Alder Strauss
Stories (95)
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The Ravine
Afternoon set in as the two carried onward; its heat practically burned in pockets of sunlight along stretches where bald patches of hillside lay as solitary monuments to a once-great forest. Carol took another small drink from her bottle and Jameson took another from his. They were both running on empty. The sedan, however, was doing fine with its fluids as it carried them along towards another incline, much more gradual, however, than the one they had slid down awhile back. This one carried the two further from the road they had started from their cabin on and into more zig-zag cuts into the hillside. Jameson complained in the backseat.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
Two Gracious Guests (18+)
The first light of day came not too terribly long after the men had peaked. Aaron and Marty lay in a bed of satisfaction, wrapped in a cocoon of satiated fantasy. Each one slept in their respective places. Their slumbers were long but, towards the end, they had collected a myriad of unimaginable nightmares that neither could commit to understanding as anything more than the worst subconscious hangover imaginable. When they finally woke up it was dark. They had slept through the entire day. The girls were gone and the two friends weren’t in their beds anymore. They weren’t even in the bedroom. Aaron and Marty found themselves sitting at the table they thought they had seen on the tour the night before. This time, however, it was much longer.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
Tickets, Please
On a quiet and still night a fatigued businessman left his office to return home for some much needed rest. Upon entering the vacant streets, he checked his watch: 12:30a.m. He still had time to catch the last train home. The station was but a quarter mile away, so there was no rush. The sound of his shoes upon the cold, Chicago streets echoed and reverberated amongst the towering cascades of buildings nearly cloaked by the moonless night. In the distance, such a sound arose that it caused him to drop his suitcase and jump with fright. In the process, he tripped over it and fell hard upon the street. A few seconds later he arose and shook his head of its disorientation.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
Andover's Plight
Andover Phee hated cats. But it wasn’t until the summer of 1908 that he openly expressed it. As like most other emotions of notable passion, Andover’s hatred of cats started with small, petty annoyances. His reclusive neighbor had many of them and would let the cats roam around her property, and Andover’s as well. At first he didn’t mind, in fact, he was quite amused by them. But that sentiment didn’t last long. Sometimes at night he would be awoken by the sound of a terrible crash outside his bedroom, as if someone had broken his windows. He would then rush down the stairs with rifle in hand to see what the cause of the noise was, only to come upon refuge that had spilled out of their overturned bins and scattered across his yard. He would then spend the rest of the night cleaning and cursing the first wild beast (or beasts) he thought could have done this, not once considering his neighbor’s cats as a likely possibility. It was not until about a week later when Andover awoke to the most shrill of sounds that the culprit was revealed to him. For when he heard this he shot from his bed and ran to his bedroom window to see three of his neighbor’s cats diving in amongst his refuge bins, yowling all the while. At this he reacted by throwing open the window shutters and screaming back, shaking fists and shouting curses in their direction. This frightened them so that they shot out of the bin and through the gate of the fence that lined Andover’s yard, spilling the bins’ contents in the process.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Funeral Coach
The name was foreign. This town did not reside in the boundaries of France, nor was it under any such influence. Still, as Braxton pressed on, he found that each street and shop sign boasted some cryptic writing not only foreign to him but, perhaps to all of mankind as well. He even considered the fact that it may not even be of this world. And if it was so foreign to man, why was it in use in a town of relatively moderate activity? It was in his search for linguistic clarity that he considered the possibility that he might be the only occupant in an otherwise derelict town.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Funeral Coach
In the town of Alabaster there’s told a legend between the townsfolk that is only whispered in broken voices and somber tones. On moonless nights, under the canopy of an empty sky, where the blanket of night cloaks all but the hands in front of you, are these tales whispered not as lore or myth, but as omens and warnings.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Wicker Chair
The day passed by ordinarily, without the strangest of happenings. The chair did not once more that day groan like it had done before. Maybe the man was crazy in thinking that the noise it produced sounded human, or was even alive. Inevitably, night came and the two slept soundly: a benefit of a southern summer’s night.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
The Wicker Chair
“W e’ll take it,” the couple proclaimed, looking at the old antique chair that sat before them. “Excellent,” the small old man replied and jumped to his feet. “It’ll have a good home. I can tell jus’ by lookin’ atcha.” He picked up the money the two placed down on the table and counted it.
By Alder Strauss5 years ago in Horror
