Rebecca M. Douglass, Author

Photo by KL Caley Posting for the weekly #WritePhoto challenge by KL Caley at New2Writing.com.  Read all about it and join in at the WritePhoto site.   This is a sort of continuation of September's story about the tractor in a field, and is a very short 330-odd words, since I'm working hard at hitting my ambitious NaNoWriMo goals and haven't time for additional short stories!   Farmer's Revolt, Part II Matt watched his sister drive the tractor off into the fog. Dad had reamed her out over cutting the hay in sweeping curves instead of neat lines, so she was keeping right to the path. Dad hadn’t taken away the tractor, though. Jane Amelia still got to drive it most of the time, while he, Matt had to drive the hay rake, or, worse, get down and pick rocks from the field, which was today’s job.   How could a field that had been farmed for as long as this one still have rocks poking up all the time? And why couldn’t he drive the trac

Image by KL Kaley   Posting for the weekly #WritePhoto challenge by KL Caley at New2Writing.com.  Read all about it and join in at the WritePhoto site. I'm cheating this time, and reusing a story from 2016. It's kind of a nice Halloweenish tale, and I'm still kind of jet-lagged and couldn't come up with a new one. Besides, I like this tale. 1000 words. The Enchanted Blasted Forest The Enchanted Forest is a punishment post, but never mind what we did to get sent there. They have to man the post, and soldiers don’t last long there, so you don’t have to do much to end up there. About half of those sent never even arrive.   There were six of us, and when the road entered the blasted Forest we divided up the watch. Tomo watched left, Martin right, Jock ahead, Kora behind, Shea overhead, and I was back-up to them all, scanning every direction as thoroughly as I could.   The monsters weren’t bold. If Shea called out “harpy overhead!” we’d all rais

It's WritePhoto time! Image by KL Caley I'm writing this for the weekly #WritePhoto challenge by KL Caley at New2Writing.com. Read all about it and join in if you'd like! Mine's a bit creepy, a bit of crime, and a bit of humor. Around 860 words this week. On the Tower Gervais the Gargoyle clung, as he had for over a century, to the side of the crenellated tower of the absurdly fake castle. Not that Gervais knew that. How could he know what was absurd in architecture? He had taken form in a stonemason’s workshop and been carted at once to the Abernathy-Foyle home in the year 1843. It was a big year for fake castles and gargoyles, another fact of which Gervais wasn’t cognizant.   What Gervais did know was everything that was done or said in range of his stone eyes and stone ears, which could see and hear a great deal farther than anyone might have suspected.   In actual fact, of course, no one expected or suspected that Gervais could see or hear anything. Tho

Cemetery – Image by KL Caley For visually challenged writers , the image shows a cemetery path with graves and trees aligning each side of it.   I'm writing this for the weekly #WritePhoto challenge by KL Caley at New2Writing.com. Read all about it and join in if you'd like! I think this is meant to be a fall thing for Halloween, but I'm seeing trees just leafing out, not ones that have dropped their leaves, so I put it in early summer.   Around 800 words this week. Cemetery Visit   The shadows were growing longer, though the sun was still bright and the sky blue. In the long alley between the trees there were hints of the darkness that would envelop the cemetery soon enough.   Lauren stood close to a tall, lean pine tree. It felt warm and living, and the scent of it helped calm them. Why had the boys said they had to come here so early to start their night in the graveyard? Maybe it was to give them a way out—surely at this hour someone would

Photo credit: KL Caley I am writing this for the weekly #WritePhoto challenge by KL Caley at New2Writing.com. Read all about it and join in if you'd like!   This week's offering is a quick read at 415 words.   Woodland Crossing   “Oh, look! A stream neither of us has fallen into yet!” My sister gives me a dirty look. “Hush! That’s just tempting fate.” She puts her hands over her mouth, then her ears, like the speak-no-evil monkey. We both laugh as we approached the stream. “I’m sure we’ve nothing to worry about with a little trickle like this. It’s barely two inches deep.” “It’s too wide to step over, though.” Sis studies the damp-looking rocks sticking up out of the middle, trying to decide if she can cross it without getting her feet wet. Me, I’m thinking about some of the streams I’ve fallen into. They were mostly big, fast, full of snowmelt or glacial run-off. Go big or stay home, as they say. I don’t intend to fall into this dinky thing.

Every Thursday, KL Caley at New2Writing shares a photo to serve as inspiration for some kind of writing to be posted and shared by the following Tuesday. Last Thursday, the photo was this peaceful scene of a fisherman. I took a few liberties and came up with my story. The hop is open to all, just write your story and share the link at KL's blog!  Photo by KL Caley   Along the River: A Story in Six Chapters I. Ratty and Mole play in their boat until the ducks, angry at the disruption of their feeding, chase them away. They retreat to have a picnic on the bank of the river, and are joined by the Badger and the Otter. They remain hidden under the drooping willows. II. The miller lets the water through the weir, turns the wheel and grinds the grain for an hour, just enough for his wife to bake the bread for their anniversary dinner. She always makes that from the flour he grinds at the ancient mill. The rest of the time, the wheel sits silent and still, and the water passes around the