Horror

Nemesis
The first was the vacuum cleaner. He spat instead of inhaling. Then the dishwasher began to break all the dishes. Then a fresh new plate fell off the cutting cabinet above your foot. And the tree has collapsed a suspicious number of times with all the balls that have shattered and you are there to buy them back at half the price that was now only three days before Christmas.
By Patrizia Poli4 years ago in Fiction
A Portrait of Elga
A Portrait of Elga by Mark Newell Look into my eyes...and I will own you. The dry wizened branches of an ancient Wych Elm tapped on the window much like bony fingers picking at the leaded glass panes to gain entrance for something wicked in the darkness beyond. The full moon glimmered through the clouds, bursts of silver light casting shadows from the elm across the beam and plaster walls of the bedroom within.
By Mark Newell4 years ago in Fiction
The Saw Bugs
by: Dennis R. Humphreys Countries depend on insects for their crops. Without them pollination would be at the mercy of the winds and a lot less efficient. Governments would topple; people would starve; disease would be rampant; even cannibalism would arise among those desperate to stay alive without conscience guiding them anymore.
By Dennis Humphreys4 years ago in Fiction
Nick
It was moving day, and the excitement of leaving her old life behind and starting something new and different warmed Lindsey’s heart. Lindsey was 19 and full of ambition. She had awakened the day of the move, had coffee on top of some boxes that she had made into a makeshift table and rinsed out the cup and coffee pot as she waited for the movers to arrive.
By Jaylynn Smith4 years ago in Fiction
The Misery
It’s been so long since I stood here. The paint’s peeling from the front door, rust running from the busted lock, the clinging hinges. But I still feel the echo of the girl I was, the whispered voices of the ones I loved haunting the flagstone walk, the driveway, their faces lost in the dust over the picture window.
By Patti Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
Hoarder
Jane hovered near the rickety wooden yard sale table, discomfort clear in every line of her body. The thumb and index finger of her right hand absently reached for the gold band no longer gracing her left ring finger, though the indent of twenty years of marriage remained.
By Patti Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
Lifted. V+ Fiction Award Winner.
Jenny twirls a long, brown curl between her fingers as she gazes through the dusty glass. The sign over the door reads “Curious” and makes her skin itch. In a good way. Chances are the place behind the dirty windows, with the thick curtains holding back the light and the half-peeled name sticker above eye level is the perfect place to alleviate her crushing boredom.
By Patti Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
The Dark
The night seemed endless, as if no matter how long I lie awake it made no difference. I once more turn over in hopes of finding my way to sleep - an impossible notion I'm well aware. Just as I began to feel myself slip into a light slumber, the voices once more began to rise around me, seemingly seeping through the walls. It was nothing new, a cacophony of voices from everyone who had come before. I was told that they would guide me - that if I just listened to them I could find the answers I was looking for, but I couldn't. Everytime I let them in it felt as if my head was being torn apart from the inside, an excruciating pain that seemed to wrack my mind as well as my physical body. I forced myself to ignore their insistent pleas to be heard and once more close my eyes.
By Ethan Rogers4 years ago in Fiction
Dark Ways to Salvation
"Bishop are you ok?" Uncle Jessie asked. Bishop gave a nod and kept working. "Alright. I will be here if you need me." "I do not need you. Go and tend to your farm. You have done more than enough." Bishop said from underneath the old truck. "If anyone tell you wrong, tell them to stuff it." Uncle Jessie gave a gruff of agreeing. He walked off to get to his work that was needed. Bishop went back to think things over. 'How did i get set back in time? 3000 years at that! I do not want to be a regular human again.'
By Julian Gaines4 years ago in Fiction
Don’t buy garden gnomes from a witch
Squish! My eyes watered as the rancid smell hit my nose and made me gag. Dog shit…and I knew exactly whose dog it was too. I could feel the anger and frustration building inside me. Without bothering to wipe the nasty evidence off my foot I marched through my dusty, barren yard to my neighbor’s house next door. Standing at the edge of her gate I looked into the lush wonderland of her garden with begrudge admiration. There were two patches of sunflowers grown tall and proud standing sentry at garden gate. My neighbor’s lawn glowed green with life, and she sat at a dainty table on her porch serving lemonade and entertaining a few ladies from the neighborhood. The sun shone like a halo in my neighbor’s curly golden blond hair, the picture of purity.
By Alyissa M. Lore4 years ago in Fiction
Portfolio Series: Victimise Part 2
White walls. Padded… no cushioned. Soft to the touch. Apparently they can’t tell where my mind is and whether I’m a danger to myself. I’ve never thought of myself as a danger but I guess I’m in here for a reason. The padded cell of mental institution, court mandated. I still don’t know why I’m here. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just did it, like my parents. They all asked me to do it. I got consent. That’s what everyone is on about these days, consent? Anyway, they all said to do it and now I’m here, waiting for someone to see me and explain. I find myself pacing constantly, I always was impatient but I guess now I’m an impatient in patient. I tap my foot and I wait all day, but I’ve been told that the doctor will see me today. I don’t know how they can call those people doctors but there’s a lot of people known as doctors who aren’t interested in helping people medically. I decide to sit on the bed and close my eyes. I miss my tool. The coolness on my skin and how sticky it gets afterwards. I think about that to pass the time.
By Dee Jay Kay4 years ago in Fiction
Death Dreams Dire Wolves:
Chapter Twenty-Three: Silver Spoons Manzer charges through the forest, his black speed makes white memories of the world that passes him by, and in so many visionless senses, too fast to be understood by the mind of a mere kid, and especially not one in the throws of a death calling of a werewolf, that stops at nothing to see its violent charge licked clean in the satisfaction of a bloodhound finding blood. The corridors of thought are narrow in the sense of a boy being taken for a ride. Even as the ride is full on steep in the wilderness of confusion and the might of a gorgan let loose into a world that has no answer for its power but one. Doing what this voice tells him to do, is like a dose of drugs in his system, but something else in Manzer has begun to grow, and this other small voice is nothing of a hint of power, but a hun of regrets and the idea of terror. Something in Manzers heart tells him that losing control is not what he had planned, is not something that he had ever hoped to achieve as someone who only wanted to live his life for the purpose of finding out the security of happiness, and the long awaited thought of having a place to belong.
By Epitome Publishing4 years ago in Fiction