Finish This
:::skritch, scratch:::
:::skritch, scratch:::
The incessant but intermittent nature of the sound made it impossible to ignore. "Damn," she thought, the pressure from promises made and deadlines approaching making her loathe to investigate the origin of the noise.
:::skritch, scratch:::
"That's it," she muttered, pushing away from the keyboard and clutching her robe more closely about her. Impatiently she strode through the house to the back door, intent on a spot just behind the garden window. Flipping on the deck light, she half-expected a raccoon or other pest to be momentarily frozen by the sudden beam of light, eyes yellowed in reflection. Instead, nothing. She poked around a bit, and, satisfied that whatever it was had gone, returned inside to work. No more had she settled back into a rhythym than :::skritch, scratch::: the sound came again.
***
***
What happens next in 8 sentences or less? A modest prize to the author of the ending I like best. Ready? GO!
posted by eclectic @ 9:38 PM
24 comments
24 Comments:
You borrowed Jack for sqrrrl removal?! I wondered why he was so quiet this morning. Well, send him back whenever he's become annoying.
::skritch, scratch:::
Ah, yes. The Tell-Tale Fingernail. It's a classic. I love Poe.
But seriously:
Again she pshed the keyboard away and made her way to the back door. Again, looking out, she saw nothing. Just as she was about the give up, however, a funny shadow on the ground caught her eye. It had never occurred to her to look up and, when she did, everything suddenly made sense. There, hovering near the roof, was a pterodactyl with a leather saddle strapped to its back. She knew she had to go, but her deadlines gave her pause. Plus, she really hated the pterodactyl. He was a jerk and he owed her twenty dollars.
Hello, shari.
How can any ending compete with scott's? It's perfect.
Hmmmm....I think I'll have to come back. I have naughty lesbian stories going through my mind right now.;)
Angie
...the sound came again.
"Two can play this game Motherf*****!" she raged. She shattered her empty bottle of Cuervo over her head and began to scratch the jagged edges against the wall.
:::SCREEYATCHHH! SCREEYOOTCH!::
HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?!
Suddenly, the area where she was scratching broke loose, revealing an entire civilization of carpenter ants at war with an entire civilization of bald face hornets. And she could finally relax, because now she had solved the mystery of the noise. She smiled and sat back down, finished her post, and made a mental note to pushpin a poster of Steve Perry over the hole in the wall before her husband returned.
This time, however, the sound was followed by a voice. Startled, she froze with her hands poised above the keyboard. Her mouth fell open for a moment, then as she felt the familiarity of the voice descend upon her soul, her face broke into a smile. She felt she would burst with love when the sound came again - not skritch scratch, skritch scratch - but "Get back, get back."
Unconcerned by any possible meanings the words may have held, she focused on the voice as she made her way back out to the deck in joyful pursuit. She stepped outside and pulled the backdoor partly closed behind her as her office and the entire front of her house exploded with the sound of eighteen screeching wheels. As she huddled down on the deck amid debris and the smell of burning diesel, she knew she need not shout to be heard over the roar of destruction. She whispered, "Thank you, Grandma."
Wow. All these elaborate stories. I was just thinking you accidentally sat on the cat and she was trying to scratch her way out from under your butt.
Oh, wait, is that what Angie means by the "naughty lesbian stories"?
Damn you Eclectic! I'm too tired right now to think of what happens next... unless you accidentally locked one of your kids in the closet or something...
AH! That's it! There's a kitty cat in the pantry!
See, now I'm regretting not having more to drink at dinner... I could have totally come up with something good if I had just one more Bahama Mama...
ARgh i got nothin but squirrels and rats and gerbils on the brain.
Scott's is the best, anyway.
Funny, I thought of both Scott and Brandon for the endings of this story. Scott, with his Chuck and Brandon with his tequila. Perhaps the ending of the story is that it's Chuck in her backyard, drunk on tequila.
*Oh great, she's started this and now she'd like on some cabin/boating/running/mountian climbing retreat and it'll never be finished and I can't even hold my breath for longer than...longer than....*
"Goddamn 7 year itch" she muttered. Getting up from her desk, she drained the last of her margarita and, letting her robe fall to the floor, walked out the door.
I got nuttin'.
Hi Shari!
I have been thinking and thinking and still I have nothing. Sigh . . . I'll be back.
I respond to those sounds every day: it’s Alex, my 4-legged, meowing master, demanding to be let back into my—I mean HIS—house.
??
WTH?
I go away for two days and come back and this post is STILL up?!
GOOD GOD WOMAN! I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!
??
WTH?
I go away for two days and come back and this post is STILL up?!
GOOD GOD WOMAN! I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!
Tee @ bonemachine.
Crikey, eclectic. Come back to us!
Do y'all spose she's been kidnapped by aliens offa one of them mountain tops she frequents?
Shari, Why didn't you let me in? I was too fatigued to knock, all I had was energy to :::skritch, scratch::: So I just had to come back home.
*stretches crime scene tape across blog gates*
C'mon girl.....give it up already!;)
Angie
Fun. I was all "who's this Ducklet, he's hi-larious." Shoulda known. Just don't get out much these days. People change their names . . .
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