StOrY ProMpT

[TheCrazyDragonLady]

A response to a story prompt I got.

You lay in your bed with your eyes closed, listening to the nightime city sounds. Tree branches scratch against the window. The occasional hum of a car engine on the highway. Gentle moonlight streams into your bedroom, reflecting off of the large mirror you have in the corner. The soft sounds of rain start to patter against the closed window, and you let out a frustrated sigh as the hail begins. It had been stormy weather for three days now, and the constant noise and headaches were starting to get very annoying. Opening your eyes and pushing off your blankets, you slip your feet into your slippers and peer at your clock as you reach for your ready bottle of painkillers.

 

 3:45 AM. 

 

You scowl and pop 2 pills in your mouth as the thumping pain of a headache starts to build in your temples. Walking downstairs, you open the fridge, pour yourself a glass of chocolate milk and sit at your PC. The current horror/mystery story you are in the process of stares back at you, stopped off halfway through a sentence.

 

“The detective stood over the murder scene”.

 

 Your hands hover over the keyboard as you debate over what to write next. Suddenly, you hear the noise of something hitting the floor above you. The floorboards creak as someone upstairs walks around.

 

You live alone

 

A cold shiver of fear runs down your spine as you get up. Glancing at the stairs nervously, you mull over whether you should grab a weapon. The creaking stops, and you freeze. It begins again, going away from the stairs. Grabbing your umbrella you start up the stairs, doing your best to be quiet. The floor creaks protestantly on the last step, and you peer around, heart beating, the blood thumping in your ears. The hallway, quiet and dark gives an eerie feeling. You peek through each door as you make your way towards your bedroom.

 

Bathroom: clear. Guest room: Clear. Storage: Clear. You close your eyes and draw in a breath, then peer through into your room. The room was dark, the moon now shrouded by dark storm clouds. A flash of lightning lights up the seemingly empty room, the crack of thunder making you jump a few feet. Nothing. You walk in, laughing slightly hysterically. “I must be losing my marbles!?”. You look down on the floor and see the pill bottle laying there with the lid open, pills scattered all over the floor. You look over at the half open window, rain rolling down the pane and dripping onto the windowsill. ‘Must have gotten blown over’ you think as you walk over to the window to close it. But… wasn’t it already closed? 

 

You stop in your tracks, just as you hear your door slam shut. A dark hooded figure runs at you, and you let out a shriek of fear, holding the umbrella out in front of you. It opens, smacking the figure in the face, who lets out a girlish yelp of pain. You hold it above your head while they recover and swing it with as much momentum as possible at them, before you race for the door, not looking to see if it hit them or not. You fumble with the doorknob in a panic, your fear and shaking hands making it impossible to grasp it. Terror builds up in your throat as you look behind you, seeing the figure run at you with the umbrella. You let out one last scream before everything goes black.

 

You sit up with a gasp of fear. You look around the room, and then down at yourself. The window is closed, and the sky is clear, the moon smiling down at you. You are sitting in your bed in a pool of sweat. “It… was jus- just a dream’ You mumble to yourself, a wave of relief flooding over you. You look at your clock to reassure yourself.

 

6:30 Am

 

You rub your eyes and temples, and get out of bed and walk to the window. Opening it, you stick your head out and take in a big breath. The air is heavy and damp, the trees drip with water, and small streams of water run down the street before disappearing down the city drainage pipes. It must have rained while your were asleep. You yawn sleepily, your dream becoming a fuzzy memory as you step down the stairs. The warm smell of coffee fills the kitchen as you get yourself a bowl of cereal. As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, you notice a red-brown drop on the counter. You stick your finger in it and give it a small sniff. The reeking metallic smell of blood fills your nostrils, and you recoil with a gag. Looking around, you see a small trail of blood drops leading to the sink. Walking over, you look into your sink. A wicked looking knife lays in the sink, stained and dripping.

 

The police arrive, and after a short interview, as well as providing them with access to your security footage, they take some samples, the blade, and leave. You collapse exhausted into your computer chair, and glance at your computer. You glance at it again, frowning confusedly. You tremble slightly as you read the new paragraph at the bottom of the page.

 

“The detective frowned as he surveyed the murder scene. The criminal had fled as soon as the cops had arrived, but had left a curved and twisted blade soaked with blood in the victims sink. The prints had been wiped off, and it had no recondition to any branded blades in their database. He walked over to the counter that it sat on, and peered at it again, wiping away the blood on the hilt. He looked at it in surprise as he saw what was on it. Engraved into the leather were the words: ‘Sometimes, the only way to understand a character's goals is to put yourself in their shoes. Mentaly, or realistically’. Next to those words, it spoke the name of a recently published horror book, published by an anonymous writer..”

 

You read the new paragraph, and then open up a page of recently published books. Most recent: The Midnight murder, published a few hours ago and already reciveing popular reviews. The writers was anonymous.

 

You shiver slightly, then smile, and chuckle to yourself.