After running away screaming in terror at what lay inside his newly delivered package, Peter returned to the box. He had to return, he needed to see. It was real, the putrid smell leading him back to his front door told him so. He took a peek over the soggy cardboard flaps.
Gooey, bloody, torn flesh, swollen lips and a pair of dead, foggy eyes stared up at his ceiling. It was a woman. Her face, frozen in terror.
Peter’s heart jumped when he realized that she almost looked familiar. No longer able to stand the sight of it, he nearly looked away and prepped to close the box and call the police. But, just as his eyes ran away from the sight, they also registered a strange white spot at the corner of her lips. It was a thin piece of string. Knowing it was a bad idea, having already figured that he was tampering with evidence, Peter held his breath and pulled at it. It kept coming until after about a foot, it got snagged on something.
A frustrated sigh escaped from his own drying mouth. The smell distorted his vision, the horror caused everything else around him to sink into darkness. He ripped a napkin form the tissue box on the key stand by the door and pressed at her chin to part her decaying lips. Sweating, hands shaking, Peter pulled harder on the sting, unable to contain his curiosity.
Wait. Is this a mistake? Something meant for someone else? He thought. Since he started writing, Peter hadn’t dated any blondes or anyone in quite some time – more time than he cared to calculate or even admit to himself. Could it be a very old ex? Perhaps a long forgotten relative having gotten mixed up in something terrible? What was going on? Soon, the end of the string revealed what had gotten it stuck, a note. He pulled it from the knot and with another tissue carefully unwrapped it, without going all the way, in case he had to somehow put it back.
At the top of the note, in fancy cursive, it started with: Story Prompt #430. Peter dropped the note and fell back on his ass. He turned around to look at his laptop on the coffee table. Staring him in the face was a Facebook group page with prompt #429 at the top. His face turned white as questions dug themselves into him like arrows to the chest. What group did he join last night? What twisted minds could be responsible for this?! But over all – he slowly looked back at the bloody note on the floor – what was prompt #430?…. What in God’s name could it be?