Horror
I Come to the Tree
CONTENT WARNING: murder, blood, implied sexual assault. I come to the tree. I come every day. I look for the one who took me away. He’s not in the sea, the salt in the air, the rustle of leaves, or the breeze in my hair. He makes not a sound, no whistle or cry, no tears of regret or whimpers goodbye. Yet here I will find him, and though I do yearn to make myself scattered, I always return.
By Amanda Fernandes4 years ago in Fiction
The Unsaid Good-Bye. First Place in SFS 8: Pear Tree Challenge. Top Story - August 2021.
Nic sat on the toilet in her great-grandmother’s house, staring at the shower wall mural that had creeped her out as a child, feeling very creeped out. She hated using the bathroom here, because there was nothing to do but sit and look at those creepy, sculpted people with their white, almond-shaped eyes and oversized hands, positioned around the trunk of a vast Yggdrasil of a pear tree, branches spread wide above the length of the tub and oval leaves ending in sharp barbs like wasp stingers drooped in silent menace. If a bathroom could be threatening, her great-grandmother had cornered the market.
By R. E. Dyer4 years ago in Fiction
Pear Man
A shiny new Porsche made its way down a winding gravel road, leaving a trail of dust behind it. It looked entirely out of place as it sped past broken fences, dilapidated buildings, and rusty old vehicles. The car, not meant for anything other than smooth pavement, slid on the rocks as it drifted through the turns, just on the verge of being out of control. It came to a sudden, skidding halt as it reached its destination. In front of the car was a large, gray house, which had likely been incredibly beautiful at one time. That time had passed though, and the house was in a state of disrepair, with missing shingles, a broken window, faded paint, and much of the front porch overgrown by plants.
By Kevin McMechan4 years ago in Fiction
Juggling Flowers
Marigolds lay on the table, as she stared out the window, hopeful for his return. It was raining as her tears fell, she longed for him to wrap his arms around her once more. He had been gone for far too long, and she ached deeply inside for his comfort and love. She knew the moon was full outside, but it was hidden by all the clouds. She could still see the soft glow from it, as she lit a candle and whispered a prayer softly. She snuffed the candle, and moved from the window to her record player, and placed a favorite record on to listen to. It was a warm evening, and she decided to take a cool shower before she laid down in her bed for sleep.
By Amy Chris Keiper aka LC Harrison4 years ago in Fiction
Memory Infallible
I grew up in a small town. A real small town, not a suburb or anything like that. One of those sleepy and monotone, grey kind of towns with one general store connected to a gas station. The type of town where you know the names of all the people who live there. The kind of town you pass through on a road trip without stopping. A town you might never know exists if not for the stories of the people who lived there and got out. One of those magical towns.
By Jacob Gabel4 years ago in Fiction
Land before the Lockets, verse 1
How many times have you heard a government worker, civil servant, etc. say “‘not my job”’when asked to do a task, any task, outside their mostly self defined “ job description?” Well, I can assure you any irony that is left in this world has been used by people like that. But please be decent when dealing with them, supposing you are in the condition right now to be decent, which very few people are. I consider myself decent. To myself mostly, and a motley crew of human refuse I am forced to associate with out of the need to stay alive. Well, more precisely the need to eat. Being alive, being human, having a soul, are mostly vaguely self defined terms now.
By Michael Capriola4 years ago in Fiction
Leonx
Melissa!” “Help us!” “Wolf! It’s a wo-“ Melissa ran through the house, desperately trying to find her parents. She could feel it, the breath of it’s thick paws against the earth. Once again she cursed the house the lived in, greater in size than in love. She tore down doors, ripped counters, overturned tables with a strength she didn’t know she had. And then she finally found it, but far too late. Her parents were gone, that was for sure. But a wolf stood in the middle of the room, his bloody teeth bared. And then it turned and leaped towards her. For a minute he held her down, dark fur soaked with blood brushing against her skin. She nearly screamed, but she couldn’t, her throat filling with hate instead of terror. He could kill her now, his red teeth leaning towards her neck, but she would not go without a fight. She grabbed the nearest thing, a meat cleaver, and brought it high. The ear was cut almost in half, just a tiny sliver of skin keeping it on. More blood spilled onto her face.
By And I am Nightmare4 years ago in Fiction
Monsters: Chapter 4
Terry sat in the confines of a large bush, watching patiently for any sign of inhabitants within the Roswell House at the end of the street. Beside the bush lay the red bike Alex had gotten Terry last Christmas, tucked away secretively behind a large tree stump.
By Sam Averre 4 years ago in Fiction
The Man on the sidewalk: chapter 3
Brian looked into his mother’s casket. A living breathing person, reduced to a stranger in a box. Brian’s dad kissed his mother's forehead as he burst into tears. The rest of that day was a blur as Toad and Brian skipped past the memory as the greed and guilt was too much. Brian found himself staring at the Current bus driver who looked at him with sympathy as he found his seat. Luke patted Brian on his back doing his best to comfort him.
By Qwill R. Brennan4 years ago in Fiction
Becoming
The pain was exquisite and excruciating. Lying down on the dirt of the lakeshore, the twigs and branches poked the skin of his back and legs. He could feel each and every prick of twigs as the white lightning of heat and pain surged through his body like a tidal wave. He craned his neck, trying to scream, but the sound caught in his throat as a moth caught in the web of a spider in the ruddy yellow light of a porch lamp. His fear erupted like a volcano and began to break through the dense mesh of semierotic pain, his eyes widened and bulged from his skull, and his back arched as solid as a stone bridge over country stream. The instant atrophy in his legs lit their muscles into a white, hot, fiery fury. His toes pointed down so strenuously that he thought his ankles would shatter like clay pots striking the floor, and his arms stiffened as though he was being drawn and quartered. The stars above shown through the pine needles above and the white-rimmed, unfocused sight of his eyes.
By Anthony Stauffer4 years ago in Fiction
