# September 2016 - LM - Wrong House



## kilroy214 (Sep 1, 2016)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS
*
*Wrong House*​
The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.  

This is a Fiction writing competition, and the prompt is 'Wrong House.' Pick your own title, write about whatever you want, as long as it's related in some way to the prompt. 

 The Judges for this round are: P*rinzeCharming*, *Squidtender*, *Terry D.* and a judge *Makili*.
 If you want to judge and I left you out, send me your scores by the deadline. If you're listed here and don't wish to judge, let me know at once (please).

 All entries that wish to retain their first rights should post in the LM Workshop Thread.

 All Judges scores will be PMed to *kilroy214*. 

All anonymous entries will be PMed to *kilroy214*.


*Rules*









*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges. Play the prose-poem game at your own risk.
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
*Only one entry per member.*
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word is the standard for checking this. If you are unsure of the word count and don't have Word, please send your story to me and I'll check it for you.








*There are a few ways to post your entry:*









If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *Workshop*  which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.






Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score. Please refrain from 'like'-ing or 'lol'-ing an entry until the scores are posted.

Judges: In the tradition of LM competitions of yore, if you could send the scores one week after deadline it will ensure a timely release of scores and minimize the overall implementation of porkforking. Please see the *Judging Guidelines* if you have questions. Following the suggested formatting will be much appreciated, too. 

*This competition will close on:*

Thursday, the 15th of September at 11:59 PM, GMT time. 

Scores would be appreciated by Thursday, the 29th of September. 

Click here for the current time.​


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## BabaYaga (Sep 7, 2016)

Hi, 

My entry is in the workshop... http://www.writingforums.com/thread...use-Workshop?p=2031209&viewfull=1#post2031209

Cheers


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## kilroy214 (Sep 8, 2016)

Black Eye
by Anonymous


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## Candervalle (Sep 12, 2016)

*Homeward Bound*


It is in the workshop section. Link is on the title. Hopefully I did it right.


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## godofwine (Sep 13, 2016)

Drug Raid  by Godofwine (650 Words, Strong Language)


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## kilroy214 (Sep 13, 2016)

Oops
By Anon

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...16-Wrong-House-Workshop?p=2030002#post2030002


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## Riptide (Sep 14, 2016)

Two Large Oaks (WC 633) -LANGUAGE, and some killing-_

Two large oaks in a pine forest; a clear shot to the house… _Even as James repeated it in his head, he walked passed two large oaks and stopped. No path in sight, just trees towering above.
_
He said it was right there and I’d see it._
_
He also mentioned a gas station but where was that when you needed it? _

Looking back down the road, James saw only cracked, broken asphalt. Somewhere further into the fog entrapment was his vehicle; its tire had blown miles back and he’d attempted to ride the rim the rest of the way. When the sharp incline became too much for his truck, he shouldered his backpack and rucked it to the sign: Deer Watch. The sign was supposed to be two oaks from the path that led to the house.
_
Supposed to be. That bastard lied to you._
_
Okay, slow your roll, Satan. Maybe I missed it._
_
Missed it after the ten times you scouted it out? It’s not here, it was bad info._

 Gray clouds tumbled above him. He eyed them, spat at the side of the road and sighed.
_
I’m already here._
_
Oh yeah, getting soaked in the rain sounds fun._
_
And what do you suppose I do?_

The weather balanced on a downpour or a nasty chill. Right now it angled for the chill, but not for long as the sky darkened, the world blending into monstrous demons at the edge of the forest. He kicked a pebble and watched it sputter not far from the second oak.
It skidded a dangling leaf back and lo-and-behold, a laden path opened to him.
_
Check it out. Good comes to those who are patient._
_
You sure about this, James?_
_
Of course, you see any more paths?_

With a grim smile and a solid stride, he broke the branches in his way, his feet smacking compact dirt. He unscrewed the cap of his canteen and took a swig. Vodka heated his blood while the wind picked up. It took the edge off his anxiety. Perched at the hill top at the end of the trail, the house rose like a Phoenix from the stormy weather. The heat built through his veins, arousing him to a new level. His breathing slowed and his sight narrowed.
_
You totally sure?_

“Shut up,” he growled at the voice in his head.

Thoughts fell apart in his frontal lobe, and seeped lower, into his primitive Limbic section. The heat grew to an unbearable urge. He knelt and dug through his backpack. He had a job, a good one, one that paid.

 Figures walked back and forth in the room, spied from the window. _Two, three, ah, what a job._ Pocketing his rifle in his shoulder, he barely noticed the sweep of rain pelting his skin. How cool it felt contrasting his warmth. With his free hand he took another swig before he focused.
_
Breathe in, breathe out… _

Thunder cracked, he fired the first shot. A dark splatter painted the window. James was up and bounding forward. Two more remained. A scream. He looked through the hole and shot at the woman. At the last second she banked it right and the bullet nicked her arm. He readjusted. Another shot straight to the cranium.
_
One more, one more,_ he practically passed out on the high. No need to be quiet anymore, he broke the door lock with another shot. The last person burst from the stairs, bat in hands. The teen saw the blood, blanched, leveled his stare to the barrel of the rifle. One final shot.

James relaxed and headed for the phone on the counter. He dialed his contact’s number.

The contact answered.

“It’s done.”

“Dude, my sister’s on the phone with them now. Who the Hell did you kill?”


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## Makili (Sep 14, 2016)

*When house is wrong (622 words)
*
Locked inside the living room, my body, mind and soul hurting from extreme discomfort I am exposed to. At the far side of the room, my wife Judy enduring the same ordeal and giving me a silent treatment in the process. This was not how our wedding anniversary was supposed to turn out.

I curse my decision that brought us to this situation. Being a tech-loving guy, I wanted the home automation system ever since they hit the market, but made up my mind only when a startup company announced a revolutionary new operating system based on AI. Their ads promised "complete personalisation that evolves with owner's needs!" I was salivating! Judy, my old-fashioned gal, was, however, uneasy about giving control of our house to the machine, no matter how intelligent it was supposed to be. But a cunning thought came to me: if I disguise it as an anniversary present and show her how easy and beautiful our lives will become, I would get my smart home. And, fingers crossed, an unlimited access to her nether parts. 

So I purchased the system, spent hours fervently entering our personal data and preferences - daily schedules, air and water temperature regimes, security options that would ensure our property was safe at all times, fragrances and music we love and how and when to deliver them across the house for maximum pleasure. Tonight was the night I was putting it all in motion. 

When I led Judy into the living room, a customised ambience protocol was supposed to be initiated, turning this room into the most romantic place on Earth and sweeping my wife off her feet. But the moment we entered, things went pearshaped. Instead of gently dancing in the fireplace, the flames went ablaze so the sofa caught fire and the closest extinguisher I could use was the bottle of (optimally chilled) champagne. The smoke from the scorched leather made our eyes well with tears. Our man Barry White started singing, but his velvety baritone was far from being sexy at that level of decibels. And the concentration of vanilla coconut Tropical Paradise scent scraped our nostrils and sent waves of nausea up and down our guts. It was clear the romance was not in da house.

Judy was surprised, all right, but not in the way I anticipated. I clung to the hope that the situation could still be salvaged.

- Decrease output ambience levels, I demanded from the home system's control panel. 

A cheery voice came from an animated face: 
- Optimal output levels of desired environmental parameters reached. Please proceed with planned activities and enjoy.
It winked. 

With raising despair my fingers tapped level bars on the touchscreen, left and right they glided, but to no avail. And, then, the world's smartest home automation system declared:
- Based on careful analysis of owners' preferences, I have designed a combination of parameters and optimised their output levels for maximum romantic experience. The fact that you are now trying to override those parameters leads me to conclude you are not the home owner who provided the initial data. By logic, you are an intruder, and in the best interest of this home's owners, I will now initiate the appropriate security protocol. All the ways out of this room will be shut and protected with electrical current against attempts of forced exit. Please remain calm until security arrives to terminate the protocol. Have a good night. 

So here I was... Trapped by my own house, waiting to be rescued by strangers. Stabbed by the icicles from my wife's glare.  Nope, this was not how I pictured my smart home and my forthcoming love life. Damn, I should have booked that Caribbean cruise!


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## ned (Sep 15, 2016)

*The Sound of Sirens*  (643 words)

Sirens scream in my head as dreamless sleep ebbs into the spectre of a hangover. I squeeze my eyes open to glimpse the glare of an unknown light-fitting on an unknown ceiling - where am I? Lying on a sofa, I look around and fuzzily recognise the post-party living room, then slowly, pieces of the previous night surface like wreckage from the deep. 

I was in The Rose and Crown….on a stag-night for a friend of a friend’s brother or someone…and chatting-up a girl at the bar. What was her name?…Clarissa…with green eyes and tumbling red hair. Not my type normally, but she was fun and we giggled at each other’s jokes, realising we shared the same sense of humour.
“Drink up Tone!” I heard Brian call. “We’re off to the next pub.”
I pulled a comic sad face. “Gotta go. But can I take your number?” Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then she took a pen from her handbag.
“Tell you what, I’m going to a party later, at this address.” Scribbling on the back of a beer-mat. “But come alone.” Which sounded promising. “I don’t want your drunken mates trashing the place!” Watching them stagger out the door, and with a smile, I grabbed the beer-mat and quickly followed.

Much later, measured in pints and shots, it was decided that we should go to the kebab shop, and the inevitable wending home. 
“I’ll pass on the kebab.” I told them, taking the opposite way, and headed for the taxi rank. When I got there, it was either too early or too late for the usual boozy queue, and flashed the beer-mat at the first cab in line.
“Know this place, mate?” I enquired.
“Of course.” The driver replied, like it was a rude question. I silently climbed into the back and we sped off into the night.

Opening the garden gate, I could hear the boom-boom of dance music coming from the open front door and gingerly stepped inside. I saw the usual party scene of a few shuffling dancers, while others were clutched in small groups, but there was no flash of tumbling red hair anywhere. So, I wandered into the kitchen and was met by a gaggle of girls smoking cigarettes over their drinks. 
“Anyone seen Clarissa?” I asked.
“She was in the living room last time I saw her.” Ventured the short dark-haired girl next to me. And I shrugged in reply. “Fancy a drink?” She said with a smile, waving a bottle of gin.
“OK.” I said casually, and that’s when things get a bit fuzzy. I can remember dancing to ‘Hey Ho Silver Lining’ with some bloke called Derrick as a my glass of gin and tonic sloshed in my hand, but not much else - and certainly no recall of seeing Clarissa.

Slowly sitting upright on the sofa, I manage to find a half-finished bloody-Mary to take the edge off. Just then, a rather attractive middle-aged woman comes into the room and looks down at me.
“Hello, you crashed out last night and we couldn’t wake you, so we left you to sleep it off.”
“Sorry…I guess I overdid it.” Only now, noticing the blanket draped around me. “Have you seen Clarissa?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “But I’m Clarissa. That was my birthday party. I thought you were a friend of Derrick’s.”
“No…I mean yes”  Despite the early hour, there is some sort of commotion going on, and I hear a babble of voices coming from the front garden. “What’s happening?”
“Oh, it’s a terrible thing. There’s a fire at number 31. Didn’t you hear the fire engines go past?”
The sound of sirens suddenly return to my head and I pull the beer-mat from my pocket and examine the scribbled address. It looks like number 37, but then again, it could be number 31.


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## kilroy214 (Sep 15, 2016)

Old Man Carson's House
by anonymous


http://www.writingforums.com/thread...16-Wrong-House-Workshop?p=2030002#post2030002


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