Chuck Wendig pulled a fast one on us. Last week he claimed that our challenge was to write the first half of a story, which I did, in fact, do. Now he tells us, nope, that was just the first THIRD of the story, and two other writers are gonna get their grubby mitts on it before it’s all said and done!
Well, benevolent fictional benefactor that I am, I got my hands on two other stories and wrote the middle section of the tale. Be sure to read the preceding section before my entry (which I shall graciously link with each) because otherwise it might not make much sense.
Again, note I have two separate story continuations here, so be sure to read the preceding segment for each one. (I pay myself by the word, don’tcha know, so I have a good reason to keep this going like I am. Those millionths of a penny will add up soon!)
A continuation of ‘Vampiric‘ by ttaylor:
“Lawrence!” cried Williams as the vampire sprang forward. I had no chance to close my satchel before the vicious creature was upon me. The contents of the bag spilled and clattered across the dark floor.
I slammed my torch up in sheer reaction to the large form bounding my way, and that proved the only thing that saved my life. The creature’s jaws clamped down on the metal housing of the torch.
Its fangs nicked my fingertips. I ignored the pain to focus on keeping its mouth engaged with the torch.
The vampire, the one that we knew must be the Master, seemed typical of its kind. Pale, ashen skin, almost dark gray in the dim light, and limbs too long to look natural. It looked… almost too typical.
“For Mina!” shrieked Williams, who tackled the vampire from behind. They tumbled away from me. I caught the breath I had not realized I had been holding.
The undergarments I clutched began to drip. With my other weapons scattered across the dark floor, I could not afford to waste even a drop of my prepared solution.
With a burning sensation in my gut — the vampire’s foot claws had scored my flesh there — I regained my footing and shone the light around.
“Williams?” I called.
There came no reply.
An uneasy feeling mixed into the dread and excitement coursing through me.
I turned around as the sounds of Williams struggling with the vampire erupted.
The vampire, to my surprise, struggled toward the stairs that led up toward the daylight. Williams clung to the beast’s back and beat his fists against the pale flesh.
“Mina,” Williams sobbed and struck again and again.
I moved toward the pair. “Williams! Let it go!” Williams did not look up but set his arm about the creature’s neck and squeezed.
He could not kill the vampire this way, and I thought that he knew better. If Williams would just allow the vampire to ascend the stairs to the sunstruck day outside, it would wither and burn in no time. Our plan had called for us to dispatch the Master here in the basement, but I would take the vampire’s final death no matter the method.
“It will not work!” Williams called, setting himself to pulling the scampering vampire away from the stairs. “It got inside my mind, Lawrence! I saw it; they have learned to resist the sun!”
“My God,” I breathed, then tore toward the vampire. I stuck the torch in my pocket, relying on the dim light from the top of the stairs to guide me.
I used both hands to pull the undergarments over the vampire’s head. It screamed as the cloth, soaked in silver powder mixed with holy water, pressed against sensitive flesh.
“The stake!” I shrieked at Williams, who threw himself to the ground, searching.
“The Master shall avenge me!” cried the vampire, just before another crate exploded from deeper in the basement.
A vicious roar pierced the darkness.
A continuation of ‘Rotten Girl‘ by John Freeter:
I bit down hard on my hand as I read further.
I can’t believe it has taken us so long to get to know each other. Of course, I was shocked to learn that Rotten Girl had a little more man in her than I thought.
It can be a lonely business, writing. It’s good to get to know your peers, don’t you think? But then you have your lovely wife Megan, and James is a real chip off the old block.
I would love to hear back from you soon. What is it that you’re writing lately?
P.S. You should receive a package with what I consider to be your best works, printed on demand for this occasion. I personally loved ‘Mother May I.’ What genius! If you would sign them and send them back, I’ll pay the postage.
I wonder if you’ll sign them as Robert Statham or Rotten Girl?
I stared at the characters on the screen as sweat trickled down my back. A few different replies buzzed through my mind, and I even started typing one. A scathing rebuttal, saying she had it all wrong and telling her which side of the afterlife she should visit at the earliest opportunity.
No. I held down the backspace key, watching the letters disappear one at a time. Erica knew who I was. There was no putting that genie back in the bottle.
Other options flew my mind’s coop. Ignore the email? Call the cops? Move my family to Canada?
Finally, I gritted my teeth, pounded out four words.
What do you want?
I hit send before I could second guess myself.
The doorbell rang and my shirt harvested a fresh crop of sweat. The clock said quarter after two.
“Shit,” I said, standing up from the desk. I knocked the laptop askew in my haste but could not stop to right it. James appeared in the doorway of my office as I exited. I nearly bowled him over.
“Sorry! Be right back!”
Megan reached the front door before me and opened it. She reached out and came back with a heavy box. Maybe I could snatch it and escape with it before she asked any questions…
No, that was stupid. “Hey, honey,” I tried. “I think that’s for, uh, me.”
Megan thanked the mail carrier and shut the door. “It’s addressed to me,” she said, hoisting the box so I could see the label. “Care of Robert Statham?”
My fingers quivered, eager to take the explosive textual material out of my wife’s hands. “Oh, heh,” I said. “I, uh, got you something for our anniversary?”
No fool, Megan noticed me reaching for a coverup. “That isn’t for another seven months, Robert, and I know you don’t think that far ahead.” I tried my last resort, taking the box, but she dodged and cut the tape with a pocketknife.
From my office, I heard James shout. “Daaaad?”
“Double fuck my life,” I said.
That’s it for today! I hope someone will take up the mantle and write the final 500 words of these two stories, because I’d sure like to know how they end. If you do, please let me know by posting a link in the comments so everyone has an easy enough time finding it.