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Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #10

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 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! 

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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5 comments:

  1. The first in a series of strange events is a guttural scream; a child's. She runs down the street in front of my house, bouncy blonde curls flailing behind her. Then she stops dead in her tracks, turns on her heel to face me, and starts to laugh. I can't tell if I should go outside and help her or retreat inside my house and bolt the door behind me.

    On my porch, the old woman with the clipboard is giving me the same dilemma. She seems to be crying blood, her pupils dilating and contracting in a spasm. "Should've signed the contract, girl," she says, watching the clouds and drooling blood all over herself. "Too late now."

    All the fluffy white clouds snap together like puzzle pieces, then become the darkest grey I've ever seen a cloud. Tendrils drip from the edges, swirling downward like tiny, elegant tornadoes. I make my decision and bolt the door.

    "Too late now," a voice hisses behind me.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm a good person. I *have* been a good person. I shouldn't need a silly contract. The earth rumbles below, a growling beast waiting to be unleashed. Thin cracks appear in the ground everywhere, a trail leading in all directions and through those tiny cracks I see the glow of red.

    "I tried to warn you all," the old woman snaps. "I tried." And she closes her eyes, a now satisfied smirk on her face while tunnels of bright white lights break through the clouds. It shines right on her and her smile fades. All of a sudden her face appears sunken, a greyish tint and she screams.

    "No. It's the reaping!" she cries. "It's supposed to be the reaping."

    Her cries echo as she's lifted into the air, her skin tightening against her wrinkled face. Bones snap and crack as her lifeless body is pulled right up into the sky. I look up, mouth agape as I start to see strangely shaped air crafts hovering in the sky and hear people beginning to scream around me. They hum, throbbing in my ears as they floated along and all I can do is stand there frozen.

    And more bright lights fix onto the people around me.

    ReplyDelete
  3. You take a step backward. A gust sends the neighbor's newspaper fluttering down the sidewalk, and you hear the pages from the clipboard flutter in the wind. You glance down, ready to kick it from the welcome mat.

    But the pages aren't moving. Some of them stick straight up in the air, as if someone has pressed pause on time. You edge farther away from the doorway, and the pages flip furiously in the opposite direction. The wind screams and the woman opens her mouth wide.

    A green convertible jumps the curb across the street and runs right over Mrs. Kelson's lawn and into her jasmine bushes, but the car doesn't stop until it rams into the side of her house. Two girls sit motionless in the front seats. You take a tiny step forward, when their blonde heads snap back, synchronized, and even from here, you can see the blood running from their eyes. You can see their mouths, two black holes punched into their faces as they stare up at the churning clouds.

    The bell tolls again, and again, and just before you slam the door, your head snaps back. You struggle to raise it, but you can't. Your neck muscles are so taut, you can barely breathe, and when you feel your feet lift from the floor, you wonder if you may be hallucinating, if your brain isn't suffocating. Because how could your toes brush against the top of the old woman's frizzy hair? How is it possible you're floating out from your home? You manage to turn your head. There are others. Hundreds, floating up and up with their heads back, their spines forming lazy c's as they rise.

    A flash of pink in the distance, high above the rooftops--the ballet flats you got for her birthday present last month. A tear squeezes out the corner of your eye. This can't be the last time you see your mother, not like this.

    Not like this.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Gaaawd you guys are seriously blowing me away with these. SO. GOOD. In love with all of you, it's official.

    ReplyDelete

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Item Reviewed: Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #10 Rating: 5 Reviewed By: Amy Lukavics