Tuesday Tales 24!
Challenge #24
NEW WINNER BADGE! created by @Charitygirlblog
By entering, every contestant agrees to shamelessly promote and praise the winner on twitter.
For all discussions about this challenge use hash tag #TuesdayTales
Please give a shout out to this week’s Tuesdaytales judge:
@JenD_Author
Aspiring Paranormal-Suspense author. She plays with ghosts and monsters, and likes it.
& Host of #fridaypictureshow flashfiction challenge
Our judge is challenging us this week with a awesome sauce word!
Secret Word:
Pulchritudinous
adj. physically beautiful; comely.
Picture:
Picture curtesy of the Pictureshow host!
”Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” ~Stephen King
ON WITH THE TALES!
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Posted in: Tuesday Tales
Wakefield Mahon
January 17, 2012
“I’ve decided you’re insane,” Carrie said.
Margot grinned. “Maybe a little.”
Luke tossed his shirt. “Haven’t you ever done this before?”
“Not on such a cool and gloomy day,” Carrie said.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Margot asked, shedding her dress.
Carrie replied, “Someone has to be the rational one.” She neatly hung her dress in the trees along with Margot and Luke’s garments.
“Pulchritudinous,” Margot said.
Carrie gave Margot a look.
“What? I can use big words too.”
“They look like ghosts,” Luke said.
“Apropos for Halloween, I suppose.”
“Stop admiring your work and jump in. The water’s fine!”
Wakefield Mahon
January 17, 2012
100 words
@WakefieldMahon
Rafe Brox
January 17, 2012
“Pulped with what?”
“Pulchritudinous. Or, as the kids these days say, ‘the hawtness.’”
“I’m not sure that I’d call this ‘hot,’ per se. If the light changes, it might aspire to ‘beautiful’.”
“You’re just lucky I find your linguistic and semantic nit-picking sexy.”
“Oh baby, your… vocabulary… is so big!”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“That sort of talk isn’t going to get me any less naked, you know.”
“Is that my cue to ravish you lasciviously, or are there other commensurate dalliances that serve as a preamble to extemporaneous en flagrante delicto–”
“If this is all a ploy to get to make a ‘cunning linguist’ pun, it’s never going to happen.”
“Well, crap.”
@etcet
112 words
(This may or may not be a very lightly-edited IM exchange I’ve actually had. *shifty look*)
redshirt6
January 17, 2012
“So what do we have here,” Lieutenant Johnson asked as he approached the body.
“One Dylan Rattington. Art critic,” Detective Henson replied.
“Cause of death?”
“Blunt force trauma the back of the head.”
“Motive?”
“Possibly his latest review,” Detective Henson said as he held out a plastic evidence bag containing a newspaper clipping. “Found it next to the body.”
‘Dresses in Trees’ is a pulchritudinous vignette replete with lugubrious overtones and an obsequious tincture fulminating in a desultory confabulation of the senses.
“So you think it was the artist?” Lieutant Johnson asked.
“Possibly. But more likely it was Rattington’s editor.”
100 Words
@redshirt6 aka Robby Hilliard
rastrohman
January 17, 2012
“You know how to catch ghosts, don’t you?”
The withered old lady stared at the young boy, her cataract-afflicted eyes simultaneously beckoning and frightening.
“You talk to the trees. They are Mother Nature’s pulchritudinous children, natural, of the Earth, meant to cast out the supernatural.”
“Pulchritudinous?”
“Beautiful, son. They keep evil at bay.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should! Look over yonder.”
Her decrepit finger pointed to the swamp. At first the boy was spooked, but then he knew better.
Scoffing, he said, “Grandma, those are just your undergarments.”
“Aye, be a good lad and fetch them for me.”
100 words
@rastrohman
Nellie
January 17, 2012
“How pulchritudinous.” Wilbert gave a smile, staring out at the trees that lined the moors with its ghostly white garments flowing in the breeze.
“What?” Elizabeth followed his gaze out. “What does that mean? That is creepy. I don’t know how you can stand to live here, Willie. It’s positively gloomy.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw at the dreaded nickname, smile dimming. “It’s a very lovely site, my dear. There is something charming about it.”
She made a face. “When we’re married, I’m having them cut down.”
“So you say, my dear.” Wilbert thought one more addition would do.
100 words
@solimond
Nellie
January 17, 2012
Correction: site = sight
Bob Mahone
January 17, 2012
I am conflicted on obscuring my thoughts of Sarah O’Doulle. For by them, I am ruined against all future associations and trysts. She introduced me to my body and my body to freedom – more precise, sexual freedom. With Sarah, carnal exploration became a pulchritudinous act. Foreplay was not a prerequisite but a promissory stimulant. Out of body experiences were guaranteed. Fleeting recollections of her levitating netherland provoke salivation. Such a sultry wench in life, I can only imagine what she imparts in the hereafter. The faintest memory of Sarah fuels an onslaught of sensuality, and causes me to tremble.
@Computilizer
100 words
Corgzilla
January 17, 2012
“What’s with the dresses?” I dodged a low-hanging bramble. The problem with being able to step into the great Beyond meant a person often had to deal with the metaphors of the dead. Easier said than done.
“Memories, dear Thomas.”
“Memories?”
The ghost beside me ran his fingers down the diaphanous sleeve of a nearby gown. “There is little as hopeful, as pulchritudinous as a girl at her wedding. These are memories of innocence and beauty.”
I opened my mouth, then slammed it shut. Sometimes trying to keep up with the old-timer’s silvery lingo was like trying to juggle Jello.
100 words
Corgzilla
Corgzilla
January 17, 2012
@Corgzilla
Corgzilla
January 17, 2012
*kisks self* Try this again… it’s Monday for me, brain is still in bed. *sigh* @ModernBard1024
Sharon
January 17, 2012
She was pure evil, that’s what. I blamed her upbringing.
There, hanging on the trees, the slips and dresses, once so pulchritudinous — so diaphanous in their glory — hung like fetid dishrags.
I stomped out in the the drenching rain, mud squelching under my boots, and grabbed each one. Pressed against my body, they streamed filth onto my jeans as I returned.
“You got your wish,” I announced to Diane. “You won’t see your Daddy marry me. There won’t be any bridesmaids. You’ll stay home.”
I headed for the laundry room, smiling as the wail began behind me.
@aftergadget
99 words
@BethanyLopez2
January 17, 2012
The Pulchritudinous ladies littered the field, contorted and eerily striking in the face of their untimely deaths. He had chosen women of all shapes and sizes, the ‘type’ didn’t matter to him, as long as they had the delicately wispy lace caressing their cold ivory skin. He positioned them in positions of leisure: sitting, leaning, resting languidly on the ground… to symbolize how ineffectual and vainglorious they had been in life. He left them there… until their flesh and bones wasted away… until only the translucent material remained, swaying in the breeze, and setting the stage for his greatest masterpiece.
100 words
@BethanyLopez2
Charles W Jones (@ChuckWesJ)
January 17, 2012
Through my half-open eyes, I watched her dress in the leafless willows. Her pulchritudinous skin transparent in the fog swirling and eddying around her. Carefully, she pulled her white slip from the branches, not wanting the fine threads snagged. The fog thickened, showing her as a silhouette in alabaster. I hoped a breeze would move the heavy air to show me the moisture on her before she finished dressing. However, the fog thickened, hiding her completely from me. A whirl of movement approached me. I could not make out her features but knew it to be her, transformed once again.
@ChuckWesJ
100 Words
Ginny (@GLOverbay)
January 17, 2012
“Poll . . . kri . . . two,” Ana sounded out from her end of the couch. “Duh . . . nuss.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Stasia asked as she entered the room.
“Pulchritudinous,” Ana repeated, looking down at a book in her lap. “This thing they try to make us do at school.”
“Mmm,” Stasia replied. “And what’s that?”
“Learn.” The crumpling of fabric drew Ana’s attention from her book. Looking up at her sister, she blinked rapidly. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Welcoming the ghosts,” Stasia said as she smoothed down her tissue-paper dress.
100 words
@GLOverbay
David A Ludwig
January 17, 2012
Everywhere! They were everywhere. This chill dank churchyard was overgrown and filled with them! Bile rose in her throat as her eyes roved over the clutching tangle pulling everything down into the mists.
“Even with the scars,” a grave voice refocused Mifuyu’s attention, “you are still quite pulchritudinous.”
Weather worn as the church stones, the grey bearded man stepped out of the shadows. Ecclesiastical robes so much darker than the rest of them.
“You…”
The man examined Mifuyu’s dress, “We no longer perform weddings here.”
“You’re one of them! I’ll never forgive you!” Mifuyu shrieked, flinging herself at the priest.
100 words
@DavidALudwig
MLGammella
January 17, 2012
Title: Game Show
“Pat, I’d like to buy a vowel. The letter ‘u,’ please.”
“All right, let’s see what you got!” The overly enthusiastic announcer turned toward the game board, his papery skin nearly transparent from one too many face-lifts.
Three letter boxes lit up and rotated forward.
“Pat, I’d like to solve the puzzle. The word is ‘Pulchritudinous.’”
An applause track burst harshly from the speakers overhead as the announcer began
clapping, his thin arms flapping like bare tree branches. “You are correct! For the bonus, use the word in a sentence!”
“Botox can make someone pulchritudinous but not attractive.”
@MLGammella
98 Words
Nicole
January 17, 2012
Ginny hung the white eyelet dress on the line by the hem, the full sleeves billowing in the warm wind. She stepped back and closed her eyes.
All the better to smell you with, she thought.
The scent of fresh-mown grass, sun-warmed flowers, and something she could only describe as pulchritudinous eddied around her.
Another whiff, and her eyelids fluttered open.
A stooped man peeked through the clothes with a single eye. The other was sewn shut with black thread. Scars traversed his face and neck. His patchy black hair blew wild.
“Yes, pulchritudinous.” Ginny smiled and clasped his hand.
@nicolewolverton
100 words
RRKovar
January 17, 2012
Gallery
“You gon’ say t’weren’t none of your doing, but I ain’t blind.”
“Mostly, Gran, you are.”
“Only to the living world.” Gnarled fingers flicked as she tatted lace, the motion so ingrained she did not need to see. “What you call your piece of art?”
“The Pulchritudinous Dream.”
“Dead Girls in the Swamp a better name.”
“I bought the dresses at auction,” I protested.
“Then why them three in the corner so mad at you?”
I didn’t want to see the girls, still dressed in the matted gowns I’d hung for my photo. They smiled – again – and came for me.
100 words
@rrkovar
Sara Leggeri
January 17, 2012
I don’t want to go in there,” Andy glared.
“Come on, man. It’ll be fun.”
Barry pulled Andy by his arm, taking him those last wary steps into the clearing.
“I said, no.” He pulled his arm away. In that moment a pulchritudinous woman appeared in the clearing. She glided from the opposite edge of the woods to the old abandoned house. A complexion that matched the forgotten white undergarments that hung from the clothesline.
The boys stood there bug eyed. It was Barry who tugged on Andy’s shirt.
“This was a bad idea. Let’s get out of here!”
98 words
@saraleggz
Daniel Swensen (@surlymuse)
January 17, 2012
“Where’d Dwight run off to?”
“Oh, he saw these clothes hanging around, thought they were ghosts, and ran into the woods screaming something about ‘pulchritudinous specters frolicking in the febrile ether.’ Or ‘feeble jeepers’. I wasn’t really listening.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Either he watched Ken Russel’s ‘Gothic’ too many times, or I slipped something in his SoBe.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I know.”
“So were these clothes your idea?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I found this shirt and these pants down by the river.”
“Those are Dwight’s.”
“Uh-oh.”
96 words / @surlymuse
kinetic writing
January 17, 2012
The family was known for its pulchritudinous women. As much as the women tried to blend it never worked. There would be no peace for any in the family. One day as yet another group of men were on their way to visit they came across four beautiful white dresses flowing gently in the mist with no one to be found nearby. They quickly went on only to find the house empty except one. The father a heap on the floor, lamenting “Why?” When questioned it was as if a knife had struck him and with it his life left.
100 words
@kineticwriting
charitygirlblog
January 17, 2012
The men were all afraid of the woods. Ghosts. Pulchritudinous Johnson didn’t believe in ghosts any more than he believed in angels. He had been a soldier since the age of five, he broke Praise-the-Lord Goodwin’s nose with a stone for laughing at his girlish looks. His golden curls were now a Puritan crop, his beautiful face scarred. He was Cromwell’s man. He believed in blood, sweat, freedom. He didn’t believe in ghosts.
So they sent him into the dripping darkness after the spy. And they waited.
Until they heard his screams and the distant laughter on the wind.
@charitygirlblog, 99 words
Susi Holliday (@SJIHolliday)
January 17, 2012
“Ah, Lenore… isn’t that moment just before death just so… exquisite, so… delicate, so–”
“Pulchritudinous?”
He claps his hands. “Yes, Lenore, yes! I must say, it hasn’t taken you long to see… You’re so–”
“Perceptive?”
“Yes, yes…” he hisses.
Then he smiles at her; shows the stumps of blackened pegs that used to be his teeth, before he slithers backwards out of the cave, leaving her lying there in the darkness.
It was the dresses that had drawn her into the woods, floating ethereally in the misty breeze. Hers would be hanging there now too, she supposed.
99 words
@SJIHolliday
Kelly
January 18, 2012
It is said that there are four things never satisfied: the grave, the barren womb, the desert, and fire. But I say there is another: a mother’s revenge.
My husband had been killed by the Confederates, leaving only me and my daughters.
An armed man stormed into my cabin. He took my daughters first, making me watch.
I don’t remember dying, but I remember afterwards. My daughters were gone—Heaven I hoped. A pulchritudinous light welcomed me, but I turned my back. I found myself back in the cabin alone—my daughters so still.
Rage filled me. He was mine.
100 words
@ohthatmomagain
LupusAnthropos
January 18, 2012
“What a pulchritudinous apparition!” said the first officer on the scene.
“Oh, yeah? You do and you’ll clean it up!” responded his partner.
“No! I mean this is a beautiful, ghostly vision,” explained the first.
His partner was unimpressed. “What do you mean? It’s just a bunch of ladies’ clothes hanging in a bunch of trees.”
“I know that, but don’t you think it looks like an assembly of spectacular spectres?” inquired the first.
His partner, incredulous and nonplussed replied, “No, I don’t, but I do think you could be just a little less…”
“Sesquipedalian?”
“That, too.”
97 Words
@LupusAnthropos
James Bambury (@JamesBambury)
January 18, 2012
The eighteen-pounder smashed the starboard propeller and threw the airship into a spin. Gustave ran to the stern of the HMCS Pulchritudinous. Wind screamed through the hole and boxes of cargo had spilled.
“Coming about!” The Captain’s called over the speakers.
Another cannonball crashed into the deck as he struggled with fixing the first hole. Outside, he saw the Tsar’s airships flank the Pulchritudinous. The wind blew again and Gustave gasped as he saw the white garments sucked out the hole to flutter to the fen below.
“The Duchess’ dresses!”
Even if they lived, there’d be no wedding.
@JamesBambury – 100 words