The Stoner family lived in a fine two story brick house at the corner of Hegman Road and Railroad Avenue. That was about a half mile from where Aunt Cat and Uncle Sidney lived. The house was a fine, brick house with a black slate roof. Behind the house one could see the railroad that was the lifeblood of this small delta town. Beyond the railroad tracks, and as far as the eye could see one could see cotton. Cotton was the chief crop of the Mississippi delta and was the breadwinner for many delta farmers including my dear uncle. Who's change of heart still worried me.

I've been lurking on BigCloset for years. It helped me figure a lot of things out about myself and gave me a place to escape to when things in the real world were just a little too much. Hopefully I can help contribute to the wonderful work on this site! Apologies for any grammar mistakes, difficulty reading, etc. Again, this is my first time really writing out a story. All feedback and criticisms are welcome and appreciated! That being said, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1:

After I gave my little speech the party started in earnest. And let me tell you something, the scene unfolding before me looked like it had been lifted straight from the pages of The Great Gatsby. All the young men dressed smartly in their rented tuxedos danced upon the polished wooden floor of the country club with the belle's of Benton in their formal, sparkling gowns.

Mischief Night Magic
Sequel to
Cemetery Shenanigans
Part Four: Basic Supplies

A conversation with a Phantom

The mall closes its doors at nine o' clock on the dot each night. On week nights I'm in bed by then, but on Friday and Saturday nights I'm still roaming the corridors. This was one such night, it was seven at night, the sun had set and a full moon could be seen against the backdrop of a dark, cloudless night sky. The mall was as quiet as the grave and a strange stillness was starting to settle over the building.

I knew I was in deep trouble when mom mentioned she wanted to have a 'private discussion' with me. I knew that was mom talking for me going across her lap while she applied the hairbrush to my bare bottom. I breathed a silent prayer under my breath as I was marched from the kitchen to my bedroom. Mom followed behind me, her arms folded across her chest and a crossed look graced her face as she walked a few steps behind me. A few minutes later we reached my room.

Jennifer Lam, of "A Bikini Beach Summer" and "A Bikini Beach Late Summer", revisits Bikini Beach for the first time.

Mom never planned on teaching me 'The Craft' as she called it. Of course that had been before my transfiguration from being a boy to a girl. Once mom accepted the fact that I was indeed Cerridwen she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and got to work teaching me in earnest 'The Craft'. You see mom is a witch, much like her younger sister and her mother before her and her mother before her. And pretty much all the women of the Whitethorn line.

As the rain continues Dennis finds that his options have become less and less. Time for a left-field solution, one which leaves him wondering if he is doing the right thing.

Scratch!

an amusement by Penny Lane

2 of 3 - Bank Holiday Monday

Dennis Moore has a skin condition which flares up on a holiday to his cousins. Away from his usual treatments alternative solutions have to be invented.

Scratch!

an amusement by Penny Lane

1 of 3 - Soggy Sunday

This is a drabble (100 word story) about someone who's reflecting in more ways than one.

Reflection
Copyright 2022 by Heather Rose Brown

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Please note there is another revision to the first chapter posted, not much changed except correcting the wandering tense. I did make a few significant changes to this one, though

Darkness in the Northpark Cinema

Behind the mall there is a cinema called 'Northpark Cinema' . It's haunted, but it's not haunted by a ghost or a demon. No, what is haunting it is something more sinister than that. The first story I'm going to include in this collection of stories is one that has changed my life. Nobody believes me when I tell them this story, and I doubt you would. The story opens on a cool, crisp October day.

Janegirl Camp
Chapter 8
Copyright 2022 by Heather Rose Brown

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I flopped into a chair at the last empty table in activity room four. My shaking knees thanked me, but my butt complained about the hard, plastic seat it landed in. I took a quick look at the kids sitting nearby. So far, nobody seemed to be staring at my sorta-girlish-but-not-really clothes.

The meeting took place on a Friday I believe, the following day was Saturday. Uncle Sidney at this point seemed content to have me frolic around the house in a pair of skinny jeans and a t- shirt. He rarely said much to me anymore. Though from time to time I saw him peering out the window of his study or pacing up and down the concrete driveway. I was starting to see a different side of him. It was like a change had taken place deep inside of him. I knew when he discovered me wearing a old hand-me down dress, he had tried to scare me straight, the Bible having been his weapon of choice.

Breakfast that morning was pan fried turkey bacon, fried eggs sunny side up, and a toasted English muffin with a bit of butter on it to make it palatable. The meal was served with a cup of coffee, strong, black coffee, unsweetened with cream, sugar or milk. I call it dishwater in a cup. My Aunt Cat said however that this was a breakfast befitting a 'Woman' of my class and breeding and that a 'Southern Belle' should always be mindful of the size of her waist. 

The buzzing of my alarm clock awoke me from a frightful sleep. Slowly opening my eyes, I peered out the window of my bedroom. Darkness, total darkness. Taking a deep breath I reached up, pulled my pillow closer to me, and turned over, hoping to snatch a few extra minutes of sleep. It was not meant to be, for a few moments later, a harsh knocking came on the other side of my bedroom door. A few seconds later and the door was pushed open and there in the doorway stood my aunt.

I returned a few moments later holding the old, leather Bible. It was the family Bible, the one that recorded all the births and deaths in the family. According to family lore, the Bible had been in the family for well over a hundred years. My Aunt Cat who was in the kitchen, pointed with fingers toward my uncle's office. I nodded my head and started to make my way to the office. The door was locked so I gently knocked. A few seconds later, I heard a crossed voice from behind the door call out.

Strange and powerful memories started to flood over me. I remembered a time when I was just starting kindergarten. I attended a private kindergarten, one that had a playroom that was attached to the main classroom. I froze and peered up into the sky as I found myself falling through time and space. In the corner of the play room, there was a corner, a kind of private corner. I also remembered there were toy chests that held clothing that the girls in my class use to play pretend and dress up.

I discovered my true self in the Mississippi Delta, a region known for its coffee colored soil, known to grow any crop known to man, known mostly for the growing of cotton and a style of music called 'The Blues'. Yes here in this flat region, I found my true self and I've never been the same. Now the chief source of income for many in the delta is farming, the crop of choice is cotton.

We were sitting around the table that night, eating a casserole that Abby had cooked. She actually had a lot of culinary experience for someone her age, having had to look after Nicole when Daniel had to work late. She had been working on it when we arrived and it had now been brought to a point where we could eat it. I had set the table and we were all waiting on Abby to move the dish containing the casserole over to the table. Abby placed the casserole dish in the middle of the table.

"Emma, can you serve us?" Abby asked.

I found the room, but it turns out I took too long to find it. And the game was already starting when I stumbled into the room. I'm not going to lie, I was a little disappointed at first, after all I'd been promised the leading role of the “Queen” piece. But a few minutes later a sense of relief washed over me. I quickly learned that when a piece was “Captured” it was given a cream pie to the face as a penalty, normally by the piece that captured it.

“You know about hell, I suppose?” she asked.

I thought of my upbringing and said, “It’s been mentioned.”

She responded, “I expect they’ll give you a refresher course.” I could only nod.