30 Days of Writing Horror

Day 1: Find The Darkness In These 3 Props- A broken tea cup, an old painting, a locked door. (From: The Prompt Writer)

A broken tea cup – Susie sat the tray softly on the pink table, nodding to her guests the stuffed brown bear and tattered old toy rabbit sitting neatly in their plastic chairs. The girl with perfect golden curls smiled wide as she poured the imaginary tea in tiny yellow tea cups, happy that her guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Suddenly, Susie jumped, “The cookies!” she chirped. A twisted yet sweet look came across her soft face, she was upset with herself that she had forgotten the small treats her mother had set on the kitchen counter before she left for work. The girl leaped and headed out of her bedroom, now excited at the idea of snacking on her mother’s expensive cookies. Susie slowly galloped back into the room now back in her jovial mood, the smile wide once more. When she reached down to place a cookie in front of each of her stuffed friends she picked up a small shard of something yellow. A perplexed look came across her face as she picked up the rest of the broken tea cup, she glanced at her guests and something was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what.

An old painting -The eyes, they are what grab you first. They pull you in even when you don’t look directly at them. There is something hidden in there, something unknowable and enthralling. No one can fully explain what it is, why they are on edge when they look into those painted green orbs, but a chill comes over them. It isn’t those perfectly shaped almonds that keep you looking, keep you too scared to look away, no that honor is left to the smile. A pair of slightly parted lips, but no happiness,  no joy livens that smile,  something else lies behind it. Like those lips know some terrible secret that they wish they could divulge, but which they will never tell. A secret about death, about pain, about fear.

A locked door – My grandmother always told me not to ask about the door. But of course I would ask why, why can I not ask? She would only say that it was never to be opened, in fact there was no way to open it. But you have lived here for your entire life, I would say. She would again just say that I am not to ask questions, just forget about it. But how could she really expect me not to keep wondering, not keep asking about that door. If she had never told me about it, never told me not to ask about it I am sure I would have just walked past it, never noticing. Never seeing the splintered wood, the chipping paint, the scratches under the door. I would spend days thinking about what made those scratches, maybe a cat trying to fit under the door, maybe someone had lost something behind it and scratched the floor trying to get it back. For hours I would look into the key hole just hoping to get a glimpse of something that would explain why I wasn’t even supposed to ask about that stupid door. Once I thought I saw something move inside, something flew across the room, but it must have been a bird.