literature

Devil's Hour: Chapter ONE

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“Choose a set of three elements and write a story that contains all three of them! 

Extreme challenge: combine three of the elements with one of the other short story ideas on this page.

4. A broken wristwatch, peppermints, and a hug that goes too far.”

The prompt was found here: www.creative-writing-now.com/s…

 

“ONE”

    I looked down at my worn and torn wristwatch—a quarter to 4. They say 3AM is the devil’s hour. But they’re all wrong. 4AM, that’s the time you’re haunted by the devil. The devil in the form of your mind wandering from your simple everyday thoughts to the deep, dark thoughts that make you question your entire existence.

    It was cold out and I started to regret taking a walk instead of a drive. I looked up into the gloomy yet dazzling sky. Then I looked over at the tallest building in front of me. My eyes scanned the windows and lingered on the fourth floor, third window over from the left. 1 building. 4th floor. 3rd window. I would never manage to throw a pebble and have it land on the right window—or any window at that. So I set the pebble I had been fumbling with in my pocket back into the abyss of my purse. I then told myself that I’d come back to this very spot and look into that very window again when I came into the pebble in my chaotic purse once more.

    I took my time walking home, avoiding each crack on the sidewalk. Once I was standing in front of my own apartment building I just laid down on the grass and looked up at the stars. They had shifted from not too long ago. They looked less dull and shined brighter with less city lights to disturb them. That’s kind of what people are like. You don’t really see them until there are less people around, less competition to have the floor, more intimacy. With him, it was always just the two of us. There. 4AM. This is when no matter what I think of, look at, or hear, my mind wanders to him. I was standing outside of his apartment an 15 minutes ago and barely thought of anything. But now, the devil’s hour had hit. All of our memories flooded my brain and my heart flooded with guilt. Every single event rushed in like a tsunami.

    A year ago I was walking from my house to the movie theater. I honestly can’t remember the movie I went to see, but I remember that on my way there I dropped my last peppermint trying to get it out of my purse. I stood there for a good minute and just simply looked down to it, sad. Let me tell you about this peppermint. It’s my favorite peppermint—my favorite candy ever on the planet of Earth. It would be an understatement to say that I liked them more than old people liked them. It’s that peppermint that only old people eat, aside from me. But anyway, this peppermint started everything.

    “Bummer. Here.”

    I looked up, and I really mean up. There was 6 feet 2 inches of sweetness sweeter than my favorite peppermint standing in front of me. My 5 feet 2 inches frame was covered by his.

    “I think I found a new peppermint for me,” I said, grabbing a peppermint from the metal tin he had sitting on the palm of his hand that was outstretched to me.

    “They’re the same ones as the one you dropped,” he chuckled.

    “Thanks,” I managed to say without my cheeks flaring up pink and my ears shining red. He was cute. He was tall and handsome. His hair fell perfectly. His face was precisely shaven. Did I mention tall?

    “No problem,” he said as he put the metal tin back into his pocket. “Didn’t know pretty girls ate those, thought it was just my grandma,” he laughed.

    “… ew,” I giggled and turned to walk away—my movie was starting soon.

    “Excuse me? Ew?” I could imagine his head tilt with confusion and his eyes narrow searching for a reason. Then I wasn’t imagining it. He ran up to me, doing just as I’d imagined. “Watching a movie by yourself?”

    “Yup,” I sharply said as I brushed past him. He kept up.

    “What movie?” he asked.

    “Listen, I’m on a date right now,” I spat out without looking at him. Guys like him are trouble; any guy that knows how to talk to a girl is troublesome. They might seem flattering and calm and seductive but that’s where the problem lies. They can play you. And I’ve been played. Hell, I’ve done the playing. I’m very over that scene. And I was very over that moment in the theater lobby.

    “Well, so am I,” he chuckled. I left it at that, picked up my pace, and he let me go.

    I walked in very early, maybe 20 minutes before the movie began while trailers played quietly. Sitting in the movie theater I picked a seat towards the back; not the very back, that’s too far to see the screen properly, but not close enough that I can’t see the entire screen without moving my head. I sat directly in the middle with exactly half of the screen on each side of my face. I sat in a row without a speaker directly to the sides where I could still hear but wouldn’t be deafened by screams. I love horror movies.

    I situated myself in my seat. I saw a shadow walk towards my row. Please don’t sit next to me, I begged. The dark, lengthy shadow planted his butt into the seat next to mine.

    “Great date.” I turned over and there he was, the man with the peppermints and as the darkness would have me notice, his deep, sultry voice.

    I looked into the empty seat on the other side of him and said “You too.” I turned my head towards the screen again, “so you follow people now? Should I be afraid?”

    “Ha,” he laughed halfheartedly, “I told you, I’m on a date.”

    “Did you get stood up?”

    “Ha, very straightforward aren’t you?” I didn’t reply. “No. I didn’t get stood up. Did you?”

    “No. I took myself on a date night.”

    He readjusted himself in the seat and said “coincidentally, so did I.” I didn’t reply and there was silence between us. We both watched the remainder of the trailers in silence.

    The lights dimmed further and he placed his hand in mine, pushing his fingers though my slim fingers.

    “What are you doing?” I asked, without looking or removing my hand.

    “We’re on dates with ourselves, the least we can have is a hand to hold during a horror movie,” he whispered as he tightened his grip. I then tried to take my hand away from his but he muttered “Shhh, the movie’s starting.” That, it was.

    I felt each jolt go through his body when he was scared. I felt his grip tighten with the growing suspense of the movie. I felt his grip loosen with relief when a character avoided death. I felt the tension of his stiff hand at the sight of blood. I felt it all. 

    The lights grew brighter and the credits played across the screen. Chatter stirred the room and the bodies rustled to the exits. We remained seated.

    “How did you like the movie?” he asked as his gaze finally turned towards me.

    After two hours of holding a stranger's hand, I returned his gaze. “I liked it.” Then I laughed as I tried to say “I see you didn’t like it too much” through my clenched, giggling teeth.

    “What makes you say that? I liked it a lot, actually,” he reasoned.

    “Oh, c’mon, you were terrified.” I continued to laugh.

    “That’s what makes a horror movie good! There’s no point in watching it if it doesn’t give you a good scare.” I didn’t respond because I knew he was right. I let the silence drag. “We’re still holding hands,” he muttered as he lifted our intertwined hands. I pulled my hand away and he just pulled it back into his. “Might as well walk out like this.” So we did.

    We reached the doors of the theater, hand in hand.

    I tried once more to pull my hand away and he pulled back. This time he pulled my entire body into his. My 5’2” body was engulfed by his 6’2” frame. His arms wrapped around my body and his head lingered above my shoulder. He smelled lightly of cologne. His hair brushed my ears. My hands traced his broad back. We breathed in each other’s existence. We felt each other’s warmth. We heard each other’s heartbeat match up to our own. We stayed in that position for a few more moments.

    He barely pulled back before he pressed his lips onto mine. He did it again. And then again. Ashamed, I wanted more. I wanted his lips to linger on mine longer, brushing past one another. Then he did it. He pushed his lips harder onto mine for longer periods of time. His tongue slip past my lips and I used my tongue to slip past his. Only occasionally coming up for air through the gaps of our mouths moving against each other’s, we remained there for a while before moving things to my two bedroom apartment.

    My alarm rang. It was 5AM and the devil had to go. I gathered myself off the ground and I dragged myself into the building, up the stairs, and into bed. 

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