Wednesday, July 1, 2015

CampNaNoWriMo and The Horrorphiles, Day 1

Almost late and obviously short. I've apparently forgotten what writing a thousand words feels like. I barely wrote 400 but I thought I was blazing up my keyboard. Ah, well tomorrow is another day, another chance to begin again. But here you are, welcome to the beginning of my project.

The Horrorphiles.

A Welcome.

Grey and heavy clouds loomed over the old Victorian mansion when Vanessa parked in front. In a few hours they would burst their rain all over the arriving Horrorphiles but for now they were just threatening and moving fast in the constant violent wind.

She pulled her purse and weekend bag from the front seat of the car and held them in the crook of her left arm. The wind ripped the car door from her right and slammed it shut, then whipped her long brown hair across eyes. “Dammit.” She was tightly wound, ready to get the weekend started and actually have some fun with this group for a change.

In person the house was more perfect than the pictures Mr. Peabody had emailed her. The overgrown ivy, the crumbling statuary, and the dirty shuttered windows made the place looked abandoned but Gordon Peabody assured her he lived in the house full-time and the interior was in good and safe repair. It seemed too good to be true, the absolute perfect place for the Horrophiles eighth annual “Creep ’n’ Greet” and another feather in her cap for her third year as the group’s president. But Mr. Peabody. A founding member no one’s actually met was very clear that she couldn’t come any earlier to inspect the property for safety. The closest they could come to a compromise was arriving a few hours before the rest of the club.

Vanessa’s flats crunched on the gravel drive and she approached with trepidation. She was prepared for disappointment, her gut was boiling with the anxiety of it. She had a back-up plan prepared with reservations and deposits at a nearby hotel, from her own finances. She even had a phony story to save face in case of a last minute cancellation. The effort and expense was worth it if the place was dump or someone sued because they twisted his or her ankle on a decrepit step.

She released the heavy front door knocker and held her breath. She only had to get through this and then she could relax, break her own arm giving herself a pat on the back, and drink all the champagne provided by their generous host in celebration. It could all start when someone opened the door.
The creaking door was like nothing she’d ever heard outside of a horror sound effects tract.