Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Prompt: Red Eyes

“How can you tell them, Gran’pere?”

“I see them through this camera. My great-great-gran’pere, Joshua Cowen, built it.”

“But how can you tell them through that?” I raised my eyebrows and wrinkled my nose. It looked sort of like a camera, but big and boxy and old. I liked my little red camera that showed the pictures on the back screen much better.

“By their red eyes, cher,” he said, with an earnest gleam in his own brown eyes.

I laughed and pushed at his shoulder. “No funnin’, Gran’pere! That’s from the flash in the pictures. I know that. I’m big! You can’t fun me!”

“Trick me.”

“I like fun better. Tell, me, Gran’pere.”

“It’s true. Look through here.” He held the back of the big camera up to my face.

I pulled away. “It smells funny,” I complained.

“That’s the flash powder they used to use. Gran’pere Joshua and his partner George Eastman weren’t making cameras for fun, cher. They weren’t interested in capturing images on film, they were hunting demons.”

I shook my head and jumped down from his knee. “Gran’pere, you tell funny stories. Okay, let’s go demon hunting. Can I use my little camera instead of that big one?”

“I don’t know, cher. Let’s take them to the mall and find out, shall we?”

Dogs in house
Houdini, Brindle
Time writing:
45 minutes, including research
October word count:


  1. Prompt: Red Eyes

    Hamish walked quickly. He gripped his flute case tighter and put a nervous hand on the strap of his backpack. The disused areas of the station always gave him the creeps, this one more than others. It had once been an ‘open-air’ (as if there was such a thing, on-station) market. The old stalls still lined the corridors, paint chipped and signs off-kilter. The disused areas were dimly lit, a compromise between the absolute black that the accountants would prefer and the bright lights the station police favoured.

    He usually took the main route, but he was late for flute practice. The days he would have gladly lollygagged along were gone; now it was no longer his mother’s nagging, but his own desire to hold the ancient instrument in his hands and feel the real, live music emanate from it that spurred him to care. His footsteps made strange echoes against the uneven surfaces of the former market. It almost sounded like something was scuttling along beside him, stopping and starting while his own steps sped up. Just the echoes changing at each new stall, he told himself.

    Time writing: 20 minutes

    1. Ooh, creepy! Nice world building with some sort of (space?) station, and potential alien. Something about his music making, perhaps...intriguing!

  2. Hmm, I wonder if the child's (realised I'm not sure of gender...girl?) digital camera can see demons! I never made it to the prompt on mine.