100 Word Song: A Good Feeling

           Charlotte had been observing ghosts for years—watching their memories like a silent film. But today they spoke to her. Filled with the euphoria of purpose and belonging, she walked the hotel grounds as the sunlight dissolved the mist. The once manicured gardens were now a jungle of rhodedendron and tall grasses. It would be be easy to be discouraged by the monumental task of refurbishing the old hotel, but she felt good about it. A bird lighted on a wild rose bush and made eye contact with Charlotte. He tilted his head, twittered his approval, and soared into the sky.

           I'm linking up with the 100 Word Song prompt over at my friend Lance's place. Our inspiration for the week is the incomparable Nina Simone singing “Feeling Good”. If you like reading about Charlotte, check out her page here.

Trifecta Challenge: Charlotte's Ghosts

This piece furthers a story I wrote last week. You can read about it here.

           Charlotte moved up the staircase towards the sound of music. Her attorney thought the talk of ghosts was nonsense, but it didn't take a medium to feel the energy in the old place. She sat down on the top step, closed her eyes, and focused. The saxophone music grew clearer and was joined by a bass, piano, and drums. The smells of mildew and decay were replaced with smells of lilies, gin, and cigarette smoke. Charlotte could feel the past becoming present.

She turned at the sound of footsteps and saw a bride in white satin walking toward her. Her face was flushed with anger.

           “Clara wait!” called a man in a dinner jacket.

           “How could you? It's our wedding day. You couldn't even be faithful for the first day.”

           “It isn't what you think Sweetheart. I swear.”

           “I know what I saw Freddie. You kissed her.”

           “She's an old friend.”

          “It was more than I friendly kiss Freddie. There's lipstick on your face and it isn't my shade.”

           She turned to go and he grabbed her arm.

           “Clara I love you.”

          “Let me go Freddie. This was a mistake. I should have listened to Daddy.”

           “You don't mean that,” he said, still holding on to her arm.

           “Freddie you kissed another woman on our wedding night. Now let me go!”

           Clara pulled her arm out of his grip and lost her balance. She teetered on the edge of the top step and Freddie tried to catch her. Together they tumbled down the marble staircase. At the bottom, their necks were bent at the same unnatural angle. The angry color gone from her face.

           Charlotte sensed another presence. At the top of the stairs stood a woman Charlotte had only seen in aging photographs. The owner of the hotel, Charlotte's great, great, aunt surveyed the grisly scene, heartbreak etched on her face.

           I'm linking up with the Trifecta Challenge. Our task is to write a piece 33-333 words long inspired by the third definition of the word color.
3: complexion tint:

  a : the tint characteristic of good health

  b : blush

Charlotte's Inheritance

 

                   Charlotte parked her car and stared in wonder at her inheritance. The old hotel was magnificent, even its disrepair. Mother Nature had so overtaken the building that it looked as if it had grown out of the mountainside like all the other flora. The low hanging clouds surrounded it like ghosts.

                   The attorney had given her a key. She was surprised how easily the door opened. She expected to struggle because of swollen wood or rusted hinges. But the door swung freely as if some unseen caretaker had oiled the door in anticipation of her arrival.

photo from imgur.com

                   The carpets were discolored and mildewed, but the crystal chandelier still glittered and the marble columns still stood strong. There was no visible decay inside, only dust and neglect. Charlotte laid a hand on the banister of the grand staircase, remembering the story the lawyer had told her.

                   “The hotel had been an escape from the city for the young and prosperous after the Great War. The best jazz musicians played and the gin and whiskey flowed, even in the years of prohibition. Your great, great, aunt was a renowned hostess. The beautiful and wild of society flocked here. One evening, a newlywed bride drunk on good wishes and bathtub gin tripped on the hem of her dress. Her young husband tried to catch her, but they fell together, tangled in each others arms. The hotel was never the same after that. There were those who said it was haunted.”

                   “Is it?” Charlotte had asked.

                   “My dear,” the lawyer said after looking at her for a moment. “I don't hold with such nonsense. But who wants to dance and drink away their weekend in a place where such promise came to such a nasty ending.”

                   But Charlotte did hold with such nonsense. Indeed, she often relied on the unseen to guide her. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She caught the faint whiff of lilies and gin, but it lasted only a moment.

                   “The hotel is yours Charlotte. We could find no other heirs,” The attorney said. “To keep or sell. There are other resorts in the area that would be interested in buying it. But I'd take a look if I were you. It is a very interesting old place.”

                   “Why didn't my great-aunt sell? Surely there have been offers over the years.”

                   “I couldn't say, my dear. Sometimes people have difficulty letting go of their past. Maybe that was the case with your aunt. Perhaps the answer lies in the hotel.”

                   Charlotte gazed up the cursed staircase wondering if she'd find any answers. A few faint notes of tenor saxophone floated on the draft that ruffled her hair.

                   “So it's like that, is it?” She said, proceeding up the stairs looking for answers. 

 This week Cam at Write on Edge gave us two beautiful photos of beautiful abandoned places to inspire our writing.

Charlotte: Looking for Answers

            Charlotte pulled up in front of a 1960’s ranch that looked like all the other houses in the neighborhood. The only difference was a lack of toys in the driveway and a slightly overgrown lawn.

            “You must be Charlotte,” the psychic said opening the door. “I’m Georgia. Come in.” 

            Georgia’s hair was dyed an artificially vivid red and she wore a loose fitting sweatsuit over her ample curves. She led Charlotte into the sun-filled kitchen and gestured for her to sit.

“Can I get you some tea?”

            “No thanks. May I record our conversation?”

            “Certainly. Many of my clients record their readings. Sometimes a great deal of information comes through.”

            “I’m not here for a reading. As I explained on the phone, I want to interview you. I’m happy to pay your fee of course.”

 “You may find I can tell you much more interesting things about yourself than I can about me.”

            “Do your predictions just come to you? Or do you have to work at it?”

            “A little of both. When my talents first emerged, I had no control over them. Over time I learned to direct them.”

            “How old were you?”

            “Seventeen. I was terrified about some of the things I saw and felt. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

            “Me?”

            “That’s why your here. A journalism student would never pay for an interview. You’ve been having feelings you can’t explain and you hope our conversation will help you figure things out.”

            “So, you’ve made in inference from my willingness to pay and come to a conclusion. That doesn’t sound like psychic ability to me.”

            “It isn’t. The only thing I’ve proven is that I’m observant. I can demonstrate my psychic ability if you like.”

            “You aren’t insulted?”

            “Honey, I have plenty of clients who believe. Why should I care if you do?”

            Charlotte sat quietly, not knowing what to do next.

            “Give me your hand,” Georgia said. “Maybe I can tell you something you don’t know.”

 

           I’m linking up with the Trifecta challenge again this week. The challenge is to write a piece between 33 and 333 words long using the third definition of the word “ample”. This piece picks up with my character Charlotte as she begins her search for answers about her burgeoning psychic abilities. You can read more about Charlotte here.

AMPLE (adj.)

1: generous or more than adequate in size, scope, or capacity (there was room for an ample garden)
2: generously sufficient to satisfy a requirement or need (they had ample money for the trip)

3: buxom, portly (an ample figure)

100 Word Song: Twilight

             I’m linking up with the fabulous 100 Word Song meme over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. The source of this week’s inspiration is “Monkey Wash, Donkey Rinse” by Warren Zevon. Charlotte is a character who has been on my mind for some time now and I’m just now beginning to put her story on paper. You’ll be hearing more from her future posts.

Twilight

            Charlotte’s hand was still on the doorknob when she heard a crash. Through the window she saw the remains of a slate blue Honda Civic crumpled against a telephone pole. She slid awkwardly across the icy sidewalk and wrenched open the car door.

            “The sun was in my eyes,” the girl whispered. “I couldn’t see.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Charlotte insisted. “I can hear sirens. Help is on the way.”

            “That’s nice of you to say,” as the lids drooped over her green eyes. “I can’t feel anything. We both know I’m heading for a hole in the ground.” 

100 Word Song: The Stranger

            I’m linking up with the 100 Word Song meme courtesy of Lance at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. Each week we are challenged to write a story in exactly one hundred words based on a song. I was thrilled that this week’s source of inspiration was Billy Joel’s “The Stranger”. I have vivid memories of playing vinyl records of The Stranger, 52^nd Street and Glass Houses over and over and over again on my parent’s record player. Wow, there is a fine line between being nostalgic and dating myself, huh?

Seeing Things

            Charlotte never had trouble focusing when she wrote science papers. But literature was another matter. Her mind wandered as she tried to write about The Scarlett Letter. She stared at the clock. The hands froze in place for a ages, then jumped ahead fifteen minutes. As her mind wandered she felt the familiar of sensation of falling that came over her when her visions came.

Casey is screaming. Her hands are covered in blood.

            Charlotte emerged from the trance gasping and shaking like a drowning person breaking the surface of the water.

            “Goddammit! I don’t even believe in this shit!”

Closer

            Charlotte opened the sunroof of her little Honda coupe. The cool autumn breeze shattered the perfection of her carefully styled hair. She pressed number three on the CD changer and sang along:

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains

I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain

There's more than one answer to these questions

pointing me in crooked line

The less I seek my source for some definitive

The closer I am to fine.

            Today she stopped trying to be someone she wasn’t—the person she had tried to be for years. She was more than a brilliant student. She was more than her research. She didn’t have a name for what she was and that was okay for now. For once, knowing the answer didn’t matter. She knew without question that this was the right path. Realization surrounded her like armor, like a warm blanket, like sunscreen. The time was right.

            Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and tossed the phone into the passenger seat.

            “Not today Honey,” she said out loud. “Today belongs to me.”

She pulled into the passing lane and sped up. Going faster, but no longer running away.

 

I’m linking up with Write on Edge today. Our prompt for the week was to write about “Freedom” in 400 words or less. For once, I didn’t have a hard time sticking to the word count. Charlotte has a lot to say. But for now, she’s just enjoying the ride. She has an interesting journey ahead.

100 Word Song: Playing Possum

            
Professor Leeroy and Lance at My Blog Can Beat up Your Blog are letting me pass my 100 Word Song in a little late this week. I hope he doesn’t mind, I’ve given Karen the night off and introducing you to Charlotte. Musical inspiration is provided by Damien Rice’s song “Elephant”. 

Playing Possum

            The dull midwinter light filtered through the vinyl blinds into Charlotte’s dorm room. She tried to role over but something blocked her way. She placed her hand on the Brendan’s solid shoulder. Memories washed over her with a wave of nausea. They salved his broken heart with Jagermeister until it was empty. Then they turned to each other. Charlotte knew she just a warm place for Brendan to rest his wounded pride—just good friends. For her it was the unveiling of a long kept secret.

            “What now,” she whispered.

            “Damn,” he thought to himself as he pretended to sleep.