Writing Prompt- Trapdoor

This story was written during one of our sessions based on a writing prompt. I’m not exactly happy with the ending, it feels a bit rushed, but here is the story nonetheless. Disclaimer: A bit graphic, but nothing too intense.

The tail lights of the taxi disappeared into the fog, leaving the twilight moon as the only source of illumination. I had know idea who I was, only that I felt drawn to this place and needed to find answers. The house loomed in front of me, but calling it a house would be an understatement- it was more akin to a mansion, rising up into the night sky, obscured by thick fog. Pulling the iron key out of my pocket I walked along the footpath to the iron door. Despite the eeriness of the mansion, the pathway clear, the grass recently cleared, probably the work of a machete rather than a mower. I turned the key and pushed the iron door open. Darkness greeted me as a I entered the house, so I pulled out a torch. The light flickered a few seconds before the warm globe of the bulb filled me with relief. The air was stale in here, but disturbed. I felt a presence in the room, somewhere in this darkness there was life.

I heard a bumping from underneath me, the sound of wood creaking breaking up the serene silence. I shine my torch downwards and gazed at what lay in front of me- a wooden trapdoor. I heard a muffled groan, too soft to determine the speaker. I heaved with all my strength, my muscles aching with the effort, but at last the trapdoor gave way and it burst open. “HELP,” the voice screamed, this time louder and clearer- the pitch indicating it was likely a woman.

I shone my flashlight down and yelled loudly
“Don’t worry, I’m here to help you!” I said, slowly descending into that musky cellar.
“Oh thank God, he’s had me down here all week, I don’t know why, help me help me please…”
She stopped suddenly when she saw my face-
“No please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. I won’t try anything. Please don’t make me do it again. Please I’ll do anything…”
She sobbed loudly, bawling out tears, shaking uncontrollably.
“Hey don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. I’ll get you out-”
“Is this some kind of sick test? You pretend to be my friend then subject me to whatever sick pleasures you desire.”
Her tone shifted completely as she yelled out the next sentence,
“Let me go I’m not your plaything, you sex maniac. I know what you’re going to do to me.”

I backed away slowly, bumping into a shelf and a scrapbook fell to the floor. I pried it open and looked at it completely confused. It showed photos of her, naked, oppressed, tied up and forced to perform bizarre acts. I would have turned away disgusted, if not for what else I saw in the photos. It was me, smiling deviously, holding various objects designed to humiliate her. I tore my eyes from the photos confused. And then I remembered who I was before I arrived at the house.

I was Jack Walker, kidnapper, sex offender, prison escapee and I was back.


4 thoughts on “Writing Prompt- Trapdoor”

  1. Bernard, I have a lot of respect for you – being able to whip this up in a short time in response to an unseen prompt. You drew me in from the atmospheric first paragraph.


    1. Thanks Ms Sheko,
      I’m glad you enjoyed it. I feel like this writing prompt inspired me a lot, and you can thank Darsh for creating it and running such a great session on Friday!


  2. A truly well-written piece with a macabre premise that isn’t overdone, the ambience here is enigmatic and intriguing. That being said though, there are moments in which the writing delves more into “telling” than actually showing, particularly during the dialogue and description of the mansion. However, that is most likely due to time constraints and you should be proud nonetheless. Hope to see more!


    1. Thank you for your kind words!
      I agree wholeheartedly with your statements, there definitely is too much telling in some parts, and I’ll keep an eye on that for future pieces, and I greatly appreciate the constructive criticism.


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