So here it is, barely following the rules at 395 words. Winners are posted Sunday. Feel free to comment below and tell me what you think. =)
The Life Of A Writer
Eerie. That was the word Lilly had been looking for. This house was eerie. Why had it taken her so long to find the right word? As a writer, that was embarrassing.
Stepping through the abandoned rooms of the sand-filled house, she surveyed its peeling yellow wallpaper, the chipped and rotting door frames. She searched for a story to match this strange place. She had driven two hours to look at it, simply because she had writer’s block and needed an idea. If anything could give her one, it was this house.
Murder. Yes, this is a perfect place for a murder. Kill somebody, hide their body under all of this sand.
Lilly frowned at herself. Why not come up with nice stories? Ones with cute little girls playing hopscotch or newlyweds on their honeymoon?
But really, a perfect place for a murder. A lone woman in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. The setup is perfect.
Lilly shivered. Stop it. That’s creepy. Why not think of something else?
A psychopath. No, a serial killer. Yes. That’s a better idea.
Lilly froze. There in front of her were great dents in the sand. Foot prints. Suddenly this house seemed much more eerie. Was there somebody else in this house?
A serial killer?
She heard something scuffling in an adjoining room.
Jumping, she smothered a scream and smirked at herself disdainfully. It’s nothing, just an imagination gone haywire. Again. A writer and somebody who scares easily. Not a good combination.
But then she heard it again. It was NOT her imagination.
A serial killer!
Lilly forced herself to stop and think. No. Very few people ever come here, so why wait in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere? That defeats the whole point of being a serial killer.
Maybe he has a gun. Or a knife. Yeah, knives are scarier than guns.
He scuffled about again.
Shrieking, Lilly turned to sprint down the hall and out into the sunlight. Her ankle rolled and she fell, sand flying into her eyes. Something behind her let out a screeching sound, but she drowned it out with her own screams.
Picking herself up, she ran blindly out to her car and started the motor. Flooring the pedal, she didn’t dare look back.
Didn’t dare look back to see a raccoon saunter out the front door.