Hey guys, this is Abi here,
And here is my first entry for the Spooky Quilling // A writing meme for those that love blood gore and the undead by Savannah @ The Book Prophet!
Please don't judge me for going to creepy, I can't help it!
You've been warned!
...Here it is!
(And I did manage 666 words!)
Oh, here's the prompt, as promised:
"For this prompt you have to write a spooky story about how the villain of a story – a story already in existence or of your own imagination – became the villain. This has to be 666 words (I know it’s hard but try and get it exact – you never know, it may bring you good luck)."
“The wind blows, I slide my hands into my pockets.
I hear a shrill echo of a scream, just a short distance away. Music to my ears.
It’s time. With a menacing glistening of teeth, I gave chase, my silent feet in time with my heartbeat. I could chase like this for hours.
It’s night, my favourite time of the day. More cover, less people. A lot more discrete. You can almost hear the crying of babies, the shuffling of wandering feet, lost, scared.
Shadows cover every facet of the street, buildings tall and daunting, just that little bit alive and crowded in the day, silent and wind-swept in the black night. There are the streetlights, but only give off a faint glimmer. I catch sight of my victim as she turns down an alley out of town. Perfect.
It’s pitch black. So dark I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. But I know this field well though. She’ll be in my sights soon enough.
I close my eyes, reach out with my senses, eyebrows raised, I stand, my breathing slowed almost into silence.
I hear a noise, a rustling. My eyes snap open and seeing a slight movement in the bushes, I make a beeline for it, no longer bothering about being quiet.
I scour the bushes for what I was looking for, tall, thin girl, long hair, nameless face etc etc.
And then I black-out, as a searing pain hits me in the back of the head.
* * * * *
I roll my sleeves up, tie up my boots.
We’re in a small room, a table and chair, only a candle for light.
It’s old and secluded. No other buildings for miles.
I have all my arsenal on the table to my right.
The door is locked, no escape.
Not for them anyway.
He’s tied up to a chair, unconscious.
Time to wake him up.
He’s going to wish he stayed asleep, when I’m done.
I reach for the adrenaline injection, and stride over. I place the knife on the table and inject the adrenaline into his neck. Not too strong though. Don’t want to kill him before I’ve ever started.
I sit on the table, legs crossed, knife in hand. Time to wait.
He comes to, all at once.
I press my mouth to his ear.
“You won’t leave this room alive unless you tell me everything.”
And he screams and screams.
“I won’t tell you a god-damn thing, you sick FREAK!”
I throw three knives, my eyes unblinking. They miss him by a centimetre.
“Next time they’ll be on center. And you’ll be dead.”
My knife is at his throat.
“Or maybe I should just kill you now.”
He’s sweating now, breathing heavily.
But he looks me in the eye, I’ll give him that.
His eye bulging, he whispers. “Go ahead.”
Quick as a leopard, I plunge the needle into his neck.
He screams and screams, attempting to remove his restraints.
I grin, staring and staring.
“What have you done with her?”
At least he’s finally talking.
“Oh, she’s fine.” I try to keep my voice menacing and high, just waiting for him to tip. It’s only a matter of time.
“It’s your daughter you should be worried about.”
The look on his face, it’s like he’d kill me with my bare hands if given the chance.
“You sick fucker.”
And then I shoot him with my gun, and stalk out, the blood silently creeping down the walls.
I’m in the bushes, a short distance from the house.
I see the car, the man, the knock on the door.
Even though they can’t see me, I crouch down to my heels, now completely covered.
Though I’m far away, I can still see the pain on her face as she is told the news… the news of her husband.
Such a shame…
I turn and run, leaving the corpse town dead in my wake.”
So that was entry, let me know in the comments what you thought of my FIRST ATTEMPT AT HORROR.
Answer this in the comments: Is it a good thing to be good at writing horror?
(Not that I'm saying I'm good, I'm not).
But is it a good thing, to be good at scaring someone shitless?
Let me know!
Okay, so that was my post for today, I hope you have a great weekend, and I will see you all on Monday!
P.S.:- Here's the link back to the post, again, just in case: