• 08:00:36 am on July 3, 2012 | 15
    Tags: , , , , , , , ,

    Tuesday Tales 47!

    Challenge #47

     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:

    Charles W Jones


    Indie Horror Author of Dreamwalker:

    The Second Plain, An Unnamed Acquaintance and Circus Tarot.

    #BuyIndie #horror #ebook

    Our judge is challenging us this week with the

    Secret Word:


    a deliberately careless or casual manner

    the state of being dressed in a casual or careless style



    Go ahead and check out the archive of all the tuesdaytales or escort you to your tuesdaytales needs HERE



  • Robin Abess 12:07 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply


    The knock on the door caught Sharon in a state of dishabille. She grabbed the coat she had been wearing earlier, and belted it over her slip.

    “Coming!” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, too high and shrill. A quick check of the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Smoothing her hair as best she could, Sharon hurried to the door and opened it. Words of greeting died on her lips, and the lamplight glinted off her wedding band, as her hand flew to her throat.

    “Hi honey, I’m home! You forgot your knife,” the corpse growled.

    100 words {without title}

  • Lisa McCourt Hollar 3:30 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

    Dressed to Kill
    By Lisa McCourt Hollar

    Wandering from the bedroom, Ethel clutched her neck, dazed. How had this happened? She’d been married to Fred for twenty-five years. She’d never imagined catching him having an affair…and with her best friend.

    It Lucy’s fault. That and her bottle red hair. Ricky bragged to Fred that red heads were “hot in the sack.” What did he know? He couldn’t even keep his wife in his own bed.

    Looking down at her attire, Ethel muttered, “En dishibille,” with a bad French accent. The police frowned on murder and they’d want pictures. She needed to make herself presentable before they arrived.

    Word Count: 100

    • Robin Abess 4:28 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

      Nice! Made me laugh, as that is one of my favorite shows of all time! Kudos!

  • Wakefield Mahon 4:12 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

    “I know you think it’s fashionable to traipse around en dishabille, but…”
    “It’s called shabby chic and why should I put on formal clothes to go to the movies?”
    “It’s a formal benefit in memory of Andy Griffith for the National Film Preservation Foundation. I’d expect you to support the old movies.”
    “I do, I’m going for Gloria Grahame.” Margot touched her neck ‘Why Dixon, I do declare, I wasn’t expecting you. I’m not dressed or anything.’”
    “I’m quite sure that line wasn’t in the movie.”
    “Artistic license?”
    “License or not, you are not leaving the house in a robe!”

    100 words

    • Robin Abess 4:29 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

      Nice nod to Mr. Griffith. I am very saddened by his death.

  • samantha12jane 6:22 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

    Marian leaned against the door frame in utter dishabille, not wondering, for once, what the neighbors would say.
    She wasn’t sure if she should call the police, or just let it go. But what would she tell them, anyway? “A laser beam from above disintegrated my husband, and all that’s left is a pair of shoes, please hurry”? That would make her sound crazy, and would immediately come under suspicion.
    After another moment, she bent down and picked up the pair of shoes and went inside, closing the door behind her with a click.

    94 words, @Samantha12Jane
    Ahhh…flash fiction…that tastes good.

  • J. Whitworth Hazzard 8:08 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply


    “Oh Langston!” Sheila gasped. “You came back for me.”
    “Look,” Langston slicked back his raven hair. “I really just…”
    “I know I’m hard to love.” Sheila’s eyes moistened. She shifted her her hip just so, causing her faux-dishabille outfit to reveal intimate skin. She planned his return after the breakup so carefully. She would be irresistible, and he would sweep her up in his arms.
    “Can I…”
    “Langston, how I need you so,” Sheila whispered, grabbing his silk tie and forcing his eyes onto hers.
    “I came back for…my phone. Grab it off the nightstand would you, luv?”

    100 words

  • David A Ludwig 9:30 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

    She stood in the doorway en dishabille, hand massaging her throat. By the abrasions about her neck, she knew who her visitor was and neither modesty nor light made any difference. The bedside and overcoat were for her satisfaction.

    “You can’t kill me, can you?”

    The shadow in the next room twitched and hissed. Three years ago her husband’s archaeological team uncovered the creature and was slaughtered. Her rebound beaux likely lay cold in an alley somewhere, if not at the foot of her stairs. She was again spared.

    The thing made her life hell, yet somehow she pitied it.

    100 words

    • David A Ludwig 9:31 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

      Agh, French fail. No ‘x’ on the end of “beau”.

  • Jeffrey Hollar 10:02 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

    Her Golden Age

    She’d fallen asleep, in a gin-soaked state of careless dishabille, wishing for the glory of her youth. She wished to be the doe-eyed ingénue and the darling of all again.

    She awoke and stumbled to the doorway, feeling confused. All color seemed drained from the world. She made to call for the staff, but found herself unable to speak. In a flash of insight, she realized why. This place…this scene…was from before the talkies existed.

    Since nobody listened to her anymore, she didn’t truly mind. With a coy smile, she turned back to her cinematic world, home again at last.

    100 words @klingorengi

  • Mark Ethridge 11:15 pm on July 3, 2012 | # | Reply

    It was time to tell her I was leaving. While she slept that night, I got a fireplace poker. “Who are you? What do you want? No! Don’t come any closer! No!” I beat the sofa with the poker, making satisfying thunks as I whacked away, and screamed with each whack.

    She showed up in a carefully crafted dishabilled look. Each out of place hair perfectly placed, her robe’s belt buckled, the collar perfect, a touch of cleavage. Bitch even had makeup on.

    “I’m leaving you and your perfect life.”

    I walked out and I never returned.

    100 words

  • Rebekah Postupak 12:25 am on July 4, 2012 | # | Reply

    I awoke with the sick feeling I’d forgotten something.

    The feeling didn’t go away as I forced cornflakes and cold coffee down; it stared back at me smugly as I brushed my teeth and did my makeup.

    Nor did it retreat as I washed dishes and gathered the project files for work, although it made me triple and quadruple check each file to make sure.

    Earrings, check. Lunch, check. Umbrella, check.

    It wasn’t until waiting in the rain at the crowded bus stop that it finally came to me: I stood there in complete dishabille, and my David was dead.

    100 words

  • Afsaneh K (@Afsaneh_Dreams) 12:59 am on July 4, 2012 | # | Reply

    “How long has it been, Maggie?”
    “How did you find me, Samuel?” she stammered, backing away.
    “It wasn’t easy but the ferryman spoke,” he said cryptically, and he caught her with a steel grip. His jaw clenched and swarthy skin tautened over his chiselled face.
    Memories burned her consciousness, of distant trysts. Of mistakes.
    “Maggie!” Harry’s voice called from inside.
    Samuel yanked and spun her against his chest, cinching her close.
    “Don’t move,” he warned, stroking a silver blade along her throat. “I told you. You can’t outrun my love.”
    “Love? it was an affair; dishabille and meaningless,” she spat.

    100 words


  • TuesdayTales 47 WINNER – July 3rd 2012 « GLITTERWORD 5:48 pm on July 4, 2012 | # | Reply

    […] You can check out all the rest of the entries of Tuesdaytales week 47 HERE […]

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