Top Band Narrative Sample
Write the opening to a story which begins with the following sentence: The mist gradually lifted,
revealing an incredible sight.
The mist gradually lifted revealing an incredible sight. The dense olive-green canopy shone under the
full moon’s light. It shone in a fashion that would deceive you to believe that each leaf was
lacquered to perfection. A cold, wind whistled in my direction, piercing my cheeks and stinging my
dry eyes. I fixed my gaze on the cratered ball. It glowed majestically. Yet, it felt like it held back on its
light, as if threatened to do so…
And within the next few seconds, the shadow grey clouds loomed in, realizing the moon’s fear and
consumed it entirely, leaving the sky as lonely and barren as ever. A high-pitched agonised howl
escaped the unruffled forest canopy. The creatures of the night were grieving the moon’s demise. I
shivered a little and quickly left the veranda, coming back to my bleak room.
The bed groaned slightly as I sat on the edge and noticed the way the scaly periwinkle wallpaper
peeled of the stained wall to reveal the hideous rotting wood behind it. I sighed and tried to distract
myself but my mind kept firing terrifying images; images of that night, before my eyes, one by one,
like bullets from a machine gun gone rogue.
Why was I here? Well, I wouldn’t tell you just yet… but in case you haven’t figured it out, I was
miserable. Miserable and guilty.
A hasty rapping on the door made me jump, yanking me out of the depths of my self-pity. I strode
across the room to open the door. It was room service. Yes, room service at night. A tall puny young
man stood there. He greeted me sheepishly, revealing an incomplete set of light-yellow teeth. I
beckoned him to come in and stood by the door. As he mechanically made my bed, I noticed how
nothing about this man was not ‘not sheepish’. He was the definition of sheepish. As I secretly
amused myself in the presence of his stooped form, a loud knock filled the room and resonated off
the weak walls. It was a peculiar knock. The very nature of this knock was polite and harmless, yet it
had an edge of intrusion and invasion to it. It was peculiar enough to give the sheepish young man a
reason to look at the door with curiosity.
I opened the door slowly and a thick blanket of dread settled over me as I found her standing in the
dimly lit corridor. Her familiar smoky grey eyes were cold and eerie as she fixated them on my blood
drained face. Her stare was meaningful and knowing. Her flawless, ashen white face held her
perfectly shaped scarlet lips; she was too exquisite for the corridor in which she stood, yet it was the
very essence of her sinister presence that made the corridor seem way more unwelcoming than it
actually was. I could feel the coldness take over my neck.
“Wh- Why are you here?”, I stammered unlike myself.
A spine-chilling wind blew the dirty curtains inside the room. The sheepish young man came from
inside with a raised eyebrow.
“Everything alright sir? Oh, this is Veronica”, he informed me. The dull orange light in the corridor
began flickering. “She joined us yesterday. Come in Veronica”, he continued. The light flickered even
more wildly as if asking the sheepish young man to stop talking. “That bulb needs to be changed it
seems”, he observed solemnly.
“Get to work Veronica, will you now”.
But she simply looked up at me with mock innocence and I realised I was standing in her way. I
reluctantly stepped aside and she walked in. Her face was expressionless. A strong, uncomfortably
familiar, scent of cinnamon hit my nose as she drift past me and my stomach fell to the deepest pit
of my abdomen. It really was her. I stood there with buckled knees. What was she doing here? How
did she know I was here? I did everything they asked me to. I destroyed the car. I left the city. I came
to this ancient motel. They promised me my safety. They swore to keep my secret safe as long as I
kept theirs. Were they going to go back on their word now?
“Sir… Excuse me sir?!”, interjected the sheepish young man as I jerked and turned to him,
disgruntled and disoriented. “We’re done for now”, he said, eyeing me suspiciously.
I nodded briefly, all the while avoiding her stone-grey eyes. I observed how she never blinked.
“Come on Veronica”, he called. This time the moth-eaten table lamp flickered; a low cricket like buzz
escaping the mauve cloth.
They left and I closed the door shut, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the rusted latches. It was
all supposed to be over on the night of 31st December. That appalling night. With my back pressed
against the door I slid down as my knees gave up. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of
my cheek. It was all supposed to be over I thought.
Suddenly, I felt something caress the back of my palm. It was piece of a paper. My heart hurt as it
beat uncontrollably fast with fresh fear as I realized that it reeked of cinnamon. I turned it and held it
before my frantic eyes. In the most elegant handwriting were the following words in wine red ink:
Don’t think much Eric. I know what you have done. It was never over.
In fact, it has just begun.
Sleep well
Veronica
My hands were now numb. I cannot describe how right she was, for indeed, that night was when it
all began.
WAGOLL! (What a Good One Looks Like!)
