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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Hello everyone and welcome to our brand new word prompt! Remember that you're free to interpret the prompt in any manner you see fit, be it literal or figurative. You're also more than welcome to use the prompt in your own writing or to use it to start a new story. For more information on how to submit, check our guidelines below!
WORD 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 below!
"Things are starting to look up for me, huh?" I asked myself, tossing Cerberus another piece of bacon and watching the three giant heads fight over it. "I'm practically queen of the underworld and I have the greatest dog ever..." Cerberus looked at me with all three heads and make a whining sound that hurt my hears. "I don't know why I expected you, a hell-hound that is at least ten times bigger than me, to not be so loud," I said to the enormous black gate keeper, which was tearing apart another piece of bacon. One of the hell-hounds heads nuzzled me, thankfully not crushing me like something as big as a tank would. "Who's a good boy?" I asked, petting the head.
I really should have thought before I spoke.
Anyway, Cerberus barked and wagged his tail and jumped around a little, causing a earthquake and nearly crushing me and a lot of souls.
"You're the good boy!" I yelped, narrowly avoiding being flattened by one of Cerberus' massive paws.
I sighed, watching the hell-hound settle down and sit, crushing at least two souls.
Taking care of a hell-hound was going to be the second death of me.
Finally, my dream has come true, I have gotten myself the best dog ever.
Well, saying it's a dog is not precise enough, after all, he is so much more. Perhaps you can guess what kind of dog it is?
Sparky is two times bigger than me. His enormous body is covered in the softest black fur that I have ever seen. His large red eyes shine brightly, thus, the name Sparkle. His huge, sharp teeth come in hand when he munches on his favorite food.
The problem is that Sparky doesn't love dog food. He prefers something a bit more...fresh. I found that out the hard way when I tried to pet him, and my hand came out of his fur bloody. Only then did I notice he was covered in stale blood.
Retracing Sparky's steps, I have come across the carnage he made in the neighbors' house. Well, I guess that solves our noisy neighbor problem!
"Good boy!"I say, patting my best friend and try to cover up his tracks.
It's not Sparky's fault that he is so awesome. We are all unique in some way.
If you haven't managed to guess from what I have told you so far, Sparky has had a different upbringing, since he is a hellhound.
I found him one day one my doorstep, and we became instant friends.
What I do mind, about him staying in my house, is the smell of death and decay that doesn't work well with the gentle rose fragrance I am usually using. After all, the unsuspecting victims should be just that, unsuspecting.
It might be challenging to conceal your true intention of slaughtering them when your whole house is saying 'death'.
However, we have found a solution. Whenever the need in me arrises to extinguish a life, Sparky goes hunting far away so that I can make the house presentable for my intended victims.
These days it's exceptionally easy to satisfy my cravings, so Sparky and I enjoy a very serene life in our lovely house with a white picket fence. Although, sometimes, we do have to wash away the blood from it. Life is good, as long as you have your best friend by your side.
Pa found Barf in what remained of the woods after an intense forest fire.
He was a sickly, skeletal dog, barely able to move when Pa brought him home and I quickly named him Barf because of his stench that we could never seem to wash off.
Eventually, he was nursed back to health and we became close. It was nice to have a friend, no one in school ever liked me; they said I was too 'volatile', but that was because I had little patience for annoying people and their annoying antics.
One day, I was out playing with Barf when a gang of school bullies decided they wanted to join in the fun. I was already prepared for the punches but they never came, Barf jumped and scared them all away. For a dog that looked weak and malnourished, Barf was scarily aggressive and strong.
The next day was the happiest day for me when the bullies didn't show up for class. And they never would again. They had disappeared. According to the adults, there were mysterious burn marks on the ground where it was believed they were last seen.
I thought little of it, but then more people started disappearing. People who were mean to me. People who had hurt me.
Billy who laughed at me when I asked if he could share some pocket money with me for lunch.
Tommy who pulled my chair from under me.
Ms. Desna who punished me too hard for forgetting to do that one page in my homework.
For the first time, I felt at peace. Like there was a chance of a happy life in all my 8 years of miserable existence.
But one night, I awoke to Barf scratching at the door. There was a noise downstairs. I thought it was Pa downstairs finding something to eat again, but then that scary scream told me it definitely wasn't him.
Whoever it was. It was coming upstairs. With each thudding footstep, Barf got more and more excited, scratching harder at the door, even banging so hard at it that it started to crack.
Outside, a croaky voice yelled with each footstep.
