Writing Prompt

This is a rewrite of my story don’t go home tonight.

My hands shook as I read the anonymous text and my heart thundered in my chest, “don’t go home tonight.” I turned my phone off and glanced at Cole.

By the look he was giving meant he probably got the same text. I looked behind my seat to see my 5 year old daughter ‘Nicole’ playing on her iPad.

Nicole was the sweetest girl ever with long dirty blonde hair and the most innocent blue eyes ever.

My hands gripped the steering wheel and I looked into the side mirror to see a black SUV with a man with blonde hair and in a black suit staring right at me.

I motioned with my hands to Cole to look. Cole nodded and gently grabbed Nicole and made her sit on his lap and she continued playing.

Now that we could see Nikki (nickname for Nicole) I relaxed but just a bit. Realizing that that I’d accidentally driven the car into the grass field.

The suspicious man pulled over and parked perfectly in the field. The man stepped out the same time as us.

Cole immediately went into protective mode and stepped in front of me and I squeezed Nicole.

“Surrender and Nicole will be spared.” The man says as two more people file out of the car and roughly grab Nicole.

“For what?” I ask as press my head against the brick wall of the alley way.

“YOU don’t need to know so just SHUT IT!” Bryce shouts. My eyes widened at Bryce’s outburst.

Bryce paces around the alley muttering. I try to slowly move out of the alley but curse my clumsiness as I tripped and I fell face first on the hard concrete ground.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!” Bryce shouts darkly as he stalks towards me. “I see I’ve missed all the fun.” A new voice says as a figure in a dark cloak enters the alley.

“James I’ve seen you’ve arrived.” Bryce says still pushing me into the grounds with his rough hands.

“Yes now let me take over.” The man who probably is James says. I could feel Bryce’s presence leave me and James now taking place.

“Now now let’s start.” James coos as he brings out two cold metal handcuffs. “HELP!” I start repeatedly screeching as the rough handcuffs were attached to me.

“There.” James says triumphantly as he roughly pulls me up and puts tape on my mouth. “Good night.” James in his sickeningly sweet voice as he pours something into my mouth, and I passed out.

“Honey what’s wrong.” Bryce my caring boyfriend asks as i start to bang my hands on the car window feeling an urge to run.

I stop and my hands tremble as I hold up the phone to show him the anonymous text.

Still in the darkness of the train I couldn’t tell where anything is besides Bryce since my phone lit up the area.

“Olivia, honey we need to get out NOW.” Bryce says. “ “what why?” I ask as I start to rack my thoughts for the worst possible scenarios but the one that stuck was the idea that the anonymous person was a murderer.

“Shhh….its okay Olivia I’ll protect you.” Bryce says as he gently grabs my wrist. “From what?” I ask as my heart beats wildly in my chest and I struggle to catch my breath.

“OLIVIA LETS GO!” Bryce shouts making my body start to tremble. My beads of sweat start to trickle down my forehead as Bryce drags me along with him as we web through the streets.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “Somewhere safe.” Bryce promises pulling me into an alley way with graffiti everywhere.

“Now….we wait.” Bryce grimaces.

(Thanks to Skye Wander who snuck in with one last draft pick! The new draft 12! Sequel to Please Let Me In. That was my 100th writing so you can see how long ago this was sitting in my drafts.) ——

With the lights and internet out, Lance is panicking. He has a missing man in his house and no way to call for help.

“There’s something on your window,” Dally points out, voice trembling. His whole body is actually.

“Leave your home now” is written in red on his living room window. He can’t tell if it’s in blood or paint which makes Lance want to puke. When did she even do that?

Dally limps to Lance’s kitchen and throws open the drawers, slamming them when he doesn’t see anything useful. “Where are your knives?”

“My knives?” Lance asks, not really believing the situation he is now in.

The injured man gives him a bewildered look, briefly pausing his search. “Yes, for protection. Like from the madwoman after me. Did you forget?”

His tone would kind of be funny if not for the life threatening haze that has blanketed them.

“The drawer on your far right,” he answers, gestures towards the correct placement. Dally takes out a large butcher knife that Lance never uses.

Seeing the shine of the blade in the moonlight scares the living crap out of Lance. He shifts nervously on the balls of his feet. “Shouldn’t we leave and find help?”

While he feels like that’s a reasonable suggestion, Dally adamantly shakes his head. Those green eyes pierce Lance’s soul.

“No. She obviously knows I came in here. She’ll just attack either one of us if we try to leave. Don’t believe her message. She’ll kill you too.”

Geez. What the hell happened to make this person hate him so much?

“Who is the woman after you?” He asks, somehow mustering up an even tone. Something tells him that Dally knows her. Not just a random serial killer. Not at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe with the wrong person.

Gazing into the reflection of the knife, Dally glares into it. “A freaking black widow. The date and kill kind.”

“Her name is Kat Hadesty. You know, in case I die and you live. You can tell my tale.”

Lance sears that name in his mind. If he remembers nothing else, he’ll know her name.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve also got bad luck in the dating department,” he tries to joke to lift the mood. That gets a startled laugh from Dally. “I would hope you have more than me at the moment.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. The last guy I dated didn’t want anything to do with me. At last she wants you.” Dally gives another dry chuckle at Lance’s poor attempt at humor.

“Wants to dice me up, if that’s what you mean.”

Hobbling to a chair in the kitchen, Dally collapses down and holds the knife tightly, knuckles turning white.

With the dire situation at hand, Lance grabs the metal bowl that he almost used as self defense against Dally.

It’s like Dally is in his own world. Aware of every creak in Lance’s house but not seeing what’s actually in front of him. “I used to think I wasn’t afraid of dying. When my sister died, I told myself that the worst has happened to me. Nothing could top that. Though Kat is certainly trying,” he reveals, eyes watering.

This poor guy. Lance can’t help but feel sorry for this man. He knows he has to finish this out with him. He won’t let him do this alone. “You’re going to live. We both are.”

“You can’t promise that,” Dally warns.

Lance is an optimist…sometimes and this happens to be a time that he is. There’s just something about this terrifying night that tells him they’ll live. “I can promise that we’ll try.”

Maybe he’s acting like a foolish person in a horror movie. The one that dies ironically after they give a pep talk.

“You don’t have to be apart of this,” he says, gesturing to the general vicinity. But Lance shakes his head at that. “I think I already am.”

“I’m sorry.” Lance knows he’s being sincere. It’s all over his tensed face.

Shrugging his shoulders, he gives a smile, not a joyous one but an upturn of the corner of his lips in understanding. “I’m not. I opened my door to help you. I still want to help.”

“You are really something, Lance.”

“So are you, Dally.”

Getting up, weilding their weapons of choice, they open the door to face whatever she had for them.

As dusk settled over the town of Pine Grove, Michael stared blankly out of the train window, the rhythmic clattering of the tracks beneath him a comforting lull. He had been away for three long years, working in the city as an investigative journalist. Tonight, he was finally returning home, his heart filled with anticipation at the thought of seeing his family again. His sister, Clara, had been his closest confidante growing up, and his mother, despite her stern demeanor, had always been his rock.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, contemplating sending a quick message to Clara to let her know he was on his way. But before he could type a single word, his phone buzzed with a notification.

It was an email from his old friend, Detective Mark Norris. Michael frowned. He hadn't spoken to Mark in over a year, not since their last encounter over a particularly gruesome case that had shaken both of them to the core.

Curiosity piqued, Michael opened the email. The subject line was stark and urgent: "DON'T COME HOME TONIGHT."

His heartbeat quickened. He glanced around the train, half expecting someone to be watching him, but everyone was absorbed in their own worlds. Taking a deep breath, he opened the email.

The body of the message was short and direct:

Michael,

This is important. Whatever you do, don't come home tonight. Trust me. I'll explain everything later. Just stay away from Pine Grove until I contact you. It's not safe.

- Mark

Michael read the message twice, his mind racing. He tried to call Mark, but the line was busy. Panic gnawed at him, and a thousand scenarios played out in his mind. What could possibly be happening in Pine Grove? Why wouldn’t it be safe for him to return?

The train's PA system announced the next stop was Pine Grove. He had only minutes to decide. Every instinct screamed for him to ignore the email, to see his family, to make sure they were safe. But he knew Mark wasn't one to overreact or joke about safety. If he was warning Michael away, there had to be a reason.

Just as the train began to slow, Michael made up his mind. He grabbed his bag and stood, heading for the exit. His heart pounded as he prepared to disembark, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He turned on his heel and moved toward the opposite door. If he couldn't go to Pine Grove, he'd have to figure out another way to find out what was going on.

Michael got off at the next station, a small, quiet town called Miller’s End, just a few miles away from Pine Grove. He found a bench under a dim streetlight and sat down, still clutching his phone. He needed more information, but Mark wasn’t picking up. He quickly sent a text to Clara:

Hey, I got delayed. Won’t be back until tomorrow. Everything okay?

He waited, watching the little dots on the screen that indicated Clara was typing. His breath caught when her response finally came through:

We’re fine, but there’s something weird going on. Lots of cops around. Mom’s been acting strange all day. You sure you’re okay?

Michael's fingers hovered over the screen. He knew he had to tell her something, but he didn't want to panic her. He typed back a quick reply:

Yeah, I’m good. Stay safe. I’ll call you in the morning.

Frustration gnawed at him. He needed answers. Glancing around, he noticed a small diner still open across the street. The neon sign flickered, casting an eerie glow on the wet pavement. He walked over, hoping to clear his head and plan his next move.

Inside, the diner was nearly empty, save for an elderly couple sharing a pot of coffee in the corner. Michael slid into a booth and ordered a coffee, his mind still racing. He pulled out his laptop and connected to the diner’s Wi-Fi, searching for any news from Pine Grove. There were no updates. Whatever was happening was still under the radar.

Just as he was about to give up, his phone buzzed again. It was another email from Mark, and Michael’s heart skipped a beat as he opened it.

Michael,

I don’t have much time. There's something going on, something bigger than you and me. I can't explain everything now, but the people you’ve been investigating — they know. They know about your family. They know you’re coming home.

You need to trust me. Go to the old cabin by the lake — the one we used to go to as kids. Stay there until I contact you again. Don’t go to Pine Grove. Don’t trust anyone.

And Michael... I'm sorry.

- Mark

A cold chill ran down Michael's spine. The people he had been investigating? His last big story had been about a corrupt syndicate with deep ties to influential figures across the country. He had thought he'd covered his tracks, but it seemed they were one step ahead of him all along.

Michael knew the cabin Mark mentioned — a secluded spot they used to fish at during their childhood summers. It was about an hour's drive away, and the thought of hiding out there brought him little comfort. He was being hunted, and his family might be in danger because of him.

He quickly paid for his coffee and left the diner, heading to a nearby car rental agency. If he was going to the cabin, he needed to move fast. His hands were trembling as he filled out the paperwork, but his resolve was firm. He had to stay one step ahead.

As he drove through the dark, winding roads toward the cabin, he kept glancing at his phone, hoping for another message from Mark, or some sign that his family was okay. The silence was unbearable. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, he reached the cabin. It was just as he remembered — a small, rustic place surrounded by thick trees, the lake’s surface reflecting the pale moonlight. He parked the car and made his way inside, locking the door behind him. The familiar smell of wood and musty furniture filled his senses, but there was no time for nostalgia.

He quickly set up his laptop on the dusty kitchen table and checked his phone again. Still nothing from Mark. Michael’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what was happening. Why were they after him now, after all this time? And how did Mark know so much?

Just as he was about to try calling Mark again, he heard a noise outside — a faint rustling, like someone stepping on dried leaves. His heart stopped. He grabbed a flashlight from a nearby shelf and switched it on, the beam cutting through the darkness outside the window.

"Mark?" he called out softly, but there was no response. The forest was silent again, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

Michael felt a surge of paranoia. Had they already found him? He decided to step outside, just to make sure. He carefully opened the door, stepping onto the creaky wooden porch. The night air was cold, and his breath fogged in front of him.

“Hello?” he whispered, shining the flashlight around the trees.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement to his left. Before he could react, someone tackled him from the side, knocking the flashlight from his hand. Michael struggled, but his attacker was strong and determined, pinning him to the ground.

"Michael, it's me!" a familiar voice hissed in his ear. "Stop struggling, it's me!"

Michael froze. "Mark?"

The figure released him and helped him up. In the faint moonlight, Michael could make out Mark’s face, grim and serious. His old friend looked worn and tired, like he hadn’t slept in days.

“We don’t have much time,” Mark said urgently. “They’re on their way. I had to make sure you came here and not to Pine Grove.”

Michael’s head was spinning. “What’s going on, Mark? Who’s after me? Why can’t I go home?”

Mark sighed, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows. “It's the syndicate you exposed. They want you, Michael. And they’re willing to use your family to get to you. But there’s more… something much darker. They’re involved in things we didn’t even scratch the surface of in our investigations.”

Michael felt a cold dread settle over him. “But how do you know all this? How did they find out about me?”

Mark hesitated, then finally spoke. “Because they got to me first. They tried to recruit me, but when I refused, they threatened me — told me they’d come after everyone I cared about. Including you.”

Michael stared at him in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” Mark admitted. “I thought I could handle it on my own. But when I heard you were coming back, I knew I had to warn you. They’ve been watching us both, Michael. We’re in this together now.”

A noise in the distance — the sound of cars approaching. Mark's expression turned to one of urgency. "We have to go. Now."

Without another word, they sprinted into the woods, the cabin disappearing behind them as they plunged deeper into the darkness, guided only by the faint light of the moon and their own instincts.

As they ran, Michael knew their lives had just taken a dark turn, one from which there might be no return. The Norris letter had been a warning, but now it felt more like a beginning — the start of a dangerous game with no clear end in sight.

And Michael had no choice but to play.

I double checked the number, no one I knew. Googled the area code, from out of state. Another freaking spam text? I was getting sick of these, but this was a new one.

“Why not?” I texted back. Sometimes my partner would mess around with whoever was spamming them. I had never done it, but maybe it would be fun?

“You won’t like what you find.”

“And what will I find?”

“You won’t believe me. Just stay away.”

“Vague/unhelpful/are you serious?”

…

I waited.

“Yes. This isnt a joke.”

“Who are you? Why are you messing with me? Is this Eric?”

“No. Do not go home tonight.”

“And how exactly does this scam benefit you?”

“This is not a scam.”

I guess I couldve been more creative, but I get annoyed easily.

“And where do you suggest I go?”

“Anywhere you like.”

“Without any of my stuff?”

…

…

“That’s not my concern.”

“Im tired of this. Im blocking this number and reporting it. Good luck on your next scam!”

But before I have a chance to delete the number. A picture comes through.

Its my house.

“What the hell?! Where did you get that picture?”

“I told you. Its not a scam.”

“How do you know where I live and how did you get this number? If this is a joke its gone far enough!”

Not funny. Not funny at all. Should I call the cops? Does this warrant a call?

Oh shit! Michael. He must be at home by now.

I call him.

No answer.

I text him.

No answer. No answer.

Then …

Then nothing.

What do I do? What do I do? I need to know he’s ok. I pick up my speed and head to my train stop.

I keep trying to call. Dammit. I bounce and fidget on the train. The unknown number is silent.

Im about to explode out of my skin when the train door opens at my stop. I run. Nearly knocking people over to get up the station stairs.

It takes me too long to get home. The windows are dark.

I go up to the door. Its cracked open. No noise. No lights.

“Michael?”

I take a step in.

My phone dings.

“What did I tell you? Dont go in the house!”

I whip around. No one. I furiously text back.

“Are you watching me?”

“Get out before you regret it.”

I walk further into the hall.

“Babe? Michael?” I weakly call out. Still nothing but silence. I turn to look in the living room. And there is someone sitting on the couch facing away from me.

“Michael?” The figure stirs and turns slowly toward me.

“Lisa? Is that you?” It sounds like Michael. I’m so relieved it takes me a minute to register that his voice is, off, somehow.

I flip on the hall light. It’s him! “You scared the crap put me! What kind of prank are you playing? Texting me like that and sitting in the dark? This is not one of your better thought out jokes I can tell you.” I rambling, I’m nervous and I don’t know why.

Michael staggers up still turning toward me. He’s moving oddly, like he’s not quite coordinated . As he turns to me, it looks like something is wrong with his face, but it’s so dark in the living room.

“Are you ok?” I ask as I flip on the living room light, I scream. His eyes are gone! Just…gone. Black pits where they should be. I stumble back into the hall slamming against the side board where we keep our keys.

He turns all the way and reaches for me tripping over the back of the couch, falling to the floor with a crash. “Where are you?” he asks. As he does thick black sludge bubbles out of his mouth and over his chin. He voice sounds thick as though there is more sludge lodged in his throat.

This is wrong. I scramble away from him, not sure why but my every instinct is telling me to run. To get away. I listen. I run out the door and slam it and tear wildly down the sidewalk. I don’t know where to go other than away.

My phone pings, I’m still holding it. I slow to read the message.

“I told you not to go home tonight. I warned you. And now it has seen you too. That’s not Michael anymore. Meet me here at 11pm.”

An address comes through. I stop running and try to catch my breath. My reaction puzzles me, but I can barely think right now. Why did I run instead of calling for help? Who is this person? Why would I meet them? What is it?

I throw up into the bushes.

I sat in the drivers seat of my car as I read and reread the message: “Do not go home tonight.” It was from an unknown number, and I was scared—scared to answer the text and scared to go anywhere.

Finally, I mustered the courage to type back, “Who are you?”As my heart pounded in the deafening silence, I thought of my boyfriend, Terrance. I had just moved in with him a few weeks ago. Knowing he would worry, I considered texting him.

But just before I did, I received a reply. “A friend. Go to this address: 67 Northlake St.” Since the address was not one that I recognized, I punched it into Google Maps and finally started my car. Halfway there, my phone dinged with a text. At a stop light, I grabbed my phone to see who had texted me. It was not the mystery texter; it was Terrance. “Hey, are you on your way home?”

The light turned green, leaving me no time to open my phone to reply. I continued driving, and I didn’t stop to look at my phone for the rest of the trip. My heart felt so guilty for not telling him about this sooner.

Finally, I had reached my destination, and I pulled into the driveway. Ignoring my phone and my worried boyfriend, I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. It opened a crack, just enough for me to see a bright green eye. “Are you Kate?”

“Yes, but, who are you?” She opened the door wide, and there stood a blonde girl with her hair cut to her shoulders. She was slender and petite, coming up to my shoulder.

“My name is Mindy.” She waved me inside and shut the door behind us. We sat on the couch as she exclaimed, “I used to date Terrance, but he broke up with me when I refused to move in with him. I thought that was concerning.”

She asked, “Do you know about his second girlfriend Lexi?” When I shook my head, she continued, “After I broke up with Terrance, it took him less than a month to find a new girlfriend. I know this because we were still friends on social media, and I hadn’t blocked him. Eventually, they moved in together. But Lexi went missing exactly three weeks after she moved in with Terrance. Her body was never found.

“Then, only two months after her disappearance, he started dating you. And now, you’ve moved in with him. Was this something that he initiated?”

“Y-yes, it was,” I stammered. My heart was pounding. “Do you think he did something to her?”

“I don’t know. I just think it all seems very suspicious. I wanted to get you out of there before it was too late.”

“So, what should we do now?”

---

Mindy held me as I wept. We had both returned to Terrance’s apartment with the police in tow, and while they hid nearby, I opened the door with my key. Terrance was at my throat immediately—“Where were you?! Why didn’t you answer any of my texts?! Are you cheating on me?!” He kept screaming over me and refused to listen to anything I had to say. Finally, he grabbed a knife and lunged at me! That was when the police intervened and cuffed him. They were taking him away as my heart broke. I had loved Terrance. But he clearly didn’t love me.

ACTUALLY THIS IS A POEM🫶🏻

KASEY:

Do not go home tonight, at least not alone, That’s what the message says, when I pull open my phone

Who’s it from I wonder, who could it be, A secret admirer, someone who loves me?

Maybe I should fear this, for some reason i feel safe, Maybe I could love it, maybe I’ll be ok

A smile spreads on my face, as I realize who it was, the pranks he pulls will never change, my silly Jeremiah’s

My fingers are starting to freeze. The suffering is my indecisive nature. My body feels like its chilled through about to reach my core. And yet, there’s nothing I’d rather do less than having to make the choice to open my door. Except making the decision to walk away. Telling my mother her suspicions were correct. I don’t know what I know, but I know she cant be trusted. Could the text be from her? A test of my loyalty? Or maybe showing how easily I can be swayed by anonymous whispers? She’ll be done with her “work” soon. Whatever it is that keeps her obsessed with her “office”. Nothing is real with her. I know this. I hear movement inside and dive to the bushes. My body hates it but my mind tells me its safer than her. Gears start moving in my head as panic spikes. “Do not go home.” Does it mean inside or the entire property? Am I already too late?

 The door opens. There she is. Uptight and anxious as always. She stares straight forward. Seemingly oblivious to my presence. 

“Sweetheart, come inside,” she says in a suspiciously gentle way. My eyes widen with fear. There she stands, still, and unwavering. Staring straight into the distance as if I’m not there. I hear shaking of the trees in the distance. ‘A different sweetheart?’ my mind whispers terrified.

*written right before 2024 (end of December), when Duolingo sent a pretty threatening email which inspired me 😂 and I was waiting to post it here until I found a prompt that worked with it 😊)

Hey, it's Duo. You've forgotten about me again. Just you wait for 2024, You'll regret your decisions then.   I'll come at you with a pickaxe, A knife, a dagger, a sword. Continue each day with your lessons. You'd better not get bored.   I need justice. You've failed me once more. I am getting angry. Go to practice, this is war.   If you don't learn your language, A sharp pain will strike you soon. Feel my wrath, Duo's madness. You rancid little goon.   I will bring this case to court, The jury shall make you pay. I'll win, as always, of course. You cannot live another day.   Idiot, foul human. You'll never beat the owl. For I am wiser than a god, So go ahead and scowl.   The demons'll possess you. I won't hear another word. After all, take a look at me; I'm just a silly old bird.   I can get away with murder. If you don't listen to me. Do your job on Duolingo- Or you'll get eaten for tea.   My violent tendencies play out, Most often in my head. You don't want them any other way, Else you'll wind up dead.   Do not go home tonight, If you have not prepared. I may create an accident, A trap; and you’re ensnared.

Listen here, young child. It is rude to show insult. Obey my every command, Join me in my cult.