Short Story Spotlight: The Go-Go Game

My final round submission to the NYC Midnight 500-Word Fiction Contest did not place (winners here), but I received some very good feedback form the judges (as well as some great guidance on how to improve the story in the future). For your enjoyment, I have reproduced the story here, unedited, and would love to hear your feedback on how I could improve it for the future.

Word limit: 500

Genre: OPEN

Action: Warning

Object: A Sealed Envelope

The Go-Go Game

I dash down the hall. All around me, alarms blare insistently.

WARNING! Intruder Detected!

I hear Freddie crying. I quicken my pace, opening her bedroom door gently. She is sitting up, tears streaming down her face.

I bolt the door behind me.

“What’s the matter?” I say, smiling. I cross the room and scoop her into my arms. “Is the house all noisy?”

“All noisy, Nanny,” says Freddie, sleepily. She has a knack for repeating everything she hears. She lays her head on my shoulder, sniffling.

I press my back against the wall and tweak the curtain aside.

No movement. They’re already inside.

“Freddie,” I say in my most playful voice. “It’s time to play the go-go game.”

Without question, Freddie wriggles to the floor. She heads for her closet, just like we practiced.

“Good job,” I say, as she retrieves her go bag. She picks it up at the wrong end. Someone left it open, and items spill to the floor.

“It’s okay,” I say, before she can cry. “Let me help.”

I scoop up the snacks, toys, and clothes, noting that among Freddie’s possessions is a sealed envelope that I did not put there. I shove it in my pocket. “Today, we go-go out the window,” I say, putting her bag on my back.

“Out the window,” she responds. Then, “Mommy is on a boat.”

“Yes, she is,” I reply, opening the window. ‘Mommy’ is largely a theoretical concept in this house, but her recent, lightning-fast visit has resulted in many heart-wrenching conversations.

I pick Freddie up. She grips me tightly as I unfurl a rope from the third-floor nursery window.

We slide down. At the bottom, I press myself against the house and wait.

Sudden darkness fills the grounds. The spotlights are programmed to turn off five minutes after the alarms begin. Clutching Freddie, I cross the lawn, heading into the sprawling woods behind the house.

Five minutes later, I feel safe enough to slow down.

Ten minutes later, we reach my hidden, nondescript Prius.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the house explode in the distance.

“Right on schedule.”

Freddie is sleeping, curled up with a clone of her favorite teddy. The safe house is only ten miles away. As I drive, my thoughts return to the mysterious envelope, addressed simply to ‘Frederica’ in her mother’s handwriting.

I pull it from my pocket and rip it open.

Inside is a plane ticket for Switzerland under one of Freddie’s aliases.

Freddie gurgles in her sleep. I glance at her in the mirror.

“You deserve more than this,” I whisper.

I arrive at a crossroads and pause. Left takes us to the safehouse, as planned.

Right takes us literally anywhere else.

I look at Freddie again. I think about how she repeats everything, hears everything, understands everything, and I wonder how many more houses can explode behind her before she is scarred for life.

“What the hell,” I mutter.

 I turn right.