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Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #9

Happy Saturday, Spookies!

Welcome to another round of the scary writing prompt game. Again, here's how it works: I'll announce the prompt, then you guys post a 1-2 paragraph response in the comment section. At the beginning of each round, I'll share my favorite bit from the previous week's entries before announcing the next prompt. As I announced in June, at the end of the year there will be a spooky prize drawing for ALL participants!

Want to give yourself more entries in the drawing? Go back to review and comment on past rounds if you haven't already. A late entry is just as fun to read for me!

The Prizes:

2 winners will be receiving customized horror bottles in the scary book or movie of their choice. (What's a horror bottle, you ask? That, my spookies, is when I decoupage the shiz out of an empty wine bottle to showcase whichever book or movie you choose. They make for some killer decorations! Pun intended, especially if you request a Freddy Krueger bottle.)


Last week's prompt challenged you to show me just what exactly your friend was hiding in her dead grandmother's basement. The results were incredible, and the level of participation definitely gave me the warm 'n fuzzies. In almost all cases, it was the dead granny lurking amidst the shadows, but one particular entry written by the awesome lovesickauthor took things to a different place:

"Immediately after the door swings wide, you catch sight of the dark staircase of which you can't see the end. The bourbon in your system revolts and you catch a wave of vertigo. Staggering back away from the edge of the step, you shut the door as quietly as you can before leaning against it, breathing in deeply through your nose. You are never quite as brave as you think you are. With your ear a mere inch away from the wooden door, you think you hear faint whispers from the basement but you shake off the paranoia. 

She calls your name louder than necessary, probably having woken up and wondering where you've gone. The moment you step away from the door and toward the living room once more, the whispers you thought were in your head crescendo to a deafening roar. "You'll be safe down here!" they scream. You run to find her standing in the center of the room, her back turned to you. You start to ask her to run with you, but before the words can leave your lips, she turns and her eyes glow red. "She tried to warn you," she says in a thousand voices, "but she overestimated your curiosity." Before you take your last breath, you realize safe haven was in the basement all along."

Bravo, LSA!

This Week's Prompt:

I stood in the living room, my shaking fingers struggling to keep a good grip on the hunting knife. Before me, my two best friends were too terrified to move. I'd known them each since kindergarten, but none of that mattered now. One of them was a murderer and I was going to find out which.

"Don't do this," Anassa begged as she squirmed against the rope binding her wrists together behind the chair. "I swear to God, it wasn't me. I didn't approve of your relationship with Ms. Henson, but I would never kill her! Do you honestly think that I'm capable of--"

"Shut up!" I screamed, shaking my head to get rid of her words. "You told me that day after history class that if you found out I was still sleeping with her, you'd do something about it."

"I meant tell someone!" Anassa pleaded. "Not kill!"

For just a brief moment, I was flooded with doubt. How did things come to this? But then I remember Leslie's face when I found her body waiting for me in our secret spot, covered in vomit from whatever poison she was slipped, her skin hard and cold.

"I know for a fact it was somebody in this room," I said, pointing the knife at the other girl. "I found one of our key chains stuck on the button of her sleeve. I took it before the cops came. I knew as soon as I saw it that it was one of you."

The key chains had been our sort of friendship necklace, ordered specially online to make us stand out from all the other groups at school. They were our trademark, the chunky spider designs studded with black and red beads.

Anassa was crying now. "So that means someone else has to die? Think about what you're doing! You'll never get away with this."

"I don't care." I moved my attention from Anassa to Jamie. "Was it you, Jamie? Did you slip poison into Leslie's coffee like a coward?"

"You're crazy," Jamie whispered, but her eyes were on her lap, and she didn't deny the murder. "We loved you, truly. You are going to pay for this."

It was at that moment that she stood up, completely free from the ties I had knotted so carefully around her wrists. How did she break free?

"This isn't going to go well," Jamie murmured as she slipped her hand into her pocket. "It's time for you to realize what is really going on here."

Release the Hellhounds!!

Amy Lukavics

Amy lurks within the forested mountains of Arizona. When she isn't reading or writing creepy stories, she enjoys cooking, crafting, and playing games across many platforms. She is the author of Daughters Unto Devils (Harlequin Teen 2015) and The Women In The Walls (Harlequin Teen 2016).

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  1. Cool prompt!

    "Stop," I shrieked, brandishing the hunting knife in her face as if I knew how to use it. Jamie raised her arms high as if admitting defeat. Dangling from her hand was two very familiar, very identical red and black beads.

    "Anassa gave me hers when she realized you expected us to cover up for your mistakes," said Jamie. "She wanted nothing more to do with this friendship, but I kept it in case you somehow redeemed yourself." I felt for the familiar bead hanging around my own neck. Nothing. I was the coward, not her. I was right, there was a murderer in the room. That murderer was me.

    1. Yaaay I was hoping there'd be at least one "it was me!" answer. Well done, Bethany!

  2. Still gripping the knife, I lunged backwards, knuckles-whitening. My stomach began to turn as I realized for the first time that I may actually have to use the knife I had slipped out of my brother's bag that morning. I reasoned that I was ready for whatever she was going to send my way - punch, kick, stab - I would be ready.

    Anassa was shaking now, as she stared intently at the floor, murmuring to herself. I braced my foot against the wall as a way to hold my balance if Jamie pounced, but there was no way I could prepare myself for what she pulled out of her back pocket. It was a slip of paper with a photo printed on it, crumpled and dirty, but the image was clear as day - it was my brother, his hand over Leslie's coffee cup.

    1. Oooooh, I *so* dug this!! Seriously awesome job.


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Item Reviewed: Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #9 Rating: 5 Reviewed By: Amy Lukavics