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!
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 left our narrator faced with a terrible question: who killed Ms. Henson? I was delighted to read the following entry from Bethany, which proposed quite the twist:
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.
Well done, Bethany! And poor Ms. Henson.
This Week's Prompt:
The woman appears on your doorstep in the middle of the day, clipboard in hand. There aren't usually door-to-door salesmen in your neighborhood, so needless to say you were caught off guard when your doorbell began ringing non-stop until you answered.
"I need you to sign this contract," she blurts as soon as the door is open. "It's very important, it's about your well being--"
"We already have insurance," you lie, wishing your mom were home to take care of this truly awkward task. "And we're not very religi--"
"No, you don't understand." The woman looks back to the street suddenly, sharply, as if there is someone there waiting for her. The street is quiet and empty.
"There's going to be a reaping," she whispers.
"A...a reaping?" Your stomach feels heavy as you officially become nervous at this woman's presence. With every second she seems more upset, more frantic. "Hey, lady, are you feeling alright?"
"I will be if you just sign this," she begs, her tone sharpened with frustration. She holds the clipboard up in your face. There are no other signatures on the paper. "If you don't, you have no idea what will happen, to your family, to you..."
"Are you threatening me?" Your voice thins out in your panic as you push the clipboard away. The woman's nose begins to bleed, dripping down over her mouth, but she shows no reaction or attempt to stop it. The blood drips off the end of her chin, blooming scarlet dots over the front of the white blouse she is wearing. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"
"Stupid child," she hisses in your face, then drops to her knees. The clipboard falls to the ground.
Suddenly, the bell from the clock tower three blocks away begins to chime. It doesn't stop at one, though, as you know it should at this time of day. It just keeps ringing. And ringing. And ringing. The woman's nose keeps bleeding as she lifts her face to the sky.
And then it begins.
Release the Hellhounds!