Commercial Break

***For whatever reason many people think that is a good idea, but no one is taking advantage of it. This is a place to get free advertisement. I do all of the work. So, to do even more--because I think that this is a very good idea--I will be giving 1,000 GPs to anyone who wants to participate and has a story approved by me. The approval process is pretty lenient. Email me a link to your story. If approved I'll write the commercial, let you review it, and if we come to an agreement I'll post it here for the world to read. People are bookmarking this item, the Commercial Break. Get free exposure. Oh, yeah, and 1,000 GPs. The 1,000 GP offer is valid to the first 100 acceptable stories.***

Now, even Writing.com has Commercial Breaks! Don't worry, though. You'll like these commercials. Why? Because they are commercials for your stories! I provide advertising for you, about you.

COMMERCIALS

Brand New Commercial!

I Remember the Carols

From the safety of a hallway bathroom--door opened just enough for one eye to peek--I watched the melodic barrage. The rhythm, even the words, were catching but the sight was utterly gruesome. I held my breath, winced, closed my eye tight and passed out. My last thought wasn't of my own safety, but of their safety, even the evil ones.

I don't think of myself as a coward, but again, a few days later, I hid. This time I hid behind two large men dressed in long black suits. Each man wore a heavy black beard. They looked somewhat similar, but I felt the tension between them. They were not friends. From between these rigid pillars, I could see the short pine box that held everyone's attention. No, they weren't friends, but today they weren't enemies either.

Invalid Item  This item number is not valid. #1589365 by Not Available.

The Weekender

The rod kicks and bends and is nearly pulled out of your hands. The once calm water ripples from a depth far below the murky surface. That which gnaws on the end of your line, hook buried deep in its mouth, has a taste for the obscure (the Andrew Zimmern of underwater living). You look at your companion, who winks. "Gottcha one this big," your companion says holding out his one arm and the nub protruding from his other shoulder. You both laugh hysterically, almost knocking over your latest bucket of "unique" bait.

The Weekender  (13+) The secret's in the bait. #822042 by BryanLee

The House on Willow's Creek

A nearly amputated shutter, worn, battered, dangling from a rusty bent nail reaches out to me, swaying with eerie rhythm, beckoning me closer. A long serpentine coil of smoke slithers from a dilapidated chimney, wraps its wispy tendrils around my shaking body and gently pulls me forward. The aged house moans and breathes deeply, shedding flecks of paint as it exhales.

I have no power against the vile house. My feet glide through soft, damp grass leaving thin trenches in my wake. I turn and see soft waves ripple across the surface of a shallow creek, waving my departure.

Turning back to my Medusa, the witch of a house that has bound me with its spell, I make one last effort, one last resilient stand. I raise my sweaty hands to the house, proclaiming my courage and mentally push against the the house's evil will.

My knees lock. My body rocks to a halt. I've won.

Slowly, a thin white curtain from behind a cracked, dirty pane of glass pulls to the side. My will folds. My stand is abandoned. Tears fall down my flushed cheeks. What I see in the flicking light of the window rips the soul from my defeated body. I am his.

Invalid Item  This item number is not valid. #1418032 by Not Available.

Disclaimer: All commercials are written by me, DanielHardin . The authors of the stories only give me permission to write a commercial for their item. If you would like a commercial, email me your item. All types of items are acceptable, but not all items are chosen.