Creepy old ladies are a good premise

Everybody loves a good locked room mystery, especially ones that involve a group of people reuniting, all their past arguments and struggles included. This writing sample focuses on a guy named Charlie who is on his way to such a reunion, at a secluded cabin with no service of course! He stops on his way to figure out directions--will he ever even make it to the reunion?

Would you want this to be a longer piece, like the prologue for a full length novel? Let me know in the comments!

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The sunlight through the trees created a pattern of shadows across the pavement as Charlie leisurely navigated down the back country road. He had the windows down and could hear the birds chirping and the wind rustling through the surrounding trees. Upstate New York was a stark difference to his usual days in downtown Manhattan. Feeling the sway of the car’s suspension, he curved down the road, on his way to meet the same six people he meets every year—college friends, trying to keep their bond alive. This year, Alice offered up her family’s lake house for the annual long weekend reunion.

Charlie was thankful that the trip was within driving distance, but he really wished it was somewhere with internet and cell service, so he could sneak away from the festivities to work occasionally. Unmarried and in his early thirties, work was Charlie’s focus at the moment. He wondered if he should have transitioned to Charles by now to change his image at work into that of a professional instead of a young boy, but his friends all called him Charlie, so it would stick at least for another weekend. He picked up his thermos and took a swig, the dark Sumatra blend warming his bones. It was nearing the end of summer, and up here the air was cooler. He could swear he smelled hints of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air, signaling the coming Fall.

Working over the weekend didn’t look promising, as the GPS had already cut out. He knew he was getting close, but none of the streets or driveways were labeled, and without a copilot, Charlie couldn’t check the detailed directions from Alice for what to do after leaving the main road. He could see a lake peeping through the trees, and assuming it was the right lake, he was close.

He glided around another turn and noticed a narrow driveway creeping out from behind a large oak. He decided to pull over to review the email from Alice, thankfully already loaded on his phone. He slowed to a crawl and turned into the driveway. Just as he was turning, the bold Sumatra flavor in his mouth turned sour, a rotting taste in his mouth. Long and narrow, there wasn’t space to turn around at the top of the driveway, especially with all the dense tree cover, so Charlie continued down the gravel drive, hoping there was space to turn around closer to whatever house lay at the end. With the windows still down, he noticed that it was eerily silent, no more chirping or rustling leaves. The fresh air with hints of Fall was no longer present either, replaced by the smell of dead, decaying, wet leaves.

Approaching a clearing, the house came into view. The whole yard was covered in a grey mist and was oddly out of focus, like he needed a new prescription in his glasses. The house wasn’t a standard lake cabin as he was expecting—it was an old Victorian, dilapidated, like it hadn’t seen human attention in years. Charlie stopped to do a three-point-turn when he noticed an old woman on the porch. Frail and stiff, she was barely moving in the peeling white rocking chair where she sat. On her lap was an Afghan, similarly dank and soiled. The Afghan looked like it was once a light pink and blue, almost like the baby blanked he gifted his sister last year. Charlie clinched the steering wheel, feeling the leather grind under his fingertips.

Charlie waved, but there was no response from the woman who appeared not even to notice that someone had broken the barrier between her world and the road. Charlie proceeded with the three-point-turn, careful to stay on the gravel. After he was fully turned around, he figured he should drive back toward the road before looking at the directions, instead of awkwardly sitting in this woman’s driveway. When Charlie glanced in the rearview mirror before departing, the woman was gone. Just the chair and the blanket were left on the porch.

Charlie thought this was odd but planned to proceed away from the house. When he pressed on the gas, the car didn’t move. Instead of pressing forward, the car turned off. Charlie looked down at the gauges in disbelief—had he pressed the push-button-start by accident? He began to let out a sign, but it hitched in his throat. The woman was back, standing right in front of the car, blocking his path down the driveway.