Other stories for this prompt

Blood dripped down from my arms to my legs. I was bound to a pole in an empty room with nothing but a mirror to look at. They were there though, they were listening. I would confess but I didn't know what I did or why I'm here. I was screaming and thrashing trying to break free, but for what reason?
"I know your there listeners, but for what purpose? Are you using me or I am I already used? ANSWER ME!"
The speakers squeaked and a harsh, deep voice called to me.
"We are not using you, you are...

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I crept silently through then corridor, the occasional creak of the floorboards abruptly halting me in my path.

The hallway was lit up by a dim nightlight, glowing a soft orange hue in the blackness. My shadow flared up the wall as I passed, and slowly shrunk back into the all-engulfing shadows.

A turn of a corner later, and I came face to face with a door. A door, which, when opened, would answer all my questions. I placed my ear to the keyhole, and made my bets attempt to silence my breath, and slow my pounding heart beat, trying...

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They were listening. I wasn't worried though, It's not like I had anything important to say. Just knowing that they were there though, behind the thin two way mirror staring at me as if I had something to do with the disappearance of the third missing person this week. If they only knew that the worst thing that I've ever done in my life was stollen a pack of batteries from the Walmart down the street from where I grew up when I was 8. There was no convincing them otherwise now though. They saw me running from the scene...

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They were listening.
He knew, and he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing would matter, after all, after this.
He kept moving forward. Sometimes it felt inevitable. Sometimes it felt like it wasn't his feet propelling him, but something else, a force of nature, a gravity holding his life in balance. He kept going. It didn't matter what kept him going, after all. Nothing would matter after this.
They were watching.
He could feel their eyes even as he moved, boring giant holes into his skin, mining his body for- for what, he didn't know. Their eyes had been a...

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They were listening.

"Have you noticed the children?"

"What about them?"

"They seem different, don't they? Since we moved here?"

"Hush. They'll hear you."

"They're all the way upstairs. They can't hear."

They were listening.

"Yes. Yes, I've noticed."

"Timmy asked me about strangulation today."


"You know. And Sally..."

"Yes. The, um. The incident with the-"

"The knife. Where did she get it? She can't reach the counters."

"I don't know."

"Something is wrong here, Susan. Something terrible."

"Dammit, John, these are our CHILDREN..."

"Are they? Are they, though? Look at their eyes, next time."

"What do we do?"...

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They were listening. Ears pressed against the glass, as if it were opaque, like the doors they used to listen through when Kat and Patrick used to fight.

There was nobody in the room behind the window, just the green house and the plants which grew too slowly to notice, but somehow enough to garner praise once they had become large and showy. Lillian seemed to be listening with concentration and Indy, he couldn't help but feel like he had missed the point.

"What is it we're listening for, again?"


"But I'm-"

"Shh. I said shh. You're listening them...

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They were listening. Halloween night was the perfect cover for their activities. They heard our every whisper, laugh, cry. When we are socialising with our tribe, friends we felt comfortable around to dress up, act like a fool or even express normally hidden sides of our personalities. Trick or treat with menace.

Until this year I didn't know they even existed, except in urban legends. When I accidentally found out, my life changed in an instant. Never to feel relaxed, never to be myself in case they would use it to their advantage one day when I'd least suspect.


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They were listening.

That's what my mother always told me when I enquired about the two men sitting on the bench in the park.

Every Tuesday we would find them there, sitting as still as statues, seemingly staring straight ahead. My mother told me that they were blind and that that was why they never seemed to be looking at anything in particular.

She said that they listened so much because they couldn't see; that they took in double as much information through their ears. They were drinking in the sounds of children playing and dogs barking and couples walking...

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They were listetning. I think they might have heard ebery word I was saying. Did I care? Yes, for they were the ones who controlled my mind. It all started when I laid down my head to sleep a few days ago. Not in my bed, but in remote field somewhere in west Texas. What was I doing three, near Odessa but not as far as El Paso? Intersting question, and I;m not even sure I know why. I just drove. Drove for miles and miles. Hours and hours. I was running from soemthing, something I didn't really undertsand. It...

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They were listening. They children, huddled in the hallway on that November night, heard every word their parents said to one another. Well, yelled at one another. The children were used to the fights by now but this one sounded more serious. They were fighting over the money - as usual. Money had been tight lately and their father had been working extra hours just to stay away from the fighting. As the four children walked back to their bedrooms, they could still hear the words being thrown across the room between their parents. As they slipped into a fitful...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
September 30, 2010


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