Do You Drabble?

I'm a member of a rather eccentric little writers' circle, whose admission is by-invitation-only, or I'd post a link. I don't have time to go on the board often, but I've written a couple stories for the writing challenges, and they're as delightful a bunch of fantasy writers as you could hope to meet (putting Hannah at the top of that list, of course).

Two weeks ago they started a drabble contest. A 'drabble' (for those of you --like me-- who don't write scads of fan fiction) is a quirky little internet word which means "A short piece of creative writing, ranging in length from 100 to 500 words."

In this particular case the rules were these:

• 250-400 words
• Fandoms, personal stories, all accepted
• Must have a female character in the story, no matter how prominent
• Prompt: Use this sentence in your beginning paragraph: "You know...there is nothing as tempting as a locked door."

And after five tries (writing in such a confined space is a whole lot harder than I thought), I came up with the following 399 word entry! I placed second and thought you might have fun seeing it -- particularly Lauren, since she gave me Wimberly.

Wimberly and Jasper

You know… there is nothing as tempting as a locked door. Nothing at all. And worst of all are the large mahogany doors with brass knobs, tucked down long corridors in the basements of mansions. Fortunately for you and me, there are very few such doors in the world. In Navinkal there was only one.

It was night at Darren Hall. Wind shrieked over the mountains. Thunder rattled the swords on the library wall and lightening made shadow puppets of Wimberly’s abandoned dolls. Her cousin Jasper had been whittling, but his tools had been likewise discarded.

Down a derelict staircase beneath the lowest cellar a pair of footprints marred the dust. Here the rooms were carved into the rock itself: once magnificent, but given over to storage and decay. In the corners lurked a jungle of crippled furniture and the scattered detritus of molding books.

The only light came from a single lantern at the end of a long corridor. Here the children were sitting silently at the foot of the lone door. It was arresting. Every inch of its surface gave off the warm glow of fresh polish, and the lock plate gleamed. So many times the children had tugged the knob and peered through the keyhole to no avail, but they couldn’t seem to stay away.

“Tell me the story,” whispered Wimberly, curled in her cousin’s lap.

“Again? Well… they say that though Mage Lakyle fought in the war against the nymphs, there was one who was his friend.”

“They were like brothers, right?”

A soft laugh. “Yes. The nymph used his magic to build a door so that they could visit each other any time they wanted.”

“And in the woods there’s the other side of the door, just standing by itself, all locked?”

“So they say. He made one key for himself and one for Lakyle.”

“But the keys got lost.”

“Right.”

“And this is the door.” She was certain, her dark eyes alight.

“Maybe.” He shifted. “Come on, your hands are cold.”

“Do you think we’ll ever find the key?” she asked.

“Maybe someday.”

“We will.”

“I believe you,” Jasper said fondly. “Come on, Tadpole.”

Outside the tempest rippled the forest like an ocean. And in the dark hallway beneath Darren Hall, the door bucked against the wind and a trickle of rainwater and leaves seeped over the threshold to mingle with the dust.