Becky lay on the floor with her arm squeezed deep in the hole between the floorboards and the wall. The earthy, muddy smell was filling her nostrils and she was beginning to feel nauseous. She felt around with her hand trying to reach in as far as she could. She was looking for the scroll that her brother said that he'd left for her, but his arms were longer than hers and he’d obviously pushed it as far back as he could for safe keeping. She could imagine the creepies and the crawlies a creeping and a crawling in that little space. She hoped none would come creeping and crawling over her fingers. She could hear the movement of her parents upstairs, their footsteps shuffling around as they got the tea on. She’d grab the scroll, and make her excuses. She didn’t want to stay in this house a moment longer than she had to.
Cobwebs stuck to the hairs that were standing up
on her arms, dust tickled her nose. She felt the warm, wet wood beneath her
fingers. Please let it be the damp of the
house and not anything else she thought to herself.
Why hadn't her idiot brother just brought the
scroll with him instead of putting it back where he found it? She still didn't
want to believe it was true, but ...
She wiggled her fingers again, trying to be
brave, trying to convince herself the soft putty her fingers had landed in was
just moss and not rat's shit.
“Are you looking for
this?” His voice made her jump. She could smell
her father's aftershave, but being shoulder deep in a mouse hole meant she
couldn't turn to look at him.
“You stupid girl,” she barely recognised the voice that should have been so familiar,
she struggled to free her arm, but it was stuck. She heard a click that she’d heard in the films she’d
watched. She waited for the man who called himself her father to pull the
trigger.
This was written thanks to a prompt from my writers' meeting. The prompt was to describe a scene using all the senses except sight.
I hope you find this intriguing. If you'd like to know more, let me know.
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