Kidnapped Subject: Creative writing
"Goodbye, thanks for the lift!" Lisa shouted to John as the car drove away. The sun had already disappeared from the sky by the time she arrived home. Lisa unlocked her front door and went inside. The house looked just like she had left it. Her horror book lay on the table, just where she left it, waiting for her to read the last pages. Lisa locked the door and threw the keys onto the counter.
She sat down in her reading chair and continued to read her horror story and nibble on biscuits. After a long day she needed time to relax before her husband came home from work. As she turned to her last page-darkness! The lights had suddenly gone out!
If Lisa had only been a little more observant, she would have noticed the motorcycle parked outside her garage when she had come home. Maybe she would have noticed that the garden gate was left open.
The creaking of the wooden floor under the weight of a body was the only sound in the house. Lisa dropped her book; it fell, making a loud noise as it hit the floor. He had heard her, now he would come to find her. What should she do? The telephone made too much noise and she could not just stand there and wait for him to find her. She could not dash out of the house and scream for help since all the doors were locked.
The stairs began to creak now, faster and faster, he was coming! What could she do? Where could she go? Then an idea came to her; she would go to the scullery, to the distribution board, and turn the lights on. Then she would lock herself inside.
She made a dash for it. Down the stairs. She ran past the post lying on the table from this afternoon. Past the open back door, where a breeze of fresh air came drifting in. Through the kitchen. Lisa bumped a glass as she scraped past the kitchen counter. It shattered as it hit the ground, making an ear-piercing noise. Into the scullery she went. Just as she was about to flick the switch for the lights to come on again, she felt something going over her head.
She
She sat down in her reading chair and continued to read her horror story and nibble on biscuits. After a long day she needed time to relax before her husband came home from work. As she turned to her last page-darkness! The lights had suddenly gone out!
If Lisa had only been a little more observant, she would have noticed the motorcycle parked outside her garage when she had come home. Maybe she would have noticed that the garden gate was left open.
The creaking of the wooden floor under the weight of a body was the only sound in the house. Lisa dropped her book; it fell, making a loud noise as it hit the floor. He had heard her, now he would come to find her. What should she do? The telephone made too much noise and she could not just stand there and wait for him to find her. She could not dash out of the house and scream for help since all the doors were locked.
The stairs began to creak now, faster and faster, he was coming! What could she do? Where could she go? Then an idea came to her; she would go to the scullery, to the distribution board, and turn the lights on. Then she would lock herself inside.
She made a dash for it. Down the stairs. She ran past the post lying on the table from this afternoon. Past the open back door, where a breeze of fresh air came drifting in. Through the kitchen. Lisa bumped a glass as she scraped past the kitchen counter. It shattered as it hit the ground, making an ear-piercing noise. Into the scullery she went. Just as she was about to flick the switch for the lights to come on again, she felt something going over her head.
She