Writing Prompt Responses | Flash fiction | Spooky | Slice of Life

Force

A response to JC Lovero’s ‘May the 4th’ prompts

“It was a ghost. I swear it!”

Without responding to his client, Robert MacSween removed several small devices from his bag of tools, which he then dropped with a thump. He stepped across the room and peered into the fireplace. He then moved off into the hallway and began to open cupboards and look under furniture.

At last, after several minutes of investigating the nooks and crannies of the detached house, MacSween returned to the center of the living room, where Mrs White was still waiting. “They told me you were thorough, Bobby,” she said, eyes gleaming.

“Mmm.”

“And?” she prompted eagerly.

“Afraid I couldn’t see a thing.”

“Well, naturally!” she exclaimed. “This is something nobody can see.”

He frowned even more deeply. “And you heard the noises here? Exactly here?”

Mrs White nodded. “A low screeching noise it was, followed by a thump. Sent a chill right through me. That’s when I knew.”

MacSween raised his eyebrows a fraction, folding his arms. “There’s just so many possible explanations for noises, you see. Without witnessing it myself… Most likely your house was just contracting due to temperature changes.”

Mrs White shook her head. “No, Bobby. It was a force. Something mystical. Magical, even.”

MacSween inhaled deeply and slowly, then sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing them on the hem of his shirt. “I’m a PI, Mrs White. I don’t have time for mystical forces that can’t be seen.”

“What about your soul?” she fired back.

Robert hesitated. “Well… what about it?”

“Well, Bobby — isn’t that a force that can’t be seen?”

He gave a little chuckle, then restored his glasses to his face. “I’m not terribly interested in my soul either, Mrs White. It causes me nothing but trouble.”

Her eyes widened. “Your soul is your essence, and lasts beyond physical death. It’s the source of one’s intellect and emotions. So I was taught.”

“Isn’t that your brain…?” MacSween muttered absently, moving over towards the chimney breast again, and pressing one ear towards the faded wallpaper.

“It’s there,” she replied darkly.

“Hmm… I mean, I can hear something,” MacSween replied. “Like a scratching. You might need a roofer to check your tiles and chimney pots.”

“A roofer won’t help free a dead man’s soul.”

Now MacSween turned back to face Mrs White directly again, and smiled patiently at the older woman. “Are you saying to me that you believe these noises to be caused by the soul of someone who died?”

“Not just anyone,” she croaked. “My husband, Frank.”

MacSween sighed, and took a step closer. “He was a good man, Mrs White. But times move on.”

Just then, there was a sharp tap at the window. They both turned. A pigeon was looking in. It turned its head to peer at them closely with one eye, then tapped several times more.

“Damn those vermin…” began MacSween.

But Mrs White clutched his arm. “It’s him. It’s Frank.”

“Wha…?”

They both looked in silence as the pigeon walked twice along the window ledge, deposited a gleaming pile of droppings, then winked at them. Then it flew off.

“You know, I think we’re done here,” said Mrs White, beaming at MacSween. “Thank you for your time. I really appreciate it.”

“I… understand.”

Frowning once more, MacSween picked up his bag of instruments, and walked out to the hallway.

Help save May Fourth and Cinco de Mayo! Search the stories for clues and find the stolen ingredients!

Prompts (2): Write about a force no one can see. (Seems I’m also being inspired by the one-word titles that FJCMontenegro likes to use).

Thanks for reading! You can find more of my fiction here, as well as all of my advice and guidance on creative writing right here. Want stories like this in advance, along with thoughts on the creative process? Check out my Ko-Fi! 🧠