in celebration of @dadplease reaching 5,000 followers, i’m hosting a stuffied-themed writing contest— with a prize for first place! thank you all so much for supporting me and my work; i can’t wait to see what adorable creations you come up with!
what | a writing contest hosted by eun! open to anyone (who meets the participation rules) — not just writers — to submit a piece of writing to be added to the event’s masterlist and read/shared by on her blog! (eun will also be contributing a stuffie-themed fic of her own!)
when | submissions are being accepted between monday, march 28th and friday, april 29th, 2022. a winner will be chosen and announced on saturday, april 30th.
where | submit your writing to the contest by creating your own post and tagging eun (@dadplease), along with adding the challenge tag (#dadplease 5k submission).
the prize | the winner will receive a $30 build-a-bear gift card (via email!)
We’re thrilled to announce our very first Flash Fiction Open! The contest is open to flash fiction 500 words or under, and it will be judged by a writer who is beloved by us: Karin Tidbeck, author of the unclassifiable and wonderfully strange collection Jagannath, and stories that have appeared in some of our favorite places like Unstuck, Tor.com, Lightspeed, Strange Horizons.
The prize is $200 and publication in Issue 6. As each issue of The Golden Key is themed to be inspired by some “object” that might come out of the little iron chest in the Grimm Brothers’ “The Golden Key” tale, the winning piece selected by Karin Tidbeck will also set the theme for Issue 6.
There will be a modest entry fee of $5 for one entry, or $7 for two. We’re raising money so that we can pay our future contributors—entry fees are considered donations, and donations are never used for website or site-related costs—editors pay that.
We hope you’ll enter our first contest! You could win $200, your story could be the centerpiece of Issue 6, and you’ll be supporting other writers!
The wonderful poster art for the Flash Fiction Open was created by the supremely talented F. Lee. See more of F. Lee’s work here: Portfolio,store, and on Twitter @FleeCentaur. @fleebites
This month’s piece generated some incredible stories. I chose this work of art believing there were numerous tales buried within it, and I was not disappointed. Each entry took a completely different perspective on what is happening in this scene. If you enjoy one of the Honorable Mentions below, please let the writer know. I’m sure they would love to hear from you.
As a reminder, I celebrated the new year by featuring one of my favorite artists, @hydraart. If you’ve been following this contest, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year. If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:
“Do not move,” Eleanor whispers to herself, thin frame curled inward.
The flapping of wings drowns out her panicked breathing. Dust swirls around. Bits and pieces rain down, and they sound like bullet casings striking metal.
Eleanor could recognize the sound anywhere. It is as familiar as her grandfather’s wartime movies. Black and white visions of the dead.
“Do not move,” Eleanor reminds herself, eyes scanning the words scratched into the steel.
The great bird passes overhead, and the entire shard shakes with its might. She bites her lip. A moment of terrible silence.
It is circling around. Coming back.
“Do… not… move,” Eleanor repeats, unaware that it doesn’t matter.
The shelter is just a jagged piece of roof. It isn’t big enough to hide her, not all of her. Not her shadow.
And unfortunately, the sun is burning in her direction.
“What is it?” replied his mother, her voice drenched in fatigue.
“Billy smashed up my 172 scale model Medieval Human Village.”
“Now Tommy…”
“It wasn’t me,” shouted Billy. “I wouldn’t do nothing with your stupid model.”
“Yes it was,” shouted Tommy waving his wing at the table. “That’s your feather laying right there.”
“Nuh-huh.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nuh-huh.”
Their mother rubbed a talon against her throbbing forehead. It was going to be a long day. Maybe it was time to just kick the little bastards out of the nest? She looked at the two chicks arguing. “No,” she said softly, “I’ll give it one more day.”
I dug my fingers deep into the ground as I curled tighter into myself, squeezing my eyes shut in a vain effort to concentrate. This had to work- in the end it’s all I could do, whatever God that’s left forgive me. I could feel the beast looming impossibly large behind me, breath wuffing over the ruined plains like winds before a storm. A low growl thundered from its throat and I dug harder even as my fingernails protested and bent from the dirt being shoved underneath them. I couldn’t fail. I had to find them, and to do that I needed to make it out alive. To do that…
I felt it suddenly, claws slicing easily into the dirt deep enough that I’m sure someone could make a bomb shelter of it later. The tips of its heavy wings brushed the uneven ground, dragging stone and steel along as they swayed in rest. Feeling the pull of its head was the worst; it had seen me that much I knew, darting from toppled building to ruined tower to hastily put up shelter as fast as my legs could carry me had not been fast enough. It’s great shriek had nearly deafened me as it shook the earth landing just a few yards away from where I had crouched. The few warriors who had gathered to head off the beast- they all knew in their hearts they hadn’t a chance of making it.
That’s what I kept telling myself as the beast’s arm raised and came crashing down to sweep away fallen debris and lean to steel sheets and scattered weapons, armor and men alike, leaving them to try and bury themselves yet again. Collect their wits and reorganize perhaps. I couldn’t afford to give them that chance. Setting everything in motion the wings swept back, the arms came up, the eyes focused forward, sharp beak opening wide with vocal chords straining to make its signature call- and so it was done.
All at once I severed the connection, feeling impossibly small and weak and useless once again as the ground shook like an earthquake with the speed at which the beast fell, screaming its indignation at being puppeted for as long as it had, intelligent eyes snapping forward to those running for better cover, myself sitting still and forgotten for the moment in light of more easily accessed prey. I covered my ears and closed my eyes, whispering out a prayer of forgiveness to carry on the artificial wind for those who cared to hear it.
Eventually the shaking ceased, noise quieted, beast placated if only for a moment making it possible to crawl out and stand up though I dared not turn around. Sticking to the irrational belief that my imagined carnage was worse and therefore I was absolved of blame I squared my shoulders and turned west.
I had survived and would continue to do so through whatever means necessary. I would survive. And I would find them.
Maran huddled beneath the toppled roof of a ruined dwelling, sitting now upon the ground, broken and battered. All of the buildings in this tiny hamlet told a similar story; one of destruction and wrath.
Maran heaved a silent sigh. He had sent out Maran-do, his mind partner, when the day was still bright, her task to bring down anyone he had not dispatched. Very few would be daring enough to try to evade her. It would take a remarkable being indeed to slip past Maran-do unnoticed, avoiding her wicked talons. He had never known it happen yet.
Maran-do hung in the air now like a dark, oppressive shadow. She had been the foretelling of death for so many souls, Maran had long since stopped counting.
He had never imagined she would foretell his own death, too. Maran frowned, trying to recall such a thing happening before. What could possibly cause a mind-partner to turn upon its host? It was unheard of.
He knew the tiniest movement would be enough to alert her to his whereabouts. Resisting the urge to break cover and run, Maran struggled with ordering his thoughts. That was the biggest problem. Maran-do was inside his head as well as outside it. She knew his own mind better than he knew it himself.
How could he possibly escape? Wherever he went, Maran-do would go with him. Why had she turned on him? In a rare moment of self-pity, Maran gave a sniff.
It was enough. He could feel the air outside shifting, darkness looming over his hiding place like an unstoppable, oncoming storm. For the briefest instant, Maran felt the terror and utter helplessness so many had known before.
A large talon tapped impatiently before him. Inside his head, the words ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are’ blossomed into life like clouds of puffed smoke, Maran-do taunting him with his own phrase.
“Why?” Maran breathed, “Why do you turn upon me?”
More words of smoke, ‘I am to be mind-partner to a greater one than you, little Maran,’ using the childhood endearment, ‘Your mind is weak. You take much pleasure from death and killing. I belong to a greater mind than yours,’ she repeated.
She raised her foot. Maran flinched as, above him, the beams and planks of the rough wooden roof began to splinter. Instinctively he crouched, making himself smaller, as if he could avoid being crushed.
He had just enough time to wonder how she could survive without his mind to host her. Then he was gone; snuffed out like a bare candle in a blizzard.
Maran-do stretched her wings, letting out a silent shriek as her head turned to the west. A new host awaited her, a new name forming in her mind even as she rose from the earth. A path of flight was shown to her fathomless mind, stretching like an umbilical cord across the skies.
Maran was dead.
So was Maran-do.
Tethered
Written by: @wildler
I heard the spirits before I saw them—their strangled moans carrying through the smoke-stained air. Carys whinnied beneath me, her ears twitching in all directions.
“Easy girl,” I murmured, stroking her neck. “Only a little further. Should be the next clearing.”
The sound continued, growing stronger as we pushed closer to where the village was rumoured to be. I tugged the hood of my cloak from my head, sweat sticking my hair to my neck. It seemed my limited healing skills had arrived too late to be of use—but my other skills—well, perhaps I would return to the king with something more substantial than rumours at last.
We entered the clearing, the devastation hitting me like a sword to the gut. Homes had been scalped, gutted and burned. Their charred remains left crumbling into the earth. Spirits inhabited the ruins. Flickers of human outlines that cried out as they relived their violent, final moments of existence. Their fear keeping them tethered to this plane.
I dismounted Carys and pressed my hands to the ground, shuddering as the sweat on my neck turned cold. A haze of panic blanketed the site like thick smoke, making it impossible to get a sense of the events leading to its ruin. I sank my fingers into the soil and focused my will, trying again.
Sounds and smells came rushing at me, distorted screams on a hot jet of air. My eyes sprang open to find the spirits staring in eerie silence, their gaze passing right through me to something on the horizon.
I heard the presence before I saw it—a monstrous shriek carried on a blast of flame. It was an end too terrifying and binding to escape.
This month’s piece, created by @hydraart generated some incredible stories. I chose this work of art believing there were numerous stories buried within it, and I was not disappointed. Each entry took a completely different perspective on what is happening this scene. In addition to reading the winning piece below, I hope you’ll look for my Honorable Mentions post later today to see some of the other interpretations that gave this story competition for the win.
The winner for this month’s contest is…Maree Brittenford @mareebrittenford! Congratulations! If you like the story below, you may also want to check out the three books this author has published, which you can find by clicking here.
As a reminder, I celebrated the new year by featuring one of my favorite artists, @hydraart. If you’ve been following this contest, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year. If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:
The piece for this month was titled, “Hide and Seek.” Here it is with the winning story below:
It was a soggy, sullen sort of war. Fought over a piece of land that neither side actually wanted.
If their leaders were in a saner place then the grim swampy valley could’ve been deemed no man’s land, and left as a natural barrier between the two nations.
Instead they pushed and pulled at each other and when they gained a little ground they tried to build fortifications on the slightly firmer islands that rose a few inches above the water.
Ethel was no patriot. She didn’t see the point of wasting so many lives over such a place. All she wanted was to live a quiet life, but she was forced into the conflict, just like so many others.
Search and Rescue was what she was supposed to be doing. But it was a joke. She searched, but there was no rescue. The ones she carried back were either thrown back into the conflict or executed, depending on the colors they wore. The ones who were injured were supposed to get some kind of treatment. Mostly they just died.
The wind currents were brutal as she walked into the narrow pass between the mountains. It was part of what made the valley so unusual. Of course if a bird gained enough height they could fly across, but to get access to the valley one had to walk through the pass. It was too dangerous otherwise.
She was soon able to take flight over the mist that swooped and swirled through the valley, as if the spirits of all those killed were lingering.
She had to angle down low to even see anything through the mist, cutting dangerously close to the ground, and dodging the few spindly trees that suddenly appeared out of the mist ready to cut her down.
A movement caught her eye and she banked to investigate. Ethel’s landing on the spongey ground was silent, as silent as her wing strokes.
It wasn’t a bird, it was one of the little creatures. It cowered in the ruins of an old fort. The valley was infested with them, and most of the larger birds of prey considered them convenient snacks, but something about the way they acted troubled Ethel. She didn’t like food that looked at her with so much intelligence in it’s eyes. So she pretended not to see it and took flight again.
Perhaps some day, when the endless war was over the little creatures might make something of themselves, down there in the valley.
In this contest, I reach out to artists directly about specific pieces. As a result, I already love all of the artists and pictures that are featured. However, this month’s artist has been featured more than any other. This is definitely one of my favorite artists. Additionally, their work is the perfect catalyst for Ekphrastic Fiction pieces as they are often pictures of apocalyptic scenes that look like they are begging for stories to be crafted around them.
So, to celebrate the new year, I am once again featuring a piece by Virginie Juteau @hydraart. If you’ve been following this contest for a while, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year.
The piece for this month is titled, “Hide and Seek.” Can you see why I feel like there are unlimited stories hidden here? This artist has the incredible gift of crafting surreal scenes that have multiple stories emanating from them.
If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:
You can do either one of these to enter the contest. You do not need to do both.
Contest Prize: I will feature the winning piece on my blog and link directly to the writer’s page in order to promote his/her/their work. The winning piece will also have a permanent spot on my contest page. This gives writers a chance to have their work shared and seen by others. Sorry, but at this time I am broke, so no cash prizes will be given.
WTF is Ekphrastic Fiction? Ekphrastic Fiction stories are short fictitious pieces inspired by a work of art. To see some of my Ekphrastic Fiction pieces, click here.
Will there be any future contests? Yes! As long as there is enough interest, there will be a new contest, and a new piece of art work, posted every month. Check out my page on the 1st of each month to see the new contest.
If you saw my previous post, you know that this will be the last contest for the time being. If you missed that announcement, you can read it here. I thought it was only appropriate for me to bring things to a close by featuring my favorite and most featured artist. Virginie Juteau @hydraart is not only an incredibly gifted creator of monsters, but has also been continually supportive of this contest over the years. I couldn’t resist featuring one more of this artist’s incredible creations.
The final piece for the contest is titled, “Scientia,” and it’s an example of yet another mythical being that was generated from the mind of @hydraart. If you’re into fantasy/horror art and you’re not familiar with this artist’s work, you can click here to see a vast collection of original work.
