Horror
Life as we know it
The afternoon was hot, her forehead felt damp, unsure if it was from her overheating body or the outside rays of the hot sunlight that beat more and more neutrinos into her body. But she was grateful for the heat, the uncomfortable feelings of barely there nausea in her belly where the slightly stale veggies stirred, they were only a few days old. Just enough to make them edible but also just enough to sit uneasily to cause discomfort
By Elaine Spark5 years ago in Fiction
Monica
The locket isn’t bleeding tonight. That can’t be good. It belonged to a friend of my sister. She died for the second time nine days ago. A simple, brass, heart-shaped thing that measured life from one cheap chain to another over its eleven-year run around the neck of Abigail Rossi. She was a nice girl, abrasive at times, but pleasant once the emotional walls lowered. After she died, the locket transferred in ownership to my sister. And, when Izzy found the whole thing a little too odd, it passed to me. Well, technically, it passed from Izzy to my mother to the garbage can and finally to me. It felt wrong leaving it in a dumpster.
By Benjamin Ford5 years ago in Fiction
To the East
The sun rose again, despite Williams best efforts. William was absolutely certain that last night would be his final one, and prayed that today would be. To the east. The Locket was speaking to him again. No, not speaking. Commanding. Sure, you could resist. Walk west. Before you know it, the sun is at your back as the stars begin to wake. William couldn’t remember the last time he tried to resist the commands. It terrified him. Not in a pulse pounding fight or flight kind of way in books or movies, it was a like a cold spike inserted itself into the bottom of his stomach. It’ll fade. He knew his weak attempt to convince himself that the fear would leave him was a mere hope. He was beginning to lose the ability to distinguish his own thoughts from the command of the locket. Was he losing himself? Or was he becoming like the Locket? It was innocent looking. A heart shaped casing hiding tumblers, springs, and perhaps something sinister. As he made his way eastward his mind went elsewhere. That was probably the only good thing about the situation. He could be on autopilot all day, although eventually he would feel the strain. He No longer felt pain or hunger. Not that his mortal body would sustain itself, he was commanded to eat whatever was near when the Locket deemed it lunchtime using some inexplicable method of telling time. Can it see what I see? Can it hear my thoughts? You have to tell me if you can hear my thoughts, otherwise it’s entrapment. William chuckled to himself. No. I am not losing myself. I will get out of this. The fear melted like ice, giving way to a smile.
By Jesse Wright5 years ago in Fiction
The Train to Freedom
Standing at the ocean’s edge felt like standing at the edge of the world. Hanna imagined the high density buildings and city lights falling behind her, with the moonlit ocean becoming her only reality. The onshore wind kissed her face. Only four spins of the lighthouse’s beacon, then I am free, she thought to herself. Hanna instinctively reached for the letter in her pocket, unfolding the crinkled paper. She brushed her finger across ink to see if she could feel Mia’s voice in the smudged letters.
By Mary Hampton5 years ago in Fiction
Ashes for Abuelita. First Place in Bedtime Stories Challenge.
It is Mexican tradition that moral stories and fairy stories for children are more like horror stories. There’s an understanding in the Mexican culture that the child is not interested in the sugar-bubblegum-pop. Rather, it is in the grotesque that has been swept under locked doors that the child finds humanity. They pop the stories in their mouth like a dulce de tamarindo, a tamarind candy, and they savor the sour and spice.
By Victor Javier Ortiz5 years ago in Fiction
The Shadow at My Door
It came in the blizzard. A dark, twisted thing, shambling in the freezing cold and right to our door. All the lights had been out—not just ours mind you, but ALL the lights—for a time I had long lost track of but that did not stop it from clawing its way right up the driveway to rest at the foot of the stairs and stare right inside—like it knew we were there. But it could not. No, it could not possibly have known.
By C.A. McKinney5 years ago in Fiction
The Fifth Day On
“The Four Day War happened enough months ago that I’ve lost count of how long it’s been. Four days was all it had taken though, and humanity was done. They came from the skies with such fury casting fire so pure many thought it was the rapture. Their ships blotted out the sun, casting shadows over landscapes filled with the terrified apex predators of the planet. Big dumb apes that thought they were so in control of the world around them. In just one moment that all changed. No one is quite sure what they wanted, or what they took, they were here and gone too quickly
By Jesse Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Lost In a Dream
++-+---ello? Can you hear me? Are you listening? This story is not about me. It isn’t about you. It just keeps going. Unfolding with no end in sight. Broken in places. You see many of us just keep unraveling as life goes on with no idea where things will end up. Seeking purpose in whatever place we find comfort in, for a moment, maybe even a lifetime?
By Spencer Lane5 years ago in Fiction
Balancing Catherine
1. The storm is growing near. We feel the inert and stagnant air grow more and more silent. She complains about the temperature in the room so we go outside, but it is just as hot. We hear nothing except for the coquis and the occasional burst of shooting stars. She always spots them up above, pointing vividly to the skies. I always miss the phenomenon. I always miss the ghosts that Catherine sees at night in our new house. I don't believe in ghosts, much less in her, but the more adamant she becomes, the more I start to believe her. But I will only reach out my skepticism as far as her pretty, quixotic mouth would lead. The storm has started. She wants to go back inside because the winds are beginning to howl. I tell her not to be afraid. She thinks I'm talking about her ghosts. Under the approaching deluge, she simply says that nothing will ever be the same. I never believe in what she says.
By Justin Fong Cruz5 years ago in Fiction
Gobby Blank
The deer blind was like a cocoon. Gobby's limbs ached with stiffness, but she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. One more would come by soon, she knew it. They were far too predictable. She reached for the biscuit in her pocket only to realize she’d crushed it somehow, and now she had a pocket full of crumbs. She tried balling the crumbs together in her fist to no avail. The next thing she knew, she was eating the crumbs from her hand like a rat. It made her think of her mother, who didn’t have teeth. She couldn’t have rat-mouthed these biscuit crumbs.
By CAROLE S TURNER5 years ago in Fiction
