He’s not sure when it began. From the time he was little Opa would show him around The Big House where he worked. It was such a fun place to explore with its secret chambers and hidden passages, big doors, tiny doors, alcoves and cavernous rooms.

One day his favorite stuffed animal disappeared. Opa led him up the sloping lawn to The Big House and pointed to a 3rd floor window. Tiger was looking out the window.

Opa said, “Your job is to rescue Tiger without anyone seeing you.”

He crept down passages and hide behind statues or large plants. He darted up the stairs. On the third floor, he counted doors like he had counted windows from the lawn. Once inside, he ran forward and grabbed Tiger. He repeated the stealth to exit.

Opa was so proud!

Tiger Rescue became their favorite game. Sometimes Tiger was in a bedroom, sometimes in a study. Once he was in the dining room and the servants were setting the table for dinner.

But he was good at it and rarely seen. When he was, the person usually smiled, patted him on the head, and didn’t question.

One day, he and Opa walked on the lawn but he didn’t see Tiger in any window.

“Today Tiger isn’t hiding. I want to play a trick on The Lady. In her room, on the dresser, is a necklace that’s very sparkly and has a big jewel. That’s the room,” he said, pointing to a window.

---

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. If you want to participate, write a story inspired by the photo, 250 words max. Then, link it to the post like I did.

“That damn dog is out there AGAIN,” her boss cursed. He gave it a swift kick in the ribs, yelling all the while. “GET OUTTA HERE, YA NUISANCE!”

The dog yipped in pain and skulked away.

She grabbed some scraps she had pushed to the side of the cutting board. “Gotta go to the loo,” she called, as she hurried toward the market’s public restrooms.

She found the dog, shivering, cowering around the corner. She knelt to give it the scraps she had trimmed. Clucking like a mother hen, she stroked his head with one hand as she let him lick her palm clean before she headed back to the butcher’s stall.

Every day was the same. The dog arrived for the scraps that were headed for the garbage anyway. The butcher cursed and kicked the poor animal. She would, at some point, smuggle some food out to the dog.

The next day the cycle would repeat.

One day, the butcher showed her the gun. “Bought this to deal with that damn nuisance dog,” he said.

“You can’t shoot the dog,” she said, her heart quickening with fear.

“You gonna stop me?” he challenged, facing her and puffing out his chest.

“N-n-n-o,” she stammered. “It’s just that we’re in the middle of town. You can’t shoot here.”

The dog came that day and he gave it a particularly vicious kick.

In the afternoon, when he went to play boules with his friends, she took the gun out of the drawer.

---

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge which is to write no more than 250 words and base it on the photo.

This is also for Dawn who wanted more of the story regarding At the Therapist. I’m not sure if kicking a dog warrants a shooting. I need my shooter to go into some sort of fugue state for this to work.

I may have to give this another go.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”

She lay on the couch in the office and forced her eyes to close.

“You’re holding your breath,” he said. “It’s important that you relax. Go ahead and exhale through your mouth, then take a slow breath in through your nose.”

She obeyed as best she could. “I don’t want to be here,” she said.

“Where?” he asked. “In my office? Or where your mind is taking you.”

“I’m at the park by the fountain,” she replied.

“What kind of day is it?” he asked.

“It’s a perfect day,” she said, with a hint of a smile. “The sun is out, but it’s not too hot. There are people out, but not too many.”

“How could there be too many people?” he asked.

“Sometimes the tourists take over. These are all locals. I know them.”

“Can you tell me who’s there?”

She paused, as if scanning the scene. “John is at the fountain. Old Mitchell is on the bench with Eliza.”

“Are you forgetting the bocce players?” he prodded.

“I don’t want to look at them,” she said.

Silence settled over the room.

Finally, he said, “Keep breathing. You’re safe here.”

Obediently, she exhaled again. Her eyes were closed and she seemed relaxed, but then he watched both hands form fists. She brought them together over her abdomen.

“What’s happening now?” he asked.

Her whole body tensed.

“BAM!,” she shouted.

Her eyes flew open.

“I shot him,” she said.

---

This is my contribution to The Unicorn Challenge. It’s an easy challenge (hahaha) — write no more than 250 words and base them on the photo.

“Those are weird flavors,” Charlie said.

His mom looked down at him. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“The ice cream flavors,” he repeated. “I suppose doughnut ice cream could be good, but it depends on the doughnut, right?”

His mother looked in the direction of Charlie’s stare. The new ice cream store hadn’t listed their flavors by the window but rather their offerings. She started explain that to Charlie but he was still talking.

“– and sandwich ice cream? What kind of sandwich?”

He paused and his mother almost jumped in again, but he got excited and exclaimed, “OH! I get it! It’s not sandwich flavored ice cream! That would be silly!”

His mother smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“It’s ice cream sandwiches! Right, Mom?”

“Yes, but, no –” she started.

“Baking ice cream??” Charlie read incredulously. “You can’t bake ice cream. Even I know that.”

His mother thought about mentioning Baked Alaska, but Charlie plowed on.

“Ice cream flavored ice cream?!” he said. “That’s not a real flavor, is it?”

His eyes moved down to the last placard by the ice cream window. “Gifts and more,” he read. He shook his head, puzzled.

A young woman leaned out the open service window. “Would you like to try this?” she asked, holding out a dish of ice cream. “I took our ice cream flavored ice cream and added some doughnuts for extra flavor, then I put it in a sandwich and baked it a little. It’s my gift to you.”

---

This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. (250 words based on the photo) I know, I know — it’s not really an ice cream shop, and it’s not an ice cream window. I just kept staring at the wee Highland cow and was stumped.

“Told you,” Johnny said, sweeping his arm toward the boat as if putting it on display.

“You told me you found an abandoned pirate ship. That’s just an old boat,” Jack said. His disdain showed in his voice and face.

“I saw a pirate on it,” Johnny replied. “He stood right up there in the front –

“-the bow?” interjected Jack.

“Yeah, the bow. And he was holding a telescope -“

“- a spyglass?” interjected Jack again.

“Yeah, a spyglass, and he was looking over into those trees,” Johnny said, pointing to the trees behind them.

Just then both boys heard someone crashing through those very trees. They both stared as a pirate – THE pirate – emerged!

“ARRRGgghh,” said the pirate.

Jack’s know-it-all eyes grew big.

The pirate stomped straight toward the boys. The spyglass that Johnny had described was now looped through his belt and hung at his hip. On the other hip, a huge revolver dangled. The pirate held his cutlass high and slashed it through the air as he approached. “ARRRGgghh,” he said again, looking straight at the boys.

Jack inched behind Johnny and tugged at his shirt. “C’mon,” he hissed urgently. “Let’s get out of here.”

Johnny didn’t move. He just stared at the pirate who was growing every closer.

When Jack took off running, Johnny couldn’t control himself anymore and burst into laughter.

“Thanks, Uncle Tom,” he said to the costumed man. “That was the best.”

---

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It is such a fun weekly challenge, and it’s simple! Write no more than 250 words and base them on the photo prompt. That’s it.

“Come ON,” insisted Mrs. McMeen. “No time to dilly-dally on your daily constitutional.”

“Why?” he asked. He had stopped to peek through the gate at the children.

She stopped short. “Why what?” she snapped.

Geordie had a bunch of whys swirling in his head. Why can’t they stop a moment? Why can’t he watch the girls? Why is Mrs. McMeen so mean?

When they got back to the house, Geordie ran to find Granma. Mrs. McMeen called after him, but he pretended not to hear. Granma was where he thought she’d be, in the parlor, knitting.

The light sifting through the curtains, the quiet click of the knitting needles, and the sight of his Granma made him smile.

Granma looked up and her whole face smiled at him.

“The girls were jump-roping today,” he said, “but Mrs. McMeen wouldn’t let me stop again!”

A cloud passed over Granma’s face. She set down her knitting and extended her arms toward the boy. He went to her and was engulfed.

“Which house?” she asked.

He told her.

“Two girls?” she asked.

He nodded.

She went to the desk and pulled a photo of a family out of the drawer.

“Are these the girls?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “Yes. That’s Ma and Da,” he said, pointing to the parents. “You’ve shown me them.”

“And that’s you,” she said, pointing to the baby.

“But…” he puzzled.

“They all died in the fire, Geordie,” she said. “That’s when you came to live with us.”

---

This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is easy: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

“Have you ever seen just two maggots?” she asked.

He turned toward her. “Maggots?” he asked.

“You know what they are, right?” she said. “Fly larvae that eat rotting flesh.”

“I am not tracking on this conversation,” he said, shaking his head.

“Two maggots,” she repeated. “There are usually disgusting piles of them, spilling out of dead things in horror movies.”

He stared at her.

She continued, “All squirmy, white, gross. Coming out of eye-sockets or cheeks or pouring out of ripped-open stomaches.”

He shook his head. “Why are you talking about this?” he asked. “Halloween was so last month.”

“Two. Maggots,” she said.

He stared.

“Two maggots. Twomaggots. Twomaggots. C’mon TWO MAGGOTS,” she said, and pointed at the cafe sign.

“Les Deux Magots,” he read, and started laughing.

“What??” she asked.

He took a deep breath. He had only just met her through the dating app and wanted to be careful not to offend.

“Les Deux,” he said, “IS two or both.”

She put her hand on her hip and said, quite sassily, “I KNOW. I took French in high school.”

“But magot is NOT the same as maggot,” he continued. “Magots is loot or a jackpot.”

She looked disappointed.

“I can show you some maggots, though,” he offered.

“Really?” she asked.

He thought about the newly vacated room in his dungeon. Yeah, the maggots were probably pouring out his recent carcass. But she would be a lovely addition to his tenants.

“Yes,” he said.

---

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge, and also something more than a nod to C.E.Ayr’s rather horrifying tales that he contributes to it.

I usually write a mundane parent-child conversation as a response to the photo prompt. CE writes stories — in 250 words or less — that respond to the photo, but that leave me with nightmares.

So — I tip my hat to you, C.E. Ayr.

He stood on the top step. “Spiritual awakenings are a bunch of sh*t,” he said.

He took a step down and mis-recited, “Prayer and meditation are also bullsh*t. There is no God.”

Next step, “I KNOW when I make mistakes. Why do I have to tell the rest of the world?”

Down again. “People are frickin’ unforgiving.”

Another step. “Make a list? Make amends? No. Way. In. Hell.”

Step down again. “There is no God. Nobody is listening.”

Down. “If there is a God, He sure as hell made me defective.”

Another. “My life is an open book. I have f–ed it up.”

Four steps from the bottom. “Moral inventory. That’s a laugh.”

Three. “I am not turning my life over to anybody but me. I can take care of myself.”

Two. “There is no hope.”

One. “I am powerless over alcohol. Give me a drink.”

He looked up at the man waiting with a shot of whisky poured for him. He could see the rest of the bottle in the man’s other hand.

He reached out to take the drink and his granddaughter stepped out from behind the man with the whisky.

“Grampa?” she said.

---

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s such a simple challenge: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

I counted the steps in the photo — twelve of them — and decided to do the twelve steps of AA in reverse.

When the bag holding the box came through the security scan at the airport, she quickly retrieved it. She was so relieved that nobody had questioned the contents.

As she walked the concourse to find her gate, another traveler had bumped hard against the bag. She quickly stopped and checked to make sure the contents were still secure.

After boarding, she held the bag on her lap.

“Would you like me to put that in the overhead compartment?” the stewardess asked.

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to hold it,” she said.

“You can’t have it on your lap during take-off or landing,” the stewardess said, “but you can put it on the floor if it will fit under the seat ahead of you.”

She folded the excess bag over the box and it neatly fit in the prescribed spot. After take0ff and before landing, she held the box on her lap again, cradling it protectively.

When the plane landed, she retrieved her checked suitcase. She wheeled the suitcase and carried the bag to a City Cab which drove her to the house.

She found the key under the mat where it always was and went inside. Leaving the suitcase in the kitchen, she carefully removed the box from the bag and headed outside.

The rocky shoreline was just how she remembered it. She found a place to sit and opened the box.

As the wind lifted ashes from the open box, she whispered, “I brought you home, Mom.”

---

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is simple if you’re a person of few words. Write no more than 250 words using the photo as a prompt. I could easily have used at least 100 more this time.