“Write a story about how eight murders have taken place in your character’s town in the past 8 weeks. Once a week, on the same day, at the same time. When your character gets abducted after being out past the town’s new curfew, they have only 48 hours to discover why this is happening and how to get free…all while being tortured by the murderer.”
– a prompt for this week’s CW piece.
[Source: Self-publishing school]
Martha parked her car and looked at her watch.
Five minutes until a killing.
She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, pulled the keys out of the ignition and rushed out towards the house.
The house door wasn’t even locked. Normally, she would lecture her parents and younger brother on the importance of locking the door, but today she had no time to spare.
“Wash your hands, dear. Dinner’s ready” – she heard her mother say as she rushed to the living room.
“Had mother no idea? It was almost 9 pm. Wednesday” – she wondered, powering on the TV and changing the channel from 40 to 2.
“Martha?” – her mother started, coming into the room.
These were times when Martha regretted moving back home. Her and Kyle broke up in spring and so she had to move out of his apartment. She was going to find her own place soon. But days turned into weeks and weeks into months and Martha still lived in her family house.
“Not now, mother” – she answered, increasing the volume of the TV.
“Why do you keep watching this?“
“I’m watching it for clues. I will catch him.“
Martha’s mother sighed and walked out of the living room.
“Tonight, like every Wednesday for the past eight weeks, we hold our collective breaths. Will the feed come online?” – asked the host.
“There have been no Missing Persons reports” – said the co-host before they both were replaced by a black screen.
“Here it is” – Martha excitedly murmured to herself and approached the television set so no detail would escape her.
Suddenly, a bright light like the one in interrogation rooms is switched on.
A blonde girl can be seen tied to a chair.
Her eyes having a hard time adjusting to the light.
Suddenly, she stops fighting against the zip ties and the rope she is tied with.
Martha bets that if the girl’s mouth wasn’t taped shut, she would be taking a deep breath around now. If she was a dog, her ears would perk up, trying to figure out who/ what was coming. She knew that, because she had seen all the other videos, and she knew that the killer was about to enter the space where the girl was being held captive.
We can hear him approach the chair.
The girl starts trashing around with all her might, most likely knowing what is about to happen to her.
Everyone’s been following those killer videos.
Everyone but Martha’s family.
The man dressed in all black, wearing a balaclava and dark sunglasses walked up to the girl, positioned himself behind her, pulled out a knife from his pocket, and ever so slowly slashed her throat.
“Why do they always stop fighting as soon as he gets behind them?” – Martha wondered.
The hosts came back online.
“Please, adhere to the town’s curfew and DO NOT leave your house after 7 pm under any circumstances” – said the woman.
“We will catch him, but until then, please remain put” – continued the male co-host.
“To hell with that” – Martha said to herself, before going to the kitchen to join her family for dinner.
It was 8 pm. Monday. Martha knew the authorities urged the residents to stay inside between 7 pm and 7 am, but she wasn’t scared. She liked the empty streets.
Plus, she was a cop.
Since she was fresh out of the academy, she was doing what others didn’t like doing – patrolling the streets of a town in which nothing ever happens. People don’t even speed.
Well, nothing ever happened. Until two months ago when the mysterious killings started.
When Martha came to, she looked around, but saw nothing. The darkness was impenetrable. She was sure that she wouldn’t be able to see her own hand if she placed it in front of her face.
Only she couldn’t place her hand in front of her.
Her hands were twisted behind her.
Terror filled her body.
She knew where she was.
She only had 48 hours to escape, or end like all the other victims – dead.
“Gotcha” – she said proudly.
“Let the games begin” – she thought to herself, while calming her breathing.
P.S. As always, you are more than welcome to use this prompt to inspire your post. If you decide to write something, be sure to pingback to this post, so that I can get an alert and check out your post. (A post on how to do pingbacks can be found here.) If pingbacks are not your thing, feel free to simply leave a link to your piece in the comment section below. The more, the merrier!
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