byChrisWhite – 2025
Writers’ Hour Magazine (3/28/25) Writing Prompt: On Tenterhooks: What does living in a state of suspense feel like? Write a piece in the genre of your choosing in response – 500 words or less.
The creek lay nearly still beneath the low canopy of sycamore and green-fruited Bodok, its flow dammed by the body like the stream itself had paused to stare. He stood at the edge in his brown uniform, utility belt, and unseasoned boots, water curling against his ankles in small, apologetic swells. Striated limestone beneath the surface gleamed pale and unnatural, a fossil bed turned stage, and the cold, stiff, man in the water, belly down, arms out like he’d meant to brace for something, did not move, did not bleed, did not rot yet.
Deputy Buck Wallen was twenty-four years old and entirely alone. No partner. No backup. Five hundred square miles of hills and roads and gravel switchbacks, livestock fences and moonshine hollows and names carved into wood signs so old the paint had dried into the grain like guilt. His cruiser was a half-mile uphill and out of signal range, and the radio inside it, nothing but a box of wire and transistors and silence.
He exhaled once. A crow somewhere flapped, then stopped. It’s wings drooping like sickness. It’s voice more coo than caw.
He scanned the tree line, once, twice. The leaves didn’t shift, and no man stepped forth, but that meant nothing. The first thing they’d taught him was that dead men don’t talk, and the second was that killers often don’t need to.
The youthful face in the water was pressed against rock, one cheek flattened, one eye submerged and still open, pale blue; ringed with grit and the footprints of flies. The boots, black, scuffed, one heel nearly off, looked military. The hands, visible past the sleeves, bore scars on the knuckles. The sort that told of survival, but not victory.
Buck felt the tremor start in his right thigh and move inward, a ripple not unlike the creek’s. He had seen bodies before. Old men in recliners with hearts stopped in their sleep. A girl slumped against her steering wheel after prom, blood rising up from her mouth like it meant to spill her secrets but stopped just short.
But this was different. This one had not been laid to rest by fate or misfortune. This one had been placed, hidden by purpose or panic, but placed.
He could feel it, the weight of that presence still near. Not visible, but not departed either. A deliberate absence.
He reached for his service weapon and did not draw it. His hand hovered, then lowered. Unsnapping the holster’s strap, just in case.
What hung in the air was not just fear. It was choice. What he would do next would write something into his bones that would not be unwritten.
He could leave. Call it in from the ridge. Pretend he had not seen what he had seen until he was sure someone else could see it with him.
But he stepped forward. Into the water. Toward the man. Toward the thing that had made him so.
And the creek moved again.
Ramblings & Revelations 
Responses
Powerful writing!
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Thank you so much.
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Excellent–I could feel his fear and his determination to overcome it.
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Thank you Diana.
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I could feel the tension in the air. Was the killer watching him? The ending, “And the creek moved again,” is not clear. Did he disturb the water? Was he shot and fell into the creek?
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That’s a great question Rosaliene. Lol. I thought I might revisit this one. I thought a cliffhanger might be a great place to end it for now—write the rest in a few weeks.
At least I know one person who might wanna see how it ends. Haha.
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My mistake in thinking it was a complete story. Look forward to reading the rest of the story.
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No problem. Not really a mistake. I initially left it with a mysterious ending intentionally. Then later thought about a deeper development. We’ll see. If it sucks, I’ll leave it be. If I can catch a break and find something that will elevate it, then you’ll know. I’m already working on some different pieces, so I’m just gonna focus on those first, then we’ll see what happens with the deputy.
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Chris, I’ve found when writing fiction that plot development can evolve in unexpected ways during the writing process.
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Yes. I agree. That what I love about it.
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Good portrayal of suspense/fear. Then the question of what he feels and notices makes it even more intense. Was he just jumping at shadows due to the “new” experience, or was some sort of instinct/intuition kicking in? Good stuff, Chris.
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Thank you Scott. I appreciate your kind thoughts.
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You paint a picture so vividly that it leaves no doubt in the mind.
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Thank you Warren. I appreciate you.
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“Dead men don’t talk, Killers don’t need to” Powerful man
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Thank you!
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Brilliant, this is really good! It is very evocative. Your writing creates a very visual space, which even in a short story gives the reader a wonderful bridge to both location and feeling…
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Thank you so much. I appreciate you sharing your thoughts.
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“A deliberate absence.” What a great description of the moment. Hopefully you keep writing this one! It feels like a book.
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Thank you!
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Beautifully written. Well naratted. Keep going on 💪🏼
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Thank you.
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Welcome 🙂 Hi subscribe to my YouTube channel if you don’t have any problems.https://youtube.com/@pritilatanandi2010?si=_DQUCE2J2ZxlM-tj. Thank you 🙏🏼😊
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I will.
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Powerful writing 💖
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Thank you so much.
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Excellent writing Chris, very evocative. Intriguing.
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Thank you Paul.
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That was so well written. You had me feeling as if I was right there.
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Thank you Iris.
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Wow, excellent storytelling! I could envision the crow flapping in the silence. 😎👏
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Thank you Darryl! I appreciate you.
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It’s amazing how many choices this man pondered in sight of this dead body.
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I appreciate your attention to detail.
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Nice post
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Thank you so much.
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Brilliant descriptive prose, Chris! Your storytelling ability is amazing. Thank you for this.
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Thank you Violet. I really appreciate your support and encouragement.
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