Horror
The Slayji
THE DIVE BAR WAS DARK AND FULL OF ENERGETIC PEOPLE. The man sat with his funny hat in the back corner, the table furthest from everyone else. The hat was wide-brimmed and came to a point at the end of its floppy cone on top. It was properly called an alicorn. And it properly did not make him inconspicuous, <Stupid hat!> People were looking, staring, but they all seemed to keep their distance. He knew they were whispering about him. They always did, no matter where he went. Slayji couldn’t go anywhere without being watched, both in wonderment and in weariness. They were employed to hunt the monsters — though it was hard to get them to believe they weren’t also monsters.
By Nathan Charles4 years ago in Fiction
The Witch of Suicide Lake.
What is that moving in the shallows over there? It is a long, black, smooth, silhouette gliding towards my one man, wooden, blue canoe. It is getting larger and larger the body size is getting larger than my canoe, the waves trailing behind the small hump of black mass bobbing in and out of the water as it glides slowly meticulously towards my canoe, are small in comparison to the creature I am watching come ever closer. I grab for my paddle, it isn’t much, just a few feet long, but it is my only means of defense if that thing keeps coming towards me in the direction it is. It is only a few feet away and I can see nothing on the left of my canoe but the big black mass in the water unlike on the other side where I can see the rocks and shells on the bottom. The waves are getting bigger and bigger now, tossing me from side to side in my canoe, with one hand I hold the paddle tight to my chest and the other I hold the side of the canoe trying to steady myself. The last thing I want to do is fall in the water with this thing. Sweat is pooling in my shorts where I am sitting or is that water splashing in from the lake from the waves, I am not sure they are mixing together now, I can feel sweat beading on my forehead, my heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can’t take my eyes from the thing headed my way. The sky is getting darker over head like a warning of something bad or of rain.
By Sara Taylor4 years ago in Fiction
No Warranty
In her Latina accent, la enfermera tells me, “This is your fault! Not mine. It's your mistake.” She goes on about how incompetent I am for not including the sales tax in her estimated total. I can't remember the last time I had to grind my teeth so hard.
By Gregory Valdez4 years ago in Fiction
Blood and Bones
During the midnight hour, under the sanguine blood moon, inside the old barnyard chapel, in a small town of St. Lucian was a huge gathering of satanic worshippers, celebrating a bloody ritual sacrifice or what the townspeople of St. Lucian called a communion gathering.
By Raven Moon 4 years ago in Fiction
Candlelight
Teetering precariously on the ladder, Maia placed yet another candle on the ledge overlooking the stone stairs to the courtyard. The ledge was lined with dozens of candles, unlit. Tapers, pillars, tealights, all in white. Candles covered the stairs too, only a narrow walkway left free.
By Lauren Triola4 years ago in Fiction
The Trouble With Home
An engine roared as its' driver steered from the off-ramp of the 101 into town. The arrival of the black Charger in Florence happened in the early morning hours, allowing the driver to come into town unnoticed. It wasn't that the driver wanted to hide from anyone, but after driving across the U.S. from the Texas State University, the thought of a long shower and a nap before facing the locals did appeal to her. Cass needed something to eat after the long drive, so she slid through a drive-through and picked up a couple of breakfast sandwiches that everyone knew weren't too healthy.
By Jason Ray Morton 4 years ago in Fiction
Jocassee - The Place of the Lost One
This story is dedicated to Tom Bradbury, your critiques will be missed. *** July 1974 Amelia Logan, cold, wet, and agitated, stood on the rickety dock as the angry waves from the vast lake lapped over the old wooden boards. Her stringy damp hair whipped in the wind, and her blue cotton dress, soaked, clung to her petite body. She gazed up at the gray and black clouds that roiled across the skyline that sprayed mists like a judgment on the world and its inequities. Her mind raged like the summer storm and wondered where Heidi had been the past year.
By J. S. Wade4 years ago in Fiction
