Horror

Ariadne Bell and the Ghost of Farmer Ames
“Come on, hurry up, Bell! It’s freezing out here!” Thirteen-year-old Ariadne Bell stood rooted to the ground, her fingers twiddling with the long braid of her dark brown hair as she debated whether to run or to walk inside the decrepit barn. After a moment, she decided to walk, taking a tentative step towards the yawning maw of the visage of rotting wood and rusted nails. The skies above the overgrown, abandoned farm were black with ominous clouds, the forest trees beyond the barn swaying in the rising winds.
By Kathryn Vanden Oever5 years ago in Fiction
Reap Day Sucked.
Reap Day sucked. That was the only thought in Mackenzie’s head. If he thought about it in any more detail, he’d throw up. The easiest way to comprehend what was happening to him was three little words: Reap Day sucked.
By Leigh Hooper5 years ago in Fiction
The Summoning
“This way!” Derek clasped his girlfriend Greta's arm so hard as they ran that she thought he might pull it out of its socket. The wind was blowing at their backs so hard that they were practically flying.
By Adam Wallace5 years ago in Fiction
Wampus
I first met "Clyde" 10 years ago at a small diner in Christiansburg Virginia. I had just graduated with a history degree and a minor in Appalachian studies from Radford University. Being a transplant from Michigan, I ended up falling in love with the New River Valley and chose to stay here after graduation. There's unfortunately not a lot of work in my field in this area so I worked for a landscape company and played historian in my spare time. My goal was to simulate what the Foxfire heritage organization had done, and create a collection of Appalachian knowledge, straight from the horses mouth, the only real difference being that it would have a distinct NRV flavor.
By Juan Martinez 5 years ago in Fiction
Shadow Creek
The barn was in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t just surrounded by trees, there were trees growing through it too. Dark, twisted trunks and branches, bursting through spots of rotten roof and squarish holes that had once held windows.
By Claude McKenna5 years ago in Fiction
Sally's New Life
I left that awful barn with Hunter and Jacob because he was insane. He never treated me right. I couldn’t let the boys see that now they’re older. It would ruin them.
By YesItsMocha5 years ago in Fiction
Follow At Your Own Risk
Rory didn't notice how badly I wanted to be her. Or maybe she was used to people acting strangely in her presence. She tended to get into trouble. Yet she could've smooth talked her way out of anything. I grew up on the straight and narrow side and I desperately craved the thrill of the risk.
By Danielle Eckhart5 years ago in Fiction
The Barn
“Lizzie, the barn isn’t real.” I didn’t even bother to contradict her. I’d heard those words too many times, from too many people, especially from Shelly. It was an argument that wasn’t worth having, particularly since I knew I was right.
By Miriam Rhodes5 years ago in Fiction
Tales from the Past
The Dance Partner When my grandma and her sister were young kids, they liked going to dances. Grandma liked dancing so much she would become giddy with excitement whenever a new one was being put on.
By Don Gomez5 years ago in Fiction
Just a Little Hope
I know I say this a lot, but this time I actually meant it instead of it just being an empty phrase. "I'm tired." I was truly tired; exhausted even. Why, you ask? Because ever since it happened and they started appearing, I've been on the run. I didn't exercise so running for my life took a lot out of me. Though, I hadn't seen one of them for a while now. Maybe they're gone? I doubt it. I was glad I at least had Mocha with me though. I had found her about two weeks prior, scavenging through someone's trash. She was scruffed up, dirty, and smelt horrid, but once I cleaned her up, she had a nice mocha color to her, and not knowing her name, I decided that's what I'd call her. I figured she could keep me company since it's better than being alone. It's been about two months since everything. Those things are fast, which makes it ten times scarier; not that just seeing them isn't scary enough. I think I've almost had a heart attack a few times. Just imagine: You're sitting in class, just like any other day, doodling on the corner of your paper, when all of a sudden you hear an announcement, "All staff and students please report to the front parking lot. I repeat, all staff and students report to the front parking lot. Quickly." As you're walking outside in confusion, you hear the screeching of police sirens and ambulances, and to make matters worse, a long drawn out howl that could only belong to a tornado siren. Panic settling in, you witness everything unfold as staff and students run all around you while you listen to their screams. Confusion, dread, panic, fear. All of these emotions while you stand there, frozen. Too horrified by all of the sounds to move an inch. You didn't think it could get any worse until someone, or something, was charging straight towards you. They looked sick but were moving fast. Every step they took closer to you, you could tell they weren't human. Their mold colored flesh, sunken eyes, shredded clothes; all of it was so unsettling it sent chills down your spine. That was the start of it. I want to go back to when my mom made me pancakes for breakfast. Back to when I'd meet up with my friend just to sit in silence together because that's what made us happy. Silence. There's more silence than ever now, but not the peaceful silence you'd get on a Saturday afternoon. When I was younger, people used to ask me, "What superpower would you want to have?" and I would always tell them I couldn't choose. I think if I could have any superpower in the world now, I'd want the ability to travel back in time.
By P.R. Goss5 years ago in Fiction
Sanctuary
The barn was Wilbur Wilson’s only sanctuary. Its musk of hay and long-gone animals comforted him more than any hug. Watching spiders twist their webs in the corners made him feel like an audience of one for a performance most would never see.
By Charlie C. 5 years ago in Fiction
Rickety Red
Johnson's pant legs were soaked, nearly up to his knees. The long grass surrounding the imposing old building was damp and unnaturally thick. "Why do they call it 'Rickety Red' anyway," he asked with a scowl.
By Allan Miles5 years ago in Fiction