During one of the exercises at Writing Club, I came up with the following scene, and am pretty proud it. While transcribing it from my notebook just a few minutes ago, I figured I’d go ahead and share it with everyone. Don’t mind the change in tenses throughout the writing – this is something from a timed-writing exercise, and I haven’t bothered to correct it since it’s something I’d be moving over to a script format. Enjoy!
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Kyle hung up the phone after his conversation with the detective, flush with newfound terror. Things like this can’t really be happening in this town, can they? Riker and Emily’s murders were part of some sort of cover-up? Kyle dashed around the house, locking the doors and windows. All that was left was the front door. Just as he reached for the lock, he froze.

Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
                A moment, an eternity passed. Should he just lock the door and head upstairs to hide? Hope they might just give up and go away? Just answer it?

Knock.
Knock.
Knock.

                “Kyle…are you home?” Selina’s sweet voice sounded both inviting and horrifying – truly she is a siren incarnate. Still frozen. The door opens, though, and suddenly Kyle is face-to-face with Selina, a sly smile on her face that crept, then spread into a wide, devilish grin. “Oh, hello there, Kyle.” She let his name hang in the air, swaying like a hangman’s noose.                

“Selina, what brings you around here?”
“I just stopped by… to check on you, Kyle.” His name hangs icily, the noose tightened.
“What are you talking about? What reason is there to check up on me? Things are just fine.” 
“Your dad is out of town tonight, isn’t he, Kyle?”                
“Y-yeah, he is. So?”
“So, you probably don’t have anything prepared for dinner, do you, Kyle?”
“Of course I do! I’m just in the middle of cooking no—“
“Liar.”

She doesn’t yell it or scream it. Selina merely states it with the force of unimpeachable authority. “There are TV dinners in the freezer which you’ve half-heartedly considered eating, Kyle. Here,” she said, kindly holding out a container of food. “Something nutritious for you to eat, Kyle.” His name still sounds cold as ice when it comes from her mouth. But Kyle doesn’t want to take it. He wants to slam the door on her; he wants to run, even though his feet won’t let him. Selina takes a step closer to Kyle, entering his personal space. She brings her face close to his, pressing the meal up against his gut. “I wouldn’t want to see you starve to death, Kyle.” His breath has become ragged with worry, but she just continues to smile. “Be sure to eat every last bit of it, Kyle. Otherwise, I know you rejected all my hard work, Kyle.” She slowly draws herself away from him, stepping backwards until she’s outside, with her hand on the door. “Goodnight, and sweet dreams, Kyle.”

And with that, she closes the door.

Kyle just stands there holding this still-warm container of God Knows What, with Selina’s scent lingering in the air. After a minute, the world returns to him and he locks the door once, twice, thrice. He’s determined that nobody get in tonight. He returns to the kitchen, suddenly realizing that he’s hungry and he’s still clutching the food Selina gave to him. He sets the food down on the table and stares at it, half-expecting something to come out of the container and strangle him to death. No such fate comes, though, and he opens the container to find a few portions of gratin, chicken breast and mashed potatoes. She must have just made this, he thought, considering it’s barely lost any of its heat. He continues to eye it warily, but sets it down at the dinner table.

Kyle returns to the table with his full range of dinner preparations: salt and pepper, silverware and a book. By now, his suspicions have waned – or at the very least, his hunger has taken over. He sits down, focusing mainly on his book while mindlessly hacking at his food with his fork. Ignoring the all-too-useful knife, Kyle struggles a bit with his chicken, but ultimately manages to break a piece free, actually having to divert his attention for a moment to defeat the dead bird. He stuffs it in his mouth like all the rest. He’s still pretty hungry, so he stuffs his cheeks full with some gratin and chews away.

Something’s not quite right. He’s in pain – serious, violent pain. The food spills from his mouth onto the floor, along with a few drops of blood. His mouth is bleeding pretty badly – it won’t stop pouring out. Kyle rushes over to the sink, spits out some more blood, and rinses his mouth with cold water, hoping for the bleeding to stop.