The following #SampleSunday piece resulted from a Writing Exercise, which was found in What It? Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers by Anne Bernays and Pamela Painter.
The exercise description:
Psycho: Creating Terror – You’re taking a shower in your house/ apartment.
You are not expecting anyone; the front door is locked (bathroom door is
not). You hear a strange noise in a room beyond the bathroom.
Sidney, What Now?
“What should I wear tonight?” I muttered to myself as I smeared shaving cream on my leg. “It has to be something sexy, yet not too revealing.” My mind scanned the skirts and jeans in my closet as I ran the razor up my calf.
The shower door rattled on the track. “What the –”
I swiped at the moisture on the door. “Silly cat, what do you want?” I cracked the door open a smidge. “Crazy girl, you don’t like water, remember?” Sidney, my
Garfield-looking orange cat, was trying to paw the door open even farther. Her
eyes met mine, pleading for me to hurry up and give her some attention.
She could wait. I needed to finish my shower. I closed the door and then heard the unhappy “meow” and imagined Sidney prancing away, tail up and flicking back and forth, her body brushing the bathroom door open even farther as she headed into the
“I could wear the acid-washed jean skirt and my cowboy boots.” A breeze of cold air
wafted over the top of the door, causing me to shiver despite the heat of the water. I sighed, “What has that cat gotten into now?”
I put the razor on the caddy and decided if I stayed in any longer I would resemble a
prune – not a good thing for picking up a hottie. I turned off the water and
opened the door. Poking my head out, I yelled, “Sidney, what are you doing?”
Not really expecting an answer, I grabbed the towel and dried off.
I stepped out, towel wrapped around my sopping mess of hair. A loud crash sounded from the living room. I reached for my robe and decided to corral the cat before she
wrecked the house.
I walked into the bedroom and saw Sidney curled up on top of my pillow. She couldn’t be bothered to look at me as she nestled her nose under her paw. “Huh.” So if
she’s not the one making the noise. . .
Staying out of view of the open doorway, I scurried to the far side of the bed. I whispered to the cat, “What can I use as a weapon? Help me out here.”
My eyes flitted around the room. “I need a weapon, I need a weapon” was my mantra. Thankfully, I caught sight of my marble Buddha bookends. Success.
A deep, wicked laugh sounded from the living room. Goose bumps raced across my body; my pulse skyrocketed. I jerked the towel from around my head, balled it up, and threw it towards the door. I needed a distraction until I had my makeshift
“Why don’t you come out to play, my pet?” the voice spread across my bare flesh like a festering rash.
I hefted the bookend; it felt solid in my hand. The pointiest part was facing out from my white-knuckled grip. I shuffled towards the door on my knees. Heart pounding
like a bass drum, I strained to hear any sound that would clue me in to my
Another evil cackle slithered my direction.
“Lord, help me.” I wasn’t religious, but now seemed to be a good time for a prayer.
I made it to the door. Slowly, so very slowing, I peered around the corner into the living room. A high pitch scream sounded. It was coming from me.
Sorry the spacing is wacky. Thanks, WordPress *sigh*