Horror

The Rule of Threes
Olivia Cassidy was not crazy. Sometimes she did crazy things, she knew that. But she wasn’t crazy. Her mother said so. “You’re just my quirky little duckie,” her mom would say reassuringly, pinching Olivia’s cheeks and brushing her fingers through her hair. Olivia thought maybe she was a little too old to be called ‘duckie’ now that she was ten years old, but it was one thing she couldn’t bear to part with in her old age. She liked being her mommy’s little duckie. Ducks were happy and cute, and so was Olivia. Wasn’t she?
By Charleigh Justice4 years ago in Fiction
The Everlasting Two Minutes
This is my initial entry for The Vocal+ Fiction Awards . The queue for the bus at the Galleries was long , but it was the only bus I could get back home with. It was eight miles so walking wasn’t an option and I don’t drive now.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 4 years ago in Fiction
Launch Order
As she walked the shore for the twelfth time that night, she could see two things off in the distance, almost on the horizon: the Mountain, and the City. In the Ocean between, she knew, the navy was making its way to the Mountain, or maybe they’d arrived by now. Though miles distant, the City shone with colour, brighter than the full moon. If she squinted, she could make out the individual megabuilding, each towering miles high. She wondered how many people were left there. Not many, hopefully. The bombs above and below the city were armed and ready to detonate at the press of a button she hoped she’d never be ordered to do. But even if the City were evacuated, where would the refugees settle? Besides the Mountain where even now the legions were engaged in a last-ditch effort to save them all, she didn’t know of any land within a few thousand miles in any direction. Even this beach she now walked was little more than a rocky sandbar against a barren rock they’d elected to build their base in. she glanced behind, at the sheer rock wall and its small metal door. She didn’t want to return inside. The sun was rising now. If the legions failed, this would be the last time.
By Hunter Wilson4 years ago in Fiction
Hunted
“At night everything is a threat; every shadow or flicker is something predatory just beyond our line of sight when nothing is there Kyle, it’s just brought on by drink and the time of year I expect, it will pass I promise you,” The priest tried to soothe his frantic parishioner once more, ‘Kyle has had a hard life’ he told himself. Repeatedly. Unconvincingly. Kyle paced and ranted back and forth across the hard-stone floor, looking more and more feral as time passed. The priest rang 999 to get him forcibly removed. He was refusing to leave. The chapel was getting colder as the long January night drew in when all the noise from behind the huge oak doors to the catacombs stopped. After what felt like an age the strangled murmur came, “Protect me and I will leave.”
By Grace Moreton4 years ago in Fiction
SPQR PTSD
Julius Caesar woke up screaming. Again. For several seconds he thrashed against the sweat-soaked sheets, hopelessly entangled. Slowly, as he realized he was safe in his own bed and not truly locked in the midst of battle, Caesar calmed and took several deep breaths. He peered cautiously around his bedchamber, as if to make sure no enemies were lurking out of sight. Everything seemed in its place: dark purple curtains shut out light from the peristylum and the capricious figures dancing on the walls stayed put where they were painted. Once again he was glad of his decision to place his bedroom on the far side of his domus, away from the slaves’ and guests’ chambers. Most Romans would likely have kept their slaves in rooms close by in order to have them dote on every little need as quickly as possible. However, if Caesar’s slaves heard his nightly howls, then his reputation as the most powerful man in Rome was potentially threatened. Instead of slaves’ ears, the sounds he made fell only on the stone walls.
By Mark (Mitch) Weil4 years ago in Fiction
The Ghosts that Remain
When I was seven years old, I thought I was cursed. It started as whispers; low tormented calls that drove me insane. Whispers that woke me up at night to nothing but a cold empty room. Then came the physical, I would be pushed down, my hair pulled, or my clothes ripped. My parents didn't know what to do. I'd come home with ripped clothes and messy hair all while sporting skinned knees; they drew their own conclusion. I was being bullied- they were only half right. They'd call the school and demand to know who had picked on me and physically harmed me. I kept silent. They wouldn't understand, the one time I tried they thought I was covering for my offender. Since it never got better, we moved and the whispers stopped. I was relieved. I was normal again, until I wasn't.
By Jennifer Jordan4 years ago in Fiction
The Hunters Price
The Hunters Price There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. My granddaddy said that the cold is supposed to slow em down. Reptiles don’t do so well in the cold, except for the white ones that live up north with us. They’re ambush predators and given all the missing people over the years they seem to be doing just fine. They only gotta move fast for a few seconds anyways, that’s how they get ya. I guess I’m getting ahead of myself though. Let’s start at the beginning.
By J.W. Bost4 years ago in Fiction
Heiress to the Thro
Another Monday, a new beginning of the week. But something is not the same as before. Today is my first day in a new high school. I moved recently, and these days are endless. I thought I would have a day of peace and quiet, but that day turned out to be Monday. I'll probably hate it from now on.
By Aiki Nightore4 years ago in Fiction
The story of a demon
My hair is flying and the motorcycle is driving on the highway to nowhere. The speed continues to increase, and my thoughts become just a memory of the stars. The clock reads three minutes and forty-five minutes. I lean against my old lady and light a cigarette. The cold penetrates every part of my skin, and the smoke soothes my tense muscles. 1
By Aiki Nightore4 years ago in Fiction
The Porcupine of Light
There were nine small boats huddled together in the fog. The tenth was gone. They used small boats, because the bigger ones couldn’t get past the saltwater reptiles undetected.
By Jimmy Goodman4 years ago in Fiction
Nameless
Don’t shake, don’t shake. I say it over and over in my head. Trying to keep my nerves from reaching my hands. Woman in red? No. She’s got a dog, hate dogs. Even the small ones bite. Old man in the gray coat? Got a kid with him. I’m not gonna rob some grandpa, not when the kid is there anyway. Oh, there we go. A suit, I love a suit. Well, I think it’s a suit, the coat is pretty long. But those are the shoes of a suit. Bet he has somebody else polish ‘em. Fucking prick.
By Joseph Swann4 years ago in Fiction
Mariziguant and the Assault on the Tower of the Blessed Lady
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. In fact, as near as Mariziguant could tell there had never been any before, despite the valley's name, the Vale of the Silver Wyrm, there were no legends or myths of dragons had ever dwelt there. Mariziguant had consulted with spirits and dark forces and had confirmed this simple fact. That his foes, the damnable Silver Sisterhood, had somehow summoned the pair of mighty silver-scaled drakes from somewhere, or possibly somewhen else was a certainty. These damned dragons had turned the tide, and Mariziguant ground his needle sharp teeth in frustration as he recalled the dragonfire consuming his hordes of walking dead and his legion of ghoul warriors as they besieged the sisterhood in their temple, the so-called Tower of the Blessed Lady.
By Michael Mayr4 years ago in Fiction