So I had seen the 31 sentence story challenge about a few times, but this is the first time I have tried to enter it.

I thought (until I read the post more carefully) that you needed to write a story in 31 sentences.

Well, that is right. Kinda.

It is more devious than that. You also need to make sure that each sentence has the correct number of words in it.

This week it is:

20, 27, 2, 28, 7, 24, 18, 1, 9, 12, 15, 11, 26, 17, 16, 4, 21, 8, 31, 5, 30, 14, 22, 13, 23, 19, 3, 6, 10, 25, 29

_{(so sentence one must have 20 words in it, sentence two should have 27 words, sentence three should have two words, and so on)}

Check out Hive account@tristancarax’s post for more detailed information, all the rules, and to see the picture prompt:
@tristancarax/the-31-sentence-contest-round-17-redo

…

…

Glenn knew Clare had been in the house because the key under the doormat was not in its rightful place. It was still under the doormat but, instead of being precisely in the middle, it was five millimetres off centre, and the key’s teeth were pointing left.

Not right.

Glenn gritted his teeth as he bent down to retrieve it, trying not to imagine the smile on Clare’s face as she placed the key so precisely wrong. Knowing he would know it was her.

As Glenn slid the key into the lock, twisting it, pushing the door open wide, he half expected Clare to be waiting for him. She wasn’t standing there, no grin, no hug, no knife behind her back ready to plunge into his.

No.

That was too obvious, not Clare’s style at all. If she wanted to hurt Glenn she would be way more subtle. She knew putting the key the wrong way round would cause him anxiety and stress.

It inflicted more pain than a simple knife in the gut.

Clare knew Glenn’s Obsessive Compulsive Disorder ruled his life, and any disruption to his carefully ordered world would inflict emotional damage far greater than anything physical.

The key had been a message - a taunt - to tell him she had been there, done something.

Glenn turned the key in the lock, jiggling the handle, nine times, ensuring it was secure.

Clare used to laugh.

“Why leave the key under the mat - the first place a burglar would look - yet you check it’s locked once inside?”

Glenn would shrug and say he couldn’t explain. Which was true, his obsessions didn’t make any sense - even to him - when he thought about them - he just knew doing them gave him a feeling of control, of being right. Not doing them felt wrong.

The hallway was as he left it - nothing moved, not even half a millimetre out of place- so Glenn took nine steps forward and opened the door to the bedroom. A glance around was all it took to know she had not been there. Glenn closed the door, jiggling the handle nine times, and took nine tiny steps - it wasn’t a great distance - towards the lounge.

From the doorway, Glenn ran his eyes over the table, shelves, and carpet. At first, Glenn didn’t spot what she had done; each book, each ornament, each magazine seemed to be exactly as it was before. But then he saw the small pile of dust on the leaves of the pot plant on the mantlepiece.

On the wall! A frame screwed to the wall!

His words, yelled at her in anger, filled the frame.

"THINK THAT YOU MIGHT BE WRONG," shouted down at him from the picture frame she had screwed with haphazard imprecision into his neatly plastered wall. And Glenn shook with tears because it was not just that it hung crooked - nor the lettering uncentred - but the number of screws she had used was not nine.

alt