Here’s a short story. Can you give me a title?

The Silence of the Yams (was Untitled Story)

Janine wasn’t sure when she first started to go mad. It was either the cut carrots calling out, or the parsnips pleading as the oven heated up to roasting speed. She’d been a vegetarian for decades. A vegan ever since her wedding to Tom, the variety artist. But although he joked that while “meat is murder, but fish is justifiable homicide” he had honoured her wishes to not eat dead animal for the unhappiness of their short marriage.

Janine knew Tom had married for money, but he had always quietly respected her “life choices.” (She imagined him bunny earring the quotes.) and had foresworn the flesh.

So, when the carrots anguished their burns as they boiled, then bathed in butter, and the parsnips screamed to not be ovened, she snapped.

The potatoes remained half mashed, bewailing their half dead. She could not eat. Tom took over, and was sympathy itself. No, he had not heard voices. It must be all the stress of recent days getting to her, mustn’t it? Would she like soup, or a smoothie? Janine could only picture fruit screaming bloody in the blender.

When the police came at the insistence of the ambulance crew, who could not believe a grown woman would willingly starve herself in her own home, the Detective Sergeant was non-plussed, especially when his boss insisted they arrest the husband, even though there was no evidence of incarceration or abuse. The Inspector looked his underling in the eye. “He’s a ventriloquist, Danny. Now book him!”

Alissa Leonard has created the “Finish That Thought” Flash Fiction compo, which usually provides an opening line and some ‘special challenge’ words to include, and must be less than 500 words. This week’s compo opening line was “Three strangers appeared on my [doorstep], and in their [hands] they brought death.” and the judge’s special challenge from the judge was to: “Include at least THREE of the following literary characters: Edward Rochester, Jo March, Harry Potter, Anne Shirley, Sherlock Holmes, Katniss Everdeen, Dracula, Miss Havisham, Rhett Butler, Lucy Pevensie, Gandalf the Grey.”

I didn’t have much time this week, but wanted to put something in, even if it was short, because it has been SO long since I last wrote something. This is my story, but please check out the original submission and read other entries.

Fifty Shades of (Gandalf the) Grey (500 Words)
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By Dr. Mike Reddy @DoctorMikeReddy

Three strangers appeared on my doorstep, and in their hands they brought death. This particular death, as any fan boy/girl will tell you, was the worst of all.

“Miss Antrim? Miss Sally Antrim?” the first suit asked. I nodded, then mumbled “Ms…”

“Mzzz Antrim, we represent the various publishers, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, BBC Books and Harper Collins. I have here a cease and desist letter from our clients.”

Normally, “C+Ds” were clean strikes like an Internet transmitted smart bomb. I clumsily received the document and opened the envelope. It must have only recently been sealed; I made a mental note to put it in the reusable pile.

“We, the above… remove references pertaining to… Hogwarts, Panem, Moria… Sherlock Holmes…” I looked up, confused. “Isn’t Conan Doyle’s…”

“Not the Cumberbatch version, dear. Only the early stuff is public domain.” the second suit interrupted. The third shrugged. “Can you sign here.” he pointed to an iPad, and pushed it forward. I squiggled my autograph, long practiced in anticipation of book launches, public appearances and lecture tours.

“Thank you, Mzzz Antrim,” the first man said, “Have a good day.” The three men turned about, insisting that each other go first, then swiftly walked down the garden path, stepping gingerly over the weed strewn cobbles.

They had been gone a few minutes before I realised I was still standing in the open front doorway, in a half soaked bathrobe. A shudder broke the spell, and I hurried inside. Steam coming from the downstairs bathroom recalled my hurry to answer the door, thinking the intrusion another Amazon delivery. Numbly, I cut off the water, and stumbled into the kitchen to make some herbal tea.

“Who was that?” Harry asked, sipping coffee. Black. A little honey to sweeten the bitterness. He could sense my despair. I held out the letter, which floated towards him, bouncing along in time to his flicking wand. Gandalf sighed at the ostentatiousness and snatched it from the air.

“Ho hum… this appears to…” the Wizard began.

“It is obviously a legal document. Judging by the envelope – manila, self-sealing but with no lasting damage to the glue line – so, recently closed… Some disagreement? Negotiation as to how to proceed…? I take it that this is instructions to stop your…” The tall, curly haired man gestured to the other occupants of the kitchen table. “… ‘inspired’ story telling.”

Gandalf coughed his disapproval. “It is as Mr Holmes ‘guessed’”. The taller man snorted, then set about buttering his toast, taking rather more pleasure in scraping his knife than necessary. The Wizard shuddered. He knew the Detective knew he hated that sound.

“I say we go after them, and skin them” Sally heard behind her. An arrow swiftly plucked the letter from the Wizard’s startled fingers and pinned it to the wall. Katniss gripped my shoulders. “You can’t stop writing now. How else will we find out if Sherlock truly loves me?”