Archive for the ‘writing prompts’ Category

New beginnings are always tough, but I’m more than experienced in starting over. I’ve done it a thousand times before, with a thousand different faces.

I guess that sounds a bit… well, odd, does it? Don’t worry, I’ll explain myself. If you want to understand, though, you have to abandon all of your conceptions of what is real and what is not. You have to give up on your silly, human notions of what is possible and what isn’t.

I am not a possibility — I am an inevitability.  I am what your life will eventually come to, whether you will it or not; I am that long sleep and an earthen embrace.

I am death.

Of course, your very conception of what I am is skewed. I am not a creature who roams in a robe with a scythe. I am not a singular entity. There are thousands of my kind, and we all reap the souls of the humans around us. We are unseen, but sometimes felt — you equate us to ghosts when the memory of your loved ones resonate within us. You equate our presence to the chill that spills down your spine, and to the shimmering shine that you call ‘orbs’ within your photos.

It isn’t just a ghostly presence, however, that you can attribute me to. Humans have trouble understanding when someone that they know had a sudden change of personality — humans blame it on an imbalance of hormones, on shock, on trauma. Sometimes, it is these things… but…

Sometimes, it is one of my kind.

New beginnings are always tough, but I’m more than experienced in starting over… because I’ve lived a thousand lives. When a human succumbs to death, I sometimes choose to slip into their skin, to assume their life. Their soul flees and flits, I absorb it into my being… and I become who they are — who they were.

Sometimes, I enjoy living life just as much as you do. I want to feel; I want to experience. When a young girl has suddenly become sexually promiscuous without cause, perhaps I am to blame. When a rich man tosses aside his fortune to travel the world and live life to the fullest? That’s me, too.

And when a seemingly innocuous and innocent individual suddenly goes on a murderous rampage.

Well, sometimes I like to cause a hassle to my brothers and sisters.

Guilty as charged.

Just a writing prompt I did for my discord server! I’d love to see what you guys could come up with for this though!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Facebook PageNaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Advertisements

Writing Prompt

Hey, everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but it’s good to be getting back into the groove of things! I am changing the day that I post my writing prompt to Monday, because it just flows better. I’ll be experimenting with my schedule on and off for January to figure out exactly how I want to settle into it! Anyway, I won’t waste a ton of time chit chatting, let’s get straight into the prompt, shall we?

You’re writing one day, when suddenly you find yourself pulled into your own story. What happens?

I thought this would be pretty fun – it’s also a way to talk about what you’re currently writing without having to spoil too much of the plot! I thought that it would be an interesting prompt to start the new year out with, if for no other reason than to get you interested in your current writing project again.

I will be posting my response on Saturday! On Sunday, I will do a second blog to link all of the responses that people do, so that we can make sure to share the fun around! If you end up doing this writing prompt, just make sure to link back to me so that I know, that way I can get you linked up and shared out properly on my blog! If you’re doing it on something other than wordpress, just comment a link to it on this blog, and I’ll make sure to still link back and share, regardless of the venue!

I’m really glad to be back to blogging properly, and I have to say that I have missed you guys, especially getting to see your responses to my writing prompts! I can’t wait to see what you all come up with!

 

Until next time, you guys! Keep reading and writing, and keep being amazing!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

horror-prompts

Hey, guys! I am so sorry that this blog is so late in the day. I’ve actually had people over all day, and I haven’t had the chance to get to writing. However, I’m getting to it now, and I’m really excited to bring this blog to you, because the story is really interesting. I gave another list of words for writing Prompt #10, and I really hope that you guys are enjoying it.

I really do think that this is a great practice for NaNoWriMo. You’re getting into the habit of writing, you’re getting into the habit of thinking about writing and getting into that mind frame. That’s what is super important. You have to get your brain geared for it – you have to get yourself into the habit of at least sitting down every day and preparing to write, whether your prompts are long or short. You just want to make sure that you’re going to get to it.

So, without further delay! Here is my writing prompt response to Prompt #10.


Spirits

The funeral had left them all feeling empty. To Sarah, however, Michael seemed to be the most broken. It had been his little sister, after all, No one blamed him for the death of the child, but the self-blame was evident around him. He hadn’t known that she’d slipped out of the house, and the gate to the lake had been left open. It only took him a minute to realize what had happened, but that minute was long enough. The lake was deep, and the water was murky, and by the time that he’d pulled Isabella out of the water, she wasn’t moving.

She’d tried to do it a thousand times before – she loved the water. That was why his mother had insisted that they build a gate. That was why his parents were fighting – because it was Michael’s father who had left it open. He swore that he hadn’t, but it was his job to check that it was locked every morning… and that morning, it wasn’t.  They never once turned their pain filled eyes in accusation to their son. Isabella was five years old; he should have been able to go to the restroom without worrying about something happening.

The gate should have been locked.

Michael blamed himself for the whispered talked of divorce that spilled through his house. Nothing was final, and it had only been a week since Isabella had died, but the words were still there, and they lingered in the air like a black blanket – proof of the fact that her death had left a stain behind. Death always left a stain behind – it was like the place that it had happened was cursed. Michael could still hear her laughter spilling through the air, even though it didn’t echo in the hallways anymore. He kept finding her toys, a tiny sock, a teddy bear that she’d hid in his bedroom in hopes that he’d bring it back to her and read her a story in her room. He was sixteen, but he’d been really close to his little sister. She’d made him happy, and she’d always looked up to him. He’d been her hero…

And that was why he blamed himself the most – because she’d called out his name in joy, and then she hadn’t called out his name at all.

The funeral had left them all feeling empty, but Michael was the most broken.

For a while, his friends weren’t sure what to do about it. Sarah was the one who thought that trying to get some closure for him would be a good idea – he didn’t really believe in psychics or demons, and neither did they… but maybe just the action of putting a message out there could give him some kind of peace, some kind of solace. There had to be something that they could do about his guilt…

And maybe if he could just apologize, even if it wasn’t his fault… and even if Isabella couldn’t really hear him. Maybe he could apologize, so that he could feel like he’d finally given her the message that he wanted to give… the message that couldn’t be delivered through one fo the smallest coffins that they’d ever seen.

It was pink, and it had her favorite flowers – Michael had put her favorite bear inside of it, folded between tiny fingers that would never reach up to hold his hand again.

He’d apologized then, but her eyes hadn’t opened… he’d apologized over and over to her small body, but he could tell that she wasn’t there anymore, and the apology meant nothing if she couldn’t hear it.

That’s why Sarah bought the Ouija, for ages 8 and up.

Isabella coudn’t have played with it – and now she would never be old enough to do so.

She got their friend group together, and they were all willing to do whatever they needed to in order to help Michael; Colton was aloof about the Ouija board, but Tina was leery about it. She believed in ghosts, but she thought that it would be good for Michael to talk to his sister through eternity.  The fact that there was one person who believed in all of this was something that they weren’t upset about – in fact, it was something that gave it more of an air of believability when they showed up at Michael’s house with the board tucked beneath Sarah’s arm.

“Guys, I don’t know about this…” His voice was deadpan, sad, and it was full of all of the depression and sorrow that he was clearly feeling. Still, he didn’t stop them from coming into the house. His parents were out – talking to a lawyer maybe, looking at apartments, maybe trying to rekindle their relationship. They’d told Michael, but he hadn’t heard it over the music that was playing, and the way that he concentrated on tuning out their yelling, and their fighting.

All that he knew was that they’d been gone until late in the night, and that they’d left him twenty bucks on the counter to order pizza if he wanted. All he knew was that his house would be free for he and his friends to do whatever they wanted to do, as long as they were done before 1am.

It was already getting dark, but Sarah assumed that any time was an okay time. She didn’t need ambiance, she just needed Michael to believe that he’d gotten his message out to his sister, so that he could go on to the next step of the grieving process, instead of forever being caught in some limbo of guilt.

She loved him, just a little bit. She’d always loved him, though… and it had seemed like he was finally starting to realize that he cared for her, too, when all of this had happened with Isabella. It had put breaks on everything, and it had broken her heart to see him so sad. Even if it didn’t re-spark whatever had been building between them, if she could just fix the brokenness in his eyes, the way that he seemed to hold himself huddled, as though his center was gone and he was just a shell… if she could just bring back the old Michael, that would be enough for her.

She just wanted to see him smile again.

They set the board up in the den, and they all gathered around the retro coffee table that they’d always made fun of – Michael’s parents had spent entirely too much money on it, but they loved it. Now, it was just a perfect flat surface, and the den had lights that could be turned down to match the mood that they were going for.

It was good enough, and they ripped the fresh plastic off of the board that they’d bought in Wal-Mart and sat it out on the table.

It looked innocuous, like something that was just a toy. It made sense that it had such a low age rating. It looked harmless, and Tina was the only one who looked at it with any apprehension.

Michael wasn’t looking at it at all – his eyes were on the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. In the picture, Isabella was in his arms, and she was smiling. Soft ringlets of blonde hair stuck to her forehead. He could remember that day, and the board in front of him… his friends around him… it all seemed so far away in comparison to the pain that was slowly welling in his chest from being in the room. His parents had taken down quite a few of the pictures of them together… it was too painful, too much. They were going to put them back up later.

But they hadn’t touched this room, and this was one of the only places that he could go to easily see a picture of their family. It was on his facebook, his phone, but this was different. He’d sat with her in this room, read her stories, played games with her.

He didn’t look at the board, because he was too busy missing his little sister.

“All right, guys. We’re just supposed to put our fingers on this plank, and then as our questions.” Sarah’s eyes slid to Michael, who still wasn’t looking at the table at all, “Or say what we need to say to Isabella.”

That got his attention – her name, not what Sarah had said. He turned his eyes to her, and for just a moment they were laced with pain and regret… sorrow. And then, slowly, they slid back into a mask of nothing, because nothing was better than whatever he was feeling inside. He put his hands out automatically, touching the plank on the table and then staring at the board like he didn’t really see it at all.

“Should we read the instructions?” Tina’s voice was small, soft, but Sarah shrugged.

“We’ve seen it done on TV, right? You just ask questions. I don’t think you have to do anything special.” The instruction paper was left in the box, and it was only Tina’s lingering gaze that acknowledged its presence at all. Colton, on the other hand, looked bored. The only indication that he was here by something other than force was the way that his eyes continued to flicker up to Michael, and the soft expressions of concern that crossed his features when he did. The boys had known each other since they were young – little four-year-olds, playing games together in the back yard.

Michael hadn’t had a lake in his yard then, and there’d been no gate to leave open.

Tina was the only one who was new to their group. She’d transferred to school the year before, She was soft and sweet and shy, and they’d instantly accepted her into their fold, because no one else had taken the time to get to know her. It had been MIchael’s idea, and Sarah had only been jealous for a few minutes. She’d realized quickly that Michael was just being caring, like he always did.

She’d realized quickly that Michael was just doing what he always did, and trying to protect people. He didn’t want Tina that way, so Sarah had been able to care about her, too.

But now, everyone’s focus was on Michael, who was staring at the shiny surface of the Ouija board as though it wasn’t really there at all.

“Are you ready, Michael?” Sarah touched his arm gingerly, and he jerked as though he’d been jolted by a livewire. For a moment, his brown eyes remained blank and shocked, but then he nodded.

“Sure.” He didn’t sound as though he was ready. In fact, he didn’t sound as though he cared. Sarah could only hope that once he started saying the words, it would mean something.

“Okay then, everyone, fingers on the board.” Obediently, the group replied, and Sarah nodded, turning her eyes to Michael. When he didn’t say anything, even after a nudge, she gave a small sigh.

“Is anyone here – is anyone listening to us?” The lights were low, and even though she hadn’t really  believed that anything would happen, there was something a bit unsettling about talking to the air – about inviting some spirit in, to do whatever it wanted to at their behest, at the behest of the planchet.

“Is there anyone listening…” Sarah took one careful look at Michael, who was staring into the board as though waiting to see if anything would happen at all – it was just a circle of their fingers, though… her own tanned and manicured, Michael’s grubby and dark. Tina’s were trembling slightly.

“Isabella?” It was Tina’s small voice that spilled out into the air, and she wasn’t looking at the board. She was looking at the photo – the family photo. At Isabella’s Tiny face.

The disc beneath their finger trembled, and they all looked at it. Colton’s brows snapped together, but it was Tina who let out a small gasp. Sarah noticed that Michael’s eyes were fixated on the board now.

“Isabella?” It was Michael’s voice this time that spilled out, and the planchet instantly jerked on the board.

Yes.

Tina let out a small, gasped sob, and Sarah could feel her heart thundering in her chest. It was Colton who spoke, “Who did that?”

Sarah opened her mouth to answer that it certainly hadn’t been here, but the planchet was moving again.

Me.Me.Isa.Me.

Michael.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, flickering dark in the low light.

“Isabella, he’s here. Michael’s here. He wants to say something to you.” Sarah’s eyes turned to the boy beside her, but Michael was looking at the board, and there was something in his eyes that was nearly manic.

Michael.Michael.Run.Run.

“What? Isa…” Tina’s voice was careful, soft. “What are you talking about?”

“Guys – this is stupid. Stop it.” Colton’s voice was angry, but there was fear behind it, and the planchet moved again.

Michael. Run.

“Isa, stop it.” It was Michael’s voice. Soft, careful, smooth. Sarah turned her eyes to him, to see what he could possibly be thinking about all of this, but the disc under her finger moved again, and she jerked her eyes to the board.

ItwasMichael.Run.

Fear flooded through her, and she felt the movement beside her a moment before Michael lifted the board and threw it hard into the fireplace – his face… his face wasn’t the boy that she knew, the boy that she loved. His face was the face of someone who had done something awful, and tried to get away with it. His face was the face of a man crazed.

His face was that of a killer.


So, there it was! I actually cut it off a little short, because it was starting to get pretty long. I have an issue with writing shorter stories, but I was really enjoying myself with this one. I might try my hand at doing a compilation of 5-10,000 word stories and turning it into a novel. and I’ll more than likely do some of these prompts for that. If you guys are interested in seeing one of my longer stories, I can keep myself from cutting them short for one of the coming up prompts. Just let me know! Also, make sure that if you end up doing the writing prompt, you tell me! I really want to see what you guys can come up with, and I’m going to make a compilation post at the end of the month, so that everyone can see what we’ve all created together.

I think it’s going to be pretty amazing, and I would love to see as many of you as possible participating, so just link back to me whenever you do the prompt, and I’ll make sure to include you and a link to your blog!

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

horror-prompts

Hey, guys! It’s time for the response to my Day Six Writing Prompt! This is yet again one of those instances in which… well… I might have accidentally made something very akin to the beginning of a novel here. There’s actually 2,000 more words to this, but I cut it so that you wouldn’t have an enormous wall of story to read, because I didn’t think that you’d appreciate it.

Honestly, though, I really enjoyed responding to this, and I can’t wait to see what you guys came up with. I hope that you enjoy what I’ve written!


Mr. Teeth and Claws

I didn’t know him by his face, but I knew him by his voice. It was rich and full of promise, and a snarl all at once. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I certainly couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d come back to my parent’s house because my Father had just died, and after the funeral, I’d trudged my way up the stairs and to my old room. My mother said that my bed was still there, the sheets fresh, the pillow new. I was moving back in, because she couldn’t take care of everything at the house, including my little brother, on her own.

I was moving back in because I was a terrible son if I didn’t help her – if I didn’t do something to make this a little bit easier on her. I’d lost my father, but she’d lost her husband, her best friend. She’d lost the man that was the most important person in her life…

And all that I could do was move back in and hope that I was capable of making things a little bit easier on her.

I wasn’t sure what I could do – but I would do whatever I could.

It was when I stepped into the room that the voice spilled out; the blackout curtains kept the soft streetlights from shining through my window. I’d installed them when I was sixteen because any light at all kept me awake.

“I thought you’d never come home, Corbin. It’s nice to see you again.”

My eyes widened, and for a moment I thought that my heart stopped in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t heard that voice since I was ten years old, and my father had told me that believing in the monster under your bed was foolish, and I was a big boy. I’d told him to go away, and after a few moments of arguing, he told me that he would.

For now.

But he’d promised me then that we’d see each other again.

I didn’t move to turn on the light. I closed the door behind me, and I felt my breath come in a soft, shaking gasp. “I’ve had a damn long day, I’m imagining this.”

I heard the sheets rustle – he wasn’t beneath my bed any longer, he was sitting on top of it. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could see the vagueness of a large figure, slender and lean, sitting on the head of my bed. “Really, Corbin? After everything that we’ve been through? After how kind I was, leaving you alone after that Father of yours demanded it? And you’re going to treat me like any other beggar on the streets like you don’t know me?” His voice was thick like honey and choking like smoke. It was in my head, wrapping around my thoughts, wrapping around everything that I was so that I took a step forward without realizing it.

“I don’t think so, Corbin.”

His voice was a low growl. A threat, a warning, and his displeasure made very known to me for the fact that I was trying to write him off as a hallucination of my very exhausted mind.

My hand moved to the light switch on the wall, and he tsked again. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Here,” there was a flicker of motion, and a light purple flame appeared. The thing on my bed was all blackness and shadow, but dancing amongst it I could see a very human face peering out at me. He had full lips and dark crimson eyes that flashed with wicked delight at the fact that I was looking at him with wide-eyed horror. I’d seen him under my bed before – a flicker of shadows and teeth and claws.

He was still all teeth and claws, but those teeth were concealed behind full lips and a curtain of dark hair that was the shadows that had always obscured him when I was younger.

“Who are you?” The words came hoarse from my throat, and I couldn’t believe that I was even talking to him. Still, there was nothing that I could do about it – he was real, and on my bed, and more tangible than anything that I’d ever thought possible.

“You used to call me Mr. Teeth and Claws. Or Shadow, don’t you remember?” He smiled again, leaning back on my bed so that I could see amongst the swirl of darkness that obscured his body a lean, muscled frame and an exposed chest. The darkness was like a cloak, and as he stretched back, still holding that purple flame in his hand like a flickering lantern, it shifted and moved so I could see more of his body.

“Those aren’t real names. You aren’t-”

“Don’t say that I’m not real again, Corbin. I won’t ask twice.” His voice was chilled, a snarl, and it froze me in my spot. My eyes widened, my heart beating so violently in my chest that I could hardly breathe around it.

“Okay…” I barely managed to get the words out, but he grinned viciously at me for it.

“That’s better. Now then, why don’t you come over here – we spent a lot of time on this bed, you and I…” His voice curled darkness, as though something had happened that hadn’t. I remember being terrified of his arms reaching out from under the bed, and I remember his dark voice telling me stories all night long about little boys being caught up in the shadows and never returning again. “And now that your Father is gone and his barrier has fallen to shambles, I’ve come back to claim what is mine.”

I’d started to step forward, lured by the warmth of his voice, the curling pleasure that cloaked the daggers… but as soon as he mentioned my father, I stopped.

“What do you mean, his barriers?”

The Shadow on my bed laughed richly, “Did you think that I left because you asked me to? Oh, Corbin, that’s rich. No… no, little boy, my little dreamer.” He raised one hand, and a pale finger that seemed elongated in relation to a normal digit crooked towards me. I felt a pull above my navel, almost as though he was calling me forward. “You belong to me, just as much as I belong to you.”

There was something so damning and final about his words, and I couldn’t help the frown that flitted across my face.

“What do you mean, his barriers?” I asked the question again, though this time, it was far fainter. I had a feeling that something had been going on – perhaps for quite some time, that I hadn’t been aware of at all. It was clear that this creatures reappearance in my life had something to do with my Father’s death… but my Dad had died from a construction accident at work… so surely, the thing on the bed hadn’t had anything to do with that?

“No, Corbin. I never had an influence on his life. Only yours – you and I, we are linked. I am the Nightmare, and you are my Dreamer. He just thought that he could keep you from me.” He smiled then, and it was all sharp teeth and wickedness. He crooked his finger again, and I stepped to the edge of the bed. That hand flew out, wrapped around my wrist.

It was cold.

It burned.

I didn’t understand the wash of sensation that tore through me – it was a mixture of terror and excitement, and it burned and nearly made me faint from the sensation of my heart thundering in my chest.

“S-stop. What are you doing?”

“What I was meant to do all along.” He pulled me closer to him, jerking my body forward until I fell on the bed beside him. I couldn’t ask more questions, though a thousand of them were flying through my mind. “You’re my shadow kissed Dreamer – you can see into our world…. you can see me. It’s your father’s fault, for being half Nightmare himself.”

I still couldn’t speak… and I still didn’t know what in the fuck he was talking about. My father wasn’t a nightmare. His dark hair and eyes had always been kind, and he’d always chased away the shadows–

“Because he didn’t want us to know about you. Do you know how special you are? How rare you are?” The Shadow leaned forward, and his tongue came out, long and smooth. He licked along my cheek, and the saliva left a cool line against my skin that burned just as much as his touch had. “You make a Nightmare strong, you let me walk in the physical world… and he can’t keep me at bay anymore. No, you’re mine, little Dreamer, and together, we’re going to have all of the pleasures of the world.”

He purred that word, deadly like a big cat. I wanted to jerk away from him, but I was frozen under his presence, under the weight of him holding me there on the bed that I’d seen him hiding under so often, heard his voice spilling from.

After the night when my Father had told me that the monster wasn’t real, I’d never seen him again… but I still heard him sometimes when I was trying to sleep – he’d tell me stories, he’d sing me lullabies… his voice was a curse and a gift all at once, because I’d never been alone.

But I’d left him behind as I’d grown, and I never thought that I’d see him again.

“You need to go – Shadows aren’t real.”

His grip on my wrist tightened, and the lick along my cheek turned into a sharp bite against my neck. I almost screamed out, but his free hand came up, covering my lips, stopping the noise from escaping my throat.

“Do you really want to do that? I’m not your little Brother’s Nightmare, but he’s still Shadow kissed. I could still visit him, instead. Your father isn’t here to protect either one of you.”

I thought of Jackson – of his innocent blue eyes and blonde hair… and I thought of this thing touching him, being near him. I instantly shook my head, my eyes shutting tight. Maybe I would wake up from all of this still, maybe it was just a dream.

“A nightmare, Corbin, I’m a Nightmare… and I’m glad to see that you’ve made the smart decision.” He knew before I’d even said it; he was in my head. He’d known when he threatened Jackson that I was going to do whatever I could to keep him away from him. My eyes opened wide, though, the words that he’d said trickling into the back of my mind. He answered again before I could even speak.

“That’s right, little Jackson has his own Nightmare, and she’ll be hungry for the taste of him just as much as I am for your taste.”

“I can’t le-”

“If you cooperate with me, I’ll make sure that she doesn’t touch him… I’ll make sure that no other Nightmare has a presence in this house, in your families life. I’ll keep your dear little Brother safe.” The aching tight grip on my wrist loosened, and he stroked along the side of my face. His voice was still honey, and it made me shiver. I was terrified – not for myself, but for the thought of Jackson having to go through something like this. My Father had clearly thought that keeping me safe from the monster beside me was important enough to seal him away… but I didn’t know how to do that, and he wasn’t here to do it for Jackson.

“I’ll do whatever you want if you promise that he won’t get hurt.”

Dark crimson eyes flared a bright red, and those full lips curved into a wicked grin that flashed sharp teeth that had drawn blood at my neck. “Perfect – with your blood, with your strength and your essence, I’ll be stronger than her. I’ll be stronger than any Nightmare who thinks they can pique their head and show their face here. This is my domain; no Dream or Nightmare will be known any longer.”

He turned to me then, and those crimson eyes were a swirl, cascading, drawing me in. I wanted to fall into that stare if only to escape from the reality of what was happening around me. I wanted to escape everything that was happening…


So, there we go. More than likely, Mr. Teeth and Claws will end up being a novel. I really can’t help myself. For some reason, I’m terrible at writing short stories.

Still, this is great practice for NaNoWriMo, and I completely encourage you guys to go ahead and do some writing prompts to get yourself revved up for the event!

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

horror-prompts

 

It’s that time again, guys! It’s that time for me to post my response to my writing prompt… and I have to say that this one is a big one. I had a lot of fun with this, and I wrote a bit more than I meant to. But, that’s one of my favorite things about writing prompts – you never know if it’s going to spill into something bigger than just a few hundred words. You never know if you’re going to make an actual story out of it!

So, the Day Four Writing Prompt was:

The words on the page were gone – instead, a trail of black ink led to your bedroom door…

And here is my response!


Cover

The book had been innocuous when Donovan found it at the store. The old shop was one of his favorite places to be; he’d often find himself there after work, browsing the shelves for hours. Sometimes, he’d go to the back of the store, where the spines were covered in dust, and there was no guarantee that you’d even be able to read the title that you were picking up until you gave it a thorough wipe down.

That was how he’d found the book. He’d been climbing ladders and searching the shelves for something truly interesting to take home – the work day had been long and dull, and he’d answered the same tech question fifty times. He’d gone to college for four years and gotten a job that paid well enough for him to have his own apartment in the city… but it wasn’t really fulfilling.

What was fulfilling was looking for a new book in the corner bookstore by his house – what was fulfilling was those moments when he found something worth buying.

It was when Donovan was half up the shelf on a ladder that he noticed it; the spine wasn’t covered in dust like the books surrounding it, as though someone had happened by it recently and found it just as interesting as he did. The black leather was bound with silver, with no trace of a title to give way to what the book was actually about.

Maybe it was the fact that it had no title – maybe it was the fact that it was clearly in better shape than all of the old books around it.

Whatever it was, it was almost like music was coming from the pages, and he couldn’t help himself – his fingers spilling forward to pull it from the shelf, and he was shocked to see that those digits were trembling.

Trembles or no, he snatched it from the bookcase and tucked it under his arm without looking at the cover.

It didn’t matter what it said. He took it straight to the front of the bookstore – when he realized that the clerk wasn’t at the register, he dug into his pocket and pulled out two crisp bills. A twenty – a fifty. Donovan didn’t care. He threw it onto the counter and half ran out of the store, shoving the book into his backpack as though too greedy and protective of it to let anyone else see it.

It was his. He’d purchased it. And now he was going to take it home.

~

With the book hidden away in his back, he thought that he’d forget about it. He knew that he had homework, that he needed to make himself dinner… that he had things that he needed to get done before he could take the time to read. And yet, even hidden away in his bag, he couldn’t help but to continue to flick his gaze to the canvas, as though he could see through it. As though he could see that black binding, and it was calling to him.

He only made it half way through making dinner, and he’d already burned himself twice before he took the pan off of the stove and threw it into the sink. He was walking to his backpack before he could stop himself, and flinging the latch open with wide eyes full of curiosity and wonder.

He hadn’t even seen the title of it.

He didn’t know what the book was about at all.

But he needed to see it.

The leather binding almost felt warm in the chill of his backpack when he wrapped his fingers around the edge of it, and a low hiss of pain poured from his chest as he pulled it forward. The paper had caught his finger and cut. He quickly pulled the book out and jerked his bleeding hand away from it – a spatter of blood fell onto the cover, and crimson stained the page where he’d cut himself. It didn’t matter though – his eyes weren’t for the stains on the pages.

His eyes were for the cover.

There wasn’t a title.

There was just an image.

The man’s face was etched deep into the leather, chiseled like a God and sinisterly beautiful – the only color on the black leather front were two red stones set where his eyes would be.

The book felt like it was vibrating in his hands, and that face seemed to be staring straight through his soul. Donovan’s digits were trembling yet again when he finally flipped back the cover, the weight of it heftier than he thought, almost as though it was resisting being opened. But once he did, his brows instantly knit together.

He couldn’t read the words.

It was some language that he’d never seen, and he’d studied languages while he was in college, between the countless computer and programming classes. He bit his lower lip for a moment, his eyes skimming the words – it wasn’t even anything that he’d heard of before, it didn’t look familiar.

None of it did, but his lips tried to form around the words anyway; they sounded foreign coming from his throat, read aloud with lips having to purse and tongue having to curl to bend around the pronunciation.

His hand came up as he read, and when he came to a name in bold, he stopped for a moment… the pad of his finger traced the word, and he spoke it aloud softly. “Bellan.”

Bellan.

It was the only thing in the book that made any sense – his hand came away from the page and he frowned. He’d smeared crimson across the name from his paper cut – he’d smeared the book red three times now.

“I’ll be back.” Donovan murmured the words softly and pushed himself away from the table. He was going to go and put a bandaid on his finger before he managed to ruin the book entirely with clumsy fingers.

Cool water stung at the cut on his finger, and he was surprised to see that his reflection was pale – it made his blue eyes seem all the bluer, and his dark hair that fell against his forehead and swept over his cheek even darker than usual. The bandage was easy enough to wrap around the cut, and a splash of cool water helped him to catch his breath, to calm down. There was no reason for him to be feeling this way. He’d just read a book…

It had been a strange day.

With a soft laugh he flipped the bathroom light off and went back to his living room – he was going to put the book up,and get his work done.

When he stepped into the room, though, he instantly realized that something was wrong. There was a spattering of black on the table, and when he half ran to the book… the pages were blank.

He frowned, flipping through the paper quickly… there was no ink – no words. It was empty like a journal. With a small noise of protest, he shut the book entirely.

The man on the cover was gone.

His heart was thundering in his chest, catching his breath and keeping it captive without him noticing. The book fell thick to the table, the enchantment and music that had been spilling from it gone. It no longer held his attention captive – what did was the spill of black ink that fell from the table, half smudged into a hand print… and then trailed those foreign words along the white of his carpet, before shifting into footprints…

And spilling into his bedroom.


So, I actually had to cut myself off with this response, because I realized something.

I’m making a small novel here – at least a decent sized short story. It kind of transformed from something other than a simple writing prompt. When I hit 1300 words, I realized that I needed to pull back. But I promise you, this isn’t the last that you’ll see of Donovan, or Bellan. They may end up making a surprise novel appearance!

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

horror-prompts

Hey guys! Here’s the response for Day 3 of my 31 Horror Prompts for October. The Prompt today is a list of words. I always find these to be extremely fun – I’m giving you words… a small setting, and your mind is filling in the blanks.

Night, Terror, Blood, Knife, Shadow, Monster, Darkness, Moonlight, Scream, Killer

You have 10 words… and you only have to use five. But from five words, an entire story can take shape.

From five words, you could turn from a writer into a killer, much like I did in my response!


An Opera of Blood and Moonlight

I felt like a monster in the moonlight. The sensation of adrenaline was pouring through me, making my entire body quiver, and filling that void that always seemed to open up inside of me. It was something that I couldn’t escape, no matter how many times I told myself that I was done – it was something that I couldn’t control. That need was a living, breathing thing inside of me, that crept out through the darkness and reared its head. Its voice was cultured and refined, though it was truly a beast – it spoke of depravity, the things that it wanted me to do. It made its demands with tea and scones, and it smiled like a gentleman while it handed me a knife.

That need was a thing that lived somewhere deep inside of me. It had for as long as I could remember… though I couldn’t remember that far back. I’d woken up as a thirteen-year-old one day with no memories of who I’d been before. The doctors told me that I’d shown up one day, coming out of the woods covered in blood and thicker things. They hadn’t told me that only part of that blood had been mine.

I still wasn’t sure what had happened – I had no idea what kind of a child I’d been, or what horrors I’d seen during the night that had woken the beast inside of me.

I wasn’t sure if it had been born when I’d come out of the woods, or if it had been with me all along. I would ask it sometimes where it came from, and he would smile at me with charming lips full of sinister intent and shake his head slowly.

He wasn’t going to tell.

He was just going to tell me when it was time to move again.

And it was time. I could feel it tickle and prick along my skin as I stood over the young woman who trembled in terror beneath me. My face was a shadow in the deep hood that I wore, and I’d brought her so far into the darkness of the woods that no one could hear her scream. She’d been asleep, peaceful in her bed, dreaming little dreams of a world where she wasn’t about to die.

The monster in my head had told me that she was the one, and maybe… maybe he would be sated, if I took her for him.

The monster in my head told me that I had to be a killer one more time, or he’d never leave me alone.

It was his smile that spread my lips when she spoke, “Please, I’ll do anything. I won’t tell anyone, just don’t… please don’t!”

And it was his voice that spoke to her, leaning close enough that she could see the dark flash of my brown eyes. Soft, predatory, cultured and smooth. “There’s no point in begging. Though, I’d love to hear the symphony of your screams.”

And it was his laughter that spilled from my throat, joyous and greedy and gluttonous all at once when I swung the knife down and started to conduct the opera that he craved, written in blood and moonlight.


So, there we go! There’s my response for today, and I have to say that I really enjoyed it. I love getting to shape stories out of something as simple as a list of words! I would adore seeing what you guys did for it as well! Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

This is a great way to practice getting in daily words, since NaNoWriMo is coming up so very soon! Make sure to stay tuned to my blog if you’re doing NaNo, because I’m going to be posting tips and tricks for a successful NaNoWriMo every Tuesday and Thursday!

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

Weekly Writing Update

Hey everyone! I’m getting this weeks writing prompt up bright and early (and I’m not scheduling it this time, since that seemed to be a fiasco last time I tried it.) Anyway, this weeks prompt is actually a picture that my friend Kayla sent me. If she has a source for it, I’ll grab it from her. But it looked like something fun! As you guys have seen, I’ve been writing fanfics as my responses part of the time for these writing prompts.

Anyway – I thought that it would be fun if we could do something that would have us all delving into our fandoms. Even if we don’t write fanfics usually, we still have fandoms. And it’s those that we’re going to draw on today. So ❤ For today’s prompt, please follow the instructions on the photo below (if someone else knows the source to this, give it to me, please. I want to link back to them, because this is amazing.)


 

wp-1472393881885.png


So, there we are. It’s going to be taking the young you and the you today and putting them together in something that could be truly amazing. I’m honestly extremely excited to see what everyone comes up with.

Just remember, if you do the prompt make sure to link back to me – I want to be able to link your writing on my blog, so that everyone can enjoy it. Other than that, just have fun, write something amazing… and I can’t wait until Saturday to see what happens!

So, until next time, you guys! Keep reading and writing, and keep being amazing!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Writing Prompt Response

Hey everyone! I’m trying to get this out before I end up going off for the day – I have a few things to do, and I wanted to make sure that I had the proper time to finish my writing prompt! The thing with this is, I usually wait until Saturday to write it, because it gives me something that is a specific goal on Saturday.

My problem this week is that I didn’t even think about what I was going to do, or what I was going to write. So… I’m going into this a little blind, but I’m sure that it will somehow work itself out. It usually always does.


Blood of my Blood

There was blood spattered across the walls. This was the last place I thought I’d see her. The black pitch color that my sister had dyed her hair was starting to grow out – the crimson color of her locks was showing through.

It was the same color as mine.

I’d never known about Sadie when I left the settlement, or I would have brought her with me – I didn’t have any love lost for my parents, but she was innocent. She was just a child… and she was a child with our looks, with our charm.

The only problem was, my little sister didn’t have my confidence to back everything else up.

I’d heard about her when I went back to the settlement that I came from – little Sadie, who had refused to follow in my footsteps and bring prosperity to the town.

Little Sadie, who had run off at a tender age, because she was afraid of what people might do to her, how they might use her.

Little Sadie, who had joined the raiders, because she didn’t understand that when I’d left… I had a position and respect within the Gunners – and the Gunners were organized and militant.

The raiders were savages, and my sister had apparently learned that the hard way.

I heard about her next from an old lover – Pickman, who told me of a beautiful young raider with crimson locks, who he’d spared because she had my full lips and bone structure.

He didn’t tell me what he’d done while she’d stayed with him, and it was probably better that way. I didn’t know my sister, but I was already protective of her – I knew what depravity Pickman enjoyed; I’d helped him to acquire some of those tastes.

I left him at his gallery, and continued my search.

After a few tender nights spent with a group of raiders, I managed to extract the information that she’d left their group, and they hoped she was dead. She’d been a sweet piece of meat that they’d all enjoyed their time with – their callous words were their last. I don’t know where I left their tongues…

And then, there was talk of a young woman, trying to make her way through the Commonwealth with a sniper rifle and stealth armor. She was beautiful, but she was afraid. She was deadly, but her insecurity kept her from being as deadly as she could be.

And when all else failed, she’d pull out a blade and carve her way out of a bad situation.

My little sister – sweet little Sadie. And I thought I’d found her at last.

But when I did, it wasn’t what I expected.

There was blood on the walls, and she was curled up in the corner. It was a raider den, and her clothing was half torn off of her, her armor barely covering her skin. There were streaks of crimson all along her body, and her raider paint was half smeared from her face.

Her lip was split, her nose was bloody…

And I wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

I rushed forward silently, wary of what was going on around us – there were raider parts everywhere, as though some kind of explosion had happened. There was no sound, no moaning… just the slow drip of blood that let me know that whatever she’d done, she’d done a damn good job of it.

I didn’t know if she was seeking vengeance, or if they’d simply caught her again.

I didn’t know if she was alive, curled in the corner with tear stains streaked through the pitch and blood that covered her pretty face.

It was only when I stepped forward, close enough that I could finally see her small chest rising and falling that I let out a sigh of relief.

My little sister was alive, and she was curled around a goddamn fatman that had clearly devastated the room around her and nearly taken her life.

I knelt on the ground and studied her carefully – she was everything that I’d heard about. Beneath the paint, beneath the blood and the bruises, she was a more delicate version of myself – all full lips and a gorgeous face.

She was my sister – she was the only family that I had. And regardless of if she wanted it or not, I was going to take care of her from this moment onward.


 

So, there we go. It’s a little more of my Fallout characters. You’ve heard about Jack. His little half-sister Sadie is my other character. She’s a raider, and it’s been a lot of fun to develop her back story as I’ve been playing here. I’ll probably write a lot more about these two; I actually plan on giving Jack his own novel (outside of the Fallout world), which means that Sadie will be featured in it as well.

I’m not going to write much more on this, because I want to go ahead and get the blog posted. ❤ I hope you enjoyed the writing prompt, and remember! If you ever respond to the prompts, just link back to me, and I’ll feature you on my blog, just like I’m about to do now!

Other Responses:

Kayla Dore | Prowling Thunder

So, until next time, you guys! Keep reading and writing, and keep being amazing!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Writing Prompt

Hey guys! Everyone did really fantastic with their prompts last week! It’s fun to see that this is reaching out to people and they’re actually doing it! I’d love to watch it continue to grow! If you think about it, share this around! If anyone ends up doing the prompt for today, make sure to link back to me! I will post your response on my blog and share it out to all of my viewers. It is so interesting and fantastic, to see the way that so many people can turn the same situation into things so starkly different. I really do find it to be one of the most interesting and lovely parts of the writing process.

Anyway, for today’s prompt, I’m going to give it to you two ways. You can either write it based on the song that I’ll list below, or the phrase that I list to go along with it! So, are you all ready? Today’s Prompt is as follows!


All right, so, either write a story based on that song (LINK HERE in case the embed doesn’t work for you), or use the phrase, “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world” in your story. I honestly encourage you to listen to the song though, because what’s so engaging about it is how atmospheric it is. So, give the song a listen, and see what you can come up with!


There we go! The prompt for the week. Sometimes, I like to do prompts with songs… because I know that they elicit certain emotions from everyone differently. With the one above, it’s the music just as much as the lyrics, and the atmosphere that it provides. I heard it, and I knew that I wanted to use it as a writing prompt someday soon! So! Let me know what you do!

Remember, if you do the prompt, make sure to link back to me! I’ll feature you on my blog, and we can show everyone how differently wonderful each of our interpretations are!

Until next time, guys! Keep reading and writing, and keep being awesome!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Writing Prompt

Look at me, being a responsible adult and getting up early to post my blog.

Kek, that’s a lie. I haven’t slept yet, and it’s 7am. I do have coffee though, so that makes it better, right?

Right…

Anyway, before I go completely loopy from a lack of sleep, I did want to get this weeks writing prompt thrown up nice and early! So, without further delay, here is the prompt!


This weeks prompt actually comes from my friend Zoya! (When I ask her what she wants me to link, there will be a link to her page as well!)! So, enjoy:

The assassin looked to their partner. “I’m going on a mission, and I need you to stop me at all costs.”


So, there you have it! The writing prompt for this week should be pretty fun! Whether you take the exact sentence, or use it mostly, it’s up to you. Whatever your story pertains to? That’s also up to you. Just know that it has to be about an assassin who wants their partner to stop them from completing their mission at all costs!

Remember, if you do the writing prompt, make sure to link back to me, so that I can feature you on the blog that I post up with my response this coming Saturday! I honestly can’t wait to see what you guys come up with for this one, and I hope that it’s something fun!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com