Horror
Dawdling With Death
You don’t dawdle when you try to kill yourself. You pull the trigger, and you are done. You are never to be seen again living and breathing. They’ll close your casket because your face has been scarred with blood splatter and a hole from your chin through your skull.
By Jessica Klein4 years ago in Fiction
Misunderstood
She lost track of the day sometimes. The rise and fall of the sun was the only dead giveaway that one day had finished, and the next had begun. The night always attracted a different type of crowd, one she preferred to stay away from. These souls seemed more reserved, stealthy even, and she couldn’t work out why anyone would want to hide all day and miss what happens in the light of the sun.
By Sarah Thornton4 years ago in Fiction
Jury of the Beast
The tar weaved like a snake through the brown fields. The sun came off it in waves. On the side was a previously white ute, now covered in dust and locust. The locust were so thick this season they should’ve been a crop themselves. They would part like the sea for the cattle wandering through them. They were looking for any grass that wasn’t already chewed to the root and scorched by the sun.
By Blake Smith4 years ago in Fiction
THE DEMONIC TEACHER
CHAPTER ONE THE NEW BIOLOGY TEACHER, MR JOE, IN ISLAND HIGH SCHOOL, AUSTRALIA After the death of Mrs. Ann the formal biology teacher in Island High School, the new biology teacher, Mr. Joe was recruited to teach the subject in the school. Mrs. Ann died after a very fatal accident on her way to arrange an excursion to a zoo located at about fifty kilometers away from Island High School.
By Adedapo Michael4 years ago in Fiction
There Are No Sharks Here
Officer, I'm sure I have no idea whatsoever what you're talking about. Sure, we own the house on the pier. Oh - I guess, I mean, it's my house now. He's gone, isn't he? He's not coming back? But, you didn't find a body? So, maybe there's a chance he'll come back?
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
Sister Maria
Sister Maria made her way slowly through the halls of the convent. It was yet another night when she could not finish her supper, so she had quietly excused herself from the dining hall, her insides a heated, churning mess. Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead, and her hands became clammy. Behind her eyes she felt a piercing pain, and she knew it was about to happen again.
By Anthony Stauffer4 years ago in Fiction
