My First Short Story

Hello everyone! Hope you’re well.

I’ve decided to share my first creative writing assignment with you. It’s a short story, which is something I’m quite new to, but I’m very happy with the outcome. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

 

Swept Under the Rug

 

Julie clicked the Hoover off. She let out a frustrated sigh and pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail. She looked a state. Rosa hadn’t turned up this morning, she hadn’t even called. So Julie had decided to do the cleaning for once, mainly just to keep herself busy. She hated housework; that’s one of the reasons she chose to marry rich. Ben’s job kept him busy though, and she didn’t really have a lot to fill her time with while he was away.

 

Julie clicked the Hoover back on. The drone filled her ears and cut her off from the world. She made her way into the dining room from the large, open plan kitchen and ran it around the elegant acacia-wood dining table and chairs. Julie moved into the entrance hall and lifted the edge of the Persian rug that dominated the room. She had difficulty moving it to get underneath, it was far too heavy. It was a hand-restored antique, obviously incredibly expensive. She had begged Ben for it. Eventually he had given in, he always did.

 

She gave up and moved on to the study. It was easier to clean in here. The floor was a luxurious oak, stained dark and polished to a light shine. She got right into the corners and closed the door to get the dust bunnies behind. She began to open the door but paused. There was a bit of fluff stuck on the bottom. She bent down to get it.

 

Julie looked up. There was a man, standing in the doorway. She fell back in surprise and felt around for the Hoover’s switch.

 

The man towered over her. He was gruff-looking; dressed in a black turtle neck and jeans with an expensive looking grey overcoat. His leather gloves and black fisherman’s hat gave him the look of a Hollywood movie bank robber. Salt-and-pepper stubble covered his square jaw. Julie got to her feet and looked him in the eye.

 

“Who are you?” She tried to sound threatening, but it came out as more of a squeak.

 

“Mrs Carson?” He spoke with a strong accent. Eastern European. Russian maybe?

 

“No, I’m the cleaner. Mr and Mrs Carson are out for the day. Again, who the fuck are you?”

 

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. He held it up and the colour drained out of her face. It was a picture of her.

 

“Try again.” A sly smile crept over his face.

 

“Wh-What do you want?” Her heart was racing.

 

“I’m here on behalf of my boss, Mr Sokolov. Your husband owes us a lot of money Mrs Carson, and he has missed a few payments.”

 

“My husband isn’t here. H-He’s away on business.”

 

The man chuckled, but it came out more of a growl.

 

“Is that what he tells you? There’s obviously a lot you don’t know Mrs Carson.”

 

Then Julie realised. He wasn’t here for Ben.

 

“Mr Sokolov wanted me to give you a message to pass on to your husband.” He made a grab for her. She dodged under his arm and made for the door.

 

Julie ran out into the hall, aiming for the front door. She stole a look back to see if the man was following. She caught her foot on the edge of the turned-up rug. Julie tripped, and her head hit a side table with a sickening crunch. She slumped to the floor.

 

The Russian walked into the hall and surveyed the scene in front of him. He took a phone out of his pocket and dialled. He spoke in a low snarl for a few minutes and then hung up. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

 

He crouched down and looked closely at her face. Blood was dribbling out the corner of her mouth. She must have bitten her tongue on the way down. Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t going anywhere near her face to find out. He couldn’t take that chance. He knew of people living through worse injuries and if he could get away with not being here, then all the better for him.

 

He had to make sure, somehow. He assessed the situation and decided on the best solution. He rocked back onto his haunches and placed his hands either side of Julie’s body. He carefully knelt on her back until all his weight was on her. He stayed there for a couple of minutes until he could be certain she was dead. Then the Russian stood up and made his way back to the study.

 

He looked around the room, admiring its grandeur. This guy certainly knew how to spend his money. He smiled to himself at the irony of that thought. He looked at the photos on the desk. There was one of Mr Carson shaking hands with some important looking man, and a smaller one of him and his family. The girl was cute, shame she’d have to grow up without a mother. He tried the drawers. Locked. Hardly a surprise, considering Mr Carson’s secrets. He decided there was nothing else to see here and made his way to the door.

 

He stopped in the doorway and turned around. He unplugged the Hoover and carried it into the hall. He lay it on the floor next to Mrs Carson’s body and trailed the cord to the nearest plug socket. He turned the socket on and dropped the plug on the floor. As he made his way past the body he looped the cord once around Mrs Carson’s ankle. He smiled at his genius.

 

The Russian walked through the extravagant dining room and into the kitchen, selecting an apple from the fruit bowl on his way. He paused at the back door and made one last check to make sure everything was in order. He took a bite of the apple, and left.

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3 thoughts on “My First Short Story”

  1. 👏🏻 👏🏻 👏🏻 For someone new to short stories you’ve done it really well: very enjoyable. You’ve inspired me to carry on with my own but first I need to pull those loose pages of my first attempt out from underneath the printer! You should read some of Stephen King’s short stories, they really helped me on structuring a short story as well as giving me an idea on the sorts of things you can write about.

    Like

    1. Thank you for the feedback, it means a lot. Stephen King is actually one of my favourite authors. This story takes a bit of inspiration from a short story by Roald Dahl called Lamb to the Slaughter. I’d recommend it, it’s brilliant!

      Like

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