Revision to one of my horror short stories: Trapped

I have revised one of my earlier horror short stories (or exercise rather). This is from one of the earlier entries in the Writing to Improve series. This exercise focuses on developing characters through the use of personal traits; what the author of my project refers to as the "Fission" method. Read more about Character Traits. You can also read the fully revised short story there as well or use this post's continuation link. If you like or hate the story then feel free to comment and let me know why you thought so. I'm always looking to improve!

By the way, I'm an avid reader of horror short stories and I love to write them, so beware!

"Trapped"

Revised 11/17/05 (1.5 pages)

          It’s all I think about now.  The horrifically vivid memory, lodged inside my head, repeating itself over, and over again.  If I were in hell, then the sheer repetition of this corrosive memory would be my torment and mine alone for eternity.

I remember standing in that small, dimly lit room. There was no air circulation. Each breath I took felt like a mass of congealed soup slipping into my lungs.  The ripe smell in the air had lingered around; silently mocking and tormenting me with its invisible tendrils of death and decay.  My mind forced me to look away, yet my eyes kept gravitating back with an impossible will of their own.

As I stood there, I heard a snap-snap followed by a brilliant flash of the forensic investigator’s camera. Before my eyes had fully adjusted to the invasive light, I heard the humming buzz of hundreds of flies.  They arose en mass, startled and annoyed by the newly arrived people; miniature wings swooping left, then right in some macabre dance, which they only knew the steps to.  Startled as they were, they recognized no threat in us and quickly landed again on Danny Frye’s young, bloated body.

It was during that one split second, when the flies arose again, that I saw his body; twisted, torn, broken, and still in his Scooby-Doo pajamas. The image froze permanently into my mind, lodging itself there like a parasite. I had been on the force for a long time, but that sight unnerved me greatly.

My mind unwillingly processed the image, lighting the fire of panic inside me. I had an incredibly urgent need to get the hell out of dodge.  My trembling body tried to assert itself, commanding my legs to move on the double, but they wouldn’t budge.  The incessant camera flashes were further disorienting me and would have soon sent my already uncontrollable panic into a spiral of temporary insanity.  Every flash of bright, searing light provided horrifying glimpses of a view straight into hell.

I finally managed to get my legs moving again. Half stumbling and running, I got one foot in front of the other until I was at top speed, my shoes thumping on the wooden floor. I had aimed myself straight for the front door of that small, decrepit shack, a gorge rising in my throat. With my head down, arms flailing, I shoved plainclothes women and uniformed men out of the way, knowing that one second more in this tomb would cost me dearly.

I exploded through the front door, expecting clean, crisp air to wash away all of my worries in an instant, but there was no relief.  I forgot that it was the height of summer and the evening air was still over 90 degrees and full of humidity.  I collapsed to my knees, gasped for air with one hand on my throat and the other, rolled into a fist, buried in the damp grass. No matter how hard I tried though, the only thing that came out of my mouth was a faint, but harsh, wheezing noise.

Somewhere in the distance, I had heard my name being called out.  I struggled to look up when I felt Lieutenant Jones’ comforting hand on my shoulder.

It was that one simple gesture that yanked me back to reality. I tried to clear my head and realize the absurdity of my reaction, considering that I’ve seen hundreds of cases like this one. My mind rejected the logic, however, as this one was different. This one wasn’t just a case, some file to be locked away after it was all over. This one wasn’t some old bum that got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. This one was a kid, no older than five. He had a full life ahead of him, only to be struck down in his childhood before he had even begun to live. It struck a deep nerve with everyone there that evening and would’ve sent the strongest man reeling. 

But I had beaten it; at least so I thought.

On my hands and knees, my body finally relaxed as my heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. I had wanted to thank Jones for his help, but he wasn’t there. He must’ve gone back to the scene I had thought.

Still on my hands and knees, feeling the warm, damp grass under my palms, I had dropped my head to catch a few more deep breaths before going back to the scene as well. I rocked back onto my knees, eyes still closed, getting ready to get up when I heard a wet, rasping sound. An instant later I felt a slimy hand brush my cheek followed by a gust of rotten air across my face. Before my bladder released its contents, before my mind succumbed to dark oblivion, my eyes opened. It wasn’t Jones who had come to my side after all. Standing in a costume of rotten flesh, adorned by maggots, stood a boy of about five years of age, arms outstretched, mouth in a rictus of agony. The boy shuffled closer, ever so slowly in his Scooby-Doo pajamas. I thought I knew what panic and fright was earlier, but I was wrong. The boy grasped my head, snarling, and I laughed hysterically.

Comments

[michelle]

i liked that story but i also wanted to let you know since you said you like to read short stories i wrote a book which was published its calle Short but Scarey stories to read at bedtime. no im not trying to get you to buy it but just thought id tell you about it but if you are intrested its for sale on publisheamerica.com but anyhow loved the story keep writing

[1ConfusedWriter]

What can I say? This was one of the first ones that I worked with in this series of writing exercises. Now that I've read it again, I can see the problems. I guess the fun part is going to be revising it. ;)

Thanks for the critique, Kalbzayn. This is exactly what I need.

Vic

[kalbzayn]

Nice. Very nice images throughout.

I would try to get rid of a lot of the passive tense. I virtually all of the past perfect. The story would be tenser in straight past tense as well as being more consistant.

Unless I just missed it, it might be nice to have some kind of very subtle hint that the boy isn't quite as dead as he appears.