Happy scary-story-challenge to all.
Following from the Flash Fiction challenge of last week (via Chuck Wendig’s blog) a horde of “first 1000 word acts of a three-act scary story” stories have been released to the masses, in hope that some souls out there can add onto them. Next week, we will (hopefully) see the third and final act added, but this week is all about that delicious middle part.
You can spy on my first act here, submitted last week and (fingers crossed) may be adopted by someone interested in continuing a story about a fat man stuck in a toilet (seriously, have a read if that interests you!).
BUT – less about that, and more about my second act attempt at a first act submitted by the author Chris Chambers. Please read his first act here on his blog – http://chambone.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/flash-fiction-challenge.html?zx=9eb9b0fbee14fda0
I chose this one because I liked his brash character, the gross-out description and Dave’s Limey bashing ways. I struggle when writing in closed third person, so saw that as a challenge itself to keep it flowing. I also chose this because Mr Chambers lives over the county border in Nottingham, so hello to a fellow East Midlands “Wendig-er” if you are reading this.
Act 3 of 3 will come next week, but for now please enjoy my spooky interpretation of someone’s scary first act.
Dave shuddered with a whimper, tugging at his bed covers with his free hand; the other still nestling the trinket against his face.
June? This isn’t June! This is freezing!
For every night through May till now, it had been sweltering. His bedroom window had been left ajar every evening since, but tonight was somewhat abrupt. A bitter chill stabbed, but Dave felt it from every direction. A struggle contended inside his heavy exhausted mind, to simply close that damn window, but the gold trinket called… and he obeyed.
…They are coming…
Dave stayed where he was, laying motionless as the bitter chill wrapped around him, slowly toying with the little gold chain. Any thoughts of the day just gone seemed to escape him, for thoughts of the trinket replaced them.
Oh, the sound of it falling into my hand. How delicate it looks, but how strong it is. And its warmth…
But what was the name…?
No, look how shiny it is!
Who was it that gave it to me…?
Does it really matter…? Oh, remember how it glistened in the light!
A branch snapped under a foot, somewhere in the distance. A sudden feeling of awareness pierced his thoughts, and his own voice, now a stranger to Dave, seemed to fight back. He was no longer in his room, he thought.
A voice whispered from the corner where the wardrobe stood, the crackle of a fire from where the dresser is, and the dancing of a breeze through tree branches fissured above his head.
A spasm shook Dave awake. His head was heavy and felt hungover, and his eyes sealed together. He saw a light in the corner between his sticky eye lids, and figures moving. He was certainly not in his room.
But Dave pushed himself up, still clutching onto the gold trinket. His fingers would tickle the chain, just to make sure it was still there, but he felt in control now.
Shit, where am I? What is this?
He calculated his surroundings, dragging his head up from his cold naked body.
He curled into a ball, covering himself up and shuddering against the biting midnight chill. He scratched away from his bed covers, and to find his bed was no longer a bed, but a crude stitched leather mat atop grass… finely cut grass…
…They are coming…
Dave looked up to see a beast of a man, built like the proverbial brick shit house, standing a good six foot high in white robes, and staring down at Dave’s pale naked self. He couldn’t see the giant’s face through the darkness, but felt eyes of bitter cold staring back.
“Wh… who the fuck are you?” stabbed Dave, but the hulking figure just watched. Only a grim yellow smile gleaned back, before raising his thick arms to the air, fists clamped shut.
“There’s a darkness… in The Sleep… that nobody can escape!” It chanted. Over and over. “There’s a darkness…”
The robed giant clenched his fists tighter. A thick stinking black liquid ran out from between his fingers, dripping onto Dave’s bare neck. Every rotten globule slapped as it landed, rolling over his throat and collecting in a gelatine pool under his head. Dave averted his eyes, holding his breath, and clutching the trinket hard. He closed his throat, trying not to gag.
“…in The Sleep” he giant continued.
It was then Dave saw something familiar amongst the torment. He could feel the trinket pulling him away from it, but Dave fought.
He saw a number in the distance, on a wall through the darkness. He recalled a familiar number, and then a name. Both echoed in his dazed mind.
Number twenty eight…
…Mr Bewford’s lawn…?
Shit, shit, shit!
Dave looked up, his eyes now awake and his head free. The giant man saw life return to the weedy naked man below. He fell from above, bringing down his fists, still bubbling with the black tar between his fingers. His yellow teeth grimaced as he lunged to Dave, dropping through the choking darkness.
“…that nobody can escape!”