#writing short stories

[cursedbanalities]

Is it better to write 500 short stories or one novel? ‘Cause I’m trying my damndest to have stories hit novel length but I always lose interest or wrap them up before it hits even 25,000 words :/

…at least I can say I’m ✨trying.✨

[cinderfeather]

Short Story Writing Tips for Fanfic Authors

While Edgar Allen Poe has many pretentious things to say on the merits of the Short Story (‘a work of art should be able to achieve its effect in one sitting’), I want to talk about them from a fanfiction perspective.

As fic writers, we are doing this hobby for fun, and frequently find ourselves hopping between shiny new idea, to shiny new idea, to shiny new idea…

...which is totally fine. However: to reduce this, I want to impress this upon you:

Keep your fic short enough to write within the span of dopamine it generates.

So while it’s still easy to generate long plots, I usually like to keep my stories small and focused wherever possible, so I can feel proud about ✨finishing✨ it and then have more energy to work on the next idea. In addition, if I have an idea tha t I think is cool, but not something I can fathom spending an entire year writing a novel-length-fic about, I can still write the idea if I think carefully about how I can work it into a short story.

Often writers way things like: 'I have 30k words to write just to get to the fun bit 😭😭😭'

Just write the fun bit.

It might be one thing for me to say that, but learning a bit of craft about short stories can make this easier.

So: one of the hardest things in a story is the ending, and short stories (especially origific) can be very challenging to create a satisfying ending with so little to work with.

In short story craft, there is a lot of talk about things like Hemingway’s ‘Iceberg Theory’:

Hemingway said that only the tip of the iceberg showed in fiction—your reader will see only what is above the water—but the knowledge that you have about your character that never makes it into the story acts as the bulk of the iceberg. And that is what gives your story weight and gravitas. — Jenna Blum in The Author at Work, 2013 (Wikipedia Link)

Fanfic is great for this! You already have a ton of character and plot fleshed out, so you can already have your iceberg while putting very little effort in. Short stories are already much easier as fic because they already have the 'iceberg of canon' beneath them, so make the most of it!

The next trick is ✨Authors Notes✨!

You can just say the background info plainly to the reader, without having to worry about crafting it nicely for the reader.

However, if you feel that the background info might be served best by putting it into the story, then let me introduce you to the next trick: Telling!

Think about summary the you have in your AN, and expand it into slightly longer ‘pretty’ prose:

Months went by. Trees bloomed, and forsook their leaves. One day, Mina stepped outside again.

That covers a year of a character being stuck in their grief, without having to mire reader in being stuck like that too.

We’ve all had ‘Show, don’t tell’ beaten into us with a hammer. But if it’s not important or interesting for you or your story, then just Tell it, and move on to the next exciting thing! What you want to do is research ways to use prose to convey the passing of time, write summaries and transition sequences, and work out ways to cut down and remove ‘all that writing you have to do to get to the fun scene’.

So, let’s say you had an idea for an achingly beautiful Suparbat story that worked like a Shakespearean tragedy inspired by Othello. You start brainstorming and writing fragments of all these scenes where they meet, fall in love, then have all these gradual misunderstandings caused by Lex trying to meddle and break them apart.

They pile up super high, and then there is this devastating, heart-pounding finale where they fight, along with the tragic ending and denouement.

You take your notes and start trying to plan out what scenes you will need, and your face goes pale as you estimate the story will probably be about 80k words.

You can’t commit to that, and you sense another shiny idea might be lurking on the horizon soon (and besides, you have other fics to finish). You consider abandoning it, resigned to the beauty of the story haunting you forever.

Hold up.

The tragic fight scene. That’s the one that excites you the most. Start writing that.

Bam, bam bam.

Why are they fighting? The audience is now curious and hooked, sitting breathless on the edge of their seat.

Line of dialogue! Ultra specific accusation!

Now the reader is intellectually hooked. What event is this specific detail referring to?

Flashback to one of the scenes where they met and were tenderly in love, linked by the line of dialogue before.

Now the reader is emotionally hooked. What happened to make them hate each other so?

The fight scene continues! Dramatic moments of action interspersed with flashbacks of those snippets you wrote—

Now the reader has been enthralled by all this awesome action, and has a good grasp of emotional arc and events that brought them to this point, with the juxtaposition of the moments of love and hate creating a tremendous experience.

The fatal wound, juxtaposed by the fatal misunderstanding that set Batman on this path… Those painful words exchanged in the present, that have been stuck in your head for weeks: Why? I loved you! Lex (aka Iago) comes out, doing a slow clap, and revealing how he plotted and schemed to sow this discord between Batman and Superman, to make Batman kill Superman for him. The achingly haunting moment of looking into each others eyes and Superman forgiving and trying to absolve Batman of his guilt before he dies. Bruce swiftly disabling Lex’s failsafe (to stop him from taking revenge, but its useless because he’s Batman) and holding a batarang to Lex’s throat.

Now you’ve used 80% of your notes, and you have a decent first draft already!

So now, what will Batman do? Break his moral code about killing again (he already did with Superman) and kill Lex? Try to set Lex on a path of rehabilitation?

So then you get stuck. But Cinder, this doesn’t work for me! All I can think of is to end it the same way as Othello! Which I can’t bear to write.

Hold up.

Go back over your story and start tightening it up. The idea that Bruce is willing to kill someone is quite important. Go back and add flashbacks (or add context to the existing flashbacks) about Bruce developing, sticking to or explaining his no-kill rule.

Then you write an epilogue, where a reformed Lex starts making all kinds of structural changes in the world, alongside all the people who stepped up after being inspired by Superman’s life and determination to let everyone have a chance at forgiveness. After this, you realise that the last line Superman needs to say is to beg Bruce not to continue his murder-rampage and kill Lex.

Then you go back over your story again, fleshing out Lex’s character and some of the hints and lines of dialogue he drops to round out his arc as well. The story feels nice, but still a little off. The ending of Othello haunts you. Do you need to kill Batman after all?

You try writing the scene with the climax ending on: ‘Now, the only way: the Bat will die upon the light.’

Then, as you edit the last bit of the epilogue, you add at the end that Bruce is still alive, observing it all, having hung up his cape as Batman, (because how else could their love end after this but with ‘Batman’ dying with him?). With the transformation that happened for both Lex and Bruce when he honoured Clark’s last wish, this meant that world also grew into a place where Batman wasn’t needed anymore.

So there you have a beautiful short story about not just love and romance, but grief and betrayal and death and killing and absolution and forgiveness and a love that grows beyond a romantic entanglement into a love that changes the world— 🥰🥰🥰

And under 3000 words.

Now other people will be haunted by your story for the rest of their lives, instead of you.

You will have to edit harder if you try to write as concisely as this, but overall I think you’ll get more stories finished if you experiment with focusing on writing the exciting bits, then sprinkling just enough scene fragments to make it work.

I often write out an idea for a few thousand words, till I get stuck, then go back over it and start thinking about how I can reorder and tweak it to bring what I already have to a satisfying ending.

It requires fumbling and sitting and thinking and figuring it out as I’m revising (as you saw in the example) but if you keep focused on making things shorter you’ll be surprised at just how short you can make it.

And how many things you can finish!

[theauthorpaula]

(via The Benefits of Writing Flash Fiction)

[doodle-life]

Hey, it’s been quite a while since I posted on here.

Anyways, here’s a small doodle of a budgie (I just had mine on my mind).

And I kind of wanted to try the sort of trend where you say “if this post gets so and so notes I’ll do that and that”, so here goes my list:

At 20 notes I‘ll finish off a few diary entries (I have neglected that duty. I‘m over a year behind 😅)

At 50 notes I‘ll read through a small book I have on my reading list (currently around 40 books on there)

At 100 notes I’ll write the next chapter on a collab short story I’m writing with my girlfriend

At 500 notes I’ll go for a jogging session (considering to do that regularly because of weight reasons)

At 1000 notes I’ll try and finish all the summaries of every topic I have ever learned in nursing school for preparations for my final exams (I’ll be done in April. How time flies…)

Well, let’s see how this goes😊

[author-mandi-bean]

On Writing a Short Story with Anton Chekhov

Raymond Carver said that Anton Chekhov was the "greatest short story writer who ever lived." Why? What can writers learn from Chekhov? I try to answer that question in this week's post -- check it out!

Anton Chekhov Two summers back, I read Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose and despite the overall tone of the writing, I found it useful in my writing — and reading — life. The book reinforced the importance of editing and came with a reading list, which I’ve been slowly but surely making my way through. To that end, I finally finished a collection of short stories by Anton Chekhov. Prose…

[urlocalwitch555]

i decided to finish writing a short story i've abandoned a while ago. i might post it on here when i'm done

"DAWN" — short story ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

⭑┊ genre : fantasy

★┊ setting : late winter, lunares (land of the moon)

✧┊ themes : revenge, new beginnings, religious trauma, healing, sun & moon

✦┊ current word count : 450

✶┊ goal word count : 3,000

🌅 short synopsis

The witch Mertis lives near the coastal town of Lunares. She lives in the belief of the evil of the world and the evil of gods, rotting in hatred. That is until a lost merchant from Solis, with dreams and hopes bright as the sun itself, turns up at her cottage.

[rjalker]

Network Effect, aka the thing formerly known as Book 5 (which is book 6 chronologically now, for some ungodly reason), would be a million time better if it had 80% of it cut out.

[ID: The meme of a giant book next to a small book. The giant book is labeled, "the Network Effect we were given". The smaller book is, "the Network Effect we deserved". End ID.]

[ID: The "sometimes, things that are expensive are worse", meme, of a person with long hair looking back over her shoulder in a dimly lit room, now edited to say, "Sometimes, stories only work...if they're short.". End ID.]

I hope this is a lesson to aspiring writers that if you want to write a full-length novel...you need to actually have world-building and proper, deep characterization. Otherwise you'll end up with...

[runs to check the page count, realizes it's still in the bottom of the bin and not on the bookshelf yet]

Like, probably 300 pages or something, and most of it's meaningless filler. If you don't have round characters, and don't have any world-building, and therefore no real depth to your setting outside of the plot, then if you have to fill out 300 pages, you're gonna end up wasting a whole lot of time not doing anything but desperately trying to increase the word count no matter how aggravatingly pointless the scene.

The Murderbot Diaries series does not have enough characterization or world building to fill out a novel. So much time is wasted in Network Effect with the character's doing nothing but talking about what the problem is, and not in an interesting way to read.

Sometimes there's just not enough substance to a story for it to be anything except a short story or a short novel at most. If you want to have a book a hundred thousand words long, then you better have something worthwhile to spend them on.

Network Effect, and even the newest System Collapse, which isn't as long, do not have anything worthwhile to fill in all the gaps formed by stretching the story out into a full-length novel rather than a novela.

There's a big difference between 30,000 words, and a hundred thousand words. And if you want your story to be the latter, you better actually have something to write about. It can't just all be useless filler that neither furthers the plot nor develops any of the characters.

And it's literally not a bad thing for stories to be short. Different stories work best with different formats. Full-length novels are not the be-all end all of written stories. What is bad, though, is trying to force stories that do not work in longer forms into those longer forms anyways.

[thesunshinenotebook]

Ghosts Have Souls

Darkness. I couldn't bring myself to move.

"You alive?" That was Jesse.

"No, I'm a ghost."

"Ghosts have souls; you do not."

"I will haunt you."

Silence.

"What's going on?"

"Just–everything is so uncertain, and–"

"House rule eight: no hyperbole. Not everything."

"Name one thing that isn't falling to shreds."

"Those curtains seem solid. And… we're solid. You've got me, right?"

"That was cheesy," I deadpanned. 

"Fine, I won't comfort you."

"Jerk."

"Idiot." 

I couldn't help smiling.

"Now help me get the cake off of the ceiling."

"Wha–" 

[10cities10years]

8 Rules of Writing

[This week, I led a session at the Madrid Writer’s Critique Group on important writing rules. My focus wasn’t on broad edicts like “write every day” or “write what you know,” but rather on the more technical rules of writing that elevate one’s work and give it the air of professionalism. This post summarizes that session.] Artists are rulebreakers. They want to pave the path, not follow it.…

[joncronshawauthor]

📖 Edits, Prequels, and Zombie Tales | Author Diary - November 1, 2024 🎅🧟

📝 Editing “Forged in Blood”: I’m deep into the editing process for “Forged in Blood,” the second book in the Guild of Assassins series. It’s always a detailed task to refine the narrative, enhance character development, and ensure the plot twists keep readers on the edge of their seats. This stage is crucial for bringing the polished version of the story to life. 📚 Revisiting…

[bitsy-rouge-is-buggin]

Trying to get my writing groove back. I can do some shorts but only if it's a couple I fw: currently into Cam and Rebecca from Under the Bridge. And I'm always into Stef and Lena from The Fosters.

Five sentence prompts!

Leave me a prompt and a ship and I will write a five-sentence ficlet off it. 

Shoutout to @fat-fem-and-asian for getting this list together, and to @scealaiscoite for providing most of these awesome prompts. 

“It wasn’t my choice to make.”

“I’m just getting comfortable.”

“Stop being a fucking prick.” 

“is this okay?”

“my mother adores you.”

“Does he make you feel like this?“ 

“Tell me again.”

“Stop distracting me.” 

“I’ll take care of it" 

“you don’t have to pretend to be alright. ”

"Get the fuck out of my life." 

“i feel like shit.” “you look like it, too.”

“is that a challenge?”

“go with the black one”

"you know what you’re doing”

“we shouldn’t be doing this. not here.”

“i was so worried." 

“did you miss me?”

“you seemed a little off on the phone." 

“all the clothes you own, and you still insist on wearing mine.” 

"of course i liked you.”

“i thought we were past this.”

“how bad is it?”

“don’t tell them, but i like your ideas the most.”

“look at me." 

"we should take a break." 

"you need some real food.”

"go back to sleep." 

"its your fault, you know i hate horror movies!" 

“god, close the curtains- i think i’m being blinded.”

"what makes you think i need a partner to be happy?”

“do you ever regret it?”

“can i ask you something?”

 "don’t ask me that.“

 "i wish i had an answer for you…" 

"You need me.”

//getting turned on by the other’s jealousy//

// when one is watching a movie and the other silently sits down to tune in//

//discovering common interests//

//eye contact across a crowded room//

//looking at their lips as they talk// 

//talking late into the night//

//counting their freckles//

//vacation prompt - — becoming more outwardly affectionate with one another, no one knows them here//

//defending them, even when they’re not there to witness it//

[cursedbanalities]

"There Was a Hole Here..." (A Horror Story)

Index

Kate looked at him half surprised, “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I mean there was a hole here,” he knocked on the wall causing a dull, hollow sound to echo on the other side. “It’s gone now. Yep, someone must’ve patched it right up.”

“Well, that’s impossible!” Kate exclaimed, half chuckling and half trying to tell if he’s pulling her leg, “I mean, ugh I wish you were pranking me or something ‘cause that’s awful. I feel like I keep hearing freaky shit coming out of this wall. Like, I don’t know, faint voices, or something.”

“Well, sorry ta’ say Kate, but I ain’t able ta’ do a whole lot,” he scratched the back of his head. “The buildin’ next door’s prolly got some animals making noises, er’ druggies er’ some shit,” he lets out a raspy belly laugh, before coughing hard into his fist and clearing his throat. He saw Kate’s scowl and put on a guilty look. “Sorry, I know it ain’t funny,” he said, clearing his throat. “That buildin’ over there’s abandoned, though. Has been fer a while, and I personally check it fer squatters. I’ve been through there… prolly a dozen times and I ain’t never seen a hole. Chances are the other side is all bricked up, and this here little tunnel is all that’s left o’ it.”

Kate rubbed her temples. Of course. Not only did half of the stuff in this godforsaken “luxury” apartment barely work– this is the fifth time she’s had to call her landlord in the past month for plumbing, heat and electrical problems– but now there’s a mysterious un-filled hole in her wall. Great.

 “Okay, okay. Can you fill it in now? I don’t want any raccoons or anything tearing into my wall,” she sounded more exasperated than she meant, but this has really thrown a wrench in her mood.

“Erm, suuure,” he sighed and scratched his head. “I mean, we need ta’ get a permit from the city which’ll take a few days. This is an area ‘tween two buildings, so it might be considered a 'major renovation' under city code. I know a few people in the city ‘cause of my drywall business, so they should be able ta’ give us ‘special permission,’” he says with air quotes. “I also own the building next door. Been meanin’ ta’ make it into a rental like this one. I’ll swing by with some tools and start fillin’ it in maybe… in a week er’ so?”

Kate started to complain, groaning and throwing her hands up, but decided to take a deep breath before throwing a fit. It’s not like she had any choice in the matter, anyways. “Well, thanks Ed,” she sighed. “I wish it could be done sooner, but the fact you’re doing this for free is really better than the alternatives, so… yeah.”

Ed shrugged, “Hey, what’re landlords for, eh? See ya next week, and try not to have that ‘hole’ thing stress ya out too much, okay? It’s the middle o’ the summer, so it’s not like any of those pests over there are tryin’ ta’ find someplace warm. Hell, I’ll fix it up before you dwell on it too long!” 

Kate nodded, but wished she could believe him.

***

Waiting for the week to go by was agonizing, especially since Kate still had work to worry about. Thoughts about the hole in her wall thrashed around in her mind; she had to be careful about it, otherwise those thoughts would eventually wrap around her mind, constricting and crushing her sanity like a metaphysical anaconda. Her biggest fear was coming home to a pack of rabid raccoons ripping her whole life to shreds— or worse, a person who’d do the same thing. 

She spent most of her days at work alleviating her anxieties rather than doing anything productive. Security cameras were an idea Kate had, but the earliest she could get them installed was after the hole would’ve been filled. She thought she could fill it herself, but figured Ed would make her pay if she somehow made the problem worse. By the time the weekend rolled around, Kate was beginning to feel anxious about even the slightest things. Open sewer grates, the bagels she ate, even the pores on her face reminded her of that closed tunnel. Even now, as she sits at her desk on a Friday, tapping her pencil and trying to avoid staring at the perforated ceiling tiles, her anxiety was through the roof. Five o’ clock couldn’t come soon enough.

Kate really needed a vacation.

Unfortunately, the closest she could get to Margaritaville was at the bottom of a glass. Her friends took her out to the bar and laughed at her when she talked about the hole in her life, which seemed to be a back-handed way at making her feel better. Though, it could’ve been the drinks they shared and the jokes they made about each other’s lives that lifted Kate’s spirits.

For once this week, Kate forgot about raccoons or people inside of her walls. She even forgot about Ed and his stupid inability to do a complete job the first time. The only thing she remembered at this point was how to get home and get into bed, and that’s all she needed.

***

Kate woke with a groan. Her head pounded and stomach flipped as she stood up.

Ugh. She definitely had a few too many.

Hungover and exhausted, she stumbled into her bathroom and washed her face with cold water to shake the night away. She took a couple of long drinks from the faucet as well. The gulps were desperate. She was taking in the water like a wrung out sponge. It actually helped a bit— at least her stomach wasn’t doing backflips anymore. It was just cartwheels, instead.

Kate decided to brush her teeth as a way to sober herself up more, and was halfway through brushing her teeth when she noticed it. Her eyes widened as she focused on it: somehow, there was a large hole in her bathroom wall. Large enough for a person to easily crawl through. 

Kate peered into the hole with her brow furrowed and toothbrush hanging in her mouth. Toothpaste starts to drip from her mouth and onto her outdated bathroom tiles, but she’s so taken aback by the sudden appearance that doesn’t even notice. The hole in the wall seemed to go on for a while, and it was dark. Too dark for Kate to see the end of it, even when she shined her phone flashlight into it. The inside of the hole was strange, too. It was made of a brownish cement with ridges every inch of it. She has never seen anything like it. 

She spat her toothpaste out and called her landlord as she cleaned herself up. He didn’t pick up the first couple of calls, but on the third try Kate finally got through to him. He sounded groggy, and angry that she’s calling him.

“Geez o’ petes Kate! Y’know it’s my day off, right? What the hell’s going on?” 

Kate’s voice wavered, still shaken from the hole that seemingly appeared in her wall, “L-listen, do you remember that hole in my wall that was ‘gone?’ I-it’s back.” 

The landlord sighed, “Shit, uh, whaddya mean it’s back? Like, sum animal tore its way in ta’ your bathroom?”

Kate shook her head and looked at the hole, “No, it’s like… I don’t know. It’s grafted into the wall, I guess... Like it’s always been there, or maybe like the wall itself just opened up.” The landlord chuckles, causing Kate’s nostrils to flare and her brows to furrow. 

“Listen hun, I know yer stressed about this whole thing-“

“Don’t fucking call me ‘hun,’ Ed. I know what I’m looking at.” She ran her finger along the edge of the hole as she said this, trying to see if there were any gaps indicating it had somehow been added to the wall recently. Instead, it seamlessly blended from white drywall to a strange brownish-gray cement. “Just get your ass over here, please. I cannot go the rest of the weekend thinking I’ll get jumped by raccoons.”

Ed started to say something just as a sound emanated from the hole, causing Kate to jump. It was a strange, strained noise coming from deep in the hole. It started out low, and Kate told Ed to stop talking so she could hear it better. After a second, she realized it was a voice. It was strained and weak, though. Like someone was standing on their chest.

“Kkkkh— khhhaaaaayyyy….aaaatttttttteeeee,” said the voice. “Khhh-Kaaaaattttteeee, hhhhh….hhhheelp me… help me, please!” The voice sounded feminine—slightly deep and distorted as well. Maybe she’s saying it through the hole on the other side of the wall, or maybe she’s stuck in there somehow. Either way, Kate went through a paroxysm of shock. Even though she spent most of her week stressing over someone/something tearing through her wall, the idea of a woman in need was the last thing she expected.

She was silent for a while, ears ringing as she stared at the hole in a horrified silence. After a second, she realized that she still had her phone in her hand. Ed was still yapping, asking Kate where she went. She put the phone to her ear.

“Ed… Ed!” She said, interrupting him. “I think there’s someone inside the fucking hole.” Ed was silent for a second, which seems like an eternity for Kate. The continuous pleading from the woman in the hole grew louder, and more frantic. Finally, Ed just laughed.

“Kate, what- what’re ya talkin’ about?” There was a sense of nervousness in his voice. 

“Listen!” Kate placed her phone up to the hole, allowing Ed to hear the pained wails. After a second, she put her phone back to her ear. “Do you believe me now?” She said, half panicked and half impatient. “Please, you gotta swing by and help. I’m gonna call 911 and crawl in there, or something.”

Kate heard a quiet “Fuck,” come from Ed. Then, he said in a surprisingly stern voice, “Kate listen ta’ me. Do not go into that hole and do not call the cops. I’ll be there in an hour. If anythin’, lock yer bathroom door. Better yet, leave yer apartment. See ya soon.”

Before she had a chance to protest, Ed hung up. It was her turn to cuss, since the idea of just hanging back while this woman was in pain wasn’t one she was entertaining, especially as her cries grew in intensity. Kate wondered if anyone else in the building could hear it.

Screw Ed, she thought. This hole is probably big enough for me to crawl through. If Ed’s going to take that long to lug his ass over here, I might as well just crawl in myself. Besides, these buildings aren’t that far apart. I’ll be back before Ed’s even left his place!

Kate rummaged through her kitchen drawers until she found her flashlight, not wanting to take her phone in case she somehow broke it. She shined the flashlight down the hole, and it hit the darkness as though it hit a wall of black just fifteen feet away. She sighed.

Maybe it’s a bit further out than I anticipated, Kate thought, but still shook her hands to amp herself up. She’s going to go in there regardless. After the time she’s spent in this apartment, she couldn’t trust Ed to find his own ass. Putting her flashlight into her mouth, she grabbed each side of the hole. It was warm to the touch, almost matching her body temperature. It was a weird sensation, but Kate still dove headfirst into the mysterious hole that appeared in her bathroom wall.

She crawled into the darkness. The ridges every inch give good finger holds as she crawls on her hands and knees into the darkness. She realized that she’s been crawling for a while— much longer than what it should’ve been. She tried to turn around to see how far from her bathroom she had crawled so far, but she couldn’t see her bathroom anymore. In fact, it was hard to even turn around and look, the hole itself seemed to have shrunk since she went in, now closing around her shoulders and hips. Panic flared inside of her, and she tries to back up, but something was blocking her. Somehow, a wall came up behind her. After a couple of deep breaths, Kate figured the only way out was to go through, and went onwards. After what felt like a half an hour of crawling she ends up on her stomach. Her arms were like jello. She didn’t know if she’s even the one dragging herself along anymore. For all she knew, the hole is the one pushing her along, bringing her deeper and deeper into its bowels. The warm concrete ridges of the hole scrape against the exposed skin on her arms, legs and stomach. They feel raw, but it doesn’t matter. The hole Kate found herself in was getting tighter, crushing her and making it harder to breathe. The air was stale, and her lungs were being squeezed, causing her to only take short breaths. It hurt. Everything vibrated around her, but she didn’t know when that started. It’s hot. She’s sweating. She can’t breathe.  Even if Kate wanted to turn around, or push herself backwards, she couldn’t. Her arms were pinned to her side, and her head barely had enough space to look forward. She could feel her shoulders begin to pop out of socket. Her ribs cracked. Eventually, her flashlight went out, and she’s left in the all-consuming darkness.

***

Ed unlocked Kate’s door with his skeleton key for the building. He’s pissed at her, and rightfully so, he felt. The bitch who’s been ringing his phone nonstop since she moved in can’t seem to answer hers the one time Ed needed her to. Of course she just had to keep him locked out, too! Ungrateful fucking tennants, he thought.

“Kate! I’m here ta’ fix that damned hole ya keep yammerin’ about!” He stood in the doorway of her apartment. The lights were all still off except for the bathroom. The light seeps out of the doorway, slightly brighter than the glow of the afternoon sun. The silence was deafening, and Ed shifted uneasily. “Aight, well… I’m comin’ in! Don’t call the cops on me, er’ nothin’.” 

He muttered under his breath as he walked into the bathroom, complaining about how much of a bitch Kate was– so much of one that she wouldn’t even speak to him! He stopped in his tracks, though, when he saw the hole in the wall… and no sign of Kate. It’s not until he peered into the hole that he heard her. 

She’s sobbing, calling out to him.

“Eeeeehhhh…. Eeeeeeeeehhhhhddddd,” Her voice called between choked sobs. “Eeeeehhhhhddwaarrddd… hhhhhh….Heeellp me… Help me PLEASE! ” 

Ed swore under his breath. Then, he said to the hole, “Fuckin’…this is the fourth one this year, you piece o’ shit!” He kicked the wall underneath the hole out of frustration, putting another hole into the wall from his steel toe boot. He unleashed a steady stream of cusses, “Great. Just great. Now I need ta’ find another tennant and fill another fuckin’ hole!” He looks into the hole, puts his hands on either side of it, and yells in, “I hope yer happy, diggin’ around in holes ya didn’t belong in!”

Ed quickly plastered the hole from his foot. It was child’s play. He fixes holes in drywall like this three times a day. He looked into the hole that swallowed Kate one last time. The uneasy darkness seemed to reach out to him. Kate continued to scream his name between raspy sobs, but he shrugged it off. He knows that isn’t Kate. Not any more.

He plugged up the hole after an hour of work. Then, he went home and put up a new ad online for Kate’s old apartment:

“A wonderful one-bedroom apartment for rent in downtown Lansing. Rent is $2,500 a month. Fully furnished and recently retouched after the unexpected departure of the previous tenant. Aside from added luxuries, there was a hole in the bathroom wall…

 “...it’s gone now.”

[[I hope you all enjoyed this piece! I first wrote this when shopping for apartments in my state. It felt like, despite having a nice job at the time, nothing was good enough. Those of you who are nerds like me probably recognize the title of this piece. I was inspired by Silent Hill 2 and 4, but it doesn’t go much further than that, haha.]]

[[See you all next time!! 💜]]

Index

[angelsdevils]

Freelancing

Just me unapologetically promiting my freelancing work

and my commissions

Proofreading and Editing Freelance Work

Writing Short Stories Freelance Work

Commissions are Open

[theauthorpaula]

(via Siblings in Fiction)

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”