Well hello everyone.
I'm not sure why but I decided to try my hand at writing a short story. I've never attempted this before but have often thought of doing it.
What am I looking for?
Honesty! Really. Critique, pointers, tips, whatever I can get.
Please be honest and tell me what you think. Depending on the pointers and tips I will modify what is here, as well as keep adding to the story. I guess that's it, please have a look and tell me what you think.
When will more be added?
As I write it of course. Each section.
The Untitled as of yet story. This is the second revision.
-1-
Erik Lauder lit his smoke with a wooden match from his breast pocket, shook it, then tossed
the useless stick into the dirt. He gazed at the old house he was about to enter and thought: My
god, what am I doing here? Then he turned to look back the way he had come. I could just turn
around and leave now. Forget this whole thing and just go home. Erik removed a small flashlight
from his right pocket and began turning it round and round in his hand. He shuttered abruptly,
and shook it off as fast as it came. It's time to do this he thought as he slid his thumb upwards to
the ON switch. A bird chirped somewhere above him making Erik look skyward. A strange
colored bird flew past and over the house. Erik followed it's flight and finally was again looking
at the front door. A man stood in the doorway and Erik looked at him nervously.
"Sir?" the man asked as he moved to the left of the door. "Henry is expecting you."
"I imagine he is." Erik said Lamely as he stepped onto the decaying old deck and through the
front door.
The main room was lined with old-fashioned high-backed chairs. Very expensive looking. A
single decorative table stood beside a pair of massive double doors in front of him. A single
stone carving of a man with outstretched arms adorned it.
"Mr. Lauder?" the mysterious man behind him said "Henry is waiting in his study. Through those
doors and to your left."
Erik peered into the candle lit room before him, then back to the man behind him.
"My left you say?" Erik asked as he pointed with his hand.
"Yes." the man answered "Go now please, Henry does not like to wait."
"No. I guess he wouldn't."
"Umm- Mr. Lauder?"
"Yes?"
"You won't be needing that." he said as he pointed to Erik's small flashlight.
"I suppose not." Erik said as he switched off the small light and placed it back in his pocket. The
man was still looking at him. He wants me to give him my flashlight Erik thought as he looked at
the other man's outstretched hand. No fucking way.
"Please sir. Henry is not a patient man."
Erik nodded and dumbly turned around. He didn't want my light Erik thought. He's just becoming
impatient with me. Erik nodded and stepped into the next room.
This is the first version of this story for anyone who wishes to see the difference.
As I moved closer to the front door I knew I should turn and leave. Even in the sunlight and far away this place seemed damned. Like looking through the rusted, moss covered gate of a cemetery long forgotten. And forgotten for a reason. This place reeked of an evil that made the hair on my neck not just rise, but seem to want to rip from my skin and run screaming. "One last look around" I said to myself and turned to face the overgrowth that once was a beautiful front yard. 'No more, not now' I thought. 'Rotten and useless you have become'. For some reason that thought seemed to comfort me. Watching the massive weeds swaying back and forth in the wind made this place all the more bearable. A little normality in this bizarre situation. That was before I made another horrible realization. The weeds were all swaying in different directions, and somehow they were watching me. I could feel it. With the grace of a drunken man attempting ballet I spun around, grabbed the door handle, and poured myself into the house. The door closed behind me.
To say this place was spooky was a severe understatement. It held within it a quality that would make the bravest of men shudder uncontrollably. Myself included. Without warning a old memory flashed through my mind.
" Erks? " a voice whispered from the darkness " Where did you go? "
That was a word I hadn't heard in a long time. 'Erks' was my nickname in junior high. I even still remembered who it was that called out to me. Chris Barbour. He had been my best friend way back then.
" Erks? " His voice echoed again " Where did you go? "
Gone. The memory faded to the back of my mind, leaving only this dirty room. I should have known to stay away from this place, should have listened to the backwards hicks that populated this town. "Ya shood steer clear of tha entire prop-ty I think" was the general answer I got when asking anything about the 'Old Abigale' place, yet I defied them all, and here I stood. I alone in this rank house, and I alone with the lines of fear written across my face. I had bravely answered this place's call from my dreams, but now I forgot the pride I felt when approaching. This place was evil. Of that I was sure. Without another thought I removed my flashlight and switched it on.
The walls contained pictures. Presumably of previous inhabitants. As the light hit them I could see the paint on many was fading and cracking away. Father time was done screwing around with this place. Still though, it didn't seem right. I had watched many shows on art and art restoration. 'Biography channel' I dryly thought as I continued exploring the room with my flashlight. The problem was the amount of decay on these pictures. It didn't make any sense. They should be in much better shape than this. The place had only been empty for around 20 years. I couldn't imagine someone with the amount of money needed to own a house like this getting Crayola paintings of his family. If just didn't fit. A image of my daughter pounded it's way into my thoughts. "Daddy?" she asked in her tiny voice "How come my crayon comes off the wall with a cloth?" I had smiled at that, then tried to explain the difference between crayon and paint. In the end though, I had gotten impatient and simply answered that it just does. It didn't matter now. Nothing did except this house. As my light neared the entrance to the next main room I caught the bottom of another picture. A massive painting above the decaying double doors. Slowly I moved my light upwards revealing more and more of this portrait. It seemed in perfect shape, and I shivered as I looked at it. It depicted a man, normal in every sense save his smile. This smile would send children screaming and make men look away in fear. It was far to big, seeming to stretch halfway up his face, almost to the bottom of his eyes. His teeth, perfectly white seemed to follow the curve of his lips in a smile that put visions of the Cheshire cat in my head. But this man looked familiar. I'm sure I knew this man. Then, my gaze was broken by the sound of my phone ringing. The familiar sound of "The Saints Go Marching In" filled the ghastly room. Quickly, as if embarrassed by it's sheer volume I quickly grabbed and answered. "Hello?"
"Erik?" a woman's voice questioned back "Where the hell are you?"
" Erks? Where did you go? "
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs then "Hi hun. Don't worry, I'm just..."
"What?" She screamed into the phone "What are you doing Erik? Working? At the pub? Wh..." Her voice stopped. My phone had died. A sense of relief filled me, followed by a sense of dread. I had just changed my battery before driving over here. The phone should be good for a day or two at least. I shook my head and again looked up at that horrible painting. 'How did I get myself into this?' I thought to myself.
I'm not sure why but I decided to try my hand at writing a short story. I've never attempted this before but have often thought of doing it.
What am I looking for?
Honesty! Really. Critique, pointers, tips, whatever I can get.
Please be honest and tell me what you think. Depending on the pointers and tips I will modify what is here, as well as keep adding to the story. I guess that's it, please have a look and tell me what you think.
When will more be added?
As I write it of course. Each section.
The Untitled as of yet story. This is the second revision.
-1-
Erik Lauder lit his smoke with a wooden match from his breast pocket, shook it, then tossed
the useless stick into the dirt. He gazed at the old house he was about to enter and thought: My
god, what am I doing here? Then he turned to look back the way he had come. I could just turn
around and leave now. Forget this whole thing and just go home. Erik removed a small flashlight
from his right pocket and began turning it round and round in his hand. He shuttered abruptly,
and shook it off as fast as it came. It's time to do this he thought as he slid his thumb upwards to
the ON switch. A bird chirped somewhere above him making Erik look skyward. A strange
colored bird flew past and over the house. Erik followed it's flight and finally was again looking
at the front door. A man stood in the doorway and Erik looked at him nervously.
"Sir?" the man asked as he moved to the left of the door. "Henry is expecting you."
"I imagine he is." Erik said Lamely as he stepped onto the decaying old deck and through the
front door.
The main room was lined with old-fashioned high-backed chairs. Very expensive looking. A
single decorative table stood beside a pair of massive double doors in front of him. A single
stone carving of a man with outstretched arms adorned it.
"Mr. Lauder?" the mysterious man behind him said "Henry is waiting in his study. Through those
doors and to your left."
Erik peered into the candle lit room before him, then back to the man behind him.
"My left you say?" Erik asked as he pointed with his hand.
"Yes." the man answered "Go now please, Henry does not like to wait."
"No. I guess he wouldn't."
"Umm- Mr. Lauder?"
"Yes?"
"You won't be needing that." he said as he pointed to Erik's small flashlight.
"I suppose not." Erik said as he switched off the small light and placed it back in his pocket. The
man was still looking at him. He wants me to give him my flashlight Erik thought as he looked at
the other man's outstretched hand. No fucking way.
"Please sir. Henry is not a patient man."
Erik nodded and dumbly turned around. He didn't want my light Erik thought. He's just becoming
impatient with me. Erik nodded and stepped into the next room.
This is the first version of this story for anyone who wishes to see the difference.
As I moved closer to the front door I knew I should turn and leave. Even in the sunlight and far away this place seemed damned. Like looking through the rusted, moss covered gate of a cemetery long forgotten. And forgotten for a reason. This place reeked of an evil that made the hair on my neck not just rise, but seem to want to rip from my skin and run screaming. "One last look around" I said to myself and turned to face the overgrowth that once was a beautiful front yard. 'No more, not now' I thought. 'Rotten and useless you have become'. For some reason that thought seemed to comfort me. Watching the massive weeds swaying back and forth in the wind made this place all the more bearable. A little normality in this bizarre situation. That was before I made another horrible realization. The weeds were all swaying in different directions, and somehow they were watching me. I could feel it. With the grace of a drunken man attempting ballet I spun around, grabbed the door handle, and poured myself into the house. The door closed behind me.
To say this place was spooky was a severe understatement. It held within it a quality that would make the bravest of men shudder uncontrollably. Myself included. Without warning a old memory flashed through my mind.
" Erks? " a voice whispered from the darkness " Where did you go? "
That was a word I hadn't heard in a long time. 'Erks' was my nickname in junior high. I even still remembered who it was that called out to me. Chris Barbour. He had been my best friend way back then.
" Erks? " His voice echoed again " Where did you go? "
Gone. The memory faded to the back of my mind, leaving only this dirty room. I should have known to stay away from this place, should have listened to the backwards hicks that populated this town. "Ya shood steer clear of tha entire prop-ty I think" was the general answer I got when asking anything about the 'Old Abigale' place, yet I defied them all, and here I stood. I alone in this rank house, and I alone with the lines of fear written across my face. I had bravely answered this place's call from my dreams, but now I forgot the pride I felt when approaching. This place was evil. Of that I was sure. Without another thought I removed my flashlight and switched it on.
The walls contained pictures. Presumably of previous inhabitants. As the light hit them I could see the paint on many was fading and cracking away. Father time was done screwing around with this place. Still though, it didn't seem right. I had watched many shows on art and art restoration. 'Biography channel' I dryly thought as I continued exploring the room with my flashlight. The problem was the amount of decay on these pictures. It didn't make any sense. They should be in much better shape than this. The place had only been empty for around 20 years. I couldn't imagine someone with the amount of money needed to own a house like this getting Crayola paintings of his family. If just didn't fit. A image of my daughter pounded it's way into my thoughts. "Daddy?" she asked in her tiny voice "How come my crayon comes off the wall with a cloth?" I had smiled at that, then tried to explain the difference between crayon and paint. In the end though, I had gotten impatient and simply answered that it just does. It didn't matter now. Nothing did except this house. As my light neared the entrance to the next main room I caught the bottom of another picture. A massive painting above the decaying double doors. Slowly I moved my light upwards revealing more and more of this portrait. It seemed in perfect shape, and I shivered as I looked at it. It depicted a man, normal in every sense save his smile. This smile would send children screaming and make men look away in fear. It was far to big, seeming to stretch halfway up his face, almost to the bottom of his eyes. His teeth, perfectly white seemed to follow the curve of his lips in a smile that put visions of the Cheshire cat in my head. But this man looked familiar. I'm sure I knew this man. Then, my gaze was broken by the sound of my phone ringing. The familiar sound of "The Saints Go Marching In" filled the ghastly room. Quickly, as if embarrassed by it's sheer volume I quickly grabbed and answered. "Hello?"
"Erik?" a woman's voice questioned back "Where the hell are you?"
" Erks? Where did you go? "
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs then "Hi hun. Don't worry, I'm just..."
"What?" She screamed into the phone "What are you doing Erik? Working? At the pub? Wh..." Her voice stopped. My phone had died. A sense of relief filled me, followed by a sense of dread. I had just changed my battery before driving over here. The phone should be good for a day or two at least. I shook my head and again looked up at that horrible painting. 'How did I get myself into this?' I thought to myself.
