Open Floor > Weekly Contest

Week 20 something paragraph contest.

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ponytail:
Don't know how many weeks we've done this for sure! I really enjoy writing and reading everyone's paragraphs, I'm so glad we are still doing this. With that said, here is the new sentence:

Scritch, scratch...it was just a faint sound, but oddly disturbing.

LindaM:

Scritch, scratch...it was just a faint sound, but oddly disturbing.  I couldn't quite determine where it was.  Sitting in a classroom building but no where near a classroom, it couldn't be chalk on a chalkboard could it?  No -- we only have white erase board markers.  Scritch, scratch!  There it goes again!  I know it is an old building but it couldn't be mice.  We have never had those, have we.  I can't take it anymore.  I get up from my desk and go to the hall.  There are 20 students coming down the hall with a game.  And the noise the game makes:  scritch, scratch as they pass the device down the row of students.

trouble405:
Scritch, scratch...it was just a faint sound, but oddly disturbing. Amanda sat up straight and muted the television.  She had put the Miller children to bed over an hour before and was watching TV waiting for the parents to return home from an evening of dinner and dancing.  She listened intently and heard it again!  Scritch, scratch.  What was that sound?  And from where was it coming?  Amanda quietly looked in on both children to confirm they were still sleeping soundly. As she neared the door to the basement, the sound got a little louder.  Yes, it was definitely coming from that area. Scritch, scratch  -- Scritch, scratch.  Her hand trembled as she reached for the glass door knob.  Her heart was pounding.  At that moment she heard a tiny muffled meow. Then she heard more tiny sounds.  As she opened the basement door she saw them.  Newborn kittens!!! The Miller's sweet basement mouser had babies!!! 

Snowbird:
Scritch, scratch...it was just a faint sound, but oddly disturbing.  It was the second time she heard the noise, but the first time it only lasted a moment.  Now it had continued for at least ten minutes and it seemed to be coming from the basement.  It couldn't be him.  She had felt his pulse before she closed up the wall in the little room in the corner.  She had not been strong enough to dig a hole in the hard dirt to bury him since he had deprived her of enough food to sustain her strength.  If ever there had been a man worth killing it was her husband Herman.  He was an evil man, keeping her locked up with little food when he was away and keeping her chained to him when he was home.  She crept down into the dark, damp basement and walked to the wall that hid his body.  The scratching was louder.  "Herman, is that you?" she asked.  "Please let me out of here. Paula, I'm hungry.  I promise you I'll be better if you will just take down this wall." he said in a weakened whisper she could barely understand.  "I thought you were dead," she told him.  "But maybe it is better that you aren't.  Now you can die slowly and I think I will enjoy listening to your desperate scratching as long as it last."   

Outlast:
Scritch, scratch...it was just a faint sound, but oddly disturbing. On the whole, she had to admit that spending a night in a haunted house hadn't been her best idea ever. She probably would've been better off tackling her anxiety issues the old fashioned way... with drugs. Anyway sleep clearly wasn't in the cards so she switched on her flashlight, the one source of light she'd been issued and re-opened the glossy brochure she'd gotten in the mail, 'Are you scared of the dark?' it asked, accompanied by a cartoon of a terrified child huddling under its bed sheets, 'Come to Murder Manner and conquer your fears and anxieties...' Right, she muttered, and gain a whole set of fun new nightmares while you're at it. She read on about the man who'd abused and starved his wife until she'd suddenly snapped and walled him up alive behind a brick wall in their basement and how she'd sit down there knitting in time to his faint scritch scratch scritch...when suddenly her batteries started to fail. The bright light went dim and then out and the disturbing scratching sound returned, this time louder and more distinct. Scritch, scratch... scritch, scratch... scritch, scratch... the sounds were as regular as clockwork as they echoed down the dark halls. She hoped it was just a recording the tour guides piped through to keep the scare seekers happy. But a recording couldn't explain the warm breath she was suddenly feeling on her neck and she could swear the scratching was now mixed with the click clack click of knitting needles...


 :-\

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