Horror
Lisa
There is a garden in front of the house, and an old swing is located in it. Because the house is so old, we can hear the floor squeak when someone walks on it. Because of her husband’s departure, the mother suffers from anxiety. Every morning when the mother wakes up she discovers that all the clocks are stopped at 3:07 a.m. which is very weird since she bought that clock just a few days before. The very next morning she notices bruises on her daughter's body which she ignored since her daughter is mischievous so she could have hurt herself while playing. Then one night the lady notices that in the shady night a girl other than her daughter has been making strange noises for a few weeks, but the mother has ignored them. But that noise never stopped, it kept happening then after a few days her daughter is playing with her dolls when she hears two girls laughing and giggling from a nearby room. Her mother asks her why she was laughing while playing with dolls during dinner.
By Brandsandu5 years ago in Fiction
The Bullfighter's Curse
Aleandro Villega has his eyes locked on the prize. With both hands, he holds a large and thick cloth adorned with beautiful and colorful embroidery in the style of traditional Spanish artistry along the edges, and with red as its predominant color; so heavy, it makes the wind work hard to make it move majestically. His stare is calculating, methodical.
By Rafael Romero5 years ago in Fiction
Dubious Morality
Shiloh watched, breath bated, as her newest pupils danced like puppets on strings. Their movements were jerky but she had expected that, they’d only been with her a week after all and still had quite a ways to go. When she’d recruited them, David and Norah had been on the verge of divorce, their marriage in tatters and their lives following suit quick enough. David yelled at his wife and neighbours, drank heavily and had a tendency for the sweet taste of purchased flesh. Norah smoked a pack a day, read romance novels by the dozen and had undergone enough elective surgery to bankrupt a small principality in an ill-advised effort to boost her self-esteem. The couple had fought, bickered and thrown temper tantrums like spoiled four year olds until Shiloh had gone to fetch them. ‘It’s not your fault really,’ Shiloh explained gently as she sat them both down on the love seat in the couple’s bare living room, ‘No, the one you really ought to blame is society.’ She glanced sideways at the pair, who sat still and watched her with wary eyes, like one might a pair of Jehovah’s Witness’, and perched herself on the edge of the single seater chair. ‘Once upon a time, women didn’t need to prove themselves men to get what they needed. Once upon a time, men only needed to provide for their women to feel fulfilled. It wasn’t even that long ago, if you can believe it.’ Shiloh sighed wistfully, pulling off her delicate lace gloves and laying them on the coffee table so they wouldn’t be in the way. ‘As far as modern society goes, there is nothing wrong with your behaviour, you are simply voices unheard in a throng of voices who go unheard. Your drinking, philandering and self-mutilation are merely expressions of your inner feelings, locked away too tightly so as they might explode. You, Mr Holloway, desire your wife to want you, to need you and support you. While you, Mrs Holloway, want your husband to desire you, to cherish you and honour you as you swore to do in your vows, did you not?’ Shiloh looked pointedly at David and raised a perfectly penned eyebrow. She took in Norah’s bedraggled appearance, having just returned from a Saturday meeting at the engineering firm that employed her as a site manager. Her shoes were patent leather things with a tall sole and a thin, ungainly heel, and the cuff of her slacks had been caught on a protuberance which had begun unravelling the once fine wool blend of the pants designed to draw the eye to her moderately rounded rear. She had forgotten to brush her hair as she had rushed out the door that morning, choosing instead to pile it on the back of her head in a sad attempt at a chic, messy bun and now it was bursting from its tie and Shiloh could see from her place opposite the woman that it was in desperate need of a trim. Her blouse was revealing, the fabric subtly sheer, and strained around her surgically enhanced breasts. No doubt, it got her all manner of looks on the job sites she must have visited. Her nose was petite, bearing the almost invisible scar of surgery that was becoming quite common place amongst young women. Her lips were stained a vibrant, currant red to match her blouse and her eyes were rimmed with enough kohl to start a mine. No doubt the woman thought her appearance appealing in a recently ravished way, everything about her suggesting that she was young, powerful and self-aware, though failing to quite capture the image with any kind of tact. It made her look cheap, and easy. Norah was workable, though her attitude might prove a handful, and some of her surgeries would have to be reversed. Shiloh tutted, none too quietly either, and turned to face David. In comparison to Norah, her husband was shabby and underwhelming. His shirt was full of holes, the tartan print faded till barely recognizable and well past the point where it should have been tossed in the trash. His board shorts were splattered in paint and all manner of other detritus that a few good washes would never get out, and there was merely a flap of fabric where the back pocket should have been. His forearms were covered in inch after inch of colourful ink, which would have to be removed, Shiloh noted. He might have been a tradesman but there was nothing right about defiling one’s body in such a way. He eyes were sunken slightly, blazing red in a haze of alcohol which was still affecting him slightly, though they were a bright green she had rarely seen before. His dark brown hair was lank and oily, and the scruff around his chin was unacceptable. He was still fit though, and Shiloh thought she wouldn’t have to work too hard to find clothes to fit him. At least, she thought, he hadn’t followed the hideous modern trend of stretching his earlobes to preposterous widths. The pair must have been high school sweethearts, married before they understood what it was to be in an adult relationship and fighting with every breath to get out and go back to the way things had once been. ‘Don’t fret now dears.’ Shiloh shushed as she noticed the wild look in their eyes, like ear caught in headlights, ‘I’m going to fix everything, you’ll see.’ She smiled brightly and waved for them both to stand and follow her around the side of the house where she’d parked her car. Norah tried to object but Norah held up a dainty hand as she stooped to collect her gloves. ‘No, you won’t need anything. All of this represents your old life, a life you hate and a life you won’t have to live much longer. Better to just leave it all behind.’ She wisely added. This was the kind of challenge she lived for. Shiloh’s parents had been much the same as David and Norah, always fighting, always cheating, always yelling and making a scene. She had been disenchanted with love and the idea of marriage from an early age, until she had met Peter. Peter had shown her that real love did exist, that marriage could work, so long as compromises were made and the peace was kept. Now, Shiloh spent her time teaching other couples how to be just as happy. The pair didn’t move an inch as she drove out of their driveway and down the dimly lit street, they just sat and stared at each other. There was hope yet at least, Shiloh sighed. The week that followed was hard on both the couple and Shiloh as she taught them how to be together again. She sat with Norah and showed her how to curl her hair and pin it up attractively so it looked like a work of art. She showed her how to put on her make-up in a flattering way, instead of looking like she’d applied an entire cake of foundation to her skin. She taught the woman how to dress to flatter her figure and keep herself modest without losing any of the allure she had so naturally. Shiloh patiently instructed Norah how to sew, and knit, and cook and clean. Basic things modern mothers forgot to teach their daughters. She drilled into David the importance of a clean shaven face and clean hair, daily even till he got the hang of a straight razor. She taught him to defend his wife, to balance the family finances and keep the bills paid so his wife could concentrate on building him a home. She showed him how to knot a tie and shine his shoes. For a while she couldn’t think of a way to fix his arms but finally she found a possible solution. David had objected at first but had capitulated when she explained to him how his tattoos were a reminder of the insignificant, petulant, ignorant child he had been. They simply had to go. His arms were still wrapped in gauze but he would thank her later, she was sure. There were dancing lessons, piano lessons, etiquette and social morality studies. Shiloh hoped she had enough time. The last couple had been ripped from her nurturing bosom much too early and she had been sad to see them go, but she had no other choice. David and Norah though, she had chosen because there was very little chance that their time would be interrupted, and indeed a whole week had passed with no disturbances. ‘Don’t cry Norah dear,’ she scolded snappishly, setting down the pistol she had found herself caressing unwittingly. ‘A good wife never cries in front of her husband, she is strong and proud. Not weak and simpering.’ The police scanner which sat beside her buzzed as a report of a break and enter filtered through the muted gloom of the bunker where she was housing her pupils. No sign that David and Norah had been reported as missing yet, though she had covered her tracks well. Mr and Mrs Holloway had left on an impromptu vacation the day after her visit, an effort to save their marriage by all accounts. Technically, it was Shiloh that was saving their marriage as she taught them how to stop being selfish, modern children and brought them up as caring, selfless adults. She always got giddy thinking about the perfect relationship, she was desperate to see it come to fruition. None of her other pupils had been able to make the grade, and she had been reluctant at first to do away with them but there wasn’t anything more important than her goal. She would hate to have to put a bullet in David, she had grown quite attached to him, though she disliked that the fire had left his eyes some days ago. Perhaps, if she was forced to abandon these lessons once again she might just bury his wife and keep him as her own, he was taking quite well to her instruction after all. They could move to Texas, perhaps, where the old values were still practiced and the slick oil of modernity hadn’t tainted the goodness of family life. For a fleeting moment she even considered just doing it anyway, the hell with her plan to save the world, one marriage at a time. She had dedicated five years to it already, wasn’t it her time to have the perfect relationship? Shaking herself out of her day dream, she concentrated on the gagged couple slowly dancing a basic waltz. No, she sighed, they were still married after all, and she had to try and save them from themselves even if she hated the thought of it. She would find her star couple one day, she prayed, and perhaps then she could forgive herself for forgetting her place and bludgeoning her own dear husband into a coma when he came home one night drunk and reeking of cheap perfume.
By Sonne Lore5 years ago in Fiction
The Box With No Soul
Destiny tapped her pen mindlessly while she talked on the phone. One of the residents of the mental institution had run away just over a day ago, causing quite a stir. George, the escapee, wasn’t a difficult person. He took his medications without complaint, did everything he was asked to do, and never caused trouble with the other patients.
By Alexander Huffman5 years ago in Fiction
Remains
Winslow pulled up to the police barracks around three forty in the morning. He sat for a moment, the events of the evening replaying in his head for the hundredth time. As he shut down the engine he caught a look a himself in the rear view. He was unrecognizable compared to the squared away rookie he’d seen in the bathroom mirror this morning. He was a combination of dirt and scratches, a couple of the latter still oozing blood. His uniform was torn and spotted with pine sap. Usually he wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this in uniform, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had experienced the most horrific night of his life and he felt lucky he was even breathing. Damn lucky. With some effort he hauled himself out of the cruiser, putting on his hat, also smudged with dirt and sap. He shambled toward the front doors where he was surprised to find Carswell, the medical examiner, sitting on the front steps. She had always reminded him of Julia Roberts, but tonight she more resembled Mrs Roberts grandmother. She was sitting on the top step lost in thought, shoulders slumped, leaning against the wall, the ash on her cigarette comically long, or would have been on any other night.there was a large envelope laying on the step next to her. He was within poking distance before she realized with a start that he was there. She placed a hand on the envelope as if he were going to take it from her.
By Jason leach5 years ago in Fiction
The Friendly Spider
The Friendly Spider It rained again; it rains every night, the rain clicking the cracked, sopping cobblestone roads outside. The dim lanterns lit the street, rain running down the bulbs like the spiked lightning in the sky. The dim lights pulled those who walked these dark streets onto the road; else, they walked with the shadows in the alleyways. The lights from small windows in the creaking old buildings could expose the rubbish that littered the alleys; the lightning was the worst, for it could expose all darkness for just half a second. It was that second that the shadows were not my ally, instead, they would betray me. It was bad enough when the weak light from windows that were so carelessly left open by the absent-minded people of old London would bleed over the sill, exposing me. In my earlier days, if one had a worried mind and went to look upon the window, they would see me and my wiry, crooked fingers curling over the frame, for I would wait there until all other lights inside had gone out. Hearing the kisses of them fairing their small ones a good night, and the creaking of the floorboards of their slippered feet thudding heavily along the halls into their room; once the door squeaked shut and movement ceased and all was still and the even the dust slept, I move, hurdling my darkly, cloaked body over the windowsill. With a silent fall to the floor, a fall that was so light, the dust had not jumped. While I dangled from that ledge, my narrow eyes spotted the golden watch that rested on an old wooden table, which seemed too pretty of a penny for these fools to lose in some gutter or the nimble hands of a thief. Like the cool wind that flowed through the window, I breezed past the hall of bedrooms, and picked up the dainty watch. I figured that if they were not going to lock it up in a safe place, they would surely lose it. I had better keep it, call it safeguarding. Nevertheless, I am no thief; I always leave behind a letter telling what I took and why I needed it. However, that does not mean I leave the same name every time, in fact, this time I will leave my name as the neighbor crossed the window. I wonder how they fare, allow me to make my exit and check on our friends from crossed the alley. I turn and float over the weak boards and rest my feet on the slippery windowsill, it still poured, and I will jump when thunder comes, for it will mutter the clang of my body slamming into the wall. The flash of light struck through the sky and I jumped onto the black vines of rusted pipes that clung to the building, their window sat shut, but a light was still on. A curtain was slightly open, to where I can see them but they could not see me. I climb above the window, my hand slipping from a loose brick poorly placed. The thunder must have timed it, for it went off as it fell, muttering the noise. Inside, was a bedroom, containing one small bed with a little girl resting inside, age rendered from five to seven. She clung to a little bear, one eye missing, and its stuffing poking through the eye. She was poor, I could tell from the tattered sheets that wrapped her, for they lay on her only covering her waist. I decided to wake her, but I tapped the window instead of breaking it like last time. With two fingers, I tap:tap the glass, and her head popped off that pillow, which made me wonder how the thunder did not do the same. The plan was going according to my intentions, because she came to the window and opened the blinds. She was not afeared, because she knew me as the friendly spider, which would come to small children’s windows to tell them a very special secret. She let me in, and I whispered in her ear, and said the same thing I always say, “Ding, ding my little bell, where do your parents sleep for a spell?” With the knowledge of where they are, I know to be especially stealthy when I am near their room. “Shimmer, shimmer my little jewel, where are the riches that make a beggar drool?” Before I continue, I have to see what treasure lies under everyone’s nose. “Hug, hug my little bear, come with me to live where no darkness dost fare.” Mother would be pleased if she could get her wrinkled hands on another initiate.
By Connor Best5 years ago in Fiction
The Bull and the Bullshit
Half of this story is true. The other I made up. I’ll let you guess which is which. When I was in my teens, we lived in a house on a hill that sloped down sideways. At the back, a farmer’s land abutted ours. At the time, he had cows as well as fowl, and he would sometimes bring us eggs and fresh milk. Those were some good times.
By Darcy A. S. Thornburg5 years ago in Fiction
Beth
“Come on feel the noi-oise… Girls rock your boy-oys… We’ll get wild, wild, wild… Wild, wild, wild! YEAHHHH!!!” Quiet Riot blared through Camp Rellik, counselors and campers dancing around the bonfire at the Grove in the center of camp. Gary sat with his friends on the edge of Lake Ninword, drinking beer and smoking a cigarette. Neither substance was allowed on grounds of the camp, but this was Party Night and the counselors turned a blind eye. This was the best night of the summer three years running. Camp Rellik was run by recent high school graduates who weren’t quite college material, but somehow the owners and the parents thought that they were trustworthy. And so the party raged on, out here in the middle of nowhere.
By Anthony Stauffer5 years ago in Fiction
Fear
Paul woke up to his alarm bleary-eyed and feeling unready for the day. But it was Tuesday, his favorite day of the week. He never understood why that was so, yet the realization quickly pushed away his body’s refusal to wake up. Like clockwork, he brewed his coffee in the Keurig and began his methodical morning routine. The toothpaste seemed extra minty on Tuesdays, Paul just couldn't help but smile. He put on his suit, finished his coffee, grabbed a fresh blueberry danish off the counter, and gave Rufus, his cat, a goodbye pet as he walked out of the door of his modest apartment. Humming to himself, he made his way to the parking lot and got into his car, the sky was bright and sunny this morning. The drive to work was uneventful, as usual, and as he found a space in the parking garage, he nearly rammed a black sedan head-on going after the same spot. The woman in the sedan threw her hands up in apology, put her car in reverse, and gave him the spot. Pulling his car into the spot, Paul jammed on his breaks again, certain that the figure of a person dressed in white had been standing there. But the space was empty. Paul shrugged it off, parked his car, and went about his day.
By Anthony Stauffer5 years ago in Fiction
No Such Thing as a Free Lunch
The aliens appeared at the UN and made the world an offer they could not refuse. The deal was simple. They would provide humans with money for the fat of their bodies or they would destroy our planet. While the aliens were removing human fat, they would cure the donor of disease or infection. The only exception was that they would take no one under the age of twenty. Behind their backs, we called the aliens, Butchers.
By Toni Crowe5 years ago in Fiction
