Two Sentence Stories (part 2)
The knocking was louder now, more insistent and accompanied by a friendly voice asking to be let in. I silently push another chair in front of the basement door.
After he put the fresh battery in, the first thing Harry noticed was that the stopwatch was going backwards, counting down from some random number. Disgusted at his foolish purchase he threw it into the bin, not noticing that the numbers counted down faster as he angrily took a drag of his cigarette.
“Help me, Mum. I don’t know where I am but it’s really dark and cold. Can you come get me? I’m scared”. Marsha was so tired, after being rudely awoken at 3am by the phone ringing, that she didn’t realise that the battery had died hours ago and, as she later found out, so had Lily.
Three Sentence Stories
I know without a doubt that the person who stares back at me from the mirror is not my reflection. No matter how terrifying this idea, however, I hope she comes back soon. I can’t move unless she’s here.
After a year I opened the hatch to the bomb shelter and looked outside for a moment before weeping, then ducking back inside and bolting it closed for another year. I turned to my family and, still weeping, told them that it wasn’t safe to go outside yet. I think the tears really sold it for me.
I lie awake, too terrified to move. I can hear my husband’s snoring from behind me, and I have the scars to remind me of how violent he can be if disturbed. Most of the marks are faded now, so many months after he died from the poison I put in his coffee.
An Unattended Collection
This work was dedicated to the third drawer, where items are amassed, unsorted and forgotten but never thrown away.
Over the years I amassed many toys I felt too protective of to throw away, but rarely took out. This work shows them growing to fill the space, losing their original form and becoming a mass of shapes competing for finite space.
I have since thrown out some of the original items but kept the statues, which effectively doubles the amount I had before.
Two Sentence Stories
I am the victor of this battle, and its sole survivor. From the ground around me I hear the dead begin to clap.
I stand outside my front door, watching the stars blink out one by one. The porch light begins to flicker.
The crack on the ceiling above my bed has been growing. Now I can see the fingertips on either side, pulling it wider.
The Midnight Visit
There is a knock at my front door.
I know who it is without having to answer. The elderly woman next door used often to come by, always armed with some excuse to chat for hours. I know she lived alone well before I moved in, but I refuse to answer the door anymore.
I used to let her in and offer her tea and conversation on an almost daily basis. She stopped coming by about a month ago. It was around that time I happened to see someone visiting her. He went over every night for a week. I’m not normally one to pry, but it was hard to ignore him; you could hear him rap his knuckles on the door with a force that I thought would break it.
After he stopped going by, it was quiet for weeks. She resumed visiting me about two nights ago.
I can hear her frail voice calling my name. Last night she knocked at my door until dawn. I found dried blood on the wood and there were smudges on the frosted glass where she’d pressed against it.
I think she’ll stop after tonight. Her funeral is tomorrow morning.
October Objectives
As it’s the month of Halloween, I’m planning on posting some horror-related works each day. Whether it’s a two-sentence piece, a short story or a sketch, I have to put something up every day.
I am aware that I’ve missed yesterday, so I’m afraid the shelf will have to do for that day. Maybe I should go back and punch-up the eye-gouging humour?
A Very Specific Shelf
This is from a few years ago, and was made during my first sculpture class at uni. The intention was to create a shelf that could only house very specific items, ones I had never seen before.
I’d intended on keeping the shelf and slowly filling it with items that fit – finding them perfect homes that were made for them. Unfortunately, having a shelf that has a spike at eye-height probably wouldn’t have working out for me and it’s now in pieces, ready to be reassembled someday.
This is my shelf. It was made for me.
Sketched Text 