Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Dangerous 20th Birthday Celebration - Third Challenge

It's time for the third challenge of my Dangerous 20th Birthday Celebration.

For this challenge, you must write a story between 100 and 200 because someone couldn't get their story under 200 words, I am extending the limit to 500 words. Once you've written your story, submit it in the form. This challenge is worth 5 points. You can earn 5 more entries if you post your story in the comments of this post, as well.


1 comment:

Zombie Girrrl said...

With a storm raging outside, and his many cousins roaring downstairs, young Dmitri was exiled, yet again, to his small, third-floor bedroom. It was self-exile, however, and that made it—well, not at all better.
Dmitri sat on his small camp bed, worn and faded bedclothes pulled over his head, eyes focused intently on the paragraph he had now read several times. Finally, he sighed in exasperation and pulled the cotton balls from his ears. There was no way to drown out the ruckus downstairs.
Frustrated, he threw the covers off his sweaty head and his book into the corner. It struck the wall and landed sadly upon its spine, pages flapping weakly back into place. With remorse etched upon his small face, Dmitri rose from his cot and crossed the room. He knelt down and picked up the book, rearranging the pages with care and setting it upon his nightstand, which was nothing more than an over-turned carton.
Suddenly, with a flash and a tremendous rumbling, the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling popped and went dark. Dmitri started, but was not afraid, in fact he quite used to the dark. Judging from the screeching emanating from below, however, the same could not be said for his cousins. Dmitri supposed he could thank his cousins for this one thing, his lack of fear; whenever they would charge up the stairs—as they now were, if the thunderous stomping in the stairwell could be trusted—intent on forcing him to play some rough game, he would merely slip up to the “haunted” attic—as he did now, lit candle in one hand and book in the other—and lie low until bedtime.
Dmitri actually preferred the attic to any other room in the house, one reason being that it was the only place his cousins feared to tread, the other being that it was a splendid, though rather cob-webby, place to explore. It was full of large trunks; piles of moldy, leather-bound books; broken, knobbly furniture; moth-eaten, velvet drapes; and—
“That’s new,” Dmitri observed.
His eyes had fallen upon something less dust-covered, though no less old than all the treasures he had mulled over and dug through before.
It was a large, ornately carved wardrobe, sitting largely and ornately in the only dormer with all its panes still intact.
He edged toward it, racking his brain as to how it had gotten there, and was indeed scared when his candle guttered and went out. Yet he was not in the dark. There was still the flash of distant lightning, but that was not the light he noticed. No, there was a thin, golden sort of light coming from the crack in the door of the wardrobe.
Perhaps against better judgment, Dmitri, who had read about many such instances and had secretly longed for one of his own, opened the door and stepped inside, leaving his dreary house, and his even drearier life, behind him for whatever adventure lay ahead.