…and I’m not the best writer in the world. If I was, high school essays would be a breeze. Anyway, I went to my local library’s monthly teen writing group for the first time, and we were given the task to write a story under 600 words.
Without further ado, here is my lovely 376-word story:
There it was. The house at the end of Benedict Street. All things that were lost are said to end up in there. And I lost someone yesterday. My identical twin sister. The last report of her said that she had a long, bleeding cut on her forehead. The police claimed that a piece of glass sliced her when her car crashed, but they couldn’t find her body. So I’m going in the house to find her. The catch? I might end up joining my twin if I’m not careful enough.
I’m standing in its front yard, the house looming over me as if to swallow me whole. I brace myself as I step on the porch. Fingering my crowbar reassuringly, I open the door and peeked inside. None of the lights were on, but the window blinds were open. I could see everything clearly. The furniture looked a little outdated, but it looked like a normal house. A little too normal.
I take a tentative step inside. The door slams shut. A clammy hand grabs out and yanks me inside. Stumbling, I try and free myself from the monster. I try to scream, but its hand clamps over my mouth. I bite, but all I taste is cotton. It keeps saying something that I couldn’t hear over the rush of blood in my ears. It grabs my crowbar and hurls it out of my reach. I cry out in dispair as it was pinning me down from behind, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. I free my arms from its grasp and reach for the closest object. A lamp. I turn around and smash it on its head with all my might. The sickening crunch of bone greets my ears as the monster thuds to the ground, blood pooling from its forehead. I scramble away from it as fast as my legs could crab walk to the other side of the room, waiting for it to move.
When I was sure it was dead, I stepped closer to see what it was that I slayed.
I stepped back in horror in what I saw.
A girl, my mirror reflection, with a long, bleeding cut on her forehead was laying motionless on the ground.