Sunday 29 October 2023

Nerd Church - Short Story: Bex Is On Her Own

Originally published in the Medium publication Promptly Written, for the following prompt set by Ravyne Hawke:

Use any or all of the following concepts for a story:

— ancient runes/ruins
— a ghostly appearance
— danger is afoot!

Content Warning: I’m not sure what happened to this woman, but I don’t think it was anything good — I felt like I should add a warning, but it was kind of difficult to figure out what for exactly. So just be *waves hands* generally careful!

Bex Is On Her Own

A horror-ish short story

streetlight beneath the moon

It’s dark.

That’s always how it starts, isn’t it? Some dark and stormy night. Or else dark and bitter cold. Or dark and raining. Dark and windy. Whichever way you turn it, it starts with dark, dark, dark.

So, it’s dark.

It’s a dark night and Bex is on her own.

Because that’s how it goes, isn’t it? The lone female wandering down the dark and quiet street, her high-heels echoing, perhaps unsteadily, as she passes brick-thick sleeping houses. And the night is hiding so many shadows.

She puts a hand to her skirt and pulls down.

Because the skirt she’s wearing is TV-drama-tiny. Of course.

She turns down a side path, disappears from view.

Her shoes stop echoing too.

Which is odd.

She should sound like a phantom horse, trotting down that path.

That’s how girls normally sound — how Bex normally sounds — when they take that shortcut home from a night in town.

But nothing.

No noise at all.

No steady clip-clop of her heels against the wet streetlight-spattered concrete.

Just. Silence.

Take a look down that path.

Go on, take a good look down the lamp-haloed fenced-in vein of concrete. You’ll see.

She’s not here.

But the path is too long, right? She should still be clatter-wobbling along its river-run, halfway along it at most, by now.

She’s not here.

The path is empty of all but streetlight and dark night and dandelion-bordered fencing. The odd piece of litter rolls along, but it’s not like she could fit in a crisp packet.

But wait —

No. There is something else.

But it can’t be important.

Just something a little odd, is all.

On one of the fence posts.

Something’s been scratched.

Kids always have to mess things up, don’t they? It’s like they see a wooden fence and they just have to take something pointy to it.

It’s creepy though, innit?

Like some sort of rune-thing. Weird.

Anyway, she’s not here.

No sign of her.

No, that single high-heeled shoe beneath the rune-post can’t be hers.

It’s covered in dirt, and the weeds have grown over it. And her shoes were a much deeper blue than that.

…Weren’t they?

Wanna pay the writer? You can buy me a coffee here.

So, whatcha think?
Talk to me! 💖💬

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Previous Short Stories From Yours Truly:

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