Tag Archives: Spooky

Pumpkins and All Black for Halloween…

We don’t shy away when it comes to dressing up – you’ve probably noticed, but pumpkins are another thing all together!

© Lisa Shambrook

© Lisa Shambrook

We’d never carved pumpkins before and trying to decide what to carve took more time than sculpting them!

Pumpkins and ghost cakes © Lisa Shambrook

Pumpkins and ghost cakes © Lisa Shambrook

I also made ghost fairy cakes…to take for the treat table.

carving pumpkins, the last krystallos,

Pokemon Pikachu, pumpkin inside a pumpkin and a lone wolf howling © Lisa Shambrook

Bekah opted for Pikachu from Pokemon, and the following day Caitlin spent a long time choosing to carve a howling wolf and I, with no idea, finally decided to carve a pumpkin inside a pumpkin!

halloween outfits, the last krystallos, the grim reaper, gothic china doll, steampunk cat, hybrid bat,

The Grim Reaper, Hybrid Bat, Steampunk Cat and Gothic China Doll © Lisa Shambrook

Outfits, of course, were well-planned and fun, and we were ready to party, or at least hang out as socially as those with social anxieties do.
Note: we don’t all have socialising issues, hubby can be quite the extrovert, especially when disguised as Death!   

2000 and 2015 © Lisa Shambrook

2000 and 2015 © Lisa Shambrook

We missed Dan, and we wonder kind of Halloween celebrations go on in Canada? So if you miss Dan too, like us, here’s a throwback to the Year 2000…and a contrast with now!

pumpkin inside a pumpkin, carving a pumpkin, the last krystallos, lisa shambrook,

© Lisa Shambrook

…and lastly, my pumpkin won me bubbles and ballons! Yay!


How are you celebrating?

Blues Buster: Drift

© Lisa Shambrook

© Lisa Shambrook

Water lapped, slapping the sides of the little boat, and Joe’s oars slipped from his fingers. The ocean, glistening black like treacle, swallowed them without regret. Joe stared, wide-eyed, into the darkness, his pupils dilating as his jaw slackened. Wisps of fog curled about the debris floating on the surface and he gulped as white swirls caressed the drifting scum.

The moon peered through the mist for a moment, illuminating rainbows of oil atop the water, until the gloomy clouds closed rank and Joe was lost again, a single soul in a tiny boat.

He refused to look behind, refused to acknowledge the final flickering flames that sank lower and lower, fading into the night and into the hungry sea, but the wails, that had been vanquished hours ago, still echoed inside his head.

He rubbed his greasy hands, trying to find a spark of warmth, but the cold that had stolen his oars, stole his fingers and then his hands and goose-bumps sent chatters through his teeth. His head shook with cold, and with insanity, and his last grasp on reality slipped away.

He shook his head, trying to evade the demons that swam through his mind, and squinted. Swirls of fog danced across the waves, imitating white horses, but the sea was too still for waves. The hazy spectres waltzed and whirled atop the flotsam and jetsam, and Joe shivered.

A hefty piece of driftwood clunked against the little boat and Joe jumped, and the scars on his heart tore just a little wider as the little boat rocked.

Ghosts reached out to him, white, watery fingers extended and beckoning. Joe sank back, flinching, as the wisps curled about his little boat. Oily streaks ran down his face as terror invaded his head. He huddled down, trying to hide behind a barrel and between a chest and a sack of provisions. The cold fog spread wide and behind him fingers gripped his soaked jacket, tugging and wrenching at his body.

Joe stared wildly about him, slipping out of his sodden coat, and wriggling free of the arms that tried to capture him. He was too crazed to see the fingers were just gusts of icy wind, and he stood, grabbing the chest from the floor of his tiny boat. It took but a moment for the wind to seize its chance and the waves, and debris and driftwood flooded the boat. Joe tumbled into the grasping arms of the sea.

The silent ocean took the renegade fire-starter and dragged both him and the treasure down into its depths, where the ghosts of the recently drowned could finally reap retribution.

(441 Words)

A little something for the last Blues Buster for a bit over at The Tsuruoka Files, for the prompt song:  The Turkish Song of the Damned by The Pogues.

Blogflash Halloween: Spooky

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook Texture Frankenstein’ by SkeletalMess
(Please do not use without permission)
Spooky Tale: Haunted Smile
His photograph slipped through her cold, shaking fingers and she slipped silently off the icy windowsill to reach for it, but her fingers refused to grasp. She crouched in the dark, his face still etched into her mind.
It was three days since the accident.
She swallowed her sobs, his face still smiled up at her from the floor, and she touched a silver chain at her neck, all she had left. She traced his smile and moved her finger to draw a heart across the image. “I love you,” she whispered, the sound barely leaving her lips.
She remembered the collision.
Screeching tyres, thunder, blue lights, sirens, shouting, banging, a limp body in the driver’s seat, pain, scarlet vision, panic, numbness and fear, but she’d escaped, no idea how, but she was out of the car and screaming amid crumpled metal.
Yellow-jacketed policemen, twisted lamppost protruding from the bonnet reminiscent of Salvador Dali, a paramedic leaning through the splintered windscreen, bloodied fingers working on the body, his body, more shouting and noise.  The medic shook his head and crimson hands dropped at his side.
Glass, memories evoked glass, shattered – like the shards that remained of her heart.
Now, the photo fluttered across the floor in the moonlight and landed upside-down and he was gone. She fell beside it, staring at the white square. 
The door opened. A man, tear-stained and greying, trod wearily into the darkened room and she hardly dared breathe. He straightened messed-up bedclothes, closed an open book on the table, his face cracked as he leafed through a notebook and fresh tears appeared. He stood and slipped his hands into his pockets.  She opened her mouth to speak as he looked right at her, but no words formed.
He was silent for an age then opened his mouth and spoke in a whisper, “My son.”
She nodded, his grief engulfing and matching her own, and she spoke, “I love him.”
He mutely sank beside her. She placed her hand on the overturned photograph, and his father laid his over hers. His fingers turned the picture so his son’s image smiled out once more and inconsolable tears streamed down his face.
Colour drained as she stared at her hand still flat on the floor, and the old man rocked in his grief. She placed her hand on his shoulder, felt nothing, and flinched as her fingers laced through the fibres of his cotton shirt. 
Startled, she fell back, her heart pounding, and she recalled the crash scene once more. There hadn’t been one paramedic, there’d been two and the anguish felt by one was shared as the other left the passenger side, bloody-handed but empty. 
A waft of air caught her and outside she saw the smile from the photograph, and this time she moved as he called, glass not barring her way as she moved out into the night to join her love. Her silver pendant chinked as it dropped from her neck to the floor.
(500 Words)
Written for #Blogflash Halloween hosted by Terri G Long and The Indie Exchange.