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The keys rattled in the lock like the ticking of a deathly clock, counting down to an execution. The sound echoed around the empty hallway and up the staircase to the room where Gail was huddled, crying in the corner. She crawled over to the edge of the landing and peered downstairs through the gaps in the banister. The rattling stopped. The calm before a storm. She retreated back to the corner of her room and shut the door. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t see her there.
The front door crashed open and a man staggered in. He made his way towards the foot of the stairs. Gail whimpered and shrunk further back into the shadows. She could hear heavy, irregular footsteps coming up the stairs and ragged breathing like the harsh growl of death himself. He had reached the landing now and started looking around for his wife.
“Where are you, Gail dear?” he drawled, sneeringly. Trying to be as silent as possible, she slowly let out the breath she had been holding subconsciously. She would make a run for it. Past him and out of the front door before his drunken brain would realise what was going on.
Slowly, Gail started to pull herself up, making as little noise as possible whilst trying to get up before he entered the room where she was hiding. As she stood, she winced at a flash of pain coming from her ankle - a reminder of the torture to come if she stayed. The slamming of the door two along from hers told her that she had to make her move. There was no time. But if he caught her, the punishment would be worse. As she was thinking this, her staggering husband had searched the bathroom and would soon be on top of her. She had to run.
Silently counting down from three, she raised her hand to turn the handle. 3 – She might make it. She’d run out of the house and hammer on her neighbours’ doors. 2 – but what if they didn’t believe her. What if he caught her and smoothed it over with lies? 1 – Had he locked the door when he came in? She couldn’t remember. Please god no, she pleaded. No time now, she had to go. She quickly flung the door open and dived out just as he was closing the door to the bathroom. He shouted out and stumbled towards her, grabbing at her long blonde hair as she got to the stairs.
When her foot touched the stair her ankle gave way and she fell, tumbling down, wincing at each impact. At the bottom, by some miracle, she found herself on her feet again and just about managed to shuffle to the door. He wasn’t far behind now but if she could just open the door and run, she would be outside and the neighbours could see and would hopefully call the police. She pushed down on the door handle hard to wrench it open and escape into the daylight, free of her pursuer. But the handle wouldn’t go down. It was locked. She spotted the key on the kitchen work surface down the hall. He’d planned this. There was no way she could escape from her house, her prison. Defeated, she turned to meet her doom.
The first blow knocked all the wind out of her. Her knees gave way but she managed to stay on her feet and look pleadingly at her husband, silently begging him to stop. His eyes, unheeding of hers, were black and emotionless. There was no feeling behind them as he launched punch after punch at her defenceless self. Gail felt a flash of pain and her vision wavered. Her body couldn’t take much more pounding. After that she just gave up. She was numb to the pounding, barely noticing the barrage that she was being put through. Colour faded from the world and light abandoned her, leaving her lying bruised on the carpet.
Blinking, Gail’s eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings. She was standing in a space, totally devoid of light except a doorway through which it seemed all the light of the world flooded. A distant voice called out, a voice she recognised as hers. She felt as a spectator, watching the scene from a distance. Groping around, Gail walked slowly towards the doorway. As she walked, her pain gradually faded and a smile started to blossom on her face. She could hear voices singing softly and happily, rejoicing in their happiness. Slowly, the singing became louder as she grew nearer to the door. A solo voice started to sing over the top - her voice - becoming stronger and stronger before she suddenly froze in her place. She understood now. She had a choice. No. Not now. She had a choice. She had a chance. Confidently, she turned and started to run away, covering her ears and never looking back. The pain grew and almost overcame her, but she continued to run. The scene was fading now.
A flash of light and pain. Gail was damp, lying in a pool in the hallway of her house. The sound of someone moving drifted round the corner. She tried to lift her head and open her eyes but couldn’t move. It was no use. Consciousness danced away, leaving her alone. Feeling blissfully faded.
Pain racked her body as feeling flooded back. This wasn’t right. What had she done to deserve this? Slowly, memories returned to her. Her husband – drunk. Running. Pain. Lifting herself up on to her elbows, Gail opened her eyes. She was near the door, lying on her front in a puddle. To the right of her, the door swung open on its hinges. Her husband must have left it open when he left and rain had flooded in, soaking her.
Gail slowly tested each leg to see if it could support her weight. Her ankle hurt but she could just about walk. She shuffled forwards, gradually drawing closer to the door to the living room where she could lie down on the couch. As she reached out to turn the doorknob, a shock of pain brought her attention to one of her fingers. Her middle right hand finger was hanging, useless, by a few strands of flesh. A sob escaped her lips and she broke down to cry.
When she had cried all she could, anger possessed her body and she flung a lamp at the wall, screaming. She had to get to hospital about her injuries. She’d given up all hope of her husband remembering his love for her and all her own love for him was exhausted. Love turned to hate inside her. Picking up her purse and some food, she turned to leave the house, only to find herself face to face with Pete, her husband.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He questioned. There was no hint of alcohol in his breath but it didn’t make him any less intimidating. Gail tried to reply but succeeded only in moaning. “Where?” her husband repeated.
“My finger, it’s broken!” Gail managed. “I need to get to hospital, please!”
He just blocked the way, moving closer, growing taller, darker. “I can’t let you do that. You might tell the police.” Raising a hand, Pete pushed his wife, who dropped what she was carrying. He was blind to his pleas, his fear of getting caught quickly turning to aggression. There was a time when he had loved Gail, regretted hitting her afterwards. Now it just came naturally. Violence was the solution to everything now. Gail fell and he picked her back up again. Roughly, he shoved her into the kitchen and locked the door. She wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm from in there. Silently, he turned and left the house, closing the door behind him.
Her body wasn’t found for months.
The front door crashed open and a man staggered in. He made his way towards the foot of the stairs. Gail whimpered and shrunk further back into the shadows. She could hear heavy, irregular footsteps coming up the stairs and ragged breathing like the harsh growl of death himself. He had reached the landing now and started looking around for his wife.
“Where are you, Gail dear?” he drawled, sneeringly. Trying to be as silent as possible, she slowly let out the breath she had been holding subconsciously. She would make a run for it. Past him and out of the front door before his drunken brain would realise what was going on.
Slowly, Gail started to pull herself up, making as little noise as possible whilst trying to get up before he entered the room where she was hiding. As she stood, she winced at a flash of pain coming from her ankle - a reminder of the torture to come if she stayed. The slamming of the door two along from hers told her that she had to make her move. There was no time. But if he caught her, the punishment would be worse. As she was thinking this, her staggering husband had searched the bathroom and would soon be on top of her. She had to run.
Silently counting down from three, she raised her hand to turn the handle. 3 – She might make it. She’d run out of the house and hammer on her neighbours’ doors. 2 – but what if they didn’t believe her. What if he caught her and smoothed it over with lies? 1 – Had he locked the door when he came in? She couldn’t remember. Please god no, she pleaded. No time now, she had to go. She quickly flung the door open and dived out just as he was closing the door to the bathroom. He shouted out and stumbled towards her, grabbing at her long blonde hair as she got to the stairs.
When her foot touched the stair her ankle gave way and she fell, tumbling down, wincing at each impact. At the bottom, by some miracle, she found herself on her feet again and just about managed to shuffle to the door. He wasn’t far behind now but if she could just open the door and run, she would be outside and the neighbours could see and would hopefully call the police. She pushed down on the door handle hard to wrench it open and escape into the daylight, free of her pursuer. But the handle wouldn’t go down. It was locked. She spotted the key on the kitchen work surface down the hall. He’d planned this. There was no way she could escape from her house, her prison. Defeated, she turned to meet her doom.
The first blow knocked all the wind out of her. Her knees gave way but she managed to stay on her feet and look pleadingly at her husband, silently begging him to stop. His eyes, unheeding of hers, were black and emotionless. There was no feeling behind them as he launched punch after punch at her defenceless self. Gail felt a flash of pain and her vision wavered. Her body couldn’t take much more pounding. After that she just gave up. She was numb to the pounding, barely noticing the barrage that she was being put through. Colour faded from the world and light abandoned her, leaving her lying bruised on the carpet.
Blinking, Gail’s eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings. She was standing in a space, totally devoid of light except a doorway through which it seemed all the light of the world flooded. A distant voice called out, a voice she recognised as hers. She felt as a spectator, watching the scene from a distance. Groping around, Gail walked slowly towards the doorway. As she walked, her pain gradually faded and a smile started to blossom on her face. She could hear voices singing softly and happily, rejoicing in their happiness. Slowly, the singing became louder as she grew nearer to the door. A solo voice started to sing over the top - her voice - becoming stronger and stronger before she suddenly froze in her place. She understood now. She had a choice. No. Not now. She had a choice. She had a chance. Confidently, she turned and started to run away, covering her ears and never looking back. The pain grew and almost overcame her, but she continued to run. The scene was fading now.
A flash of light and pain. Gail was damp, lying in a pool in the hallway of her house. The sound of someone moving drifted round the corner. She tried to lift her head and open her eyes but couldn’t move. It was no use. Consciousness danced away, leaving her alone. Feeling blissfully faded.
Pain racked her body as feeling flooded back. This wasn’t right. What had she done to deserve this? Slowly, memories returned to her. Her husband – drunk. Running. Pain. Lifting herself up on to her elbows, Gail opened her eyes. She was near the door, lying on her front in a puddle. To the right of her, the door swung open on its hinges. Her husband must have left it open when he left and rain had flooded in, soaking her.
Gail slowly tested each leg to see if it could support her weight. Her ankle hurt but she could just about walk. She shuffled forwards, gradually drawing closer to the door to the living room where she could lie down on the couch. As she reached out to turn the doorknob, a shock of pain brought her attention to one of her fingers. Her middle right hand finger was hanging, useless, by a few strands of flesh. A sob escaped her lips and she broke down to cry.
When she had cried all she could, anger possessed her body and she flung a lamp at the wall, screaming. She had to get to hospital about her injuries. She’d given up all hope of her husband remembering his love for her and all her own love for him was exhausted. Love turned to hate inside her. Picking up her purse and some food, she turned to leave the house, only to find herself face to face with Pete, her husband.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He questioned. There was no hint of alcohol in his breath but it didn’t make him any less intimidating. Gail tried to reply but succeeded only in moaning. “Where?” her husband repeated.
“My finger, it’s broken!” Gail managed. “I need to get to hospital, please!”
He just blocked the way, moving closer, growing taller, darker. “I can’t let you do that. You might tell the police.” Raising a hand, Pete pushed his wife, who dropped what she was carrying. He was blind to his pleas, his fear of getting caught quickly turning to aggression. There was a time when he had loved Gail, regretted hitting her afterwards. Now it just came naturally. Violence was the solution to everything now. Gail fell and he picked her back up again. Roughly, he shoved her into the kitchen and locked the door. She wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm from in there. Silently, he turned and left the house, closing the door behind him.
Her body wasn’t found for months.
Good work, perhaps you should take part in some of the short story compos we have. Its probably over now, but rest assured you can still try.
Writing orginal work is tough.
Writing orginal work is tough.
Thanks. It's good to see people are appreciating our efforts. Shame I never seem to be able to find anything original to write about. Everything I've written so far, someone's said that it's been done. Thanks for the complements though.
Violent but effective. It's good to see newbies such as yourself and Reefer show off the art of writing without sounding like a text message.
That was really good. Even though it's a well-worn subject, you're a good writer, so I enjoyed reading it.
This bit was especially good:
A flash of light and pain. Gail was damp, lying in a pool in the hallway of her house. The sound of someone moving drifted round the corner. She tried to lift her head and open her eyes but couldn’t move. It was no use. Consciousness danced away, leaving her alone. Feeling blissfully faded.
This bit was especially good:
A flash of light and pain. Gail was damp, lying in a pool in the hallway of her house. The sound of someone moving drifted round the corner. She tried to lift her head and open her eyes but couldn’t move. It was no use. Consciousness danced away, leaving her alone. Feeling blissfully faded.
The keys rattled in the lock like the ticking of a deathly clock, counting down to an execution. The sound echoed around the empty hallway and up the staircase to the room where Gail was huddled, crying in the corner. She crawled over to the edge of the landing and peered downstairs through the gaps in the banister. The rattling stopped. The calm before a storm. She retreated back to the corner of her room and shut the door. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t see her there.
The front door crashed open and a man staggered in. He made his way towards the foot of the stairs. Gail whimpered and shrunk further back into the shadows. She could hear heavy, irregular footsteps coming up the stairs and ragged breathing like the harsh growl of death himself. He had reached the landing now and started looking around for his wife.
“Where are you, Gail dear?” he drawled, sneeringly. Trying to be as silent as possible, she slowly let out the breath she had been holding subconsciously. She would make a run for it. Past him and out of the front door before his drunken brain would realise what was going on.
Slowly, Gail started to pull herself up, making as little noise as possible whilst trying to get up before he entered the room where she was hiding. As she stood, she winced at a flash of pain coming from her ankle - a reminder of the torture to come if she stayed. The slamming of the door two along from hers told her that she had to make her move. There was no time. But if he caught her, the punishment would be worse. As she was thinking this, her staggering husband had searched the bathroom and would soon be on top of her. She had to run.
Silently counting down from three, she raised her hand to turn the handle. 3 – She might make it. She’d run out of the house and hammer on her neighbours’ doors. 2 – but what if they didn’t believe her. What if he caught her and smoothed it over with lies? 1 – Had he locked the door when he came in? She couldn’t remember. Please god no, she pleaded. No time now, she had to go. She quickly flung the door open and dived out just as he was closing the door to the bathroom. He shouted out and stumbled towards her, grabbing at her long blonde hair as she got to the stairs.
When her foot touched the stair her ankle gave way and she fell, tumbling down, wincing at each impact. At the bottom, by some miracle, she found herself on her feet again and just about managed to shuffle to the door. He wasn’t far behind now but if she could just open the door and run, she would be outside and the neighbours could see and would hopefully call the police. She pushed down on the door handle hard to wrench it open and escape into the daylight, free of her pursuer. But the handle wouldn’t go down. It was locked. She spotted the key on the kitchen work surface down the hall. He’d planned this. There was no way she could escape from her house, her prison. Defeated, she turned to meet her doom.
The first blow knocked all the wind out of her. Her knees gave way but she managed to stay on her feet and look pleadingly at her husband, silently begging him to stop. His eyes, unheeding of hers, were black and emotionless. There was no feeling behind them as he launched punch after punch at her defenceless self. Gail felt a flash of pain and her vision wavered. Her body couldn’t take much more pounding. After that she just gave up. She was numb to the pounding, barely noticing the barrage that she was being put through. Colour faded from the world and light abandoned her, leaving her lying bruised on the carpet.
Blinking, Gail’s eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings. She was standing in a space, totally devoid of light except a doorway through which it seemed all the light of the world flooded. A distant voice called out, a voice she recognised as hers. She felt as a spectator, watching the scene from a distance. Groping around, Gail walked slowly towards the doorway. As she walked, her pain gradually faded and a smile started to blossom on her face. She could hear voices singing softly and happily, rejoicing in their happiness. Slowly, the singing became louder as she grew nearer to the door. A solo voice started to sing over the top - her voice - becoming stronger and stronger before she suddenly froze in her place. She understood now. She had a choice. No. Not now. She had a choice. She had a chance. Confidently, she turned and started to run away, covering her ears and never looking back. The pain grew and almost overcame her, but she continued to run. The scene was fading now.
A flash of light and pain. Gail was damp, lying in a pool in the hallway of her house. The sound of someone moving drifted round the corner. She tried to lift her head and open her eyes but couldn’t move. It was no use. Consciousness danced away, leaving her alone. Feeling blissfully faded.
Pain racked her body as feeling flooded back. This wasn’t right. What had she done to deserve this? Slowly, memories returned to her. Her husband – drunk. Running. Pain. Lifting herself up on to her elbows, Gail opened her eyes. She was near the door, lying on her front in a puddle. To the right of her, the door swung open on its hinges. Her husband must have left it open when he left and rain had flooded in, soaking her.
Gail slowly tested each leg to see if it could support her weight. Her ankle hurt but she could just about walk. She shuffled forwards, gradually drawing closer to the door to the living room where she could lie down on the couch. As she reached out to turn the doorknob, a shock of pain brought her attention to one of her fingers. Her middle right hand finger was hanging, useless, by a few strands of flesh. A sob escaped her lips and she broke down to cry.
When she had cried all she could, anger possessed her body and she flung a lamp at the wall, screaming. She had to get to hospital about her injuries. She’d given up all hope of her husband remembering his love for her and all her own love for him was exhausted. Love turned to hate inside her. Picking up her purse and some food, she turned to leave the house, only to find herself face to face with Pete, her husband.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He questioned. There was no hint of alcohol in his breath but it didn’t make him any less intimidating. Gail tried to reply but succeeded only in moaning. “Where?” her husband repeated.
“My finger, it’s broken!” Gail managed. “I need to get to hospital, please!”
He just blocked the way, moving closer, growing taller, darker. “I can’t let you do that. You might tell the police.” Raising a hand, Pete pushed his wife, who dropped what she was carrying. He was blind to his pleas, his fear of getting caught quickly turning to aggression. There was a time when he had loved Gail, regretted hitting her afterwards. Now it just came naturally. Violence was the solution to everything now. Gail fell and he picked her back up again. Roughly, he shoved her into the kitchen and locked the door. She wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm from in there. Silently, he turned and left the house, closing the door behind him.
Her body wasn’t found for months.
The front door crashed open and a man staggered in. He made his way towards the foot of the stairs. Gail whimpered and shrunk further back into the shadows. She could hear heavy, irregular footsteps coming up the stairs and ragged breathing like the harsh growl of death himself. He had reached the landing now and started looking around for his wife.
“Where are you, Gail dear?” he drawled, sneeringly. Trying to be as silent as possible, she slowly let out the breath she had been holding subconsciously. She would make a run for it. Past him and out of the front door before his drunken brain would realise what was going on.
Slowly, Gail started to pull herself up, making as little noise as possible whilst trying to get up before he entered the room where she was hiding. As she stood, she winced at a flash of pain coming from her ankle - a reminder of the torture to come if she stayed. The slamming of the door two along from hers told her that she had to make her move. There was no time. But if he caught her, the punishment would be worse. As she was thinking this, her staggering husband had searched the bathroom and would soon be on top of her. She had to run.
Silently counting down from three, she raised her hand to turn the handle. 3 – She might make it. She’d run out of the house and hammer on her neighbours’ doors. 2 – but what if they didn’t believe her. What if he caught her and smoothed it over with lies? 1 – Had he locked the door when he came in? She couldn’t remember. Please god no, she pleaded. No time now, she had to go. She quickly flung the door open and dived out just as he was closing the door to the bathroom. He shouted out and stumbled towards her, grabbing at her long blonde hair as she got to the stairs.
When her foot touched the stair her ankle gave way and she fell, tumbling down, wincing at each impact. At the bottom, by some miracle, she found herself on her feet again and just about managed to shuffle to the door. He wasn’t far behind now but if she could just open the door and run, she would be outside and the neighbours could see and would hopefully call the police. She pushed down on the door handle hard to wrench it open and escape into the daylight, free of her pursuer. But the handle wouldn’t go down. It was locked. She spotted the key on the kitchen work surface down the hall. He’d planned this. There was no way she could escape from her house, her prison. Defeated, she turned to meet her doom.
The first blow knocked all the wind out of her. Her knees gave way but she managed to stay on her feet and look pleadingly at her husband, silently begging him to stop. His eyes, unheeding of hers, were black and emotionless. There was no feeling behind them as he launched punch after punch at her defenceless self. Gail felt a flash of pain and her vision wavered. Her body couldn’t take much more pounding. After that she just gave up. She was numb to the pounding, barely noticing the barrage that she was being put through. Colour faded from the world and light abandoned her, leaving her lying bruised on the carpet.
Blinking, Gail’s eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings. She was standing in a space, totally devoid of light except a doorway through which it seemed all the light of the world flooded. A distant voice called out, a voice she recognised as hers. She felt as a spectator, watching the scene from a distance. Groping around, Gail walked slowly towards the doorway. As she walked, her pain gradually faded and a smile started to blossom on her face. She could hear voices singing softly and happily, rejoicing in their happiness. Slowly, the singing became louder as she grew nearer to the door. A solo voice started to sing over the top - her voice - becoming stronger and stronger before she suddenly froze in her place. She understood now. She had a choice. No. Not now. She had a choice. She had a chance. Confidently, she turned and started to run away, covering her ears and never looking back. The pain grew and almost overcame her, but she continued to run. The scene was fading now.
A flash of light and pain. Gail was damp, lying in a pool in the hallway of her house. The sound of someone moving drifted round the corner. She tried to lift her head and open her eyes but couldn’t move. It was no use. Consciousness danced away, leaving her alone. Feeling blissfully faded.
Pain racked her body as feeling flooded back. This wasn’t right. What had she done to deserve this? Slowly, memories returned to her. Her husband – drunk. Running. Pain. Lifting herself up on to her elbows, Gail opened her eyes. She was near the door, lying on her front in a puddle. To the right of her, the door swung open on its hinges. Her husband must have left it open when he left and rain had flooded in, soaking her.
Gail slowly tested each leg to see if it could support her weight. Her ankle hurt but she could just about walk. She shuffled forwards, gradually drawing closer to the door to the living room where she could lie down on the couch. As she reached out to turn the doorknob, a shock of pain brought her attention to one of her fingers. Her middle right hand finger was hanging, useless, by a few strands of flesh. A sob escaped her lips and she broke down to cry.
When she had cried all she could, anger possessed her body and she flung a lamp at the wall, screaming. She had to get to hospital about her injuries. She’d given up all hope of her husband remembering his love for her and all her own love for him was exhausted. Love turned to hate inside her. Picking up her purse and some food, she turned to leave the house, only to find herself face to face with Pete, her husband.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He questioned. There was no hint of alcohol in his breath but it didn’t make him any less intimidating. Gail tried to reply but succeeded only in moaning. “Where?” her husband repeated.
“My finger, it’s broken!” Gail managed. “I need to get to hospital, please!”
He just blocked the way, moving closer, growing taller, darker. “I can’t let you do that. You might tell the police.” Raising a hand, Pete pushed his wife, who dropped what she was carrying. He was blind to his pleas, his fear of getting caught quickly turning to aggression. There was a time when he had loved Gail, regretted hitting her afterwards. Now it just came naturally. Violence was the solution to everything now. Gail fell and he picked her back up again. Roughly, he shoved her into the kitchen and locked the door. She wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm from in there. Silently, he turned and left the house, closing the door behind him.
Her body wasn’t found for months.