Be Very, Very Quiet

This one was written for the six sentence story prompt of range, and the idyllic picture that was posted by Sarah for our weekly picture prompt on The Writer’s Mess. I am back from my hiatus for Nanowrimo, and will be posting regularly. Follow a hunter, as they make this season, their season. Note I was personally aiming at Christmas this week, I completely missed. If you are squeamish, read the tags. Bonus points if you get the title reference.

He sat perfectly still in the blind, having waited far too long for this opportunity to let it escape him now. 

He could see his target, just out of range, and he took long slow breaths to keep his heart rate down as his excitement grew, knowing that this year he would finally get one.

They had been hunting for years, and he had never hit anything, it was always Rick that brought in a kill, sometimes two if it was a good season.

This was it, it would be his year, and he fought down his own impatience, as a shot too early would cause his quarry to flee, leaving him the laughingstock of the lodge.

She was heading his way, and he waited until she was well within range, making sure that when he pulled the trigger she would go down cleanly, all he had to do was squeeze.

It was over in an instant, with the twitch of a finger, the body dropping like a marionette with it’s strings cut, laying there with her ski’s askew, blood splattered on the snow, and he felt giddy with adrenaline, as he had done it; he had finally made his first kill.


This weeks story is dark, cold, and creepy. The tragic effect of a power outage in winter, and the story of someone who has no where else to go. This is the story of Margaret, and I don’t want to give anything else away, but this is the kind of story that ends up in criminal minds… So reader beware.

Margaret knew if there had been any light at all in the basement she would be able to see her breath. The blackout that started, what felt like days ago, had gone on long enough that the cold weather had seeped in from outside.
She had assumed it was winter from the dryness of the air, but there were no windows in the basement, and no calendar on the wall. She couldn’t say for certain how long she had been in this room, this single room that had become her entire world.
She bundled herself up the best that she could, and she waited, desperately hoping that Greg would come back soon. Greg’s arrival was always something that she looked forward to, and dreaded in equal measure. He was the only person she ever saw, and with a variable schedule she never knew he would be coming back. He also brought food when he came, filled the fridge and and the freezer, brought her new clothes, puzzles, toys, and books. Greg was the only thing that was keeping her sane down here.
Greg didn’t come without his downsides though. He was short tempered, violent, and lustful. The combination left him unpredictable, and her usually limping when he finally left.
Now she didn’t care about the pain, all she cared about was the darkness. She had thought she had seen the worst of this place with it’s isolation and boredom, but the lack of light made it unbearable. The good news was, tht the low temperature would stop the food in the fridge from spoiling. Leaving on the tap had guaranteed that the pipes wouldn’t freeze, so she would have water, but the temperature was beginning to concern her.

She had already started loosing feeling in her extremities, and while moving around warmed them for a short time, at some point she would fall asleep. As the time passed she could feel the heat draining from the space, from her, taking what little energy she had. The cold water she drank chilling her from the inside, and she flinched with every sip.

She didn’t dare sleep, not knowing how cold it really was, going to sleep might be the last thing she ever did. She didn’t yell, or scream, or cry, there was no point. She had gotten that out of her system years ago, when she thought she still had a chance of leaving this basement.

Now the idea of leaving the basement frightened her. The world changed so fast, she wasn’t sure what she would be walking out into, and if they hadn’t found her by now, it wasn’t likely anyone would any time soon. That meant that walking out of here would be Greg’s choice, and she knew that it wouldn’t end well for her.

She wasn’t the first to be down here. If she hadn’t been tipped off by the lingering scent from the worn clothes she was given, the scratches on the walls, or the well worn groove along the floor at the end of her chain, the names on the underside of the bed would have given it away. There were two, each with a date beside them, and a dash, with no end written. She filled those in, she recognized the names after all, from the missing reports, from the coroners reports.

It’s how she knew hat she had been here longer than either of them, than both of them combined actually. She wondered what they had done, what had happened that had made him want to replace them so soon, and yet keep her all this time. Her eyes drifted shut, and then popped open. She wished she knew how many years it had been for sure, that he wasn’t just making up Christmas to throw her off, but now with the cold she was pretty sure the cycles of humidity and dryness had been winter and summer after all, and if that was true, she had been down here for 7 years. Her refection in the toaster had showed that time had not been kind to her, and she didn’t check it often, but now in the darkness she wished she could see it, just one last time.

All to soon it grew colder even faster, and her eyes spent more time shut than open. Greg wasn’t going to make it in time, maybe whatever storm that had taken the power was keeping him away. Maybe he was in the accident, the one that took out the power. She wouldn’t know though.

She took a deep breath in, and as she let it out, she let it all go, and stopped fighting. She pulled off the blankets, laid on the cement floor, and let the cold carry her off to sleep. If she was lucky, this would be the year that her family finally got closure. She would let go, so that they could let go too. Really, it wasn’t the worst way for this to end.

Dust in the Wind…

This seemed like a good choice for kicking off October, the month of horror. The is the story of a man who discovers his time is coming to an end, and the realization that he has some loose ends to tie up. One of the many inspired by watching too much Prodigal son.

I couldn’t believe the diagnosis when the doctor handed me the paper, but there it was staring at me in black and white. I had lung cancer, stage 4.

I thought that I had a cold, and maybe at one point I did have a cold, but I was watching a stupid advert with a dancing three week cold germ saying “after 3 weeks, thats no ordinary germ” and I went to the doctor.

I had never smoked. I ate healthy, and my day job didn’t put me at risk. Even my doctor was a bit of a loss to explain it, given the type, I didn’t have any of the usual professional indicators that she saw.

To say I had a hard time accepting it would be an understatement. I may, MAY, have had a little bit of a tantrum in the doctor’s office. I felt even more foolish after as she sat staring, and then asked, when I was breathing heavily and out of energy, if I was done yet.

Apparently that happened a lot, and while she would request, politely, I don’t do it again, not to be too embarrassed. She also printed me a list of common and less common causes of my brand of lung cancer, and booked me an appointment the following week to discuss treatment. And an appointment for a therapist the following day.

I got home, and I felt numb. I was dying, and no matter what they did, they likely could only prolong the inevitable. I went through the motions as I made and ate dinner, cleaned the dishes, went down the the basement, and I only started to feel something again when I was telling Julia about my day.

She just stared, silent, and terrified and I can tell that she too is worried, about what this means, for me, for her, for us. I told her not to worry, it will be okay, but the terror never quite left her eyes. I replaced the duct tape over her mouth and chained her back to the wall, knowing that this won’t last as long as I wanted it to, that I would need to get rid of her before I was too weak. I wouldn’t want her to starve down there, that would just be cruel.

I lumbered back upstairs, and let myself feel all the little aches and pains I hadbeen ignoring, the cancer that ass slowly killing me. I pulled out my laptop, and the pamplets and I began to research. I had gotten to the lesser known causes when I started to laugh, and laugh, until I cried and couldn’t breath.

There, half way down the list, was inhalation of bone dust and it was just hilarious I guess. The shield I used to protect myself from blood spatter had done much to protect me from blood borne pathogens, though I will admit I had caught a few things over the years of cutting up bodies. It was always something small though, something treatable, and now, now the thing I loved most in the world was killing me, and I couldn’t even tell the doctor why. I thought back to Julia in the basement, and heaved a sigh. Well, its too late now, not like one more was going to kill me any faster.

Third Time’s the Charm

Continuing on the year theme of, who wrote this, because they are twisted, and murder, here is this weeks short story, a first person POV of the clean up. I admit I watch WAYYY too many procedural crime dramas. I used the #murdercation, which should not be a thing. This was me trying a stream of consciousness, for a psychopath….

You know when you drop a cup of coffee, and like by some miracle the top two centimeters, not even an inch of coffee is all the spills out of the cup, but somehow that extremely small amount of coffee seems to get on everything. Its on you, the table, the chair, the floor, the wall half way across the room, and you can’t quite figure out how that tiny volume seems to have gone so far, and it makes no sense.

Well the same thing can be said of blood splatter, and while the human body only has like 5 liters, or 1.5 gallons of blood in it, it seems like so much more when it’s mostly on the outside.

It just seems so improbable that you can be coated in blood, the body is coated in blood, its dripping from the ceiling, and it can still basically be covering every surface in a small room. Take away the corpse, and ask someone to take a guess, and they would probably say that two or three people had been killed here, not just the one.

All I am saying, is that this is going to be way more clean up than I signed on for, and like the drop sheets I got, might as well not even be there for the amount of blood seeping through the seams and onto the floor. I hope I brought enough bleach for this, because it isn’t exactly like I can go out and get more in my current attire.

Fuck, even my hair is soaked. I guess that shower isn’t gonna wait till tomorrow after all. Note to self: next time wear a shower cap. Also, try and figure out somewhere better to do this. Hopefully, the cement is sealed well enough under here that it won’t stain. I would hate to have to paint the floor, it would really ruin the industrial feeling I was going for in the basement. OH well.

You know, with all the missing blood, you would also assume that the body would get a little lighter, but I guess what they say is true about it being hard to move dead weight. Ha, did you catch that, DEAD, weight.

Ok, she is wrapped, and out of the way until dismemberment. Just gotta, clean this all up before anything stains, and then get some new sheeting for phase two.

Fuck this is exhausting, I am wiped and I haven’t even disposed of the body yet. I wish someone would do this for me. Well, do it and not report me to the police, because I am so not made for jail! Okay, pity party over, now to start cutting.

Shit, wait, almost forgot the wood, five sheets of sub-floor should do it, I don’t want to damage the floor while cutting. Ok, now wrap each piece with an independent sheet plastic, and three to four medium sized rocks. A little on the heavier side, yes, but you don’t want this to be a floater. Then after washing up move this to another wrapping station to wrap in a clean plastic sheet to prevent any transfer in the car. Note to self: Remember to poke a few small holes in each side prior to dumping to allow for gasses to escape.

Ok, and packing the suitcase. Ok good, and loading the car. Great thing is, that I always over pack for vacations, so Sue just thinks that I need two bags for a week long trip. Note to self: Tell Sue they lost one of my bags at the airport. Everyone has at least one bad luggage story, so its perfectly reasonable. Ok, and onto the boat to get to the mainland. Taking my own boat is decadent, night boating is weird, but I have made a habit of it, and voicing my distaste for the ferry, so its entirely reasonable. Also, a lot safer to store my car the dock than at the airport.

Ok, we are out deep enough, jabbing the holes, and 1, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, and 7 , all packages away and far enough apart, just in case someone does come upon one. Though I doubt it would happen; this isn’t exactly a fishing spot, and you would need scuba gear to get down to the bottom here, this is definitely not the place for diving either, too many boats. Ok, and at the dock, hands are clean, clothes changed in case of accidental transfer. Suitcase reloaded with old sheets to abandon in Havana, and I am good to go. Ooh, cabs here too, right on time.

Things are definitely going so much better than they did last time. Oh ya, I am so repeating this next time out. #murdercation