For those just tuning in, this challenge is about taking a story idea from bare bones idea into a fully fledged story by writing consistently every week day for fifteen minutes. The sentence I end with on one day, is the sentence I start with on the following. Part one was Bob’s story and has nothing whatsoever to do with the story below. Part Two follows a character named Penelope. I have a few basic sentences to act as road marks on her journey. I am loosely calling that an outline. We will see where she ends up by the time the story is done. For now, we start Part two of the 2025 Fifteen Minute Writing Challenge.
Day 148: Penelope lifted a hand to the vent.
Penelope lifted a hand to the vent. There was no air, either hot or cold blowing through it. She touched the door handle. It was warm. The seat too. It was warm. When she touched the dash, it too felt warm. It wasn’t an uncomfortable warmth but it was present. She didn’t think anything was on fire and nothing was screaming at her telling her to get out of the vehicle. But it was strange.
“Something wrong?” Michaelson asked.
“It’s warm,” Penelope said.
His eyes dropped to the dials and buttons controlling the car’s internal systems.
“Its not the air vents,” she said. “Just something about the car is warm.” She made a show of touching various things in a circuit. “All warm.” She touched the roof of the car above her head. “It’s warm too,” she said.
Michaelson nodded. “They told me this might happen, but they weren’t sure. Some can sense it others can’t. The warmth is the protection spell they put on the car. At least it should be. Barring any more problems getting there, we can double check at the garage. Luckily it isn’t far.”
Penelope nodded. As Michaelson put the car into gear and backed out of the parking space, she closed her eyes. As she did the warmth became more noticeable. A pulsing presence. She tilted her head slightly almost able to hear whispered words. She couldn’t quite make them out. It was as though she was too far away to follow the conversation but she could still hear the voices. Occasionally the sounds seemed to form words.
To her it sounded a bit like the ghost hunter shows. Instead of the static with one word popping up, she could tell it was speech with only one word popping out.
‘Not that it helps any,’ Penelope thought opening her eyes. Even if she could tell it was a word it wasn’t a word in a language she knew. She stopped herself from frowning, not want Michaelson to ask her questions. She only tried a few spells but they were all in English. There was no strange spell language she came across that she needed to learn.
‘But I really only tried simple things. I suppose the bigger spells could be in a special magical language. Or the person doing the magic just speaks a different language and uses that for magic.’ It was another question on her ever growing list.
‘Perhaps I will call Mrs. Merriweather when I get home.’ She still didn’t know about calling her Aunt Lenore, bit she still might be willing to answer questions. Michaelson turned the corner and Penelope had another question crop up. One that she could ask Michalson.
“You said Jerome died,” Penelope began. “How?”
“How?” he repeated.
“Yes, how,” Penelope said. “Mom died from having her break line cut. Other people die from heart attacks or falling off bridges or falling asleep and failing to wake up again. How did Jerome die?”
“We are looking into it,” Michaelson said.
“Which means it wasn’t a fall asleep and not get up sort of thing,” Penelope replied.
“Meaning his death didn’t ping on anyone’s radar as suspicious at the time but given everything else we are going back and looking through the details to find out.”
He looked irritated.
Ten til Midnight 