Welcome to our weekly writing prompt.
Every Friday I will be posting a picture and inviting you to write a short story inspired by that picture. The suggested word length for the story is less than 250-words – but there is no minimum. So, if you fancy writing a 6-word story, then go for it!
Don’t feel your story has to have a murder mystery theme to it – simply write whatever the picture conjures up in your mind.
It would be great if you could share your stories. You can do this by putting your story in the comments section below. Let’s go.
Writing Prompt
Here is the picture prompt for this week.
Have fun and don’t forget to share your story in the comments below. Every now and again we will read some of them out in our podcast.
Only Murders In My Mind 
Ladies and Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, we’ll begin the tour of the house.
In the main hallway, you’ll see portraits of some of the former residents. This distinguished Gentleman is the fourteenth Earl of Cumberbatch, whose grandson owns the property today.
There is a sad story regarding the fourteenth Earl, he was an inventor who spent many years trying to perfect a time machine. The family tried to persuade him to turn his talents to something more believable but one day he abandoned his work and is believed to have thrown himself into the river that flows through the estate.
Today is the one hundredth anniversary of his disappearance.
The next room was his workshop, and we still have his “time machine” on display although sadly it will never work.
“Don’t you believe in time travel” came a voice from the back of the small crowd of visitors.
“Certainly not” I replied. “It’s all stuff and nonsense”.
“Ah, but wouldn’t it be fun if it was truly possible” he said, with a note of excitement in his voice “I can’t wait to see it”.
“it’s just a heap of junk” I answered.
As we entered the workshop an elderly gentleman pushed past me and knelt by the display.
“Excuse me Sir” you’re not allowed to touch the exhibits.
“Be off with you girl and leave me to my work” he snapped.
“Just who do you think you are” I spat angrily.
“Why, the fourteenth Earl of Cumberbatch” he replied.
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To be honest, I’ve never had a bent for anything artistic. I draw like a five-year-old, I’ve got the fine motor skills of a Tyrannosaurus Rex and the attention span of a goldfish with dementia.
So why, when I woke up last Monday, did I have an irresistible urge to paint?
Pausing just long enough to pull on a shirt and shorts, I was off to Hobbycraft filling a trolly with assorted brushes, paints and a 6×4 canvas.
I spent the next three days closeted in the spare bedroom in a complete daze, breaking only occasionally to pee.
And this was the result. I’ve no idea who he is, or where I’ve seen the face before.
Once I finished, I dragged myself to the bedroom and slept for a full 48 hours.
I woke up on Sunday evening with gnawing hunger pains in my gut to remind me that I hadn’t eaten in days.
As I made my way to the kitchen, I glanced at the painting through the open bedroom door. I had the feeling it was staring straight at me with a malevolent gaze.
I was making myself a coffee when a chill washed over me, followed by sheer terror.
I looked behind me and saw him standing in the doorway.
“I won’t hurt you” he said, “I just wanted to thank you for releasing me from my exile”.
He placed a calling card on the table, turned and left.
What have I done? And who is Nick?
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