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Let's get CREEPY!
If its alrigth with the authors I will love to showcase their creppypastas on my blog next month when they do it and post it here :)if all agree let me know
That would be awesome, Joselyn! There ya go folks! If you want to be included, just add a note to your post saying yay or nay.
Simply put, my first blog post. That short story should tickle the lot of you. ;)
so are you thinking drabbles, or flash fiction...? length-estimates?
Cleanish and shortish is all we ask. Maybe a paragraph or a couple. This is not a competition, it's for fun. We've already seen a lot of participation on the other thread for humorous crappypasta and those are decent lengths. Of course, the stuff over here should actually make an attempt to be scary. :)
Everywhere I go, I hear footsteps behind me, but no one is there. The worst thing is, they are slowly getting closer with each step.
I wasn't afraid of the dark, once. It was a great source of pride when my friends dared me to go into some tunnel or basement with either only a candle or no light at all, and I would stand there, whistling, while they made stupid ghost noises and I didn't react.I wasn't afraid of the dark until the old fall-out shelter, the one we found in some warehouse. The door had been hidden under a bunch of rotting crates, and my friends dared me to go down inside with only a candle.
I don't remember coming out. My friends said I was pale when I did, and I vaguely recall telling them some bull story about how it smelled down there, like something dead.
That's because of the body; all dried out like a mummy, it's skin like paper stretched over its bones. I don't remember telling anyone about it. I don't think I did.
Thing is, I remember assuming the body some Halloween decoration someone had left behind as a prank. I remember I wasn't afraid of that body.
Not until it turned its head to look at me, and smiled.
Mod
The toy fire engine had seen better days, but Johnny loved it. He pressed the siren button non-stop, except to switch to the radio button. It wailed and called out commands in what was definitely not an inside voice. Johnny's dad hated the toy, and had a small smile as the siren slowly changed from a screech to a muffled warble, and the voice became a mumbled whisper. Then one day, it happened. The toy was silent.
"What's wrong with it?" Johnny asked, a small hitch in his voice.
"The batteries must be dead," Dad replied.
"Can you fix it?"
"It's not the kind of batteries you can replace." He had no idea if it was true, but if he didn't check then he wasn't really lying. Johnny sniffled, but didn't cry, and pushed the toy to a corner of the living room. Johnny's dad felt bad at first, but a fire engine free evening went a long way to making him feel better.
The toy sat in the living room, silent for over a week. Then, one morning while the family was getting ready for work and school they all heard its louder than ever, deep voice announce, "LOOK BOTH WAYS BEFORE CROSSING THE STREET." The family walked slowly into the living room, and it announced the same warning again.
"You fixed it!" Johnny said, giving Dad a big squeeze, then dashing over to the toy.
"No," he admitted. "Must have been a little juice left in the batteries," he added, noticing it wasn't responding to his son's button mashing. Johnny soon gave up and sat down for breakfast. The fire engine made the same warning while they were eating, then bellowed it out one last time as they were leaving the house.
By the time lunch time rolled around, Johnny's dad had forgotten all about the toy, and was headed out to his favorite food truck for some spicy tacos. He exited from the back of the building, like he always did, but his ringing phone stopped him from walking blindly into the alley. Caller ID showed his home phone number, which was odd because no one should have been home. He clicked the button to answer and a car raced down the alley, the wind rippling his dress pants. "Hello?" he answered hesitantly, a little shaken by how close the car came to hitting him, but the line was dead. By the time he got home from work, he had put the incident out of his mind.
The next morning they all received another warning from the toy. "DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS." Again Johnny was excited, but couldn't get any more response from the toy. It made the same announcement two more times before they left the house, but Johnny's dad pretended not to hear it.
At lunch time he looked both ways before crossing the alley, but it was empty, like always. Well, except for the day before, of course. The entire day was uneventful and he had forgotten about the toy's warning by the time it was time to go home. He was walking through the parking deck towards his car when he saw someone approaching him.
"Can you tell me how to get to Main Street?" the smiling stranger asked him.
Johnny's dad's phone rang, and he put a hand up to the man as he saw it was a call from home. "Sorry," he said, "It's my wife. Give me just a minute." The stranger stood there as Johnny's dad answered the phone call. "Hello?" he answered, and received garbled static as his reply. "What?" he said, putting a finger in his ear, and moving away trying to get a better signal. "I can't hear you," he said as he reached the edge of the deck, and then the line went dead. He looked back at the stranger, still waiting on him, and shrugged. The stranger shrugged back, then was plowed over by a driver coming too fast around a blind corner. The stranger died instantly, and right in front of Johnny's dad. He was late getting home, and while he talked to several police officers that night, he didn't talk to any strangers.
The next morning Johnny's dad felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for the warning. There was only silence. Johnny tried the buttons again, but the toy wasn't talking. Breakfast was quiet, and no voice called out to them as they left for the day. Johnny's dad looked both ways before crossing the alley at lunch, and made sure he stayed out of the lane in the parking deck when it was time to go home. He checked his phone for any missed calls, but there was nothing there.
When he got home he noticed the toy wasn't in the living room corner. "Where's Johnny's fire truck?" he asked his wife as casually as he could manage.
"Oh, it started talking again, so I made him play with it outside."
He grabbed her shoulders, "What was it saying?"
"What?" she said, trying to wriggle free from his grip.
"What was it saying?" he repeated, squeezing her harder.
"I don't know," she said. "Something about calling 911 in case of an emergency. Ow! That really hurts!"
He didn't hear anything else she said. He just ran for the phone dialing the numbers even as he heard the screeching tires outside.
Brilliant! Very Twilight Zone-esque, J!
Mod
Loosely based on true events. By which I mean, my kids had a toy ride-on fire truck that blared out those three phrases at random when the batteries started getting low. It really was a little scary the first time it happened in the middle of the night.
Gotta love those talking toys!True story: I once very nearly had a heart attack when moving into a new apartment. The landlord told me that the attic was full of furniture that had been left behind by previous tenants and I was invited to have my pick if anything caught my eye. So I went up one day, gleefully picking through when I found a table I wanted wedged into a corner. To get it out, I had to move this huge dresser out of the way.
I'd barely moved it away from the wall when I heard a thunk followed by what sounded like Satan himself laughing at me. So already scared and not thinking straight, I look behind the dresser and see this writhing mass with two giant eyeballs staring at me.
It was a Tickle Me Elmo whose battery pack was nearly run down. :)
Mod
Karen woke and cringed. She was in terrible pain. She tried to move, but every time she did so, a burning, boiling sting shot through her back. The sheets moved with her when she tried to roll over, preventing her from going far, clinging tightly to her back, keeping her prisoner. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her sheets were a crimson color and they were wet. She could hear drops of liquid splashing on the floor. She could hear her son singing in another room and called to him, screaming his name, begging him to call 911. He came into the room, four years old and full of innocence. "Mommy!" he shouted. "I drawed a picture for you on this funny paper daddy gave me before he left for work." Her son handed her a portrait of herself, crudely drawn on skin that had, until recently, been on her back.
Dang these are good. I need more thumbs for all the thumbs up I want to give.
Every night, I hear something meow.I know what you think I'm going to say next - that I don't own a cat. I do, and she's very vocal.
You see, the meowing sounds like a real cat, but it's always followed by a very human chuckle; nasty, and giddy. I swear it's coming from somewhere behind my walls...
Wait...
I hear it again. It's closer...
It's coming from under my bed.
Fine. My blog shall live in neglect but SOMEONE is going to read this short story!REQUIEM OF A MONSTER
How long have I been walled up in here? How many rats and flies have I named, and feasted with? How many days have I paced beneath the meager half-light these narrow barred windows afford me? How long since my children have known the embrace of me, their mother?
My persecutors assail me with accusations, more befitting some trashy storybook than any act that I know, and all the while seizing my estate for their own petty whims. Abduction, molestation, torture, the drinking and bathing in of the blood of countless young women, all this and more, is what I and my servants have been accused.
How long since the cries of an ignorant mob have been sated by the execution of my servants? How long since I’ve known the gentle caress of hope? Once I fought for these lands, in my way, safeguarding its people from the onslaught of heathen invaders. Once I cared for these people that now find unity in a shared revulsion of me.
Is this all my fault? Did I trust the wrong people to be the shepherd of their own consciences? Is it wrong that I take bitter amusement in the irony that, while I’m walled in here, those that are supposedly protected from me are amongst the true monsters of society?
Once I wondered if there wasn’t one enlightened citizen that would rise up, refute these baseless accusations against me and be my champion; I spent countless days and nights, stubbornly clutching to such an unrealistic hope. Once I came to terms with the realization that no such champion existed, was the very moment I bid hope farewell.
A space was left in the wall, at floor level, just big enough for food and drink to be slid through. Both food and water are served in bowls, so that I may dine like some mere animal. Sometimes hunger overpowers my sensibilities and I feast much like an animal. Eventually all shreds of dignity fall away, realizing that no one was around to judge.
My captors were also thoughtful enough to leave a hole in the floor, just big enough for me to relieve myself, my dirty offerings plummeting an unknown depth to some sewer beneath. Because of this, the unpleasant stench of my captivity is a constant, yet my stone cage remains clean enough. When I surmised that they feared my execution would be too much of a scandal, I stubbornly held onto this life of captivity, eating their rotting bread, drinking their stale water, taking satisfaction in knowing that my life would serve as continued expense to my persecutors.
My bed is a pile of straw in the corner, and a single tattered dirty blanket of burlap, a blanket thick enough to afford me some protection from the cold nights, but not much. As time wore on, I became more accustomed to a sound sleep, even as my body trembled of the cold during much of any given year. I… suspect I’ve been here for years; I didn’t dare try and keep track for fear that doing so would prove more maddening than I could handle. What’s this? I hear footsteps. Is it feeding time already? I see that one of my rat friends, at the other side of the room, seems to hope so.
“Hey Countess,” I heard through the feeding hole; his voice was cruel and condescending. “If you write a note admitting your guilt, we may be inclined to release you.” The snickering of other men met my ears at that moment, alerting me to the fallacy of their offer. To my shock, a sword blade pushed through a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink and a black feather on top of it. I stared at this offering with wide eyed amazement, unable to move. By comparison, the rat showed no hesitation at all as it scurried over, sniffed at a corner of the parchment, and proceeded to start nibbling there.
“It seems the rat’s making use of our offer,” I heard the man scoff through the feeding hole. The other men laughed. I’m not exactly sure what came over me at that moment, but I launched myself at the rat, the sound of a ravenous animal issuing from my throat as my mouth bit into the rat, causing it to squeal pitiably as its hot blood coated my teeth. The man who was watching through the hole screamed in abject terror and flailed away, bumping into the legs of the other men and likely frightening them as well. I turned my head violently to the right, tossing my dead rodent friend to the wall, while I heard the man pitiably exclaim, “Sh….she bit that rat in two!”
“What I did to that rat was merciful!” I shouted. “What I’ve got in mind for you is far less pleasant. Now go… your sullied armor is an embarrassment.” I listened as the pitiable man fumbled to his feet and hurried away, the other unknown men following close behind. As the sound of my internal voice again became my only company, my tongue ran along my teeth, finding the rat’s blood considerably more pleasant than the typical menu I’d grown accustomed to. I stared at the carcass of my former friend, amazed that I’d attacked him like a cat. Like a cat…. I’m a cat. Why not? Who’s here to argue with me really?
I turned my attention to the piece of yellowed parchment, only slightly chewed, with its bottle of ink and black feather. I simply stared at the blank page for the longest time, an infinite world of possibilities; I’ll not throw this opportunity away on some false confession that would amuse only my persecutors, and only for but a moment. I brought the materials back with me to my pile of straw. After some moments of my mind racing and my emotions thrashing like a violent sea, my mind seized upon words most pleasing to my condition and I began writing feverishly.
The feather’s sharp tip plunged the bottle like some merciless lover, and the black demon’s blood flowed to the page with the ease of a fresh wound. Word to word, line to line, my tortured soul took physical manifestation upon the canvas, a dark, brooding, and menacing wretch, far greater than any heathen portrait my persecutors paint upon my name. Once my glorious dirge finally reached its completed grandeur a smile played across my weary face; a sentiment alien to the long duration I’ve been in this accursed captivity. But a vile loathing lay just beneath this sentiment, and I knew that well, an old friend for which I’d grown much accustomed.
I read the lines quietly to myself countless times with the light still remaining of this day; I knew my sight would not serve me in the later hours, and it was imperative that I internalize my soul’s physical form so I may give it voice throughout the night. As the day drew to a close, and the sun retreated from what I was about to unleash, an inhuman glee seized upon me. I imagined the terror that would soon grip any guards unfortunate enough to be within the castle this night, and many nights to come.
As the last hint of day abandoned the narrow windows of my chamber, I drew a long deep breath, its sensation more akin to dragon’s fire than the stagnant air of my walled chamber, and I began to sing. Dulcet tones with deadly intent began stalking the castle corridors, like some slow, lethal predator inching ever closer to its prey. My mind grew intoxicated with the way my dirge leapt off the nearby walls, like cats pouncing on their next meal. Somehow, these observations alleviated any pang of loneliness, as these elegant, agile specters became my new closest friends.
I grew to lose count of the number of times I sang this song on any given night. My dark ballad was my new sustenance, and I left the stale bread to any rodent that still braved entry into my chamber. The only time I took of the bowl of water was to wet my tongue and throat, so that my glorious song might yet live. I wasted away, yet I found comfort in my final condition and, as I finally slipped from life one fateful night as I was singing, I envisioned droves of cats, pouring through the streets and into buildings like some unstoppable flood of relentless, fur-covered death.
I have liiiiivvvved my life.
I shall liiiiivvvve in memory.
What you’d learrrrrrrrrned in strife
Shall not beeeeeeee the truth of me.
Onnnnnnnnce hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh
Brouuuuuuught lowwwwww
Onnnnnnnne daaaaaaaaay
I…
Shall…
Know…
When the caaaaaats of God
Come ascennnnnnding viciously
Uponnnnnnn the sod
That cast meeeeeee to misery
Theyyyyyyyyy’ll bite
Theyyyyyyyyy’ll scratch.
Breaaaaaaaaak throuuuuuuuugh
allllllllll laaaaaaaatch
Killllllllllll one
Killllllllllll allllllll.
Tilllllllll the
High-…
est…
Fall…
I shall sleeeeeeep my last.
My resolllllllllve is fading fast.
Though my smiiiiiiiile remains
With the thoooooooooought
Of all your fuuuuuture pains
Of all your future pains…
Pains…
Pains…
Of all your fuuuuuture pains…
Pains…
Pains…
Of all your fuuuuuture pains…
END
Heidi was drunk. Okay, maybe not drunk but definitely tipsy. She stumbled into the bathroom, laughing to herself. The room was dark and she couldn't find the light switch. Unconcerned with her privacy, she left the door open and went about her business, the bare light bulb hanging in the hall casting shadows across the floor and into the room. A few moments later, standing at the sink to wash her hands she looked up from the sink.
"Aghh!" she cried, her eyes widening in surprise. She paused and leaned in towards the mirror, squinting at the visage looking back at her. She laughed. Her own reflection had startled her.
"Girl, you have had too much to drink." Heidi shook her head. She turned to leave but then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she turned back. Placing her hands on either side of the sink she leaned in and looked straight into the mirror.
"I believe in Bloody Mary," she chanted quietly.
She paused for a minute, swallowing nervously.
"I believe in Bloody Mary," she said again, her voice getting a little more confident.
She laughed self-consciously. It was just a stupid urban legend. Heidi rolled her eyes and then she spoke again. "I believe in Bloody - "
They found her body the next day, her face frozen in a rictus grin, bloody claw marks scoring her cheeks. The coroner pronounced cause of death as a heart attack, but off the record down at Pete's Bar, a bourbon in his hand, he claimed to anyone who'd listen that she was scared to death.
Just what did Heidi see in the mirror that night? I guess you'll never know, unless you try it yourself...if you dare. Mwa-ha ha haaaa!
J. Daniel wrote: "Might be a little long, but hopefully you guys enjoy. Not so scary, but maybe creepy?The toy fire engine had seen better days, but Johnny loved it. He pressed the siren button non-stop, except..."
Loved it, and I KNOW Christina is right, Rod Serling would have loved too.
J. Daniel wrote: "Might be a little long, but hopefully you guys enjoy. Not so scary, but maybe creepy?..."You got me there. I mean, I started reading thinking I'd read a paragraph or two and move on. I ended up reading the whole thing. Definitely something I'd see in a magazine. Loved it!
Eric wrote: "Fine. My blog shall live in neglect but SOMEONE is going to read this short story!REQUIEM OF A MONSTER..."
That was very well written Eric. I'm still wondering why she was there. What had she done? And what will her suicide by fasting (at least, that's how I saw it) will bring. Was she a witch? Is she casting a spell on cats with her last breath?
Up until the song's lyrics I was reading eagerly. The repeated letters made it hard to read and it kind of broke the trance for me. Nice piece of work though.
Lisa wrote: "Heidi was drunk. Okay, maybe not drunk but definitely tipsy. She stumbled into the bathroom, laughing to herself. The room was dark and she couldn't find the light switch. Unconcerned with her p..."lol I so hate those movies where when they speak in front of a mirror a monster appears. I always wonder why they do it. Once after watching such a movie, my hubby started reciting the words. I'm not superstitious more than the neighbors, but why tempt the fate? I yelled at him to shut up or I'd kill him myself if that's what he wanted. :P
We had a good laugh. Best of all, he didn't finish the three mandatory times. :P
I'll cheat. I didn't write this especially for the thread. Yet, I think it'll fit well.The Nail Salon
After breaking my ankle and having to stay home on doctor's orders, the only thing left for me to do was to sit by my window and watch life on the other side. As always, the street was quiet. Right across from my house, Silky Nails proudly advertized affordable manicure and pedicure for all budgets. Although a sign in the window said 'Open' the lack of light inside seemed to say otherwise. Then again, it had always been the same. In the twenty years I'd lived here, I couldn't recall seeing customers. Sure, there were the occasional oddballs but it was not as if the owner, a widow in her late fifties, had regulars. How she made ends meet was beyond me.
It occurred to me that despite being close neighbors, Maddie and I had never spoken to each other. We exchanged greetings but that was it. Maybe today I could fix that. My nails needed work and I could use the company. Without further delay, I grabbed my crutches and my purse and made my way out to the shop.
***
Inside, a little bell rang and Maddie came out from an adjacent room. "D'you have an appointment?"
"No, but—" I said, looking at the empty place.
"That's fine. I have a cancellation; I can take you now."
She directed me to a chair and by the time my hands were done, we were best of friends. She invited me in her kitchen for some herbal tea and we talked about our lives, wondering why we had never done this before.
All the while, Maddie knitted.
"It's second nature to me. I need to do something with my hands," she said. "All you see here that's cloth, I made: the curtains, the tablecloth, even my dress."
Although it looked strange with its two rows of holes in the length, its intricate design left me speechless. It looked as if it were made out of silk.
"Would you like to see more of my work?" she asked.
"Heck yeah," I said.
***
The storage room was dark and had a peculiar smell to it.
"Don't mind it," she said, reading my mind. "You get used to it after a while."
She navigated among the bulky rolls of silky material that lay all over the place and fetched a sizeable piece she put around my shoulders. Soft and warm, the fabric clung to my body like a second skin.
It felt icky. I wanted it off. I needed it off…now. The more I tried to wiggle out of it, the more I entangled myself. Sweat dripped down my forehead and burned my eyes.
"Maddie," I called but the only reply was my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. "Maddie?"
Its foul breath announced its arrival. The creature wore Maddie's dress and had Maddie's eyes, four pairs of them. The strategically situated holes in the outfit set its hairy legs free…free to knit—because Maddie always needed to knit.
I screamed.
G.G. wrote: "That was very well written Eric. I'm still wondering why she was there."The story was inspired by research of one Elizabeth Báthory, and the theory that she was set up by political rivals; the set up angle felt like a more compelling story arc than what is more customarily accepted as fact.
Sorry, way too long. Just having too much fun. I left another one in CrappyPasta. Let me know which one works.I was no more than five or six and I was that kind of kid. You know the one; burn the ant with the magnifying glass, pull one wing off a fly so I could watch spin around in pointless circles, and pit assorted insects against one another in a lidded jar. That was the best, especially the wolf spider and the wasp; the battle could last for hours and there was no telling who was going to win. I also tormented my cat.
Nothing outrageous, I didn't break anything or cut him, I just squeezed too hard a few times to hear him growl and hiss. Mind you, I used the magnifying glass on him once when he was sleeping on the porch. His fur had this great smell when it started to smoke, kind of like burning meat, but not quite. It didn't take long before he started doing everything he could to stay clear of me, but I was like a dog on a bone. That cat didn't like dogs much either.
One time, when I was chasing it around the yard with a bamboo stick, it couldn't seem to find any safe place to hide. It started on the old sofa on the porch. He was curled up and sleeping peacefully, twitching every once in a while like he was having a dream or a nightmare. I bellied in close and gave him a good whack with the bamboo. He jumped up with a yeowl dove around the back of a nearby chair in the corner and when I climbed up on it and swatted him from over the back he tried to crawl under it to hide. So I used the end of the bamboo to jab at him. I chased him from one end of the porch to the other before he finally jumped outside and tried to hide in the bushes by the stairs. I found him pretty quick and tried to whack him again but he took off under the porch. I could get in there easy, so it didn't help him much. That's when he took off for the neighbors. I ran after him, but he was way too fast, and the last I saw was his tail disappearing through the opening to the crawlspace under the house next door.
I remember feeling a little bad, thinking I was going to get into some big trouble when Mom or the neighbors got home. If Mom couldn't find her favorite 'Little Kitty', she would blame me, and even if she didn't, the neighbors would probably come over complaining when they started smelling dead cat. I ran over and peered into the pitch-black dankness and couldn't see a thing, but I could hear him. He was growling with those low, rumbled threats and highlighting them with hisses. I needed a flashlight.
After getting the Eveready Mom kept in the pantry, I stuck my head in the hole and shone the beam into the blackness. I could tell immediately that he had moved farther in, probably thinking I was going to come in after him. Smart cat. I crawled in towards some stacked concrete blocks that were holding up a beam 10 or 12 feet away. I was pretty sure he hiding back there, because the growling and hissing was getting louder as I moved in. I see the next bit every night.
Just as I got level with the blocks, I cast the beam around the corner and saw him. He had green fire coming out of his eyes and his mouth was open as wide he needed to show a set of teeth bigger than I had ever seen them, I thought at the time they were bigger than a lions. In that instant he was on me. Teeth, claws and screams were all I was aware of, some of the screams his and more of them mine. I lost the Eveready almost immediately and didn't have much to defend myself with except my arms and hands. He was tearing and biting at everything, I could feeling face bleeding, my hands hurt like hell every time he sunk his fangs in, and my clothes were being torn to shreds. Just as it started feeling like he was going to rip my throat out, he leaped into the darkness and was gone.
Mom came home shortly after I made my way out of the hole. I was still screaming and wailing and it took a while before she could calm me down enough to hear my version of the story of the attack. It wasn't my fault, I was just trying to get her precious 'Little Kitty' of the hole. I saw it go in there and I didn't think it was going to find its way out. It just attacked me for no reason. I knew she was skeptical, she had that look on her face, but how could she favor that cat when her precious 'Little Boy' was scratched and bitten so badly she had to take him in to Doc Alphonse to get stitches. I heeled soon enough, but the cat was banned from the house. She tried to get one of the neighbors to take it, but word got around pretty fast; that cat was a kid killer. It was OK with me, the cat and I had some unfinished business.
He disappeared one day and Mom could never figure out what had happened to him. It wasn't long after that that the nightmares started. Every night, same thing, cat with fiery green eyes and fangs comes out of the blackness and begins eating off my face. I stopped wetting the bed years ago, I don't scream any more, and the sweats are really getting rare, at least that's what the wife says. But its the kids that have me worried, they're starting to scream now too.
Awesomely creepy, you guys! All of them!
"Thank you!" The old woman said as she drove the knife in again. "Thank you so much!"
By the way, tons of good creepo going on here.
Remember Im showcasing them on my blog, check the compendiums outhttp://www.bookwormiespot.com/2015/09...
http://www.bookwormiespot.com/2015/09...
http://www.bookwormiespot.com/2015/10...
http://www.bookwormiespot.com/2015/10...
Okay, I'm in the mood to try my hand at spooky:When the villagers speak of the monster, they only speak of its teeth.
The delegates that came out to my cabin described long, tusk-like fangs as sharp as razors. They spoke of the way the dead were found, out here on the edge of the forest, out here by my cabin, torn through by those teeth that haunted their collective minds.
Funny, not a one of the men mentioned the monster's eyes. The red and silver glow of hell fire brought insanity to all who gazed upon them, yet it was the teeth, always the teeth that made them shrink in fear.
They wanted my help. They were at a loss. Brute force had done little to keep the monster from savaging the village. Night after night, another life lost to those ivory daggers. So desperate they were that the council put aside their distaste for the strange witch who lived in the cabin at the edge of the woods to beg her assistance.
The same witch had sought shelter earlier in the season when a terrible creature had been spotted roaming the forest, but the villagers had no sympathy as they shut me out. The barricade, twelve feet high and smooth as glass left me vulnerable to attack, but it did not shut out the sounds of the villagers laughing and spitting curses upon me, simply for being a witch.
The delagetes knew, of course, that this was in the forefront of my mind. Not a one could look me in the eye as they begged for help. Their guilt, their shame, their humble acknowledgement of that which they could never take back held no redemption. For had they dared to face me, they might have noticed something other than those dreadful teeth.
They might have noticed the red and silver glow of my eyes.
Mod
Great story Christina!
Loved it, Christina! TThe witch is getting even. :p
Villagers are the worst, really. ;)
Mod
Nice! Had to think on that one for a minute! ;)
Previous post deleted. I said to keep them cleanish. Remember, this is a public message board than has no age restriction.
Necrophilia does not fall under the heading of cleanish, sorry.
Mod
As Christina pointed out, we asked that the stories be cleanish. Yours was not.
Mod
Nah, no need for that. Just remember, there's always a potential children could be reading and keep things around a PG to PG-13 level and you're good.
Yeah, that's taking re-purposing to a whole new level.
Resurrecting the creepy thread for Halloween! Bring out your scary stories! (Just keep them spooky and not too graphic)
Oh, man! I totally had to click on this thread. But I was thinking a different sorta creepy hahaha...haha...ha...*goes to Halloweeny corner*
LOL! There's always room for more fun threads. ;)
Is it hallowe'en yet?'Nope.'
'So do we have to stay here some more?'
'Nope.'
'What. You mean we can go out? Dressed like this?'
'We don't got no other clothes.'
Doralee followed her father's skinny figure outside. There was a young man kneeling in the grass, with tears running down his cheeks, so she went over to him and held out a sympathetic hand. He looked up and wiped his face on his sleeve.
'Hey kid. You lost?'
She stepped a bit closer and looked into his face. He was kinda homely but he looked friendly enough.
She walked right up to him and smiled - only to see her own need reflected in his lightless eyes...
(Never done creepypasta before. Heck, never done horror before so I'm in new territory here.)They put me in here and nailed the door shut. I'm so lonely and I don't understand why Mom and Dad did it. They cried and cried as they closed the door and I keep thinking, If they're so sad, why did they do it?
There was a loud racket outside, and they turned the music up really loud. What was going on out there? The racket turned to yelling and screaming and crying. I was so scared I felt frozen in place. It was hard not doing anything. It sounded bad. My dad's voice rose above anothers.
"Go away! There's nothing here!"
There was a gunshot and then silence. My throat was dry and I couldn't cry out for him! I scratched and banged on the door but his voice was gone. Instead my mom wailed. There was heavy stomping to my door and one by one I could hear the nails being pulled out. I didn't know what to do and instead of running I banged harder on the door. I wanted to know if my dad was okay.
Finally the last nail came out and the door was ripped open. The attacker stood there in the dark hallway and the only thing I could really make out was the gleam from a gun as it rose to my level. My hunger for flesh rose up and I lunged at the neck of my would-be attacker. He wasn't the first I'd eaten and he wouldn't be the last...
Hunching against the rain, Daphne hurried up the concrete wlk till she reached the overhang that sheltered the apartment door. Her battered key rattled in the lock, stuck for a moment, then the knob turned and she was in.She came inside, shook herself and flipped the light on, looking for her only roommate, the cat. The big Siamese was nowhere to be found, however.
"Dagoba-- I'm home-- come on out, girl."
Putting her grocery bags on the stove and taking off her wet sneakers, Daphne padded back into the small living room. She meowed. It wasn't the best feline impression but usually got a response. This time, though, Daphne didn't hear an answer. Where is that silly cat? she wondered, her mind already starting to run wild from the stories she'd been swapping with her coworkers on that wet October evening. SHe grunted, lowering herself to the carpeted floor, She got on her hands and knees to check under the couch. That was Dagoba's favorite spot to hide when the storms were too scary.
"Come on out, Neko-chan," said Daphne, using her favorite japanese pet phrase for the cat. For some reason, Dagoba sometimes responded to Japanese words more rapidly than words in English. Daphne had wondered before if cats simply liked words that had fewer sibilants in them, but whatever the reason was, right now she just wanted her furry friend out from under the couch.
Two glowing, red eyes shone out from the darkness beneath the padded seat.
Fighting down the jangling from her already frayed nerves, Daphne called quietly. "You got me again, Dagoba," she said. "Scaring me with those pretty eyes of yours. Come on out from there."
That was when Dagoba's warm, round head butted Daphne in the side. She stretched, blinking sleepily, as if to ask "why did you have to wake me up from my nap?"
Daphne glanced over at the Siamese. The cat looked at her curiously, as if wondering why she was on the floor. Her voice shook badly. "You were in the bedroom? Then who's under there?" Or what? she wondered silently. Her blood was running cold in her veins. She most definitely did NOT want to look at those red eyes again. She got up and grabbed the flashlight that was stuck magnetically to the microwave and turned on its powerful 28 led beam. Slowly, shakily, she got back down on hands and knees. There was no other way to see under the low futon-style couch.
Feeling better with the light, she shone it underneath the couch. There was an old roll of duct tape. A wood saw. Some crumpled up grocery bags. A partial sheet of sand paper. A bottle of white glue, still in shrink wrap. An old radio. Some airsoft beebees. Lint, cat hair. Cardboard. And nothing more.
Dagoba mrowed questioningly.
"Nothing under there, I guess," said Daphne. "Maybe the airsoft ammo reflected the light somehow?" Even as she said it, she knew it was a lame excuse. But her conscious mind fastened on any halfway plausible explanation. She wanted a normal evening. Life had just been too weird lately. She got up, scooped up her cat and hugged her. Instead of wriggling out of her grasp, Dagoba wrapped her long, brown forearms around Daphne's neck, licked her cheek, and purred.
Two red eyes under the couch, blinked, waiting.
(can be used with attribution)
Rohvannyn wrote: "Hunching against the rain, Daphne hurried up the concrete wlk till she reached the overhang that sheltered the apartment door. Her battered key rattled in the lock, stuck for a moment, then the kno..."Oh, I like this one!
Loved them all! re: Requiem For A Monster
I've actually heard of a princess from the middle ages who was walled into her room by the king, her crime? Bleeding virgins to bathe in their blood to stay young. She got away with it until she started preying on the daughters of the nobility. Was that the inspiration for this story?
Hideo listened to the gulls cry as the sun came up. He heard the lapping of waves, the quiet conversation of morning fishermen, the faroff rumble of a boat starting up. His eyes were useless though. Try as he might, when he looked out to sea there was nothing but a field of grayish white. The fog was too thick even to see the rocks of the seashore, and the warehouses shoreside were nearly formless masses of gray.It didn't matter, Hideo knew where he was going. He turned away from the invisible beach and pilings, even as he breathed in the seaweed scented, creosote-tinged, mud-daubed air. The fog was usually gone by now, but he knew it would burn off in another hour or so. He still had time before reporting to work at the importer's shop. Now, though, he guarded the time for his walk as jealously as some guarded their morning cha.
The streets were narrow here, barely the width of a cargo truck, and paved with ancient cobbles. There were no stoplights, nor need for them. You'd have to be a dock worker, a fisherman, or a wayward tourist to be walking these narrow ways. Still, Hideo relished the uneven feel of the road surface, the damp feel of the air close around him, the foggy, indistinct shapes of the buildings.
Oddly, impossibly, the fog was thickening. He thought briefly of a short story by the American author, Larry Niven, that had been about a fog this heavy. Could I just step into another world, so simply? he wondered. And if I did, where might I end up? he mused. Would it be another place entirely, or just another time here?
He shoved his hands deeply into his pockets. The chill air wrapped around him. Just as he was about to cross a small street, he heard something. He cocked his ear, listening. It was music, barely audible at first, then getting louder. He recognized the song. Tinny and faint, the notes of "He who is fortunate will cross" drifted through the misty air.
Hideo shook his head and crossed. It was the same tune that played at large intersections when the light turned, to signal that it was the safest time to cross the street. It was entirely out of place here. The closest main thoroughfares were far away and there wasn't any need for a crosswalk this near the waterfront. Where is it coming from? he wondered. He looked around, seeing no sign of a speaker, nor traveler, nor even a cast off cell phone that might ring at an odd time. Even stranger, the music seemed to be coming from the air itself.
He stopped short, his heart pounding, when he heard the rummer of a crowd in motion, echoing footsteps, and distantly, the sound of engines idling. A horn honked. The song ended. Then he heard engines revving as if cars were driving down the tiny street he had been about to cross. "Where is this coming from, really?" he asked aloud. "What..." but he never finished the sentence. The sounds were fading, as if a door was slowly closing. A little light was coming down through the fog. In a moment, as if it had been a dream, the sounds were completely gone.
Hideo looked down at his boots, at the cobbles he stood on. Here, the streets weren't even wide enough for a sidewalk. The cross street was empty, the stop signs faded their familiar shade of pink. Nothing stirred. The same old warehouses surrounded him, everything looked completely normal. A bit more light shone through the clouds, that was all. He started walking again. It was nearly time for work, after all, and he didn't want to be late.
Perhaps if I stepped through a hole in the air, Hideo thought, I might not go to the past or the future or another world. I might just slip into another place, just like this, but not exactly the same. If I did slip into another universe, though, how would I ever know that had happened?
With these thoughts, Hideo continued on his walk until he reached the import store. He looked up then his eyes widened. He was looking at the Nakano Imports sign. Nothing unusual about it, really. It was a blue sign with black lettering. Still, the blood ran out of his face.
Yesterday, the sign had been yellow.
(Can be used with attribution)
So, have you all heard of the delightfully spooky phenom known as creepypasta? Creepypasta are typically short scary stories that are popularized because they are copied and pasted all over the internet. You might have gotten a creepy forward that says something bad will happen if you don't spam at least five of your friends or maybe you saw something similar on Facebook. There are also forums all over the internet dedicated to these spooky stories. Here's what wiki has to say: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creep...
Now, I happen to know that this board has a lot of talented horror writers, so this is an open invite to one and all: show us what you got! Scare the pants off us!
All I ask is that you keep it cleanish and shortish.
For those who scare easily, be warned, the point of these stories is to keep you up at night with the lights on, so you might want to shy away.
Even better, I'm also going to put up anothet thread for crappypasta, which is creepypasta that is so bad, it becomes funny, so maybe if you want to sleep, you should head over there.
Okay, SIA Authors! Get creepy!