Tag: Weekly Writing Prompt

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for the Only Murders In My Mind Weekly Writing Prompt.

The Lock That Didn’t

Harry slams the gate shut behind them, pulls the heavy chain from his knapsack, and frantically winds it around the gate and fence. With a strained grunt, he thrusts a boot against the gate, pulls the chain taut, and looks over to Gwen with a panicked glance.
“N-N-NOW!” he cries through gritted teeth. “T-T-THE L-LOCK! D-DO IT N-NOW!”
Quickly, Gwen fumbles through his knapsack while Harry grimaces under the strain. She gasps as her fingers touch the cold metal lock, pulls it triumphantly from the bag, and holds it in the night air, a satisfied grin on her lips.
“N-N-NOW, G-GWEN! NOW!” he screams, as the air grows cold around them. She leaps up, and with trembling fingers, threads the lock through the chain’s links, finally clipping it back into itself, and they both fall back, aghast.
A lick of lightning pierces the night sky, followed moments later by a crack of thunder that bellows from up high. A sea of fog surges toward them, but the blessed iron gate burns the demonic waste, causing it to dissipate, leaving only screams, cries, and death in its wake.
Harry’s chest heaves as he gasps desperately for breath. A sea of sweat cascades down, stinging as the salt washes over his many wounds. He spits and doubles over, grabbing at his side. Gwen takes a step back, horrified.
Her eyes widen, and her brow furrows in distress. “H-H-Harry?” she stammers as she slowly reaches out.
He arches upwards and screams like a wild animal. “DON’T!” he cries. “LEAVE ME ALONE!”
“H-H-H,” she stammers as she clutches the axe tightly against herself, while Harry tears his shirt from his body, revealing pulsating globules growing from the many gouges that litter his tiny frame. He looks up at Gwen with a pleading cry.
“G-G-Gwen, p-p-please,” he stammers as he reaches for her, but Gwen stumbles back in fear.
“N-N-NO, Y-Y-YOU’RE i-i-i-infected like L-L-Luke was. Y-Y-You’re not you anymore,” she cries as she shakes her head and presses herself up against the iron fence.
“P-P-Please,” he sobs, as he strains his reach towards her.
“N-N-NO, y-y-you’re i-infected! Y-Y-YOU’RE INFECTED!” she cries again, as she turns her head and closes her eyes.
“G-GWEN! LOOK AT ME!” he screams, his temper now taking centre stage, while the globules grow and pulsate with a frantic fury all their own.
She sucks in a breath and turns back to him, her lips curling as the sky lights up. “I-I, I SAID NO!” she roars as she drives the axe down upon his skull while a crack of thunder tears through the heavens above. He sits there on his knees for several moments before a smile gently drips across his lips, and then, the pulsating balls of pus begin to explode like flowers in the spring winds.
Gwen cries out in surprise, turning too late as she catches the flying matter in her face. She turns away, vomiting violently, coughing, screaming, and crying. Collapsing into a ball on the ground, she watches as Harry’s now silent form drops to her side. Staring weepingly into his dead eyes, she feels the seeds starting to take root within her flesh.

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for the Only Murders In My Mind Weekly Writing Prompt.

A Hidden Ruse

Sharon grips the gun’s handle and tightens her finger around its trigger as her lips curl, and the true entity that hides behind her old eyes finally shows its form.

“How did you know it was me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I-I, I didn’t,” Clifford stammers nervously, as a sea of sweat runs down his forehead, washing over him like a wave at the beach.

She muffles a laugh. “You mean to tell me I just outed myself for no reason?”

He nods his head.

“You honestly had no idea it was me?” she asks, thrusting the pistol in his face. He shakes his head vigorously as the strong, pungent smell of urine fills her nostrils. She screws up her face and rolls her eyes in bewilderment. “What sort of government sends an agent like you for a case like this?”

“I-I-I, I’m not a-a-a…” he stammers desperately as he begins sobbing uncontrollably.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” she bellows as she throws her head back. “YOU’RE NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, ARE YOU?”

He nods his head vigorously.

She digs the pistol’s barrel into his chin and forces his eyes to meet hers. “Do you even work for the government?”

His face screws up, and a fresh sea of tears streams down his face as he shakes his head.

She stumbles backwards in disbelief. “I-I-I, I can’t believe I-I, I revealed myself to some, some, some hack wannabe detective!”

“I-I-I, I’m s-s-s-sorry,” he sobs loudly.

“Oh, you will be,” she grunts as she storms at him and pushes him against the wall, digging the pistol into his side. “Who else did you tell? Who else knows you’re here?”

“N-N-No one!” he stammers.

“Bullshit, someone must know, someone must care where you are!” she spits.

He shakes his head, “N-No one c-c-cares w-where I a-a-am, n-n-no one.”

Her brow furrows, and her bottom lip tightens. “No one?”

“N-N-No one,” he sobs.

“Really?”

He nods his head again, as the tears drip from his face like rain from the sky.

“So no one’s going to come looking for you? No one’s going to miss you?”

“N-N-No one,” he sobs.

“What about a pet? Do you have a pet you need to feed?”

“N-N-N-NO!” he cries. “I-I-I, I c-c-an’t have pets i-i-in my flat!”

She takes a step back and stares at him curiously. “What’s wrong with you?”

“W-W-W-What d-d-do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s your problem? Why don’t you have friends? Why don’t you have a life?”

“I-I-I, I don’t know, I-I-I, I just never had time.”

“Never had time? Who never has time? What do you do that doesn’t give you time to have a life?”

“I-I-I, I d-d-don’t understand,” he stammers.

She jams the pistol into his side again and snarls. “YOU DON’T NEED TO UNDERSTAND, JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION! WHAT DO YOU DO THAT DOESN’T ALLOW YOU TIME FOR A LIFE?”

“I-I-I, I d-d-don’t know! I-I-I, I can’t think w-w-with a-a-all this p-p-pressure,” he stammers nervously.

She rolls her eyes, sighs loudly, and takes a few steps back. “MY GOD! NO WONDER YOU DON’T HAVE ANY FRIENDS!” she grumbles loudly. “Here,” she says as she places the pistol on the table to her left. “Does this make it less stressful?” she says sarcastically as she turns back to Clifford, who holds a pistol of his own towards her, a broad smile across his lips.

“Yes, yes it does,” he says proudly.

“Son of a bitch,” she hisses under her breath.

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for the Only Murders In My Mind Weekly Writing Prompt.

Mechanical Ink

“Are you gonna, you know, let me look at it, or are you just gonna tell me about it?” Keith scoffs as he licks the edge of the paper before skilfully rolling a joint between his fingers with the precision that only years of practice could achieve.

“Y-You gotta promise me. Y-Y-You, you gotta SWEAR, you won’t, you know, tell Dad?”

Keith laughs, lighting the joint and taking a long, deep drag. “Depends how bad it is,” he grunts, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible before blowing out a thick cloud. He quickly takes another hit, but it catches in the back of his throat, sending him into a coughing fit, gasping violently as he tries to steady himself.

“Forget it. I knew your stoner arse wouldn’t be able to help,” he spits, leaping to his feet, only for Keith to grab his arm and pull him back down.

“For fuck’s sake, okay, okay, I PROMISE I won’t tell Dad, alright? Now, will you fucking show me what’s got you all wound the fuck up, or are you going to drag it out like some schoolgirl drama queen?” Keith says, taking one final toke of his joint before stubbing it out on a heavily scarred table to his left, then tossing the butt into a bin.

He takes a deep breath, tightly closes his eyes, and gently exhales. “I went and saw Ryder-Thirty-Eight,” he says slowly, a nervous smile twitching across his lips.

“HOLY SHIT, BOY!” Keith cries with an evil laugh, slapping his hands gleefully together. “You got a motherfucking TATTOO, even when Dad told you NOT to? Man, when he finds out, you are gonna be so FUCKING dead!”

He grabs Keith by the arm and squeezes it tightly. “He’s not going to find out!” he hisses.

Keith looks down at his arm, then back up at Luke, his face painted with a sea of emotions, all the wrong ones slowly boiling to the surface. “You better get your MOTHERFUCKING hands off me RIGHT NOW!” he seethes through clenched teeth. “You don’t, and you’re gonna have a bigger problem than Dad telling you off for getting some stupid tattoo!”

Luke gently lets go of his brother’s arm. “I-I-I, I’m sorry, I-I-I just can’t have Dad finding out, n-not until I’m ready,” he stammers, stumbling over his words.

“Well, hotshot, if you’re gonna be walking around like the Phantom of the Opera, he’s gonna know something’s up. So, why don’t you just cut the shit and show me what the fuck is going on underneath that scarf?” Keith says as he reaches out, only for Luke to catch his hand and hold it tremblingly at bay.

“Y-You, you’ve got to understand, i-it’s not finished. W-We’ve still got a-a whole lot more to do, a-a-and some of the detail l-looks rough, b-b-but once it’s finished, y-y-you won’t even be able to tell it’s a tattoo. H-He used this new ink he brought from s-some guy w-who got it from another g-guy in the Mediterranean Sea; it has these a-amazing properties, a-and it’s n-never supposed to age like the tattoos of old. I-I-It’s revolutionary,” he mumbles nervously, a sea of sweat running down his brow.

Keith laughs loudly, slapping his hands together wildly once more. “SOME GUY FROM THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA! What the FUCK are you talking about? Man, that MOTHERFUCKER has played you for a fool! NOW, STOP FUCKING STALLING AND SHOW ME THE GODDAMN HORROR SHOW!” he cheers loudly.

Luke takes a deep breath and slowly unwinds the scarf from his face, revealing little to nothing at first. But then, as the scarf unravels from his throat, the intricate machinery that has been cut into his flesh begins to emerge.

Keith blinks erratically, his eyes widening in surprise. “W-W-What the fuck?” he mumbles as the gears slowly begin to move.

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for the Only Murders In My Mind Weekly Writing Prompt.

Desperately Seeking Starvo

“BULLSHIT!” Starvo spits as he slaps a photo onto the table, showing the man sitting before him, carrying a briefcase. “I don’t believe a FUCKING word that is spilling from your lying lips. Now, look again and tell me what you did with MY briefcase, Mister Alexander, or can I call you Agent Eighty-Five?”

Alexander swallows nervously as a fresh sea of sweat runs down his brow. He widens his eyes and looks down at the photo once more. “I-I-I, I agree,” he says, nodding his head as he looks up into Starvo’s wild eyes. “T-T-The man holding y-your missing bag in—”

Starvo slaps the table again. “It’s a BRIEFCASE, MISTER ALEXANDER, A BRIEFCASE! A bag is something you throw over your shoulder or carry shopping in! THIS! THIS IS A BRIEFCASE!” he roars.

Waves of sweat pour from Alexander’s flesh, and he blinks anxiously. “S-S-Sorry,” he stammers. “T-T-The man c-c-carrying your b-b-briefcase in the photo definitely l-looks a lot like me. B-But as I said before, I was no—” He doesn’t get to finish his words as Starvo pulls him from his seat and thrusts him against the wall.

“STOP LYING TO ME, DOG! STOP LYING AND TELL ME THE TRUTH, OR I WILL START TAKING PIECES FROM YOU UNTIL YOU DO!” he roars.

“I-I-I,” Alexander stammers, “I c-can’t tell you w-w-what I d-don’t know!” he sobs pathetically. “I-I-I, I can’t!”

Starvo’s lips curl, and his left eye twitches. “I believe the word you should be using is won’t, Mister Alexander, not can’t.”

“P-P-Please, l-listen. I-I-I, I might be a-able to find out w-who t-the man i-in the photo is, i-if you l-let me go,” he cries desperately, as tears stream down his face and the smell of urine fills the air. “I-I-I, I know people. P-p-people who could help.”

Starvo smiles broadly and releases his hold on Alexander, who drops to the floor in a heap. Perching himself on the corner of the table, Starvo looks down at Alexander and smiles wryly. “Well, Mister Alexander, why didn’t you say you knew people? It would’ve saved both of us so much time,” he says with a heavy layer of sarcasm. “Now, tell me, who are these people? Tell me, and I will find them, and make them answer my question. And, if they can answer what you cannot, then I will let you and the others go free. Agreed?” Starvo says as he holds out a hand to shake.

Alexander smiles momentarily as he props himself up to take Starvo’s hand before his brow furrows and a cold shiver runs up his spine. “O-Others?”

Starvo smiles broadly. “Yes, Mister Alexander, the others, the ones you came here with. The ones you used as cover, the family.”

“DON’T YOU DO A FUCKING THING TO THEM!” Alexander screams as his whole demeanour changes, and he launches to his feet, only to have Starvo’s henchmen wrestle him to the ground.

“Hit a nerve, have I, Mister Alexander?”

“Don’t you FUCKING hurt them,” he spits as he tries to wrestle his way free. “I-I-I swear, i-i-if you even harm a hair on their heads, I will bring everything down around your knees, and then, after all that, I will take your FUCKING head as a trophy!”

Starvo smiles as he leans over Alexander. “Finally, Agent Eighty-Five, you have decided to join us.”

“FUCK YOU, STARVO!” he spits.

“That would be something saved for the second date, Mister Alexander, and this, this is only our first, and I do not put out for just anyone. Although, I do have an affection for distraught maidens,” he scoffs.

“W-What the FUCK do you want?” Alexander growls through gritted teeth.

“I want what I’ve always wanted, and that is my briefcase, of course.”

“I SAID I don’t have it! Why can’t you understand THAT?” Alexander snaps.

“Because,” Starvo snarls as he raises the photo once more, “this picture says otherwise.”

Alexander closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales it with exhausted fanfare. “T-T-They weren’t supposed to be involved. T-They, they came without me knowing, t-they wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well,” Starvo says with a broad grin, “think of how surprised they must be right now, watching from the other side of the glass,” Starvo scoffs as he looks towards the mirrored glass.

“I-I-I, I swear, I’ll kill every last one of you, if you’ve hurt a single hair on their heads.”

“Trust me, Mister Alexander, they are unharmed, and as a sign of my goodwill, I will allow you to see them,” he says as he nods his head. “Turn on the light, and show our friend his family is safe.” Seconds pass quickly into minutes, and the light fails to come on.

“W-What’s happening? Where’s my family?” Alexander asks desperately, as the door to the room opens, and one of Starvo’s henchmen stumbles in.

“What is happening? Why have you not turned on the ligh…” His words trail off as the henchman whispers in his ear. Starvo stands back, and a look of annoyance paints itself across his face. “What do you mean, you’ve already killed them?”