Sta.sh
Georgia had exhausted the hinges of her closet, jolting as she opened to a vacancy and bolting it shut; but, it wasn't enough to imprison the monster there, as she'd tremble into bed and watch the darkness swell between the folding doors. She would cry and twist in soiled sheets until the creature would slink back in.
Ten years ago, the doctor prescribed Georgia unnecessary medications, and Georgia promptly flushed them down the drain. She lost herself that long ago and had grown spindly from hiding. No one would find her in this house in this forest in this little cover in her little world. No one, but sometimes she would hear her husband knocking on the windows.
"Georgia," he would coo. "Georgia."
"Save me," Georgia wrote in painful letters to long-dead friends. The ink bled like her throat when she screamed or her arms when cried too much while cutting through her dirty clothes.
"Why am I alive?"
***
"I dare you to go into that old woman Georgia's house, Buddy," Mack said while turning his flashlight off. "I dare you, come on."
"I don't want to."
"Baby."
"I'm not a baby, Mack! I'm ten years old."
Mack pulled Buddy along and took a paperclip from his jeans pocket.
"You'll see how it's done."
Cleverly and smoothly, Mack turned the knob and opened the rotting door. As they tiptoed in, their nostrils burned at the stench of soured flesh.
"What is that smell, Mack?"
"Hell if I know." but the boys tripped on Georgia, who died ten years too late in a wrinkled mess and tattered clothes. Mack turned the flashlight back on and dropped it in a panic. Trembling, he fled the room as Buddy stared into Georgia's glass eyes in the harsh, isolated light.
Buddy bent down and pushed Georgia's thinned white hair back and said, "You were in a lot pain, weren't you?" and the closet door began to open with a tired creak. But Buddy was unafraid. Something in this house strengthened him, and he walked quietly towards the closet door.
A dozen green eyed creatures, washing the blood off their paws.
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The first sentence is a mess. Forgive me for being blunt, but I have been a professional writer for thirty years. The hard truth is that many editors go no further than the first paragraph, some no more than the first sentence. I am always fretting and rewriting my first sentences. It's a lot of work, but who ever said that being a writer is easy?
I like the idea of Georgia retreating to a house in the forest. The sparse description allows thew reader to create their own picture in their mind. This has a dark fairy tale element to it. At first one wonders if the cottage is real or the invention of her tortured mind.
No, the ending is excellent! Don't change a word!
You have a great imagination. Work hard on those first sentences. Please send me a note to let me know when you post again. I'd love to see more!
Hmm. A nice description toward the end would be nice, of what actually occurs in some vague sense. (Maybe use metaphors to disguise what's happening?)
Otherwise it's interesting but doesn't really give the reader anything. We know that somehow Georgia is involved, but we don't actually see her really do anything in the end, other than appear on the floor. Is she the reason behind it? Or is she just there as background noise to try and tie in the green eyed creepers. I don't know.
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