Designated Dumbass (Get Inspired, week 11)
Sometimes, alone and in the dark, you get a reminder that your instincts got on the crazy train a while before civilisation was really a thing.
Right now, I’m feeling a lot like the designated dumbass in any horror movie. Logically, I know this is my garage. I know I’m going to stub my toes on the paint pot in another metre or so. I know the brush on my cheek that just gave me a heart-attack was a spiderweb I never bothered to clean up. And I know the sound of a ragged robe hissing across the floor is the leaves of the maple against the roof outside.
It would help if I’d put the spare bulbs nearer the door. It seems like a hell of a lot further in the dark. And I have no idea what I just put my foot in. There shouldn’t be anything soft and wet in the garage. My skin is crawling. Never mind a torch, my monkey brain wants a crowbar.
I wish that damn maple would give over. Next thing, I’ll be hearing a Black Rider, sniffing for the scent of my life…I wish I hadn’t thought of that.
I still haven’t stubbed my toes. Even at this pace I should’ve hit that paint pot by now. If I reach out to my left, I should feel the tool storage.
…There’s nothing there.
Thank God the side of the car is where I expected it to be. Jumping towards something solid was stupid, but I feel much better with something at my back.
…that maple’s got louder. It sounds like something really big, breathing.
Horror’s an odd genre. Some people find the gory type of horror terrifying, and others find the more psychological type of horror the one that gets their nerves on edge. Personally, I’m firmly in the second category. My imagination does a much better job of filling in the blanks, if blanks are left, whereas there’s really only so many ways you can dismember someone. So I figured I’d take a shot at it. It’s not really a genre I’d try and write a full book in, but I was curious to take it for a test drive.