Natasha McNeely's Author Blog

Never stop dreaming, 'cause the day you stop dreaming, is the day you stop living.


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Friday Snippets: Short Story – Trapped

This week, I’d like to share a random snippet; I literally just wrote this for fun. Consider it a short little scribble of something that might one day become something longer, eh? That said, should it turn into something longer, it’ll most likely be in the Dark Fantasy genre as opposed to my usual Paranormal Fantasy.

Anyways, that’s enough rambling from me.

Without further ado, here’s the story!

The clock ticked along on the wall. Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Two minutes and twenty-six seconds, twenty-five, four. The soft ticks broke through the blood rushing to her head, though the noise of her deep breaths. Calm. She needed calm.

Two minutes until nine.

A young woman paced back and forth, lips parted and inhaling and exhaling sharply. Nearly three weeks. For nearly three weeks, horrors beyond her imagination plagued her. They came at night, demanded entrance. So far, they remained outside and she was safe. How long would that last?

Her hair felt soft as she ran a hand through it and swallowed hard. A children’s book lay on the arm of the couch. Bedtime reading. Teaching life lessons. Passing on the love for literature. The woman crossed the room and grasped the large hardback in her hands, flicking through the pages. Colorful drawings depicted events from the story.

Her daughter’s favorite book.

Three knocks echoed off the front door and she yelped. The book fell from her hands as she quickly stepped back from the door. Fear clenched its clammy hands around her neck. Pressure clamped her windpipe shut, stole her breath away. She gasped for air and backed away until she hit a wall.

Auburn locks shifted as she shook her head, sliding down until she sat on the ground. Her eyes focused on the door and for once, the lack of small windows in the door, so common for the area, helped her along. She didn’t see them, wouldn’t need to face them.

A cold sweat coated her body and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears.

Three more knocks.

Choking back a sob, she pulled her knees up to her chest. Her face vanished into the black jeans she wore. They kept coming. They would keep coming. She would fight for as long as she could. The memory of their first meeting returned to the front of her mind, sharp and detailed, and she whimpered, eyes snapping open.

I just hope I don’t give in.

I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it! Let me know what you think; I love hearing your opinions.

Have a great weekend, everyone!