Here are our 2020 Spec Faith Fall Writing Challenge finalists and the poll in which you may vote to make the choice of winner.

Just a reminder. This is NOT a popularity contest. We really do want to acknowledge writers who have honed their skills and demonstrated their ability in this little exercise. So, those who vote in the poll, please be sure you read all three of the finalist entries and give a fair assessment.

Special thanks to all who entered and all who gave their feedback.

We haven’t had as many comments as I would have liked, but it’s not too late. If readers can give some feedback that would help the writers, that would really make this writing challenge valuable.

We did have a tie, so there are four finalists. In alphabetical order by last name, our 2020 Spec Faith Fall Writing Challenge finalists are as follows:

• Darlene N. Bocek

• Shari Branning

• Ann Milo

• John Sweeting

All that’s left is to select the winner, and that’s also in the hands of our visitors. Choose from these finalists and vote in the poll at the end of this post for the one entry you think is best.

The entry receiving the most votes will be the winner, and the author will receive a $25 e-gift card from either Amazon or B&N. (In case of a tie, I’ll draw for the winner).

Voting will last until 8:00 A.M. (Pacific time), Monday, October 12.

And now the finalists’ entries (reformatted as necessary).

• Darlene N. Bocek

      Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.
     “Meow.”
     Octavia froze, eyes on Frank.
     His nostrils twitched. A rush of terror flooded over the old woman. How could he know? Impossible. He’d been out when it happened.
     She cleared her throat and zipped up the duffel bag.
     Frank rubbed his furry black hip against her bag, mewing. His tail flicked the zipper.
     Frank knew. Sweat beaded on her forehead. And if Frank knew, she’d never get away with it. Not again.
     She lifted him to her chest. “Sweet Frankie. We’re moving on.”
     The Mancoon brushed his forehead against her chin. She held her breath, but stroked his back.
     How am I going to escape if he knows? 
     Octavia’s eyes darted around the room, catching on a trunk. The trunk. 
     If he knew, he’d turn, and she’d be caught. Guaranteed. Frankie was like that, demanding, controlling, ready to snap. He’d have to stay, poor thing.
     She took a slow step toward the trunk, and a sour whiff of what was inside sent shivers up her spine.
     Through the doorway she could see everything ready in the kitchen. An accident, like last time. She placed her hand on the lid of the trunk. She’d need to move fast, to get Frank in there with…”her.” 
     I hate doing this, buddy—she kissed his temple—but you leave me no choice.
     With feline swiftness, the cat bit her throat. Octavia yelped and dropped him. He ran out of the room and jumped onto the kitchen counter, next to his food dish—she gaped in horror—next to the candle. Yes. He knew. 
     She’d never get out alive.

– – – – –

• Shari Banning

Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. 

Torren Blackpaw, werewolf and jerk extraordinaire, had been stalking her for the past month. He’d claimed her as his mate. At least he claimed that he claimed her. Leave it to a werewolf to wield the antiquated, toxic tradition of claiming mates like the proverbial neanderthal’s club to get what he wanted. Unfortunately, what he wanted was her. But she had no intention of succumbing to that club, proverbial or otherwise, and getting dragged off to his cave. Or den. 

His ploys wouldn’t have caused her more than an eye roll if her clan actually backed her for once and cried poppycock. But whether he had them that bamboozled, or whether they were afraid to cross him, they had made it perfectly clear that she was on her own. 

Bag packed, she hurried across the road and slipped into the shade of the thick forest beyond. A few miles’ hike through dense underbrush brought her to an ancient, lightning-struck oak with a cleft in the trunk big enough to walk through. She stepped into the cool shade of the tree, gripping the rough, scarred bark at the edge of the cleft. Inside the tree she could see nothing but black. So it was true. A rift had opened in the ancient tree. Well, let Torren follow her into the human world then. 

With a deep breath and a final glance behind her she stepped through the rift into a different world. 

– – – – –

• Ann Milo

Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.

Poof! Angel appeared on her shoulder.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. “Don’t do it.”

Poof! Devil appeared next to him.

“Hey! What’re ya whispering for? She can’t hear ya!” Devil pulled out a megaphone. “GO! You should go!”

Angel covered his ears. “Pipe down!”

“WHAT?” Devil whipped around, bonking Angel with the megaphone and knocking him off Octavia’s shoulder.

Angel flapped along by the hem of Octavia’s pants.

“Ha!” cried Devil, prancing around.

Angel fluttered back up and landed on Octavia’s other shoulder. “Oh, dear! Where were we? Oh. Don’t go!”

Devil put his megaphone in Octavia’s ear. “WHY WOULD YOU LISTEN TO HIM? He’s wearing a skirt!”

“It’s called a robe,” cried Angel. “Don’t listen to him! He’s holding a fork!”

“Yes! Listen to goody two-shoes!” laughed Devil.

“Hey, where’re we going?”

Angel and Devil looked down as Octavia darted out the driveway.

“Hah! She’s getting away!” Devil hopped around, waving arms and legs as though on fire. “If you’d talked about something other than a fork, she might’ve listened to you.”

Angel leaned over. “Don’t do it.”

Octavia crossed the street.

“She did it.”

“Why’re you so evil?” Angel cried.

“Well, when I was a little devil, I fell from Heaven.”

“That’s too bad,” sighed Angel.

“Anh, shut up!”

Bump!

Devil and Angel went airborne and landed on their faces. Above Octavia’s shoulders, a scarlet banner fluttered over a covered tent reading “Charity Drive”.

“Hello!” Octavia pushed her travel bag across the counter. “Here’s my donation.”

Angel’s and Devil’s mouths dropped open like two hinges.

“Aha!” exclaimed Angel. “’When you give to the needy, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret.’”

– – – – –

• John Sweeting

Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.
    Bag slung over her shoulder and small travel chest in hand, she raced through the empty villa to the courtyard. Shamus, the only remaining house servant, held the reins of her chariot. Leaping aboard, she shook out her long wavy black hair in the sharp breeze. Her straight nose, fair skin, dark almond eyes, and lithe frame betrayed her Roman ancestry.
    Why didn’t Father take us from this island when the Legions departed? Now I am stuck here protecting his secrets when all the new King’s knights seek them, and me!
    “Fare you well, My Lady,” Shamus called as she shook the reins and her two mares, Spitfire and Lightning, broke into a trot out the gates.
    “You too, Shamus. Try to hold the villa if you wish. Its all yours now!”
    Scarcely had Octavia gone a mile, and she came around a bend to find four horses with riders blocking the way. Three were knights on their dark chargers. The fourth was a young woman on a white palfrey.
    “Hello, Dindrane,” Octavia addressed the women. “Did you really need three escorts? Percival, Galahad, and Bors, I believe?”
    “Give us the scroll, Octavia,” Dindrane ordered. “We know you have the secrets of the Sword, the Ship, and the Tree.”
    Percival dismounted and said, “Or just tell us, Lady Octavia, where do we find the Grail?”
    Octavia laughed. Then, seeing their stunned expressions, laughed again.
    Catching her breath, she told them, “You ask, where is the Grail? You should ask, what is the Grail? For if you knew, terror would halt your search.”

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