Black Sheep

As he eyed the marks on the door, where it looked like a bolt had been, a thorn scratched Reggie’s hand, forming a painful, bloody mark across his black and white rose tattoo. He was wary of the desolate cabin, which was now becoming quite eerie. With only his phone torch to lead him in, he sluggishly walked towards one of the two windows. He wiped his fleece sleeve over the thick, mossy coating, allowing him to look inside.

He scanned his torch around the abandoned room. The discoloured cream walls were laid bare and the floor was damp from rain. The cabin was practically empty and unfurnished. He saw that a few bits of paper were scattered around, along with a small white baby’s boot. He feared the long, dark lines on the floor, which looked as if something had been dragged violently across it. An aged, golden frame, positioned on an angle, was the only thing that hung on the back wall. A black and white portrait of a stern elderly woman was placed comfortably inside. She wore a shirt and glasses that positioned themselves perfectly on the edge of her nose. Her white hair was forced back into a tight bun and her thin eyebrows were pointed. Reggie noticed her lips were poised and resembled a smirk. It intrigued him to go in, but his rumbling stomach told him otherwise.

As he began to walk away from the creepy cabin, the door blew open and hit the wall with a bang. Reggie retraced his steps back towards the building, cautious of making any noise. He didn’t want to scare away whatever was lurking. He reached for the handle of the open door. It was freezing cold, he shivered. The unnerving doorway was low and he had to duck to enter. Reggie wiped his sweaty, blood stained hand on his navy trousers, forgetting that he needed them tomorrow. It was getting darker and the wind had started playing music with the overgrown bushes. Whistles, rustles and whispers shook the cabin, making Reggie shudder. He did not realise he was afraid, until the rain thumped upon the feeble roof. His mind had begun to play tricks and he was swarmed with noises, footsteps, voices… He could no longer hear his own thoughts. The breeze circled around him, making the goose bumps stand strong on his arm. A huge gust of wind pushed Reggie further inside. It slammed the door behind him, creating a cliché creak. The cabin shook so hard that the portrait at the back of the room slid off the wall and smashed onto the floor, splintering glass everywhere. Whistles, rustles and creaks surrounded the cabin, closing in on Reggie. He gripped his torch and walked over to the fallen portrait. The glass crunched under his feet, as he went to pick up the frame. It had snapped in one corner. Dripping wet and smudged, the smirk seemed less superior and the eyes seemed less stern. He noticed behind the image, clung a smaller piece of paper. He peeled it off the back and flashed his torch at the smudged words.

This is an extract from the piece I submitted for my module, Writing Fiction Workshop. It is a thrilling short story about a man who has always felt like an outsider. I am proud of this piece and I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!!!

J xo

 

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