If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
We celebrate a day that women may find uncomfortable..World Menopause Day.
Both literally and figuratively.
But in that discomfort, we can find joy, humour and a little camaraderie.
So join Elena, Mavis, and Theodora as they combat those hot flashes–with a little ingenuity and pizazz.
When the going gets hot, the tough cool it down.
Redglow Secondary–where a teacher needed street smarts and strategy to stay cool–in more ways than one.
And Elena Chan, Mavis Fang and Theodora Fong found this out the sweaty way.
The ladies taught–and learned–and important lesson–When life brought on the heat, fix your own thermostat.The middle-aged female teachers knew everything there was to know about teenage mayhem and—
The M-word.
That hit ladies over 50.
The three often bantered the issue of recalcitrant students and growing older over coffee.
Theodora often gloated about how much her students taught her.
“If enlightenment is a hot flash, I must have transcended.”
The experience with M worsened when Redglow’s new principal, Mr. Ding, installed energy saving air conditioning in the classroom in an attempt to cut costs–and boost credit.
His, that is.
The three needed a strategy revamp to survive classroom and student heat–
And, as the ever-dramatic English teacher Mavis would insist–
Those darned hot flashes.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
As luck had it, the AC decided that it wanted the day off.
The women and their hot flashes had proven too overwhelming–so it ‘stormed off.’
During Mavis’s English double period.
She announced the fiasco with her usual dramatic flair –and others’ equally dramatic angst.
The solution? Mr. Ding’s energy-saving cooler.
Elena wondered aloud if it had been introduced-JUST AT THE RIGHT TIME.
It DID NOT COOL.
It BAKED.
The teachers–the three heroines in particular–‘glowed’ profusely, to the great amusement of their charges.
Theodora, in particular, kept her male students’ attention.
Seeing the older, yet attractive teacher glow was gossip fodder.
But if her complaints were anything to go by, she didn’t enjoy it.
“It’s like standing in a Tandoori oven–only less hot.” She groused, flailing her arms in complaint.
Elena, ever the scientific pragmatist, came up with one of her innovations.
“Why don’t we form a Cool Club? If no one’s going to help us keep the sweat off, we will.”
Oh, she was determined.
Theodora rolled skeptic eyes–but the pressure of the heat reinforced her membership.
The resilient ladies stashed anything ‘cool’ they could think of–fans, ice packs, and frozen water bottles.
“What are these for?” Mr. Ding raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Oh, just lesson props,” Mavis brushed him off without as much as batting an eyelid.
But the students were sharp.
Too sharp for whining and water splashes to escape their notice.
And the Letter M stunned the school.
The staff room earned a moniker of Alaskan proportions–The North Pole.
Mavis grinned. “We’re legends now. Let’s not spoil the moment by telling them it’s about survival.”
And survival it was.
A frozen water bottle decided to “take a leak” the next day.
Over Elena’s chemistry practicals.
“At least it was only a mock paper.” She sighed.
But the three couldn’t help giggling over their Cool Club Thermoregulation Genius.
They needed strategy.
Stealth.
And lots of coffee.
To keep M at bay.
Operation chill had just begun.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
The Cool Club’s success at maintaining it’s cool didn’t stay a secret for long.
Not with teenage busybodies and the heat—
That ate at angsty teaching staff.
So it wasn’t long before Mr. Ding learned of Operation Chill.
During assembly, when Mavis’ trusty fan whirred a little too loudly during his announcements.
“Energy waste!” He roared.
Theodora tried to defuse the situation with a flirtatious smile.
“It’s self-preservation, Sir.”
The bomb still went off.
“Unauthorised cooling devices are disallowed in the staffroom.”
That didn’t deter our friends in the Cool Club. No, no, no.
It went underground.
Literally.
In the basement prep room.
Mr. Ding hadn’t counted on Elena–and Chemistry.
The savvy science teacher rigged a cooling contraption using smuggled lab supplies.
“Technically–for O level Chemistry Classes.”
“Technically nuts!” Mavis’ throat emitted a hacking sound through the fog.
Even more whispers. Students spoke of the Misty Menopause Lab.
Even Ah Xiong the janitor had something to say. “Aiyo, the fog ladies are at it again.”
The rebellion couldn’t ‘cool’ off.
A wrong ice-pack placement one day sent out too much fog, triggering a silent alarm leading to–
Mr. Ding’s room.
Screaming, wet students.
Soaked teachers with hot flashes cooled, albeit unintended.
And Mr. Ding’s own hot flash–hotter than any other in history.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
The trio paid the mandatory visit to Mr. Ding’s office the next morning. His glare cooked faster than any heated stove.
“What’s this Operation Chill?” He demanded, waving a red, soaked towel like a declaration of war.
Elena adjusted her glasses and flashed her most comely smile. “An experiment, sir. On….er…thermostats and how they work. For O Level students sitting for this year’s Chemistry exams.”
“Er…yes.” Theodora quickly chimed in. “My class sits for the paper. It’s trying to show how we adapt to climate change.”
Mavis added. “Mine’s trying to show how internal weather patterns affect the human psyche.”
A long pause. Too long.
Then, a resounding chortle–almost as loud as a ding dong.
“You ladies,” He sighed. “Are living PR nightmares.How do we convince the kids to align with energy saving after–“
He gestured to the makeshift thermo cooler next to him.
But he couldn’t deny that it worked–discipline and restlessness were down, and morale was up.
The trio had earned a well-deserved moniker–The Chill Queens.
“Ok, ok. I admit it. Cutting down on energy only increased the heat. Keep your experiment. But remember…cool it.”
So the Cool Club later celebrated the success of Operation Chill–with ice kachang.
“Here’s to beating Redglow. One hot flash at a time.”
The ladies taught–and learned–an important lesson–
When life brings on the heat, fix your own thermostat.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Fogton lived up to its name– an old, coastal town shrouded in thick mists of smoky grey.
They hugged the town like untold secrets.
An old lighthouse stood quiet, sentient–
Bougainvillaea–covered, once pristine, now sullied by a decade of neglect.
But rumours soaked the cobblestone steps.
Of murder and mayhem.
16-year-old Iris Moss was like the walls–overshadowed and overlooked.
But she saw more–and acknowledged what others pretended wasn’t there.
Her classmates at the town’s only High School were teenagers on edge– they wanted more than what the old, decrepit city could offer.
Among them was Thomas King, who never shied away from trouble.
And was too familiar to the police.
“Hey, guys.” He pointed to the lighthouse while cruising by with his ragtag group on a languid afternoon. ” We’ve never been in there. How’s this? Those who manage one night in the place get $50 from moi.”
To Thomas, from a family made of money, the amount was superficial.
And attractive. Thomas’s motley group of youths stepped into the home, excited by the prospect of the extra cash their parents wouldn’t give.
👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶
Fog hung over the lighthouse, a dense, permanent shroud.
The property spoke of neglect.
Vines crept over the walls, and dirt caked the windows in darkness. The fog that hugged Fogtown seemed to grip it with extra intensity. Whispers rose through the walls–not loud. Just–
Persistent.
Present.
Brushing the nerves like fingertips that were over-chilled.
Some of the group’s known cynics laughed it off like the mock heroes they were. Pure terror gnawed at the nerves of others.
Their fingers wrapped tightly around their torchlights.
A faded journal lay, its pages open, on a side table.
A familiar name.
“Hey,” Thomas, ever the cynic, thumbed the pages, still chuckling. “Isn’t Bert one of those who went missing without a trace last year? Maybe they’re still–
Here! Ha!”
A stamp.
And a menacing, childish boo.
The skittish group members gasped in anguished surprise.
Iris included.
Her mouth hung open, then shut again.
She knew her silence would spell mayhem.
👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶
Then, the door to the room bolted.
Itself.
Trapping the trespassing teens within the room.
Then deep, heaving breaths–it breathed with them.
The air throbbed with their heartbeats.
To face the truths about themselves, they hadn’t–for too long.
Compelling Iris to speak for herself–and her friend.
Her voice–uncontained by the dark.
She eyed Thomas squarely–and the self-named sceptic took a step back.
“Stop the mock bravado. You’re as scared as the rest of us.”
She took another step towards him–he took another backwards, and faltered.
“We laugh. YOU laugh.” She eyed him up and down. “But laughter doesn’t change the fact that they remember us.
She finally pressed him against a wall.
He couldn’t move.
“Remember you.”
👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶
The group left the lighthouse, Iris in front.
Thomas, hanging his head in respectful tow.
Daylight broke through the clouds and streamed past the vine-covered walls, making the green more–
Lush.
The silence was broken, and with it, the voices appeased.
👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶
Iris’ eyes lingered on the lighthouse as the group trod across white sand and cobblestone.
The fog cleared slightly–the lights within flickered.
Thanking her for speaking–for voices unheard.
👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶👻🕯️📖💭😨🔎🧠✨🪶
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Some maps don’t like being drawn–they prefer to hold the pen. 🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭 The arrow shifted forward, each time Elias blinked. Tracing a city path– Towards his home. A route he never walked–but led straight to him. Ink seeped through the parchment paper, scaling his desk-An uncharted, sentient being. The street lines converged above the roof of his home, in unsound alphabets– “Cartographer found.” The pictures on the map warp into a dark pool of ink– Hands. Tugging. A shadow stretches, this across the paper. A single pulse–the historical archives were no more. Elias found himself swimming in a vast sea–inside the map. Its waves crashing– A living being. A voice. Not written or spoken. “Every explorer leaves something behind. It’s your turn.” Back on Elias’ desk, the parchment lay still. Untouched by the wind. The arrow traces a signature– Elias Ma ps–Historian. Cartographer. 🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭 So what happens to our historian? Suggest in the comments!
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Some maps don’t like being drawn–they prefer to hold the pen.
🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭
Elias tried to get on his feet, but Historian’s curiosity got the better of the young man.
Something felt off. And it wasn’t just the map.
His eyes scanned the Archives. Familiar. Yet not.
They were no longer arranged according to Dewey Decimal System– but alphabetically, in sets spelling his name.
Street names were strangely misspelt. Buildings on the map seemed to have walked–
They had switched positions.
Panic rushed through his veins. He looked out the window.
Buildings hadn’t changed places on just the map– it had happened on the very Street he lived.
The world.
Possibly his life.
Rewritten.
🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Some maps don’t like being drawn–they prefer to hold the pen.
🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭
The Head Historian had approached Elias Mapps that morning with a task that those in the archives shunned—to restore a fading map.
It simply took too much work.
But young Mapps had little to do that evening–no dates, nothing on HIS personal map.
He squinted at its intricate lines under the glow of a UV lamp.
Its lavender hues seemed to flicker with unanswered questions.
The Pacific, Atlantic…the 70% water that makes up the globe.
His meticulous pen traced the fine lines surrounding the continents.
The line glowed.
He leapt.
As though the springs in his seat had sent him to another realm.
He fell back against his swivel chair, head striking the headboard.
He swore–the continents had moved under his pen.
Columbus’ America had become–Asia.
And Africa had taken India’s place.
Places in his own city were–
New.
Unfamiliar.
Young Mapps blinked. It had been a long day–or he was growing old.
As he left the room, the continents shifted once more, and the glowing line made an ominous curve–
Into an arrow.
Pointing—to a historian it seemed to know.
🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭🧭
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui Lin. AI tags are coincidental
Part 2 continues tomorrow!
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 