Writing 101, Day Four: The Serial, That Day in the Woods, pt 1…
Today, write about a loss. The twist: make this the first post in a three-post series.
“Beth what are you doin’ here?” demanded the muffled voice of Greg the Constable. He pulled off his helmet revealing a concerned, clean shaven face topped with the ever present buzz cut.
“Just doing my rounds,” I nodded to Blue, my horse, as proof. “This is the last cabin to check and I’m done.”
“Shouldn’t you have finished days ago?” He said in a slightly accusing manner.
“What’s with the attitude?” My eyebrows raised in surprise. “And what’s up with that?” I added, waggling my finger at the bullet proof vest he wore.
“It’s none of your concern,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder at the trees behind him, as if he were expecting someone. He looked back at me and the shack “You should go home.”
“Why?” Not moving from my spot in the open doorway. “Meeting someone? A little tryst perhaps?”
“Seriously, you should go.” A faint smile showed.
“Oh come on tell me what’s going on. We’re in the middle of the bush, I haven’t seen anyone but you and I don’t think anyone’s in there.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder at the dimly lit shack. “What’s the deal?”
“God you’re annoyin’ sometimes,” Heaving a sigh he got off the four-wheeler. “Fine. You know that scruffy guy that comes into town sometimes?”
I nodded. There was a soft creak of a floor board behind me. A shiver went down my spine.
“His name is Frederick Alan Speller, or so I have been informed, he is suspected in a rash of murders a couple of years back in Vancouver,” He took his gun from his hip. “And Beth? You really should move, someone IS in there.”
Before I could react I was grabbed from behind. One arm clamped around me and the other pressed a knife to my neck. I struggled ineffectually and stopped when the knife was dug in a little more. I couldn’t remember ever learning what do to in a ‘knife at the throat’ scenario.
“Don’t come any closer” the man growled at Greg.
“Um, let me go?” I asked hopefully, clutching at his knife arm with my free hand.
“Come on Mr. Speller, you don’t want to make things worse for yourself.”