Day 168 Writing Short Things

Headless

The row of headless statues towered next to them as they made their way through the abandoned old castle. Spider webs snaked around the statues, and the occasional floorboard creak made her steal a glance towards the statues to see if they had moved. The place was creepy, and she shouldn’t have let them talk her into breaking into the castle with them.

She was sure that there was more than ghosts living there. She could imagine an old vampire watching them make their way through his castle or some serial killer toying with them. It was stupid of them to be here at night. Another thing she had questioned, but the others had thought it was a good idea, a cool idea, as Marion had said. She was planning to say ‘I told you so,’ when everything went to hell.

The others motioned silently that they should head to the basement level.

She shook her head. She mouthed that’s where the monsters were.

They circled her eyes and went on without consulting her a second time.

The wood on the steps down moaned as they pushed their weight on them. The carpets pinned to them were half rotten, and the wood underneath had cracked. She could so picture her leg going through the wood.

It didn’t. Unfortunately.

Soon enough, they were on the basement level, and while there were no longer headless statues, there was a distinctive, creepy feeling that she wanted nothing to do with. She wanted to bolt up, screaming. But she wasn’t going to turn back, not alone.

The others kept going, but she saw hesitation even in them. They were feeling the pressure of the place, too. She had felt it just by looking at the castle outside. There was a distinctive sense of death and malice. She had seen enough old houses to know when the grounds were restless. And this place was. She had never spoken about her feelings to the others. They believed in science, as did she, but she had always had a sixth sense for things, and this place screamed danger.

She squeezed her hands into tight fists. She could feel the pressure rising.

“I have to leave,” she said. “We can’t go on. You have to believe me. There is something waiting for us at the end of the hallway, and it won’t be friendly.”

The others shot a glance at her. She could see them mouthing their words to say no, but then Marion said, “Yeah, I think it’s good if we leave. This place gives me the creeps.”

Marion’s words broke the spell to draw them deeper into the basement. They left, and as soon as they were out of the castle, slithering out of the broken front door, the pressure was gone. She glanced back at the castle as they reached their cars, noticing a faint glow coming from the basement, but it vanished just as quickly.

Urn

She held the golden Eastern urn in her hands, tracing its patterns with her fingers. It was a thing of beauty. It had come to the museum with other miscellaneous items that had been shipped from an old museum that was soon going to be torn down.

The urn was in exceptional shape. It was without dents or any markings that didn’t belong there. She had seen others like it in the catalogs, and there were dozens like it in the museum, but this one felt different somehow. It was the weight of it. The lid was sealed shut, and the wax on the seal looked as old as the urn did.

She glanced over her shoulder. The other curators were out to get their lunch. She knew she shouldn’t, and it was highly against her own ethics, yet the pull was too strong.

She drew her kit out and began carefully removing the seal. She felt sweat pool on her forehead as the sense of dread and wrong was gaining on her, but the pull to open the urn was too strong. When the seal peeled off, she carefully twisted the lid off, and the thing came open, everything went dark. There was a high-pitched scream, and she noticed that it was coming from her lips. She still couldn’t see what had happened. There was only the darkness and the sense that something was breathing down her neck.

“Thank you, my darling,” a voice behind her said, and then she felt something needle sharp on her neck, and she was gone.

Corrupt Cop

I don’t know what to do with a corrupt cop today.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

I didn’t mean to write the first prompt so long, but it just wouldn’t end. So it took all the space from the other prompts, and as more words piled on, I got desperate to end it. I was sure I couldn’t finish the urn story, but I’m happy that I did so, even when I needed to rush things. My cats decided to help me, and they paraded over my keyboard and my desk, demanding that I get to the kitchen. So I have to go and feed my cats.

Have a day full of mysteries! Thank you for reading ❤