I have to admit to being a little nervous about changing my Thursday word challenge after running a five-word challenge for so long. But you all embraced it and produced some outstanding stories. Your challenge for next week is to write a story up to 150 words, which starts with the following line:
“YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY WITH IT,” HE SAID.
Last week, I asked you to tell a story up to 100 words, with the following three words in it somewhere:
- LOVE
- WARDROBE
- DANGEROUS
Here is your fabulous work. Some strong five-word stories and some powerful longer pieces:
The old wooden wardrobe was getting dangerous! I loved it, standing against the chimney breast, but I had noticed some tiny holes on its surface. Woodworm? Deathwatch beetle? Who knows, the house was as old as the wardrobe!
Of course I’d filled it with stuff over the years, badminton racquets, hockey sticks, toy trains, a cagoule. Stuff that wouldn’t be called dangerous, just weighty. But that was the problem. I was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, drinking coffee, deciding whether to move the wardrobe when… Creak! The woodworm had eaten through the floor, the wardrobe was now DOWNSTAIRS!
I love my dangerous wardrobe.
I have no love for my wardrobe. When I was younger, my clothes were close to dangerous because I’d rather be near-naked than hot. And I had the figure for them. Now my clothes look old and frumpy…like me. But fear not, dear readers, I’m working on it. Losing weight, getting more fit, and ordering more stylish clothes from a cheap clothing site will have me sporting dazzling duds before no time! Soon I’ll be back to bright, stylish, sexy clothing like well-fitting jeans and flirty tops. I don’t know about “dangerous” but hope to turn a head or two.
Dangerous love tryst inside wardrobe.
–
I am sweating under the pile of clothes.
I am invisible in the darkness.
The floorboards groan as he searches the bedroom, muttering.
He is dangerous.
If he finds me, he will hurt me again.
Yet I yearn for his comforting cuddles.
He really cares.
He is purifying me.
He loves me.
Is that wrong?
Is that false love?
Silence!
I am safe.
I breathe.
I sigh.
The wardrobe door creaks open.
I shrink into the corner
The clothes part.
The pain of his grip on my ankle is intense.
He is too strong.
Struggling is futile.
“Please sir! No!”
In 1930 Arthur Crown died making love in a mahogany wardrobe. He eschewed Heaven for a temporary ghost placement, reasoning if he couldn’t make love in there, he’d ensure no one would.
For seventy years Arthur rattled coat hangers and banged doors but never stopped the coupling attractions of the wardrobe.
Finally on Millennium night, a naked Ivan Enormous-Appendage, climbed inside. The anticipation proved too much and as Wanda Lust entered the bedroom Ivan began involuntarily to emerge from hiding.
With a force borne of frustration, Arthur banged the doors, proving ghosts are both dangerous and adept at blunt-force circumcision.
I suppose it was only a matter of time before I’d find myself hiding in a wardrobe when a husband arrived home unexpectedly; your typical scenario from a bedroom farce finally became my reality.
I could tell you I was in love with the female in question, but that would be a lie. I’d committed a cardinal sin and she was just one of many; just think ‘Confessions of A Window Cleaner’. My line of work offered those very same opportunities.
Talk about living dangerously; I could imagine the headlines:
Parishioners up in arms as vicar caught with pants down…
***
Esther Chilton 
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