Hector Gonzalez
Bio
Speaking to those who don't listen; listening to those who don't speak.
Stories (27)
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The Swing That Swung By Itself
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The cabin used to be part of a camp, but the campgrounds had long since entered a state of disarray and very soon after visitors altogether stopped coming. Naturally, stories of hauntings, ghosts, and mysterious disappearances soon followed, uncorroborated of course, and people steered further and further away. One story, however, is true. The story of Johnny. An eight year old boy who lived in a house on the very site of this cabin in a time before Camp Hickory. In fact, the nearby lake was once a small pond in neighborhood where Johnny lived. A town called Hickory. In the mid 1950s, Hickory, was a place where the people who lived there were steel mill workers and military personnel. Their children were the byproduct of the baby boomer generation. Johnny was one of these children who lived at 13 Oak Spring lane, and while most of these children lived normal lives, Johnny’s story is much grimmer. Like many men who came back after the war, Johnny’s father, without any mental health services available, turned to the only mental health remedy he knew; alcohol. They say that one day in a particular frenzy, Johnny’s father accidentally killed the boy, however, there was much speculation about whether or not it was an accident. You see…the circumstances around Johnny’s death were…gruesome. No one in that little town could conceive of the horrific scene that befell the boy. Johnny’s father was arrested, his mother went crazy and was admitted, and the house itself became a pariah. At least until enough time had passed and the town managed to rebrand the location as an apartment complex in the 70s. That’s where this story begins. With another kid, just about your age who lived at the Oak Spring apartments in apartment 13.
By Hector Gonzalez4 years ago in Horror
D.R.A.G.O.N
Chapter 1 There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. I had heard of them before from Father. Old tales about winged beast that breathe fire. Who would have thought that I’d be able to see them for real? From this position on the summit, I could see them squirming down below. They were huge monstrous beasts. Nothing I could have imagined; completely different from all other animal life we’d documented. There were three…four…six of them down below. Each one a mass of raw power and ferocity. They had arrived three days ago. At first, it was just the one. I assumed it was just a large animal not typically found in this region, but after some subtle interrogation of Father and Mother, I had determined that this wasn’t any creature that we had any consistent information about.
By Hector Gonzalez4 years ago in Fiction
