Part 1- Victorian Underground
A story I’m currently re-editing and will post in short pieces when I think it’s ready. This is Part 1!
There was a strange sound, distant in the town. It was an acute deep tenor hum, and it had been repeating itself for the last fifteen minutes. The thrumming noise clung to my head even when it paused, so I started to walk towards it. You might say it was an irrational thing to do as a woman, so I put my mace in my pocket and continued to scout it out. I always had my cell phone to call the police if needed. Folding my arms close to my chest I slowly meandered towards the noise. It was one of those warm foggy nights on the east coast nearly three in the morning. Moisture saturated the air, but with the sun down it didn’t bother me on this summer night, brightly luminescent with moonlight. I had closed the bar down the road, out drinking with some friends and walked back to my duplex to sit and enjoy the quiet hours of the town. It was my favorite time when I was sober enough to take pleasure in it. Not a soul prowling the street, maybe a car packed full of kids with intoxicatingly loud music flowing out their windows, but it was seldom after the bars closed. The old Victorian houses seemed haunted and barren with no lights in sight besides the street lamps. Unfortunately in a town like this street lamps weren’t on all of the streets, just the main ones. I came to rosewood lane and stared down it standing directly in the middle of the intersection. In the middle of the night in a small town— you could practically sit in the road and could see a car coming half a mile away. The road looked morbid like a tunnel about to swallow me whole never to be seen again. I’d just be another victim forgotten after a few months, right, another statistic I sneered. I was bored though, and it was only my imagination teasing me. Oh what the hell, I’m going in, what could happen to me in this Podunk town. I could always run screaming pounding on every door… right? There was a rustle in the bushes and I let out a small squeak and started breathing harder. Ok maybe not, I’m going home, there is no way I’m going to be a rape victim. I grasped the pepper spray in my left hand and let off the safety switch as I high tailed it home. When I could see my stoop I sprinted to the steps and unlocked the door.
Jennyscribbles's Blog 
I want to see what happens to a character that actually runs around to every door, pounding, and who comes out or how long they keep up the activity.
That could be rather intriguing.
Enjoyed,
D
… You have a good idea there, I might try to roll with that and see where the story ends up. I like beginning a story with a vague idea in mind. Thanks D. 🙂