Golly, but this prompt opened up a whole wide world to me – so many thoughts and possible stories. I’ve spent the day thinking about ‘fear’ and have come up, or am about to come up with, this… Let me know what you think (or else —— are you scared yet?)
The blank laptop screen reflected the blankness clearly visible in John’s face. It was the early evening and the light was fading as he stared at the screen. He felt as if he were fading with the light of the day. It was if his mind had been erased. No ideas were forthcoming. ‘This is it’ he thought, ‘End of the line’.
For the next five minutes he continued to stare at the blank screen. still nothing came into his head. Gradually the fear took over – would he ever be able to write again? The blank screen scared him, his blank mind scared him. His toes curled at the thought of not being able to write. His stomach shrivelled and cramped, his hands felt paralysed as they sat on the keyboard, his chest started to ache and still his mind remained blank. His mouth was dry and his mind drier.
“Brrrringggg” the phone rang jarring his nerves even more.
Reaching for the receiver John pushed the button to answer, slightly relieved that something had broken his torpor.
“Hello?” He said to what sounded like an empty earpiece. “Hello, can I help you?”
With his ear pressed close to the receiver he thought he heard someone say “Help” but couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t just his voice echoing back at him.
‘I bet it’s a cold call from yet another mobile phone company’ he thought to himself. “Hello. Is there anyone there?”
He waited. The phone sounded dead. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he thought, and moved to hang up.
“Help,” said a faint voice again.
“Oh my God, is there someone there?” John’s heart started beating faster. His torpor was well and truly broken. The fear had shifted from John’s lack of writing to the disembodied voice on the phone. “Who is this? What do you want?” John’s breath was now coming faster as in his mind’s eye he tried to imagine who was at the other end.
“John, help,” the voice whispered into his ear. “John, help me.”
John froze. His number having been called was no accident. The person at the other end knew his name. It had to be someone he knew. Someone he knew that was, at the very least, in danger. At worst whoever it may be was …well, he didn’t want to start to imagine. But poor John was cursed. He was a writer with a writer’s imagination and his mind was flicking through possible scenarios as remembered from all those horror films he had seen.
“Who is it? where are you? How can I help? Oh my God tell me, tell me, ” John almost shouted down the phone.
“John. Help. Cabin,Help ” the voice on the other end of the line pleaded in an almost breathless before a scream rent the air and the line once and for all went dead.