Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
WRITING OBSTACLE
Submitted by Lola
Using the horror or thriller genre, depict a family outing.
Nothing horrifying has to happen in the plot, but use the typical tropes of horror or thriller to misleadingly describe the outing.
Writings
Scared To leave Scared to stay It was just supposed to be a fun day But they ripped it away They ripped us apart Before it could even start Surrounded by blood Tears and sweat Memories linger upon my mind A scream barely escapes I canāt take the pain Everything is gone I should have never left
They'd been blessed with a late blizzard at the end of March. Ambrose had been hoping it would since September; he'd been begging for the snow to extend into early spring just so he could play in it for longer. When he woke up Saturday morning to the sight of big, fluffy snowflakes falling just outside his window, he ran down the stairs and to the back sliding door to see the backyard. Seeing a new blanket of white covering the brown grass, he ran back upstairs to his room to change out of his pajamas and into some warmer clothes.
Cecilia and her mother sat at the kitchen table watching the whole thing unfold. "Aren't you going to get ready?"
"No. I think he can play by himself this time. I was outside with him all through January."
"Oh, come on. You know how much he loves playing with his sister."
"Ugh, mom. Do I have to?"
Her mom let out a small laugh. "Only if he says anything on his way out."
As if on cue, they heard thumping coming back down the stairs. Ambrose was bundled up in his thick, black coat, gloves, and snow pants. His hat almost covering his eyes left him an inch of vision from the woolen scarf wrapped around his nose, mouth, and neck. He ran to the front door, grabbed his boots, and hopped his way over the table trying to put them on. From the scarf, they heard his muffled voice. "Come on, Cece! Let's go outside!"
Cecilia huffed and looked at their mom. She chuckled again and addressed Ambrose. "Why don't you go outside and start without her. She'll be out in a minute." Cecilia huffed again as she went to her room.
Ambrose ripped the door open and leapt off the back porch; the powdery snow cushioned his impact. He ran around the whole backyard, making snow angels and throwing the snow back up into the air letting it fall on his bundled face. Suddenly, he felt an impact on the back of his head. Not realizing his back was to the house, he turned and saw his sister leaping over the porch railing. She reached to the ground and cupped some snow in her hands, a mischievous smile growing across her face as she never broke eye contact. Ambrose ran for the tree at the center of the backyard and scooped up his own snowball. He peered around the tree to find Cecilia had misjudged her shot and hit the tree; the snowball exploding against the bark. Ambrose took that time to throw his snowball at his sister, nailing her in the leg. The two spent the next ten minutes throwing back and forth, running all around the backyard. When Cecilia decided she'd had enough of the snowball fight, she started rolling one on the ground. Ambrose saw what she was doing and followed suit.
As the two were finishing building their snowman, their dad came home for his afternoon break. The parents watched from the back door as Cecilia helped her younger brother hoist the snowman torso up. However, as they observed, there was something about the neighbors behind their house that become cause for concern.
"Ambrose! Cecilia!" Their father opened the sliding back door. "How about some lunch?" He called to his children. They walked back to the house, totally unaware of what was happening around them. As the children took off their wet snow clothes, their father nodded as he closed the door.
The creature at the top of the tree responded with a nod of its own. It leapt down and jumped into the neighbor's yard, trudged through the snow that turned deep red with every footprint, and entered the house.
6:00 A.M.
Riiing. The clock on the wooden bedside table began to girate, spewing its sound waves out into the atmosphere. The sound waves crawl through the air, untill they creep into the ears of our pathetic soul. With a huff and a puff, Tim threw his hand ontu the screaming electronic, silencing it with one slap. He wished he could sink back into the pillows, to stay carelessly stuck in slumber. The poor boy honestly would have rather done anything else other than what lay awaiting him today. As his green eyes opened and scanned the, seeing through a sleepy film, his disorganized bedroom. Adjusting to the darkness, Tim saw the peeling wallpaper in the corner, it had peeled down and was showing the dark wood underneath. From his bed, this dark stain, almost looked like it was moving, somehow alive. As if a hole had opened up, and inside the deep crevice, millions of rotting, flesh-eaten hands were waiting to grab and pull him in. In this moment he didn't know which would be worse. Today was family day. Every year, on the first day of thanksgiving break, his family decided to go to our cabin for a day of wholesome, family fun! Only not for Tim. For the sleepy seventeen-year old, almost too big to be in his childhood bed, The cabin had become his own personal nightmare. He pushed the itchy comforter off him, the worn-out fibers grasping to his skin as they pulled away. Every year he had to endure the hell that was family fun day, today would be no different. He had just donned a pair of old Levis and a white tee, when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. āTiiiim, are you awake?ā the pure voice that rang through on the other side, penetrated Tims clouded mind. Upon opening, he saw his little sister Toni. She was still in her jammies, her brown curls a tangled nest. āYe-ess, go get mom to help you get ready.ā Tim gently led the 3 year old back down the hall, toward her Cotton-candy colored room. He could hear his parents making coffee, just starting to get up. He wondered if they knew how much he was dreading today, how much he always dreaded today. No, they never would have suspected. Tim went to such great lengths to hide his angst. Hiding his fear behind a thick mask, ridges of shame etched throughout itsā surface. He knew he had no rational reason to detest the family cabin. Not that his mother and father would see. Maybe in an earlier era of his life, Tim could have shared the terror he felt locked inside himself with them, maybe they would have understood, would have provided comfort. Too old for boogeymen hiding in the night, his mother would give him that pained, worried face, his father would try to hide it but his disappointment would be tangible. But the real reason he had kept silent all these years was because he could not bear to unleash the beastly demons that lay harbor in his chest. Would speaking them into the universe make them a reality? No, he didnāt dare drag his innocent parents into the deranged depths of his mind. Sending his presence, Karen swiveled her body to see which of her children were approaching. āGood-morning, sunshine.ā Timās mother sheepishly greeted him. Her brunette hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few pieces fell down, surrounding her face. Her face showed few reminders of all the life she had lived in her 47 years. Dad barely glanced from his position at sink, rinsing out a coffee mug. āHey champ, you all ready?ā āIll be down in fiveā¦ā Tim huffed in their direction as I started to make my way back to my room. āShake a leg, dad wants to be leaving Waffle House by eight this year.ā Tim gave an eye roll deep enough to see the gray matter of his brain. Every year, Dan tried to make it to the cabin earlier and earlier. Eager as a dog awaiting a bone to create the perfect family day. Tim had no clue whether this insistency for tender moments stemmed from his own rotting childhood, or if he was making up for all the time lost working. While his job as a lineman provided an honest life, sometimes even better, he was away from home often. Thatās why the cabin was a treasured tradition for the Beckman family, it was one day every year we were always all together. Unfortunately, one day, no matter how thoroughly planned, was not the same as being there for all the daily routines and inconveniences, he missed so much of lifeās perfect imperfections. Dan Beckman, felt in his core, that he was not a player in his family, but a fan watching them from the stands. It was for these sacrifices that his son kept the darkness that surrounded this day from penetrating his fathers bubble of an illusion. 45 minuets later, the sound of the vans door shattered through him as the not-so gently used family sedan pulled away from the drive. He stared at the modest home he had spent his whole existence in. A home filled with such warm memories that it is defenseless against the black hole that is located within the walls of the cabin. The car being dragged away, tires clawing into the ground, as the winged beasts of hell pulled us until we would be succumbed. They stopped at exactly seven a.m for breakfast, many parts of this day were actually beloved by the whole gang, Tim included, Waffle House Breakfast was one of those parts. An hour or so later Dan plopped into the vehicle with a huff, stomping his Nike New Balances on the brake as he placed it into drive. They were off schedule by 30 or so minutes because Toni spilled her milk completely down the front of her favorite Strawberry Shortcake shirt, Timās mom then had to wrestle a very unhappy baby alligator disgued as a child out of the sopping wet shirt and into a clean pink butterfly shirt. Tim sat in the back seat and helped Toni set up a movie on her Barbie portable DVD player. Toni rubbed her puffy baby blue eyes, still slightly traumatized from her recent past. It was a 2 and a half hour drive from their Ohio suburban home to their cabin nestled in a little cove amongst the trees. They were far enough away from society to feel alone, yet close enough to still feel the reassuring hum of life just within reach. It was truly a scene copy and pasted from a childrenās storybook. By the time they arrived they had enough time for a quick dip in the lake just a walks away from the cabin, before mom was calling them for lunch. After lunch the rest of the day was sickenly normal, they swam, tossed the football, and ended the day throwing a couple casts while the girls went into the local market and prepared dinner. Tim juggled with the mask he felt was always surgically attached to his flesh. He felt as if the more he tried to take in some of these little blessing, the more the claws of it dug in. He dealt with these feelings somewhat all the time, but something about this placeā¦this dayā¦called them to the surface, like rotting corpses bursting through moldy wet soil searching for a tasty skull snack. Everything had been seemingly light-hearted and enjoyable, even Toni did not protest when she learned she would not be joining the boys. He knew it wouldnāt be until everyone had retired to their respective quarters for the nightā¦Sure enough, after a delicious home cooked meal and a quick game of Yah-tze, it was time to get ready for bed. The family always stayed the night and drove home early the next morning. Tim played an extra 2 rounds of yah-tze, and volunteered to tuck his sister in. Anything to prolong his imminent torture. Giving a quick good-night to his parents he made his way to his room, praying sleep would find him soon. He slithered under his covers. Ashamed of himself, how could he still be so scared. This cabin. This room. The liquid blackness that swirled around him. It all sent cold shivers, up and down his spine. When the last lights were dimmed, thatās when the silence seeped into the air like a disgusting disease. For Dan, Karen and Toni, this silence did not seem to bother them. But it wrapped itself around him, an invisible smoke, snaking up his body, attempting to enter into his very soul. It creeped into Tim, feeding on his uprooted fears. All Tim could do was wait for sleep to come, but he knew it never would. The healthy 16 year old never once suffered from any sleep disorders, not even occasional anxiety, except for on this coveted annual day of family fun.What creatures known only to him resided in that encompassing black, ravaged over his body as he lay. He felt the crawls of anxiety bubbling over his skin, sending chilly waves through his nervous system. At some point, what felt like an eternity, he finally felt the warmth from the sun, shining from the bedroom window. Tim cautiously pryed open his eyes. Scared that possibly, the light of day had brought to life what hid in the shadows of night. He surveyed the room. Everything was fine. He felt relief flow through him as if someone had just shot it into his veins. He peeked down the hall to find he was the first one out of bed (saying first awake would not be true, as it implies he had been blessed with sleep.) Tim started a pot of coffee for his parents, and went into Toniās room. He was eager to get this trip over with, paranoia still lurking over him. Toni lay under her pink flannel comforter, tangled all among the sheets. He aroused her and got her started on putting on the outfit mom had laid out for her. His parents awoke shortly and thanked him for his help. They couldnāt fathom the real reason for his assistance. Within a few hours, the Beckman family was packed back into the family van and were pulling out of the driveway. Tim turned only once to the the cabin getting smaller and smaller. His eyes shifted to his bedroom window. There behind the glass, he could have sworn he could see it in there. The evil being that had to exist within those four walls. Even the distance between them now, he could feel its thick presence.
The family is alone. Deep, deep in the woods in a clearing of dying grass. The unforgiving dark lake that appears jet black infront of the blood red tents sits still and silent waiting for a victim to get to close to the hidden current just below the surface. The wind blows once every few minutes ruffling the crunchy leaves causing it to sound like footsteps, but then deserts the scene leaving the campsite dead silent.
A blood curdling scream rips through the clearing that sounds like the scream of someone getting painfully tortured as the two kids of the family run around playing tag. The stationary grill is black and the ashes blow around as a sudden gale of wind batters through the campsite. It smacks against the bloody maroon tents and sounds like the banging of door.
Whence nighttime settles onto the campsite the kids and the mother and father retreat into their respected tents. Lightning cracks in the sky and thunder shakes the ground shortly afterwards signaling that rain would come and disturb the happy sunny days at the campsite. Will the family make it out in time?
The gloomy clouds drift across the blackened sky and infront of the pale full moon casting shadows like huge homicidal giants on the landscape below. The two kids huddle together in the tent as the wind picks up and creates an awful whistling sound as it moves through the looming trees of the foreboding forest.
The laughter of the children echoes through the campsite as they tell each other tales of delight but the sound gets horribly distorted by the wind and new coming rain causing it now to sound like clowns laughing in the back room of an abandoned circus tent. The kids fall asleep giggling and the sun shines through the tentās door casting a shadow of a person standing right infront of the tent, watching, waiting.
The older of the two siblings creeps towards the door drowsily and unzips it. A scream tears through the childās throat as the father, holding a butcher knife, brings it up into the air andā¦
Smiles. The father smiles down at the child who is screaming with delight as he presents a plate with bacon and cake on it.
āHappy birthday, kiddo!ā
āThanks! Itās my favorite! Whereās mom?ā
āDonāt worry youāll see her soon!ā
āOkay! Waitā¦ no dad! Stop! Help! ple-ā
She didnāt even notice her sibling was gone when she woke up. Maybe it couldāve been prevented if she did notice. Or maybe noticed the gash in the side of the tent where her little brother slept the night before. Or the blood on the pillow. Or the screaming. The cacophony of screaming from her mother and little brother. Itās a shame she had to join them. And a shame that the forest was so dense her father got away with it all.
Family went out on the outing on the beach like most days with the dogs and the children Today, however the shoreline that came across something weird A body was washed up The most the most weird thing was, it wasnāt just one body but lots A plane crashed, no survivors When they tried to ring the cell phone, it was like it was dead As they looked at the sky streaks and meteor fell to the ground What it happened nobody knew it was like it was like the end of the world
My friends warned me, why didnāt I listen. They told me not to come but I did. Its creepy and old, this house is broken and destroyed. Tiles creek and lift as I walk up the stairs. Carpets on the floor gone and destroyed, noises are heard coming from the attic. I look around the upstairs and walk into the kids bedroom, tired it is, thereās the bunk bed for twins with worn out stuffed animals on the beds. I turn and look into the mirror, my eyes burned as I felt my reflection shift in a way I didnāt. I ignore it and turn around to leave. Just then I heard a noise from the mirror. I turn around and nothing happened so I ignore it and go to leave. When in that moment something jumps at me from behind, a version of me. I barely got to see him for a second as I blacked out, and that was the last place I was ever seen, at least the real me. As Iām still trapped in this mirror for eternity, with no way to know what has happened in my world, that is until someone else walks in front of this mirror..
Mike picked up a photograph from his memory box. Summer of ā88 was written on the back, in big swirly letters (his mothers handwriting). In the photograph, his family was smiling. He was smiling. And yet, as he focused more, his eyes looked dead, as if the joy had been sucked out of them, and it had taken every painstaking ounce of energy still left in his soul to smile for that photo.
He thought back to that day. It had been unusually foggy for that time of year, although still warm. He woke with a sense of foreboding, like something bad was going to happen. It was a feeling in the air, despite it being the best day of the entire year for their family: their annual picnic trip.
He climbed into the car, a red Oldsmobile Cutlass that his father had been given from his place of work. His sister clambered in behind him with a frisbee in tow.
As they neared their regular picnic spot, Mike noted how quiet it seemed. The year prior, they had been playing tag and running riot with the local kids. Now it all seemed eerily quiet, almost too quiet, like all the children had been taken by some hidden entity that Mike couldnāt see.
They set up their picnic blanket, as per usual, under the big oak tree. It was a good tree, sturdy and defiant against the engravings that had been drawn upon its flesh over the many years of its life.
āGo and play while we set up the food,ā his mother had said, pulling out a sandwich from the picnic basket and placing it on the blanket.
Mike looked around. The fog was clearing now, and he could see the park nearby. It was empty, save for two little girls on a swing set. The smaller of the two sat squarely on the swing, the other pushing her.
All of a sudden, the girls looked at him. Their eyes seemed to be dark, like they held the night and all the mysteries of the universe in them.
Mike sheepishly looked away, and decided to play with his sister for a while. They played with the frisbee, throwing it back and forth. Mike tried to enjoy it, but he couldnāt shake the feeling of the girls staring into his soul.
Their mother called them over. They took their usual family photo. Mike smiled for the camera, but, looking behind it, he noticed that the girls had gone. He was sure just a moment ago they had been there. He could feel them boring their eyes into his head. But they werenāt there. Perhaps they never were.
They are their food and went home shortly after. It was the last picnic trip their family ever took. Mike forever wondered why. He supposed those mysteries would remain unanswered.
The car was silent as the Clarke family raced against the clock, tension thick in the air. Mr. Clarke's gaze kept flittering between the clock on the radio and the highway in front of him. Mrs. Clarke kept tapping her perfectly polished blood red nails on the center console next to her. 12 year old twins Benji and Brielle were sitting in the back seat staring out their respective window.
Time seemed to tick away as their destination seemed to get farther and farther away. Mr. Clarke only pressed his foot harder on the pedal. They couldn't be late. Unspeakable things would happen if they were later.
Mr. Clarke's somewhat reckless driving paid off as they finally made it to the gate. He offered the guard everything he needed to be let in, and when he finally parked, the family was out and running.
They went through several other checks on their way to their final destination - metal detectors and bag checks - before being allowed entry. Once they cleared everything, however, the were pushing past the nearly unmovable throng of people. Mr. Clarke's gaze was glued his watch as the frantic family of four continue to fight their way through the hoard.
The seconds were ticking down, but their target destination was finally within view. They made one last push, weaving in and out of the crowd, their hearts beating out of their chests. They sat down in their seats right as they saw an arm rear all the way back and release the hurdling object towards the three people standing 90 feet away.
SSTRIIIIKKEE ONE!
Mr. Clarke let out a deep sigh and with relief almost palpable, panted, "We made it."
Next to him, Mrs. Clarke chuckled and jokingly chided, "You're far to superstitious for your own good, my dear. But yes, we were sitting down for first pitch, so we're obliviously going to win the game."
I sat in the living room window watching my parents pile camping gear into the car. Tents, fishing poles, some ugly green tackle box, lanterns, you name it. Iām not sure how many cans of bug spray we really needed but my mother had decided 6 was an appropriate number. My father has more preoccupatied with cooking essentials and hitting the road soon. Iām not sure what urgent plans awaited us in the woods.
The over preparation was probably a product of the fact that we were indeed not an outdoorsy family. But something had changed. Some sort of fever seeped into my parents minds that elicited a newfound interest in exploring the beauty of nature. Perhaps my perpetually tightly-wound parents could find some peace in the stillness of the woods. And naturally, I would be forced to endure whatever new ventures they concocted. But this one felt differentā¦
My hands were idly playing with the pocketknife Iād sharpened in anticipation for this trip. my mother and father insisted upon extensive packing list for each of us. I took it upon myself to bring a few unapproved additional items. A backup hunting knife was concealed and sheathed carefully into my pristine, hiking boots. I had some provisions tucked away in my new insulated jacket that I just taken the tags off of. In the other pockets, Iād manage to tuck away: a flashlight a hastily printed out map matches a compass and some basic first aid items.
All of these items were acquired carefully and quietly.
I heard the muted thud of the trunk closing. My motherās voice was urging me to āget a move onā and get in the car. And with that, I flicked away the blade and joined my mother and father on a trip into the unknown.
The drive was well underway. My parents were in the front holding hands and giggling and laughing and singing, along to an old station. I noticed a worn red tackle box tucked neatly away under the passenger seat. I found that strange considering the one my father just bought was a nauseating lime green.
Well, they were distracted upfront belting their tunes, I used my foot to lightly coax the box from under the seat. As the roads grew more bumpy, I was able to pop it open unnoticed on a particularly steep hump. A revolver sat there neatly lodged with unopened ammo.
Neither one of them claimed to own a gun. In fact they had been quite adamant that they were anti-gun as they were unsafe and didnāt want any in the house with a growing teenager, myself.
Suddenly their front seat harmonies were uneven and clashing. Which one of them was the liar?
What was really going to happen on this venture into the woods?
Similar writing prompts
WRITING OBSTACLE
Write a story with a dual narrative in which one perspective is the protagonist's and the other is of the person stalking them.