Darkened Muse

Written for:

1801607

Horror, Inc Presents: The Daily Slice  [18+] Write the best horror story in under 24 hours for your chance to win 5,000 GP's daily! by J. Marie Ravenshaw

Prompt: I think its time we put ourselves in the story. As writers we undoubtedly borrow from our 'real world life' no matter how crazy our story is. You may borrow the mannerisms of your best friend or the general look and background of your spouse. Most friends and family understand the consequences of knowing a writer. Everything we see or experience gets recycled one way or the other. Write about what happens in the 'real world' when we borrow for our stories.



         Shelly felt terrible. She was lethargic. Her muscles ached from head to toe and her flu hadn't lessened, even after she'd spent the last two days in bed. In fact, she thought she was getting worse. As she fell into a shallow and gruntled sleep her brain began to change.

         Jeff slammed his pen down in frustration. He stretched his fingers out, rotating his wrist as he clung to it gently with his left hand. Writing was getting tougher in his old age. His arthritis was playing up and though he'd only gotten a couple of pages done, his hand was beginning to cramp. With a sigh he pushed back his chair and stood up, heading towards the kitchen for a coffee.
         The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. His wife was normally surrounded by their children and grand children in the den. They weren't there that afternoon, on account of Jennifer, his daughter, being ill in bed. Said she'd been down with something the past few days. His wife June was pottering around the house, tidying he presumed.
         He hated to admit it, but he was enjoying the peace. Heading back along to his study he took a seat once more and resumed his writing.

         When Shelly woke up a few hours later her body was lathered in sweat, the covers were tossed back. She felt even more rotten than she had. Her stomach was doing somersaults. Stumbling from her bed she almost collapsed to the floor, only stopping when her hands caught the bed post. Her legs felt like jelly, her heart thumping in her head. What's wrong with me? she thought. She couldn't place it. She was worried. She hadn't felt like that in a long time and she knew she wouldn't be able to look after the kids.
         Picking up the phone on her night stand she dialled her mum. Her mum answered almost immediately.
         "Hello?"
         "Mum, it's me."
         "Shelly, you sound awful," her mum was concerned.
         "I feel it," Shelly agreed with her, nodding her head slightly.
         "Have you called the doctors?"
         "No mum, it's just the flu," Shelly sighed, coughing as her chest wheezed.
         "But you sound like you're getting worse."
         "I probably just need to sleep it off."
         "Want me to come and look after the kids?"
         "That's why I was ringing, I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to."
         "Don't be silly, I don't mind at all. I'll bring your dad along too."
         "Thanks mum."
         "See you soon."
         Shelly hung up the phone and made her way to the bathroom on her faltering feet. She filled a glass of water and took it back to bed, falling asleep with the sound knowledge her mum would let herself in a few minutes later.

         Jeff paused, glancing down at what he'd written. Another page or so. At least it was something. His muse was feeling distant, the story there but vague. He sighed. Why is it so hard these days? He remembered when he could write for hours and hours, submerged, lost in his own words. But not anymore. Of course, that had a lot to do with his health. But he wasn't about the let that stop him. That's why, when he'd started the piece he based his characters on his daughter, his wife; his family. He thought it might have made things easier when writing, remembering traits and appearances and so on. In theory it had worked, so far.
         Stop dawdling, he scolded himself as he resumed his stance.
         Just then the phone rang. It's shrill call buzzing about the house, echoing down the hall. He sighed again. He didn't move, instead listening to the noise as it continued to ring... two... three times. His wife picked it up. Satisfied he could hear the low drone of her voice he brought his pen to paper once more.

         When Shelly awoke she was different, consumed by a hunger unknown. The thirst was in her throat, a dry burning sensation that evoked every cell in her brain. It was all she could think about. She raced to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards, throwing boxes behind her when nothing seemed right. She snarled in anger.
         "Mummy?" a small voice called from the doorway.
         Shelly turned to look at her daughter. She was so small. So supple. She looked so delicious. Shelly licked her lips hungrily.
         "Mummy?" the girl took a step backwards, a terrified look on her small features.
         Shelly grinned wickedly, "Come here honey, mummy's hungry."
         She lunged.

         When Jeff and his wife arrived at Jennifer's after being called to babysit, the sight that met them was sickening. Flinging open the door Jeff saw red. Blood was splattered high on the beige walls, dripping to the carpet in a grisly pool of death. Further down the hall he saw a foot shielded by a slipper, the rest of the person hidden behind the wall.
         "Jen?" he called, his voice shaking. He held a hand behind him to stop June following as he took a wary stop foward.
         Jennifer's face whipped around the door frame, taking him in. Her face was smeared with blood, her hair tinged a dark red. In her hand she held an arm, ripped from the socket at the shoulder. Chunks of flesh were missing, fresh blood still dripping to the floor.
         As she pulled herself from the floor Jeff watched as she took another bite of her daughter, ripping the flesh from the bone, smacking her lips noisily as she chewed.
         The last thought he had before she was upon him, clawing at his face with sharp nails and the force of a wild animal, was of the pen and paper sitting in his study and what he'd written next.




Winner 28th Dec 2011 of:

ID: 1801607   (Rated: 18+) Horror, Inc Presents: The Daily Slice  Write the best horror story in under 24 hours for your chance to win 5,000 GP's daily! by J. Marie Ravenshaw

And also the weekly winner!