Horror
Voyeur in the Bascàl. Runner-Up in The Mystery Box Challenge.
Deacon Dillabaud nurtured the vacant expression of a daydreamer. He sat solitary in his apartment while fidgeting with his necktie; a bowl of oatmeal chilled into a loaf beneath his restless fingers. Stacks of neatly filed newspapers lay unread before him on the stained oak table.
By Zack Graham3 years ago in Fiction
LONDON SHARK: CHAPTER THREE
Prologue here; all subsequent chapters available from the prologue C h a p t e r T h r e e L E I A The next day was a Friday. A school day. He woke around 5 am and listened to the sounds of his estate: front doors opening and closing; car and van doors repeating this. Engines starting, faltering. The rubber blades of windscreen wipers and handheld ice scrapers being drawn through the night’s accumulation of frost; the occasional exchange of barks and growls between the estate’s dogs, the grunts of greetings and apologies swapped between their owners. The early bus hurtling its few occupants to Cambridge. He slept in a black t-shirt and boxers. He had showered late the previous night, as usual, after his parents had slammed themselves away into their bedroom. He would wear the tee and underwear until showering tonight. His duvet was thin and dressed in Transformers bedding. His head was nestled squarely in the centre of a single pillow, and he looked straight up to the overhead light, watching shadows and car lights dancing over its shade as the cars and vans overcame the morning’s fresh coldness.
By jamie harding3 years ago in Fiction
The Unknown Parcel
1:30 P.M. I looked at the time and realized I slept in way too long. As a college student, it was pretty common for someone like myself to wake up so late in the day if they had no morning classes. I walked around the apartment and realized...
By Nathan Kontney3 years ago in Fiction
The Black Hole Heart
The night was cold and still. It listened to me as I wearily walked to my front door. My nose was cold. I wanted so badly to be inside away from the snow. December, when everybody should be happy and jolly and smiling while gazing at the lights and the falling snow. I was happy. The happiest I had been for a long time anyway; I wasn't jumping around singing christmas carols but I wasn't in bed covering my face with my covers either. And for me, that's a good day. As I checked my bag for my house keys, I could feel how numb my fingers were becoming. Strange thought I guess, how can you feel numb if 'numb' is a word that describes not feeling anything? Behind me were the regular sounds of the village. A distant passing train, a dog barking in some far off garden, the constant sound of traffic, almost like waves from the sea. I finally feel my keys and put them into the lock so I can be in some kind of warmth after a long day. I wonder why I can't see any stars. The sky is usually so clear here, but tonight it's like someone turned off the stars one by one and replaced them with a dense, grey blanket they had thrown over the sky. That's when I stood on something, something made of cardboard. The snow had accumulated and buried what appeared to be a square cardboard box. I picked it up quickly and finally let myself in.
By HC Valentine3 years ago in Fiction
The Monster Inside the Maze
All I want is a simple life; a simple life that I thought I was finally achieving. Two years ago, I moved to the Missouri cornfields. I was fortunate enough with my earnings to buy such a property, and the farm equipment to go along with it. I had learned a few skills in Scouts, and I had been brought up rurally in my youth. I once detested such a backward lifestyle. I abhorred the quiet, technologically inferior living. On the contrary, I desired nothing more than affluence, superior advancements, and achievement. I thirsted to make an impact, and be noticed for doing so. Achieving those goals, however, must have been draining my life force.
By E.L. Martin3 years ago in Fiction
On the streets of... #3
I haven't decided yet if I wanted to be an elegant or a casual detective. But I thought that my first day deserved a suit anyway, so I put on my only, old and not particularly nice brown suit. I only wore it when I had to go to court to testify in a case.
By John H. Knight3 years ago in Fiction
The Decorating Detective
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin where the murders were reported to have taken place. The cabin sat on a spacious twenty acres with a lovely one mile driveway through an overhanging canopy of trees. Plenty of room to hide bodies and far enough from the main road to deter trespassers. It was listed on the historic registry for being the former home of some obscure diplomat in the 1940s. Only a half hour drive from town, it was an off the grid location and considered prime real estate.
By Kincaid Jenkins3 years ago in Fiction
Box?
EL Supervisor was walking at night during "homeless tour" down the popular historic pacific coast 🛣️ highway. When he suddenly heard an angelic sounding ringing as he got closer to a normal looking carton box 📦 in the middle of the road. A flickering street light lit up this mystery normal looking seal carton box with no labels, logos or packaging of any kind to identify who it belong to or what contents it might have inside. Immensely eager and curious to find out what was making the sound. He try to open it with his blunt box cutter knife, 🔪 but to his surprise the box rattle like if it contain a trap 🪤 wild animal. The ringing noise slowly began fading away while icy noctilucent clouds clear out the darken purplelish night sky 🌌 to make room for the gigantic Blood 🩸 moon eclipse happening.
By Jose Elias3 years ago in Fiction
