tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post7607987082816647657..comments2023-12-06T00:48:23.734-08:00Comments on Daily Writing Practice: Monday October 20th, 2014Marchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-50794317778231960182014-10-30T02:00:15.313-07:002014-10-30T02:00:15.313-07:00Greg - yup, exactly. Wait, three what now? :P
Ah,...Greg - yup, exactly. Wait, three what now? :P<br /><br />Ah, the master of horror strikes again. Some seriously fantastic details in this one work to really bring a sense of reality to it.<br /><br />Which, of course, serves to make it all the scarier.Marchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-52831187132807664812014-10-21T08:57:15.625-07:002014-10-21T08:57:15.625-07:00One step at a time... two posts a day... three mur...<br />One step at a time... two posts a day... three murders before lunch....<br />I can't quite work out if you missed nap time today, or Max was just made to go back to sleep until you'd finished your nap too!<br />I'm over in Porto again for a few days, seeing my team here and generally having more meetings (I'm starting to think that office workers subsist on meetings and coffee, with Excel thrown in for light entertainment). It's 29C, which is just ridiculous.<br />Hmm, that's quite some garden neglect your narrator has going on there! I love the fact that the front yard is quite possibly worse than the back, and find myself agreeing with his assessment of acceptable collateral damage. I think he should just man up though, and go out there and rip the grass up bare-handed and by the roots :)<br /><br /><b>Camouflage</b><br />Soft whispers drifted across the expanse of the kitchen to where he was leaning against the counter, a fresh cup of coffee half-way to his lips and the Aeropress stood neatly in the sink. He looked round, lowering the cup as he did so, and saw exactly what he expected: nothing. The kitchen was empty apart from him, and all the way across was deserted until his gaze reached the wall.<br />The wallpaper seemed to blur momentarily when he looked at it, and then settled down again. He shivered involuntarily, a feeling like tiny cold footsteps walking down his spine, and then lifted his cup and drank. The coffee tasted suddenly bitter.<br />The whispers came again, this time from the corner where the mop was propped against the wall. He refused to look; the things that were whispering were masters of camouflage, and all he'd see would be the blur, almost like your eyes were tired, before they moved again. And then started whispering when they thought they weren't being observed.<br />He could almost make out the words as well; he definitely caught his own name being used a few times. They didn't sound angry, but the tone was... retributive.<br />The whispering stopped, and he realised that someone had come into the room. He looked up, just in time to see his wife disappear in a blur of motion, fading away into the wall.<br />The whispering started again.<br />Greghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08503319830584828982noreply@blogger.com