Suspense is an art—one that grips readers, makes them hold their breath, and keeps them turning pages long after they meant to stop. It’s also an art I’m still perfecting.
Recently, I entered my short story No Return into the Reedsy Writing Prompts contest, where the challenge was:
“Your character is getting changed in the bathroom of a nightclub or restaurant, then emerges looking completely different. Why?”
This prompt had so much potential for intrigue, and I knew I wanted to take it in a direction that wasn’t just about disguise, but about escape. The transformation wouldn’t just be physical—it would be an act of survival.
I didn’t win. And while I could simply chalk it up to tough competition, I wanted to go deeper—to break down what worked, what didn’t, and what I can learn for next time.
So let’s dissect No Return together.
What No Return Did Well: Crafting Suspense Through Atmosphere
From the first paragraph, I wanted to set the stage with tension. The story opens in a club restroom, where Charlotte, the protagonist, is physically and emotionally cornered. The bass from the speakers pounds against the walls, mirroring her nervous heartbeat. A flickering light fractures her reflection in the mirror, a visual metaphor for the identity crisis she’s battling. The tight, suffocating dress and war-paint-like lipstick reinforce the theme: she is trapped in an identity that isn’t hers.
The reader knows—something is coming.
This kind of atmospheric writing is one of my strengths, and I’ve learned through my short story submissions that suspense thrives when the setting itself feels alive. The club isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a suffocating trap. The music, the oppressive dress, the controlling boyfriend waiting outside—all of it is designed to make the reader feel what Charlotte feels.
Lesson learned: Setting should never be passive in a suspense story. It should reflect the protagonist’s emotional state and heighten the tension.
Where No Return Fell Short: Pacing and Payoff
While I think the story succeeds in building tension, I suspect the resolution is where it lost steam.
Charlotte’s escape is smooth—too smooth. She slips away without any real obstacles, and while we get a brief moment of doubt when a familiar voice calls out, the tension fizzles out as she makes her way to the bus stop. There’s no final confrontation, no real stakes in the last third of the story.
Compare that to classic suspense stories—Hitchcock’s films, Gone Girl, or even an episode of Black Mirror. The protagonist rarely gets away so easily. There’s usually one last moment of terror, a false sense of security before things take a sharp turn.
How I could have improved it:
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A Close Call – Maybe her boyfriend does spot her. Maybe he follows her. Maybe she has to make a split-second decision that truly tests her resolve.
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A Physical Obstacle – What if the bouncer at the exit stops her? What if she drops her bag, and the noise catches his attention? Little moments like this keep readers on edge.
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An Unexpected Twist – What if the mysterious text she receives at the end isn’t a reassurance, but a warning? (“He knows. Run.”) Suspense thrives on surprises.
Did I Stay True to the Prompt?
Reedsy’s challenge asked for a transformation—a character changing their appearance before stepping into a new reality. In that sense, No Return fits. Charlotte physically sheds her old identity in the club restroom, changing from a trapped, controlled woman into someone free.
But here’s where I might have misstepped: the stakes weren’t high enough after the transformation. Her change should have been riskier—the moment of freedom should have felt fragile, the danger still present, the escape uncertain.
Lesson learned: A dramatic transformation alone isn’t enough. What matters is what happens after—how the world reacts, how the danger escalates, how the character must prove they’ve truly changed.
Final Takeaway: Suspense Needs Uncertainty
The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that suspense isn’t just about tension—it’s about uncertainty. Readers need to fear that something could go wrong at any moment. And in No Return, while I created a strong atmosphere, I let the tension fade out instead of ramping it up when it mattered most.
If you’d like to read No Return in full, you can check it out here.
And if you have thoughts—did you find it suspenseful? What would have made the ending stronger?—I’d love to hear your take. Writing is an ongoing process, and every story, even the ones that don’t win, is a step toward getting better.
Onward to the next story—and the next contest.