Category Archives: terror

I’m Shaking – 100 Word Song

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parking

The shaking came suddenly.  I had never seen him before but something about him made every hair on the back of my neck stand at attention.  His pores oozed malevolent intentions.  I had never feared being on my own in the past but, with one look into his eyes, all of that changed.

I got into my car and locked the doors.  The engine came to life on the first try and I maneuvered around the corners in the parking garage as quickly as my limited driving skills would allow.  His face burns my memory.  His stare haunts my dreams.

~~

Written for the 100 Word Song challenge at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.  This week’s song is I’m Shaking by Jack White.  I’m not sure what prompted this story and I hope I don’t run into this guy!!

Photo credit: panoramio.com

Juggling the balls of justice – Trifecta Challenge

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The prosecutor stifled his laughter.

“Did you, or did you not state, Mrs. Bobbitt, that you would go free because the evidence would not, um, stand up in court?”

She was not amused.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

~~

Written for this week’s Trifecta Challenge – I’m really not sure why I chose Lorena Bobbitt and the misfortune of her husband’s manhood, but I did!  I apologize to all of the guys crossing their legs right now.

On now to our quick and dirty Trifextra prompt.  Plenty of times over the past two and a half years, we’ve given you the beginning of a story and asked for you to complete it.  This time, we are giving you the end, and we are asking you to start it for us.  We want 33 words in addition to and preceding the following:

That wasn’t what I meant.

So, to clarify, you write 33 words and then you tag on the five that we’ve given you.  Our five come after your 33 for a grand total of 38.

What lies beyond – Trifecta Challenge

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house

Audrey had driven by the building countless times and was always drawn to its beauty.  Today she could resist the urge no longer.   After parking her car across the street from the house, she made her way up the walkway to the front door. She knocked and was greeted warmly by a man with a charming smile and a slight frosting of grey hair at his temples.

She introduced herself and explained to the man how often she thought of this place.  There was no plausible explanation for her longing to see the inside and she was hopeful that he would forgive her intrusion.  His voice was almost ethereal as he welcomed her into his home.

The inside was just as lovely as Audrey had imagined.  Hard-wood floors spanned each room and the decor was pristine.  The fire was roaring in the fireplace which lent a diffused scent of acrid smoke to the air.  There was another odor lingering underneath but she couldn’t readily identify its essence.

The entire house was breathtaking.  Each room was decorated beautifully, boasting warm colors and tones, but even amongst those warms colors Audrey could not ignore the slight chill she felt.   Following him up the winding stairway, they made their way to the top floor of the house.  She was shown the door to what she anticipated to be the most quaint room in the house – the Widow’s Watch.  He was behind her now and slowly pushed the door open so she could enter.  The movement of the door seemed to trigger the motion light and she stared blankly at the black cavern in front of her.

His voice startled her back to reality.  “We’ve been waiting for you.”

His hand found the small of her back and he shoved Audrey into the chamber.  The door closed and she heard the lock engage.  The other smell that had plagued her was now overwhelming enough for her to identify.  It was decomposition.   Audrey screamed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

328 words written for the Trifecta Challenge to use the word “quaint” and, as always, the third definition of the word.
QUAINT (adjective)

1:  obsolete:  EXPERT, SKILLED
2a:  marked by skillful design <quaint with many a device in India
ink — Herman Melville>
b:  marked by beauty or elegance
3a : unusual or different in character or appearance :  ODD
  b : pleasingly or strikingly old-fashioned or unfamiliar <a quaint
phrase>

Remember:
• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
• The word itself needs to be included in your response.
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
• Only one entry per writer.
• If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us.

Thumbs up

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I may have read one too many Dean Koontz novels or perhaps have seen more than my fair share of creepy movies.  Whatever the case may be, the conglomeration of macabre tales has left a lingering doubt in my mind when it comes to hitch hikers.

I have never entertained the thought of sticking my thumb in the air and hoping that a random stranger would stop and let me into their vehicle. And on that same train of thought, I have never picked up a hitch hiker that I didn’t know personally.  I occasionally feel guilty about driving by and leaving them with arm extended and a thumb reaching up like a beacon of hope.  I even go so far as to not look directly at them, although I know full well that they cannot see the direction in which my ocular orbs are focusing.

Scenes from movies play like a slide show in my brain and I imagine the most innocent looking person taking hours to remove my appendages and build them into a sinister piece of art nouveau.  It may be a warped interpretation but one that could salvage my digits and leave my body intact.

Although there is always the nagging doubt that picking up that hitch hiker will hold some sort of malice for me, I still feel the need, in my head, to explain why I will not invite them into the sanctuary of my four-wheeled haven.  I constantly feel the urge to roll down my window on the way by and tell them that my turn is only meters away and that they will have a better chance of a full ride with another driver. Regardless of any guilt I feel for not stopping, I still avert my eyes from their general direction and carry on, alone in my car, to my destination.

I am not labeling worldly travelers nor am I judging those whose means of travel relies on a digit that many animals do not possess.  I am simply propagating my existence in my over-active imagination and choosing to not share the sanctity of my car with a potential serial killer.

Best wishes to all of you that have the guts to be the hitcher or the driver that stops to pick up those wayward travelers.  The neurons in my brain will always fire in the same way and err on the side of caution but for those brave enough to pick up or be picked up – thumbs up to you.

The nocturnal time-bomb

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Last night I had a nightmare.  I have no recollection of the horror at all but I awoke in the wee hours of the morning and I was sobbing, full on heaving sobs, and tears were streaming down my face.  I can honestly say I’m relieved that I don’t remember the theme of the night terror that I survived. Naturally, it got me thinking about nightmares and why they occur.

Nightmares are simply a combination of our history of events and many of those nightmares are caused by the stress of those same calamities.  Whether we realize it or not, we may be dealing with some issues that take hold of our subconscious and wreak havoc in our dream world.  We may not even comprehend that we are holding onto so much of what happened in our day, or our week, but it builds up like a brick wall that crumbles in our sleep and the shrapnel plummets into our waking moments.

Stress is fickle creature.  It can inhabit our daily life as much as it creeps into the blissful hours that should be our time to recharge.   When I went to bed, I carried with me each particle of energy-draining angst that I had accumulated throughout my day and the stress of what has been happening with my home.  Nightmares and dreams paint a picture of what is happening in our life.  Whether that portrait is drenched in vibrant colors or tarnished with mottled shades of black and grey, the visions in our sleep depict our mood and illustrate the tension we are storing in your body.

I am in awe of the seemingly limitless catastrophes that a human body can endure and process.  Any type of mental anguish it represses during the day will certainly appear in our unconscious state giving us signs that we are walking on a ledge.

We need to find a way to clear our negative energy before the weight of our day begins to pull down the blankets of our eyelids.  We will at least have a fighting chance of supplying the artist in our sleep with a pallet of spirited rich colors instead of the monochromatic, threatening spatters of charcoal and black.  If we can free our head of that ticking time bomb called stress, we can reclaim our restful night of unadulterated sleep.

Needles and the damage done – fiction

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I will apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice. ~excerpt from the Hippocratic Oath

***

Danny Jenkins could not shield his discomfort.  Lying on the gurney in the hospital hallway was exacerbating, even more so considering the paper-thin sheet was barely enough to disguise his torso from the sight line of people passing by.  His Intravenous line had almost been yanked out of his skin several times as crash carts and trauma teams raced to the Emergency room.  He was living in his own personal Hell.

Danny hated hospitals.  The mere fact that he agreed to this procedure was beyond his realm of comprehension but it was time to face reality.  At his last weigh in he had tipped the scales at 468 pounds and it was time to get his life back.  His doctor had pleaded with him to consider Gastric Bypass surgery and he knew it was the only way to forge ahead into the life he dreamed for himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, Danny was wheeled from the hallway into the operating room.  Faceless doctors and nurses shrouded by masks performed their macabre pre-surgery dance around him as monitors came to life and created a sinister orchestra of metallic sounds.  Voices abraded his ears as they went step by step through the procedure that was about to take place but Danny paid no attention.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to his new beginning.  A warm sensation began to flood his veins and Danny slowly slipped into a reversible loss of consciousness.

***

He could hear the pinging of the machines as his eyelids fluttered open and the recovery room slowly swam into focus.  He anticipated mild to moderate discomfort in his abdominal cavity but he felt none.  The anesthesia must have been a more potent cocktail than he imagined.  He tried to adjust his position on the bed, fully expecting his stomach to refuse any agitation, and the movement was somewhat fluid and manageable.  Strangely, there was no soreness at all.  

The call button hung lifelessly on the bed rail and he repeatedly pushed the button until a nurse entered the room.  Before even engaging Danny in post-surgery banter she glanced at his hospital wrist-band, diligently checked all of the monitors and made notes in the chart that hung from the foot of his bed.  She lifted the bedding from the bottom of the bed, inexplicably checked his legs and tenderly replaced the covers.

“How are you feeling?”, she finally asked.

Danny spoke through his dry mouth, “I thought this would feel much worse.”

Her response baffled him.  “You will think you can feel your toes for a while.  They call it phantom pain.”

His look of complete bewilderment took her by surprise.  She guessed his silence was just his way of processing his loss.  She regarded the monitors one more time before leaving with the promise of returning with ice chips.

As the anesthesia began to clear his system he began to feel the after effects of the four-hour surgical procedure.  He could feel the dull ache beginning to throb but the pain was coming from his knee.  More than slightly disconcerted he reached for the call button once again.  This time a doctor entered and performed the same ritual with the monitors before beginning his communication.  Immersed in the chart in front of him, he absently began to speak.

“Okay Ms. Jenkins.  The procedure went extremely well and the lower part of your right leg was successfully amputated.  You will feel some discomfort but you have the ability to give yourself a dose of morphine……”.  His voice trailed off as he lifted his head and his vision of the patient in front of him finally swam into focus.  He looked directly at Danny and immediately re-examined the chart in front of him.  The doctor said nothing more.

Danny finally spoke,  “Did you just call me ‘Miss’ Jenkins?”

“Would you excuse me for just a moment?”, the doctor’s words were rushed as he left the room.  Danny incessantly pushed the call button with no response.

The doctor’s footsteps echoed through the hallway as he raced to the operating room.  As he pushed the doors open and entered the sterile room all eyes turned and fell heavily upon him.  Ms. Dani Jenkins lay sedated and poised for Gastric Bypass surgery.  Not one medical practitioner had commented on the unnecessary procedure but merely followed the direction on the chart – the wrong chart.

His words reverberated in the surgical chamber, “Look very closely at that medical chart.  You were about to make the second biggest mistake in the history of this hospital.”

A Dish Served Cold – Trifecta challenge

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She tried to grasp what he was saying but the words circled her head like cartoon birds, chirping incessantly.   She had lost track of how many times the conversation revolved around him and she continued to sip her wine.  She glanced casually around the restaurant looking for anything else to bring into the conversation but his words kept tumbling over themselves and boxing her ears with their abrasive nature.  She ordered another glass of wine.  He hadn’t even noticed and kept rambling.

His words slowly began to mutate.  She wasn’t sure if he was having trouble speaking or if the wine had dulled her senses to the point of not being able to distinguish syllables.  Regardless of the reason, she welcomed the new dulcet nature of his speech pattern and ordered another glass of wine.

The room seemed different somehow – like a special effect in a movie where only the centre of her vision was in focus and her peripheral was shrouded in shadows.  She thought she had heard him actually ask if she was okay but she could not form the words to respond.  He was suddenly beside her, placing his hand under her elbow and easing her out of the chair.  She wasn’t sure why but she felt compelled to oblige and stood beside him.  The world spun.

The last two things she would remember were the waitress giving her a smug look thinking that she drank too much and the feel of the cold metal barrel of the pistol burrowing into her rib cage.

***

Written for the Trifecta Challenge – And now, the weekly prompt.

GRASP (verb)
1: to take or seize eagerly

2: to clasp or embrace especially with the fingers or arms
Remember:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us.

– See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.w0RpD3hA.dpuf