Petals and Pins

480 24 32
                                                  

Word count : 500 words. 

Included elements from the picture: white flowers [which I thought at first were orchids but I'm not a botanist. I have no idea.] // safety pins // razor blade // blue cloth

            Rachel followed the trail of orchid blooms along the path that led to the cabin. The delicate white petals led her along the curving path through the trees, up the creaking steps, and across the old porch. The old door with its peeling paint hung ajar, squeaking a little as she tiptoed towards it. She pushed it open, stifling a giggle. “Sa-am?” she called into the gloom. The curtains were drawn, and the interior of the cabin was silent. Rachel hooked a stray bell of brown hair behind her ear and came all the way in. Ragged grey curtains hung at the windows, and she breathed in the smell of decay. “Sam? You could’ve cleaned, you know...”

            Something sharp dug into the sole of her flip-flops. Gasping, she bent over and lifted her foot. Sticking through the foam sole was a large open safety pin. Wincing, she pulled it out. There were more. Scattered all around the floor, mingled with the flowers, were open pins. “What is this?” Taking care where she stepped, she came further into the room. “Sam? What the hell...?” A shiver ran down her back, causing the down on her bare arms to stand to attention. Her lips were dry. “S-Sam? This isn’t funny.” She took another step. There were two doors in front of her – one to the left, and one to the right. The flower and pin trail led towards the right-hand door. Rachel tried to swallow, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her breaths came shallowly. She stepped forwards. “Sam.” Oh god. “Sam?” Oh god. “Cut it out Sam, this isn’t funny.” Oh my fucking god.

            Outside the nearest window, the porch boards creaked.

            Rachel spun around, and a pin jabbed into her heel. She kicked back in pain, breaking the neat path of petals and glinting silver, spotting the white flowers with her blood.

            There was an eye peering through the ripped grey chink.

            She couldn’t scream. She tried to. But she couldn’t make a sound. The eye pulled back and Rachel had the presence of mind to leap for the door, slamming it closed, and fumbled for the bolt. She backed off through the door to the grotty little bathroom, avoiding the other door. On the shelf beneath the cracked, rust-spotted mirror, she found a discarded razor blade.

            She pulled a blue towel off the wall and protected her hand with it, holding the blade tight between her finger and thumb.

            Pressing her back against the wall, her hands shaking, she thrust the blade out in front of her and tried to grab her cell from her pocket. There was no reception.

            She heard the bolt give.

            Floorboards creaked.

            Rachel stopped breathing.

            Something heavy thudded onto the floor, and slid across the boards. Through the crack at the bottom of the door, Rachel caught a glimpse of Sam’s dead face. Her chest hurt, but still she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.

And then the door opened.

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