You chose it, we wrote it!!

It’s week two of Kim and I writing short stories based on a voted in prompt winner! I absolutely love writing with Kim! Our style really seems to sync. I’ll bet you can’t tell who wrote what! (really though, we’d love to see you try)  Also, feel free to write your own stories with the prompt and either comment with our own link or you can always link us in! In the mean time, here is our story of the week. There is more information of our weekly challenge at the bottom of the post.

ENJOY!

“Every time I hear that voice from my basement”

I see her face everywhere, and I have done for a full year now. Today’s no different, it’s actually worse – much worse. This morning marked the anniversary of Anna’s disappearance. It also marked the anniversary of the two foot wide concrete wall I built in my basement. I’ve finished the framework for four of these walls, but so far I’ve only filled one. I have to fill one every year for four years. Then I’ll be forty four. It makes sense.

The clerk at the grocery store peers out at me through Anna’s deep dark chocolate coloured eyes. Her name is Dana. It’s a beautiful name. It only contains four letters, just like Anna’s. It’s symmetrical and pleasing to the eye. It’s perfect. I slide my bottle cap glasses back up to their rightful place, on the bridge of my nose. A tiny crack in the corner of the right lens fights for the attention of my vision. It loses the battle, of course. My distraction doesn’t easily show. A keen poker face was developed very early on in my life, and it’s served me well – very well. I can’t bring myself to fix the crack, as it was put there by my beautiful Anna. I’m well aware that it’s consistently driving me farther and farther into insanity, but the need to keep it is stronger than the irritation of unevenness. It feels like I’m wearing a part of her. She’s with me even when I leave the house.

With every beep of the scanner Anna’s face flashes before me through Dana’s soft mocha skin, high cheekbones, and perfectly oval shape jawline. Her delicate hands seamlessly slide each of my items, across the moving belt that separates myself from my beautiful Dana. She’s even wearing Anna’s signature red fingernail polish. They could’ve been sisters, so close in every way.

I run my left hand smoothly across my heavily gelled hair. I do this every thirty minutes on the dot, just to make sure there aren’t any loose hairs. I can’t really help it, it’s compulsive. Just one of my ‘ticks’, as the doctor explains it. The straight parting running down its rightful place on the right side of my scalp is still perfectly intact. I exhale a breath of relief and move on to my next tick. I quickly run a hand down the button line of my shirt, to make sure each and every button is   centred on my chest. Lastly, I straighten my tie. The motion goes unnoticed, as usual. Sly- very sly.

“That’ll be $32 even, George, $32.” Dana says.

She’s repeated my total dollar amount through Anna’s sing song voice. Dana’s so kind, and understands my need of repetition, just as Anna did. I’ve been coming to her register only, for a full year exactly. I won’t go anywhere else. I know her schedule by heart. She’s kind – very kind.

“Thank you, Dana,” I smile.

“You are always so good to me. Good to me.”

“You’re welcome, George.” Again with Anna’s voice.

I hear it everywhere, especially through Dana’s mouth.

I pull a stack of cash from my wallet, as I refuse to pay with a card, always have. The dollars are counted and handed over to Dana. As usual, she fans them out and holds them in the air between us. Patiently she waits for me to recount the dollar bills for a second time. A feeling of comfort and contentment settles in my chest. The only interaction I’ve ever had with Dana is here, at the grocery store, just down the street from my small one-story brick home. Anna told me about Dana, I heard her one day telling me to stay close to her.

“Thank you, Dana,” I smile. “You’re always so good to me. Good to me.”

“Absolutely George. You have yourself a wonderful day, yeah?”

Her teeth look exactly like Anna’s, exposed with her beautiful grin.

“Enjoy the sun today.” She encourages. “It’s gorgeous out, hmmm?”

“I’ll do that.” My lips turn up at the corner. “It’s my birthday after all.”

“Your birthday? How wonderful! Oh-two, Oh-two.” She acknowledges, “What a perfect day for a birthday, George. February second, so symmetrical.” She winks knowingly.

“Thank you, Dana,” I smile.

“You’re always so good to me. Good to me.”

Three times, I’ve thanked her three times now. That’s either one to many, or one to short. The air catches in my throat. How did I let that happen? A nervous jolt surges through my veins. Damnit… Damnit… Please say something else that I can thank you for. Please Dana, Please. I will her through the frightened crease of panic between my brows. She’s always been able to pick up on my anxiety, especially when it comes to repetition. Dana tilts her head to the side and takes a long questioning look at my face. Clearly, she can sense there is something wrong. I take a deep breath and hold it unable to speak. The air fills my cheeks and I can feel my ears heat in a blush. Suddenly, a spark of understanding eases the question in her eyes. She clears her throat and speaks in a smooth comforting voice, Anna’s voice.

“Okay then, George, here’s your groceries.”

She slides them in my direction before saying the very thing I need to hear.

“I’ve divided your food into four bags exactly. You enjoy your birthday, hmmm?”

She’s acknowledged the number four, leaving me the perfect opportunity to thank her a fourth time. I do so, in the very same fashion, the very same words I always do. But, not before releasing the held breath of tension. My heart rate returns to normal, and the pulsing tension of my limbs begin to ease. With only a nod Dana says goodbye. She does it every time knowing that any further conversation would require another thank you, and the need to say it could spiral me into an embarrassing fit. A stuttering mess, I become. It’s taken us a year, Dana and I, to get to this comfortable point of understanding. Today is the day that will end. Neat and clean, just as Anna’s been requesting. It’s the night I’ll fill my second concrete wall.  I purchased all of the necessary materials four months ago. I can do the job intended with no trouble at all. Then I can keep a part of her with me always, just like Anna. They’re mine forever. Anna will be pleased, she loves to be with me.

Steady, quick paced feet carry me home. I’ve left my wife all morning, it’s been too long. Surely she’ll be angry with me – very angry. There are few cracks in the concrete between the store and my house. I step over them cautiously, as always, careful not to touch any with the bottoms of my shoes. The last thing I need is the soles of my loafers to make contact with one. Especially today. Everything about today needs to be perfect – very perfect. No sooner than I walk through the door, her voice comes blaring at me from her usual place on the couch.

“George!” My wife shrieks, voice sounding as old and scratchy as ever.  “Is that you?”

I keep walking, past the doorway and into the kitchen.

“Answer me intruder!” She demands, before hacking up a load of phlegm.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, it’s me.”

 I fumble over my voice, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Finally, dammit!” she hollers. “I’m hungry dumbass. I’ve been waiting for you to feed me all day. What the hell took you so long?”

I hate it when she swears. It isn’t neat. It isn’t clean. She knows how much I hate cuss words but she insists on using them anyway. Jolene, my lazy spiteful wife, uses any means necessary to get under my skin. Always from the couch too. She eats there, sleeps there, and sometimes even pisses herself there. She weighs over three hundred pounds and refuses to do anything except boss me around.

She wasn’t always like this. It was actually quite nice in the beginning. All love making and laughs. As the years passed and my obsessive compulsive disorder progressed, so did her weight and her demands. As soon as I was diagnosed with schizophrenia on top of my previous conditions, she refused to look at me the same. A strong sense of disdain began to permeate the air around her, and over time her fat ass glued itself to the couch. So much for caretaking, the spiteful hag.

“George!” She barks. “Did you hear me, ya’ fool? I’m hungry.”

“Yes, dear, yes.” I comply.

A hearty plate of leftovers is prepared, as well as a tall plastic jug of iced soda. I deliver it to her as quickly as possible, as to avoid any further badgering. The sound of her voice makes me cringe every time. I must set the food down on the coffee table, tidy up a stack of four magazines, and then help Jolene to a seated position before handing over the food.

“Always with the magazines,” she nags.

“Can’t you just get me my food first? And then fix up whatever the hell is bothering you after? Making me wait like this all day!  I swear to God, as if your mental issues aren’t enough as it is. You have to let me wilt away and starve on top of it.”

“Sorry, dear, sorry,”

I say refusing to watch as she practically inhales her meal.

“Well, tell me.” She demands. “Did you take your crazy pills today?”

“Yes ma’am.” I lie.

I haven’t taken that vile medication for one year and one month. Jolene can’t even tell the difference. I don’t need it. I can control myself. I have Anna to guide me.

“Bullshit!”  

A tiny chunk of chicken flies out of Jolene’s mouth. With the aid of a napkin, I pick it up and dispose of the half eaten food properly. I keep a garbage can as close to Jolene’s spot on the couch as I can at all times. She’s disgusting, a real slob, and the can fills often.

“Take your pill now, ya damn mental case, and let me watch.”

All of our medication is organised neatly in a small square basket on the end table next to me. It sits between my recliner and Jolene’s rank couch. I stash a pill under my tongue and take a long healthy swig of ice water, letting it slosh through my mouth without even touching the hidden medication. The water’s refreshing and Jolene doesn’t say a word. The only time I glance in her direction is to watch closely as she too reaches from her drink. I can’t see her throat move underneath all the fat of her neck, so it’s hard to tell how much she’s swallowed.

I can, however, see the telltale shadow on the outside of her plastic jug. The colour line of fluid shows through, and I hold my breath as she guzzles inch after inch of soda. It’s just enough. The only other time I’ve spiked my wife’s drink is so I can sneak out to see Dana.

Soon, Jolene drifts off.  I kick my feet back, letting the bottom of my recliner fold out and cradle my relaxing legs. Then I close my eyes lightly and listen. I listen for my girl, my beautiful Anna. Every time Jolene rests, Anna speaks. I’ve been looking forward to having so many hours of her to myself all morning. Very soon I’ll have to leave and find Dana. Until then I’ll enjoy her voice. It’s been far too long since Anna and I have been so uninterrupted. The sound of her is smooth and perfect in pitch. Unlike Jolene, my beautiful Anna sounds like a bell. Every time I hear that voice from my basement…..   

AUTHOR 2:

My heart skips a beat. The urge to head down there and sit in the darkness on my own, with just her voice is so tempting. Sometimes I need to shut out all the other voices so I can hear her clearly. Anna, speaks to me daily and nightly for that matter. She keeps me focused on the task at hand from a distance. I loved her deeply all those years back. I still love her now. I look over at Jolene with her mouth hanging open as she snores in a deep sleep. Saliva forms at the corner of her lips. My Anna would never be so disgusting, neither would Dana coming to think of it. Chicken grease glows all over Jolene’s dark purple lips, yuk, she’s such a slob. My eyes move over the rolls of fat around her middle, her sagging breasts and chunky legs full of blue and purple veins. If only I could wash her down with some bleach and anti-bacterial spray.

That’s not a bad idea George, I’m sure she’d thank you.  I bolt up in the recliner, my eyes dart around the living room, and settle on the open door way. She’s in the basement, again I heard her. There she is my Anna, ever ready to guide me. Go on George, the marigolds are under the sink she’ll be germ free in no time. I swallow hard and a smile a lopsided smile.  Even through my cracked lens Jolene looks in desperate need of a wash. Anna’s right–– she always is.

I get to my feet slowly to make sure I don’t wake her, I straighten my starched trouser legs and adjust my shirt buttons four times, and then run a hand through my gelled hair before I head to the kitchen. At the threshold of the kitchen door, I glance down at the black and white tiles. A few are cracked, I’m mindful not to step on any of these, as I cross over to the sink. It’s bad luck to step on them, Anna told me. Not today, I need luck on my side today. I feel the urge to check everything is in order before I start my operation hose down Jolene.

I open the fridge door and inspect inside. The top shelf is just how I like it eggs in their carton still with the label facing forty five degrees to the left. Milk, just how I like it stored in the side of the door facing toward me. Last night’s leftovers in clear plastic containers, the chicken is on the left and potatoes on the right. Perfect, just perfect. I wipe my finger over the surfaces to make sure there’s no dirt. Wonderful, not a trace. I inhale deeply the smell of bleach then close the door feeling very satisfied, very very satisfied.

From under the sink I fetch the yellow bucket, bleach, anti-bacterial spray, a clean cloth and my beloved pair of yellow marigolds. I love these marigolds they’re the only range I’ve found that have the exact number of raised bubbles, for the right amount of grip on the fingertip. Eighteen bubbles I counted, the others had an uneven number. I hate uneven numbers so I refuse to buy them. I spoke to Dana about them the morning I first bought them. I requested that she informs the store manager to ensure the store only stock this particular range, I go through them pretty quickly. I only like to use them four times then throw them away. Remember I said four is an important number, even and square just like the room I’ll have built downstairs within the next four years. Dana promised me she would inform Mr. Smith of my request, I’m sure she did as every other Thursday when I visit the store to buy a new pair, they’re there waiting for me on the shelf fully stocked. Dana’s so kind to me I really need to thank her again for making sure my beloved marigolds are always in stock.

Gently placing the bucket into the sink, I turn the tap once to the right so the hot water flows out, I quickly switch it off and then open and close the tap three more times. There, perfect. Four turns. I watch the water fill up in the bucket and the steam build. I calculate the perfect ratio of water and bleach. Fifty percent water and fifty percent bleach should do the trick.

Gasping with annoyance I tip out some water just over fifty percent of the bucket was full, I can’t have that it must be perfect. Just perfect. I savor the feeling of the rubber sliding over my skin as I pull on my marigolds one at a time. I admire them and count the bubbles on the finger tips again. Eighteen, lovely. I breathe deeply as I mix two whole bottles of bleach with the hot water. What a refreshing smell. My glasses steam up I can’t see a thing without them, quickly I use an anti-bacterial wipe to remove the steam, and dry them down with a paper towel folded in half–– four times.

Jolene’s snores snap me back into reality, I have a job to do and I better be quick. Carefully avoiding the cracked tiles on the floor, I creep back into the living room to Jolene. The sight of her disgusts me, I can see the germs crawling all over her. I‘m fed up of the Drs. telling me to take medication for an illness I’m convinced I don’t have, I’m not hallucinating, it’s not my imagination I see them, the little black bugs that move across her skin. On her forehead I see a sign saying “clean me” scrawled in red pen. Don’t tell me I’m crazy, it’s there. I adjust my glasses carefully pushing them back up the bridge of my nose, and look closer at Jolene’s bug infested skin. I cringe. You better get the ropes for this.  Anna’s soft voice echoes in the air, she’s right as always. I set the bucket down with the handle facing me in the perfect position, and the cloth folded four times neatly on the left. I change my mind it looks neater on the right. I back out of the living room and make my way to the basement.

The door opens with a crack and the musty air mixed with the scent of bleach fills my lungs. Now where did I put the ropes? Oh yes under the blankets just like Anna said. You’re ready now Georgie. Oh I love it when she calls me Georgie. I make a dash back up the stairs.

Jolene’s fat arms and legs are bound with the thick rope, I don’t need to worry about her rolling over and trying to escape, she’s too fat to move. I laugh softly as I stand over her and study her grease filled face and lanky thin brunette hair plastered to her head. I get up close and count five hairs sprouting from her double chin, the poor woman she’s uneven. I need to get rid of one and leave her with four or maybe two, I’ll decide later. God she smells so bad, and the bugs crawling over her skin is too much for me to take. Now, where shall I start? With her flabs of fat, lift them up and make sure they are sparkling clean Georgie.

“Thank you sweetheart, you’re right, you’re right.”

Utterly repulsed I undo her food stained blouse, and then expose her braless sagging  chest. Her large nipples stare at me. Disgusting. Lifting the flaps of her fat hanging over her elasticated waist sweatpants, I inspect what’s underneath. Bugs, not surprising. Reaching for the cloth I soak it in the bleach and hot water and give between her flabs of fat a clean sweep the bugs fall on the floor, I saw them I’m not crazy I know what you’re thinking. Jolene lets out a blood curdling scream, I jump back slightly with surprise.

“What the hell!”

Oh dear, I woken her.

“George, you sick bastard untie me what is that bleach?”

Jolene tries her best to wriggle free. I stay calm, push my glasses back, and run a hand softly over my hair, careful not to disrupt its neatness.

“Yes dear, you need a bath.”

“A fuckin’ bath? You sick sick man you never swallowed the tablets did you? Get me out of these ropes.”

I ignore her. Count to four, not five but four, before I head back down to the basement for some duct tape. I leave Jolene kicking and screaming. The neighbors will never hear, I sound proofed the walls years ago, when I first heard the voices and thought it was the neighbors.

Bound with duct tape, I ignore Jolene’s pleas with her eyes to stop as her skin is set alight with the sting of the bleach. I finish my job nice and thoroughly Every nook and cranny of her filthy bug infested skin is washed down with bleach. I can’t not bring myself to do between her legs with my hands I must protect my marigolds. I reach for the toilet brush on the floor and gave her a good plunging from the inside out.

She screams out in pain. There’s something very satisfying about the fear in her eyes.  She’s a bully, it’s nice to be on the other end of the punishment for once. I pull out the toilet brush from between her thighs and smile… There nice and clean just perfect. She’s screaming and shouting through the duct tape. I try to remain calm and do the job as best I can, with Anna guiding me. Each arm and leg has four wipes, each flab of fat has four wipes. I pull off the duct tape and give her face four wipes.

“GEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOORGE YOU SICK BASTARD LEMME GO! I’M ON FUCKIN’ FIRE!

I hate foul language. Anna would never dream of it. I leave Jolene tied up on the urine stained couch, and make my way to the basement. Anna is calling me I need to finish my wall, it’s my birthday celebration after all.

Thursday, two weeks later:

Today was a wonderful day, I reflect on the events as I crouch down in the bushes beneath Dana’s window. Today is the sixty fourth time, over the last year I have couched down in this spot. As usual like every other Thursday I went to the store for my supply of marigolds, bleach, anti-bacterial wipes and to see Dana. I miss her when I don’t see her. Sometimes I’ll sit across the road at Mcdonald’s and wait for her to finish work, I walk home with her from a distance. Just to check she comes to no harm. It’s okay, that’s not creepy, is it?

Dana looked lovely today her hair was swept back from her face, her nails perfectly painted in another one of Anna’s favourite shades, a beautiful dark vamp burgundy colour. Her soft mocha skin glowed. As I watched her I thought of Anna. I know it’s her, she has come back to me but playing hard to get.

It upset me that the total of the bill came to an odd number 35.47 $ today.  I started to panic and breathe unsteadily, Dana saw the panic on my face. I couldn’t understand it, I bought the same items I do every other Thursday. Luckily Dana was there with a brown paper bag for me to breathe into, she calmly explained the price of the bleach had increased so the total of my normal bill changed. I demanded to know when the price increased, apparently last Wednesday. Damnit. I hate that it sneaked up on me, I was unprepared to be faced with an odd number. A quick mental calculation I worked out I needed to either put back one bottle, or buy two more for an even number bill total. But then, if I put one back I’d have three bottles I couldn’t have that it must be even. If I took two more I’d have six. The latter was a better choice for me. I thanked Danna, four times and scurried along home to Jolene. Her skin is still blotchy from her bleach bath, she’ll get over it she smells so much better.

I had the urge this evening to come and see Dana again, it felt like Anna was pushing me to go so I did, and here I am dressed all in black. Jolene passed out on the sofa again after I spiked her soda so I could escape.

She looks wonderful. I watch her as she slowly peels off her dress. I’ve not seen a woman in her underwear in real life for years, well not a beautiful one. Jolene doesn’t count.  Her washed out baggy panties so big I could fit two of my heads in are not appealing. Dana has lovely taste in underwear, I’ve noticed over the last year she has a thing for black underwear. I catch a quick glimpse before she disappears from the room. I wait patiently for a whole fifteen minutes and forty five seconds before she appears again, wrapped up in a towel with her curly dark hair pinned up. Her towel drops to the ground as she starts to apply lotion all over her mocha skin, my groin wakes up. Damnit I’ve not felt that in a long time the twitch down below almost scares me.

She disappears again off to another room. I don’t think she’d mind if I stop by and say hello in person, through the open window I creep quietly. Once inside her bedroom I open her draws and admire the many different patterned bras and panties she has. I pick up a black pair of panties and slip them in my pocket. I glance around and notice the pair she wore today on the floor. I push my glasses up on my nose, run my hands through my hair and smile. I pick up the pair and hold them to my chest, now I have something to cuddle at night, with her scent on.

“George, George what are you doing here?”

I whip around and see Dana standing in just her towel by the door she looks scared.

“Dana, don’t be scared I was in the neighborhood and I…”

“George, please you have got to leave. You can’t go around breaking into people’s homes like this, you’ll get yourself arrested.”

“Dana please you have to come with me, I’ve come to take you home.”

“Home? George this is my home. You’re scaring me you’ve got to go.”

Dana backs away and reaches for her phone on the dresser.

“Dana no! Please Don’t call the police. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Dana looks at me with her face screwed up with a confused expression. She grips on to her towel for dear life.

“Your home is with me, downstairs in the basement.”

“What basement, George I swear to God I’ll–“

I drop to me knees and grab the sides of my head with both hands, covering my ears and scream out.

“Stop, stop not you! I don’t want you bring me Anna.”

The penny drops, he’s hearing voices. For the past year I’ve found George strange but I just thought he’s very particular in his ways. It never occurred to me he’s ill. But it all makes sense, the need for repetition, the even numbers, bleach, marigolds everything has to run like clockwork for him. I’m paralysed with fear. Now I know it’s him, he’s been watching me. Every now and then late at night I’d hear the bushes rustle or notice a shadow run across my window. I put it down to my imagination running wild, and neighborhood foxes.

Oddly, something tells me George is not here to hurt me. He’s lost his way and needs some kind of help, help I can’t give him. I inch closer just a touch as I watch him losing his mind on my bedroom floor.

“George, are you okay?”

“Anna, where are you? No, no no.”

I watch George beat himself around the head with his closed fists, screaming out and protesting against something or someone I can’t see.

“Get away, get away get off me.”

“George, please, don’t go anywhere wait there.”

I run into the bathroom and quickly throw on a pair of sweatpants and a vest top, then run back to my bedroom. George is on the floor in a fetal position crying out for Anna and to be left alone.

“George, listen to me, I’m going to come over to you, and sit by you is that okay?”

“Yes, Anna come please.”

Anna? Who the fuck is Anna? I have no clue who she is. I can’t worry about that now, I need this nut job out of my house. I slowly move over and get down on my knees beside him.

“George, who is Anna?”

“Anna, she, she disappeared a long time ago. I’ve been waiting for her to reappear.”

“Anna who George?”

“My .. my true love.”

With confusion, I eye this strange man I know nothing about. All I know is I see him every other Thursday and he only comes to my check out. I watch him as he pulls out his wallet and an old newspaper clipping. He hands the newspaper clipping to me, I eye the picture of the pretty woman staring back at me. The creepy part she looks like me… I start to read.

September 15th 1997, The Daily Mail Newspaper

Missing: Anna Roberts

Anna was last seen alive at Oxford Street Tube station, central London on the 10th September 1997, wearing a red jacket, black jeans and a pair of red shoes. Anna is twenty two, 5’5, with a slim build. If anyone has seen the lady in this picture, please call the London Metropolitan Police station on 0208 125 7896

“George this clipping is twenty years old, and it’s from a London tabloid paper who is she?”

A crumbled old discoloured travel ticket falls out of his wallet I pick it up.  It looks unfamiliar to me I’ve never seen this type of ticket before. It’s dated 10th September 1997 for a single journey from Oxford Circus to  Bank Tube station, London. George looks at me with a face full of snot and red bloodshot eyes, he nervously runs a hand over his slicked back hair and pushes his glasses up his noses, again.

“She, she was my girlfriend. I went to London for a while, my work took me over there.  I was just twenty two myself. I was a journalist and she was a receptionist. We met and fell in love. I planned to stay in London with her.”

“And what happened George?”

“Well, that night we had a date in central London, it was perfect we went to dinner and then sat in Leicester Square, eating Ice cream outside a café.  I remember it so clearly, London had an Indian Summer that year, for September the evening was warm and muggy.  I kissed her good night outside the Oxford Circus tube station. She refused to take a cab, she felt safe on the subway or tube as the Londoners call it.”

“And?”

“And that was the last I saw of her, her body has never been found. No suspects, I will die of a broken heart.”

“But you have Jolene.”

“Jolene! That fat… she’s a… a… I can’t even bring myself to say the word it’s so unclean. She’s a bitch!  Anna doesn’t like cuss words, I’m sorry Anna. I don’t love her I never have, it’s always been Anna.”

George looks at me over his glasses.

“I hear her all the time, she speaks to me and I know she’s inside of you, she’s come back to me through you I’ve been planning our reunion for the last year.”

This freak has been watching me. The Thursday visits at the store was all part of a plan. I need to get him out. I narrow my eyes as I study George with his slicked back hair, thick bottle cap glasses, long lanky limbs and clumsy way about him. On the outside he appears harmless, his mind is clearly sick.

“George what brought you here today?”

“She did, she always does every time I hear that voice from the basement I come here to you so I can see you, and make sure you’re okay. I like to keep a check on what you’re up to. I don’t want to lose you like I did Anna, you could disappear.”

I watch George chew his nails nervously. He’s mistaken me for a woman who would be just over twenty years older than me. I’m only twenty can’t he see it could never be me.

“George, I’m not Anna, I’m Dana. How long have you been hearing these voices? When did it start?”

He looks up at me over his glasses, and sniffs.

“Years ago, the OCD started.”

“And the voices? Anna?”

“For the last five years, as soon as that… that fat, ya know what and I moved into that house. Ever since then, I remember the first voice I heard was a wretched man’s voice, then it was Anna calling me from the basement. Every time I heard that voice from my basement … I knew it was her, then I met you last year. We’ve been reunited… Anna.

I look down a George with a sinister smile on his face, holy mother of God, I’ve got to get out.

Updated-Telling-Tales-Weekly-Challenege-Kim-&-Didi

 

This interactive writing challenge is simple and insanely creative. It’s a group effort and we are so glad to have you join in the writing fun!!  I hope you’re ready to challenge us by choosing which prompts we can transform into stellar suspense!  Give us your best shot!  You vote on our weekly prompt, and we provide the entertainment. It’s that simple!  The super easy steps are as follows:

STEP ONE: Every Wednesday well post a voting pole with a few prompts to choose from.
STEP TWO: With the click of a button, you cast your vote on a prompt. (voting will stay open for three days.)
STEP THREE: READ AND ENJOY!  Every week on the following Tuesday we will post the short story that transformed from the very winning prompt you chose!
 
 All comments on the story posts will be open. We love feedback, and I’m willing to bet you will never guess who wrote what!!   Therein a challenge of your own! (Yes, one of us writes in British English, and one of us in American. We are well aware, and ready for some trickery. Trust me, we are brilliant at adapting styles.)
 Here is our story from week #1. Give it a read. It’s a very steamy piece of twisted psychological craziness:
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