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Restful Weekend
By Dorothy Hamm, Margie Swanson, and Dawn Hawkins
© 2003
This was a writing exercise in which several WOW members contributed sections. Any WOW member may start an exercise and or contribute to an exercise. Each writer retains all rights to her writing should she wish to use it elsewhere at any time.
Dorothy wrote:
Marsha could hear the phone was ringing as she struggled to unlock the door without actually making eye contact with the lock, her view blocked with two large packages. Ah, finally, key and lock connect just as the phone stopped ringing. Oh well, they will call back if it is important, she was thinking as she turned the knob to open the door.
But something was wrong, the door didn't budge. Marsha shoved against it with her shoulder and then kicked it with her foot leaving a dark streak on the red paint. She managed to open it a couple of inches but something inside seemed to be pushing back.
"What in the...," Marsha muttered in exasperation. She lived alone and did not have any pets.
It had been just an absolutely horrible day. No, it had been a horrible week. She was looking forward to a quiet weekend curled up in jammies and fuzzy slippers reading a book or watching old movies, sipping hot chocolate and doing nothing.
Placing her packages on the floor of the hallway she gave the door one last push, putting all her weight into it.
"Oh no," she cried in disbelief when she finally managed to wrench the door open. The quiet weekend she'd planned was not to be.
Margie wrote:
The packages hit the floor with a thump and a can of crushed pineapple made its escape across the hall coming to a stop in front of apartment #214. Where a young newly wed couple lived. They were always full of smiles and comments about the weather.
Entering the apartment, Marsha chose her path carefully as she made her way past the initial resistance found at the door. Her first thoughts were disbelief and shock, "This isn't happening...", she whispered in a failing attempt to awake herself from the vision.
The room was covered with items that had been tossed about. The glass in the balcony door was smashed and covering the hardwood floor, yet the door sat open a few inches. Marsha reached to the floor and picked up her grandmother's silver hairpin box and laid it gently on the television. She used it to store her change for tipping the pizza delivery person.
The wind through the broken glass was scattering papers like confetti in a parade. Marsha instinctively grabbed aimlessly for them and began to stuff them under her arm. First, it was the dry cleaners receipt, then yesterday's grocery list, then the lease for her new antique store, then..... The dull tapping noise from the back of the apartment was barely audible over the wind beaten clang of the mini blinds. Still, it was distinct enough to draw Marsha's attention to the rest of the apartment.
The dining room was covered with overturned drawers whose contents were spread through the room and spilling into the dark hallway beyond. For part of a second, Marsha was flooded with anger at the thought of someone...anyone...sorting through her belongings. Then the anger was suddenly replaced with fear as she tripped over an overturned stereo speaker and caught herself on her new 17 inch computer monitor.
This was not a typical burglary. A quick twist of the head added a variety of electronic and photographic equipment to the mental tally of objects that were not missing. Confusion was the next emotion mixed with Marsha's fear. If someone hadn't broken in to take the obvious items, then what were they wanting?
Without taking her eyes from the dark hallway ahead, Marsha slowly picked up the large iron candlestick which had offered the first resistance to her attempts to open the front door. Her grip demonstrated both determination and fear as she slowly made her way across the living room and into the dining room. From there Marsha entered the hallway, moving toward her bedroom and the strange tapping noise beyond.
Before the bedroom could be reached, the front door slammed against the same speaker Marsha had just tripped over and sounds of someone entering the apartment gave new reason for panic. Marsha was frozen with fear. She stood flat against the hallway wall and felt the cool dampness of the sweat on her back. Why had she come into the apartment without first calling for help, she thought. Her grip on the candlestick left her knuckles white and her hand shaking.
The plans for a restful weekend were now a forgotten memory.
Dawn Wrote:
Glancing down by her feet, she noticed what seemed to be a red and black playing card. With her back against the wall to watch either end of the hall, she reached down and retrieved the card. Flipping it over, she read what was on the other side.
Murder Mystery in Three Acts by Angela Christian.
You are Tiffany a spoiled socialite with the morals of an alley cat.
Your dress is garish and revealing.
You use large words to impress others.
You are pushy and a name dropper.
Gossiping is your favorite passtime.
Oh, and you are the victim in act two.
From somewhere in the front of her home, Marsha heard sudden laughter, right before the room went black as she passed out.
Dorothy wrote:
Marsha didn't really pass out; she just needed a few moments to allow her heart to return to its normal rhythm. As soon as she saw the card she had realized she was the butt of a practical joke from her friend (friend?) Louise.
Lying in the hallway, fighting a strong desire to kill Louise, Marsha noted the giggles had subsided, replaced by concerned voices calling her name.
"Alright, alright, I'm Ok," Marsha mumbled, opening her eyes and looking at a circle of familiar but at the moment not very beloved, faces above her. As her firends helped her to her feet she smiled. She smiled all evening, every time someone clapped her on the back and told her what a good sport she was, she smiled.
She was also smiling two nights later, when she set out from home, dressed in black from head to toe. Approaching each of her friend's cars in turn, she knelt down and listened to the sssssh sound as she let the air out of their tires.
The End
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