This is the space to tell us how you would answer the writing prompt that appears in CrimeBits on page 29.
He should have known.
There should have been a sign.
A way of seeing what was about to happen.
He should have felt it.
It wouldn’t have helped him.
The clock was ticking, the minutes and seconds passing by, without him realising.
He would be dead in an hour and he wouldn’t see it coming.
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Repost because i didn’t proofread…
He should have known.
The house, vacant for 50 years.
Never sold, listed over and over.
Buyers excited about the affordable price.
Take a tour.
To feel something… Off.
To never return
He should have known.
Ghost hunters and podcasters trying to get a story.
Going home and finding blank tape, fuzzy film.
Dying in car crashes.
Plane crashes
Mysterious accidents.
He should have known.
Teenagers, daring, one another to go through the gate
To knock on the door.
To enter.
To drink beer, laugh, tease, have sex.
To disappear.
He should have known.
The signs ignored.
He felt the air when he entered the house.
Icy cold
Then hot.
How long was he there?
A minute? An hour? A day?
The sounds.
The heartbeat of the house.
Loud and drumming in his fiber.
The thumps, scrapes,
Darkness.
He should have known.
He should’ve known.
The house, vacant for 50 years.
Never sold, listed over and over.
Buyers excited about the affordable price.
Take a tour.
To feel something… Off.
To never return
He should’ve known.
Ghost hunters and podcasters trying to get a story.
Going home and finding blank tape, fuzzy film.
Dying in car crashes.
Plane crashes
Mysterious accidents.
He should’ve known.
Teenagers, daring, one another to go through the gate
To knock on the door.
To enter.
To drink, beer, laugh, tease, have sex.
To disappear.
He should’ve known.
The signs ignored.
He felt the air when he entered the house.
Icy cold
Then hot.
How long was he there?
A minute? An hour? A day?
The sounds.
The heartbeat of the house.
Loud and drumming in his fiber.
The thumbs, scrapes,
Darkness.
He should’ve known.
There are those on this earth that inexplicably feel no remorse; he was one of those people. No empathy for the pain and suffering of others, even when he was the cause of that pain, that suffering.
Maybe there actually was a sign, one that normal people could see, could feel…but not him. No, he wasn’t like “normal” people. This utter lack of empathy and compassion was why he couldn’t know how little time he had left.
So when the front door slowly opened and slowly closed, silent as a whisper, he was completely unaware.
When she quietly slipped her shoes off and floated down the hall toward the room she knew he would be in, he was completely unaware
Her bruised and battered flesh screamed at her as she willed herself along, her right foot dragging softly, unwilling to cooperate as she tried to tip toe quietly, and he was completely unaware.
She steadied her breathing, ragged as it was, and willed her tortured body to obey, to cooperate just this one time. Soon it would all be better. Soon the monster around the corner would not be able to hurt her anymore, hurt anyone anymore.
Soon he would be aware.
Soon would be too late.
The money hadn’t come easy. For the past one-hundred and eighty days, he had been at the beck and call of the lowest-ranking officers of the syndicate. Not doing particularly dangerous jobs- worse. The ones that kept him awake at night. Taking from the impoverished. Threatening the honest, but desperate.
Not to work his way into the gang. Not for his own benefit. But to surprise Andre.
Andre, his little brother, and the only other living family he had left. This money would ensure Andre never had to put his nose in the muck like this. His kid brother could buy his own food, clothes, even go to school one day.
Thirty minutes prior, he had just finished the job that would ensure Andre’s Christmas. Twenty minutes ago, he got on the Metro home, a single of Fighting Cock in his coat pocket calming his post-dirt nerves. Ten minutes ago, he didn’t see the two men follow him off the train at his neighborhood stop.
The money hadn’t come easy. For the past one-hundred and eighty days, he had been at the beck and call of the lowest-ranking officers of the syndicate. Not doing particularly dangerous jobs- worse. The ones that kept him awake at night. Taking from the impoverished. Threatening the honest, but desperate.
Not to work his way into the gang. Not for his own benefit. But to surprise Andre.
Andre, his little brother, and the only other living family he had left. This money would ensure Andre never had to put his nose in the muck like this. His kid brother could buy his own food, clothes, even go to school one day.
Thirty minutes prior, he had just finished the job that would ensure Andre’s Christmas. Twenty minutes ago, he got on the Metro home, a single of Fighting Cock in his coat pocket calming his post-dirt nerves. Ten minutes ago, he didn’t see the two men follow him off the train at his neighborhood stop.