VISUAL PROMPT

by Sans @ DeviantArt

Write a thriller or horror story based on this image.

The Scroll Thief Pt. 1

The jolting torchlight illuminates the dead grasses beneath the pounding of my bare feet until the marshy forest floor resembles the hellfire I feel on my heels.


Every frantic pounding step away from where the heat and I had previously resided rips my heart and nightdress into tatters.


โ€œThis is just so typical,โ€ I scoff into the endless obsidian of night.


Iโ€™ll be the first to admit Iโ€™ve never been good at following instructions.


โ€œMaybe people are just bad at giving them,โ€ I reason aloud to no one.


In a mocking voice, I repeat the directive, โ€œGo to the tower and retrieve the scroll,โ€ in full narration of my short descent into madness.


My ankle snares in a particularly testy vine that incurs my wrath in the form of conversation.


โ€œAnd what did I find in that tower?โ€ I ask it sarcastically.


The vineโ€™s silence speaks volumes.


โ€œThatโ€™s right!โ€ I whisper shout at it, โ€œA library. Scroll city! Thatโ€™s what it was.โ€


Although my hapless captor seems to shrivel a bit under my ire, it continues to have nothing to say for itself. I yank my foot out of its grasp in disgrace, take a step forward, only to spin back around on my heel.


โ€œAnd another thing!โ€ I start with an accusing point down at the regretful growth. Itโ€™s saved by the sudden and unwelcome sound of hounds baying over the steep hill I just crested.


An unmistakable sign that theyโ€™ve picked up a trail. I hope itโ€™s not mine, but then that would almost be worse.

It would mean Iโ€™m not out here alone.


Iโ€™d never put much thought into the purpose of cursing until now, but itโ€™s only those words that seem capable of coming out.


Pointing a threatening finger at the weed once more, I then recover my path, but I swear I hear a breath of relief at my back.


My journey is obviously unplanned and entirely horrifying. I laugh a little madly as I continue it, only able to perceive about a five foot radius around my fading light while being forced to clear nearly that same distance with every panicked stride.


Iโ€™m not one for stealth with my clanking lantern, pounding feet, & swish of my skirts pretty much clearing a path for my pursuers, one that I wish I had.


The dogs decide to take that moment to send up a resounding howl.

Oh yes, thank you.

Thatโ€™s what I was missing in my harmony of horror.


Itโ€™s like, I get it.

You donโ€™t like sharing your fancy hidden library full of endless shelves of scrolls that Iโ€™ve been secretly reading for over a week in order to find the one of most apparent importance.


No need to be so dramatic about it.


Did they find me asleep in their childโ€™s bed tonight?

Maybe.

But the kid passed away decades ago.

Move on!


Alright, thatโ€™s mean.

Not โ€˜release the houndsโ€™ mean, but itโ€™s unlike me.


Maybe Iโ€™m a bit more sleep deprived than Iโ€™d like to admit. This becomes even more evident when the abyss Iโ€™ve been sprinting into alights ahead in a green glow, casting treacherous trees into silhouette but illuminating a blessed clearing beyond them.


โ€œYou know what?โ€ I proclaim breathlessly as I barrel towards the ominous luminance and into the unknown ahead. โ€œIโ€™ll take it.โ€

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