

Speakers, drums, plug-ins for electrical guitars.

They would be performing a concert here in the Red Deer River Badlands of Drumheller, Alberta, Canada.

Not far from the bandstand, a skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex was being dug up.

The paleontologist in charge of the dig decided to call it a day.

He left in his motor vehicle and headed for downtown Drumheller.

The leading singer for the band The Gathering Moss walked over to the T-Rex dig site.

Nick Jaguar had a shooter drink called Zombie Apocalypse in his hand.

His guitarist and co-singer O’ Keefe Lionhart bumped into him.

Jaguar spilled the Zombie Apocalypse all over the t-Rex bones.

One of the concert goers an ex-voodoo high priest turned Pentecostal preacher warned, “Dem bones, dem bones going to rise again.”

Despite singing a southern gospel song inspired by verses in the Book of Ezekiel, both Nick Jaguar and O’ Keefe Lionhart ignored the warnings and walked up to the stage.

The Gathering Moss played their old songs to the delight of the geriatric crowd wanting to rekindle their lost youth.

“What a bunch of dinosaurs,” said the young sound man in his mid-20s.

The sound man was eaten by the T-Tex who had just risen from the dead.

“See, I told you, dem bones would rise again,” the Pentecostal preacher remarked to his wife.

The T-Rex looked at the geriatric crowd swaying with their artificial hips and artificial knee caps and decided to head for greener pastures.

The foot steps of the giant T-Rex caused a minor earthquake in the valley and stones were sent rolling down the hills crushing the Gathering Moss and their fans.

The T-Rex got his foot caught in a giant T-Rex trap that an eccentric farmer had left out in the Badlands.

He died in the evening’s intense hail storm that followed from the heat of the day.

But he died “unmourned and unloved”.

There was little sympathy for the devil among the Gathering Moss fans.

-A short story written by Christopher
who succumbed to a bout of insanity
after the intensely hot temperatures
of this day
Saturday July 13th 

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April 21, 2019 at 9:13 pm (Short Story) ()

An excellent short story written by Priscilla.


I took the flowers from the windowsill, grabbed a cup of coffee and trudged to the sitting room. My little angels roamed around with their tiny feet’s, i could hardly focus on the movie i was watching. My phone rang – Mum,displayed as the callers ID.

A rash eagerness engulfed me and i picked up. In glee, i screamed “hello mum!” As though it was still 2005 when i had finished my secondary school and was waiting for my JAMB results to determine if i was to go to college or not. “ah!…its me, the Gen man” the person said and i froze as though my mum could actually call me just as she did each time i stayed for prep after school. “Hello Jennifer, my daughter how are you?…may God grant you wisdom, knowledge, understanding, high intelligence, smartness…” and she would go on and on…

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Late For The Party: A New Year’s Eve Short Short Story

December 31, 2018 at 5:23 pm (Literature, News, Poetry, Short Story) ()

A New Year’s Eve short short story I wrote 3 years ago today:

Dracul Van Helsing

Late For The Party

“Aren’t you ready yet?” The wife asked her husband, “we’re going to be late for the party. I’d like to be there before the clock strikes midnight and the New Year comes.”

“I’m almost finished this poem I’m writing, dear,” the husband smiled, “hold on.”

The wife looked at the clock, “Come on. Let’s go NOW. Your poem is not so important. It’s not as if people are going to be reciting or even remembering it for the next 200-odd years.”

“All right, dear,” the husband got up to get his coat.

The poem lay on his desk,

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…
… we’ll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne…”

-Robert Burns, 1788.

-A short short short story
written by Christopher
Thursday December 31st

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A Young Legionary In Bethlehem: The Christmas Story Never Told

December 25, 2018 at 11:56 pm (Short Story) (, , )

The young legionary had had a bad day.

After a night of rowdy drinking, he had forgotten the standard for his regiment.

And had left it overnight in the little town of Bethlehem.

The officer in charge of the regiment was thankfully merciful.

Instead of court martialing the young legionary for his most serious offense, he just sent the young legionary back to Bethlehem to retrieve it.

Although being sent back to Bethlehem was punishment enough the young legionary figured.

For Bethlehem had to be the most god forsaken place on this earth.

“Have fun in Bethlehem, Pompey,” his fellow legionaries had said to him.

Pompey was his nickname.

Pompey of course had been the name of the Roman general who had lost to Julius Caesar in the Roman civil war.

It was an inside joke that earned the young legionary his nickname.

As Pompey set out from Jerusalem towards Bethelehem, he did have to admit that the star he saw in the sky that seemed to be hovering directly over the little town was indeed most impressive.

Probably the only impressive thing about the place, Pompey thought to himself.

He sighed as he rode his horse.

Last week he had gotten a Dear Antony letter from his girlfriend Julia the woman he expected to marry when he returned to Rome.

She had met someone else- the “man of her dreams” as she had put it and was going to be marrying him.

“Argh!” Pompey hit his forehead with his metallic gloved hand as he recalled the letter.

What was it about women and the men of their dreams?

Usually the dream always turned out to be a nightmare, his father had once told him.

And may that be the case with Julia’s “man of her dreams” Pompey cursed the couple.

He looked towards his left and noticed a small group of shepherds tending their flocks by night.

“What an exciting job that must be,” Pompey remarked to himself sarcastically as he laughed.

He brought the horse to a halt for a minute.

He thought he had heard something.

He turned and looked in every direction.

And listened.

But now nothing.

What was it? he had heard.

For one brief shining moment, it sounded like music.

Heavenly music.

Surely it must have been the “music of the spheres” that the great philosopher Aristotle had written about.

And for one moment, he had been privileged to hear it.

Pompey looked up in the sky.

It seemed like a bunch of lesser lights were now surrounding that great star.

He rode on until he came to the inn where he and his fellow legionaries had stayed last night.

“I say, innkeeper,” he addressed the man pouring wine amongst the raucous crowd of guests, “could you tell me where I ahem! left my standard last night?”.

A rather beautiful and alluring young woman giggled at the way he had asked the question and looked at him appreciatively.

“And is your standard up to mine?” She winked at him.

Pompey looked at her.

That would certainly be a dish of revenge best served hot against Julia’s betrayal the young legionary thought to himself.

But no he best get the standard and return to Jerusalem.

He looked back to the innkeeper.

“Your comrade Drusillus took it with him this morning when he left,” the innkeeper answered.


Pompey was shocked.

Drusillus had taken the standard?

That bastard.

And Drusillus had never told him.

Pompey turned back to the beautiful and alluring young woman.

She might be the prize worth waiting for on this useless trip to Bethlehem.

But already her eyes and her attention were elsewhere.

“Do you love me?” She teasingly asked a man.

“What is love?” He answered back to laughs and back slaps from his male companions.

“Come on,” she pretended to pout, “do you love me?”.

“All right,” the man answered, “I do love you and that is the gods’ honest truth.”

“What is truth?” Asked one of the man’s companions to much laughter.

The woman raised her dress and beckoned him, “Then come on. Show me your truth, baby.”

Pompey winced and turned away.

As he did so, through the window, he caught sight of a stable in a cave just behind the inn.

Anyways it was time to get back to Jerusalem.

Pompey got on his horse and pointed it in the direction of Jerusalem.

The horse started to walk but with great difficulty.

“Blessed Mercury,” Pompey sighed, “he’s broken a horseshoe.”

Fortunately for Pompey, there was a blacksmith’s shop right next to the inn.

The blacksmith was rather angry at being wakened but when Pompey showed the man what he could pay him, the man set to work.

Pompey stood watching the man pound nails into the new horseshoe and then decided to buy himself some wine from the inn.

Seeing as how the night was starting to turn cold, Pompey asked for a cup of hot spiced wine.

The wine was nice and hot, Pompey thought to himself as he put hands around the cup to warm them.

“Blessed Juno, what a chilly night,” the young legionary thought to himself, “definitely not a night for men or beasts to be about. As the gods like Augustus in Rome and the Olympians on Mount Olympus keep warm in their palaces, we of a lesser breed freeze. The cold is definitely not a place for a true god to be found.”

Pompey, warmed by the wine, decided to take a walk around Bethlehem.

There was not much to see around the town the young legionary noticed.

But as he walked he noticed the bright star in the sky seemed to be directly over the stable in the cave behind the inn.

Pompey decided to walk there and take a look.

As he stood outside the cave manger, the young legionary took a sip from his cup.

“Great Bacchus,” Pompey sighed, “I really should have been drinking it as I walked around town. The wine has turned cold.”

As he stood there, the young legionary thought he could hear a baby gurgling from inside the cave.

Pompey was familiar with the sound of babies gurgling because he had been present at his older sister’s house when his nephew had been born.

Pompey entered the cave.

And the sight he saw shook him to the very core of his being.

For inside the cave was a young man standing protectively over a beautiful young woman (probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life) who lay on straw holding a recently born baby.

“What child is this?” Pompey thought when he looked at the babe.

No sooner had he thought that question than he thought he heard again (albeit momentarily) the beautiful heavenly music of the spheres he had heard earlier on the road into Bethlehem.

“What do you want?” Asked the young man who protectively clasped the shoulder of the beautiful young woman.

The young woman herself looked at the young legionary without fear.

Great unknown god, she was beautiful, Pompey thought to himself.

A different sort of beauty from the alluring beauty of the temptress he had encountered in the inn.

A pure beauty.

A most pure beauty.

A beauty capable of capturing a man’s soul and not just his body.

The baby gurgled again.

“I thought I heard a baby gurgling,” Pompey answered the young man’s question, “and wondered what a baby was doing inside a stable inside a cave.”

“There was no room in the inn,” the young man answered simply.

The baby seemed to beckon to the young legionary.

The legionary approached.

The child then grasped the young legionary’s cup and stuck his tiny hands inside the cup and washed them.

“I’m so sorry,” the young woman gasped.

“Quite all right,” Pompey smiled and bowed, “I wish you a wonderful evening.”

He quickly left the cave.

And as he did so, the same group of shepherds he had seen earlier this evening were now entering the cave.

Astonished, Pompey started sipping the wine again.

Good Lord, Pompey thought to himself, the wine is warm again.

The wine had turned cold from his walk around town.

Then this baby had stuck his hands in the cup and washed them.

And now the wine was warm again.

What child is this? Pompey once again thought to himself.

He was still pondering that question as he finished the wine (which also seemed to have improved in taste as a result of the child touching it), returned the cup to the inn and then walked next door to the blacksmith.

Thankfully the blacksmith had finished the horseshoe and had put it on the young legionary’s horse.

Well, the young legionary nicknamed Pompey thought to himself, at least the last days of Pompey wouldn’t be spent in Bethlehem.

He returned his thoughts again to the child inside the cave.

What child is this? The young legionary thought to himself a third time.

Oh well, probably greater things to ponder in the scheme of things, the young legionary thought to himself, after all it’s not likely I’ll ever encounter this child again.

And with that, the young legionary named Pontius Pilate got on his horse and rode out of Bethlehem.

-A short story written by Christopher
Christmas Day December 25th 2018.

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Reblog of More Devious than the Devil| حیله گرتراز شیطان

December 2, 2018 at 11:26 pm (Short stories, Short Story)

A great story written by an excellent storyteller and writer.

A Voice from Iran

A woman asked the Devil: “Do you see that man, the tailor?” and pointed to a small deprived shop.


Devil said: “Yes.”

The woman said: “He loves his wife so much. Can you make him hate his wife?”


Devil responded: “It would be very easy.”

The devil walked towards the shop. He tried many tricks on the tailor but couldn’t convince him to dislike his wife. He came back towards the woman and confessed that he is not able to deceive each and every human.

The woman said: “But a woman can.”


She walked to the tailor’s shop, pointed to an expensive fabric and said: “Can I have two meters of this fine fabric? My son would like to buy a gift for his lover and asked me to help him.”


The tailor cut two meters of the fabric and handed it to her. The woman walked towards the tailor’s…

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Reblog of Edgar Allan Poe: Swinging Like A Pendulum Do

August 26, 2018 at 8:27 pm (Culture, Entertainment, Film, History, Horror, Literature, Movies, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Short stories, Short Story, Television, The Supernatural) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Here’s a short story I wrote almost 2 years ago.

It’s a short story featuring the late great TCM Turner Classic Movies host Robert Osborne:

Dracul Van Helsing

Edgar Allan Poe: Swinging Like A Pendulum Do

It was an old movie from the 1930s on television. Johnson had heard of the film The Pit and The Pendulum based on a short story by Edgar Allan Poe.

But he wasn’t familiar with the 1930s version. He had only heard of a movie version from the 1960s with Vincent Price.

But this 1930s version was totally new to him and here he was a big classic horror movies fan. The Pit and The Pendulum from 1936 with Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff.

Try as he might, he could not recall Karloff and Lugosi ever making such a film. Lugosi had made The Black Cat with Karloff. He had made The Raven. He had made Murders In The Rue Morgue. All based on works by Poe.

But Johnson had never heard of Lugosi doing a movie version of Poe’s The Pit…

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August 16, 2018 at 9:01 pm (Short stories, Short Story) (, , , )

An excellent short story written by an excellent short story writer.


Come over here right now!” Vuccinio retorted irately as he pushed forward and pulled a file from Noah’s sweaty palms. “Don’t you dare touch this!”he continued and then plodded to the comfort of his office chair. Noah gazed at the file next to vuccinio,his death wish urging him to grab it once more. Noah reached out for it.

Like a careless football,Noah’s head came rolling on the floor, and there came a knock on the door.

Is everything alright in there?” ..“what broke?”. People asked from behind the door and vuccinio replied

mataré a todos..sólo el diablo puede gobernar“.


Hey!…don’t hold it tight…it hurts!”Stefanie shouted at the hairstylist who frowned at her through the wide mirror. Stefanie turned on the Television. The breaking news was read out on TV.
Hombre encontrado muerto en una habitación de hotel…

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