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Trapped

by M. Close 

Posted: 09 September 2009
Word Count: 2584
Summary: A slightly dark tale. This is my first effort. Well, I have written other stuff, but this is the first one that is a real story AND that I am willing to share. I'm a new writer looking for advice and help.


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I don’t know if the following is true, or rather the idle ramblings of a deranged mind. I found this curious collection of paper, meticulously numbered, stuffed in a bottle under a bench in the park. I was about to throw the bottle away when I saw the words HELP ME scrawled across one piece. I began to fish out the scraps and piece them together and became more and more fascinated as I read through this wretched tale. Perhaps you may know of this place and may be of some help? I am new here and don’t really know the area or the people who live nearby. For the sake of the poor soul who wrote this, I offer it, pieced together in one place and as faithfully copied as I could from the wrinkled and smeared pieces which I found in the bottle…..

HELP ME

They look out the window and watch me as I sit alone on the porch. I sit in the uncomfortable, straight backed chair and try to enjoy the soft sighing of the breeze as it passes through the leaves of the trees and dances through the tall grass. I try to enjoy the still quiet of the morning, punctuated pleasantly by the trill of the song birds and the hum of the insects.

The coffee tastes bitter and cools too quickly. I sit in quiet solitude, yet not alone. Oh, if I were truly alone, I might enjoy the morning, might enjoy the coffee. The chair might not seem so rigid. But I am not alone for they watch me constantly.

If I go for a walk, they follow along at a respectable distance, yet they follow. If I find myself alone in a room and close the door, they are tapping on it within minutes, checking on me, demanding entrance.

If I sit on the sofa and attempt to read, they are there in the room with me, chattering between themselves or trying to engage me in their ceaseless, mind numbing blather.

What they want of me, they will not say. When I ask, they merely look at each other and laugh. I have a small semblance of freedom, yet, when I try to go too far, they are there to stop me and bring me back to that bleak and dreary house.

You would think a man would not be held against his will by two women, could not be held against his will by two women, yet this is the circumstance in which I find myself. I am not a small or weak man. I am a man of average height, well muscled and fit enough, that when I go about alone, I am not fearful of my safety nor unsure of my ability to take care of myself if the need ever arise. By this reckoning, then, two normal women, even with malicious intentions, should pose no real threat to me or my safety.

These then, must be no normal women, for they have brought me to this cheerless house, and kept me against my will. They feed me well enough, and the house is not untidy, just wearisome. The windows are yellowed around the edges from age old dust which keeps out most of the light of day. The walls are drab with curling wall paper whose pattern and color have long since faded away. The carpets are mostly threadbare and dark, adding to the overall feeling of forlorn melancholy.

Inside, it is unbearably stuffy and warm and smells of unwashed, pungent bodies mixed with something gone bad. The odor pervades the whole house, so after some time inside, I no longer notice the foul stench of the place. But when they allow me to go about outside, and I can, once again, take in fresh air, the memory of what I have been breathing inside haunts me, for I know that soon, I must return to it.

I shudder at the thought of having to re-enter that dark place, inhale that fetid air, yet they merely beckon and I obey. When I have wandered too far or been outside too long, they simply summon me and it is as if my will has gone, for as much as I try to resist, it is fruitless. I must be under some sort of diabolic sorcery, how else to explain my situation?

They looked normal enough when first our paths crossed. Two women, both of above average height, both ample women, large, yet you could not call them soft or flabby. They are both of indeterminate age, old enough to be seen as women and not girls, yet not so old as to be unattractive in their way. One has long red hair streaked with golden highlights, the other has shoulder length, brown hair with some gray lightly shot through. They could be sisters, or well-matched friends, for their bodies are quite similar, and each has a roundish face atop a stout neck.

When we met, they smiled pleasantly and engaged me in conversation. Soon they were telling me of their woes with a leaky faucet and wondering if I knew of anyone who might be recommended to fix it.

Always ready to help, I volunteered my services and agreed to come by their place. After all, what had I to fear from these two pleasant women in need? Plenty, as it turns out.

As soon as I entered their house, I was put off by the putrid odor, but, I was determined to do what I had agreed, and I hoped I could accomplish the job quickly, that it would not turn into one of those endless, nightmarish jobs that go from bad to worse. Just finish quickly and be on my way, good deed done.

So I went to work and apparently, so did they. I moved swiftly through the job with no problems and soon I was finished and ready to go.

But they had been working as well and by the time I was ready to go, it was too late, the spell had been cast, if that’s what it was. I didn't feel it come over me, didn't notice any change in the air. Nothing was different, all was as it should be as I stood on their porch and bid them goodbye. They thanked me, and stood there with stiff smiles on their faces as I turned and walked out toward the street.

I got close, oh so close to the street, and felt nothing odd. I expected nothing to stop me from getting on with my life. As I was a few steps away from the street, one of them called to me. I turned and looked back and they motioned for me to come back to them. They said nothing, they just smiled and beckoned to me. I had no choice, no ability to counter their spell. I had to obey them.

I was surprised as my body responded to their gesturing, and my mind was no longer in control. I went back to them, I had no choice. I still have no choice. When they call, I respond.

The days pass, mostly uneventful. I sit in quiet longing to return to my former life. I scheme and plan ways to escape this madness, yet I am unable to put my plans into practice. They let me walk in the park, or spend some time outside. There are times we all go out together and visit public places, and at these times, when I would cry out for help to another person, my jaws are locked shut. I wish to speak, yet there is only silence. I can not will my thoughts to become words that might expose my plight and lead to my rescue.

The women are not unkind to me, yet, neither are they kind. They never touch me, nor do they demand anything of me. If I wish to cook my own food, I can cook under their supervision. If I wish to clean up a bit, this is allowed, again, under their supervision. Yet they do not demand I cook or clean or repair anything. During the days we just exist together in this bleak, stuffy house. I am quiet and somber, and they are constantly babbling between themselves, always talking of this or that. Sometimes arguing over meaningless things, but mostly just chattering away until I simply tune them out and lose myself in memories of my old life, or my endless, fruitless schemes of escape.

The days are long, dull and uneventful. Yet, the days are nothing to fear. It is the nights I dread. They terrify me. Not because of what I know goes on during the nights with these two women, but because I don’t know.

As the day draws to a close I become more and more fearful of the coming night and what it might hold in store for me. As darkness closes in, weak lights are turned on, casting just enough dull radiance to see, but not enough to see clearly, or expel the darkness.

I know that soon they will come for me, and I will have no choice but to follow and obey. I tremble in fear, knowing they will come, smiles on their faces, gesturing to me. And though I command my body to remain frozen in my chair, it rises of it’s own accord and follows them. I want my arms to reach out and hold each side of the door, preventing me from following, but my arms remain at my sides, and my feet move, one in front of the other, and I follow.

I know where they are leading me, and I know what will happen next. They lead me down the dark hall to my room, where they bid me lie on my small cot. They stand in the door, smiling and watching as I lie down for the night. I fight them, struggling, mentally to regain control of my body, yet to no avail. Presently, I am lying on the cot, just as they wish.

They come into my room now and stand over me, smiling, always smiling at me. Their ceaseless chit-chat, interrupted as they smile and nod, and I unwillingly do their bidding. What comes next, for me, the most terrifying moment. I watch them as they look down upon me, helpless on my cot, and they raise their hands and move them slightly, and my eyes close, and I sleep. I fight this moment mentally, I demand of my eyes to remain open, I open them wide in anticipation and force them to remain open with all my being. Yet, they close. Slowly it seems, my eyes close and the women gleefully smile. I feel my consciousness slipping away as my eye lids slowly close. My mind screams in terror, NO!! DON’T SLEEP!! And I tremble in such fear that sleep would seem impossible, yet, as my eyes slowly close, my consciousness slips away and my determination to remain awake fades with it. The last I see, before I sleep, are the faces of my captors, and their wicked smiles as my vision and awareness fade to black.

What happens during the night, I know not, nor will they tell me. When I ask, they just look at me and laugh or giggle and sometimes, they just smile and nod. When I yell and demand to know what they are doing with me, what they want of me, I am silenced and they just jabber away as though I am not there.

I know what I am wearing when I lie down at night. They always bid me lie down in the same room on the same cot every night, so I have come to think of it as my room and my cot. There are times I wake in the same room, wearing the same clothes and lying in the same place as my last remembrance of the night before, but many times, I wake in my room, wearing different clothes. There are times I wake in another room, in another bed and I have no memory of how I got there. At times I wake having bathed, or rather, having been bathed, I know not which, and I shudder at the thought of it being the latter, but, as I have no memory of the night, and since they will not tell me, I cannot know. Sometimes I wake in my room naked and bathed and there are fresh clothes to wear. Other times I wake in other rooms, in other beds, in other clothes or no clothes.

I know not the night before, to what circumstance I will awaken the next morning, and upon discovering, I cannot know what led me to it, nor what transpired during the night prior to my waking. They will not tell me.

In my old life, during the night, all I did was sleep and dream. There were no mysterious baths, or changing of clothes. Just sleep, dream and wake in the same place, wearing the same thing as when I slept.

Now, the unknown activities of my unwilling body terrify me as I struggle to remember even the slightest hint of what happened during the night. But there are no dreams or hints or shadows of dreams to even begin to piece together the night’s events. The not knowing what or how I am being used, or if I am being used is the source of the terror for me. When I wake, I find myself suffering no ill effects of the previous night, regardless of the circumstance of my waking. I am not sore from bumps, nor are there bruises. There are no marks of any kind, ever. I find no evidence of being poked, or prodded, nor of having blood taken against my will. There is nothing, nothing other then the circumstance of my waking is different then the circumstance of my falling into sleep.

Are they just having some benign fun, moving me around and delighting in my anguish and fear of the unknown, or is there something unimaginable being done to me, to my body as I sleep? Or am I being made to do something as I sleep? Something I would never be party to if I were in control of my own body. I cannot know. But the imagining is worse than the knowing, and the not knowing terrifies me each night. Yet there seems to be no escape. No way to thwart this evil that has me trapped within this loathsome house, trapped by these two wicked women who seem to take their joy in my mental torment.

I have been trapped here for many months and have managed to write this over the course of several weeks on various bits of paper when I have, for a few moments at a time been unobserved. Forgive the state in which you find it. Hopefully, you can piece it together and make sense of it. I plan to leave it in the park upon our next outing and I hope it is found and not cast aside as so much trash.

If you happen to know of an unkempt house near this park, where dwell two women as described above, please send someone to help me. Please make them stop and return me to my old life……






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Comments by other Members



NMott at 09:27 on 09 September 2009  Report this post
Hi, M. Close, and welcome to WriteWords.

A very accomplished and enjoyable story - it reminded me of Susannah Clarke's short stories. It felt like historical fiction but had a nice unworldly feel to it so the period could have been 80 years ago, or 180 - it didn't matter which.
I felt it only required a tweek here and there (very minor nitpicks), eg, getting rid of the repetition of 'dreary'.
In the second sentence: I was about to throw the bottle away when I saw writing on the paper inside, and one scrap with the words HELP ME scrawled across it. I think you could safely delete the section I've picked out in bold. Since he's already seen the pages are numbered one assumes he's also already seen some of the writing, and it detracts from the HELP ME.
It might only be my personal preference, but I found the description 'stiff, uncomfortable chair' a little wooden (if you'll excuse the pun). Maybe there's a better word you could use to describe the chair.


If you would like more feedback it's usually best to join one of the writing Groups, as it is liable to be overlooked in the Archive.
The Beginners group is very active as it tends to attract newly joined members, and the members on it have a good range of writing experience, or there is the Short Stroy Group which is a little more intimate.

If you need any help navigating the site, just give us a shout.


- NaomiM


SJ Williamson at 18:33 on 09 September 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike,

Welcome to the Group. I'm just about to read through your piece, and if it's okay, I'll post my critique in the morning. Run out of time today.

Good to have you on board though (all the way from the States too, I see). It's a great group, and you'll find lots of helpful supportive people here.

SJ

<Added>

Sorry ... worded this really badly!! What I meant to say is, I really enjoyed your work, but didn't have time to writ my comments tonight!




THS at 22:07 on 09 September 2009  Report this post
Hi there!

Welcome to our writing group.
I really enjoyed your story and got easily into the flow of it. There were a few little things I would point out but i wanted to ask firstly what sort of feedback were you looking for?

I would so very much like to know what the ladies were actually doing to the poor man. Had you an idea when writing this and are you to expand on it or will it remain a mystery and a short story? It certainly sent shivers down my spine!

Tani


NMott at 22:54 on 09 September 2009  Report this post
I would so very much like to know what the ladies were actually doing to the poor man


I liked that it was left up to the reader's imagination. There was just enough hinted at that there are several things I could imagine happening to the man, but, tbh, wouldn't like many of them confirmed by the author! ; whereas the nicer ones might be seen as a cop out by a proportion of the readers.

<Added>

As it stands the story is largely told from the prisoner's point of view, via the scraps of paper, and as he doesn't know what is happening to him it would be tricky for the writer to add an explanation, if one was needed.
One possible way of doing it is having a body turn up with odd marks on it. The point of view would switch back to the person who originally found the bottle stuffed with notes, as they try to work out the clues to give a resonable (or unreasonable) explanation - assuming the dead man really is the writer of the notes - and maybe ends up as a prisoner himself....good opening for a novel, really.

M. Close at 23:58 on 09 September 2009  Report this post
Thanks for reading my work and commenting on it. I look forward to joining in the conversations here as I learn more and feel more comfortable to respond.

NMott - Thank you for your comments. Your suggestions are sound advice. I'm always afraid of using too many adjectives, but if I use too few, maybe the feeling is lost or not enough of a picture is painted....finding the balance is the hard part, and having a dispassionate set of eyes look things over helps me to understand when enough is enough.

Tani - I am looking for any kind of feedback you are willing to give. Nit pick the small stuff or tell me the whole thing stinks....I am new at this writing thing and am looking for help with style and usage as well as.....should I continue to write the things that bubble up to the surface in my mind, or am I just wasting pixels? hehehe

As far as what the ladies are doing to the poor guy, well, I left it open for speculation on purpose. It is for you, the reader to fill in the blanks. How dark are you, how kinky, what is your fantasy, where does your greed play in this? All those questions I ask you, as the reader, to fill in and, as is the case with the prisoner, all you can do is imagine and not know.

To take it further, and it is certainly left open for that, I was thinking of another bottle with more information contained, possibly, conversations between the ladies overheard that might give some clues as to the night's events.

NMott - The novel idea is a neat twist I hadn't thought of. Nice......The bubbles are forming in my mind already at the possibilities this opens up.

Thank you again for your comments. This is almost as much fun as the writing of the story!

SJ Williamson at 08:39 on 10 September 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike!

A really interesting and mysterious tale. I enjoyed the fact that the reader was left to make up their own mind about what was actually going on.

At times, I even wondered if the women did not exist at all and that the poor devil was just a little disturbed from alcohol/drugs (a little like Fight Club made me feel)!

I loved the fact that my brain was working overtime all the way through, wondering what could be happening. Also enjoyed the way we really did not know what the women's motives were. At times it was also a little reminiscent of Misery.

I'm afraid I am not an authority on the technicalities of writing as I'm really not very good at it, but it seemed to flow very well and I found it easy to read.

Only tripped over these little things:

bid them good by.


- think this may need to be "goodbye"

The terrify me.


- "they" terrify me.

the imagining is worse then the knowing,


- perhaps this should be "than" the knowing?

I'm very much looking forward to reading more of your work, Mike.

SJ

THS at 11:15 on 10 September 2009  Report this post
Morning guys!

Sorry, what I meant to say was I would love to know what they are doing to him - if the writer had an idea to tell me on here, he he, not necessarily in the story itself. I didn't say that very well!

SJ - indeed, I did also wonder if he had lost it and the women were just figments of his imagination. Somehow how that seems even more hideous for the poor bloke!

Mike - I will have a look through now and nit pick for you if you like ; ... (any bits in 'bold' are my alterations within the phrase/line.

I don’t know if the following is true, or rather the idle rambling of a deranged mind. I found this curious collection of scraps of paper, meticulously numbered, stuffed in a bottle under a bench in the park.


Suggest rephrasing slightly i.e. I don’t know if the following is true, or rather the idle ramblings of a deranged mind, but I found this curious collection of scraps of paper, meticulously numbered, stuffed in a bottle under a bench in the park.

I was about to throw the bottle away when I saw writing on the paper inside, and one scrap with the words HELP ME scrawled across it. So I begin to fish out the scraps and piece them together and became more and more fascinated as I read through this wretched tale. Perhaps you may know of this place and you may be of some help? I am new here and don’t really know the area or the people who live nearby. For the sake of the poor soul who wrote this, I offer it, pieced together in one place and as faithfully copied as I could from the wrinkled and smeared pieces which I found in the bottle…..


Suggest:-
I was about to throw the bottle away, when I saw the words 'HELP ME' scrawled across one of the pieces of paper inside. My curiosity got the better of me and so I begin to fish out the scraps, piecing each of them together, and slowly unravelled a fascinating and wretched tale.
(is the following part him speaking to the reader or has the founder of the bottle written the tale down and passed it around to people? or in posters?)
Perhaps you may know of this place and you may be of some help? I am new here and don’t really know the area or the people who live nearby. For the sake of the poor soul who wrote this, I offer it, pieced together in one place and as faithfully copied as I could from the wrinkled and smeared pieces which I found in the bottle…..


The coffee tastes bitter and cools too quickly, it seems to me, as I sit in quiet solitude, yet not alone
. - somehow this didnt flow well for me. I think it was the 'it seems to me' part which perhaps should have a full stop after it which means it keeps its poetic tone.
Alone, oh if I were truly alone, I might enjoy the morning, might enjoy the coffee. The chair might not seem so stiff. But I am not alone for they watch me constantly it seems.
- keep this in line with the other i.e. But I am not alone, for they watch me constantly, it seems.

These then, must be no normal women, for they have brought me, and kept me against my will, to this dreary house. They feed me well enough, and the house is not untidy, just dreary. - agree that perhaps you should use more variations i.e. bleak or grey or dismal.

The windows are yellowed around the edges from age old dust which keeps out most of the light of day. The walls are a drab non-color of faded paint and curling wall paper whose pattern and color have long since faded away. The carpets are mostly threadbare and where they are not, the impression of the original color you get is just something dark.
you repeat the word 'colour' (I presume you are using the american spelling here) a few times and suggest perhaps: 'The walls are drab, with curling wallpaper whose pattern, and colour, have long since faded away/ The carpets are mostly threadbare, and where they are not, it's past vibrancy is hiden with just darkness.' (or something like that).

The only other part which troubled me was the sleep and cot scene. - I thought that it perhaps was a little too repetitive and although you were trying to get the point across, I think that you just need to trim it down a little bit?

There are a few more commas etc needed throughout the passages, but I'm not the technical expert either and I always need help myself with that!

I hope the above is useful. I don't expect you to alter your phrases to how I have changed them or re-arranged them - my comments are just there so you can understand what I meant.

Overall, it's a really good story and I love the way it's being told. Very haunting indeed and I look forward to reading more of your work.

Tani

NMott at 14:57 on 10 September 2009  Report this post
I'm always afraid of using too many adjectives, but if I use too few, maybe the feeling is lost or not enough of a picture is painted....finding the balance is the hard part, and having a dispassionate set of eyes look things over helps me to understand when enough is enough.


I think it's not so much the number of adjectives one uses, as their proper choice and placement. Some people seem to see everything in glorious 3D technicolour and use tons of adjectives to great effect. And then there are the others - of whom I am one - where it doesn't come easily to us and we have to go back through the prose afterwards, dotting a few in here and there (in which case, less is usually more). The risk to be aware of is if they have the appearence of badly planted hot house tulips, rather than a natural flower meadow.


- NaomiM

M. Close at 15:44 on 10 September 2009  Report this post
Thank you all so much for your comments. All sound advice and I appreciate your taking the time to read and respond.
There are times, many of them in fact, where I reread something I wrote and think....that's bad and needs a change, but I draw a blank how to fix it. So picking the nits is helpful. Also amazing to me, I read through this thing five or six times picking nits myself and still you find some simple errors that I just blew right over. Those nits.....sneaky little devils aren't they?
I am from the US and speak and write in English, I hope we won't have too much of a language problem.
Actually, I have been really enjoying reading the stories here. As most, if not all of the writers here are from the UK, I am reading words and phrases that I don't usually read or hear. It is very fun "listening" to your accents and reading a different sort of phraseology then I am used to.
Yes, I spell color and mold without the u

Thanks again. Really looking forward to more fun here.

Mike

feather at 17:37 on 10 September 2009  Report this post
hi - I loved this just my cup of tea - all kinds of possibilities - apart from the motives of the ladies - at one point I wondered if there was a mental derangment going on - a feeling of paranoia and helplessness being signs of much senility - but hadn't decided by the end and I do like a tale that keeps me guessing -

really the only nitpicks I have is on the repetition of words

I didn't personally like 'stiff' to describe a chair but might have passed it if it hadn't been repeated

way to many 'dreary' to describe the house - in what way was it dreary?

ditto for 'chattering and chatter' to describe the women talking - once good - after that what did they sound like? how did the chatter go? for instance did it bubble, babble, flow ceasless etc?

when you get to the night time 'fear; and terror' are the only words used to describe this and they often repeat in suceeding sentences

this happens also with 'breath and breathing' when describing the atmosphere of the house

and on this point along with 'dreary' to many uses of the word'smell' - what was the odour ? - was it the same all the time? in every part of the house? was it decay - cooking - old age - did it come from the women - the house?

I'm sorry this a long list (there are a few more!) but your imagination is greater than this lack of description - this house is menacing and scary so atmosphere, smell, fear etc could explain why and how? - notch up the tension a bit for us - it is such a good peice

I found the repetitions by reading the story aloud - what I try and do myself for my writing because I tend to get lazy and use the same word - it is easier to hear them than to see them

often i will enter a word say 'fear' into the computers therasurus and follow through finding others and other ideas - it's fun and can yield great results

I am hopeless at the technical side so cannot comment on that - it felt like a historical story - a slight old world feel and i did like it very much

keep smiling
feather


Mand245 at 17:40 on 10 September 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike and welcome to the group, it's good to have you with us. I thoroughly enjoyed "Trapped". I particularly liked the mystery and the fact that there were so many unanswered questions left for the reader to ponder. Personally I think, in a story like this, less is more, and I enjoyed what you left to the reader's imagination almost as much as the narrative you gave us.

I thought this was a tremendous first effort and I shall look forward to reading more of your work.

I found this curious collection of scraps of paper, meticulously numbered, stuffed in a bottle under a bench in the park.

There seemed to be a huge amount of narrative to be contained on "scraps". I think I'd say something like: "curious roll of papers, meticulously..."

I was about to throw the bottle away when I saw writing on the paper inside, and one scrap with the words HELP ME scrawled across it.

This sentence was a little long winded and, I felt, should have finished on the damatic "HELP ME". I think I'd say: "I was about to throw the bottle away when I saw writing on the paper inside, the words, HELP ME."

So I begin to fish out the scraps and piece them together and became more and more fascinated as I read through this wretched tale.

I don't think you need "so" at the beginning of this, as you slip into the present tense here. " I began to fish out the scraps and pieced them together..."

Perhaps you may know of this place and you may be of some help? I am new here and don’t really know the area or the people who live nearby.

I thought that this was an unnecessary aside to the reader and would delete it.

For the sake of the poor soul who wrote this, I offer it, pieced together in one place and as faithfully copied as I could from the wrinkled and smeared pieces which I found in the bottle…..

To be honest I wasn't over keen on this either, feeling that you have already offered enough intrigue to have your reader continue, and telling us he is a "poor soul" here, removes a little of the pleasure of discovery. Just my opinion, of course.

breeze as it passes by on it's way to someplace only the wind may know. I try to enjoy the soft sighing of the breeze as it passes

There is a very quick repetition here of "breeze as it passes"

The coffee tastes bitter and cools too quickly, it seems to me,

I don't think you need to say "it seems to me"

alone for they watch me constantly it seems.

again, I don't think you need "it seems"

I am not a small or weak man, I am a man of average height, well muscled and fit enough that when I go about alone,

I would use a full stop rather than a comma after "man" and a comma after "enough"

These then, must be no normal women, for they have brought me, and kept me against my will, to this dreary house.

This doesn't read right. Maybe: "...for they have brought me to this dreary house, and kept me here against my will."

breath that foul air,

typo "breathe"

When I have wandered too far or been outside too long, in their estimation, they just beckon

I don't think you need "in their estimation". It atributes motive of which the character isn't aware.

I am completely ensorcelled by them.

"ensorcelled" is an unusual and archaic word but to me it implies "bewitched" as a good state of affairs, much like the word "enchantment" that you use in the next line. Both words have, at least for me, pleasant romantic overtones that seem at odds with this captivity.

or well matched friends,

well-matched

faucet and wondered if I knew anyone who I might recommend to fix it.

I think "wondering" rather than "wondered"

and bid them good by.

"goodbye"

They said nothing, they just smiled and beckoned to me. I had no choice, no will to counter their spell, whatever it may be.

I'd delete "whatever it may be". It's superfluous and detracts from the drama

I was surprised as my body seemed to have a mind of it's own, and my mind was no longer in control.

This didn't sit well because, of course, the body does have a mind of it's own. Maybe it would make more sense to say that the body was disregarding the mind

I came back to them,

I'm not sure but I think maybe "went" rather than "came"

The days pass mostly uneventful.

Either "...mostly uneventfully." or put a comma after "pass"

visit public places. And at these times,

I think this should be one sentence with a coma rather than a full stop after "places"

together in the dreary, stuffy house.

for me, the word "dreary" is becoming a little tedious

The terrify me.

typo "They"

I know that soon, they will come for me,

delete the comma after "soon"

as they will my eyelids shut,

lots and lots of "I will my" or "they will my" in this paragraph.

And they always bid me lie down in the same room on the same cot every night. So I have come to think of it as my room and my cot.

I'd delete the "and" at the beginning of this and use a comma rather than a full stop after "night", so it becomes one sentence.

And there are times I wake in the same room, wearing the same clothes and lying in the same place as my last remembrance of the night before. But many times, I wake in my room, wearing different clothes.

Again, I would delete the first "And" and put a comma after "night before,"

At times I awake having bathed,

"...I awaken..." or "...I wake..."

being the latter. But, as I have

I'd replace the full stop with a comma and make this one sentence

no memory of the night, and since they will not tell me, I can not know.

I think the comma should be after "and" rather than after "night"

I will wake to the next morning. And upon discovering

I'd have this as one sentence, replacing the full stop after "morning" with a comma

In my old life, I would sleep and know that when I woke, it would be in the same bed, wearing whatever I had fallen asleep wearing. I also knew that during the night, all I did was sleep and dream. There were no mysterious baths, or changing of clothes. Just sleep, dream and wake in the same place, wearing the same thing as when I slept.

I think I would shorten this to: In my old life all I did was sleep and dream. There were no mysterious baths, or changing of clothes. Just sleep, dream and wake in the same place, wearing the same thing as when I slept.

There is nothing, nothing other then the circumstance of my waking is different then the circumstance of my falling into sleep.

Maybe "being different" rather than "is different"

I can not know. But the imagining

"I cannot know, but the imagining..."

Yet there seems to be no escape. No way to thwart

comma rather than full stop after "escape"

I have been trapped here for many months and have managed to write this over the course of several weeks on various scraps of paper when I have,

I'd delete "scraps of paper" - we know!

for a few moments at a time been unobserved.

comma after "time"

A really enjoyable tale, Mike.The things I have highlighted (hope it's not too much but you did say "Go on! I can take it!") are just my opinion so please, use what you will and ignore the rest.

I'll look forward to reading more of your work.

Mand

StephB at 11:02 on 11 September 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike,

Sorry to be coming into this so late - welcome to the group!!

I thoroughly enjoyed your story. I think you gave us just enough information; I love the mystery, the not knowing. Personally, I'd rather never be told what the truth is - its one of those situations where I think something would be lost in the telling.

As a longer piece, this could almost be "Blair Witch-esque" (in a good way!); a story pieced together by clues but the truth never really confirmed...

Looking forward to reading more of your work.

Steph x

fbtoast at 23:53 on 14 September 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike

I thought this was a really good idea and well-executed. It's great that you leave unspoken whatever the hell it is these women are using him for. The others have picked up on instances of repetition etc, so I won't dwell on them. The only other thing I would mention is that in the personal possessive pronoun "its", as in "mind of its own", there's no apostrophe.

The only thing that bothers me slightly is there is a little hint of the misogynistic in it, something that smacks a bit of a generic horror of womankind, associated with foul smells, sinister uncomprehended designs on some helpless male etc. Still, that's the story - hard to see how you could eliminate that without losing the basis of the story altogether.

Nicole

freynolds at 08:36 on 15 September 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike and welcome to the group.

I like this intriguing story and the not-knowing what is happening to the man. Are the women ghosts, is he mentally ill and in a care home? I have no idea and at this stage, I like the not-knowing. This would make me want to read on.

The one thing I picked up as I read (I think some of the other members have mentioned it) is the repetition of words in the same/next sentence and I found for example that there is a lot of 'beckoning' and 'obeying' and 'breathing' and 'supervision' that could be removed to make this flow even better.

I truly enjoyed this extract and look forward to some more.

Fabienne

M. Close at 08:08 on 27 October 2009  Report this post
A long time in coming, but I have gone through this and edited it.
I wish to thank you all for you comments. Very helpful and I learned a lot as a result.
Hopefully this is a better read now that the repetition of words has been addressed
Sorry about that. Well, there are bound to be plenty of mistakes on the first effort. I am trying to get better with each new piece.
Again, thanks for all your help!

Mike



jim60 at 12:03 on 27 October 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike,
Thanks for the comment. I won't read this from home, as I have a fear that my internet will cut off while I'm reading your work, so I'll get to it when I'm at the internet cafe tomorrow, so just hang tough and I'll get there.
Jim.


Demonqueen at 15:27 on 06 November 2009  Report this post
Hi Mike,

Really liked the rhythm of this story and it was packed with intrigue which kept me reading on. But, unlike everyone else it seems, I felt a little cheated that we never found out what was really going on. It seemed a little of an anticlimax. I had wondered if he was a ghost and they were mediums or witches, or if he was on some kind of medication, but I would have liked some kind of resolution at the end, even if that left me asking more questions as to what might follow.

Other than that, I thought it very good. You did a marvellous job of creating the atmosphere in the house and of the mystery of the situation.

A few finicky bits:

You would think a man would not be held against his will by two women, could not be held against his will by two women,
I felt the word 'could' needed more emphasis - consider italics?


By the style of voice you have chosen for this piece I first imagined this to be set a couple of hundred years ago, at least. It's a very old fashioned way to talk. But then, when I saw this:

One has long red hair streaked with golden highlights,


It made me think we are in present day (ish). As your MC is muscular I assumed he is not old, therefore this way of speaking doesn't really fit with the time period. Or have I got it wrong?

I sit in quiet longing to return to my former life.

Insert a comma between quiet and longing, otherwise it reads as 'I sit in quiet longing.'

And the last thing I want to comment on is that if someone had found this in the park, gone to the trouble of piecing it together (which, judging by the length would take a long time! ) and read it, how would they be able to resist the urge to go looking in the nearby streets to find this house? I know I'm far to nosey and wouldn't be able to stop myself! Even if I was a stranger to the town. So, I half expected that, as you'd begun in another POV, you'd return to the original narrator for the ending, thus some explanation.

See, said they were finicky!

Hope that helps,

DQ


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