Middle of the night. Panicked phone call. Incoherent story.
She always ended up agreeing to go over.
This is different. Door wide open. Probably just a neighbour didn’t close it right. Out of habit she checks the mailbox. Empty.
Up the stairs, lit by flickering halogen. Along the corridor. Knock on the door.
Door gently swings open. Creeping unease.
She calls out her name. ‘It’s me. Where are you?’
No answer. Unease turns to dread. Bed lies empty.
She finds the scrawled note on the table: ‘This time they found me.’
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).
To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.
Also linking to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge for today:Pattern.
For those who haven’t yet read my trilogy of novels, The State Trilogy is now available on Amazon in one collected volume on Kindle and in paperback. Three books in one (with a modest saving compared to buying them all individually!).
‘Sammy,’ he shouted now, more desperate. Other parents stared, two or three came over to him, looking concerned, willing to help.
He tried to explain to them, his words were shrill and panicked, ‘He was right here, right here, at the slide, I had his hand, and then I turned for a second and he had disappeared.’ He broke off and yelled again, ‘Sammy!’
He turned one way then the next as they questioned him: what colour of top did he have on? was he wearing a jacket? how tall was he? what age was he?
His world swam before his eyes. The park was so busy. It was a mild spring day, the first since the cold winter had faded away. It was a school holiday.
How long now? Five minutes, ten? Someone suggested he should call the police. He fumbled with his smartphone. Through sweat and tears he managed to dial and report his son missing. The operator took his details. Before he could finish the ‘phone was taken from his hand. He tried to grab it back.
A woman was leading him away, talking to him calmly. Through the haze and fear he caught her words.
‘It’s been three years, Robert, you can’t keep coming here and doing this over and over again. You have to let go. Let’s get you back to the house.’
Written for The Daily Post – Disappear prompt: write a new post to the one-word prompt. Click on the link to learn more about the challenge.
The constant dripping of water gradually broke through Gabi’s fogged brain. She was sitting in a chair. Her hands were still tied behind her. Her ankles were now strapped to the legs of the chair. She wretched inside her mouth that was securely taped closed. She had been stripped down to her vest top and underwear.
There was a dim light cast by a solitary bulb hanging from the ceiling at the opposite end of the dark room. The floor was bare concrete. The walls were covered with metal shelving and glass tanks. Through the murk she could make out movement inside the tanks, water was sloshing around inside them. From the other end of the room she heard footsteps approaching. Peering ahead she saw Dag Moen clearly for the first time.
He was young, that was the first thing that struck her, barely out of his teenage years. And handsome. A classical chiselled and toned jaw. A shock of shoulder-length dark hair covered his face until he brushed it aside. Something in the eyes chilled Gabi. The handsome face changed to sneering malevolence as he leaned over her. He ripped the tape from her mouth. Gabi fought back the urge to scream out in pain.
‘Finally. I have been waiting for you to wake. Perhaps I kicked you too hard.’