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My sister's narrative genius

If time is short, skip the next paragraph and go straight to the story.

Today, my sister was assigned to write a narrative first-person story starting with the sentence "Carl Williams slowly backed farther into the shadows." (Oddly enough, I have a relative somewhere named Carl Williams, though I've only seen him once I think. But that is beside the point.) After a bit of trying to figure out exactly what writing in the first person meant (she'd rather write it in third person, methinks), she spent quite a while writing the following page-and-a-half single-spaced handwritten short story.


Why You Shouldn't Live In an Apartment

Carl Williams slowly backed farther into the shadows. He saw a glimpse of something, he wasn't sure what it was but he definatly had [an] impression of evil. He had nowhere to run except back to his apartment room and he wasn't going to do that because he knew his bed, complete with sheets, was going to engulf him. Whatever it was, was standing in front of the elevator and door to the stairs, "I definatly can't get out now" he thought. He was trying to think if any of the apartment rooms around here were empty, but he wasn't interested in getting anyone else into this nightmare so he didn't try any doors. Well, he remembered something his mother had told him when he was a boy, "There are no monsters under your bed" she had said. Hm, she never said anything about the BED not being a monster. "Might as well try though" he thought and so thinking he headed back to his room, stealthily so the Thing didn't notice his movement, or so he later told me. "Oh great" he said, this was not a good time to be missing his key. There, he found it, but the Thing, it was coming closer. "Calm down Willy-boy or you're never gonna get out of this one" he thought as he struggled to unlock and open the door to his room. There, he was in and he huridly locked the door so the Thing wouldn't get in, but what was that noise? He slowly turned around in dread of what he KNEW it was, and he was right; the bed, complete with sheets, was getting up to come after him and it---
Suddenly, he woke up, he was alright, his sheets were wrapped around his legs, but he was alright. How do I know this story? Carl Williams visited me that day, I'm a psychiatrist, and I told him he needed a vacation, he showed signs of stress, he took my advice though about a month later his obituary was in the paper, cause of death, he was found crushed between the mattresses of his bed, complete with sheets.


(I left it exactly as she wrote it!)

Comments

mafia said…
You missed an exclamation point.
RS said…
Phht. That's not much.

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