Day 6: From Tweet to Snuff Story?

I follow writers on Twitter, and there was a writing prompt for yesterday in which I participated. It was a snuff type of short story prompt. This prompt was only supposed to be on Twitter, but my brain, as it often does, wanted to add to the tweet, but I didn’t not want to make a long twitter thread.

This is the tweet that started the brain going. Pleasant, isn’t it? As you read, you will see it morphed into something that isn’t a snuff story. I hope you enjoy it.

She scooted backwards until she hit the wall a few feet behind her. She didn’t recognize any of the dead around her. She took a deep breath and she closed her eyes.
Get a grip, Angie.
After getting her breathing under control, she took a look around, being careful not to focus on the corpses. The floor was concrete, gray, as were the pillars for support. Any light was put forth by swinging bulbs from the ceiling. There were no windows.

The sound of a rotary saw drew her attention to the back corner of the room where plastic sheeting divided the areas. The sheeting was blood splattered. The sound of the saw hitting bone made Angie shiver and look around anew.
I have to find a way out of here. I can’t stay here. Whoever that is will see I am not dead and fix their mistake.

The saw stopped and the sheeting was pushed to one side, the voice that came from the woman was course, “Don’t worry, hun, you’re not next on the chopping block. In fact, this is your mess I am cleaning up.”

Angie’s brow furrowed, “Excuse me? I didn’t do THIS. Did I?”

The woman smiled and nodded her head, “Ah, classic disorientation and amnesia following a lycanthropic transformation, yes dear, you did this.”

Angie’s eyes flew open and she waved her hand around, “How did I-“

The woman walked toward her, “You, young one, are a freshly turned werewolf. You went on a hunt last night. It was a full moon. This is the spot in which you dumped your kills.”

“How did this happen?”
“I just told you.”
“No, I mean, how did I become a werewolf?”
The woman shrugged, “The only way to be become one is to be bitten by or exchange saliva with one. You didn’t happen to kiss anyone within the last moon cycle that you never met again, did you?”
Angie tried to think. The fog was trying to invade her mind once again.
The woman smiled, “Before you ask and while you’re trying to remember what happened, my name is Gloria. I am a paranormal cleaner.”
Angie looked at her with one eye brow raised.
Gloria chuckled, “You are not the only cursed person, cryptid, or supernatural entity I have dealt with, hun.”
“Angie, the name is Angie.”
“Ah, thank you, you are not the first and you won’t be the last. My job is to make sure you don’t get yourself in trouble.”
Angie looked around the basement again, “These people probably had families.”
“It’s already been researched, and their lives have been examined. Those with attachments will be found, just doctored to look as if an animal did it.”
“And those without ‘attachments’?” Angie used air quotes around the word.
“They will be cut up and put into acid.”
Angie threw up.
Gloria turned to go back to her corner, “You asked. In the meantime, there is a shower in the opposite corner and a change of clothing that is just your size.”

Angie made her way to the shower and turned on the water. As the cascade hit the crown of her head, she closed her eyes and tried to think back to anything that may have happened to make her this way.


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