Have you found yourself stuck in the middle of a particularly bad writer's block? Need a dose of inspiration? Or are you simply looking for some creativity to kick-start your newest novel? Then look no further!
Paranormal Prompts aims to bring you...
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This week will feature a pciture prompt. You are allowed to interpret it as literally or as figuratively as you like! Please read below for guidelines and how to submit your prompt!
PICTURE PROMPT:
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WINNERS:
Please note that winners are not listed in any specific order. You can read the rest of the entries in the comments section below!
Their parents didn't spring for the fancy costumes the other children wore. There would be no sparkling witches, popular cartoon characters, or detailed mask in their household. The sheets were the same ones they'd worn the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that. They wouldn't go to multiple houses in search of candy. Only one. Strategically picked. The one their parents had watched for months. The one they'd been learning inside and out since the day after last Halloween.
Their carving knives held not an ounce of pumpkin. Their mother bleached the sheets for next year. The candy still sat in a bowl on the old woman's counter. Her jewelry stand stood open and empty like her purse.
Her wrinkled hands trembled as she fingered the light fabric, her breath light as she moved it slightly. The soft glow of the street lamp marked itself in a line on the buckling hardwood as her eyes focused, her gaze landing directly on what she hadn't wanted to see.
The curtain swung shut quickly as she stepped back, her heart growing louder in her chest. "David?" she called out, backing into the living room with an uneasy fixation on the front door. "They're still there."
The man furrowed his brow, frowning at the magazine in his hands. He turned towards the clock. 10:43pm.
Those kids had been out there for nearly an hour.
"I think something's wrong, they haven't moved," she started again, her voice tight in fear. 'Haven't moved' was an understatement. The figures were stoic. Statues. Inanimate.
The man shrugged, readjusting his position. "Tell 'em to scram. Kids are weird nowadays."
"But-"
"We gave 'em candy, what more do they want? I'm not giving 'em cash."
The woman pursed her lips. Her eyes flickered between him and the door before she nodded.
She just wanted them gone.
She didn't remember walking to the front door, or asking for them to leave. She didn't remember her voice raising to a yell, or her feet moving closer until she was directly in front of them. She didn't remember pinching pale fabric, or the sudden cool breeze that froze time.
She remembered staring into cold, glassy eyes. Eyes she remembered from the mirror many years ago, extracted of innocence and youth and life.
Waxy faces, her face, his face, at seven, or was it eight?
She didn't remember her screams.
She didn't remember at all, until the white sheet was lifted over her face one last time.
They stood still; hands joined together. Only their boots, socks, gloves and eyes were visible against the glaring sun. It wasn't necessarily bright, just hot.
They stared at what should've been a house, but instead a bloody maze. They've only just gotten home, just in time to see the aftermath.
Halloween had passed, but not the trauma that came with it.
