First, I want to thank everyone for contributing. I wanted to use all of your ideas, but, we can only have one story. I chose parts of several different responses and used them to move the story forward. Let’s see where you take Brian next.
Brian parked his car across the street from his house and switched off the engine. He sat for moment in the dark and wondered why he was doing this. The anonymous phone call he received at work had rattled him. A female voice had simply said he should go home immediately and then hung up.
Brian got out of his car and walked toward the house. The night air was cold; he shivered inside his overcoat. The house was dark except for a hall light on the second floor. He fumbled for his keys as he climbed the front steps.
Brian stopped outside the door for a moment and listened intently. He heard nothing from inside the house; only the distant bark of a dog. Brian took a deep breath as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
It was quiet and almost completely dark inside, save for the faint light at the end of the corridor, coming from upstairs. Brian reached out to the light switch and turned it on. The living room looked like a bomb had gone off in it. He saw lamps broken, books strewn everywhere, and all the tiny glass dolls he had purchased for his wife shattered into a thousand pieces.
Then he saw the blood. Brian followed the small drops of blood back out into the foyer toward the stairs. The drops were getting bigger now. Forgetting his fear, he bolted up the stairs toward the light on the second floor.
The trail of blood led to his bedroom. And there, on the bed, he found the message.
Brian’s pet canary was on his bed; its neck twisted. The message, in all its chilling simplicity was clear: sing and this will be your fate.
Brian’s hands were trembling as he reached for the phone and dialed the number given to him by his police contact. A million little slivers of thought were racing through his mind, each horrible idea vying for prominence.
‘Was the girl a police implant? Or was she one of ‘them’?’
Brian jerked as the lights went out. That’s when he realized the phone in his hand was dead. Dead, dead like the canary.
The hair on the back of Brian’s neck stood up and a tingle went down his spine. He heard the floor creak behind him. In the dark, he groped for the lamp on the nightstand. Since it didn’t work, he’d use it as a club. His hand wrapped around the lamp. A flood of realization hit him. It was a trap.
Remember have fun and keep it clean. Thanks!