NYC Midnight 100-Word Challenge

NYCMidnight 2023 (Round 1)

The following is my entry for the NYC Midnight Short Story Competition. The genre, subject, and character were provided to me and I was free to spin it however I saw fit. Please let me know if you can figure out the three items above. #ShortStoryChallenge2023

UPDATE: This story was not selected to move on to Round 2, however, it did receive honorary mention and amazing feedback from the judges.

Sorority Sisters

The world came alive as my heartbeat roared through my ears. The muffled voices in the background slowly began to take form as the piercing ringing faded.

“She’s waking up,” a soft voice rose from the darkness.

“Em, you awake?” said another.

The blurriness faded and my eyes bounced around the room. The walls were covered in translucent plastic sheets, hiding the memories of our home.

“The house,” I began, “why is it covered in….”

“He made our sorority into his own personal kill room,” Brit said. Her voice trembled with every word.

“Kill room?” I asked.

My eyes turned to Brit and a deep heaviness flowed through me. Her head hung towards the floor, as her curly blonde hair partially concealed her cheeks stained with tears. Her arms stretched behind her. Duct tape hugged her ankles, confining her to her chair.

My eyes flashed to Samantha, who suffered the same fate, confined to her own miniature prison.

I stretched out my hands and feet, but they did not move. Instead, the fear of my confinement sunk within my soul.

“What the hell is going on?”

My words were slow and I teetered on the verge of hyperventilating, but I refused to let whoever did this win.

“We don’t know,” Samantha said. Her voice was so somber. I wasn’t used to it from her. “We woke up like this a few minutes ago.”

“We’re all going to die,” Brit whimpered. Her body slowly began to rock back and forth. “We’re all going to die.”

I felt my heart racing and my breath escaped me.

“No one gets out. He doesn’t leave survivors,” she continued.

“Who doesn’t leave survivors? You know who’s doing this?” I asked.

“It’s him,” she whimpered, “it has to be him.”

I turned to Samantha, who sat there, wrinkling her eyebrows. She peered at me and shrugged.

I swallowed and turned back to Brit. A bead of sweat was now running down her brow.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“The guy the cops have been looking for. That one serial killer that’s been terrorizing the city. It was all over the news and social media.”

My mind slowly traced back to a few days ago. I remembered scrolling through pictures of the latest celebrity couple gossip. There was a headline between the make-up tips and the latest Royal Family news.

“Serial Killer Finally Captured by Police; Claims Innocence!”

“Wait…the Make It Killer?” I asked. “I thought they arrested him a few days ago.”

“Not Make it Killer,” Samantha sighed. “The Makeup Killer.”

“Or, as his groupies called him, the Makeup Artist.”

My head flashed to Brit.

“Wait, what? Groupies?” I asked.

“Dahmer. Bundy. They all had groupies,” Samantha said.

Brit continued, “they call him that because the cops always find his victims posing like models. At first, the media said it was makeup, but it turned out to be the victim’s own blood.”

“Oh, crap,” I mumbled.

The vein in my forehead throbbed. I clenched my fists to ease the shaking, but my heart still raced.

Soft whimpers emerged from my left. I turned to find Brit still pressing forward as her tears collided against her thighs.

“I don’t want to die,” she said.

“No, we’ll find a way out,” I said, hoping my external voice would overpower the internal one rattling with fear.

“Wait,” Samantha said, “do you hear that?”

The room went quiet as we listened. Time stood still. The floors of the old Victorian home came alive with creaks, which grew closer and closer until they were mere feet away. Then, silence. Someone was outside in the hall.

The hairs on my neck stood as I peered over at my friends. Brit squeezed her lips together, fighting the tears, while Samantha leaned forward, staring at the door, no doubt hoping it wouldn’t open.

A monstrous bang emerged from the hallway and then an animalistic moan followed. My body trembled as the moans grew closer. When it seemed like it was right outside the door, it stopped and the only sound remaining was the thunderous pounding of our hearts.

The stillness of the moment lingered. Every inch of my being froze. Even my heart clung to its last beat, hoping not to make a sound.

“It’s him. Oh my God, it’s him,” Brit whispered.

“Shut up,” Samantha commanded through gritted teeth. Then, she turned her attention back to the door.

As we waited, the silence continued to blanket our bound bodies. We had to get out of there or we were all dead.

“Think,” I told myself. “Dang it, think!”

My eyes shot up and I quickly turned to Brit. I pressed my back against the chair and slowly leaned back.

She tilted her head towards me, scrunching her eyebrows.

“Let me see,” I said, barely above a whisper. She stared at my lips. “…if I can undo your hands. Then, you can do mine. Okay?”

Her gaze floated between me and the concealed walls. She let out an audible sigh. Her body loosened slightly as her head bobbed up and down.

“Let’s do it. We can do this.”

She shifted to the side, forcing the back of her chair in my direction. With every shift, the floor underneath creaked, causing us to pause, fearing we were heard.

“You’re being too loud; they’ll hear you,” Samantha whispered.

I ignored her and went to work. I hopped up and managed to turn my chair.

“Just a little more,” I whispered.

I scooted closer to her when the unmistakable sound of dragging crept into existence. It was coming closer. The sound stopped right in front of our room and a dark shadow covered the light underneath the door. Someone or something was there.

The doorknob twisted. Fear tore through me. I exhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm myself. The room grew silent once again.

I looked at the faces of my other sorority sisters. Two weeks ago, we were sharing pizza and watching scary movies in the living room.

We laughed at the stupidity of the people. “Run, don't go back in the room. He’s behind the door,” we teased. 

We even joked about how characters in movies weren’t realistic. No sane person would ever get caught up like that.

But now, as we sit in the room, hands and feet bound, we waited. We waited for a miracle, for someone to rescue us and say it was all over. It would all be okay. A single tear rolled down my cheek at the thought.

The door slowly crept open. With every inch it opened, more needles pricked the inside of my skin. The anticipation was murderous itself. My chest tightened as I held my breath, waiting.

A dark figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway. Long, flowing brunette hair. Mesmerizing brown eyes.

“Sharon?” I muttered.

We all gasped at the sight of our friend.

“Quick, get us….” Brit’s voice trailed off as her eyes scanned Sharon’s body. Her Sigma Kappa Alpha t-shirt was soaked in blood. Her hand pressed against her neck as a trickle of a crimson substance oozed out her mouth.

She let out a groan which sounded half man, half beast. Her cough sent a collection of blood and spit to the floor.

Her sunken eyes scanned the room. First, Brit, then me. Every nod of her head seemed like it took all her energy. When she looked at Samantha, her tears flowed.

Samantha’s eyes grew wide as she pressed forward. Sharon began to speak, but instead, she collapsed to the floor. Her body banged against the ground, sending vibrations to my soul.

“Sharon? Sharon?” I called out.

Her body lay motionless. Blood oozed from underneath her as her eyes stared into the abyss. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She was gone.

“We’re going to die. We’re all going to die.”

Brit’s body curled as she sobbed. Her tears poured out, splashing against the covered floor.

I didn’t move. My eyes were fixated on Sharon. I stretched my body towards her, but it was pointless. I was confined to this solitude of grief as my friend lay before me. 

The stillness in my heart was heavy. Every breath hung longer than it should. I sat. I sat waiting for the coldness of this life to end.

“We’re all going to die,” Brit whimpered.

“Would you shut up, Brit? For goodness sake. We get it,” Samantha roared.

The room grew quiet once more. We all seemed to linger in our own thoughts. I looked around. The blood. The walls. Sharon. Everything seemed surreal. I finally spoke.

“No.”

They turned to me. I swallowed and gave one final look at my dear friend’s motionless body.

“We’re not going to die. Not like this.”

I nodded at Brit and surprisingly she nodded back. I scooted my chair over a little more and finally reached her hands.

 My fingers slid between Brit’s hands to create more space between the tape. She quickly jerked her hand up.

“A little more,” she said.

“Come on, we got this,” I said, closing my eyes and imagining I could see my fingers at work.

“I’m almost out. Almost there.”

“Yes, yes!” I cheered.

With one final tug, Brit shot both hands free. She quickly worked to undo her feet.

“Come on, hurry,” I said. I knew every moment we wasted was another moment he might return.

With a few tugs, one of her ankles was freed and then the other. She stood up and quickly began working on mine.

I felt her hands on mine as my arms jerked back. I pushed my palms out, trying to stretch the tape to create more room. We were going to get out.

“Yes, go. Go!” I said.

Suddenly, the movement behind me stopped.

“Brit, come on,” I said. Silence was her only response.

I turned and my jaw dropped. Samantha stood behind Brit with a large butcher’s knife in hand.

“Samantha?” Brit asked.

“Samantha?” I said through trembling lips.

Brit’s eyes went wild. Her hands slowly rose as she leaned back.

“No, wait. Wait.”

The knife sliced through Brit’s neck, sending a dark maroon wave splashing against the covered walls.

My stomach turned as I watched. I stared as my friend dropped to her knees. Her hands fell to her side. Blood gushed down her torso. The horrible sound of gagging reverberated throughout the room. It broke my heart.

Samantha stood over Brit’s body. She leaned back with closed eyes and seemed to take in the moment. She exhaled as a haunting smile crossed her lips.

“Samantha?” I said, “but…but, you’re one of us.”

“Us? Us?” Samantha started. “No, I’m not. I was never one of you,” she said, pointing the knife at me.

“What are you talking about? We loved you like….”

“Like what, Em? A sister? No. You didn’t love me. But you know who really loved me?”

She tapped the knife to her chest and then pointed it back at me. “Who loved me for me?”

Every nerve in my body shook. The tears poured over me. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t do anything.

“He loved me,” Samantha continued.

With a shaking voice, I asked, “who?”

“Jerome!” Her haunting voice chilled the air. “And he truly is an artist.” Her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she closed them and smiled.

“He loved me for me. Despite my imperfections, he loved me just the way I am.” She dragged out her last few words. “And after the news finds out the murders haven’t stopped, they’ll let him out, and we’ll finally be able to be together again.”

She crouched and dipped her index finger into the blood pooling at her feet. I cringed as she gently rubbed it against Brit’s motionless lips.

“Samantha?”

My voice was barely audible above the trembling of my lips. She slowly walked back towards me and leaned forward.

“Yes, Em?” Her voice was calm, which scared me even more.

“My hands are free.”

Her eyes bulged as I grabbed the back of her head and brought it to mine, colliding as hard as I could. She fell back to the floor, sending the knife rolling to the corner.

The pain was instant. My hands wrapped around my temples, but the pain had to wait. I quickly loosened the tape around my ankles and was on my feet.

By that time, Samantha was standing up as well. Blood trickled down her face.

“You, bitch,” she roared while pitching her nose. “You broke my freaking nose.”

We both glanced at the knife and hurled our bodies toward it.

Our bodies collided through a fury of fists and elbows. Her fist slammed against my temple, sending shockwaves to my brain. I returned the favor with a solid elbow to her side.

She grabbed the knife and quickly slashed in my direction. A pain shot through my body, but I pressed on.

I wrapped my hands around hers as our bodies performed a synchronized dance. She pulled and I pushed. Our bodies rolled on top of each other, neither of us getting the upper hand for long.

The knife slashed through the air, peeling flesh from bone. Blood spray painted the plastic wall covering as shrieks of pain roared from our lips until the knife finally found a new home.

Her eyes narrowed. Her lips opened as if to speak but no words emerged. She stared into my eyes as she grasped her new reality.

“No,” she mumbled, shaking her head as if waving away the outcome. Her words grew slow, jumbled.

“But, I…no…no,” she whimpered.

She stared into my eyes and I stared into hers. My heart broke for her. She was once my friend, someone I could have confided in and often did. She was good to me and despite what she thought…

“I did love you,” I whispered.

Her eyes grew still. The flame inside her dwindled. There was no more light in her eyes. She was gone.

I stood but my legs wobbled on the brink of collapsing, so I used the wall as a supportive friend. I looked back and stared at Brit. Then, I walked to the door and prayed a sweet farewell to Sharon.

I turned the corner, walking into the dimly lit hallway. Every step felt heavy, consuming more energy than necessary. My breathing grew labored as fatigue set in.

A sharp pain surged through my side. I pressed my hand to the source of such pain, feeling the moist reminder of that night. I swallowed, one step and then another.

The pain was like an endless river. It flowed over my existence until I could no longer walk. I dropped to my knees. My lungs tightened, forcing blood to spurt out of my mouth. The world grew dark as my reality soon faded into an endless slumber. I collapsed and embraced the sweet serenity of death. I was finally free.