Monday, 1 September 2014

I Promised, I’m Delivering

I promised some fun, and so here it is
Last week and this week I’ve been working on my horror short, it’s not coming along as fast as I hoped. I think because I’m trying to do too much in such a short time, and I mean, I’m working on a cover for a short story I want to publish for free, just to get use to the idea of Amazon and ARe. Other than those two I’m putting it up on Smashwords, which will put it up on Barnes and Noble, I know it’s probably irritating, but it will mostly likely be the way go (I just don’t want to have to mess with another company).

Or it could be that what I truly want in the story is only coming up at around 4K which I feel is to short so I’m adding fillers only the filling is giving away too much information and I’m feeling as if I’m making it obvious, which I really don’t want. I want this story to be one of those ‘you can only read once’ types of shorts.

But this is my opinion I actually like the back story I think it will make the end mean more, but as it is I feel like I’m giving to much up, that it will be predictable and I’m finding all my chapters are actually starting out exactly the same.

This isn’t to say that I’m not having a fun time writing it, but it’s becoming frustrating.

Also, before I put up a rough excerpt of the first chapter so you all get a little fun, I’m starting a new thing on Thursday’s called From the Backlist, which is what the titles says, along with some old books, I’m also going to be putting up excerpts too, so that will be fun.

Anyway, if you were a part of the facebook chat I was in a week(s) ago then you’ll have already read this, if not, here’s the first chapter of my horror short, still without a name. hope you enjoy

Mum was always the one to walk into the closet to make sure the monsters were all gone each night before I went to bed.
She was always the one that told me it was okay to fear. But that I was always safe when she was around, and if she couldn’t be, then I’d find something that would take her place.
I choose a stuffed rabbit, by the time I could remember it, I’d held the rabbit for nearly 5 years. It’s actually one of my oldest memories.
The rabbit, which apparently was a nice baby yellow, had turned a grayish colour, but I was more than sure that was years later than that first thought. As it stood now, me at the tender age of twenty-two it only had one ear, long and paper thin, crusty from years of being chewed, and as clear as anything, a replacement from one I’d lost year before.
The stuffing was those little beads, settled in the arse, its toes. However, one of those had seen better days.
I remember this point in all my thought because I wanted to be clutching it now. I wanted my fingers around the head, suffocating poor scratchy as the butt sat snuggled into my armpit.
Screams scratched at my ears, my mothers, my sisters, yelling for the pain to stop, for everything to stop. Panicked I try to run away, to turn invisible as I slowly back out of the room. Tears ran down my cheeks, I want nothing more than to run to them, to get him to stop it.
My head beat rapidly, it rebounding around my head as fast and as strong as everyone else’s in the house. Pound pound pound, as if it was ready to jump out of my skin and dance the hula on my grave.
I pray I’m not making any noises.
My feet are heavy as I drag myself along the hall, a hand trailing against the wallpaper, as I slowly make my way to the front door.
The sound dances around me, sounding as if they were far away, as if they were right on top of me. I’m alive and dead, dreading the moment he finds out I’m still in the house, that I’m not asleep, or locked up somewhere else.
I don’t know why he hasn’t seen me before, why he didn’t checked out the house before standing over my mother—sister in bed with her, and started the butcher I’d witnessed.
Fear rides me hard, I understand that as my hands shake and my mouth turns dry. I want to run. I want to scream, I want something to happen. The hope, the fact that I’m walking now is almost scarier. Why is it possible? When is he going to see me, to hunt me down and do to me as his doing to my family?
Sweat slides down my spine, running cold, making me shiver while heat licks at my face, my neck. I’m all over the place, hoping and praying that my fingers are going to wrap around the front door handle, as I know it’s not going to happen. Any moment now, any fucking second, I’m going to get grabbed from behind and dragged to me death, and from the screams and blood, coming from my mother’s room it’s not going to be fun sailing.
My bladder punched at me, I need the toilet, needed it in the worst way possible, and I wasn’t even sure why. I mean yeah, I just woke, but honestly hadn’t even really fallen asleep before all this happened.
I reach the front room, the door is right there, just a few feet away. In reach. I push out a breath of happiness. I’m excited, I’m shaking, but breathing becomes ragged, hitting me as I suck in more than I let out.
I stumble, hitting things that aren’t there.
I jumped, heart leaped into my throat, closing it up, as a scrap came from behind.
Turning myself back, after I nearly made the most basic scary movie no no, I bump into the counter, it rattles, making a loud bang in the quite room. There’s no way, even if he wasn’t here with me, right now, that he doesn’t know I’m there now.
My fingers fumble on the table, running into keys as they stabbed into me. I grabbed at them, then ran for the door, not caring anymore, just knowing that I needed out. I would be safe once I got out.
I clutch at the door as it swings open, rolling around the hard edge taking myself outside as it swings.
I look back, not able to get to the other side without looking. In most ways, I can’t help myself; it’s almost a compulsion, I can’t not see what’s chasing me. can’t not see if he was actually there or if I was home free.
I see a reflection, a cabinet door swung open, it’s shined into the hallway. A man stands there, young looking, covered in blood, his jeans looked almost black in spots, his shirt ripped, as if someone had pulled at the collar, a butchers knife in his left hand, a smaller one in his right, blood dripping from them both.
A smirk lined his face, nearly deviously happy with himself.
A shiver worked up my spine, getting me moving again, I blinked, not releasing I stopped.
“I’ll find you,” was spoken from somewhere behind me, and a laugh, fucking hell, the laugh, it was like something you’d hear coming out of a man who knew he’d done a good job in the sack.
A beep shattered the world, making it shift and wobble as I slowly made my way out the door.
It happened again. I stilled, not really sure what was real and what wasn’t.
Fear drenched me some more as I turned myself around, frantically reaching out, trying to find some common ground.
Hard plastic hurt my hand as I hit something at an odd angel.
I cried out in surprise and pain, as darkness folded around me.

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