Gift Exchange

Submission Guidelines

Short story, fiction, 1600 to 2500 words.
Rating of 18+ or below.
Any style or genre.
Stored as a static item in your portfolio and submitted as a b-item link in the body of a post in this forum. (If you're confused by linking, read this.  )
Please put "ENTRY" and the round number in the title of that post.
Put the word count both in the body of entry post below and in the story itself. You may use either the WdC wordcounter or Microsoft Word's wordcounter to calculate your story's length.
Additionally, put the full text of the postcard you chose as your prompt at the beginning or end of your story. (It doesn't have to be part of your story, just include it along with the word count as supporting information. This does not count toward your word limit.) Make sure to identify clearly it as your prompt - not all your readers will know the list of prompts from which you're choosing.
You may also (if you wish) include a link to the image of the PostSecret postcard you selected, particularly if the image on the postcard helped inspire you.
Only one entry per round.

The secret you chose to write about must be central to your story. You may write about someone living with the secret, trying to conceal the secret, trying to uncover the secret, discovering the secret, etc. The secret itself may even be present only by implication (though that implication should be clear to your reader). But it must be a central and crucial element of your plot. 


Prompt selected:

Word Count: 1665

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Gift Exchange

By Indelibleink

"So tell me, my dear...What ever got you interested in the writing of horror stories?" Doctor Latham was looking for an ice-breaker - something to get the ball rolling - as it were. He fidgeted nervously behind his desk, and his awkwardly intrusive stares suggested that perhaps he might have more than just psychiatry on his mind. However, the constant, methodical clicking of his pen seemed to serve as an ample reminder to Elizabeth that not only was she with the Professor of her Abnormal Psychology class - she was also in the presence of a renowned psychiatrist.

Elizabeth Lyons surveyed her surroundings cautiously: A variety of official-looking documents and degrees prominently displayed on one wall, another was full of reference books and manuals. The third had some interesting photographs and paintings of - most likely - past and present scholars in the psychiatric field, and the fourth wall served primarily as a backdrop for the proverbial "psychiatrist's couch."  Finally, she looked back at the doctor, a slender, fifty-something man who appeared as if he was trying very hard to play the part of the "absent-minded professor" : disheveled hair and attire, wire-rimmed glasses, pocket watch, even the Holmes-like curved smoking pipe in the ashtray.

"Well, to be honest, Doctor..."

Dr. Latham dismissed the woman with a laugh and a wave of the hand. "No, no, no, Elizabeth. That's much too formal for me. I find I get overwhelmingly better results with my patients if we take the 'informal' route. How about we dispose of 'Doctor', 'Professor', and even 'Elizabeth', and go with 'Philip' and 'Liz', perhaps?"

"Actually, Doc...uh, Philip...I prefer 'Beth' to 'Liz'...'Liz' sounds so 'sleazy' to me." 

Dr. Latham nodded, made a notation in the file which rested upon his lap, and smiled at Elizabeth. "Now that we have the details straightened out, Beth, explain to me why you wanted to see me professionally."

"As you know from our in-class discussions, Philip, I have experienced a great deal of success with some of the books I have written over the past few years. And some, not so much..." Elizabeth cringed while addressing Dr. Latham by his first name. The creep had a history for hitting on coeds; the fact that he had been married for thirty-plus years apparently offered little deterrent to him.

"Ah, yes, the horror stories. But, from what I understand, it's been quite a roller coaster ride for you, hasn't it?"

"That's really the main reason I wanted to see you, Doctor. It's about a terrible secret that I have, and it's eating me up inside not being able to discuss it with someone."

Apparently sensing a prime opportunity to move closer to Elizabeth, Dr. Latham furrowed his brow, got up from behind his desk and sat on a chair just adjacent to Elizabeth.  "Well, Dear, you know all about patient confidentiality from our classes, so you understand there's nothing to worry about. Nothing - and I do mean nothing -  that happens in this room between the two of us shall leave this room - understood?" As if to reiterate the point, he inched closer to Elizabeth, and reached over and patted the top her leg, just below the hemline of her skirt. "And remember, it's 'Philip' - not - 'Doctor', okay?"

He was close enough now she could smell his breath of garlic, and his touch sickened Elizabeth. Yet she fought the temptation to slap his hand - for the time being, at least - she would put up with it.

"Okay - Philip - you're familiar with the success of my first book, right?

Philip moved in even closer. “Oh yes, Dear, I found it very, uh, stimulating. No wonder it was featured on 'Oprah'. The description of the murder-suicide in that last chapter was absolutely incredible. You are a very gifted writer. Your talent extends far beyond your beauty."

Elizabeth could sense that the Latham's thoughts were beginning to drift beyond psychiatry, so she elected to try and help maintain his focus with a quick reply. "Yes, Philip, thank you. You may or may not recall that my next two books were not well received..."

Latham shook his head. "No, as I recall, the reviews were not good, so I didn't read either of those books. But, back to the 'secret' that you mentioned earlier. Do you want to share that with me?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I guess now is as good a time as any. Four years ago, I witnessed a murder-suicide in my hometown. I won't go into the details surrounding the circumstances, but suffice to say that - for whatever reason - I was able to translate what happened in real life into words so well that, as you just mentioned, it was what made my book a best-seller. I guess it’s a gift. But, try as I might, the fictional descriptions of people experiencing traumatic death in my next two novels just didn't work, and..."

"But wait, Liz, oh - sorry – Beth...The book you released last spring did very well again. I must confess I didn't read it, but I heard it was as good as or better than your first novel. What happened, did you happen upon another murder-suicide?" Dr. Latham laughed at the thought.

"Well, Philip, that's where the secret comes in. I had been informed by my editors that the writing in my second and third books just wasn't at the same level that the first was, so I decided then that I would do it."

Latham wore a perplexed look. "Do exactly what, my dear?"

Elizabeth's expression grew tense, and she looked down. "Kill a person."

“What? Do you mean to say that you actually killed a person?” Latham was clearly caught off-guard by the revelation, and set his notes down on the table.

“Yes. It was a homeless man. For my last book, I needed a really vivid description of a man slowly dying from a gunshot wound to the abdomen. So one night last summer, I got a gun from a “friend of a friend” and followed a homeless man – I think he was kinda drunk – into the park.”

“And it was there that you…”

“Shot him? Absolutely. Turned an okay story into a ‘New York Times Best Seller List'-maker!”

Dr. Latham stood up and walked directly in front of Elizabeth, and began gently stroking her shoulders. “My dear Elizabeth. That was quite a disclosure. Make no mistake: I believe I can help you.” Latham moved his hands to Elizabeth’s waist and began to draw her near. “Understand, my professional help in an area this complex does have a significant price tag.”

Elizabeth immediately backed up into Latham’s desk. “Easy, there, Doctor Latham. That’s not what I had in mind.”

Latham followed Elizabeth to the desk, pressed himself against her, and asked “Then whatever do you want me to do, my love?”

“Help me make my next novel the number one best-seller.” With one hand, Elizabeth partially tore her blouse and bra, and the stunned but highly-aroused psychiatrist reached forward to complete the task.

Before he knew what hit him, Elizabeth plunged a letter-opener into Latham’s neck. As the wounded doctor grabbed at the weapon that was so firmly embedded in his neck, he slumped to his knees, as did Elizabeth, who quickly loosened his belt as well as his zipper. All the while, she maintained eye contact.

“Oh, Doctor Latham, sorry about the intrusion, but we must make sure it appears that you were attacking me. And, such luck! I missed the main artery, so it will take you a little longer to die. Oh, these are spectacular visuals. You know, with all the times you came on to me in class – in front of everyone – I knew if I asked you to see me professionally, you’d schedule my appointment in the evening to try and seduce me. Combine your well-known track record with female students with my need for another best-seller, you could say we are a perfect match, couldn’t you?”

Latham had now lost enough blood that he was beginning to lose consciousness. Elizabeth grabbed his chin, brought his head up and looked into his flickering eyes. “That’s g-o-o-o-o-o-o-d, Doctor. I just knew that you wouldn't let me down! My mind is just overflowing with vivid descriptions, thanks to you. And, I’m getting very good at committing these ‘death scenes’ to memory, you know?

His eyes now closed, and Elizabeth still mentally recording his last few moments on earth, she had a thought. “You know, I should dedicate some of the proceeds from my book to your wife, shouldn’t I? What you put that poor woman through – you bastard. Well, Doctor, it’s ‘show time’.”

Elizabeth, stood up, went over and quickly skimmed over Latham’s notes to make sure he hadn’t written anything potentially incriminating for Elizabeth – he hadn’t. She then tore part of her skirt, and viciously punched the inside of one thigh a couple of times to raise a bruise, and then screamed, “No, Doctor Latham…Stop it, I beg you! Ow…you’re hurting me.” Elizabeth knocked over a table lamp, and resumed with the screams.

“Please Doctor Latham, no more! I can’t let you….” There was a brief pause, and then, “Oh Dear God…What have I done? Someone…HELP! Call an ambulance! Oh Doctor Latham – what have I done? Someone help – please!”

Elizabeth then sat in Latham’s easy chair, exhaled, and spoke to the lifeless body. “Someone should be here soon after those screams, wouldn't you say, Doctor? I have to get the tears ready, too. Yes, yes, Doctor Latham, I’m very aware that I’m ill. But you have to understand, Doctor, that my readers have set the bar very high for me now. You have absolutely no idea what that pressure is like. So you see, I really had no choice…especially when you forced me to share my little secret. You know, Doctor, they say that two people can share a secret as long as one of them is dead…”

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Word count: 1665