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++ ENTRY THREAD ++
DO NOT DISCUSS THE CONTEST IN THIS THREAD. ALL QUESTIONS, CONCERNS AND COMMENTS GO IN THE DISCUSSION THREAD: TO BE POSTED BELOW
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome October 2013's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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Help Newgrounds celebrate Halloween by writing a horror story!
Horror is a broad and diverse genre, covering science fiction, the supernatural, and the real world. These stories range in scale from cosmicto the terribly familiar. They can inspire dread, panic, and even a few laughs.
The point is, horror is a big space to work in. Anything that you find eerie, terrifying, or anxiety inducing is inspiration for a great story. Fear is an experience we all share. Show us what scares you!
Please read the rules carefully!
1) Your story must NOT exceed 4000 words.
2) Story must be your original work.
3) Story must be submitted by the deadline below
4) You must follow the "Submitting" roles posted below
DEADLINE: 11:59PM October 31st 2013, Newgrounds time
1st place: $50 Store Credit
2nd place: $40 Store Credit
3rd place: $30 Store Credit
1) Post your story in this thread.
2) Do NOT post a link to your story on your user page, or anywhere else. The story must be submitted in this thread.
3) If your story is too long to fit in one post, split it up into multiple posts.
4) Submit only one story
If you want to help judge the contest, send me a PM!
Judges are permitted -- and encouraged! -- to submit stories, but to keep things fair, they will not be eligible for prizes.
TIPS AND TRICKS
Proof read your story! There’s no excuse for spelling mistakes when so many resources are available. www.thefreedictionary.com is a great start. If your computer doesn't have a word processor with a spellchecker, consider using google docs.
Creativity will be rewarded! Think originally. Like any genre, horror is filled with overused conventions. Avoid tired cliches and tropes.
Hyperviolence is not necessarily great horror! Violence can obviously be useful to a story, but just because a story is super gory doesn't mean it's scary (or good). Focus on characters, not bloodshed.
Check out the account Lit101for writing advice!
MY STORY :3 :
NOTE: I know it's long, but read it to the end.
DATE: September 14, 1982.
LOCATION: A forest.
TIME: 9:38 PM.
On day, two campers were taking a hike in the woods, when they heard a bloodcurtling scream. They quickly ran to where they heard the scream, but what they found, was a large blood pool, and a campers headless body, with guts everwhere. They quickly headed back to there camp. The next day, they went to find the monster that killed one of the campers. Armed with a 12 calliber Desert Hawk pistol, and a machete. They then heard a long, loud, groull behind them. What they saw, was a large demon-like beast, with bright glowing eyes. One of the campers quickly shot five bullets at the beasts head. 2 hit, but the rest missed. The beast then charged at the campes, they quickly moved, but not before the beast sliced one of them, in half. The other threw the machete at the demon, which stuck in it's head. It then shrieked a deafing yell, and lunged at the last camper. The beast cut the campers head off with it's long, sharp claws, then dissapered in the shadows. The beast was never seen or heard from again.
Please to enjoy!
My story: The Curse...
When the time came for her to go to sleep, the girl was wary. She would close her eyes and see the red of his smile, open them only to see the yellow glow of his eyes. There was no escaping him, he was her curse, she knew not why it was so nor did she ever question it. She washed her eyes in the bathroom and still his face was there. Smiling back at her as though she had said something funny, he was there. Every night he was there. Even if she didn’t see him he was there and she knew this by his chuckle. His haunting chuckle echoed through her ears. Every so often he’d ask her a question, the same question: “You want to know something?” And every single time she hesitantly replied “no.” This went on for a year, every single night even if she was miles away from her home he was there. She would go visit family, of which had no idea of his presence, and as she prepared to sleep in the spare bedroom, upon opening the door there he’d be chuckling on the bed already laid out for her. She never got used to seeing him, the blood on his smile, the black of his hands; the grease paint that covered his face was always sloppy and dirty. It was a sight to behold only in a harrowing. Then the night came that he would ask his question and it would be answered. He asked eager as always: “You want to know something?” She replied: “Yes if only to change this routine I have to suffer.” To which he replied: “I love you!” He chuckled some more then grew quiet as she lay there speechless. She quickly sat up to look around and he was gone. She had gotten rid of her curse. As she lay back down on her bed she could feel his presence one last time. “You know some people just want to let things out, thank you for letting me do that after so long…”
As soon as the bell rings to announce the end of the period, I rush to the nearest restroom. Sweating and panting. I shoved everyone in my way with strength I did not know I even had. I just could not take it anymore. I needed this. I needed it bad.
I enter the restroom, dripping in sweat. I could smell myself. It wasn't a good smell. I didn't care. I entered the stall closest to the back of the restroom. It was always the cleanest. No one's shit or piss strewn across the stall for some strange reason and no graffiti.
I locked the stall door. I took a seat on the toilet. Catching my breath. I needed this. I did not want to be late for class, so this would have to be quick. Just this one to get me through the day. I promise, mother. I swear, mother.
I unbuckled my belt, unbuttended my jeans, unzipped my jeans, and finally pulled down my underwear. Doing these things felt like it took forever. In reality, it took me less than 10 seconds. If anyone got curious, it would look like I was taking a shit. I gripped my throbbing cock. Oh god, I haven't even started and the pleasure is intense.
Just this once more, mother. I promise. I begun stroking. Slowly at first, then faster. And faster. And faster. The pleasure I was feeling became more amazing as I continued increasing my speed. I began moaning. I didn't care if anyone heard.
They wouldn't understand, unless they had experienced the pleasure. I was almost finished. I would be late, but I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was pleasing myself. Finally, I ejaculated. The orgasm that occured brought me pleasure of which I could not explain in words.
Unfortunately, as always, it is always short-lived. I became saddened. I became so sad that I cried. I was not sad that I was tardy. I was not sad that the pleasure was gone. I was sad because I had succumb to my god-forsaken addiction. An addiction that always won. There was no escape. Resistance was futile.
I cried until my semen had dried up.
We're heading to the train station. She pulls me hard towards the crowd who impatiently waited for the train. She looked very happy and excited. We're gonna see a movie tonight. Her smile kills me. She's really beautiful. One train arrived but we were not able to get inside. At least the people had lessen now. We're now in front of the line. She became more happy. You see, she's a ballerina. The train is approaching. She spins gracefully in front of me. But her foot lands in the wrong direction. She's falling. The train has now arrived. People shouted in horror and they look very scared. But I'm speechless while i hold her hand. I pulled her towards me and hugged her. She's crying. I hugged her more and we decided to go home instead. I accompanied her to her house and then i got home. I fell asleep.
The alarm goes off. It awakened me. I don't know why it goes off. Because it's Saturday and I don't have work on Saturdays. I just ignored it and continued to sleep. 30mins later I heard my doorbell rang. I opened the door and I saw her standing there.
"Aren't you going to work today?" She said. I was puzzled.
"It's Saturday, why would I?" I said.
"Saturday? Are you out of your mind? Darling, it's Friday." She pushed towards the bathroom.
"You don't remember anything from last night?"
"What kind of last night? It was Thursday and we've been to my parent's house because Mom baked us a pie"
"Ok..maybe I just dreamed that."
"Dreamed what?" She asked.
"It's nothing, darling. I'll take a bath now."
We've been to work. It had been a full day of de javu. I'm not sure if it was really a dream or i don't know. It's 5PM and we're ready to time out.
"Hey baby come on, we're gonna be late on our movie date."
"Can we cancel our date? I'm not really feeling well."
She looked so sad but she agreed.
Day by day I've been on a de javu. It's always Friday. And day by day I did anything just to keep her away from that train station. I consulted a doctor on the 5th day. He told me about chronic deja vu. He said that people with the condition become stuck in a world where every experience is a familiar one. I didn't believed him. Because I'm stuck repeatedly inside one day.
Days passed. 7th. 8th. I became more depressed. I became uglier. Anger ate me. There were days that I shouted at her for asking me what was wrong about me. She asked me that question everyday. And I've been very pissed. I told her to mind her own business and go to work alone. That I'm tired of her bullshit. There were days where I made her go buy a new dress. Because she's wearing the same dress everyday. She likes to eat at the sushi bar every lunch. I smashed my alarm clock a lot of times after waking up, just to hear it again tomorrow. It's driving me crazy. I felt like a maniac. This should come to an end.
We're heading to the train station. She's pulling me hard towards the crowd who impatiently waited for the train. She looked very happy and excited. We're gonna see a movie tonight. Her smile kills me. She's really beautiful. One train arrived but we were not able to get inside. At least the people had lessen now. We're now in front of the line. She became more happy. You see, she's a ballerina. The train is approaching. She spins gracefully in front of me. But her foot lands in the wrong direction. She's falling. I grabbed her and pushed her. The train has now arrived. People shouted in horror and they looked very scared. But I'm speechless. There were bloods in my clothes.
Next thing I knew I was in the theater watching a movie, laughing alone.
I wanted to do this, but i feel like i'm not much of a writer, haha. Heeere we gooo
Alaya-Vijnana: Knowledge itself is the object of one's consciousness.
It was a particularly blanch morning that Tuesday. An atmosphere of hospital fluorescence was reflecting through my window off a thick blanket of snow. Our house lacked central heating, so my room was kept a livable 14 degrees Celsius through the grace of a space heater. Oddly enough, the splintering, wooden floor was warmer than the ceiling, where I’d spend most of my free time perusing the internet on my mobile.
I’d climbed out of bed that morning, hoping to get through the school day, and back home without so much as a second thought. It was after all a mere 2 weeks from our Christmas holiday. I’d felt, the more industriously I’d endured it, the more rapid the intervals of school to home would come.
Stepping across the floor carefully ensuring my feet wouldn’t pick up any splinters, I’d grabbed my underclothes from the dresser, and opened the closet door to grab a drab green, button down dress shirt. A draft blew in from the cracks around the trap door to the attic. Dad said we’d be insulating it better this upcoming spring. After a shower, coffee and bagel, I was out the door, en route to John Edwards’ Senior High school.
Through rite of their parents, the majority of the students at John Edwards’ are Evangelical in faith, I myself, an Agnostic-Atheistic outsider; it has become customary to ostracize me because of my faith, or lack thereof. I don’t mind, I feel it’s a privilege to be unencumbered by the fear of someone constantly over your shoulder, judging your every action, but it’d be nice to have someone to relate with.
That first weekend came around seemingly immediately after Wednesday. I’d spent my Saturday under-stimulated, sitting around, reading articles online, ranging from theistic analyses, to media buffs complaining about the most recent rendition of their favorite comic book/novel/novella being too foggy, and weakly detailed. Perhaps that’s the way it should be. God hadn’t given us detail about our reason for being here, nor about himself even existing. Perhaps the details aren’t meant for those undeserving eyes who take the short route.
Sunday I’d gone to church with my Parents, out of principle. It was nearly Christmas after all. Hearing them mumble in grey subservience unsettled me, but I envied their certainty.
After church, we’d gone home, and I’d sat about and dawdled as I do. I’d stayed up notably late that night, reading frivolous articles about the norm. Suddenly, I’d heard a slide, and then a hard clank in my closet. Thinking a draft must have knocked my dress shirts to the floor, I approach the door.
A ghostly, skeletal arm pried the door open as I reached for the knob. The creature was crouching below my assortment of hanging dress shirts.
My first thought was to scream, and kick the damned thing, must’ve been living in the attic, but as I kicked, it spoke.
“Michael” it said, in a whispery, ethereal chord of a voice.
I was lost for words. It knew my name; it must’ve been human, or something of the sort.
It had started standing up. Its limbs were mere long, white twigs, protruding from a gnarled mammalian ribcage, wrapped in a taut, white skin. Its fingers looked like fine roots from the base of grass, in width and number. I managed to stammer out
“W-What are you?”
Now, standing erect, at about a meter high, it replied-
The voice of god.
Its limbs began to grow in length, breaking joints in its mortal vehicle where need is fit. Its small core now bridged across the ceiling and around the room, and its round, expressionless head vacantly stared at me with dark holes where eyes should be.
My heart was racing. How the fuck could I know if this was truly the voice of god, and not some daemon, or a hallucination, or somethi-?
“I am god.” It’s small, round mouth uttered.
“You’re in no position to question my sincerity. This is as direct as it gets. No current collective reflects my true nature… Intrinsic goodness is my only prerequisite, and you’re the only person who fits the bill”
I woke up in my bed, phone in hand. I spent the rest of the night, staring at my closet door, fetal position.
The sun rose, and I leapt out of bed, eyes still fixed on the closet door, leaving the room.
I hadn’t changed my clothes from the day before, nor eaten. I’d gone on my way to school, fumbling through the day feeling stressed and vulnerable, but I’d made it. That night, I’d decided this was a psychological culmination of all the thinking I’d been doing, and cleared my head to get some sleep. I couldn’t evade it though, whenever I’d close my eyes, I’d see god staring into my soul. I hear my closet door creak open, and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to convince myself it’s just a draft.
Perverse wheezing creeps across the room, up to my face. I can feel its breath…
Instead of opening my eyes, I scream. Not out of thought, out of instinct. My dad comes to my room to see what’s wrong, and I’m sitting up in my bed, in a cold sweat…Night terrors.
I didn’t get much sleep that night, needless to say. I fumble through that day at school too. People are starting to notice I’m not well.
That day, as soon as I get home, I collapse in bed, and immediately fall asleep. I wake up in the middle of the night. God is standing at the foot of my bed, watching me.
“Michael, the others don’t know my will. They don’t have the capacity to question, they’re merely sheep. I am no shepherd, I’m just the meadow”
“what do you want me to do? What do I need to do to feel normal again?”
“You need to teach them to be their own shepherd. I need you to be my messenger wolf…”
“show them that their ‘shepherd ‘isn’t there to save them”
I woke up. Feeling more rested than I had in days. God was real… I was the chosen one… Everything was generally stronger in sensation. The floor seemed warmer, my hunger pangs were sharper, but I was comfortable. I had a definitive purpose, and I was certain about something. It felt wonderful…
I have a baseball bat it my hands. Instead of hitting the softball, I hit my gym teacher’s cheekbone. Her eye socket smashed in, bone fragments killing her instantly. I go after some of my peers; they’re all sheep anyway.
I wake up, fetal on my bedroom floor. Sheep blood on my face. The floor is hotter than it’s ever been. God is with me.
“Michael. You’re the sheep”
“No, only the religious…like evangelical and question-less are sheep”
“Michael, you’ve been a sheep this whole time”
“No, I’m my own shepherd, you said it”
“Michael, you’re following my word. Who am I?”
mine is written in poem form - it's called the tower of emptiness:
Tower of empiness - blasted of life
Nothing around you exists anymore - everyone died
That fateful day - the battles waged below
Everyone was screaming - the blood was everywhere
The river drowned the dying as their cries and screams were cut off in the undertow.
Rising white and pure - like a glistening tooth against the dismal sky
The inhabitants of the tower defended their tower -
As thousands upon thousand of men threw away their lives
All for the rumour of an unimaginable power -
Said to dwell inside that ivory spire of stone.
As far as the eye could see were men with hearts corrupted black and mouths spread wide with greed
And yet the people continued to defend their tower as countless were slaughtered
- the fields below themselves seemed to bleed.
Winter passed along and the bodies below rotted - a graveyard of slaughtered men
Left to be feed to the creatures of the night while the tower still stood tall
Winter passed and so did spring - summer came and the citizens looked on when
In the distance came an army so vast and unimaginable that they knew in their hearts that their tower must fall.
Panicked the citizens approached their king saying "what can we do? Our empire is doomed!"
The king stood up a grim and martyred look on his face and replied - "we must invoke the power"
Gasps went around the room - the leaders mused, its not been properly tested yet! Is this wise? Is it not too soon?
The king looked angrily around the room.
"We have no other choice! We must defend the castle even if it costs everyone their lives!"
Doubtful glances stole across the room as the citizens considered their options
"It is agreed then - we must activate the tower - go down to where its power is derived
And invoke the power - the power of the gods must never be handed to the hearts of those who would abuse its power."
The citizens agreed - they - the chosen children of god - imbued with immortality
Would not allow the portal of the gods to be entered by those not worthy - the looks of the citizens turned sour.
for countless centuries they had defended their tower - the bodies of the dead had piled up
as high as mountains around the tower as far as the eye could see
And now they must invoke the power - the results could kill them all - but if that was the
price to pay, then let it be.
Day by day the army drew closer - the soldiers ranked in the millions - all manner of creatures followed as well
The citizens made their preparations - the army was massive - but they had the power to send
this threat and any other for that matter, to hell.
The archers, who never missed a mark - were running without sleep and while their arrows
never ran out, they were quickly tiring and would not last much longer
"We have no choice" said one - we have to do this - i never thought id live to see it happen,
that our defenses would fail, but we have to admit that the army is stronger."
The king entered the royal chambers along with the princess, prince and queen - the royal family
Made their final preparations - out of all of the citizens their lives were in most jeapordy
Down the base of the tower they walked - until they emerged at the portal of the gods,
the aura of power was encredible - the power of eternity.
"The tower will fall in a weeks time!" the PRINCESS prayed - "we need to invoke he power!"
"'THE POWER?' 'SHE WANTS TO INVOKE THE POWER?!?' 'THEYRE NOT STRONG ENOUGH YET!' 'THE POWER
WILL KILL THEM ALL!' 'PERHAPS, BUT THE PORTAL OF THE GODS WILL THEN BE SAFE, ALONG WITH THE
The gods quarrelled amongst themselves, and finally they came to a decision:
"''''''''''WE WILL GIVE YOU THE POWER, BUT BE WARNED: NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS YOU MUST
NOT BREAK YOUR FOCUS - YOU WILL ALL DIE IF YOU BREAK YOUR CONCENTRATION''''''''''"
The rash prince piped up -"we have defended this tower since the beginning of time - we know
what we are doing! We will not fail!"
"'OTHER CIVILIZATIONS HAVE INVOKED THE POWER IN THE PAST - AND THEY ARE NO MORE - THE POWER
BLASTED THEIR CITIES TO RUBBLE, THEIR PEOPLE TO ASHES - THE POWER AN UNCONTROLLABLE GALE..'"
"We must take action" said the queen - we must call the summoners - there is no time to waste
"''''''''''WE BID YOU LUCK CHILDREN - DO NOT TARRY, YET DO NOT PROCEED WITH HASTE''''''''''"
The 10 gods then retreated and the room bacame dark and cold. The royal family had their
permission - now much work was to be done
The summoners were called to the peak of the tower - ten summoners - each imbued with the power
united in voice as one.
"By the power invested in us, the ten, we hereby call upon the mighty power to activate the
tower and open the gates of time and dimensions... ALL times and dimensions - together as one
to summon forth the creature who time and dimensions do not apply to"
The prince and princess - imbued with the most power - stood in the center of the circle of
ten - they knew what they had to do.
The prince - always eager to be first - called out the first letter of the name - it had begun
The ten summoners then, boldly concentrating as one arose
And called the next 10 letters - and finally the princess - the final letter - the 12 locks were undone
"SHADOWWALKER! WE SUMMON YOU! TIME AND SPACE HAVE COMPRESSED! DESTROY OUR FOES!"
One by one the citizens began to chant the words of concentration - everywhere wormholes in time
opened and spirits of dead creatures - restless and angry as ghosts
entered the bodies of the mountains of rotting corpses that had accumulated over the centuries
around the tower - the bodies lost shape and floated up into a swirling ball in the sky
The bodies began to combine and form - a horned head - massive wings as big as mountains
claws with talons and scales of diamond, and a sinuous tail with devastating potential
the creature let out a devastating cry
It shattered the minds of the army - so terrible was the sound that some killed themselves
on the spot - both army and god-child - power so chaotical
"I am ShadowWalker, the dragon of death - I cannot be killed - and you cannot survive
My power is unimaginable - and its devastation potential is indescribable"
With that the dragon killed them - one by one defenses cut through like water
Each one that died made it stronger - nothing could survive the slaughter
Hell ripped wide- the walls split wide - and everybody inside died
Time reversed - the dead lived cursed - they died and bleeded as time repeated.
The ground opened upthe armies' bodies and souls were ripped apart
Flung around like rag dolls - none existed who contained a corrupt heart
The citizens struggled to keep time controlled - but found that they lacked the power to send the mighty ShadowWalker back
The army was gone - its remains a bloody smear across the countryside - the white tower had been turned black.
"My job is done here I will return to void and nothingness in turn
You were successful - you protected the portal but now you must know
That if the gods wanted the army dead - that they themselves could make it so
This was a test - you passed but yet - the price you paid was dear
Time once uncompressed will richochet - the power surge will cause a tear
Dimensions will bleed time will recede - people flung to times and places never seen before
Or seen in past or futures never made - your citizens will be no more."
And it was so for when the power was released it screamed with rage
Dimensions and portals opened everywhere - the people flung into the tears
Nobody remained at all - there ended a powerful age.
The tower standed forbidden now - a monument of death and tears
The children scattered across time and space - losing family and peers
All but one that is - the prince remained somehow
Trapped in time inside the tower forced to watch this life end now
The gods are sad but happy too - the tower and portal now are safe
Nobody will ever touch it and that is a great relief.
Trapped in time and space the tower now is inaccessable
To anybody anywhere - visible but unpenetratable
The children did good - but now they can finally live a normal life
Not one protecting a monument - their days constantly filled with strife
And when they die - they will reunite and then will be reborn
To live together once again together rise and face the morn.
listen to this while reading it for max effect :)
I write short stories but I don't know if I have time...
I am a hard-working and friendly Sound Engineer and producer from the UK, and I've been exploring the internet and my own mind to figure it all out.
Gordon Simmons slammed into his locker.
"Ow! What the hell?", he struggled to shout with his face pressed against the cold blue metal.
"Man, Gordo! Your locker stinks worse than you do!", chastised the bully.
Judging by the voice, Gordon could tell it was Jordan Merrick. Jordan was always a dick, but for some reason he seemed to target Gordon specifically this year. However, he did have a point about the smell emanating from the locker. The rancidness hung in the air and made him gag a little.
Jordon gave another shove before backing off. He crinkled his nose and looked Gordon up and down, then left while flicking him off on his way down the corridor.
Gordon composed himself, smoothed out his old oxford button-down shirt and tried, unsuccessfully, to flatten out his ratty brown curls. He tried to take a calming breath, but choked on the stench. After he finished sputtering, he covered his nose with the collar of his shirt while working the locker combination with his free hand. With a click the door swung open. He began examining the inside of his locker apprehensively. His math and history textbooks were on the top shelf where he left them. He looked in the larger bottom section, thinking that something from an old lunch had fallen out of his bag and gotten lost. He dug through old homework marked with average grades and gaming magazines, but nothing was to be found. The source of the smell had to be coming from the top shelf. Gordon pulled his history book down and immediately jumped back in alarm, almost bowling over Erica Burrows.
"Watch what you're doing, you ass!", Erica spat with venom. The normally bustling hallway became silent as students stopped and stared wide-eyed at Gordon in all of his awkwardness.
"S-sorry", he stuttered while rubbing his neck, head hung with shame.
Erica made a sound of contempt, rolled her eyes and stormed off. He stood in the middle of the hall which was once again filled with the noise of busy teens. With chagrin, he moved towards his locker again. I can't believe I almost knocked over Erica Burrows..., he thought. Gordon had a "thing" for Erica since middle school. It seemed like every year his popularity would regress and so would his chances at ever being with his dream girl. His dream girl with beautiful flowing blond hair, a stunning smile, great figure and great big perfect ti-
"Gordon!" He snapped out of his daydream. It was Ryan Turley, his best friend since second grade, and "World of Warcraft" companion since seventh. "Yo! Gordon! Come back to reality!"
Gordon shook his head, "Sorry. It's been an interesting day."
Ryan stepped between him and his locker, "What the hell was that?", he furrowed his unibrow and sniffed, "And what the hell is that smell?"
Gordon looked over his friend's head to the face staring out from the top shelf of the locker through empty eyes. Cringing, he motioned for Ryan to look.
"Woah! That's pretty creepy.", Ryan said stating the obvious, "Is that what smells?"
"Yeah. I think someone slipped that mask into my locker somehow and put something on it to make it stink."
"They did a pretty good job. It smells like a dumpster full of 3 month old meat. How did they get it in there?"
Shrugging, Gordon reached over Ryan and pinched the tip of the mask between his thumb and forefinger, accidentally brushing against Ryan's head.
"Hey, watch the hair!"
"Why? You got a date or something?", Gordon chuckled as his friend ran his fingers through his red-haired bowl cut. Ryan twisted his freckled face into a sneer, making his buck teeth protrude more than usual. Patting his pal on the back, Gordon walked to the nearest waste bin and tossed the face inside.
Later that night while at home, Gordon sat in the blue La-Z-Boy recliner facing the TV. Around 10:00 pm not much was ever on except the local news. He sighed and watched as the anchor woman droned on about Halloween coming up and how to be safe while trick-or-treating.
A minute later, the reporter had caught his full attention with a missing persons report. "A local boy from East Mayfield High has been reported missing. Cameron Jenkins is a junior at the school. He is approximately five feet, seven inches, has short brown hair and usually wears glasses. If you have any knowledge of Cameron's whereabouts, please contact the local police."
Gordon recognized the name. He took algebra with the guy. They never really talked to each other, but it was a little disturbing to hear the news. He shook his head, putting the missing classmate out of his mind. Disappointed with the late night entertainment selection, he turned off the picture and went to bed.
The next day, there was hallway chatter of not only the missing student, but also a teacher who had peculiarly stopped showing up for school without notice about a week ago. Rumors flooded the classrooms about how the teacher might have abducted Cameron, but Gordon figured that was probably made up nonsense. However, his head churned with his own concoction of possible scenarios while he spaced out in front of his locker before lunch.
"Whats up!", Gordon startled as Ryan greeted him cheerily.
"What's got you so chipper?", he asked Ryan only half curious.
"Nothing much. I had a good night last night."
"Ah. The date went well then?,"Gordon chuckled.
"It did actually", Ryan replied, "I think I'm going to go on another one."
Gordon placed his books in his locker before heading towards the cafeteria, walking beside his friend and arguing that the school's chicken salad was much worse than their lasagna.
Over the course of the week, the strange disappearances continued. Brad Tillman (a freshman member of the student government), Monica Gayle (one of the lunch-ladies), Robert Ortiz (backup quarterback for the varsity football team) - just some of the missing. By Friday, the entire school was in a state of quiet panic. Some parents were starting to keep their children home and talks began of shutting down the school. The campus was crawling with police looking for clues or anything suspicious.
During second period, Gordon and Ryan sat next to each other both looking equally jaded of their instructor's tiresome voice and chalk tapping on the blackboard. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon noticed Ryan's red head perk up, peering outside. Intrigued, Gordon craned his neck to look through the window too. Ryan jumped up and leaned closer to the window.
"Mr. Turley, what do you think you're doing?", asked the obviously irritated history teacher.
"It's Brad Tillman!", Ryan exclaimed as he pointed outside.
Everyone rushed to the windows, pressing up against the glass to get a better view. Even "Mr. Monotone", the instructor, jockeyed for position to see the unfolding event. Sure enough, it was Brad looking disheveled, but seemingly unharmed, walking out of the nearby woods to the West. One of the cops roaming outside finally noticed the once missing student and sprinted to him. He put an arm around Brad and helped him towards the school building with haste. After a few minutes of being unable to see more of what was happening, the lesson resumed, but no one concentrated on it.
Lunch time arrived as it did everyday. The path to the cafeteria always led by the school nurse. As Gordon and Ryan passed, they noticed the door partly open, the same cop stood inside with his back facing the entrance. He stepped to the side to speak with the nurse over some paperwork along with the school principal, Mr. Wilson. The two friends stopped in the middle of the hall and gazed inside at Cameron who was sitting atop the paper-covered examination bench. Suddenly, Brad jerked his head up and stared back at them. His eyes didn't look those of a victim's. They were piercing. It was enough to send chills up a polar bear's spine. Gordon averted his eyes elsewhere. Brad probably wanted to be alone anyway, he thought. He and Ryan continued to lunch.
The day moved forward as more and more of the missing reappeared from the neighboring woods. The authorities began sending search teams into the tree line, coming out every so often with another missing person. While students and staff rejoiced over the returns, there was a large amount of confusion. Why were the students coming back now and all at the same time? Where were they to begin with? What happened to them while they were gone? Unfortunately, none of these questions could be answered. The returning students and staff told the police they couldn't remember anything. The story was the same all around. They black out on the day they went missing and came to in the woods, finding their way back to civilization. Mystery hung thick in the air when classes ended for the weekend. After giving statements and receiving check-ups, the missing were allowed to go home with their families.
The weekend sped by. Gordon, bored at home, tried to get in contact with Ryan, but to no avail. When Sunday came along, he was getting irritated. Whoever this girl is, she better be worth it. He supposed he couldn't blame him. Guys like them don't often have a chance at romantic relationships. Once again, he resorted to watching TV and heard that people were still going missing even after the returns of the previous East Mayfield students and staff.
After a night of anxious tossing and turning, Gordon slunk out of bed and headed for another Monday at school. At his locker, he stood on edge, waiting for his friend. Five minutes before first period started, he was about to give up the wait and head to Literature, but noticed a flash of red hair in the crowd of last-minute students hurrying to class. Ryan broke free of the small mob and stood in front of Gordon, panting, pushing his glasses back to the ridge of his nose.
"What up?", he huffed while smiling.
Not wanting to be late, they both speed walked towards their next classes. "Where were you?", Gordon grilled his nerdy friend, "I've been trying to reach you all weekend!"
"Sorry. Still going on those dates.", Ryan said with a half smile.
"Well there's something different about you. This chick must be good. We'll talk later."
They split up to head to their different classrooms.
While sitting in his first period class, Gordon didn't miss a beat with his daily routine. After preparing for class, he sat cati cornered to Erica Burrows and admired her from afar. Every day he did this, but today was a bit different. As he gawked at the back of her head, she whipped her face around to look at him. Unprepared, he tried to play off the fact that he was ogling her, but noticed something off. Her eyes. They bore into him like Brad's did on Friday. Disquieted by this, he faced forward and waited for class to start, trying to ignore the feeling of her stare on him. Oddly enough, he was a little happy when Jordan Merrick walked in. Every other day he shared this class with Jordan who would sit directly behind him and pester him in some way or another. Gordon hoped the encounter would take his mind off of Erica and bring a sense of normality to his day. Unfortunately, this didn't happen. Jordan cruised past him and took his place behind. Slowly, Gordon turned his head and peeked at the bully. In return, he got the same stare that he got from Erica. Feeling like he was between two crushing forces, Gordon slid down in his seat, trying to avoid the two students' attention.
The class felt as if it would never end, but finally it was over. Dismally, the next period was the same; it seemed like everyone was acting strange. Maybe he was nuts and he was the one acting strange. Gordon wanted to go home. He somehow made it to lunch without freaking out and scanned the crowd for Ryan. His friend's geeky demeanor made his way toward him. Finally, a welcome site.
"Ready for some grub?", asked Ryan.
"Yeah" Gordon nodded enthusiastically, "I've never wanted lunch more in my life."
"Dude. You should start eating breakfast then."
After getting their food, they sat down at their usual table. Gordon stared at his food, shifting bits of corn around on his tray.
"Hey. You ok?" Ryan questioned.
"What? Yeah, sorry." Gordon snapped out of his stupor.
"Alright..." his cohort said incredulously. "Well here's some good news for you. Erica was returned over the weekend. Bad news is so was Jordon Merrick.
"I didn't even know they were missing in the first place."
"Oh? Well now you know" Ryan chuckled.
Gordon cocked his head a bit. "Actually..." he began while rubbing the back of his neck. "Something has been bothering me."
"The people who were returned have been acting really strange, including Erica and Jordan."
Ryan swallowed the food in his mouth and put down his fork. "Oh? Strange as in how?"
"Just creepy. Like they aren't themselves. Jordan didn't say some asshole remark to me like he usually does and Erica... well Erica actually noticed me."
Ryan nodded slowly. "That is kind of weird."
"You don't seem too bothered by all of this."
"What? Why not?"
Ryan gave a wide grin.
"Hey, did you get your teeth fixed?" he asked, scrutinizing the absence of his friend's buckteeth from across the table, "What's so freakin' funny?"
A shadow eclipsed the table in front of Gordon. Confused, he turned around. Erica stood behind him close enough that he could smell her perfume. He turned back to Ryan and asked, "What... what's going on?"
Ryan gave a faint smile in return. "You're the last piece of the collection, Gordon."
"What are you talking about?" he replied, chuckling nervously. Jordan Merrick approached the table to his left. Suddenly, he became claustrophobic. He realized that more and more of his fellow students were surrounding the table. "Is this a joke? It's not funny!" he said, raising his shaky voice.
Ryan sighed. "My friend. Well... actually you're Ryan's friend." He gazed at Gordon's frightened and confused face, coveting it. "My colleagues and I have been wanting to do this for a very long time. All of these wonderful faces... juicy personalities... you gotta love high school!" He cackled and moved both of his hands to the back of his head. The students and staff followed in suit.
To Gordon's horror, when his should-be friend brought his hands back around, his face came along with it. "Welcome to the club, Gordon." The words came from a head void of facial features other than scarred holes where the eyes, nose and mouth should be. Hands grabbed him by the shoulder as his faux classmates held him in his chair. The glint of a knife was the last thing he saw before it dug into his eye sockets as it removed each one and created a hollow place in his head like a Halloween mask.
KATHUCK! The car came to screeching halt in the middle of the road. I slowly retreated towards the woods and watched the egg yolk begin to run down the windshield. I stayed on the hill just long enough to see a high schooler step out of the driver's seat. He was wearing a devil costume with the cowl pushed back behind his neck.
I could hear him speaking to a passenger, "No, itss not funny. This is my dadss car!"
Jared was already about ten feet ahead of me into the trees, I could hear his muffled laughter over my shoulder. Turning away from the road we began running back to our hideout.
Branches snapped and brittle autumn leaves crunched under foot as we crashed through the darkness.
"Come out here, you little pussy!" we heard from far behind. We both erupted in a fit of nervous laughter and picked up the pace.
When we finally arrived back at the small clearing we had claimed with our backpacks, we plopped down against an oak tree and panted noisily.
We sat in silence for a while.
Jared and I met last year in detention. I had drawn a wiener in Mrs. Higgins' art class. Jared had burned some kid with a lighter.
We got along alright and started hanging out after school. The first time I ever broke a bottle was with Jared behind the Seven-Eleven. We got run off, but Jared knew other places to mess around - the junkyard, construction sites, abandoned houses.
He started coming over for dinner a lot and eventually became a regular guest on weekends. My mom tried to call his folks once after I came home with a piece of glass in my face (we had broken one of those huge fluorescent light bulbs against a brick wall), but their phone-line was disconnected.
Last year I trick-or-treated with my neighbor, Brighton. He was only 10 but his parents didn't feel like taking him out, so I got stuck with him. I went as a zombie... a zombie attached at the hand to a Power Ranger.
This year was different. This year I was an eighth-grader, a man, and I was ready for the real Halloween fun.
A cold bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck and I sat up. I hadn't realized how hot I had become in my flannel shirt. Looking over at Jared I saw that he was taking off his Misfits hoodie. I had rarely seen him without it on so I stared for a moment. As he started tying it around his waste I noticed that his arms were scored with cuts and bruises.
"Holy shit, man, are you okay?"
"Huh?" Jared caught my gaze. "Yeah, it's fine. It's probably just from when we were running through all those trees and shit." He stood up and cracked his knuckles. Sensing that I was still staring, he added, "They don't hurt anymore."
I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a rubber monster mask. "You ready to go get some candy?" Jared didn't reply. He fiddled in his own backpack for a second before producing a plastic hockey mask and sliding it down over his face.
I took that to mean yes.
We wandered around the neighborhood for maybe an hour. We didn't have bags so we just ate our candy as we walked. I had initially begun stuffing the wrappers into my pockets but I quickly started dropping them on the sidewalk when I realized Jared had just been doing that the whole time.
It was getting late and most porch lights had already been turned off. We came to one older-looking house that seemed unlit save for a row of jack-o-lanterns on the front stairs. We plodded through the front lawn and, as we got closer, could make out a dim light behind the closed window curtains. It was worth a try so we banged on the door.
A woman who looked like she could be my grandma's grandma greeted us. She wore a black sweater with a pumpkin pin on it. She smiled kindly and said "Happy Halloween" as we interrupted with "Trick-or-Treat".
She took her time leaning over to grab something with two hands from a basket near the doorway. She stood up holding two oranges and presented them to us.
If she heard Jared's garbled "What the fuck?" through his mask, she acted as if she didn't. She kept smiling and wished us a happy Halloween again before closing the door.
As we descended the stairs Jared tossed his orange into the blackness of the lawn. I was about to do the same when I suddenly tripped on something and came face-to-face with the grass. I peeled back my mask to see what I had caught my foot on. An orange. Damn it, Jared.
"C'mon, man, I tripped on that."
"It wasntt my orange. It threw mine over there," Jared pointed to another portion of the lawn.
As my eyes adjusted I saw his orange. And about fifty more. Looking around, I realized that just about every kid who came to this house had tossed their orange.
I imagined the old lady waking up tomorrow and seeing all of them out here. Then having to pick them up one by one.
Jared scoffed, "Stupid ol' bitch..."
I held on to my orange and we plodded on into the night. It was really late now and the only house we could find with lights still on was at the end of a cul-de-sac.
By the time we reached the house's driveway we could hear music.
"Probably a party".
I hadn't meant to remind Jared that we didn't get invited to any parties.
"Let's go crash it, man."
"Nah, c'mon... let's just go somewhere else".
Jared's eyes bored into me for a moment, and then let up.
"I don't believe it..."
"What?" I asked. Jared pointed over my shoulder and, turning, I recognized a car with egg yolk on the windshield. It was now smeared in the pattern of windshield wipers.
As if this was some great revelation that changed everything, I found myself mindlessly following Jared around the back of the house. At the very least I was curious to see what the party was like. Peering through a patio door we saw a bunch of older kids standing around, drinking. Definitely high schoolers.
I recognized the guy in the devil costume. He was having an argument with someone dressed like a gorilla and a girl in a tailcoat and top hat was tugging on his arm.
Without so much as a 'Hey,-check-this-out', Jared grabbed the orange from my unprepared hand, took a step back, and hurled it through the giant plate-glass window.
We could hear the commotion inside as we barreled around the side of the house towards the street. By the time we reached the lawn high schoolers were pouring out of the front door. Some were just looking to investigate, others were out for blood. We did a double-take and realized that more costumed-teenagers had come out the back and were making their way after us.
We committed to a straight shot back up the cul-de-sac. The chase was on.
"Get back here!"
"Run, you little pussies!"
A small group ran after us at first, but most were content with just making a show of it and quickly dropped off. As we neared an intersection that lead back out into the neighborhood we had only one pursuer left. A guy dressed in a football costume. More likely, just a football player who phoned his costume in this year.
We were exhausted. If we continued running out in the open this guy would definitely catch up to us.
As if he had arrived at the same conclusion, Jared gestured over to an abandoned lot that let into some woods. We turned as sharply as we could manage and made for the treeline.
Then we heard sirens. I couldn't believe they actually called the cops. I caught glimpses of red and blue lights flickering through windows nearby.
I braced myself to change gears and start hopping through underbrush, but just as I neared the woods I felt my legs ripped out from beneath me. The fall knocked the air out me and I heard a loud CRACK! on the ground near my knees. I was seeing red now, ready for the impending struggle and inevitable beating. But it never came. Not for me at least.
I scrambled forward and looked back to where I expected to see the football player balling up a fist. Instead he just lay there, staring at me. Something looked wrong. His neck.
"J... Jared. Jared!"
Jared had already started back towards me.
"J-Jared, man, I think his face-mask hit the ground first and it snapped his -"
KERRRACK! went the first kick, right into the guy's ribs. I watched Jared wind up for the second one before - KERRRACK! - I realized what was happening.
I heard the sirens getting closer as I struggled to my feet.
"You can't hurt me! You hear me?!" KERRRACK! KERRRACK! KERRRACK!
The kicking turned to stomping.
"You can't hurt me anymore, you fucking idiot!"
"Jared, let's go, man..."
Jared raved like a madman as he continued to beat the hell out of the already lifeless body. It wasn't all adrenaline though, there was something else in his voice now and he choked on a couple swears.
"Jared, the cops!" Jared looked up from his work and stared hard at me through the slits in his mask, almost like before. Only this time his eyes weren't asking if I was a pussy, they were asking some other question. Daring me somehow.
The sirens got louder and Jared blinked. I grabbed him around the waist and practically dragged him back into the trees.
We slumped against a rock and took off our masks. Sweat coursed down our faces and Jared's eyes glimmered like wet gems in the meager starlight. Once again we found ourselves breathing heavily in the dark, alone together, having narrowly escaping our fate.
"What're we gonna do, man?"
Jared still needed a minute to gather himself before answering, "What do you mean?"
"These woods don't lead back to my house. And we're like a mile away. We can't spend the night here, they're gonna find us."
Another long pause. Then, "We're best friends, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, man, definitely." Up until then I had never really thought of us as best friends. I had other friends of course, but none like Jared. Not even close. It felt good though, the whole idea of 'best friends', and I ultimately decided that it applied to us.
"I know a place we can go for the night."
"Yeah, it's not too far off."
Jared lead us farther into the woods. We had to walk with out hands out in front of us to feel for branches and trees. We finally came to a trail and could let our arms down. Our sweat had cooled quickly in the October night and we soon donned our hoodie and flannel shirt.
After about twenty minutes I began to smell something putrid.
"What is that, man?"
"We're in Hogwaller," Jared said. Hogwaller was the name for a part of town near a sewage treatment plant. It literally smelled like crap and not many people lived near it.
The smell grew stronger when we stepped out of the woods into an open field. I could see the plant ahead of us on the horizon. We veered away from it and headed towards a row of small houses.
We jogged across the road and Jared took us to a blue and white one-story house with cracked columns on the front porch. Near the door was a pile of rolled-up newspapers, all still wrapped in plastic.
The front door was unlocked and we just walked right in. I had been looking forward to some relief from the stench of the plant but I was met instead by an even more oppressive smell. Something rancid, like rotting meat, filled the house. My eyes watered and I immediately began coughing and dry-heaving.
"You'll get used to it." Jared kicked some magazines off a couch.
"This is the living room, you can sleep here."
I didn't bother to look around at what might have once been a nice living room. A living room that I was now invading. I was so beat that when I stopped dry-heaving I just flopped onto the couch and closed my eyes.
"I'll be sleeping down the hall. Second door on the right."
I awoke a couple hours later and was assaulted again by the foul smell of something spoiled. I got up to pee and began feeling my way down the dim hall. I stopped at the first door I came to and opened it, stepping in cautiously. Sometimes electricity and plumbing worked in the houses Jared and I broke into, so I tried my luck and felt along the wall for a light switch.
I jumped as soon as I hit it. And froze.
There were two people in the room. A couple lying in bed. But they didn't sit up, they didn't stir. The sheets partially covering them were stained light brown. Or was it an old, faded red? There were tears and holes all throughout, and the fabric had stiffened with the dry stains.
From the threshold I looked into their eyes - craters filled with runny, white jelly. Maggots abounded in the stuff, and toiled in their noses and open mouths. The skin seemed to be sloughing off their skulls and collecting in heaps on the pillows.
I scanned the room quickly, looking for something to wake me up from this nightmare, something to make this all be okay. I only saw knives. They were everywhere - on the floor, stuck in the walls. Dozens laid around the bed. The couple hadn't just died or been even just killed and left to rot. They had been absolutely mutilated.
I suddenly became aware of dozens of pictures lining the walls, their frames smashed.
My legs trembling, I put one foot in front of the the other and inspected the closest photograph. It was a family portrait. A mother and father - the couple in the bed. And their son. Jared.
"You looking for the bathroom?"
"Aah! Fuck!" I turned around to see Jared staring at me from the doorway.
I began to edge away from him, towards the bed.
"Jared, what the fuck man? ...What the...?" I started to cry.
"What? Them?" He looked through me to his decomposing parents. "So? They deserved it."
I began to shake my head and hot tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.
"J-... Jared... we gotta call someone, man, you can't..."
Something in Jared curdled. "I can't what?" His stare held my feet to the ground.
"Why are you crying?"
"Jared, don't...." I sobbed.
"I thought we were best friends..." He turned his eyes away for moment, towards the floor. Towards a well-used kitchen knife . And then slowly back up to me.
John was not what you would call an extremely active person. On a beautiful day, he would always shut himself up in his apartment building. He previously had a job but got fired because he got in a fight with one of his co-workers because he called him a fat ass who did nothing right. He was extremely hated by his community. One day a new tenant was moving into his apartment building and he automatically assumed that he would never have gotten along with him. "Ha! Become friends with HIM? I would never! Not even if my life depended on it!" Two days passed and everything was normal. Then on the third night he started hearing a loud banging noise coming from upstairs. Thump! Thump! And then he heard what he thought was a girl screaming. "Strange," he said to himself, "I don't remember a girl moving in with him? Why should I care?" He then pondered the situation, then decided to go upstairs and check it out. He went to knock on the door when it opened slowly with an eerie creak. CRRREEEAAAAKKKK! The noise had startled him. "The hinges haven't been oiled in ages." he said, then crept into the apartment. Everything was normal, at least, that's what he thought. Then he heard a noise come from the bedroom. He crept silently to the bedroom door and opened it up. He then screamed as the girl's that he heard screaming cold, pale, dead body hit the ground with a loud THUNK! He tried to escape the room but was struck on the back of the head with a sledgehammer. When he came to, he found himself tied against a wall. The neighbor then revealed his true self. A hideous, disfigured body with a burnt face stared him right in the eyes. He tried to scream, but he couldn't because he had been gagged. The neighbor then extended his arm, which fell off and revealed a giant spear-like arm. He then stabbed John in the stomach and then moved the arm left and right, then pulled it out. John's insides fell out and he screamed as hard as he could, but no sound was made. And then the neighbor cut the ropes that had kept John against the wall and his body fell with a loud THUNK! The other tenants called to complain about the noise, but when the policeman came, he discovered something terrible. He walked into the building and discovered all of the tenants dead, their insides and various limbs scattered around. The neighbor then appeared, and told him to run. As the policeman ran, the entire building took off into space and the policeman is now in an insane asylum.
This is my first time entering a ng wc.
Milwaukee, WI - Night
Dick Johnson pulled over on the side of a lightless road with a prostitute in his passenger side. He pulled out $100's from his wallet and gave it to her poorly manicured hands.
"Hurry up." Dick Johnson spoke as he unzipped his pant, "It's my son's birthday tonight. I have to get back home."
The prostitute, Dick forgot her name, dove head first into his lap.
"Aren't you glad you have me daddy." The prostitute moaned.
"Shut the fuck up hoe. You disgusted me." Dick responded.
Dick Johnson felt his body spasm uncontrollably as he ejaculated into the prostitutes mouth.
"I'm going to get out here and walk back baby." The prostitute whispered, she opened the car door and disappeared into the night. Dick Johnson shrugged and reached for a paper towel to wipe himself off. He dabbed his testicules and shaft, feeling strange as an itch bothered his penis head. He looked down and saw an alien leech, many-toothed, jagged, black creature with stringy hair and huge bug eyes biting his penis. It resembled a 5-inch long housefly worm had it's teeth sunk into his penis and blood was dripping from it's ugly maw.
"GET OFF MY DICK!" Dick Johnson yelled as loud as he could and ran out of his car beating the creature with both of his hands. He struck it again and again and again until it fell onto the street.
"FUCK." Dick Johnson spat grabbing his bloody member trying to stop the blood loss, he ran back home. He raced through the dark night, trees and fences pasted by. It was such a calm night for alien monsters to be attacking people's dicks. From 100 yards away Dick Johnson could realize something was wrong, his house was black and it shouldn't have been. He painted his house a nice shade of orange 5 years ago. As he got closer he saw that his house was covered with those Housefly looking worms, slimey, black and hairy covered every foot of his residence. His roof, yard, walkways and porch were all covered with these ugly creatures. He shuttered at the horrid sight before him.
"What the fuck!" Dick yelled in a rage.
He cried for his son and his pregnant wife. He ran into his neighbors shed and took a metal bat. He ran to his house bashing in every creature that was in his way to create a path for their escape. If they were still alive. Dick Johnson opened the door. His house was completely clean and the Tv was on. The familiarity was masked with a dark fear that his family could be dead or hurt. He slowly walked into the dining room with the bloody bat in his hand and yelped. Sitting in the chairs before a beautiful birthday cake were his son and wife, bled dry, with the disgusting worms at their feet. He felt his blood boil, with the bat he beat the creatures into a bloody pulp so detrimental that it created a hole in his floor. After he finished obliterating the worms he dropped to his knees. The echoing of the bat had finally stopped and his was drained and crying. The cops showed up but all of the alien creatures were gone, only Dick Johnson and the two dead bodies were there.
1 month later - Court
"We the jury find the defendant, Guilty. And hereby sentence him to an insane asylum until he is considered well enough to serve the rest of his life sentence in jail."
"I didn't do it!" Dick Johnson yelled running at the judge. He tripped from the cuffs and chains that were placed around his feet. The bailiffs went and picked him up as he continued to yell and thrash around on the floor.
"It was aliens! It was the FUCKING aliens!"
A couple days later.
Dick Johnson was now admitted to Hope Psychiatric Ward and drugged on sleeping pills.
"Welcome to Hope Psychiatric Ward, Dick Johnson." A nursing attendant spoke to him with a smile, "We'll show you to your room."
"Thank you." Dick Johnson said smiling back, stupefied and half-conscious, scratching an itch on his butt. They walked to his room and unnoticed by everyone an alien worm slid down Dick Johnson's pant leg and crawled into a toilet. Dick Johnson entered his room with the nurse and two security personnel.
"This is your room, Mr. Johnson." The nurse told him, "You can sleep now and come up whenever you want. It's your first day."
Dick Johnson nodded at her and went over to his bed. He moved the sheets back and climbed in and told her,
"It really was aliens that killed my family."
Not amused the nurse responded, "I guess we're all aliens in some way, Mr. Johnson."
There was nothing special about them. Or was it everything? So hard to tell the difference, sometimes. They went about their normal, extraordinary lives, talking about the popular, obscure hobbies that pass the time in those lives. They wear common clothes. About that there was no debate. Too common, in my opinion, so I decided to add some variety and originality to them.
How many people can say that their clothes had been covered in the blood of a self-inflicted wound? Five more, since I got involved. How I would have loved to see the joy on their faces when they opened their closets and found all that I had done for them! I also brought them a brand new car, and there were barely any stains from the previous owner. I bet they loved their new dog, too. More than that man in the sunglasses ever did. Never taking it off the leash and annoying it with the taps of that cane he used to hit walls and furniture like a madman!
There's no way the tall boy ever got any sleep with his brother snoring like that, so I muffled the snores with a pillow, and after a few seconds the brother must have realized how annoying he was, because he stopped.
The short boy's math teacher gave him so much trouble, but a pinch of chlorine in the teacher's lounge coffee machine made sure that the appearance of a substitute would give him a few days to relax until a replacement was found.
The short girl was too old for braces. That's what she told her doctor, and that's what she told her friends. A college graduate like herself? I agreed. One visit to the hardware store got me some tools to dismantle a lock and some pliers. Unless I have a drastic misunderstanding of the medical profession, a dentist doesn't need to attach braces to teeth if the teeth are ground into powder and scattered around the floor of a seafront warehouse. I left a blender so the girl could keep eating the same foods, and even juiced a few items from her pantry and refrigerator so she knew what to do, a business card for a surgeon, both for some help with new, straight teeth and to take a look at her nose, which I might have broken with the punch I used in lieu of anesthesia for my work, and some lipstick so her mouth could keep looking pretty while it healed.
The tall girl had a crush on a boy. Young love! How wonderfully romantic! In a heartbreaking twist, however, the girl found out that the boy didn't share her feelings. I figured that his standards had been set impossibly high, so I decided to show him how wonderful the girl was in comparison to others. A wig, some makeup, a dress, and a visit to the red light district to familiarize myself with how to best go about my actions, and then I was on my way. I caught the idiot boy and led him to an alley a few blocks away from the girl's house, so it would be easy for him to run and apologize once he received his epiphany. Which he did, with a little help.
The fifth person almost ruined everything! He started to put together the pieces, swabbed some blood from his clothes and the car, placed "Found Dog" ads, and snuck into the teacher's lounge of his school to look for anything that could help. He almost ruined everything! Almost! Almost almost almost. He came so close, so very very close, and had even found his way to the warehouse where I kept all of my equipment and had scattered the short girl's teeth. He hadn't counted on my consideration of guns as equipment. I'm fairly certain he walked in with ten fingers, two eyes, and blood pumping through his veins, but with all the time I had spent with him where he had seven, one, and none, I really can't remember.
The other four were safe. I had done a good job. I'm a good person. A helpful person. They'll thank me when I build up the courage to face them, but I'm just so shy! One day, though. One day, they'll meet me, and on that day, I will do some math.
4 - number of ungrateful children = X
X is how many friends I will make. I very much hope that it's four, because everyone that isn't grateful will be very similar to the fifth person. Too similar to be different, but too different to be similar. It would be very difficult to make them more different, but a few fingers and an eye are all that stands between them practically being twins! I really do hope that they're grateful. I like making new friends.
Four boys were walking home from a Halloween party in 1999. They were walking by an old abandoned factory that stood next to a field. The factory was said to be haunted and many people in the area refused to set foot inside the factory grounds. When they got to the middle of the field, one of them said it would be fun to explore the old factory. The other people were scared at first, but eventually one of them agreed to do it just for fun so they could tell their friends at school about it. Two of the guys climbed over the fence and the other two guys waited outside for them. After about twenty minutes had passed, the two remaining people started getting worried. Suddenly, they heard blood-curdling screams coming from inside the old factory. It sounded like their friends. Terrified, the two guys ran all the way home. The people who went into the factory were never seen again. Today, the factory still stands they say that if you dare to enter the grounds on Halloween night, then you too will vanish, never to be seen again.
You awoke to find that your bedroom door was gone.
It doesn't matter whether you were a boy or a girl, a man or a woman. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or where you’ve been. Your mental health and how many neurological disorders you do or don’t have are completely insignificant. Whether you were already wildly successful in life or a hopeless failure makes no difference. All of your relationships, both to other people and to the outside world have very little (if any) relevance to present circumstances.
The only thing of note was that what had once been was no longer there, for whatever reason.
You sat up in your tangle of half-made bedsheets and worn, tattered sleep clothes and stared at the far wall. Which, at that point, was exactly that. Just a wall. In a daze, you rubbed the sleep and dislodged lashes from your eyes. Upon approaching its surface, you ran your hand all about it, feeling the smoothness and solidity. Assuming what any marginally sane person would have in your place, you decided to return beneath the sheets. Might as well, as long as you’re still asleep.
You woke up an indeterminate length of time later to find that you hadn’t exactly been dreaming. Or maybe it just hadn’t ended?
Or rather, it was still gone.
No windows either. Only the artificial light of the overhead fan confirmed the nature of the room. Still more confused than anything else, you made your way once more across the floor and face to face with the inexplicable nothingness that had manifested itself on this specific day. You were waking rapidly, frustration building gradually within you. Small and suppressed at first. You reached out, trusting one of those reliable human senses to guide you. It only reinforced what you had initially thought, but denied as a possibility. It was solid, of course, and consistently so.
Striking it yielded no hollow report, and further investigation of the surrounding walls accomplished just as much. Unsure of what else to do, you sat at your large wooden desk and stared at your blank monitor. Not much made sense. Spinning slowly in your chair, uninvested in the act, you noticed you could hear nothing from outside. No cars going by. No early morning or dead of night animal choruses signaling the passage of time. If you had been living with anyone at all, you could hear no sign of their presence beyond the walls.
You turned on your computer or laptop or whatever sort of technological device you had access to. External contact was possible yes, but there was also little else to do. The first thing you did was try the internet, and the product of your efforts was a plain, white webpage accompanied by a consolatory error message. There was a small, frowning yellow circle above it to let you know they cared. You sighed and settled for your downloads folder. There were a variety of distractions available to you largely dependent on your age and inclination. The rest of the day was spent engaging in these assorted activities. Those that read books for satisfaction opted to do so instead, either at intervals or for the duration of the period. Inevitably though, sleep called you away to oblivion.
Upon waking, one often feels a sense of optimism, however dependent on that person’s circumstances. Any that you might have felt who knows exactly when was squashed almost immediately. The wall stared back at you, with a similarly nondescript expression. You turned your gaze to the ceiling and lay there. It was strange how the room’s new geography was almost becoming acceptable. Just another unexpected change that was unpleasant, but also part of life. At the very least, you were home, and it was comfortable. At least you were safe.
Then you had let out a cry of variable pitch, tempo and duration, before barreling straight towards the lack of architecture. The inverse of something. Fists clenched, arm twisting and driving forward. Regardless of the specific outcome, pain and failure were involved to at least some small degree. If you were lucky to be strong enough at the time, you might have left an imprint in the sheetrock.
You collapsed to the ground in agony, feeling regret for your decision. Remaining driven, fiercely intent, you looked around for any miscellaneous object that could aid in your predicament. There was an umbrella sitting in the corner behind your bed. The handle felt solid enough, so you figured it was worth a try. The wall did not give way immediately, but repetitive strikes slowly chipped away at its foundation. It was much deeper than you had originally thought; eventually you had left a decent-sized crater to explore. It was a bit like burrowing into the earth itself—with the exception of the ease of entry—you couldn’t see an end to the miniature tunnel you had started, even if the depth of the hole was equivalent to the thickness of four or five walls.
Exhausted and perplexed, you stumbled backwards, dropping your bludgeon and falling on your bed. After catching your breath, you decided to return to your (laptop/PC/tablet, etc.). You would resume your work later—perhaps tomorrow—but for now you needed a break. Hours of nothingness passed. All of the downloadable entertainment was as meaningless and shallow as it had always been, and anything of artistic merit had been substantially dulled by recent events.
Life was losing its context. Breathing and sleeping and sensing had become draining obligations, and the efficacy of escapism was eroding at a steady, gradual pace. The only thing that kept you going was the dwindling hope of freedom. It used to be so easy to leave your room. Forward progress was simultaneously motivational and demoralizing. The farther you carved into the hole, the more it felt endless and insurmountable. It must have been almost ten feet deep before you finally conceded. The wall’s confines were cramped and hot and unpleasant, but you settled into its uneven grooves all the same. You pulled your knees into your chest and began to cry, even if you weren't conscious of it immediately. Sleep would come once more.
Upon waking you dragged yourself out of the recession and fell to the floor. You brushed the bits of plaster from your discolored clothes and grabbed the edge of your desk to pull yourself up. There was not a joint in your body that wasn’t suffering. You wanted to keep going, but lacked the energy to do much else, save the usual. At that point, slipping into that leather arm chair was torturous. It was still plenty soft, sure, but the all-too-familiar sensation had become mundane and largely unsatisfying.
Days and weeks and months passed, blurred together and coagulated, leaving a place where time meant nothing. You were pretty sure you had stopped aging, stopped growing—and for all intents and purposes you had. You were becoming something less than human, something repugnant and unworthy of description. The hole never seemed to end, despite your enthusiastic augmentations to its original design. The one initial passageway eventually developed into erratic, multitudinous tunnels that went off for miles in all directions. Each expedition inside only made the return trip longer and more confusing, so at some point along the way, you just gave up.
Back in your room, you looked lethargically about your shelves for any traces of evidence to the person you used to be. Finding a wrinkled, discarded polaroid of what you assumed was your family, you proceeded to sit there and stare at it for the next couple of hours. It didn't make things any better, but it at least kept you sane.
Here's something. A journal entry tale
Journal entry #1
I don't remember much about what happened before now. So I decided write my thoughts and feelings in a journal to make sure I won't forget. I keep wondering why she is here... and also why she is lying on the floor, dead. The last thing I remember was receiving a message on my phone. I don't know who sent the message, what the message said, or even where my phone is. I don't even know where I am? I think I am at my house. Wait, do I have a house? Well, it's just me and her that are here So I am going to guess that this is my home. But, I still can't for the life of me (no pun intended) figure out who this woman is and what the circumstances were that led to her death. All I know is that I have a phenomenal headache. I hope that isn't a bad thing. Right now, I'm too afraid to go near her but she looks like she has a lot of red around her neck, which makes me wonder sort of accident she must've had? If it was an accident. No, I'm pretty sure it was an accident. To, be honest I don't know what is preventing me from leaving. I guess it is because I just... I don't know. I just feel connected to this woman, whoever she is, I mean was.
Journal entry #2
The stench is starting to get real bad, and I ran out of things to mask it. Not to mention I'm starting to run low on things to eat. Not that I have eaten much these past few days, anyways. It seems that most of her hair has fallen out. Her eyes have now completely sunk down to the bottom, which means I should probably get them out of the sink. This might be a good time to leave. But, you know what? I don't think I'm going to. I can't leave her. I feel like she needs me. Man, I wish I knew more about her. I stared at her most of today. She has short, blonde hair... I think. She has brown eyes, of that I'm sure. Small frame, or at least it is now. I failed to notice earlier that she has a tattoo on her... um... on her rear. It looks kind of like a butterfly. You know what, I just can't tell anymore. One last thing that I found, a ring. I took it off her finger. I hope she doesn't mind. I looked closely and attentively at it. I saw the phrase "El amor como el agua, siempre fluyendo.". I have no idea what it means, I don't know any French, or Spanish, or whatever language that is. What I do know, is that despite all of this, I will stay with her. Because that is the kind of guy I am.
Journal Entry #3
I can't get this dang ringing out of my head. Makes me wish I was dead too so I didn't have to hear it incessantly. Right now, I am on my last breakfast bowl. After that, I will have nothing left to eat but I don't really care about that. That's another perk of being dead, I wouldn't have to worry about stuff like eating. Speaking of, Jessica (that is what I'm calling her) has now completely decayed. I am so proud of her. She has finally ridded herself of all the things that would inevitably weigh her down like flesh and blood and I must say, she looks just as beautiful now as she did weeks ago. It kind of makes me somewhat excited for the day that I die, myself. Just so I can see how she looks in the after life. I just know she has gone too a wonderful place. I hope against hope that I can go there too.
Journal Entry #4
I have a feeling that this will be my last journal entry. There has been no food to eat for days and I just feel so weak. But she is giving me enough strength to finish this entry. I have one more bit of good news. I found out that the ringing wasn't in my head. It was my phone! Yeah, I found it. The ringing was from my alarm. I guess I forgot to turn it off, heh. Oh, now I remember. I got a text message from someone. Let's see who it's from. Wait, what? This message, it's from Jessica. What would it say.
Im sorry Brandon Im just can't luv you anymore. I can't help you anymore because you are not willing to help yourself. I'm stopping by to give it back.
This isn't right! Jessica would never say something like this and what does it mean when it says "give it back"? Give what back!? No this couldn't have been her. Someone must've got on her phone and felt like pulling a prank. Let me see if there is any other messages from her. Ha! here is one from a few months ago.
Im so happy I get to spend the rst of my life with u. we might have our problems but I just know we can push through them and you know why, baby. Bcuz our love is like water. It is always flowing
There. Now that sounds like my Jessica.
So I guess this is it. This is where I leave this lifetime for another. Another lifetime where I can see her. Hopefully with fresh eyes because right now, my eyes are so tired. I'm getting so tired. I'm hearing loud wails of sirens outside my house. But they don't bother me. Because soon I won't be able to hear them anymore. All I will hear is the sound of death and I sure do wish for it to be a soothing sound. l leave you with something that my soul mate, Jessica said.
Love is like water, It is always flowing.
Written by Crazy George
Title: Letter by Mr. Mail
I see that you have found one of my letters that I send around the world. No I don’t send them all at once, only one at a time. Since you know I’m the one who writes the letters, I want to enjoy the pleasure of writing one to someone. I don’t know something about it is fascinating to me.
But enough about me. It’s time to explain to you the reason that I sent you this letter. It’s a very simple thing actually. All I want from you is to read loudly what I’ve written below in this letter. It’s a list of “things” that’s that I will do in the near future. The only catch is that I have written the actions backwards. From finish to start in other words. Trust me you are going to enjoy it. :D
Start from here:
Action 12: Toss, toss, toss, splash, splash, splash. Every piece flies away and I laugh.
Action 11: One, two, three, three, four, five, there is a place for me a hide. There is a place for me to hide.
Action 10: Vroom, vroom, vroom, that’s my car, when I go very far.
Action 9: I grab the keys, I grab the bag, these are the things that I have.
Action 8: Put, put, put, one by one every piece in the bag.
Action 7: Chop, chop, chop every part, I need them all apart.
Action 6: Tie this, tie that, so that I can cut.
Action 5: I reached home, not on my own, I brought you alone.
Action:4: I start the car, with you in that, but you don’t know that.
Action 3: You are now unconscious, you should’ve been more cautious.
Action 2: You forgot to lock up that’s why I’m standing where you are at.
Action 1: When you finish reading that, it’s time for us to start, all you have to do is turn back.
Here's my submission.
Tim and Terry lived on 1st Street in House 82. Their existence was a quaint one. They lived near the Wilhelm Woods in the small village of Hillsborough. John and Tina, the couple next door, were their only neighbors and that was fine with them. The two couples usually decorated for Halloween but never put out candy since none of the kids dared attempt the long journey out to the two houses. This year was no different. Tim and John would usually put up decorations together while their wives would have drinks at Tina's house unbeknownst to Tim or John. Tim and John would talk about the typical things like Football, the weather, politics, and such. The two would take ages to decorate due their longing discussions on such topics not that the wives cared as they did the same thing. After the decorating was finished they would say their goodbyes and head home to get a good night's rest for the annual Halloween party held at Terry's house. Terry was running around the kitchen at the speed of light trying to get everything ready for the party while over at John and Tina's house the two were slowly preparing everything as if nothing in the world mattered. By nightfall John and Tina had finally made it over to Tim and Terry's house bringing delicious food such as Bat shaped cookies and marshmallows that looked like skeleton heads. The couples played board games, drank a little, ate, and just had an all around good time. These good times continued late into the night until they heard a knock at the door. Bewildered by someone knocking on their door this late at night Tim rushed to the door and looked out the peephole. He saw a small child with a white sheet over top himself as to simulate a ghost. Tim went and grabbed whatever candy he could muster up and opened the door much to the child's delight. The child as is tradition exclaimed "Trick or Treat!" Tim then said Treat and handed over the candy to the child and said Goodbye! Tim then went inside but the child just stood there motionless. A few minutes later the couples heard another knock and Tim answered the door again and saw the same child standing there. He asked "Are you okay, little man?" The child remained still. With worry taking over Tim he slowly closed the door and bolted it shut. He said nothing of this to Tim, Tina, or even his wife. The party then continued for about an hour more until everyone was ready to hit the hay. Tim and Tina decided they would just stay the night. This made Tim happy since he wouldn't have to risk opening the door to the child. We now fast forward to the morning of the next day. The local Police surround the home of John and Terry. A Detective goes in to find four people, two couples specifically dead in their beds. There is something written on the walls with the blood of what appears to be Tim. It reads "Thanks for all the candy."
Formerly Known As J-Rex
Running through the woods he could still hear its voice… or whatever it was… whispering through the trees. Daylight had left long ago and this thing… it seemed content to stay just out of sight, whispering at him all the while.
And worse, the things it whispered, while sounding innocent enough, had some kind of… power… to them. With these newest words, the screaming he’d been doing, in the desperate hope that someone… anyone… would hear him, had stopped in his throat, and he could no more scream than he could fly. Even trying made it harder to breathe, which running as he was, was not an option.
On the tree top…
The rustling of the leaves above him caused his stomach to drop. It was no longer behind him. Stopping where he was he looked about desperately trying to find it. If he was prepared when it tried to drop on him he could… what? Die prepared? He had no weapons, not that he would know what to do with one. He had nothing to fight it off with. He had been playing in the forest behind his home against his mother’s rules… rules he wished now that he had followed.
There were things in the forest the adults had all said. Men would go out at night and never return. Some said the injuns had taken them… but the stories of nightmare creatures filtered down anyway. He thought they were just stories… stories to frighten children into listening to their parents, but this didn’t feel like the kind of story he wanted a part of…
When the wind blows…
No longer was it just a rustling above him. The trees seemed to sway with those last words, as if a forest itself had begun to dance in tune with this thing’s desire. He had no doubt what the thing wanted, him. He’d wandered into the woods at night, and now he was through. He’d never again see his mother’s stern but loving smile, his little sister’s annoying, but somehow endearing gurgling, or his father’s disappointed frown.
They’d only moved to the new lands the year before. He’d been excited by the opportunity to see a new world. Something completely different than the boring life he’d lived up until that point. He was sick of his schooling, and the thought of living in a new world full of adventure had excited him to beyond bearing. When they’d landed, he wanted to do it all, explore, fight injuns, find gold, but life on this side of the water turned out to be far less exciting than he’d hoped.
The cradle will rock…
The ground felt as if it moved beneath his feet, throwing his balance and sending him tumbling through the underbrush. The sharp thorns of whatever it was he had been standing next to tore into him, and his face was smashed unceremoniously into a nearby tree. Grabbing the wood as one would hold log floating down the stream in a flood, he felt as if it were somehow sturdier than the ground he was failing to stand on.
No longer able to keep his balance on the forest floor he tried his luck pulling himself up into the lower branches of the tree… which somehow seemed unaffected by the rocking and roiling of the earth below. The swaying of the trees seemed to have moved to the ground below somehow, so he made his way further up into the branches above, his thoughts of making it out alive now almost gone entirely, his thirst for adventure no longer seeming so inspired.
When the bough breaks…
Between one branch and the next, the entire tree let out a sound as if something inside it, something important to keeping the whole thing together, had just been torn out of it by force. With a shudder the tree began falling apart, almost in slow motion, that breaking sound echoed in all the trees surrounding him as the entire forest now sounded as if it were tearing itself apart.
Desperately trying to find a grip on something that wouldn’t just drop him to the ground below, he managed to hold tight to a particularly large branch that was angled across a nearby tree, and as such it was falling far slower than the rest. As the branch itself snapped he dropped the remaining few feet to the forest floor and curled into a ball covering his head as if his arms would do anything to protect him from the trees collapsing all around.
The cradle will fall…
Silence. The sound of the breaking falling trees, the low rumbling that had accompanied the roiling of the earth, even the wind and other more natural sounds of the forest had quieted. Daring to uncover his head, he looked around at the carnage around him, and was stunned at what he saw. The trees standing tall as if they’d never moved. The ground as flat and undisturbed as if no one had been this way in years, and certainly not as if it had just be rolling like a stream beneath his feet. It all looked perfectly normal…
Standing, his legs unsteady as they expected the earth at any moment to toss and turn once more, he looked around in disbelief. Looking down at himself, the tearing of his clothing had not vanished, it was as if ‘he’ were the only thing in the forest that had been affected by… whatever it was that had just happened. Shaking in fear, he began to wonder if it was possible that he had…
And down will fall baby…
A scream, his mother’s scream, pierced the night, and all the blood felt as if it had drained from him with that sound. His little sister. He didn’t know how he knew, but in that moment he knew that something had happened to his little sister. All this time it hadn’t been him in danger, it had been her. All of this was a distraction, or something worse. His sister…
Running back toward the house, towards the sounds of his mother’s wailing, now punctuated by a sound from his father that was nothing like he'd ever heard from a man he'd seen as invincible. Screaming out at the night, the things power over his voice now lifted, “Take me!" he tried to bargain, helplessness flooding him, "Don’t hurt my sister! She doesn’t deserve this! I disobeyed my mom, not her! She’s just a baby!” Screaming into the night, his voice was swallowed by the darkness, and the only answer he received was its final words…
Cradle and all.
It’s 2 am.
We’re standing outside her parents' house.
I can’t stay.
She doesn't want me to leave.
She grabs my hand, a gentle warmth.
She pulls me in for a goodnight kiss and the bitter night recedes.
It ends with a yawn, not my best moment.
We both laugh.
We stand in the chill night air gazing at one another willing the moment to linger on forever.
The moths plink against the porch light, keeping an irregular beat, but thankfully it’s too cold for mosquitoes.
Another yawn. Another smile. Another kiss.
The door closes and I am alone.
I get in my car and it takes three tries but it finally catches and I start my hour commute home.
I desperately hope my parents are asleep, but the city flashes by as I prepare my story in case they aren't.
Two turns, three lights and I’m on the highway, the comforting yellow street lamps of the city fall behind and are gone.
Alone on a dark highway, my only company the white crosses of those who will pass this way no more.
I turn on the radio. Static. I switch it off.
A rest stop ahead. An oasis of light in the sea of blackness. My half way point.
Should I stop?
No, keep going.
Cruise control set to 70.
Lights fade in the rear-view.
*Tap, tap, tap*
Shit, is that the engine?
*Tap, tap… Tap, tap*
No, not the engine, but what?
*Tap, tap, tap*
A translucent hand, barely visible outside the passenger window.
*Tap, tap, tap, tap*
And attached to the hand is an arm and a body….
And a face, almost visible.
What could this early morning runner want?
I slow to 50.
Wait, I’m going 50!
*Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap*
The face presses up against the window, smudging the glass with dirt and grime.
I speed up to 70, my foot heavy on the accelerator.
*Tap, tap, tap*
The face presses harder and slime oozes out the empty eye sockets.
I floor it, jumping to 85.
*Tap, tap, crack, tap, crack…”
Hairline cracks start to form on the window as the gruesome face tries to force its way in…
*Tap, crack, tap, tap…
Tap, tap, crack
Tap, tap, tap…CRACK
I take my exit at 115 mph, praying to god that I die before it gets me.
I wake up.
Light in my eyes.
Glass in my lap.
My car is totaled but I don’t much feel like driving anyway.
Please take any criticism as helpful advice not an attack. I wouldn't have taken the time to reply if I didn't like your post!
Dunwall was once a thriving port and cultural hub. It was the capital of the island of Gristol. Empress Jessamine ruled the proud city with a gentle and caring hand. She was very popular and loved. The Empress had single-handedly led the city into its Industrial Age. Whale oil was discovered as an abundant and priceless power source. Everything was as it should be- Perfect and ideal. But all good things must come to an end.
No one knew how or why the plague came to Dunwall. It rushed in without a warning, infecting and spreading like well, a plague. Rats. The rats carried them. Giant creatures, as big as your foot. Swarms of 20 or even more ran through abandoned alleyways, devouring everything in their path. They were vicious. They carried it. Spread it. Symptoms of the plague included blindness, chills, hunger, fever, you name it. But the most prominent trait the sickness had was blood, blood flowing from the eyes. The sick were quarantined off, left for dead. In less than half a year, Almost two thirds of the city was dead or infected. Weepers were what the ‘healthy’ called the sick. They wept blood.
Before the plague, Vera Moray was a stately woman of some renown, and her family was of nobility. She enjoyed many luxuries, and spent many nights dancing at court. Many men yearned to have her. One flirtatious glance from her sent the young men's’ hearts a flutter. Eventually, she found a man she liked. Corus Moray, was his name. That is where Vera’s surname originated; the Moray family. Her husband was an adventurous man, always wanting to discover and explore. At this point in time, the world map was quite small. There was a continent, eastbound to Gristol, called Pandyssia. It was largely unmapped, a wild and untamed land filled with unknown treasure. But there were reasons why this was the case. It was an evil land. Every attempt at taming this place of hell was thwarted by sickness or native fauna. Corus had it in his head that he would go to this cursed land. And he wanted to bring Vera with him. How could she object to her husband?
Their trip was doomed from the start. When they returned from this ill fated exposition, Vera and her husband were the only ones left from the crew of 120. Traumatized and defeaten, Corus was content with a lazy life at home. Something was wrong though. Vera was...different. She wouldn’t stop muttering to herself. Mumbling about mythical beings, and rats. One day she simply...Snapped. She violently murdered her husband, with no rhyme nor reason. After this, she disappeared, the Moray family line vanishing into dust.
“Hey Granny, wanna come play!?” The children circled around a woman they called Granny Rags, jumping and whooping and hollering, taunting the decrepit old woman. Normally, people would be told not to go near someone with the plague. But Granny Rags was an exception. Kids could just not resist toying with the sick woman. She chuckled as she walked down the trashy sidewalk, picking up pieces of salvage for her birdies. “Here birdy birdies….” She called quietly. The children had left, but Granny wasn’t done with them. The birdies would have them all eventually. “If I was a birdy I wouldn’t eat that, oh no…” She murmurs, finding a stale piece of bread. She sighs, and returns to her home, an abandoned flat. She smiles wickedly, and retrieves a piece of leftover rotten steak she found on a ‘sleeping’ gentleman’s body. She drops it onto the ground and calls again, “Birdies...Here birdies, the mean boys are gone.” In her living room, a swarm of rats emerge from the shadows, and voraciously devours the chunk of meat. There is harsh knocking on the door, and a thick masculine voice calling. “Hey Granny! We want to inspect your ah, laundrey!” A hushed voice tells the first man to shut his trap, claiming that Granny Rags is blind not stupid. Granny Rags cackles, and pets one of her favorite birds. “Okay dearie, please go take care of those pesky gentleman callers of mine hm?” A flash of intelligence briefly lights the rats eyes, and it scurries to the a hole in the wall. the other rats follow. Moments later, Granny Rags is humming a tune.
“Granny Granny, come out with me insteeead, Granny Granny, you can’t because you’re dead…”
Her tone floats into the air, mixing with the sound of men screaming, and the squelch of flesh being ripped from bone. Granny steps outside, and walks by the sidewalk again, the soles of her tattered wool boots soaking to a color of sickly red. The rats feast. “Why so dreary dearie?” She murmurs, and walks on her way.
In her mind’s eye, Granny Rags is dressed in silk and velvet finery, on her way to a night of dancing and court intrigue.
((This is fanfiction, Based on the game of Dishonored. All characters except Corus belong to Bethesda. I made his name up, for lack of one in the game(that i could remember). Several lines were also paraphrased from lines within the game.))
We're all mad here...
Here's my story
One day when young billy came home from school he saw a note on the table.It said "Honey I wont be home til 10:00".The fact that it was Friday meant that he had no work at all.At 8:00 he heard a sound,"What was that!" Billy said.He went to investigate,and when he came to the hall he saw his dog's guts splattered on the wall."Wolfy NOOOOOO!!!"he cried.He went to the kitchen to grab a knife,and checked all over the house for the killer.Soon he came to the laundry room.A dark figure came after him.with one quick movement he thrust the knife into his heart.As the killer bled out billy packed up and ran away,knowing what would happen to him if he had stayed.Now no one knows where he is.he never looked back he just drifted away.
Filled with run ons and odd phrasing, but meh.
So it began, as the clock struck twelve, Cinderella could feel as the waves of magic weakened with each ‘dong’ A feeling of fear flashing through her head remembering the rags that were the true cloths, in a rush she ran from the ball room. The sound of the princes yells echoing in her mind as she ran. As she ran down the steps her clothes started to lose the glamor of their design, colors fading into grey and brown hues. Then she was gone, the prince standing alone and confused at the door of the castle, wondering where she went, wishing to know more of her. “Call the guards!” He yelled wishing for some sign of where she went “I want to know who that woman was!”
People ran hastily around the castle in a wave of movement guest leaving frantically as guards ran around for sign of the unknown girl. In the shadows hid yet another fairy, her aged face hardened with age, and twisted into an eager smile. She stood like an old lady a cowl covering her face as she called to the Prince. “I know the woman, and how to find her.” She said her voice masked with the false kindness and wisdom she acted. “On the castle steps lays a glass shoe of the finest make, there is a magic around it that allows only one girl to wear it.” Eager to follow the woman’s advice, he ran off to find the slipper just as she told him, well sculpted glass held as if by a purifying magic. Shining faintly in the light of the moon as he turned it around in his gaze he yelled once more to the guard. “Send out a letter to all the women to the kingdom that I will offer marriage to the one who can fit their foot into this.”
So following the old woman’s advice he tested the glass against many a woman, the shoe unable to fit on anyone. For days he waited without luck. But yet again the woman came, her back bent with age, her magical body more noticeable now. Yet in the princes haste to know of anything she could tell he missed her dark aura. “Please, I have waited for weeks yet no luck, with each day less and fewer women come, and I have yet to find anyone who can fill the shoe.”
The old woman smiled, her wrinkles making it seem as if she was frowning from an unknown. “I out of my kindness and wisdom looked into the matter as I was gone, I will show you the home of four women, and one of them is whom you seek.” The old woman led the prince to a carriage in the form of age, as if built long ago holding a rotten glory. The prince ever eager climbed in staring blankly as they went.
Cinderella stared dully into a bucket of water alone in her empty room. “Oh where could you be fairy godmother?” She said a weak sob filling her stomach. At the end of that day she had never reappeared, the torture of her sisters seeming to have grown harsher after they found out she had been out late.
“Cinderella, Cinderella, are my clothes cleaned yet?” A sister yelled from downstairs her voice not much different from the others, their voice like that of a aged woman, long past her golden years. “Not yet,” Cinderella yelled “I just hung them to dry.” The voices of her sisters stopped and she was left once more in silence. Ever alone as she had been her life, the sound of her sisters only a minute whisper to remind her of pains.
“It’s the prince!” One of her sisters yelled, the sound of glass breaking shortly after. Cinderella looked down in amazement through the aged floor board’s holes. Dressed in colorful and wealthy clothes in a otherwise dull colors home he was like a pure light to the girl. “Hello, is there a Cinderella here?” He said seeming unsure by the dark surroundings. “What has she done, did she hurt you? That mangy girl!” The eldest sister yelled. “No, no, you misunderstand.” The Prince quickly replied, pulling out a glass slipper. “Maybe you have heard but I am looking for a girl who can fit into this-“
“I remember, I remember!” Yelled the youngest sister, “I heard the crier boy yell about it.” She hoped up close to the Prince as if a idea struck her, Cinderella pushing her eyes to the holes of the floor. "he says the king is looking for a girl who can fit into some magic shoe."
"Good dear, please step away from the Prince." The eldest said her voice badly mocking elegance. "It was only to simple to guess you would come to this fine home to ask me to prove myself." She said, smiling her lips closed to hid rotting teeth.
"Well then, many a woman claimed she would be able to but was unable to do it, how can I say this, you do not...look much like the girl I meant at the ball." The prince said wondering why the lady he had put trust in brought him her, starting to question her wisdom. Cinderella stared down holding her breath a feeling of pain in the back of her neck, stopping her from yelling out to the prince.
"Now deary, I can't have ya spoilin' me plans." the old lady said, her wrinkled face covered by the old clothes.
"Who are you?" Cinderella coughed out. There was a faint feeling of blood sliding down her neck, the feeling of her mind fuzzing as she whispered softly in Cinderella's ear.
"I'm your fairy god mother."