Hello, I am Albino Parakeet. I started this writing game where I write a few paragraphs to start up a story, and I send it via message on Facebook to my friend Jessica, who wants to become a script-writer. She writes a few more paragraphs to add on to it, and we continue back and forth. We ended up making two pretty good stories (well, pretty good in MY opinion). Here they are, enjoy.
All Alone By Daniel Fowler and Jessica Burton
It was only last night when Alexander McCormick was tucked in bed by his mother and left alone in the darkness to sleep. It was only last night when he gazed into the opened closet to the far right of his bed. It stood there like a thick, black sheet hanging in front of the light. Nothing behind the sheet was visible.
Alex would constantly look away. He would cover his head with his blanket. He would pretend the closet wasn't opened. But it was ajar, and it mocked him crazily. Every chance that he had, he would sneak a peak at the closet. No matter how many times he would look away and pretend it wasn't there, he would find himself looking at it again curiously.
It was the same old routine that happened every night. He would be frightened by the sight of the open closet and the darkness behind, but he would soon fall asleep and it would be morning, where the lights are on at all times. But not last night.
Something seemed wrong. Just when he turned his head against the wall to his left to proceed to ignore the closet, he heard groans and creeks from his right. From the closet. He didn't want to turn to see what was happening. He was too afraid.
But yet another disturbance occurred. A bang echoed from the closet, as if someone kicked the wall. He let out a small cry of fear from his closed mouth.
He figured out what was wrong. His nightlight was off. It was left on the floor in front of the outlet a foot away from the closet opening on the wall. It remained unlit tonight.
He wanted to shout for his mother, but he remembered the talk they had a few nights ago when he woke her up at 2 in the morning screaming about ghosts and monsters in the dark. Of course they were just creeks and churns in the attic because it was a newly installed house in the neighborhood that they just moved into a week ago.
"There's nothing in your closet, there's nothing in the attic, and there's nothing under your bed. Mommy has to get some sleep. Please stop waking her up," his mother told him that night. Alex abided by this rule, and aimed to continue to do so.
So instead of crying out, he built up the guts inside of him to launch himself off of his bed and shoot towards the outlet. He collided into the wall and started slapping his hands all over the carpet floor, searching for that tired nightlight. He tried to ignore the closet again while he did so, but the sounds... Those terrifying sounds. More groans and snaps. A bang.
He felt something plastic. The nightlight, he thought with an absolute relief. But as he grabbed it, it slipped directly out of his hand and shot into void known as his closet. Though he didn't see where it went, he still knew that shouldn't have happened if he was alone. But he wasn't. And that just proved it.
He cried a muffled cry in his shut mouth again as he panicked for the nightlight. He found another plastic item, but before he could feel a relief, he slammed it into the outlet. On came the light. Now there was room for relief. He sighed, tears welling up in his eyes from the fright, and laughed a little.
He got up and slid back into his blanket. One last look into the closet, his mind convinced him. Though he didn't see anything particular thing, he still saw movement. Motion behind the darkness. And he heard it too. A violent swoosh. Snap. Groan.
He didn't sleep until 10 minutes later, after his fatigue blocked out the sounds.
And now it was today, where he briskly walked through the living room. "Alex, Mommy has to go to the store for about half an hour. Can you stay home by yourself for that long?" Alex's mother asked dearly as he stepped into the kitchen.
"OK." He said rather flatly. He didn't necessarily care about what was going on for he had just come home from school and finished his math and spelling homework. Alex was in the second grade, and a rather bright student. But his downfall was fears.
"Alright, I'll see you in half an hour sweetie," his mother said. She hugged him gracefully and walked towards the front door across the kitchen and in the living room. She left without much sound, that is, until she got in her car and started it up. But it was muffled, and soon the uproar of the engine died as the car drove down the road.
Happy that he had the huge flat-screen TV in the living room to himself, he quickly made himself an after-school-snack of a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich and dived onto the couch, where he searched for the remote frantically so he couldn't miss his favorite cartoon that would start any minute.
The whole house. All to himself. All alone.
He flipped the power button on the remote, and typed in 62, his favorite channel. The bright cartoon colors consumed the screen, and loud cheery voices talked back an forth. He went to the kitchen, getting a glass of milk to wash down his sandwich.
Then, a loud creak came from above him, located just where his bedroom was. A shiver ran across his skin, leaving goosebumps along his arms.
It came back to him. The events of last night. The noises, the darkness, the blind theft... And he realized he should have gone to the store with his mom.
No, he thought, there's nothing in there, the house is just new, Mom is right. He salvaged a gallon of milk from the refrigerator and poured it into a small plastic blue cup he picked from a cabinet. He gulped it down and returned the milk to the fridge. The noises persisted, but were broken and usually had fifteen second intervals between each one. He easily ignored them, focusing his ears on what was happening on the TV that he hurried back to.
He sat down, enjoyed the cartoons for a small while, occasionally laughing or smiling at the antics the characters pulled off. But then, a distance above him, he heard a door creak open.
Could his mom be home already? No....plus, she would yell to him to help her carry in a few bags. What could possibly be making those noises? He badly wanted to check it out. He slid off the couch, and walked to the staircase. Should he look upstairs first, or downstairs?
Alexander walked up the stairs slowly, dreading every step. He could still hear the cheery cartoons downstairs. Finally, he hit the too step, and walked down the hall. His bedroom door was wide open, and his mom had usually kept it shut during the day.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up almost instantly. He could see the nightlight unplugged, like it always is when it's not night time. Nothing seemed changed. He thought maybe it was wind escaping from the cracks of the closed attic door that opened his room. He turned away, but in the corner of his eye he saw motion again.
He zipped back around in a flash, but saw nothing. What had moved? Everything was the same as when he checked in six seconds ago. Those tears were gathering again. He started stepping backwards, keeping his vision centered on his room.
He reached the top step of the stairs. Before he could descend, he saw the motion again. This sprung up a red flag, and he ran downstairs with his feet stomping on the steps. He made for the couch quickly and fixed all of his senses on the TV.
Please come home, mom, he thought desperately. But to his despair she's only been gone for eleven minutes.
A soft creak escaped from the staircase. It seemed like the creature from his closet was coming to get him. His mom would be home in nineteen minutes.
Another loud creak escaped from the stairs. Then another. And another. And another. He cuddled up into the corner of the couch. The stairs made another loud creak. His whole body shook with fear.
With every creek came a wince of fright. But it didn't last long. The creeks ended, and at the foot of the staircase, it stood.
Peaking at Alex with a familiar perplexity was Chester, his tabby colored shorthair cat. It mewed in confusion and began rubbing its side against the staircase. Alex's chest descended and he let out a long sigh. He still shivered, but it wasn't as mild.
But in a sudden silence, an awkward moment happened in the cartoon and the characters began to stare at eachother, Alex heard another unsettling bang. Chester immediately shifted his line of sight to the top of the stairs. He then mewed in a sort of hostility that made Alex feel uncomfortable. He also hissed a few times, but quietly.
In the back of the kitchen, he heard a can fall from its shelf in the pantry. He jumped at the sound, but Chester kept himself fixed at whatever was at the top of the stairs.
A streak of warm water graciously slid down his left cheek. He quickly wiped it away and and gave in to his anxiety. He got up and snuck over to Chester to see what the deal was. As he turned to look upstairs, he saw that the shadows on the wall teetered left and right. Groans. More of those damn groans, he thought rather angrily and vulgarly.
Now it sounded like the wood on the floor atop was bending. He had enough of this. He hurried back to his couch and buried his head in the nook between the intersection of the backrest and the handrail. Though his vision was fully gone, his hearing wasn't. He could hear more of the twisted clamor, only quieter and muffled.
He began weeping. Chester continued his angry mewing and hissing at whatever was upstairs.
The TV shut off instantly. Alex gasped.
He looked quickly at the clock. Just ten more minutes... He reached for the remote, and flicked the red power button. The cartoon came back on, and then the TV quickly flicked off, and a loud angry moan came from the kitchen.
Alex walked in the kitchen, and immediately heard cans falling off the shelf, and ice cubes rattling around in his freezer. What was going on here?
Now Chester cried out and hissed hysterically. Alex heard Chester's paws scraping against the carpet as it fled behind the couch. Something went tumbling down the stairs, making obstreperous booms. It bounced off the final step and launched at the wall across from it, making a familiar sound like plastic hitting against a wall. He heard glass break as well.
He leaned stepped back, leaned backward, and checked across the living room to see what had fallen. He could see a small, shattered nightlight broken in three pieces, while the glass of the bulb was sprayed all over the carpet.
Then another loud angry moan coming from the pantry. Mom come home, PLEASE, his mind screamed.
Alex looked at the clock again. She should be home any minute....
Another groan came from the pantry, and it almost sounded like this thing was trying to tell him something. Then all the doors slammed shut upstairs, and they made a loud band. Alex carefully grasped his little hand on the pantry doorknob, and slowly twisted it. He was immediately pulled inside, and the door closed. He let out a loud wail.
A demented, high-pitched laugh ringed in his ears. At once, cans flew in every direction, unseen due to the darkness. But that didn't mean they didn't make a sound. Bangs and crashes, lids popping off and assorted foods splattering all over the ground and walls. He slammed on the door, rattling the doorknob intensely, screaming and bawling furiously.
Some of the cans pelted him harshly. His feet were seized, and he was dragged all over the room by an unseen being. He was swung and slammed into walls, shelves, containers, boxes. He coughed and wheezed as his throat emitted shouts and whimpers. But that laugh continued. That disembodied, unearthly voice...
When the dragging stopped, he felt a strong grasp clutch at his neck. It was choking him. He struggled to break free, swinging his arms and legs wildly. He gagged and sputtered. The laugh continued, until suddenly, an ear-splitting shriek broke the struggle. The hands seemed like they vanished.
Alex stumbled up in a panic and tackled the door open. He ran down the kitchen and into the living room.
His mom walked through the door. "Alex, be a dear and help me---" she stopped mid-sentence, seeing Alex covered in canned food, with scratch marks across his face, as he shook violently on the couch, tears splashing down his face.
He did his best to explain what had happened, but his mom refused to believe this story? An unseen thing pelting him with cans, and food, while keeping him locked in a pantry just seemed unreal.
But she could see red marks on his neck, where whatever-it-was violently choked him. He was obviously hurt. She held him in her arms, letting him cry on her shirt that smelled of artificial flower-like scents of washing detergent.
She wiped his tears with her sleeve and held his hand. That afternoon, she cleaned up the surprising mess in the pantry, swept the broken nightlight, and gave him a bath, all while never leaving his sight.
That night he slept in her bed, protected by the wonderful shield of her arms. There were two nightlights in two different outlets on both sides of the room. He was content, happy, comfortable. But out of a habit, he looked into the opened closet of his mother's room. In the darkness of the closet, a blood-thirsty grin spread.
The Thing in the Night By Daniel Fowler and Jessica Burton
He sat there in the rain, shivering in the dark alley between the apartment complex and the declining general store. He was worried about the heavy downfall of the water. The look on his face was descriptive.
It was just another frigid and stormy night in the city. He was all alone in his desolated and filthy alley. Wet and decomposing trash stretched its odor through the vicinity. Cold drops of rain poured onto him and the concrete. It would be impossible to get any sleep under these hindering conditions. But yet he's done it before. He braced his torn sweater and lied on the arctic pavement.
Slowly his conscious slipped into a light sleep, only to be broken by a frightening clap of thunder. He was unaware of the time. But judging by the fact that all buildings he could see were unlit, it had to be later than 12... but perhaps even early morning. He didn't feel as though he got much sleep, so he closed his eyes once again and tried to rest.
He was wakened again by another noise. Though this time it wasn't thunder. Far down the dark, pitch-black alley, something knocked over a metal trash can. What was there? A shiver, not of the freezing weather but that of fear, crawled down his spine.
He continued to lay down in the ground for a moment, in hopes of returning to sleep, to no avail. Slowly, the man got up, trying to make as little noise as possible. The harsh patter of rain began to hit the pavement, yet he could still hear the loud rustling coming from the corner. He slowly walked over, trying his best to hide his fear of roaming in the dark of early morning. A loud scratching noise came from the trashcans. It was the sound of crunching metal, being forced together.
In the murk he could discern nothing. The clamor continued, the blatant grinding and scratching of the metal cutting his ears. It paused, and he froze. He heard a grunt, but perhaps it was just another wailing wind in the rain?
He didn't want to stick around any longer to figure it out.
Suddenly, he heard a deep exhale of breath from behind the curtain of blackness. Another wind? But that didn't convince him. He slowly began to back away, making sure he wasn't making any noise.
It appeared to be to no luck. He could he the thing twisting its body to face him. Its joints made a popping sound so loud, it almost made the thunder seem quiet.
He backed up faster, then turned and fled. This thing was on his heels. From the tapping on the cement, it sounded like this beast had claws.
He didn't dare turn back. He raced through the wet streets, stomping into puddles that splashed water all over his tarnished jeans. The water that seeped through the holes stung his vulnerable skin with its icy temperature.
None of the buildings were open. They were all dark and locked. No chance of safety yet. Everyone was warm and comfortable in their beds, sleeping the flash floods away, while he ran to keep his life.
The rain collided onto his bare face as he bolted through the fog and mist aimlessly. He shouted into the night, hoping at least someone would hear. He had no idea what was even chasing him, or if something was even there. Maybe he's been sleeping in this Godforsaken weather for so long it's made him sick, sick in the head. Perhaps he was dreaming. But was it real? Did it feel real? Hell yes, he thought. The pain in his sides were real as he gasped for breath. The cold, stinging in his throat was real. The freezing water than slipped all over his clothes and skin was real. The liquid snot running down his upper lip and sneaking into his mouth was real. The hard concrete that his feet pounded on as he sprinted was real. The fear was real.
Behind him, a vicious roar pierced his ears. It was unknown, unearthly. Unreal, he thought.
He didn't dare turn around. The only thing occupying his thoughts was escaping this beast. Where would he find shelter, at this time? As if on instinct, he zigzagged through the streets, searching for the one place he knew to be safe. At least, it had kept him out of dangers path once before. A loud unearthly roar vibrated every bone in his body. It had started to run faster, in hopes of catching up to him. It was going solely on instinct, caught up in pursue of its prey.
Quickly making a turn, he nearly lost the beast. Then, it returned, chasing faster than before. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out its flesh. In the dark light, it seemed wet and scaly, with a rough texture.
He quickly dodged between parked cars, and their alarms blared, and then they got stomped on, and all was silent. The process continued over and over, until he had reach the one place he had thought to be a safe haven.
He busted through the double-doors of the church, blindly running through the aisle. The benches and seats blurred past him. He sped up the small steps to the altar where the pedestal of the pastor stood, and stuck on the wall about 10 feet above him was a sculpture of a crucified messiah, looking down with his eyes closed and painted blood collecting from his wounds. On the sides of the crucified man were stain glass windows of beautiful patterns and colors.
But what did the mesmerizing colors mean to this situation?
He turned his attention from the windows to the thing that lunged directly at him.
He jumped over the bench, as the thing lunged just over him, colliding into the glass, and sending a million shards of glass out onto the road. The thing jumped back in, and flipped over a bench directly in front of him. Every part of him told him to run, but he refused to give in. He dashed across the isle, and into a small room.
The thing slowly realized that its prey had moved, and let out a low growl, and raised its head in the air, sniffing its way to him. He glanced through a crack in the bricks, and saw exactly what this beast looked like.
The beast was at least nine feet tall, towering over the furniture of the church. The scales were of a dark brown, or could be maroon, and they covered nearly every inch of the body. Water and slime oozed down the rough scales. Large, grotesque and misshapen claws jutted from the monstrous hands attached to the muscular arms of the being. They were covered in what could have been the wastes disposed in the trash cans, or molasses, but he was convinced it could have been blood. The head fairly proportional to its body size. It had no eyes, and its mouth seemed to be a gigantic rip filled with jagged blades of teeth. They were disgustingly uneven, some sticking out forward, some sticking into the black depths of its mouth, and some even stabbing into its gums. No nose existed, only two small vents that looked sort of like gills. It growled horrendously in the luminescence of the moonlight. Picking up the scent, it tracked the man's location. It ducked and silently crept towards the room.
But it was no use for the beast to hide its presence, for the man could see it sneaking towards the room. The terror was rising in his heart. He could sense that if anything would happen, the fright would unleash itself in the form of a heart attack.
What should he do now?
He glanced at the beast one last time, then decided that running was useless. Why couldn't this be a dream, which he would wake up from? It was no use wasting his final thoughts. He grabbed a cross, with the wooden sides making sharp points, like most authentic Roman crosses did. He grabbed a candle, as well, in hopes of frightening the beast. It slowly crept into the same room as he was, and the man violently threw the burning candle at it in fear. His mistake was made obvious by the beast, who let out a started, rough howl that pierced the nighttime silence. The man's heart began to beat faster, faster, faster, until it nearly exploded in his chest. Air began hard to inhale, and he inhaled in sharp, heavy breaths. He ran out towards the beast.
Death was notorious for sneaking behind the victim unnoticed, and it struck with surprise when the victim was most vulnerable, but not when the victim knows it was coming. For when the victim sense that death is near, it doesn't happen. It waits. It stalks. It constantly tortures the victim from the inside out.
He was slashed in the back as he tried to flee from the situation. The cuts were severely deep and stung ferociously. Blood swam its way out of the wounds. He stumbled forward as he was struck, but he continued to maintain standing. The stumble gave him that extra leap away from his assailant. For if he didn't stumble, he would have died. But maybe he welcomed that. He was too scared and confused out of his mind to know. But that extra leap helped him maintain a distance from the beast as he ran again.
The thing didn't take too kindly with its prey's escape. It thundered its loud roar again and took off towards the man.
Already breaching his limits and leaking all his fluids from the wounds on his back, the man sprinted. Far from him, he could see a light. It was a home with the lightswitches flipped on. Now what made the homeowners turn the lights on at this hour of the night? Perhaps a child had a nightmare? Perhaps someone broke into their home? Perhaps a call from the home phone? Or perhaps they heard the commotion going on behind the battering of the rain against their roof and windows? Whatever the reason, it was still a haven. But this haven was quite a distance. For once the entire night, his face cracked a grin. Happiness was in his face.
Heavy clicks of the claws followed behind him. The thing was as relentless as it was ugly. Uproars of terrifying exhales that seemed so close that the man might have even felt the dreaded saliva slap against his back. But it was rain, just rain, he thought.
e didn't dare to turn around and check to see exactly how close the beast was. He ran, slowly getting closer to this small haven. He almost prayed that the light from the house wasn't just an illusion.
The beasts' claws clicked faster, catching up to the man. He ran blindly towards the house. It was maybe seven feet away. He prepared to pound loudly on the door, but thought against it. What use would that be, if the beast was right behind him? Then he grasped the perfect idea, and began to sprint even faster.
He reached the door, and pounded on it three quick times.
"HELP ME!" He desperately screamed. Then words blathered out of his mouth. Words that he could not hear, words that he didn't even think before saying. They were screams of "OH PLEASE GOD," "HELP ME PLEASE," "LET ME IN."
Then another booming screech of the beast was picked up. It launched towards the man. Before he could make any more pleas of desperation, he was stabbed straight from the back and through his front. The uneven blades of claws stuck out from his abdomen, covered in blood identified as none other than his. All that escaped from his mouth was an inaudible moaning of pain.
Group: Director
Posts: 6,347
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RM Skill: Undisclosed
Pretty nice work for messaging back and forth via Facebook. =] I did notice that you both overuse pronouns, as there are a few places where you aren't sure of which pronoun belongs to which noun. At any rate, just a clarity thing. =]
Always fun to read such materials. It's good practice for you guys, so keep it up.
Pretty nice work for messaging back and forth via Facebook. =] I did notice that you both overuse pronouns, as there are a few places where you aren't sure of which pronoun belongs to which noun. At any rate, just a clarity thing. =]
Always fun to read such materials. It's good practice for you guys, so keep it up.
Sorry about that. We also had a lot of typos if you've noticed. I tried fixing up as much as I could on Microsoft Word before I posted them here, but guess not. Thanks for the feedback though.
Group: Global Mod
Posts: 4,600
Type: Writer
RM Skill: Intermediate
Rev Points: 5
Ember, might want to consider staying on topic for your own sake
This thread sparked my interest solely because I know a Jess Burton, not the same Jess though. Strange coincidence all the same...
I'm not sure what it is, but I just didn't feel captivated by the stories. The openings were fine, great even, but they declined from there. I could give you some advice on loops. Loops are basically a question the audience asks, and is then answered by the writer. The only loop really made is 'What happened last night' and 'what was in the closet'. Try and establish the character a bit deeper, and get some more loops going (I really don't know enough about loops to help any more than that.)
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Warning!this post may contain sarcasm, please re-read it in a funny voice The old spoiler was out of control, it had to be stopped.
Group: Director
Posts: 6,347
Type: None
RM Skill: Undisclosed
QUOTE (Sparrowsmith @ Jan 14 2011, 01:27 PM)
I'm not sure what it is, but I just didn't feel captivated by the stories. The openings were fine, great even, but they declined from there. I could give you some advice on loops. Loops are basically a question the audience asks, and is then answered by the writer. The only loop really made is 'What happened last night' and 'what was in the closet'. Try and establish the character a bit deeper, and get some more loops going (I really don't know enough about loops to help any more than that.)
Also note that some loops do not have to be questions. For example, your primary character could say something that implies knowledge that the audience doesn't have, and the secondary character could give some information that explains that missing information without having it be a "questionnaire".
Good advice Sparrowsmith.
Oh, and I didn't remark on any misspellings or grammatical errors because those can always be edited. The real critique is in the "nut" of the writing. ("Nut" is journalist jargon for "pith".)
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Teh Parakeet and Jessica's Stories, Stories from two friends.
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Jan 13 2011, 06:43 PM
