A draft of my story soul trap(sorry for the late blog post;)

Jacob parted the dense green shrubbery with a shaky hand. He thought he’d heard someone begging for help a few seconds ago. The soft whimpering seemed to be coming from inside his head, the cries touched a nerve. It blew right past the deep hum and smash of the music bursting from his earphones. It sounded like a woman in pain, someone that needed help. Someone that he couldn’t find, even though he used telepathy to search for them.

“Hello?” Jacob said, hating the way his voice shook. He stood in the bushes debating his options, both of which didn’t appear too appealing to him. The relative safety of the bushes was deceptive, but something that he took comfort in when the thought of stepping into them confronted him. No one answered his first call, but he wasn’t going to call out again. ‘That’s how the people get murdered in the horror movies.” He thought stepping back from the bushes slowly. 

There was no sign of anyone laying hurt when he cleared the bushes, and the sound that caused him to suffer through the scrapes and tears of Mrs. Danbridge’s bushes hadn’t repeated itself. He tried again to use his psychic abilities but the only thing he could find were a few rodents in the Danbridge rosebush. He did a cursory scan of the rodents then turned away from the roses and the rest of the deserted yard. 

‘I must be tripping.’ Jake thought putting on his earphones. He was almost done delivering today’s newspapers and then he would have the weekend to spend the money he was getting. He didn’t get paid a lot working for the Sentinel Voice, Perris’s local paper, but some money is better than nothing at all, was one of his mother’s favorite sayings. The fact that he could remember anything she said, made Jake feel more corny than he was ready to admit. He threw the last paper of the day, grateful that next week he would get his bike back from Mike’s shop, then everything would be back to normal. 

Like so many youths, thoughts of the strange noise he heard earlier, is just a distant memory as he walks down the street, making his way to the journal’s home office. “Man I cant wait til next week. “ Jake says. This walk is going to take another forty-five minutes and he’s supposed to meet Chuck at six. Jake turned up the volume on is Ipod and lowered his head, determination etched in his face as he plodded toward his measly paycheck and the time he was going to spend with his friends afterward.


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