Horror
Consequence
I have to tell the world that I'm sorry for what's headed your way. The choices that I've made will effect you all. I knew that there were ways that this could backfire, i just didn't bother doing my research. This is something that i truly regret but at the time i really didn't care what might go wrong. I really wish i would had taken all the possibilities into consideration before i made the decision. I should have talked to someone first.
By Savannah gravestone4 years ago in Fiction
Penance
Father Tallo opened the church doors and looked out at the clear dark skies. Hours still until the sun, the air was dry, the ground cracked, grass brittle and parched-the world around dying for a drop of water that showed no sign of falling. He stepped back into the church. The worn floorboard creaked under his feet as he made his way to the altar, ready to prepare for the day’s mass.
By Keiran Baze4 years ago in Fiction
The Cave
The rains had come early this year. And they were abnormally heavy. They pushed Ki Ku further south, but it was getting considerably colder for a midsummer day. Frozen pellets began hitting him and he became somewhat frantic. He should have made it to his village already. He had passed the huge triple trunk tree that marked the last field before the treeline closed around the first building of his village. That building never appeared and Ki Ku was now running through the second field of barren soil.
By Colt Henderson4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Darkness
She is standing in a room and has no idea how she got there. She blinks her green eyes hard as she tries to focus on the haze that is in front of her. Trepidation and sheer terror are running through her veins like an I.V. drip of morphine in the hospital as she becomes more and more aware of her surroundings. She blinks hard again, and the dilapidated brunt remnants of a century old fireplace come into focus. She can smell the musk of burnt memories long forgotten as she turns her head to see broken and shattered windows and floorboards that are cracked and missing. The fear in her body is telling her to run and instinctively she looks in both directions and sees a set of stairs. She jets for the stairs and instantly can feel something chasing her. Something evil, something dark. The grey haze swirling around her as she moves quickly forward. She makes her way up the broken stairs and finds herself in a black and white tiled bathroom. It is so cold, her breathe can be seen as she tries to steady her nerves. Where can she hide? This house is falling apart, and any misstep could land her crashing to the floors below. She can now hear her heartbeat in her chest as the sudden urge to run hits her again like a truck. She finds what appears to be an old bedroom. There is a familiarity to this room that she cannot explain. She dives into a closet that is filled with broken toys and old dirty clothes. She can hide here, she thinks. She will just hide amongst the broken dolls and old clothes. It cannot get her in here. She nestles herself into the messy closet and feels the sharp claw as a bony hand grasp around her throat from behind her somewhere in the closet. She can feel the pierce of her skin as one of the claws scratches her neck as the grip tightens. She cannot breathe and begins to kick her feet and grasp at the hand that is pulling her back further and further into the closet. The haze is getting darker and thicker as this beast is pulling her deeper and deeper into the house. She is clawing at the fingers, trying to pry herself free from the grasp. She gains enough for a quick breath and continues to feel herself pulled deeper into the house. The motion downward is nauseating, until finally it stops. She feels the grip let loose and she is standing in a cold and mildew filled basement. The walls are made of stone, and there is a dirt floor. The dark haze that is swirling suddenly slows and she can feel the creature standing behind her. She can hear its heavy breath. Should she turn around? She wonders. Should she try to run? There does not seem to be an escape from this beast. She slowly turns and the haze becomes so thick, she cannot make out a face. She can only see pointed red eyes staring at her. She goes to speak, and no words come out. She tries to scream, and it is like she is a muted television. She walks forward into the haze, the fear and trepidation now leaving her body. There is nowhere to run, there is no one here to save her. She must face this evil and is now prepared for whatever it has in store for her. She continues to walk towards the piercing red eyes. She is ready to accept the darkness. She reaches her arms out and is ready to embrace this demon. This monster. And like a jolt of lightening, everything begins to shake, and the house begins to crumble all around her. She blinks hard and gasps as she realizes she is in her own bed. She feels the terror in her chest and realizes she escaped but only for a moment. For as she closes her eyes again, into the darkness she will fall.
By Erin Cuellar4 years ago in Fiction
The Rope
The air smelled of stale smoke and cinnamon. Patrick Bates walked along the dirt driveway that ran from SR 667 to what used to be his grandfather’s house. A large rectangle of broken cinderblocks outlined the ghost of a home, that miserable home where uncomfortable summers and awkward Thanksgivings still lingered in Patrick’s mind.
By Mike Garrigan4 years ago in Fiction
Revenge of The Elves
On the northern edge of the world lies the home of Santa Claus, a vast land of snow, magic, and wonder. Every year, Santa leaves his home to deliver toys to every kid around the world. He spends months carefully overseeing every child, making sure they’ve been nice that year. If so, he gives them the toy that they’ve most desired. But Santa can’t do all of this by himself, and that’s why the elves were born.
By Jackson Reavis4 years ago in Fiction
The Nameless
You know not where you are. You feel the cold of the steel bite around your arms and legs; you are bound. You attempt to open your eyes but you cannot; you panic. You try to move but find it impossible. It feels as if someone is pressing upon your limbs with all their weight. In your panic, you strain your senses, trying struggling to make sense of something, anything. You only hear the accelerated pace of your heart. The only thing keeping you from completely losing your faculties is the persistence of the cold around your limbs. You steel yourself knowing the only thing you’ll hear is the thrum of the blood in your ears; you calm your breathing and slow your heart and you feel it, the slow steady rocking; you hear the quiet lapping of the water, the low constant groan of old wood settling. You feel it a singular drip, it falls upon your forehead, this ethereal cold permeating you rejuvenating you, you feel yourself being propelled back into consciousness; it feels as if you are being catapulted back into your mind… you awaken.
By Jayron Drinks4 years ago in Fiction
The White Thing
Nathan was a well rounded man, most would say. He was a hard worker, he went to church twice a year on the major holidays, and he loved his wife. He was a little rough around the edges and wasn't perfect by any means and he had quite a reputation that followed him around. The law knew him as "white lightening" - they said because when he went speeding by in his little white pick up truck, it looked like a streak of lightening. They never did chase him and give him a ticket for it. I guess they figured they couldn't catch him.
By Savannah Tingle4 years ago in Fiction
Dandruff
Nikolai splashed cold water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror above the sink. Eyes, sunken, swollen, and red met his gaze in return. His own, but not familiar. Beads of sweat ran down his brow and over his eyelids. He wiped them away and gripped the edges of the sink.
By Nick Kluskowski4 years ago in Fiction
Radio Show
Atop a stack of books an alarm clock begins to scream at three am. A hand pulls free from layers of quilts and cuts the sound short. They fill their lungs as full as they can and shoot up in bed swinging one leg, and then the other to dangle above the floor. Their slender arms reach above their head and they tilt their torso back and forth, their spine curving perfectly. Slowly the two feet inch closer to the floor until contact is made and they begin to move painfully slowly, dragging across hard wood to make it to the window on the other side of the room. For five minutes they gaze lovingly out the window and admire the brightness of the stars. There is no light pollution because no one is awake yet. No one wants to be awake, especially not now, not during the witching hour, people stay asleep in fear of what they might see if they are awake, in fear of what is about to happen because even people's nightmares are preferred to this. Ripping their eyes away from the void they find themselves in the bathroom standing before a figure in the mirror. What they see they don’t recognize, what they see they can't comprehend, but even so they lift their hands to their head and run their fingers through thick, long, soft hair, every fiber of hair and every nerve in their fingers coming alive. This won't do. There's too much of it this morning. They reach for an electric razor and get to work, allowing clumps and pieces to fall into the sink one at a time. Feeling their hand over their head in circles they search for pieces that are too long, for any that were too stubborn and stayed attached to their head, at the base of their neck they find the final strands, pinch them between fingers that are just too long and pull them tight to run the razor slowly over them, savoring the feeling of the hair releasing from their head. A sigh of relief falls from their lips as now they can finally move to the back yard to start the ritual. Here a shovel caked in mud is leaning against a dark green wall, taking it in their hand they walk into the middle of the dirt yard and begin to dig. Their back muscles begin to strain and ache every time they bring dirt from the ground, their fingernails chip and become sharp and jagged, the air bites their nose and every breath brings ice in their lungs, but it doesn't matter because they are almost done. When they finish digging it's a shallow grave, deep enough so they can be entirely covered, but not so deep they won't be able to later reemerge. They admire their handiwork momentarily before bringing their hands to their face and use their mangled nails to cut into their skin. Blood finds its way to the outside air and runs down their face into their eyes and filling their mouth, they push their fingers below their skin. They pinch the organ between their thumb and pointer finger and begin to pull. Muscles and tissue are exposed, nerves ignite, but despite the pain they don't scream. They pull and pull until finally they reach their feet and slowly and carefully step out of their skin suit. Leaving behind their old form they climb into the fresh grave and pull as much dirt over themselves as possible and ask the winds to cover them the rest of the way. Maggots and bacteria immediately begin to feast, it doesn't take long for them to decompose, when the creatures are finished with their meal a single rose begins to grow from the soft soil. As the flower blooms the sun begins to rise. This isn't an ordinary rose, from the center of the bud a hand is reaching for the sky, then an arm appears. Shoulder, neck, and head all emerge and limb by limb the person from the mirror climbs out of the grave.
By Chloe Dalton4 years ago in Fiction
