Okay just for an explanation, my English teacher last year made my class do this game where we wrote a short story in the span of 5 minutes. I liked the game so much I started doing it for fun. I’m starting with the suspense genre. My next suspense tool is phobias:

The Stranger’s sly smile greets me as I exit my room. “Today’s going to be a fun one, Ali.”

My stomach drops as he leads me back to the testing room. The Stranger holds the door for me, but I stop in the middle of the doorway, shocked. A white, pouch-like contraption stands in the middle of the room. It is held by multiple cords and pipes that jut out in various directions.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” The Stranger says, “Jervis worked on it all night. It looks just like my designs.”

Jervis is his assistant. He has a high-pitched, stuttering voice as if he wants to say everything all at once. His pale skin is bright in the hospital like lights as he limps up to me.

“S-so this is j-just like any other t-test,” Jervis says to me “We’ll p-put y-you in that rubbery bag th-thingy,” he has such a way with words, “And it will just weigh you and stuff. Then we’ll start the test.” He leads me to the opening of the bag and I step in, using my shaking hands to hold it open. Jervis closes it and a few seconds later, I hear a switch flip.

The first thing that happens is that all the air leaves my lungs. I let out a yell, but my scream dies in my throat as I suffocate.

Oh god, I think to myself, he’s pulling all the air out. I claw at the rubber quickly encasing me. This isn’t like the other tests. The sweat gathering on my body fills it. I slip and fall. Hard. I try to stand. Bam. I crash onto the floor. Again, I try to get up. Slowly but surely I manage to stand. Black dots cloud my vision. My lungs burn. I try to breathe in, but fail and make a choking noise. My whole body has a pulse. I suck in air but fail. I’m drowning. I’m going to die, I realize. Just as I start to feel my life fading, I hear The Stranger’s voice calmly say, “Shut it off, Jervis. Her vitals are getting low”

It opens and I collapse. I pant and lay there for a minute. “Only five seconds? I expected more from you. We’ll try again tomorrow, Ali dear,” The Stranger says. I hate it when he calls me dear.

Unfortunately my ten minutes ended here and so does Ali’s story.

Okay just for an explanation, my English teacher last year made my class do this game where we wrote a short story in the span of 5 minutes. I liked the game so much I started doing it for fun. I’m starting with the suspense genre. My second suspense tool is a time constraint:

He cursed under his breath as the screen flashed red again. He was down to 3 tries left on the passcode. The ticking seemed to get louder as he hurriedly made another calculation as if it would help him. He typed in another code. The screen flashed red. 

“Callen, we have three minutes.” Alice said nervously behind him. 

“I know, I know, I know.” He muttered. 

“Cal do you know what’s a stake here. You need to speed it up.” Noah said, his voice rising. 

“I know what’s at stake! It’s a literal bomb! Now shut up and let me focus.” He type in the new code. Red. “Shoot,” Callen muttered. 

There was a minute left. He tried to remember anything the stranger had said that could be a code. “30 seconds Callen,” Alice said nervously. 

The words “simple,” echo through his head. It was the last thing the stranger had said to them after he had locked them in.

Quickly he types in the final code, 1234. The count down stops. His heart starts racing, he gets read for the explosion. The screen goes green. He laughs out a breath. “That felt too easy,” Noah whispers.

Okay just for an explanation, my English teacher last year made my class do this game where we wrote a short story in the span of 5 minutes. I liked the game so much I started doing it for fun. I’m starting with the suspense genre. My first suspense tool that I’m using is isolated setting:

It was well past midnight and Chris was sitting in his apartment living room.

The images scattered across the floor still made no sense to him. His eyelids struggled to stay up as he stared at the seemingly impossible to solve puzzle. It was eerily quiet, which scared Chris more than he would like to admit.

Then a faint ticking noise started coming from his dining room. Adrenaline pumped through as he began to imagine all the things that could’ve created the noise. His heart pounded in his chest. Chris’s parents always swore that it got easier but, with his nerves, living alone would always seem to be scary, especially at night. He knew better than to say anything. Whenever he had watched horror movies with his friends he always thought it was funny when the main character said, “Hello?” as if the thing that is trying to kill them would answer.

He slowly stood up, heart racing, and took small, quiet steps until he reached the kitchen. The noise grew louder and louder with each step he took. He reached his shaking hand to the light switch and pressed it as silently as he could. The ticking noise seemed to grow louder than a car horn. The lights filled the dining room and there was… nothing. Nothing except a small envelope that was tucked away into a cupboard, the corner peeking out. He crossed the room, looking around with paranoia. He picked the opened the envelope and read it quickly. It said, “Can you find me?” with a small cartoonish picture of a clock at the bottom corner. The ticking noise filled the whole room and Chris covered his ears.

Although I wanted to continue the time did run out and this is where Chris’s story ends.

 “You’re fired,” my boss for the past 2 years says.

Those words made my gut tumble into a knot for so long it felt like years had passed.

“W-What?” I stammer out.

“You heard me, Clay, you’re fired. You come in late every day, you fall asleep at your desk, you never finish your work on time, and you enter some sort of trance that lasts for almost the entire day. You no longer benefit our company. We can’t have someone that daydreams all day working for such a huge business. Pack your things,” my now ex-boss, Walter says.

Without responding, I tread to my poorly decorated cubicle. The only thing on the walls is a photo of my mother and me when I graduated high school. I smile before quickly putting a straight face back on when I realize my current situation. I have no job.

How am I going to take care of myself? How will I afford a bag of food for my cat? How will I pay my rent?

Although I live in Florida, the rent here still isn’t cheap; especially since I live alone. I have no financial help from anyone but myself.

As I gather my very few things into a box, I remember the important meeting I was supposed to have today. I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.

After I gather a small box filled with all my belongings, I say goodbye in my head and walk to the elevator. As I go down to the lobby, my mind goes blank. What just happened? My parents are going to be so disappointed in me.

Since I live right down the street to my office, I walk home. I think about what I will do to make sure I can pay my rent. Do I get a roommate? Do I move back home?

After about 5 minutes, I get to my apartment. I turn the key, unlocking the door, and my cat, Patches, comes up to me; she rubs her face against my leg. I can feel her purring as she brushes up against me.

Ever since I moved to this apartment a few years ago, there is this one spot on the roof I just love sitting at. I can just chill and sometimes I take Patches with me too. My phone buzzes with a text from my best friend, George.

It’s a photo of him and his cat. I smile and send a selfie back.

I change into some sweatpants and a hoodie, pick up Patches, and head up to the roof. During the winter in New York, it can get pretty cold. I brought Patches a blanket as well.

As I walk up, I hear my phone begin to ring in my pocket. I take it out and look at the screen. The caller ID says George.

I give myself a confused look, wondering why he would be calling me at this hour. He lives in England, so usually, he would be asleep around this time.

I decide to decline the call, not wanting to go on my phone. But, before I press decline, I hear the sound of a phone ringing. A different phone.

I walk over to my usual spot and see a boy sitting there. It’s a cloudy day and I can’t really make out a face.

He stands up and walks closer to me. I become slightly frightened, unsure of who the strange man is.

On his third step over to me I recognize the face. I could find that face in a crowd of one hundred people. I could recognize him in a mosh-pit at a concert. It’s George.

“George?!” I question, slightly excited, but mostly shocked.

“Surprise?” he says.