Horror
The Last Door on the Left
Three days, I’ve been here for three days. At least I think it’s been three days. The two of them, one tall and bulky, the other shorter and athletic, bring me from my cell at the end of a long hall to the same room, my new vacation spot, every day. They beat and interrogate me all under a green light. The pain subsides faster than I’d suspect and then I feel so tired and fall asleep. I wake up in my cell to do it all again. They’ve done that three times, so it has to be three days. I haven’t given up a thing and I won’t. This room may become my tomb but I won’t tell them a thing. Their leaders want to know our number, our resources, and our allies. I can hold out for a while. Even if I start to break I have fake intel I can feed them to some time. Once they pursue it my people can change codenames, safehouses and passwords. The futility of my captors’ actions makes the pain bearable. Or maybe there’s something about that light… I must have taken a few too many blows to the head. Why I am thinking about that light? It hung above the table on a long cord, bathing the room in a wash of green. On the first day, the shorter one just kept slapping me on the right side of my face over and over while asking me questions. On the second day, I taunted the taller one. I don’t think he liked what I said because the next moment I was thrown into the air and my head hit the edge of the fixture. The green projection moved about the room, its shadows danced to my misery. On the third day, the two continued their interrogation and only struck me when I made a sly remark about their mothers. They even took a break after smacking me around. The pair ate a snack and began chatting with me sitting there, too tired to do much else other than fight to stay awake. The pair mentioned some special captives in another interrogation room right before I passed out. The last thing I saw was their blurred outline in a green haze. The beatings don’t hurt as much as I thought they would. The pain seems to fade more quickly than I’m used to. Maybe those two bastards are weaker than they look or maybe it’s that light.
By Kyle Ireland4 years ago in Fiction
Green Lights
Green lights were never good. Okay. That was a really broad generalization. If she were running late to work, then a green light was a good thing. And then, there was the aurora borealis. The green northern lights, those were neutral, at best--or at worst.
By Kimberly J Egan4 years ago in Fiction
Heartbeat
I hear the grandfather clock ticking louder and louder from the front hall, even standing outside on the porch. Or was it simply ticking slower and slower? That clock had been the heartbeat of our home as long as I could remember. It seems only appropriate it would wind down slowly, today of all days. I knew today was the day it would stop.
By Karen Haueisen4 years ago in Fiction
The Thing in the Forest
The cold wind buffets my already frozen face. My harsh breaths turn to icy fog, only to be whipped away by the wind. In the darkening night, bony hands reach from the ground and attack, grabbing at my vulnerable ankles and trying to bring me down. Shadowy figures surround me, too tall for me to see their tops, and their long thin fingers stretch towards me as I run as fast as I can to avoid being captured and returned to that Thing. I rip my body away from the figures that seek to harm me. I can’t feel any tears dripping down my face, but I know they must be there.
By Hayley Roberts4 years ago in Fiction
The Bull Comes at Night
I remember it clearly as if it were yesterday. The stuffy, congested air, the flickering incandescent lights above and to either side of me, the smell of body odor and faded take out from the local Chinese restaurant, the pain of standing upright for an extended period; the claustrophobic feeling of being surrounded by strangers with a common goal. At the time, completely irrelevant, but now a reminder of better days. It's funny of the things you remember before you die.
By Rain Dayze4 years ago in Fiction
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Freddie awoke face down in a soft, spongy muck. As he stood up, he could see a faint, greenish glow in the distance. Where am I? he thought as he took a look around. It was dark, but the faint, greenish glow provided enough light for him to make out that he was inside some sort of tunnel. The walls seemed to consist of a tangled web of thorny vines. Freddie looked down to see that he was ankle deep in the sticky brown muck that covered the ground beneath him.
By Nicholas Kleinhenz4 years ago in Fiction
Glimmering Green
For the past 3 years, I have worked as an orderly in a particular rest home. I won’t say its name or mine because even though I feel the need to write this down, I also know there are good folks still working there and I don’t want their reputation to be impugned by association with me. Anyways like every job its had its ups and downs, but for the most part, it has been fine and my time here has been no different than what you’d expect it to be like. I make sure the residents take their medicine and eat their food, I try quickly to respond to any emergencies, I clean up after them, and I try to keep the less mentally put together ones from walking around without clothes. Like I said, simple, standard stuff...for the most part.
By Steven D Kaplan4 years ago in Fiction
