So, we are a month in and the stories just keep getting better.
Shout out to Nick Oefinger for the awesome prompt!
Week 4 Writing Prompt – Day 2 of the first manned mission to Mars, and one of the 7-man crew is found brutally murdered. Two more are found dead on day 3. By Day 5, it’s just you and one other crew member. Given the obvious, you barricade yourself inside the living quarters that night. You wake up on day 6 to find your last remaining fellow astronaut brutally slain, just like the rest.
WINNER!!! By Melissa Robitille
Journal of Captain Michael Montoya
August 31, 2043 – “One small step?” Chad’s behavior was extremely unprofessional and turned a historic moment into a mockery of Armstrong’s accomplishment. We set up the habitat. It took two hours longer than expected. The sandstorm activity was considerably worse than we were told to expect.
September 1, 2043 – Bella found Chad this morning after he failed to report for his shift. No matter how much he trampled Armstrong’s toes, he didn’t deserve that. He was stabbed six times in the chest, then his stomach was cut open. There was a struggle, from the blood splashes, and the killer strangled him to death with his intestines. We sent a message back to Houston for instructions. Houston isn’t going to scrap the mission. They said we would have to investigate.
September 2, 2043 – Bella and James were found dead this morning. They were the first two on the scene in Chad’s segment of the habitat. Did the killer go after them because they saw some crucial piece of evidence? This was even gorier. Harry puked violently. The killer had sawn open their stomachs, strangled them again, and this time he mashed their bodied together after the fact. I looked at the remaining crew. Who had the sheer upper body strength to do that? We tried to call Houston, but a sandstorm must have taken out the equipment. Either that or the killer sabotaged it.
September 3, 2043 – We don’t trust each other. We have good reason. This morning Harry and Josh were dead. Separate rooms, thankfully, but still worse. Harry was skinned after death, and there wasn’t much more than a lumpy smear left of Josh. Chelsea came up with the crazy idea that Josh had escaped, but we found the rest of his body stuffed into the toilet in gobbets, the heap of flesh overflowing the receptacle and oozing back out of the hose with wet plops. Chelsea fainted. Luke and Ashton eyed me and each other suspiciously – there was no way Chelsea did any of this. I cleaned out the toilet, spraying the dry Martian dust with what was left of Josh. It sucked every trace of moisture from the flesh almost before it hit the ground. We boxed up what was left. I checked the equipment outside. It hadn’t been tampered with. Everything should work. We still couldn’t get a message out.
September 4, 2043 – Chelsea and Ashton were dead this morning. Now I know. It’s Luke. He’s been picking us off one by one. Chelsea’s bones had been removed and reassembled, the rest of her left like a grisly sock puppet. Ashton’s head had been ripped from his body by brute force. I don’t know how Luke did it. He’s strong, but that’s a huge amount of force. Was he using some sort of tool? He wasn’t going to get to me. He backed into his quarters as I backed into mine. I was alone on Mars with a killer, and I had no way to fly myself back on my own. I barricaded myself into my quarters and tried to think of ways to keep myself alive and get Luke to help me fly the ship back to Earth.
September 5, 2043 – I woke this morning and picked up the length of pipe I’d locked myself in with. I wasn’t going to let that bastard get the jump on me. I removed the barricade I’d made in front of my door and ventured out to get food, planning to go right back to my quarters. Luke was dead. His door had been ripped from its housing entirely. Something had picked him up and smashed him against the walls of his room and the common area, splattering blood everywhere. Luke didn’t do it. I frantically checked the comms and they were still out. I looked over every inch of the habitat, but it was sealed. Nothing could have gotten in, not without leaving obvious marks. I’ll admit I’m terrified.
September 6, 2043 – “Mars, can you hear us? Are you experiencing system failure? What is your status?”
The tinny voice echoed through the empty habitat. The wind blew the massive outer door back and forth on the three thin wires that were all that was left of the door’s electronics. The door of Captain Montoya’s quarters was entirely obliterated, burst from the inside. Massive bloody footprints and drag marks crossed the floor of the common area and headed off towards the red ochre horizon. A dust devil swirled through the room, the sand dragging as it encountered the still-wet blood, almost lapping at it like a cat. The bloody footprints in the sand slowly disappeared, the greedy sand sucking at the precious moisture.
Sand filtered in, ever mounting, obliterating all sign of human presence. Mars had Chosen. It was fitting that Mars never be reminded of the scar upon her surface. Mars told Chosen to build, that the Others would never return to disturb her rest.
Want more from Melissa? You can find her here:
http://tinyurl.com/zjgdxdk (book Amazon pg)
https://www.facebook.com/Melissa-Robitille-203203153102649 FB Author pg
http://tinyurl.com/zcf9og5 (Author Amazon pg)