Moxie Monday: Not Scared Enough

Kick start your week with a lil' moxie!

Fiction Friday: [Sterling Farms]

A couple of weeks ago I posted a story about a writer's creepy visit to a graveyard. It was based on a prompt by Scene Stealers, but I'd exceeded the word count and never submitted it. Boo! Well, I decided to take another stab at it and this piece of flash comes in at 350 words on the dot.

[This week's Fiction Friday is my submission for Scene Stealers #21. Scene Stealers is a fun writing prompt from Write to Done where they provide the first two--or in this case three--sentences and limit your word count to 350. Enjoy!]

 

She looked up from her writing. Was that a creak? But she'd oiled the hinges just yesterday.  

Another creak. She felt her muscles tighten. Her ears perked, straining for a clue.

This is why a city girl shouldn't visit the country, she thought.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Goosebumps stood her hairs on end and her breathing grew shallow. She looked down at her fingers, frozen over the keyboard, and realized they were shaking.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Closing her eyes, she tried to fold into herself, but knew she had to get in control of the situation. She slowly made her way toward the vicinity of the tapping. Her ear touched the wall and she was startled by its iciness. Regardless, she pressed it tighter and listened. She didn't have to wait long.

The sound of clawing screamed in her ear from the other side. Long, deliberate strokes escalating to desperate scrapes. She couldn't breathe as the fear sat heavily on her chest.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound echoed and amplified in her ear. She shot from the wall. Grabbing her laptop, she shoved it into its case. As she was about to gather the rest of her things:

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Racing out of the house and into the car, she drove blindly until she came across a hotel. Although it was thirty minutes away, it still didn't feel far enough. Settled in, she opened her laptop, launching the search engine.

"Sterling Farms, Middleburg VA"

She read article after article about how, in 1992, during renovations, a body had been found buried within a bedroom wall of the farmhouse. They'd determined the body to be that of Margaret Sterling, who had gone missing in 1832. Forensic evidence proved she'd been buried alive. Evidence such as scratch marks and divots dug out with her finger.

An hour later, she was still in front of the computer, knees pulled up to her chin as she hugged herself tightly. Wide, unblinking eyes sat over her tear stained cheeks. She would never return to that house again. Not when she knew that Margaret was still there.

Fiction Friday: [Toeing the Line]

Just the thought of standing too close to the platform edge scared her. She’d heard the stories, although rare, of some demented psycho pushing a fellow commuter onto the tracks. There’s no way to survive getting hit by a New York City subway train. No way.

Across the platform a woman stands so close to the edge that both feet are on the bumpy yellow strip. The yellow strip you’re supposed to stand behind. Behind. How does she not know this?

The sound of the metal beast nearing causes a tightness in her chest and a shortness of her breath. As much as she didn’t want to die via subway collision, she didn’t want to witness it either.

Regardless, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Away from the calm that never left the woman’s face. Her nonchalance as she teetered on the brink of death. She couldn’t comprehend the woman’s bravery. Couldn’t imagine what it was like not to flinch in the face of danger.

But she wanted to. She wanted to understand. She wanted to know what it was like to live, for one moment, not drowning in fear.

Screeching rocks her back to reality--surrounded by commuters plugging their ears against the grating of wheel to track. She watches as the woman, head aloft, disappears into the crowded car. She’s gone. Lost within the sea of black wool coats and free newspapers.

The intercom crackles above and, through the static, she knows her train will be arriving soon. Heart thumping and mind racing, she makes a decision her mind hasn’t quite registered. The platform vibrates under her feet as the train growls into the station blowing her hair back and away from her face. Startled and confused, she looks down. A sense of hope whirls around her--mixing with the gust from the train--as she finds her right foot firmly planted across the yellow line. 

Fiction Friday: [The Night]

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Remy opened her eyes and was as surprised as she was relieved that no one was standing over her.

The excitement of moving into her own place had waned over the past couple of weeks. Her nightly routine grew to consist of jumping at every little sound and feeling as though she were being watched.

Her mom insisted that she just wasn’t used to being alone. There was truth to that considering she grew up with three sisters and had roommates all through college.

Her best friend went further comparing her to an amputee—her family and roommates were her phantom limbs.

As she lay in bed Remy desperately wanted to believe they were right. That she was being paranoid and just needed to adjust to the newness of it all.

Keep your eyes closed and breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

As her eyelids kissed, she committed herself to focusing on her breathing. Deep inhales and exhales softened her muscles and slowed her heartbeat. Her mind quieted and grew less muddled.

It was working.

Her body was enveloped in a lightness that made her feel as if she were floating. Her fearful thoughts became too weak to push through her drowsiness. She was on a cloud drifting blissfully toward sleep.

tsch…tsch…tsch…

A faint scraping sound overhead instinctively threw her into panic mode and her eyes flew open before she could stop herself.

Goosebumps riddled her body as the hairs stood on end. Her breathing grew shallow and her heart pounded so violently against her rib cage that the pulse radiated all the way down to her toes. The pulsing rushed blood to her ears drowning her in white noise.

Frozen in terror, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Shafts of light rained down from two small holes in the ceiling.

From the attic.

She felt a tear escape her eye and roll down her cheek toward the pillow as the first hole disappeared.

It wasn’t until the second hole darkened that she finally screamed.

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