Flash Fiction Contest: Behind the Curtain
Anna Meade (@ruanna3), Fairy Queen, Bride-to-Be, and Agent Provocateur, over at Yearning For Wonderland is running yet another great flash fiction contest. This time Ms. Meade has decided to let out the creepy in honor of the coming All Hallows Eve. The #btcurtain writing contest is simple: 400 words of original fiction (no erotica) about something happening behind the proverbial or literal curtains. Complete rules are here. Contest runs until Oct. 13th! And don’t forget to get Anna’s attention with the tweet of doom… #MOOGHOOHAH
You wanted creepy? You got it…
By J. Whitworth Hazzard
Marla’s heels click-clacked along the sidewalk by her apartment. A light rain drifted in front of the streetlights, casting tiny motes of shadow in the night.
“I can’t believe I forgot my umbrella,” Marla whispered. The passers-by were gone at this hour, and she was alone. Staying late at the office hadn’t solved her problem. If she had the umbrella, she wouldn’t have to watch him tonight.
Marla didn’t know when the old man started watching her from his apartment. He would stand in his window with his lacy black curtains nearly drawn and watch her come and go. To and from work, every day.
He never smiled, or waved, or even pretended that he wasn’t doing exactly what it seemed. He was bold; downright brazen about it now. The first time she smiled at him, trying to be friendly, and gotten nothing but an icy shiver down her spine in return. For the next couple weeks, she alternated between ignoring, scowling, flipped him off, and even yelling underneath his window, “I’m going to call the cops, creep!”
But she didn’t. There’s no law against leering at women on the street, even if that woman was your neighbor.
It didn’t matter how late she got home, he was always there. Spying on her. He would mouth silently; words almost but not quite recognizable. When it was quiet, she could hear his TV, in the apartment above, blaring bible sermons 24/7.
“Don’t let him get to you, Marla.”
She steeled her nerves and looked up into the rain. He was there tonight, black eyes peeking behind the red curtains. She looked away and hurried to the stoop of her building.
Something was different tonight. He seemed taller, and he was—smirking? Marla backed up into the street and looked up, but the old man was gone. The building was dark.
“Mr. Levay?” Marla shouted up at the window. No hint of movement or sound. “Weirdo.”
Marla ran up the stairs to her apartment, miffed that he didn’t have the decency to wait until she was inside. He’d never disappeared like that before. She slammed the door and shed her wet clothes in a trail to the radiator by the window.
She huddled in the soft red velvet curtains, trying to warm up her wet bare skin, and it struck her. “Those weren’t his curtains.”
“They were mine.”
Enjoy and good luck to all the other writers!