Horror
Memory Infallible
I grew up in a small town. A real small town, not a suburb or anything like that. One of those sleepy and monotone, grey kind of towns with one general store connected to a gas station. The type of town where you know the names of all the people who live there. The kind of town you pass through on a road trip without stopping. A town you might never know exists if not for the stories of the people who lived there and got out. One of those magical towns.
By Jacob Gabel4 years ago in Fiction
Land before the Lockets, verse 1
How many times have you heard a government worker, civil servant, etc. say “‘not my job”’when asked to do a task, any task, outside their mostly self defined “ job description?” Well, I can assure you any irony that is left in this world has been used by people like that. But please be decent when dealing with them, supposing you are in the condition right now to be decent, which very few people are. I consider myself decent. To myself mostly, and a motley crew of human refuse I am forced to associate with out of the need to stay alive. Well, more precisely the need to eat. Being alive, being human, having a soul, are mostly vaguely self defined terms now.
By Michael Capriola4 years ago in Fiction
Leonx
Melissa!” “Help us!” “Wolf! It’s a wo-“ Melissa ran through the house, desperately trying to find her parents. She could feel it, the breath of it’s thick paws against the earth. Once again she cursed the house the lived in, greater in size than in love. She tore down doors, ripped counters, overturned tables with a strength she didn’t know she had. And then she finally found it, but far too late. Her parents were gone, that was for sure. But a wolf stood in the middle of the room, his bloody teeth bared. And then it turned and leaped towards her. For a minute he held her down, dark fur soaked with blood brushing against her skin. She nearly screamed, but she couldn’t, her throat filling with hate instead of terror. He could kill her now, his red teeth leaning towards her neck, but she would not go without a fight. She grabbed the nearest thing, a meat cleaver, and brought it high. The ear was cut almost in half, just a tiny sliver of skin keeping it on. More blood spilled onto her face.
By And I am Nightmare4 years ago in Fiction
Monsters: Chapter 4
Terry sat in the confines of a large bush, watching patiently for any sign of inhabitants within the Roswell House at the end of the street. Beside the bush lay the red bike Alex had gotten Terry last Christmas, tucked away secretively behind a large tree stump.
By Sam Averre 4 years ago in Fiction
The Man on the sidewalk: chapter 3
Brian looked into his mother’s casket. A living breathing person, reduced to a stranger in a box. Brian’s dad kissed his mother's forehead as he burst into tears. The rest of that day was a blur as Toad and Brian skipped past the memory as the greed and guilt was too much. Brian found himself staring at the Current bus driver who looked at him with sympathy as he found his seat. Luke patted Brian on his back doing his best to comfort him.
By Qwill R. Brennan4 years ago in Fiction
Becoming
The pain was exquisite and excruciating. Lying down on the dirt of the lakeshore, the twigs and branches poked the skin of his back and legs. He could feel each and every prick of twigs as the white lightning of heat and pain surged through his body like a tidal wave. He craned his neck, trying to scream, but the sound caught in his throat as a moth caught in the web of a spider in the ruddy yellow light of a porch lamp. His fear erupted like a volcano and began to break through the dense mesh of semierotic pain, his eyes widened and bulged from his skull, and his back arched as solid as a stone bridge over country stream. The instant atrophy in his legs lit their muscles into a white, hot, fiery fury. His toes pointed down so strenuously that he thought his ankles would shatter like clay pots striking the floor, and his arms stiffened as though he was being drawn and quartered. The stars above shown through the pine needles above and the white-rimmed, unfocused sight of his eyes.
By Anthony Stauffer4 years ago in Fiction
Frozen Terrors
A boy turns on his side, barely aware of his waking existence until his turning pulls the warm shielding of his blanket from his face. A biting chill jars him awake as cold air creeps across his face and works itself into the top of his clothes. After quickly returning the blanket to its protective place, he tries to work through the fogginess crowding his thoughts. He remembers a party around a fire near a cabin. He remembers the trek deep into the woods, despite the condemnations of departing winter. He remembers the alcohol and a girl and stumbling into a side room with an air mattress. He remembers fumbling and trying to kiss the girl, and the sounds of her sleep before its shade enveloped him too. The boy vaguely remembers rustling and feeling as if on waves chased by distant laughter.
By Brian Campbell5 years ago in Fiction
The Ghost in the Pond
The world had become a place of ice and snow. In the whiteness, we were moles. Blind, desperate, and merely trying to survive. I was a youngling at the time, following in the footsteps of my family’s forefathers. There was a strange hope, a longing for normalcy, but I had never been normal. I could care less. It was always the same conversation, the same confused answers and the same distance as if I was not there.
By Carissa Brown5 years ago in Fiction
The Tower Amid Nothing
Ice and snow crunched underfoot as the hounds charged forward. She hated pushing them so hard, but she had never been this late before. Time was not on her side. The sun was setting. The wind whipped relentlessly, and the falling snow felt like blades against her slightly exposed face. Her sled dogs made a mad dash up the final hill before it came into view. The giant glass tower reached terrifyingly into the sky.
By Alex Seccia5 years ago in Fiction
Jasmine in Winter
Jasmine in Winter by G. L. Payne He’d gone out onto the ice looking for the strange anomaly. Every year, he’d lived at Dallas House, it had appeared, a wispy cloud hanging over the water of the pond that stood on the property behind the main building. Every year on the same day, November 14th, it was there from dusk until dawn, amorphous, faintly glowing, just . . . floating there above the water.
By Gary Payne5 years ago in Fiction
