All Posts

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.”

—John Steinbeck

Hola! Welcome! Bienvenue! Hope you had a great day yesterday. Let's get into it!

If you are new here, hi! Welcome! We're just doing a wee writing "challenge". Care to join us? Click here to learn more.

Today's Prompt:

You get a text from an unknown number saying “meet me outside now” 

Regina's 15 minutes:

My phone buzzed. It never buzzes. I have the ringer and vibrate function permanently on silent. Mostly because I don’t want to be interrupted when I am doing something important, like writing or sleeping or not answering my phone, but more truthfully because I don’t want to live on another person’s timeline. I do not want to be at anyone’s beck and call. Also, I don’t generally like most people – I don’t trust them not to hurt me, or abandon me, or reject me – so I beat them too it. 

Also, almost everything is overwhelming and a text message coming in can send me spiraling into a state of panic and overwhelm so deep that I crawl into a self soothing cocoon of weed and YouTube shorts for hours – if not days. 

So when my phone buzzed, I didn’t think to panic, I didn’t think to get overwhelmed, I just picked it up thinking, “What the hell?” then stared at the message clear and bright on my screen with utter fascination. 

“Meet me outside. Now.” Caller Unknown. 

“What the fu-” not even my potty mouth could override my people pleasing reaction. Before I could question it, I was pulling open the front door and stepping into the darkness. From beyond the circle of my front porch light, a single ghostly hand lifted into the glow and beckoned me forward. My brain was still in park as I stepped off the front step and moved toward the being I could now see in a long dark cloak, swathed in shadows and perched on the edge of my vision. Phone gripped in my hand I stepped towards the figure and found my voice. 

“Did you send this text? I think you have the wrong -” 

Like a flash, the being moved, wrapping me in their dark cloak and dragging me into the shadows. My breath squeaked out in a panic a heartbeat before its cool hand clamped over my mouth. 

Through the weave of the cloak I could still see the circle of light cast by my twin porch lamps – one with a warm yellow glow, one with a crisp white glare – mis matched lightbulbs that bothered me every time I noticed them, but never enough to remember to fix them. 

I reached up to pull the hand away from my mouth, to fight back, to punch and kick and demand my freedom when the world came apart. 

Beyond the shadows and the weight of the cloak, the night fractured into a hundred pieces. Shadows detached from the darkness and become men with guns drawn, ear pieces and dark uniforms. They surged the house from all sides, kicking in the front door, smashing through the upstairs window, shouting and demanding that I show myself.  

I watched in horror as they filled my hallway, blotting out the lights from the living room through the downstairs window, the bedroom and bathroom through the upstairs windows. I listened as they searched and stormed, rushing from room to room, shoving open doors, tearing things from shelves, up ending my bed and searching the corners before shouts of “Clear. Clear. Clear.” echoed and ricocheted into the night.  

A large man with black smears of paint on his pale cheeks stepped back onto the porch and tipped his head towards the shadows. “She’s not here, sir.” 

From the darkest corner of the night, a voice slick as oil curled, raising the hairs along my arms and making me want to gag and surrender at once. “What do you mean she isn’t here? Where could she be? She has to be here. It is foretold. Search again. Do not disappoint me, my son.” The voice grew louder, sharper clearer as its owner stepped into the weak light of the one white bulb. He was thin, ghostly pale, dressed all in black with round black glasses hiding his eyes, thin lips pursed in displeasure and a bald head tucked into a dark bowler hat. The hat looked so out of place on his head I thought it must be a costume, or maybe a poorly chosen disguise. He turned his head as if listening to the night and I was sure he could see me in the shadows, pressed against the heat of the body at my back, the faceless stranger who still held their fingers firmly against my lips. Then he turned his head away and I saw a flash of white at his throat. A priest’s collar. The symbol should have comforted me. A priest should be a safe place, an ally a guardian, a shepherd. But on this man, it was as comforting as a drawn sword. I shuddered and closed my eyes, sending up prayers to my own God, confident that this man spoke to another deity, one that would not offer his forgiveness so easily. 

The large man on the step bowed slightly to the priest and headed back inside my house, shouting orders. “Look again. Search every inch. Find her.” 

The noise started again. Glass smashing, wood cracking, fabric tearing and I trembled. After an eternity of held breath and terror, the noises slowed then stopped. The crowd of men in their dark uniforms, guns now holstered marched out of the house and stood in formation before the priest. 

“She is not here, sir. We looked everywhere. There is no where she could be hiding in this house.” 

The priest simply shook his head slowly. “I know. You tried.” Then he raised his arm and the tall man’s body crumpled to the ground. The priest turned is back on the fallen man and the tense crowd of uniformed warriors. “I want her found. Don’t disappoint me again.” The priest’s words carried over his shoulder and the team filed into formation, following swiftly behind the priest, their footsteps fading as they blended into the night. The last two men, lifted the fallen body under the arms. His head sagged at an impossible angle from his neck. His chest was still. His eyes blank and staring. He was the first dead body I had ever seen, and he disappeared like the others into the press of the night. 

***

Time’s up! What did you write? Share in the comments, or send me an email. Let’s try again tomorrow! Here’s to the writing challenge!! 

Remember: If you found your way here by some random roll of the dice of fate, join us! Click here to learn more.

See you tomorrow!

With Love,

Snow White and the Wicked Curse: Chapter 1

Snow White and the Vicious Curse: Chapter 2

Snow White and the Seven Thieves: Chapter 3

The final chapter, Snow White and the Poisoned Apple.

Prefer to read the whole story at once? Grab your copy of Snow: The Complete Erotic Series now! All five books are coming soon in Paperback.

Facebook | Instagram |GoodReads |Pinterest|Website | Amazon Author Page

With Love,

Regina Grimm is the author of erotic fairytales, written for the uninhibited readers 18+.

Check out her books:
Snow White and the Wicked Queen: Chapter 1
Snow White and the Vicious Curse: Chapter 2
Snow White and the Seven Thieves: Chapter 3
Snow White and the Poisoned Apple: The Final Chapter

Prefer to read the whole story at once? Grab your copy of Snow: The Complete Erotic Series now! All five books are available now as ebooks and paperbacks. Coming soon in Large Print format!

2nd edition coming 2025!
44 views
Scroll to Top