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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome October's 2012's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC12 - October - Horroween - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It's October, it's Halloween, and it's time to feel that craving for writing!
When I first heard about "horror" as a genre of writing, I scoffed at the idea. "How could some text be scary?" I thought to myself. But the stories I've read, especially the stories that take you on such psychological thrillers, the ones that really, physically, make you cringe at the words have changed my mind.
My definition of art is anything that can convey emotions, and what's so beautiful about the art of writing is how you can sway the reader to and fro and sync his emotions with that of the protagonist. So what I'd like to try personally is to have a certain emotion, horror, isolation, or shock sort of seep through the words. A story that gets the reader's heart beating. How awesome would THAT be?
1) Word Count Maximum: 7000 words
2) Story must fit the "horror" theme
3)Story must be submitted by the deadline below
DEADLINE: October 31st, 2012; MIDNIGHT STD, EST (ie midnight between October 31st and November 1st)
There's no official prize as of yet, but so far DeftAndEvil has so graciously agreed to donate $10 to the winning entry.
More than a monetary prize, what you get by entering is feedback by your fellow writers. I urge everyone who enters to take the time to put up a review of the other stories, as the more stories you review the more likely people will review yours.
And have fun!
1) Post your stories in this thread.
2) Do not post revisions in this thread. They will be deleted.
3) You may submit one story only, one time. Posts will not be deleted at your demand so make sure your work is perfect before posting here.
Ekublai has agreed to judge the contest.
So good luck!
Sounds interesting enough.
I'm already working on a story as it is. so this might be a good idea.
At 10/1/12 10:41 PM, Shade wrote: Sounds interesting enough.
I'm already working on a story as it is. so this might be a good idea.
I forgot to link to the discussion thread. My bad.
DISCUSSION THREAD: http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1319911
Up to date info on judging and prizes here: http://4urentertainment.newgrounds.com/news/post/764713
Sophie is a single, run-of-the-mill journalist living in London. After a one-night stand, Sophie goes to work. Later when she returns, she finds the body of the man she had slept with the night before, butchered into pieces around the house. Sophie, knowing that she hadn't killed him is scared and cleans up the house and burns the remains of the body. The next week is a complete blur. All she can think about is the man, and if she would ever be caught. She returns home one day after another usual day to find two men killed in her house. She once again cleans up the mess and carries on with her life.
The bodies begin to pop up more frequently over the next month. Sophie is breaking down and feeling more guilty as she is writing about the missing people who she has found dead. Finally, she gets a grip and takes action. Before she heads to work one day, Sophie places cameras around her house to find the real culprit of the murders. When she watches the tapes back later, she's horrified and confused to see herself savagely killing the victims. The only theory that she can come up with, is that she has a split-personality.
As time passes by, the split-personality (known as "Dakota") is unleashed more and more. Still unaware to the police investigating the disappearances, Sophie/Dakota is highly dangerous and free on the streets of London. What turns into a massive murder spree ends with the real truth on what is happening. Sophie, is pregnant. She has been since the one-night stand she'd had a while back, that was when the murders started. But this is no ordinary pregnancy. The developing baby inside her is pure evil, and has been controlling Sophie.
The tension heats up from now, as Sophie has been found out and is on a desperate race from the police. The baby has matured for around eight months and it is gaining more control over Sophie. The city police are in a high-speed pursuit after Sophie/Dakota until they're out of London and near the countryside. Sophie's car is rammed off the side of the road and turned over into a ditch. Sophie, barely conscious, grabs a pocket knife from her bag and has it at the ready in front of her stomach to kill the unborn baby intentionally. At that point, surrounding police rapidly fire and kill Sophie.
Her body is quickly taken to a nearby hospital and the next scene shows a doctor coming out of ER. He stops and talks with another doctor, informing him that "she was already dead but, we managed to save the baby".
From dust we came, to dust we shall return
A discreet illicit occurrence, between a promiscuous traveler, and a "woman of the night" was taking place in a seedy motel room in an exotic country. The traveller, weary of travel and reeling from an ugly divorce, sought a momentary release from his hardships.
In the aftermath of this "transaction", the man pulled out his wallet, and gave the woman some money, and waited for her to pick up her things and leave, in a few days he would be traveling again, and was keen on getting some rest.
He generally stayed inside his room, occasionally going out for a drink, or to get something to eat; it was during one of these times at a restaurant, that he first felt the compulsion.
When the waiter brought him his meal, and placed the silver wear by his plate, the traveler felt a very strong desire to "bleed", a feeling so overwhelming that while he proceeded to eat it made him nauseous, to a point where he needed to excuse himself to go to the restroom to vomit.
At the toilet, he couldn't contain himself and started vomiting, yet this did not ease his nausea. The feeling to cause injury to himself became unbearable, and the man started repeatedly slamming his face on the toilet bowl until he had destroyed all his teeth, and broken his nose, profusely bleeding he now felt a euphoria in tandem with the searing pain.
Exiting quickly in the hopes no one would see him, he made his way to the waiter to pay off his bill. Visibly shocked by the state of the travellers face, the waiter asked the man what had occurred; to which the traveller responded "I fell in the washroom, not to worry, it seems worse than it is".
The traveller paid off his bill and proceeded home, in heavy contemplation over what was occurring, and whether he should seek medical attention.
Slowly thoughts crept into the his mind as to whether he was mentally ill, and if he did go see a doctor what would he say "for some reason while having lunch I felt the need to bash my skull in"? Surely they would think he was insane, and suicidal he thought.
He was in immense pain, but decided to refrain from seeking medical attention until after he had reached his destination the next day; the prospect of not being able to fly if the hospital administration wanted to hold him for observation was too much of a risk for him.
So the traveller went about cleaning himself up, removing the bits of gristle, and chipped teeth lodged in his gums, and managed to stop the bleeding after using a couple of hand towels.
The next day he was feeling lethargic from the blood loss, checking out of the motel, and hailing a cab to the airport, everything went smoothly save for the clerk who gave him a look of repulsion when he presented his ticket.
Making his way past the security checkpoints and onto the plane, he was shown his seat onboard by the stewardess, and sat down next to his seat mate, and attempted to sleep. After the plane had taken off, meals were being served, once the food arrived, the smell, and sight of the silver wear brought back the nausea, and desire to seriously injure himself.
It was worse than before, and the traveller made haste to the restroom, locking the door shut, he smashed his face on the mirror, and the desire for self mutilation subsided for a while. In it's wake however came a awful burning sensation from his genitalia, and an unfathomable need to urinate; the man pulled down his pants and upon doing so felt a lump slowly forcing it's way thru his urethra.
Suffering immensely to pass this matter, he started screaming uncontrollably, alarming the other passengers onboard, whatever was making it's way through his penis felt like a billion tiny shards ripping apart his insides. After a long struggle the traveller passed the obstruction into the toilet bowl, and stream of wet sticky blood followed, the traveller looked at what he had passed in sheer horror.
Whatever it was, it resembled a form of cancer, a raw meaty pink, it was alive, and quivering, swimming inside the bowl. As the creature neared the edge, the man panicked and flushed it. The only thought in his mind was "I should have used a condom".
Meanwhile, outside the staff had gathered and requested the man come outside, and calm himself as he was frightening the other passengers.
Then the desire to harm himself overwhelmed him, he couldn't control it this time, and grabbed shards of glass, and started biting on them, his mouth overflowing with blood, spilling onto the rest of his body, he opened the door to everyone's terror.
He grabbed one of the stewardesses by the hair, and bled all over her, for some reason the act of bleeding onto her felt better than intercourse. As he spotted more people he started involuntarily regurgitating, each time he did so it felt like he was reaching climax over and over.
Making his way from the bottom row, to the top, the traveller had a strong reoccurring thought "spread", "spread ", "spread". In the midst of everyones panic, he was getting weaker, spotting a fork he grabbed it and punctured it deep into his jugular, and in the last moments of life he had bled onto a family.
Making an emergency stop at an airport, everyone onboard was told to wait for the police, and an ambulance to arrive so they could give their statements, and get a medical check up.
Perplexed and traumatized as they were, most of the passengers continued onto their respective destinations. The police had ruled out the incident as a violent suicide caused by depression over the travellers divorce, and the medical staff found no sign of illness, so there was no reason to keep the passengers any longer.
The travellers body was bagged, and sent off to the hospital morgue, until his family could be contacted, and something could be arranged for the transportation of his body. It was at the morgue that the residents living there, noticed that small meaty sacks were starting to protrude through the mans skin, and they decided to call the virus and disease arm of the government.
The travellers body was claimed by the government organization, and immediate testing took place. Upon receiving the results, two researchers stood in utter dread. The man had contracted a sentient and extremely contagious S.T.D. with traits of toxiplastomia, ebola, which was seemingly undetectable until it made itself known.
One of the researchers picked up the phone to reach the president, before the senior researcher stopped him and said "what happened to the other passengers onboard?", the other responded with trepidation "the police told them to continue on", upon hearing this the senior researcher spoke only seven words "then this is how the world ends"...
- Celx Requin
At 10/1/12 08:05 AM, 4urentertainment wrote: ++ ENTRY THREAD ++
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Welcome October's 2012's Monthly Writing Contest: - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - MWC12 - October - Horroween - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It's October, it's Halloween, and it's time to feel that craving for writing!
When I first heard about "horror" as a genre of writing, I scoffed at the idea. "How could some text be scary?" I thought to myself. But the stories I've read, especially the stories that take you on such psychological thrillers, the ones that really, physically, make you cringe at the words have changed my mind.
My definition of art is anything that can convey emotions, and what's so beautiful about the art of writing is how you can sway the reader to and fro and sync his emotions with that of the protagonist. So what I'd like to try personally is to have a certain emotion, horror, isolation, or shock sort of seep through the words. A story that gets the reader's heart beating. How awesome would THAT be?
1) Word Count Maximum: 7000 words
2) Story must fit the "horror" theme
3)Story must be submitted by the deadline below
DEADLINE: October 31st, 2012; MIDNIGHT STD, EST (ie midnight between October 31st and November 1st)
There's no official prize as of yet, but so far DeftAndEvil has so graciously agreed to donate $10 to the winning entry.
More than a monetary prize, what you get by entering is feedback by your fellow writers. I urge everyone who enters to take the time to put up a review of the other stories, as the more stories you review the more likely people will review yours.
And have fun!
1) Post your stories in this thread.
2) Do not post revisions in this thread. They will be deleted.
3) You may submit one story only, one time. Posts will not be deleted at your demand so make sure your work is perfect before posting here.
Ekublai has agreed to judge the contest.
So good luck!
Forsaken hopes: The City of the Dead
Men can only do what is expected of them and can only handle so much. Here we live out our daily lives and then we go home and sleep and start the next day. We cannot fear the things that lie in our darkest dreams nor can we wish that they be cast on our most bitter enemies. Mars is safe to only men and men alone. We: feared that the dead were being experimented on: scientists studied to find the answer to the one question we all were wondering: could the dead live again? We became paranoid and overly cautious, asking ourselves if we were going to live in this shadow of fear for much longer. We didnâEUTMt have to wait long. They had unlocked the secret of revitalization and the body stood up and moaned. If only they had not done so. Suddenly, it lurched forward and bit off the lead scientists head and as his body lay shaking, the spinal cord ripped out and his entrails followed. We managed to seal it in the room via the consoles manual override but that didnâEUTMt hold it for long as it beat against the walls and went into frenzy until finally it moaned and died from the poison gas.
I will not be so silent as to not speak about my shock as to what happened next: the body was still there but where was the skeleton and itâEUTMs working organs? We came to the assumption that it had rotted and proceeded to go grab a bite to eat. The other workers were happily chatting and talking much to our relief. We saw a sign that read: Help Needed for Supply Delivery. To where, we did not know but we dialed the number and the woman told us to take it to a small outpost on the edge of Mars that was well away from undead activity. We delivered the supplies. At least we thought they were supplies so we chanced a look inside and a creature suddenly snapped at us and was only inches from my face. These âEUoesuppliesâEU were undead corpses being shuttled to a colony on the brink of revolution so that it would stop. When we came back to base, everyone was dead. After a look at the latest log we came upon an extremely disturbing series of logs:
Tuesday 10:30 am John Williams engineer for mars base. âEUoeI have discovered an egg sac deep in the bases ventilation shaft. ItâEUTMs dormant but IâEUTMll take it back for further study.
Wednesday 11:15 am
âEUoeJaime has caught cholera and now sheâEUTMs dead. I can hear movement in the walls. I think theyâEUTMre watching me.
Tuesday July 30th: theyâEUTMre all dead. The remaining crewmen jettisoned off the ship this morning. God help us all.
End of messages
We heard a crunching noise and the beast came after us, bit me and killed my partner. I soon became one of them/
i hope this qualifies. it's sci fi but still has the zombies intact. sorry if it's a little short.
Ah, well happy early Halloween. Here's my (crappy) writing thing, I have no idea how to write horror. :D
White Doves
They danced in the night, singing the praises of Death, while watching the color drip from his face and out his mouth. They lapped it up, taking pleasure in his agony. His blood-red screams ripped through the night, and he found himself overwhelmed by darkness. All the while, they laughed at him, their scraping words wrapping around his neck and pulling tight. The colors became no more, transforming into a swirling nightmare of black and white, pulling along shadows, merging into his head. They infected his thoughts, riddling invisible holes into his mind. He saw a light so black it blinded him, making him drown in its purity.
She played alone. Sitting in the house around the corner, with her dolls. Her long raven-colored hair wrapped around her body, straddling her. She wistfully took her favorite one, a worn old thing with hair identical to hers, and put its small hand in her own, smiling at her best friend. The rest of her dilapidated companions lay next to her, staring out the window with empty eye holes. Stroking their hair, the girl sat next to them in front of the window, watching. Waiting.
He licked his lips, tasting the tang of his salty tears, wearing a crooked grin. His tongue met with his bloodied hands, stroking the soft, tender flesh. His red smile echoed through the night. The moonless sky cloaked him and he felt the chill of its embrace. He reached down, dirty fingers brushing against a familiar polished razor, his only friend. This was a very special night, and he was about to celebrate it the only way he knew how.
Her pale blue eyes met a patch of sky obscured by the branches of a lifeless tree. A single crow lay on the highest branch, its black eyes shining. It flew to the window, landing on its broken remains, its blood spilling out and adding a new layer of red to the stained glass. She stretched out her finger and it perched upon it, black eyes meeting blue. She dug her nails in the small bird, feeling its soft feathers quiver. She wrapped her fingers around its neck, a veil of oblivion slowly engulfing its wretched body. Her blue eyes did not feel or care; for she saw only the truth, and nothing else. She resumed her place before the window, stroking the little birdâEUTMs feathers, waiting for someone to come, someone who she could see.
His tongue screamed as it drew along the blade, shivers of pain stroking his spine. The darkness of the night was never ending, but he walked on anyway. And he would keep his step until he collapsed on the ground and closed his eyes. Until he found something beyond the black. And tonight, he finally did. A house, slathered with strokes of sadness and grief. He paused, his heartbeat in his ears. No emotions had ever crossed his blurry mind, but he saw them near this house. Star-lit, bright, twirling about as they crossed his subconscious. He found himself walking forth, reaching out to catch them, feeling them wash the numbness off his skin.
They laughed as they lifted their child high into the sky, letting her giggles and squeals rain down upon them. And in return, they would give her their love and attention as they spoon-fed her happiness, their kisses brushing against her skin. She would never forget those kisses. As she grew, she held onto them, savoring the last remains of her parents, her creators, her guardians. And they grew fainter and fainter with each passing day. And one day they paused to give her one final kiss before they drifted out of the world together, forever.
He stopped as he reached the raven-haired girl. He reached out, and as he did so, he felt his cloak of shadows, his protector from the world for so long, drop away, and finally reveal light.
She felt something familiar. She felt those kisses again, those loving kisses from her parents, and as she turned she saw. Those pale blue eyes had finally found someone they could see, someone who was not stained by the lies and corruption of the world. She rose to face him, blue eyes meeting black.
They stared out the window together. The empty eye sockets of the girlâEUTMs dolls looked on. And they watched as crows flew and perched on that lifeless tree, all of those crows who had come to the desolate house and never returned.
They stepped forth as their black and white world slowly melted away, finding solace in seeing colors for the first time. The crows dropped their black feathers, and they flew away, the ones who had come to the house as crows and returned doves, now singing the praises of Life.
Read this. I know I am not the best writer in the world, but my work deserves some attention. This is after all, my first attempt at writing horror using a creepypasta meme.
http://www.wattpad.com/7237380-the-collection-of-short-horro r-stories-this-house
SCREW THE SYSTEM!!! Play video games instead.My Official Art Thread! COMMENT ON IT!
This is actually from an old story I did a year or so ago. I revised it, so it would be more appropriate here.
Part 1
Shara ambled along aimlessly, her chin dipping below her shoulders and her arms wrapped around her cold chest. Relentless gusts of wind blew across the dark neighborhood, so Shara's yellow skirt flapped excitedly. Her slender legs trembled and shook; even the black stocking decorated with red hearts on her left leg brought little warmth. Soon, Shara's teeth began chattering while an army of miniscule goose bumps rose upon her arm. She kept her attention pointed at the ancient sidewalk forward of her toes as she switched to shuffling her numbing feet onward.
Her ears could not hear anything aside from the acute whistling of the wind blowing across around her yellow cap.
A sigh escaped her purple lips in the form of a transparent, white cloud. Shara thought back on what had happened during the summer and shivered again. This time, it was not a shiver from the low temperatures, but rather a quick shudder of fear. Her mind drew upon the image of his sister, Laura, lying on an examination table, her body covered with countless cuts, bruises, and horrifying tears in her skin that were made by hungry creatures of the park where her body had been found sitting against a tree. Shara remembered the quiet, defeated expression on her mother's face when the cloth covering Laura was lifted. When Laura's battered body had been revealed, Shara stared with wide eyes at her sister's, which were only half open and gazing blankly at the ceiling lights. By the time something even worse was shown, Shara had already entered a state of immobile shock, tears escaping her widened eyes and her brain left vacant from failure to comprehend a light-hearted, vivacious girl's untimely death. The rest of the ensconcing blanket was removed and both women, Shara and her mother, gasped a deep intake of breath at the sight of Laura's stomach area . Her belly button bore a great rupture around a decimeter in length, the skin surrounding the hole curved slightly outwards in the shape of unclean, ragged fringes. What despaired Shara even more was the state the organs were left. They were each stretched beyond their limits to a superfluous length, mixed around like a bowl of rotten noodle soup whose ragged meat was picked at by small critters.
When Shara walked for another couple meters, her nose wrinkled in disgust at an abrupt, unusual scent floating in the cool air. She stopped and slowly looked up, wincing at the sudden rush of cold air that filled in tiny, warm crevices her bowing body had been masking. Her dry blue eyes met those belonging to a large man standing well over two meters tall. He bore a large grin and his pupils visibly dilated. Before Shara could react, two other men snuck up behind her and grabbed her by the arms.
"Hey!" she shouted before one of the men forced a stiff foam ball in Shara's mouth. She attempted to bite down on the ball so she could spit it out, but a strange rancid liquid spilled out as a result, stinging the inside of her mouth. Shara winced and bit down harder in reaction, causing more of the foul liquid to fill her agonized mouth. Her eyes watered and the barely bearable pain flooded throughout her petite body. Limbs limping feebly, Shara's resistance died down as her eyes closed, only a few tears able to escape and stream down her paling cheeks. Her body now resembled a life-sized puppet held up by two snickering, unclean men. A peaceful breath emanated from Shara's nose before she was carried off to a waiting cargo truck...
...Shara's eyelids flickered as they slowly separated to reveal a dark, fetid room with a single light shining from a lone, old-fashioned lamp that sat on a small wooden table. She tried to lick her dry lips but realized that her tongue was also arid. Next, Shara attempted to move her arms to prop herself up from the chair she was sitting on. Unfortunately, her arms remained motionless despite Shara's urgent coaxing with her mind. She gradually realized that she could not feel her arms at all, so she took in a few wheezy breaths that distressed her more. Despite the the building fear she felt from being tied to a frigorific metal chair, Shara felt no discomfort.
"Hello? Anyone there?" Shara would have asked had her gargling noises formed into legible words. Her breath felt frighteningly cool in her throat and mouth, so she lifted her head from the chair's head rest and looked down at her chest. Her eyes widened like never before, even wider than the time she had seen his sister's abused body. Shara's mouth gaped and her fear heightened beyond limits she could imagine. Dark thoughts raced through her mind, which did not help ease her state of mind as she sat on the cold, metal chair, eyes staring and lips greatly parted. Then, after her brain ran out of horror movie images, it fell silent and became vacuous. Shara sat for the next ten minutes doing nothing, not a single twitch nor a glance at whatever had just made a clicking noise. She could only stare helplessly in despondency.
Shara's entire torso had been split open with multiple rusted, steel hooks holding the flaps apart. The hooks' ends were hammered into the chair's back, so the flaps were open wide as if they were window folds. The flaps consisted of her skin, a thin layer of fat, some dehydrated muscle, and ribs that reflected an eerie yellow cast from the lone lamp. It seemed that nothing had been removed since her heart still lay in between her rising and falling lungs, beating quickly with Shara's fear, though it appeared bluish in color from the low temperatures. As her prying eyes studied every detail of her innards, she noticed her other organs, such as her intestines, kidneys, and liver, barely keeping themselves from slipping out and tearing the rest of the delicate tissues that connected them to her weakened body. A foul stench rose from her open torso, but Shara's shock kept her from gagging under the horrid smell.
"Good evening, Shara. Glad to see that you've finally woken up," spoke someone in front of Shara in a loud, clear voice. She looked up at the man standing over two meters in height and gargled in response.
"What was that?" the man bent over slightly, turned his head and cupped a hand next to his ear. His mocking posture made Shara rest her head back on the head rest and glare at him.
"Oh, yeah," he continued enthusiastically, "Wondering why you didn't feel anything?" Shara gave a subtle nod and bit her tongue in anticipation. She looked away quickly with a wheeze that would have been a "Hmph!" Shara then looked down at her arm and half-gasped, half-gargled at wriggling, distorting skin marked with several tears. Some of these tears contained visible, tiny beetles crawling around and sifting through the ravaged strands of muscle of her arm. She quickly looked back at the tall man with new fear on her face.
"While you were down, we gave you a high dosage of... special morphines. You won't be feeling pain for a while, but the look on your face makes up for the screaming and struggling. Oh, and if you could see your neck, you'd know why you can't talk," the man chuckled as if he had just told a joke, his arms crossed and his head tipped back to throw his maniacal laughing at the bland ceiling. Shara looked down at her torso again and made a raspy gulp. She started to imagine the amount of pain she would feel if the drugs wore off. In desperation, Shara closed her eyes and shook her head violently to rid herself of the dismal thoughts.
Part 2
"Now," the man spoke with a deep, threatening tone, "which one first?" He kneeled before Shara's reeking innards and pulled out a brown velvet box from the drawer the lamp sat on, lifting the lid up as he presented it to Shara's widening eyes. She let out a clear, high pitch whimper at the surgical cutting tools placed on a small, rusted steel tray, all of the blades and ends covered in layers of dried blood. Shara stretched her head as far back as she could and opened her mouth to let out raspy breaths that would once be called screams. This made the man chuckle again in glee while removing one of the crimson instruments.
"First, you won't need your kidneys. It's not like you're going to pee anytime soon." Short, rapid breathes escaped Shara's cold, dry mouth. Warm blood spilled over the man's hands as he used a small knife to cut ureters that connected the kidneys to Shara's bladder. The tubes fell away, releasing a tiny stream of yellow liquid mixed with fresh blood, while the man gently carried the two kidneys to a small black device that Shara had not noticed before. Her eyelids twitched when the man lifted the lid to reveal a portable grill. He laid out the kidneys on the black metal bars and turned back to Shara. Even more excited, the man commenced cutting other tissues holding her organs together...
...Whimpers and harsh breaths were all Shara could muster as most of her organs were cut out, save for her stomach, intestines, lungs, and heart. It scared her even more as she watched each piece being removed without a single hint of pain. She could not feel anything down past her neck though she could see her heart beating faster and faster, unintentionally causing blood to profusely pour out of various cuts running throughout her torso. Her lungs expanded and contracted heavily as quickly as they could. The little water left in Shara's body escaped through her eyes in the form of tears, tears that ceaselessly streamed down her pale cheeks and traveled until they hit the clean cut edge of Shara's partially empty body. She rested her head back on the head rest and cried until her eyes dried up as well. When she opened her eyes to look at the man, she noticed him holding a needle in his hand with a synthetic tube leading to something behind the chair.
"You wonâEUTMt be needing this anymore, either." He tossed the needle aside and walked out of the room. Shara whimpered again and closed her eyes. Her lips trembled and her eyelids flickered. A few minutes passed and Shara started to feel faint from an immense and sudden exhaustion. Before she could drift off into the safety of her dreams, a rush of searing pain flew through Shara and she could feel every stinging, burning cell of her body. Her eyes flew open and she made a sharp wheeze. Every centimeter of her body shivered as if she were being stung repeatedly without stop by numerous thin needles. The excruciating sensation knocked Shara unconscious, yet brought her back with each cycle of futile twists and jerks to get out of her restraints. This continued on for another ten excruciating minutes that felt like hours until the man came back with a slam of the door. Shara did her best to control her twitches, but her intestines and stomach had already slid across each other into a disorganized fashion, partially spilling out of the open wound. The weight of the two organs pulled on her esophagus, only adding to the unbearable pain Shara tried to endure. Her breaths became shorter and her vision turned hazy. Shara could just make out the blurry shape of the man approaching her dying body. He laughed at her struggle and picked her up half a meter off the chair. This action shook her arms and rid them of more beetles than Shara had imagined could fit in her thin limbs.
"Smile, you backstabber," the man whispered mockingly with a wide grin. He pulled Shara towards him and she felt something poking at her anus. Shara let out a reverberating gasp as the man forced a rough surfaced device a couple centimeters into her tract. Then the man twisted some lever on the device, and Shara felt her anus expanding well beyond their limits. Her skin ripped apart and her prostate tore away from the anus, now almost a quarter-meter in diameter.
"You know what you are? You are a clogged toilet pipe that needs a little cleanin'. The sins in your heart are to be flushed out." The man forcifully shook Shara's body. That jerk allowed her stomach and intestines build momentum as they rushed down the opening, causing her esophagus to rip apart. Shara's head slightly crushed her neck as the force pulled down on it, rattling her brain. At that moment, Shara fainted...
... Shara's mother walked alongside a friend towards Shara's home. Sweat traveled down both their foreheads as they wondered why they had not seen Shara for the past few days. They hoped that maybe she had just taken a break since Laura's death, but both of them knew that Shara would have called either of them by now. When they reached the front door to Shara's aging house, a strange, foul stench emanated from within. The two women looked at each other in effete before Shara's mother placed a shaky hand on the door knob. She opened it to reveal a dark, empty room, the floor and walls bear save for a single object lying peacefully in a corner. The other woman held her nose while flipping on a switch next to the door frame. They both gasped when the bright light shone on the ravaged, hollow body of Shara. Her torso lay completely empty of organs except for a few ragged ends of flesh stretched down her throat. In the center between her legs, Shara's body bore an extremely wide hole capable of fitting a basketball through. Her skin had a sickly, green color and sagged in areas that made it look as if it were slime. All four of her limbs were nearly reduced to bone as the tiny beetles thrived on her rotting flesh. Shara's mother immediately wailed. She fell to her knees and desperately covered her eyes, her scream echoing in the otherwise silent room. Her friend, on the other hand, stared at something to the side, paralyzed for a few seconds before falling over. When Shara's mother finally stopped crying, she noticed her friend, and she ever so slowly turned her head to see what had frightened her friend worse than Shara's body. She nearly fainted as well when she spotted a tiny, dull bowl holding a blackened, grilled kidney.
Below, please find my entry for MWC12 October: Horrorween. I cannot think of a title, so "Untitled" will have to do for now :P
Edward scraped the last spoonful of instant coffee into the boiling water and sighed. This is going to be the last cup for a while, he thought, throwing the now-empty tin into the trash. Retreating to his laboratory, Edward took a moment to enjoy the aroma of Columbian blend before setting the mug beside his computer to cool. The hollow taps of raindrops on windowpanes echoed throughout the sterile room as he settled into his desk chair.
Edward examined the lines of data scrolling up the computer screen for a number of minutes before minimizing the test results and opening the word processor. He took a quick sip of coffee before typing.
Day 197 of testing has ended with no positive results to report. Degeneration of both neurological and musculoskeletal tissue remains unaffected by serum #7.31, but serum #7.4 shows some minor, albeit temporary, recovery. Recommendation: Proceed to development of serum #8.0.
Tissue from test subject has-
Pausing, Edward's hands hovered above the keyboard. He listened to the wind and rain strengthening outside, but another noise had caught his attention. After a few moments of silence, Edward began typing once more. However, another thump reverberated from above, louder than before.
Edward rose from his computer and glanced at the ceiling. Attempting to locate the source of the thumps, he moved slowly from the laboratory into the first floor hallway. Pausing at the kitchen, Edward reached into the darkened room to turn on the overhead light. Though it was nighttime, he was confident that the wooden slats and cloth nailed to each window would sufficiently prevent any light from escaping. He was more concerned about the shadowy recesses that lay in each darkened room, and what they might hide. Edward had made his country home as secure as possible, but it paid to be overly cautious when moving through the darkened house at night - especially when hearing signs of movement from above.
As he inched towards the stairs, Edward continued reaching into every room that lined the hallway and switching on lights. His breath seemed too loud as he strained to listen for any movement or footsteps from the second floor. He soon reached the end of the hallway where the base of the staircase and living room lay. Stepping into the unlit room, Edward heard the distinctive knocking of footsteps, but he could not determine whether their source lay on the first floor or second. He froze for a moment, unsure whether to run or hide, before another loud boom sent him scampering towards the living room fireplace. He fumbled in the murky gloom for a moment before picking up an iron poker. Cocking the bar back like a baseball bat, he turned to face whatever entity might be lurking in his midst.
He found the living room empty.
Another thud sent Edward's frightened gaze skyward. Spinning around the living room with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, Edward was able to follow the sound of running footsteps as they tracked from one edge of the room to the other. He gripped the iron poker until his knuckles went white as yet another powerful bang reverberated through the house. This last crash seemed to shake the entire structure and sent plaster debris raining down from the dusty ceiling.
The house then sunk into a deafening silence.
Continuing to hold the fireplace tool above his head, Edward crept towards the base of the staircase. He stared up the steps, finding only impenetrable darkness. Holding his breath, Edward flipped on the staircase light and waited for any other signs of life from above. Nothing moved.
Well Eddy - the way I see it, you have two options, he thought to himself. You can lock yourself in the kitchen and never go upstairs ever again, or you can deal with this - whatever it is - head-on and take care of it here and now. Anyway, it's probably just a raccoon. Edward wasn't convinced, but he also knew that too much was riding on his experiments to become restricted to a kitchen pantry. Especially now, when he felt so close to a breakthrough.
Gathering his courage, Edward began moving up the staircase, step-by-step.
No one knew how the end of the world began. Or at least no one had felt the need to ask at the time.
The initial disease did not make the headlines. There were no special bulletins on the six o'clock news. No pandemonium in the streets. When the tiny African village of Bandari was found deserted by neighboring tribesmen, there was no Western politician standing on TV making promises to find answers. When those same Bandari tribesmen arrived in the city of Lakshar three days later and began attacking residents, the UN did not send any envoys to the area. For Western nations, this was simply more "civil unrest" that had plagued Africa since the beginning of time.
Soon, the Lakshar residents began attacking other cities and villages in the vicinity, such as Kapar and the capital city of Neshin. Government troops were brought in, but soon proved ineffective against the growing number of violent residents. As the bloodshed and pandemonium increased, Western politicians and 'talking heads' continued to downplay the issue. Surely this was just another "revolution" or "state uprising".
However, the Western states began to take notice when the attacks spread to more noteworthy African cities, such as Cairo and Khartoum - even stretching as far south as Johannesburg and Cape Town. When the attacks crossed the Red Sea into the Arabian Peninsula, the Western Politicians did stand up on their podiums and promise the citizenry that it was sending aid packages and assistance. When all contact was lost with large sections of Africa and Middle Eastern countries, special reports on the six o'clock news suddenly appeared.
When an entire US infantry brigade of six thousand troops vanished in Algeria, the Western world took note. When those same US troops were later discovered ravaging women and children in Morocco two weeks later, the Western world recoiled in horror. But by then it was too late.
Soon there were reports of infected attacks in Spain, England, Italy and Russia. Eye witnesses recounted tales of friends and neighbors calling out sick on a Friday and attacking their children the following Monday. Entire cities were locked down. Airports, shipyards and borders were closed and sealed. The media even gave the disease a name: the Bandari virus.
Most US survivors will always remember the day the first sighting of the disease on American soil was reported: November 6, 2013. Apparently a Seattle businessman had just returned from Hong Kong, barely making it home before the President issued the no-fly order and quarantined the nation. He was admitted to the hospital shortly thereafter. The disease ripped through Washington and Oregon faster than anyone could imagine. By the time the National Guard had roadblocks set up in Portland, reports of infected attacks were already popping up in California, Texas and British Colombia.
Schools and stores were closed. Towns were deserted. Martial Law was declared. Nothing stopped the spread of the infected as the disease swept eastward, reaching Philadelphia, New York and Boston within six days of the first Seattle case. Millions were soon dead, dying or infected.
Edward did not wait for the disease to reach his doorstep before he fled the city. He knew the capabilities of this disease all too well. When the virus first arrived in the Middle East, his employer - the Yoyodyne Corporation - tasked him with developing a vaccine. Yoyodyne recognized the disastrous consequences of the disease, but it also recognized the potential mountain of cash that awaited the person who first manufactured a cure. So Yoyodyne directed its head biomedical engineer with the task of unraveling the virus and finding a vaccine.
Edward spent countless hours in the lab, working beside his coworker and wife, Elana, as they struggled with the highly-adaptive virus. No modern day medicine appeared to affect the disease. Any extreme heat or cold simply forced the virus to immediately evolve into a stronger organism. It was unstoppable.
When Edward and Elana learned that the disease had landed in Seattle, they did not hesitate. Packing up their car, they left Philadelphia and headed west into the Pocono Mountains and towards their country home. Their vacation home was a moderately-sized, 2-story house located at the base of a ski resort. A town lay just five miles to the south, but Edwards believed that their property was sufficiently secluded that they could continue their biomedical research undisturbed.
While the disease was spreading to Oregon and California, Edward and Elana were stockpiling six months' worth of supplies - food, water, firewood, gasoline for their basement generator and medicine filled their shelves. They began nailing boards and fabric over all the windows to prevent light from spilling out in the evenings. Most importantly, they created a make-shift laboratory in their home with medicine and equipment "borrowed" from Yoyodyne Corp., which allowed them to continue their search for a vaccine.
Soon the disease reached Philadelphia and all communication with the outside world ceased. Their cell phones stopped working. Their internet service died. The mail stopped arriving on their doorstep.
The winter months wore on the couple, cold and lonely in their boarded-up haven. Their days and nights were spent in the laboratory, working feverishly to find a cure. By early spring, the supplies had dwindled and it became necessary to look elsewhere for food. Elana had the idea of creating a garden to solve their food shortage, so when the ground thawed Edward helped her plant seeds beside the house. The mountain earth was rocky and coarse, but within a few weeks buds had begun to poke through.
In late May, as Edward worked in the lab, he heard Elana screaming from the garden. Rushing outside, Edward found his wife on the ground, lying prone beneath a grimy hulking figure. Elana's hands were clasped around the assailant's wrists, preventing him from striking her further. It was immediately apparent to Edward that the attacker was in the grips of the disease - his face was charcoal grey, with a constant discharge of mucus exuding from the man's mouth and nose. Edward also knew that the Bandari virus had biologically altered the man's mind, forcing it to excrete dangerously high levels of arginine-vasopressin (AVP), which triggered extreme and unending bouts of rage in the infected. While the man could reason and problem-solve much like a normal human being, he would also persistently seek out and attack any living creature that he came into contact with.
Elana continued to hold the man's wrists, but the infected began snapping his jaws hungrily at her face. Edward saw mucus dribbling onto his wife's cheek as the man's teeth inched closer to her neck. Grabbing a nearby trowel, Edward rushed to her side. He reared back and plunged the head of the trowel deep into the skull of the infected, feeling little compassion as the blade sunk home. The man collapsed on Elana, his legs twitching from the death blow.
Pulling the infected attacker off his wife, Edward saw that Elana had fainted from her close encounter with the Bandari virus. He crouched down and gently picked her up, carefully cradling her in his arms as he carried her back into their home.
Trying desperately to calm his jackhammering heart, Edward slowly inched his way up the staircase, his back flush against the wall. Each creak of hardwood beneath his feet caused him to cringe, knowing that even the slightest noise gave away his position. He kept the fireplace poker raised above his head, his muscles straining to stay ever-ready to strike.
After an eternity of climbing, Edward reached the second floor. The staircase ended in a T-intersection, with the hallway stretching to Edward's left and right. The yellow bulb at the top of the steps provided little light, and both ends of the hallway were shrouded in shadow.
Steeling himself, Edward crept down the right-side hallway and began feeling his way through the darkness. He reached the first doorway and found the door closed. Did I close this door before? He couldn't remember. Fumbling with the knob for a moment, Edward took a breath and opened the door. Hinges creaking, the door eased open slowly, revealing the bathroom. He struggled against the darkness for a moment, attempting to identify any strange shadows that didn't fit within the small bathroom, then thought better and turned on the light.
Edward leapt out of the room backwards, tripping over the doorjamb as his eyes remained locked on a figure standing at the far side of the bathroom. Still in midair, Edward suddenly realized his folly. As the back of his head connected with the hallway wall, he felt more embarrassment than fear.
Scampering to his feet again, Edward stood dazed for a moment and tested the back of his scalp for any lacerations. Finding traces of blood on his fingers, he reentered the bathroom and fished out a bottle of peroxide from the cabinet. Glancing at the "figure" in the mirror above the sink, Edward could only grimace at his own reflection. The peroxide stung, but his ego felt more bruised than his head.
The creak of a door brought Edward back to the task at hand. Setting down the peroxide bottle and picking up the fireplace poker, he carefully peered out of the bathroom. The light from above the sink bathed his end of the hallway in light, so Edward could see that all of the doors were closed on this side of the house. The creak of footsteps from his left confirmed his suspicion that the sound had originated from the other end of the hallway.
Leaving the bathroom light on, Edward stepped back into the hallway. Slowly returning to the top of the staircase, Edward tried his best to stare through the darkness. He cursed his decision to turn on the bathroom light. The bright light had stolen what little night vision he had, and it would take precious minutes for his eyes to adjust again.
Continuing to press forward, Edward passed the staircase and moved towards the darkened end of the hallway. Taking a step into the gloom, Edward's foot crunched down on something. Keeping his eyes focused on the shrouded hallway directly before him, Edward crouched down and picked up the object. Turning sideways to allow the hallway light to illuminate the item in his hand, his eyes went wide as recognition immediately spilled over him. The splintered piece of wood was painted a soft green. Edward recalled his argument with Elana over what color the second floor hallway should be painted. He had insisted that tan would create warmth in the hallway despite the lack of light, and had defended his position for days before eventually being worn down and acquiescing to her demands for "pine green".
Glancing at the hallway floor around him, Edward could see other splinters of wood scattered across the hardwood. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness once more, he could now discern the door standing ajar at the far end of the hall. The doorjamb had exploded, its "pine green" wood spraying outwards from the impact that had forced the door open. Something or someone had come through the attic door, even despite the length of chain that had been wrapped around the handle.
Edward dared not breathe. There was no doubt that he was not alone in this house. Something had lured him upstairs, and now it stalked him in the darkness. But what?
Edward knew. He would not admit it to himself, but he knew what had come through the attic door. He knew what was waiting for him upstairs. And he was ready to finally do what was necessary.
He hoisted the fireplace poker above his head and stepped through the damaged doorway.
It wasn't until Edward had carried Elana back into their house and rested her on the sofa that he noticed the bite mark. While gently washing the dirt and mucus from his wife's face with a washcloth, he discovered the jagged puncture wounds on Elana's cheek.
Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus no. Edward began scrubbing furiously at the wound, his desperate mind hoping that he could somehow scrub the infected cells from Elana's body. He knew that any contact with an infected person posed a huge risk of infection, and exposing any open wound to the Bandari virus was a death sentence, but this couldn't happen. It couldn't. We were so careful, he thought as he continued scrubbing grime and blood from his wife's face. We did everything right...
Edward sunk onto the carpeted living room floor beside the sofa, suddenly unable to stand. Throwing the soiled washcloth across the room in disgust, Edward hung his head and wept. As afternoon turned to evening, Edward slumped beside his wife, listening to her steady breathing slowly becoming labored and hoarse.
He knew the timeline. During the first twelve hours, an infected subject succumbs to flu-like symptoms: Fever, sweating, and chills progressed to dizziness, nausea and vomiting. The next twenty-four hours brought with it hallucinations, bouts of rage and unimaginable pain that wracked the subject's body with furious intensity. Then, once their mind snapped, the person would lose their humanity. They would turn into an infected. A monster.
At some point in the next two days, Elana would be lost.
No. Edward lifted himself off the floor, stumbling on his cramped legs. No. Not Elena. Not like this. Grunting, he scooped his wife off the sofa and carried her upstairs. Elena shivered in his arms, though her pale skin burned with a brutal fever. The Bandari virus was in full swing.
"I'm going to fix you," Edward muttered under his breath, repeating the promise like a mantra as he walked to their bedroom, "I'm going to fix you."
As Edward laid his wife in their bed, Elana's eyes fluttered open for the first time since the attack.
"...Honey?" she asked, confusion in her eyes. "How did we...?"
"Shhhh baby...Shhh." Edward brushed her sweat-soaked hair from her face.
Recognition flashed across Elana's face as she appeared to recall the attack. Her hand shot to her face and traced the outlines of the bite mark on her cheek, now puffy and bruised from the infection. Edward could see the fear in her eyes as tears began flowing down her cheeks.
"Shhhh...Honey, it's ok. I'll fix this. I'm going to fix you," Edward whispered, gently lowering his wife's hand away from her swollen cheek. "I'm going to fix you."
Elana continued to silently weep as Edward took her into his arms. Edward knew time was against them both, but he couldn't pull away. He curled up next to his wife, holding her in his arms as she shivered against the illness coursing through her bloodstream.
With a trembling hand, Edward clicked on the attic light. Ascending the narrow staircase one step at a time, he studied the naked beams arcing above him and listened for his wife. Despite the rainstorm outside, the silence was deafening, only punctuated by the creak of the aged stairs and Edward's own ragged breath.
Edward raised the fireplace poker in front of him, ready to end Elana's pain once and for all. Reaching the top of the stairs, he stooped to avoid the low ceiling and quickly spun to check every corner of the cramped space.
"Elana..?" he whispered, afraid that he would receive a response.
Edward's eyes fell upon the tiny bed shoved against one corner of the attic. Two loops of nylon hung from the rafters above the bed, the white coils tainted with dried blood. The sheets, stained black from weeks of sweat and waste, were haphazardly hanging from the soiled mattress. The bed was empty.
Unable to see underneath the bed from his vantage point, Edward carefully moved in a wide arc around the bed until he was standing beside the wall. Crouching down, he peered underneath and found only emptiness.
Growing concerned, Edward once again surveyed the room for any crawlspace or opening into which Elana might have hid. But the bare walls offered no place for his wife to conceal herself.
Which meant th-
At that moment the attic lights vanished, plunging Edward into complete darkness.
Edward spent the first ten hours madly rushing from his wife's bedside to his laboratory, taking tissue samples and testing new vaccines. Every hour, he would try a new dose, desperate to stop the onslaught of the disease.
Nothing worked.
Certain attempts seemed to slow the disease, certainly, but nothing reversed the unyielding decimation of Elana's body and mind. Each minute that Edward failed in curing her meant that Elana was one minute closer to death.
After the first twelve hours had passed, Elana became too weak to tend to herself. Unable to reach the toilet, her digestive system betrayed her, covering her in vomit and filth. The smell was horrendous, and on multiple occasions Edward had to flee the room before he became ill. With each passing hour, it became harder to look upon Elana's gaunt and sunken face. Her once-gentle hands had become stiff claws that caused Edward to recoil when she touched him. He couldn't bear to meet her eyes as he massaged her cramped muscles.
During the next evening, Edward attempted to feed his wife split pea soup. It was the only thing Elana could keep down. He stared down at the bowl in his lap, unable to look upon his wife even as he brought the spoon to her lips. They hadn't spoken all day.
Edward's exhausted mind suddenly noted a strange sound emanating from somewhere in the room. It was almost mechanical in nature, reminiscent of an electric saw just starting to turn. Glancing at his wife, he was jolted off the bed by the mask of rage that had twisted her once-beautiful face into a terrifying scowl. Elana opened her mouth and the mechanical sound spilled out, a long low growl that escalated into a piercing howl, driving Edward towards bedroom door. Elana leapt from the bed with a newfound strength and sprinted towards Edward. He ducked out of the bedroom, slamming the door closed mere seconds before he heard Elana pound into the other side. A primitive howl filled the empty house as Elana punched and pulled at the door, attempting to yank the doorknob out of Edward's grasp. Terrified, Edward begged his wife to stop, pleading with her through the door as Elana continued to race around the room. Sounds of smashing glass and furniture being overturned were the only response Edward received.
Minutes passed, and soon the room grew quiet. Edward called to his wife, but heard no response. Easing open the door, Edward glanced inside and found the room in utter disarray. The bureau mirror had been shattered, scattering pieces of glass all over the floor. The bed was broken, along with the lamp and endtable.
In the far corner of the room, Edward found Elana curled into a fetal position, weakly sobbing into her hands.
"Honey..." she croaked between sobs, "Oh god. Honey, I'm...I'm s-so sorry."
Edward crouched down beside his wife, rubbing her back but not saying a word. Elana looked up at him expectantly, her eyes begging for help. For forgiveness. But Edward could not meet her gaze. Instead, he picked her up and gently placed her back into bed, then left the room without saying a word. He closed and locked the door behind him.
Moving to the guest bedroom, Edward began disassembling the child's bed that had been in the house before they moved in. In ten minutes he had the bed frame reassembled in the attic and the mattress placed on top. After a trip to the basement, Edward returned to the attic with two nylon straps, a hammer and nails. He secured the nylon to the rafters above the bed.
Edward reentered his bedroom and found his wife asleep. Careful not to wake her, he picked up Elana and slowly made his way back up to the attack. He eased her down onto the bed, then slipped her thin bruised hands into the nylon straps, pulling them tight around her wrists.
It's for her own protection, he told himself. If she loses control again, she could hurt herself.
Edward retreated back down the stairs, closing the attic door behind him.
Hours passed before Edward returned to his wife's bedside. Her breathing was frantic as he approached, and when he stood over her he saw sheer panic in her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked, and Edward reached towards the small table beside the bed to retrieve a bottle of water. The snap of the nylon straps being pulled taut caused Edward to pull his arm back just in time as Elana lurched forward from the bed, jaws snapping at his hand.
Edward watched his wife wrestle with her bonds, the white nylon cutting into her wrists and turning red with blood. Saliva streamed from Elana's mouth as she screamed and kicked at him. Her gaunt eyes, locked on Edward's neck, contained nothing but fury and hatred for him. There is nothing left of Elana, Edward realized. He had failed.
She was gone.
Turning away from the infected woman, Edward started towards the stairs.
Edward paused, turning back towards the bed. Elana sat on the floor, panting.
"Honey...where?...Please don't leave...Please....please don't leave me alone," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Honey, I'm sorry...I can't...I don't know how to control this. Please...just stay a little while longer...?"
Edward took one last look at his wife, then turned and began descending the steps. Elana's sobbing pleas trailed behind him, growing more desperate with each step he took. Reaching the bottom, he closed the attic door, drowning out her petitions. After visiting the basement once again, he returned with a heavy metal chain that he looped through the door handle and around metal radiator in the hallway.
That first night had been the hardest. For hours, Edward sat on the hallway floor, his back pressed against the attic door, listening to Elana. Her sobs turned into savage screams, then back into sobs and calls for Edward. Elana's periods of lucidity grew less and less frequent; her raging screams lasting longer and longer as her mind slowly surrendered to the virus. By morning, there was only screaming.
Days passed with Edward continuing to work in his laboratory, losing himself in his work. Thoughts of Elana starving to death were dismissed. That thing up there is not my wife. Elana is gone, he repeatedly told himself. Still, each night he could hear pained noises emanating from the attic above his bedroom.
After a few weeks, the noises stopped altogether and Edward suspected that the infected had finally perished. However, he could not bring himself to remove the chain and unlock the door to retrieve her body. As far as Edward was concerned, it could rot up there.
Edward stood rooted to the attic floor as panic washed over him in the darkness. He called upon his mind to think, to formulate a plan of action, but it had become numb with terror. Spinning in the darkness, trying to predict where the attack would come from, Edward soon became disoriented and confused. Unable to find the stairwell, he blindly stumbled from wall to wall.
He swung the poker wildly, trying to ward off the creature now stalking him in the night. Edward could see shadows darting all around him, noises and footsteps echoing from every corner of the room. Continuing to frantically wander in the darkness, Edward suddenly stepped into emptiness.
His foot only sunk a few inches onto the topmost stair, but his momentum carried Edward forward and pitched him down the steps. He toppled over himself as he cascaded down the attic staircase, the fireplace poker jarred out of his grasp.
Edward came to rest in a heap on the hardwood hallway floor, his entire body aching from the fall. Struggling to his feet, he cried out as a lightening burst of pain shot up his left leg. Edward tentatively tested out his ankle, but even the slightest bit of weight sent agonizing waves up his body.
I've got to get to the car, he decided. Got to get to the car and get as far away from this place as possible. Gritting his teeth, Edward braced himself against the hallway wall and began limping towards the staircase. The fireplace poker was lost somewhere in the darkened hallway behind him. He couldn't waste time fumbling for it now. Not when Elana could be stalking him at this very moment.
Edward turned his head wildly, repeatedly glancing up and down the hallway as he desperately tried to pick out any shadows that might be his wife. He strained to hear any movement or hushed noises that might suggest an ambush.
The house lay quiet. Only Edward's panicked breathing filled the shadowy hallway.
His eyes were slowly adjusting to the gloom that had fallen over the house. Edward reached the top of the staircase and carefully began to descend, resting his weight against the wall. Halfway down, he could see the front door waiting for him. Edward paused for a moment to lean over the banister and study the living room and hallway. There was nothing out of place, no stooped figures emerging from the shadows.
Go. Go now. Edward didn't know where Elana was hiding, but he was only six steps away from freedom. He stumbled down the final half of the staircase and reached the front door. To the right of the door was a small table where Edward quickly located his car keys and an emergency flashlight.
A floorboard creak caused Edward to spin around, scrabbling to turn the flashlight on. The bright beam pierced the darkness as he shined it first into the living room, then down the long hallway. In the moment before turning on the flashlight, Edward thought he saw a silhouette disappear into his laboratory at the end of the hall. Now nothing moved as Edward held his breath and listened.
Keeping his back against the front door, Edward continued aiming the flashlight down the hall. Reaching behind him, he fumbled with the door's deadbolt until it clicked open. He grasped the handle and pulled the door open, thinking ahead to his next step. Maybe drive to Conestoga and then-
The door opened an inch, then held fast.
Jerking the door open again, Edward once more felt it halt after an inch of movement. Perplexed, he spun around, shining the flashlight at the handle.
The chain was wrapped tightly around the bottom of the door handle, its other end pulled and anchored to an iron vent in the floor. Just as Edward had once carefully wrapped this chain around the attic door, the links were meticulously intertwined around the handle to prevent a hasty removal.
At that moment, Edward heard soft footsteps enter the living room. Too terrified to turn, he felt his wife come to a stop just behind him. The flashlight beam remained fixed on the chain as Edward closed his eyes and waited.
Oswyn's eyes were raw from crying. He lifted his head from the table where he had been slumped for God only knew how long. The lack of light seeping in through the cracks in the wall told him that night had fallen. The little house was mostly empty, containing a simple fire pit off to one side with a small stack of firewood and a little ax. and a straw mattress for sleeping. Besides the table and a few chairs there was no furniture. Oswyn shivered. The thin wooden walls did little to keep out the noises of the village and even less to keep out the cold of the night. He stared into the candle burning low on the table. The flickering light cast dancing shadows on the mud walls of their home.
No. It was only his home now, he corrected himself.
Crawa lay on table in front of him, hands clasped over her chest. Oswyn ran a hand through her wavy, golden hair. In the light of the candle it appeared as though her head was covered in wreath of flames. Oswyn found the image disturbing. It reminded him too much of the sermons he had heard from Father Alric. Osywn knew what was waiting for all of them once they died. Oswyn began to get angry as he thought of the cruelty inflicted upon him. He gripped Crawa's soft hands and began to pray. He prayed to God to save her soul from the pits of eternal fire. She didn't deserve to burn. Oswyn prayed for God to return her to him. It wasn't fair that He had taken her so soon. Hadn't he always been faithful? Was this how he was to be repayed?
"I can tell you where she's really going if you like" A voice echoed around the room.
Oswyn jumped up from the table, sending the chair crashing into a pile of firewood. He spun around determined to confront whoever disturbed his mourning.
"Where are you, whelp!? With God as my witness I'll thrash you!" Oswyn raged at the shadows before tripping on the spilled wood. He gritted his teeth in frustration at being humiliated so in front of this unknown interloper. Is this your way of saying 'no', God? Am I to be seen as a fool by one who would make light of my pain? Hot tears ran down Oswyn's face as he rose.
"Show yourself" Oswyn whispered hoarsely.
"That's the spirit." the voice chuckled.
A dark stain appeared on the wall opposite him. The wood seemed to fester and decay. Mold sprouted, grew, and died in seconds. The stain spread outward in a rough circle until it nearly touched the floor and ceiling.
Oswyn backed away from the growing stain as a putrid smell began to emanate from it.
"Demon..." he breathed. His tormentor was not some impudent soul from the village, come to taunt him in his grief, this was the Devil himself, come to steal Crawa forever.
"I wouldn't worry about them either." The center of the spot began to bulge outwards, pulsing as if alive. As the bulge grew it began to split down the middle. Thick, black liquid began to pour from the split, forming steaming puddles on the dirt floor. With a mighty convulsion the bulge tore in two and vomited out a hulking figure.
Oswyn cried out and ran to the door. He slammed his fists against it but found that it would not budge. He cried out for someone to come help him, but his voice caught in his throat.
Everything outside was silent. He couldn't hear the bustle of the village or the sound of animals in the field. He looked between the cracks in the wood and saw only darkness, a completely impenetrable blackness that no torches or stars had ever illuminated.
"Leaving already? I thought you wanted to have a little chat?" A baritone voice came from behind Oswyn. Oswyn slowly turned to face the creature that emerged from his wall.
Standing before him was a massive hunched figure. Oswyn reasoned that if it stood up straight it would easily be over eight feet tall. Its body was covered in a dirty brown robe, which did little to hide the curved spine and odd lumps covering its back. The figure was peering down at Crawa's body, looking her up and down as if appraising her. Its face was hidden by the hood of its robes, but Oswyn could see its breath. It extended an arm towards her face, a skeletal hand emerging from the sleeve. Shreds of gray skin hung from the fingers, the exposed bone gleaming in the light of the candle. The figure stroked Crawa's face with its gruesome appendage.
"Don't touch her!" Oswyn managed to squeak. The figure looked up and Oswyn wished he hadn't gotten its attention.
Beneath the hood was a face, or rather, the suggestion of a face. The same black ooze which had spilled from the wall covered the face beneath the hood. The ooze covered its features in pulsating mask of black sludge. The slime ran down the creature's face before dripping from its chin. Although Oswyn wasn't sure if there was any flesh beneath the muck, he could easily see that there was no nose. The mouth hung open and Oswyn saw that there were no lips or tongue, just white teeth stained with the black tar. But for all this horror, the eyes were the worst.
From within the sea of filth two small pits glowed. Whether they were reflecting the light of the candle or burned with some inner fire, Oswyn could not tell. They had no lids, and the black tar flowed around them as if reluctant to get too close. The sunken pits bore straight into Oswyn's head, and the dead light they gave off was almost too much for him.
"Please, don't think that my deigning to show myself means that you can order me around. I could have done this without you remaining any the wiser." The figure lurched towards him. Its steps were uneven and its lumpen form swayed as it approached. "I just thought that you might like to have some answers. It's rare for one of you to be so... questioning."
As the devil (For Oswyn decided that no matter what the thing said, it could be nothing else.) approached and crouched in front of Oswyn, the stench of a bog assaulted his nose. The thing reeked of decay. Oswyn tried to crawl away from it, but found that his muscles had ceased to obey him. He couldn't move his eyes away from the devil's face. At this distance, Oswyn saw that it wasn't slime which covered the skeletal form of the devil, but thousands of shiny black maggots. They writhed over one another, occasionally falling to the ground where they melted away.
The devil cocked his head to one side and looked Oswyn up and down. "You want to know don't you? You want to know what's going to happen to her." He jerked his head in Crawa's direction. "You want to know what's going to happen to you, to everyone. That's why you question the one thing in your universe you were taught to obey unconditionally." The devil nodded, agreeing with itself.
"Always an interesting group, you humans. You can't even imagine the ways in which you will invent to cause death." The devil drew in a breath, sucking one of the hapless maggots into its maw, and closed its eyes as if savoring the sensation. "So creative. So many new and wondrous ways to inflict pain." The devil opened its eyes suddenly and moved his face close to Oswyn's. "Actually, I think I will help you imagine it." One of the skeletal hands shot out from within the robes and grabbed Oswyn's head. The long skeletal fingers completely encircled his head and Oswyn felt a jolt as energy flowed through his mind.
He saw images of men. Men in strange clothing and armor. Men in blue, green, gray, and odd patterns which blended into the scenery. Some men wore simple shirts while others had ornately designed armor that gleamed in the sun. He saw men wielding bizarre instruments. He saw men point wooden tubes at each other and bloody holes appeared as if by magic in their foes. Large metal cylinders belched fire and thunder. He saw bodies thrown through the air and torn to shreds by invisible forces. Great boxy beasts festooned with more tubes lumbered over the battlefields ripping invisible swathes of death through yet more men in strange helms.
Oswyn tried to cry out as he was suddenly thrust into the sky. He saw men encased in steel leviathans dropping objects on impossibly large cities, erasing them with fire. Smaller metal demons tore through the large ones, causing them to spiral out of control and bleed smoke. Finally his sight was stolen from him in a flash of light so intense it shone brighter then the sun. The last image the devil showed him was a pillar of smoke and ash that towered above the Earth as dozens of similar pillars began to rise in the distance.
"That's about enough of that I think." The devil's voice rang in Oswyn's ears, breaking the trance and returning him to his small house. "You won't be around to see any of that anyway, so I'll keep the grand finale to myself."
"Horrors. Monsters." Osywn whispered to himself. "How can such things be the work of men?"
The devil rose from his crouch and turned away from Oswyn. "I assure you they are. That's why you humans are my favorite. Of all the living things I collect, only humans have such an appetite and ingenuity for killing their own. Reminds me of myself sometimes." He reached the table where Crawa lay and placed his skeletal hands on her brow again. "But, I think I might have just given you more questions then I could possibly answer, so I'll get back to the reason I came here." He turned his face towards Oswyn and the black face split into a grin again. "You want to see where she's going?"
Oswyn snapped back into focus at the mention of Crawa. He stumbled over the table. "You can't take her. I don't want to see. I just want her back."
The devil sighed turned back to Crawa's still form. "Too bad. I'll show you anyway."
Glowing red needles shot from the tips of the devil's fingers and pierced Crawa's head. Oswyn yelled for the devil to stop, to not defile his beloved, but realized that there was no blood. In fact there were no wounds at all. The needles passed through Crawa as if she were not there. The devil swirled them around inside her head as if looking for something.
"Come on then, let Oswyn get a look at you." the devil cooed as it worked. The needles' smooth movements halted.
It had caught something.
The devil began to pull his hands away from Crawa's body. The needles quivered as the devil struggled to pull the thing out through the forehead. The devil grinned at Oswyn, the lights in its eyes glowing a bright blue now. "Putting up quite a fight, this one. I think she likes you."
Oswyn whimpered as he saw what the devil had a hold of. From within Crawa's head came a translucent figure. Its skin shimmered, as if tiny stars twinkled within. Oswyn immediately recognized the face. Even with the tortured expression and ethereal body, Oswyn would recognize the woman he loved anywhere. She screamed silently at Oswyn, her eyes imploring him to help her.
The red needles, glowing brighter now as they pulled the spirit out of Crawa's body, bit deep into the silvery flesh. They stretched her face in grotesque ways, pulling her from her body the way someone would pull a worm from an apple.
Noticing the expression of grief and horror on Owyn's face, the devil leaned close and whispered, "Be glad that I've silenced her to your ears. Her screams are most exquisite for me, but I imagine you would find it quite distressing."
With one last effort the devil pulled the spirit from the body entirely. Raising his hand in the air so he could admire his work, the devil looked the glowing figure from head to toe before nodding approvingly. "She was a fine woman Oswyn. I'm sure you would have been very happy together."
Crawa's spirit shivered on the ends of the needles, her limbs thrashing occasionally in a vain attempt to shake free. Her eyes never left Oswyn's face and he he had to turn away from sorrow and shame. He wanted to help her, but what could he do against a beast like the one which stood before him. He needed to buy time in order to figure something out.
"How can you spend so much time gathering a single soul when there are so many dead?"
The devil hesitated for a moment before tearing its eyes from Crawa's howling face. "The world doesn't work the same way for me as it does for you, Oswyn. I'm here right now talking to you, but I'm also in the next village taking an old man. I'm in the senate, watching Caesar die. I'm in a trench inf France taking scores of young men."
Oswyn was barely listening to the devil's speech as he searched the room for something to strike with. His eyes locked on the simple ax he used to cut fire wood. It lay under the logs he had disturbed when he fell. He could probably reach it with a single lunge. Whether or not it would do any good once he got it, Oswyn didn't know.
Oswyn gasped as the devil thrust its face towards his. "And, silly Oswyn, I'm in your head. I can hear your thoughts remember?" The maggots were wriggling faster now and the light within the eyes was turning a dark red.
Oswyn fell backwards, scrambling for the ax. Maybe he could throw it and sever one of the arms holding Crawa. Maybe then she could get away. Oswyn wasn't even sure if that was a good thing or not. She was already dead after all. Where would her spirit go? Would she be doomed to wander the Earth forever as a ghost?
Oswyn decided that anything was better then going wherever this devil intended to take her.
"You really think so Oswyn? Well then let me show you!" the devil roared as Oswyn lifted the ax to throw it. The devil's mouth opened impossibly wide and spewed bile at Oswyn's arm. Pain flared from the spot where the disgusting ooze touched him and he cried out in horror as the flesh began to slough off the bones. By the time it hit the ground it had turned into a lump of dissolving mush, leaving only the scent of long decayed bodies. Oswyn trembled as he looked up into the devil's eyes. They were now blazing red, tiny licks of flame scorching the maggots around the edges.
"You have absolutely no idea what you are dealing with right now Oswyn. I thought you'd be a little smarter then that. Especially after I showed you what I'm capable of." The devil drew himself up and sighed. "But I guess I expected too much from a stupid human. I'll keep my promise though. You want to know where she's going? Where you're all going? Fine."
Oswyn couldn't make a noise as the devil spoke. He wanted to shout, he wanted to get up and launch himself at the beast but he couldn't move. His right arm, which now ended just above the elbow, throbbed in pain. It didn't bleed. The wound was covered in knotted scar tissue, forming a lumpy cap. Oswyn wondered whether that was a natural reaction to the acid or if the devil was merely showing him mercy.
The devil's eyes narrowed to slits, the light which escaped from them cooling to a dull yellow. Azure smoke began to seep from its mouth and its robes began to flutter. With a hoarse bellow the devil's eyes snapped open and a shockwave burst from its mouth. Oswyn struggled to remain sitting upright as the energy buffeted him. The devil looked down on him disdainfully, the way a man looked at a wounded insect scrambling in the dirt.
"The channel is open now, Oswyn. Behold the fate which awaits all things which live in this universe." With another blast of energy the robes hiding the devil's bulky form whipped open.
Tears streamed down Oswyn's face as he looked upon the devil's body. Where the skin was visible under the coat of maggots it was pallid and gray. The stomach was distended to a gross degree. The lumps that had been hidden by the robes turned out to be faces and limbs of men and women half absorbed into the devil's body. They twitched spasmodically as the maggots burrowed into their flesh, their faces frozen in expressions of absolute pain and terror.
With a sickening sound of tearing flesh the oversized abdomen began to split down the middle. As the gap widened a howling wind burst out buffeting Oswyn as he stared into the pale light which emanated from the cavernous opening. The devil seemed to stretch, his spine uncurling until he stood fully erect. The devil grinned maniacally, its eyes feverish with delight.
"Isn't it wonderful Oswyn?! No Heaven! No Hell! Just an eternity of waking death!" The devil cackled as Oswyn peered into the devil's stomach.
Within the ragged hole was an impossibly long chamber. Oswyn crawled forward and looked through the hole, unable to believe what he was seeing. The chamber was cylindrical in shape and extended beyond the limit of his sight so that he could not see the far wall. The pale light coming from the far end lit the entire space. Looking up and down, Oswyn saw that the curving walls were more then fifty feet above and below the opening.
But it wasn't just the scale of the place which made Oswyn doubt his vision. Chained to every surface by cruelly spiked lengths of iron chain were bodies. Countless bodies. And they weren't all human. Oswyn saw grotesque creatures chained amongst the millions of forms. Monstrosities with too many limbs, beasts with shapes that hurt his mind to look at, and creatures he couldn't even begin to describe assaulted his senses with screeching and hooting that human ears were never meant hear. Oswyn swept his eyes around the chamber, taking in a new horror with each passing second. He saw men and women twisting in their chains, the spikes holding them fast and pressing into their skin.
Some had grievous wounds on their bodies while others appeared completely whole. Oswyn recognized some of the strange costumes and garments he had seen in the vision the devil had shown him. Oswyn reached out to touch the nearest person. It was a young man draped in chain-mail and a white tunic. A red cross covered his chest. The man's intestines protruded from a deep slash which extended from one side of his abdomen to the other. As Oswyn's hand neared, the man stirred and painfully twisted his head to face him. His glassy eyes widened and a mournful wail escaped from his lips. Just before Oswyn could reach him a skeletal hand grabbed his wrist. Pulled from the opening and back into his house, Oswyn found himself dangling in the grip of the devil. The devil lifted him up until they were face to face.
"Now, now, Oswyn. You wouldn't want to get trapped in there early would you? It's only a matter of time I assure you. I've already got your spot ready, just like I've got a spot for everything that ever has, is, or will live."
Oswyn struggled in the devil's grip. "How is that possible? How can you have the souls of those who haven't even lived yet?"
The devil grinned and dropped Oswyn to the floor. "I've already shown you what you wanted to know. No more questions." The devil looked to Crawa's spirit, still snagged on the needles of the devil's other hand. She had ceased her struggling and was staring into the abyss in the devil's stomach, her face contorted with fear. "It's time I finished my business here and was on my way."
The devil shoved the spirit through the hole. Oswyn cried out as Crawa's spirit was immediately ensnared by spiked chains which drew her away from the opening and into the infinite length of the horrible tomb. Oswyn got to his feet and made to go after her but the opening was already closing, the flesh knitting back together and the maggots spreading out to cover the expansive stomach once again. When the breach had sealed completely, the devil patted his stomach as if satisfied after a large meal. The devil turned towards the black spot on the wall it had emerged from and placed one hand on the black stain. The stain rippled and became liquid, a shimmering black pool of slime sitting impossibly on the wall.
"You foul beast. Devil!" Oswyn sputtered from where he stood. Tears filled his eyes once again. He wanted to strike out somehow but knew it was futile. The devil paused and regarded Oswyn over its lumpen shoulder.
"I told you I wasn't a devil or a demon. I am something far grander then a fallen angel from your silly religion." Then without another word it disappeared into the murk. The stain shrank until it too vanished as if it had never been. There was no sign of the ooze that had spilled from it onto the floor. No sign of the maggots which had flowed from the terrible creature's body. Only the ruined nub of his arm remained to prove that it had ever been there.
Oswyn walked over to the table which still carried Crawa's body. The skin seemed empty now, as if the last vestige of her vitality had been taken away. Her hair had lost its luster and failed to even reflect the light from the candles. She felt exceptionally cold to the touch and her skin was rough and dry.
She was truly gone now.
A thin ray of light stabbing through the cracks in the wooden wall told Oswyn that morning was coming. He righted a chair and sat down heavily. He stared at the spot on the wall where the demon, or whatever it was, had come from. He gingerly felt the nub at the end of his arm. He knew that it would return someday. It would return for him. Oswyn would wait. He imagined that it could hear him right now, that it was listening to his thoughts still.
'Then know this, abomination. I'll be waiting for you. And I'll be ready.'
Long live the Klan!
Words. Spirits. Deafening. Scathening. So empty. So full.
My flesh is burning. Air is fleeing. My skin is falling. Pain is all around me. I feel cold.
Am I going mad?
Am I going mad?
The circle is becoming full. The pale ghosts are coming close. Still dancing. Still shouting.
I want to flee. My hands and feet are nailed.
I want to shout. There isn't air in my mouth.
One holds something. Why is it shining? Why is he smiling? Why am I caring?
It comes. Oil covers me.
It comes. Fire, ever-hungry beast.
I retreat, alone, in the safe haven of my mind.
Memories, all that remains.
Memories, where pain is not.
I take my legs out of the desk and try to pull myself together.
Maybe it's a millionaire. Maybe it's that Brazilian moneybags. Maybe...
A shaggy old man enters in the office.
Yeah, sure...
"Mister Thomas McDusk?" says the man. Looks like he smoked 40 packs of cigars.
"At your service, mister...?" I ask.
"Forrest. Nathan Bedford Forrest."
He stopped. Like expecting me to laugh in his face.
"You...you don't know me?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"Oh, what do they teach at school today?"
"Nathan Bedford Forrest, former Liutenant General of the Confederate Army."
What the hell? I just met a madman?
"War has ended quite a while ago, y'know..." I blabbered.
"That's why I said former."
"I know I might sound crazy, but believe it or not, I am a hundred and ninety-one years old."
I don't know if I should laugh, call the police, or throw the man out of my office.
"You're a detective, right? I want to hire you."
"To clear all accounts. To close the circle. To find what remains of the Ku Klux Klan."
I am seriously ready to throw this man away in some asylum...
"I can pay you well..."
I almost spitted my cigar.
That guy throwed on the table enough money to buy a goddamne shuttle made of gold.
Not that I need it, but hey...
"What I have to do?"- I ask hastily.
"Err, find what remains of the Klan?"
I send the man away with some promises, and arrange a meeting for tomorrow.
The day after I go to my favourite pub for a celebratory whisky. I'm going to become one of these rich guys with awesome
mansions and beautiful maidens.
All thanks to Mr. Madman. Thanks, Mr. Madman.
Rick, my usual informer, is sitting close to me with some of my usual drinkmates.
"Hey Ricky, what do you know about the Ku Klux Klan?"
He and the guys laugh.
"Come here Tommy. I have a fun story for ya."
As I sit, the man starts talking.
"Do you remember James, that little brat who incidentally is my cousin? Yeah, that guy. One day he gone hunting. Heh, it's a miracle he doesn't shoots his dick. So, he falled down an hill and found a cave, okay? In that cave there was some ruins, maybe from the Civil War. He saw a light atop one of them, and climbed to the roof. Here he seen a flaming cross with someone attached to it. That's what made him think of the KKK. Well, apart from the white dressed guys that tried to eat him, obviously."
We laughed.
"I later found the cave. It was the old Cave Of The Raccoon. Remember? We used to play there as childs."
"Oh yeah, sure. It's enough, Rick, thanks."
I payed a drink to them and got back to my office. Mr.Madman came, and was very enthusiast of the news. He gave me lotsa money, and leaved.
The afternoon I gone to the bank and showed the cashier the money.
"It's fake."
"It's fake. Considering that these were printed at least in the 1850, you could still sell them for a decent price."
"Maybe you could ask Butch?"
I exit out of the bank. I'm angry. Especially because Butch, the only guy in the zone that knows how to sell this sort of things, wants my head. Bah.
Three days after, on the newspaper I discover that a man was found dead in the woods. I was shocked by the photo of the man. He was Mr. Madman.
Apparently, someone burned him alive.
I fell slightly guilty. After all, I sended him in the cave didn't I?
Out of curiosity, I decided to inspect the cave. Maybe there is someone there.
At about noon, I, with Rick and some friends, reach the place. At the end of the cave there are indeed some ruins, but no strange things.
Bah. A waste of time.
As I leaned to a wall to lit a cigar, something hit me. Hard.
I snap back into reality.
Some may never live, but the crazy never die.
- Hunter S. Thompson
Kitty (Word count: 1630)
(Part 1/2)
*Crick crick*
I walked up the street on my way home. It was exactly 7:02 PM. I remember that very clearly because I stopped to check my watch exactly 3 times.
*Crick crick snap*
That was always the worst time of the day. It was simply horrible. I stopped in my track. Breathing heavily, I watched as the sky above me echoed my thoughts. The clouds were all wearing a dark shade of grey, as if pining over the lost beauty of the morning. The sad part was that this wasn't even the worst sight of the night. I looked back over the horizon and all I could see was a drowning sun. All that remained was an ugly indigo mess tinted with fading strokes of crimson. Unfortunately, that was not the worst sight either. I continued to walk.
*Crick snap snap crick*
I am a happy person though, and I like to focus on the positive things in life. I simply adored that sound! The autumn leaves crackled under my feet as I progressed through my short trek. My joy was to be short-lived however, as I came close to the edge of the green and yellow leaves.
I hesitated for a second, but then I bent down to pick up a leaf. I now wonder how different my life would have been had I simply moved on. It crumbled between my fingers as dust settled on my hand. These crispy leaves had always been oddly dusty. I let the pieces trickle down into my pocket.
It felt ravishing! I wasn't just a spectator anymore. I could not alter the depressed sky nor the wry horizon, but I had changed the course of history for this tiny leaf. Had I not been there and then, things would have been very different for its life.
I now wonder whether it was worth it.
Just as I was about to leave, I heard a cat bellowing. There were usually a lot of cats in the block, so this was nothing too out of place. I even used to wonder if there was a stereotypical cat-lady who went around feeding the cats, until I actually met the lady.
This was a strange cry however. It was long and low pitched. I turned my head to see two cats. The larger one was mostly yellow, and was either striped with brown fur or was really dirty. The other cat was smaller, grey and was furiously licking all around the other cat's face and neck. The yellow cat just kept bellowing.
Normally that sight would have elicited a "How cute!" response before disappearing into the depths of my mind along with all the other menial tasks of the day. It was only when the cat looked at me was I finally met with the most horrible sight I had ever seen.
The cat's face was asymmetrical. It looked at me with one eye. The other eye was not there. It seemed to have been gruesomely torn out. To the point that I could see a very deep grove in its face, stemming from its eye socket down to its cheek. It didn't seem natural. It was dark and orange. The kind of orange that would follow after the bright red blood gushed out and dried off.
Just like that dreadful sunset.
Had the other eye not been there for reference, I wouldn't have even been able to tell where the other eye was supposed to be. I cringed as I began to imagine how this could have happened. This was no accident. It seemed like someone had dug through this poor creature's face with a knife, several times. There was no skin left there, only orange grooves.
It was such a strange sight. The cat stood transfixed, staring at me with that one eye and bellowing. It was a very strange sound. I couldn't get my eyes off of that skin groove. It was strange because it didn't seem like the cat was in pain, nor was the expression it held one seeking pity or compassion. It was more like a look of anger. It was a very irate cat. A cat that wasn't moving. A one eyed cat that was glaring at me.
I decided to look away. I turned and shot for my house. I suddenly noticed that it was now completely dark save for the one working light post in my street. I had been so mesmerized by the cat's gruesome face that I never noticed when the sun finally perished. I walked briskly, trying to escape this gloomy scene as fast as possible. My house was my beacon. Yes, I would be safe there.
I had always been irrationally afraid of the dark, especially pitch black darkness. It always seemed silly, until I actually found myself in a completely dark room or area. My heart would start beating gravely, and I wouldn't know why. Pretty soon I would find myself running, and I wouldn't know why.
I arrived at my doorstep, quickly fishing out my keys. I entered, basking in the golden aura of my home. I took a deep breath. It was such a jarring sight. My light parquet floor reflecting the rich golden light of my apartment, only a few inches away from the dark gloomy gravel of the other side.
I had always taken great care to keep my house in the happiest mood as I possibly could. I would never exit without leaving all the lights on. I also regularly kept air fresheners inside. This was my own personal beautiful haven, unadulterated by the outside world.
I took off my shoes and my jacket. I put my shoes neatly to the side of the door and my jacket on the coat hanger, as I always did. It always peeved me to no end when guests came over and placed their shoes haphazardly all over the place. Thankfully that didn't happen very often.
I went straight over to my living room, fitting snugly on my reddish couch. It was such a bright shade of red. It was usually an odd topic for conversation with people, but I didn't care. Red was my favorite color.
I gazed at the beautiful sight ahead. In lieu of a TV stood a traditional fireplace. I loved watching it sometimes. I picked up a novel to read. I cannot remember which novel, because I never got a chance to peer inside.
It took me a very long time to notice, probably because it stood so still, seemingly not breathing at all, but there it was, standing a few feet away from the fireplace. I could not see its face, nor could I determine if it had the same shade of yellow, but I was certain it was the same one eyed cat.
I felt my heart skip a beat. I began to freak out. How could it have made it into my house?? What possible vermin has this creature dragged into my home? I did not want to touch it. I did not want to see it. I did not want it here.
I closed my eyes. The cat was gone! From my sight at least. That was good enough for the moment. That was good enough for me. I took a few deep breaths. They were exactly 3.
I opened my eyes to behold, the cat was gone! It worked! I actually willed the cat away! This was amazing. I smiled visibly, stretching my cheek muscles. It felt good, great even. I wasn't dreaming, I was sure of that. I was perfectly lucid. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, although this was certainly more phenomenal.
I turned my head back to my fireplace, and that, that was the worst sight of the evening.
I tried to shut my eyes, shut them tight, but they wouldn't budge. My eyes widened, and my mouth went dry. I felt my body twitching, paralyzed.
The cat didn't magically disappear, it just jumped into the fire.
It was twitching, violently shaking, silently enduring what I could only imagine as horrendous agony. I remember this scene very clearly. I even remember being zoomed in on the burning flesh, although I am sure I was still sitting on the couch. I could not see or smell anything else.
I caught glimpses of its face. A horrible, deformed face, with no eyes. It was surreal because its body appeared to be shrinking. It's body turned jet black. Its legs gave away, and the cat collapsed. That was when the screaming began. Ear-shattering shrieking. I couldn't tell it if was the cat or if it was me, because the cat no longer had a mouth.
It was this sound that snapped me out. I instantly jumped to my feet, lunging for the fire. I could not watch this, but I could not escape either. Delving into the fire, I attempted to pull it out by its tail. Fortunately I grabbed its tail, but that was all that came out.
(Part 2/2)
Its tail almost crumbled into ashes as it left its body. The being transformed before me. I couldn't even tell what it was anymore. The skin had already melted off, muscles and tendons were now a gooey soup covering a gruesome mess of malformed bone. It looked very strange. I remember how I could not see a head or a face, but I could see a body with 6 slimy projections.
The smell was atrocious. It was very strong, climbing up my nose, wreaking havoc. I could not take it anymore, I started to throw up. Thick, digested substances mixed with blood. I took one last look at the heaping mess of feline in my fireplace. That was when the lights went out.
That was when I started to run.
I had always been afraid of the dark.
Part 1
"Look at those monsters. It's fucking disgusting, somebody should shoot them.âEU Robin groaned in a deep, gravelly voice as he eyed a flock of vultures picking away at the remains of a deer along the roadside. He reached for a nearby rock and chucked it towards them. Agitated, they shuffled briefly from the disturbance, only to return immediately to picking strips of flesh from the recently deceased. A sneer occupied his long, plain face as he lounged on the steps outside Lincoln High.
Liam nudged him playfully with his elbow. "Bro, cut it out. I know you have some deep, dark vendetta against birds or some shit, but they're doing us a favor. Nasty as vultures may be, they clean up roadkill which is way nastier.âEU he said with a vaguely Swedish accent. Liam, always the optimist, took every opportunity to debunk Robin's complaints. It was one of the reasons Robin liked hanging out with him.
He was not convinced. "Just look at those bastards. Look at them. Ever see a bird smile? Hell no, they just look pissed off all the time. Check out their feet, they're made to just tear shit up.âEU Robin pulled back his dark, curly hair into a pony tail, then gestured enthusiastically as he continued. "Think about it. They aren't cute and cuddly little sweethearts; those are dinosaurs, only fun sized and just as ready to raise hell given the chance.âEU He reached for another rock, but Liam's arm darted out and snatched it first.
Liam stood up in front of him, tossing the rock up and catching it. He grinned playfully, his blond hair and fair complexion only lending to his charmingly positive disposition. "That'll be enough of that bro. You know as resident vegetarian and general fan of animals, I can't let you do that. Save it for someone who deserves it.âEU
Robin shot him a skeptical glance. "Like hunters, mad scientists who test shampoos on chimpanzees, anyone who enjoys a good steak...âEU
"Especially assholes who think steak is good!âEU Liam exclaimed with a grin as he raised arm, posing to launch the rock at his friend.
With a laugh, Robin raised his hands in front of his face. "Alright Ace Ventura, you win! I'll leave your precious vultures alone! They're still ugly as sin though, you can't deny that!âEU
"I never said they were good looking,âEU Liam explained, his eyebrows rising for emphasis, "But Penguins... Those gentlemen have style!âEU
Robin responded with an exasperated sigh and hung his head. "Penguins? Really? Fuckin' Penguins? They waddle like dipshits man.âEU He was growing genuinely frustrated; Liam didn't get how much he hated birds.
"They waddle like dipshits...In tuxedos! Admit it bro, some bird shit on you when you were a kid and you just never got over it. It's not worth waging a war over, yeah?âEU Luke stated, leaning against a railing. Robin relaxed and leaned back next to him, watching the carrion birds picking away at the fleshy remains.
"I guess you could say they contributed to a traumatic childhood. Seriously, birds scare the shit out of me. Some people hate spiders, or big dogs, or whatever... I just can't handle birds. Everything about them makes my skin crawl.âEU He spoke to his friend softly as his eyes fixated on the gruesome feeding before them. Another pair of dark wings touched down near the flock, ignoring the fresh kill. It stood still, facing Robin, tilting its pink, misshaped head, as if it was staring directly at him. He felt his palms getting sweaty and he curled his fingers into a fist.
Liam patted him gently on the back. "Everyone has something that scares them bro. Don't let it get the best of you, yeah?âEU Robin smiled and nodded in return. Liam took a cursory glance around, and nudged his friend. "You know what's better then debating the merits of avian kind? Debating the merits of avian kind while high as a fucking kite.âEU
Robin's grin was wide. "Fuck some birds, lets get baked before homeroom.âEU
Later, Robin's tall, lanky frame lazily slouched at his desk, the barest smirk touching his lips. Biology was incredibly boring, but tolerable after sneaking in a smoke with Liam. Mr. Stiles droned on and on about the evolution of birds from dinosaurs called Theropods, but he wasn't going to let that bother him. Robin tried to tune out all that talk of fossils and tried to picture his teacher as a mad scientist. It wasn't that far of a stretch; he was an older man, balding, with thinning white hair that hung from the back of his cranium and matching eyebrows that darted out just off his face. His expression seemed to naturally rest on a scowl so all he really needed was a white lab coat and a lair full of equipment. Inspired, Robin made a rough sketch of Mr. Stiles as such, complete with a robot chicken strapped to a table and lightning striking in the background. He passed his artwork behind him, to Liam. His friend silently chuckled, and started making a doodle of his own.
"...And as such, the evolution of birds represents a drastic change in the development of dinosaurs. Archeopteryx is that bridging point, arguably the first true bird and most likely the ancestor to all avians that survive today. Looking at this fossil, you can easily recognize features of both....âEU Mr. Stiles continued, and Robin looked to the window for a distraction. A healthy apple tree outside always gave him a sense of peacefulness and it's browning and yellow leaves made for a tranquil fall scene. Black wings fluttered and a large raven landed on the closest branch, peeking into the classroom. Robin made a sour face, cursing under his breath.
The raven tilted his head, then tapped at the glass with his beak. Robin gaped, and felt the small hairs on the back of his neck rising, a nervousness welling up from inside him. Liam nudged him with a soft fist. "Looks like you can't get a break bro, your ex girlfriend is outside.âEU He whispered with a smirk.
"Asshole.âEU Robin silently mouthed in return, and the avian outside tapped at the glass a few more times.
"It seems we have a guest speaker today representing our favorite feathered, bipedal vertebrates. Perhaps he can shed some light on adaptations that allowed them to outlive their prehistoric ancestors.âEU Mr. Stiles stated, getting a few polite laughs from the class. They were much more entertained by the strange bird outside, a couple people getting out their phones to take pictures. "Please, return to your seats, we've all seen birds before.âEU Mr. Stiles asked dejectedly.
Undeterred, the raven continued poking at the window with its beak, and Robin could tell it was staring right at him. He felt himself breaking into a cold sweat and quickly stood up, backing up from the window. "You good bro?âEU Liam asked, concern written across his face. Robin couldn't break eye contact with the raven, feeling a knot forming in his stomach.
"I... no, I'm gonna be sick.âEU Robin stated before coughing violently. He tried to compose himself and darted quickly out of the classroom to a chorus of laughs and a few bewildered looks. He stumbled down the hallway, intermittently coughing. He felt hot, his skin itched all over, and all he could picture was feathers tickling him. He ran into the closest bathroom, not caring it was the girls. A couple hipsters smoking snickered and made snide comments as he leaned over the sink, unable to catch his breath. He was past caring about anything else, he just wanted to throw up and get it over with. He coughed and choked and the girls cringed and shuffled out behind him.
Part 2
He looked at himself in the mirror, pale and tense, and his stomach roiled. A wave of nausea overtook him as he felt something hard and thick working it's way out of his throat. Something long and slimy and vaguely dark protruded from his mouth. He gagged, unable to breath. It grew longer and he coughed hard, splotches of crimson and a couple black feathers appearing in the sink. Tears welled in his eyes as he grabbed at the dark mass in his mouth and grabbed it hard, knuckles white with exertion. Robin pulled at it, feeling sickening sensory information as the foreign object slid along the delicate tissues of his throat, every bit of it burning. Trails of blood and saliva traveled down his chin as he desperately pulled at the dark mass. He gagged as wet, feathered wings erupted from his mouth. A gargled, strained scream released as talons freed themselves from his facial orifice. The slick, black bird leaped casually from his face to the sink and turned to face him authoritatively. The Raven looked to him with cruel, judgmental eyes and let out a piercing screech and the world twisted into a misshapen, blurry maze that jutted off into every direction.
Robin released a frightened yelp as he jolted to consciousness. He struggled to catch his breath, covered in perspiration. He was seated at his desk in Mr. Stiles' class with everyone looking at him with concerned eyes, even his teacher. He looked to the window and only saw the apple tree, with a single black feather resting on a branch before the wind swept it away.
"Chicken wings. Of course it's chicken wings. Not hamburgers or pizza or anything that doesn't come from a feathered freak of nature." Robin's irritation was palpable. He shuffled through the lunch line with the enthusiasm of a funeral procession.
"You should be celebrating bro! You get to feast on your enemy, yeah?" Liam responded with playful cadence, smirking slyly. "Why do you think I don't eat animals? Because I hate plants so much that I want to eat them all!" Robin couldn't conceal his smile; Liam's optimism was infectious. They sat down at a picnic table outside, enjoying the serenity of fall weather as they chatted and joked about Robin's ornithophobia. He picked at his food, but Robin couldn't force himself to eat much after his earlier nightmare. The fried chicken was looking especially unappetizing. Liam grimaced as a shadow cloaked their table and slowly stretched further down the horizon. "Looks like it's threatening to storm. Lets bounce bro." Liam suggested, already getting up.
Robin agreed and followed suit. "Yeah, sounds g..." Robin was cut short by a high pitched shriek. They both turned and saw a freshmen girl running and screaming as a crow followed her, sneaking in pecks where it could. She stumbled and wildly waved her arms, the bird continuing it's harassment. "God damn, look at that!" he exclaimed, dropping his trey of uneaten food. Robin was mortified, frozen in place.
Liam wasted no time in darting towards her, immediately swatting at the bird with his empty tray. It dodged and bobbed, backing off a bit before redirecting it's attack to Liam. The crow strategically swooped in and pecked before retreating, then repeating it's maneuvers from another direction, black wings fluttering about. Liam grunted as its beak connected to his temple, drawing a trickle of crimson down the side of his face. A few wild swings followed, until he connected with a strike of his own with the full force of his lunch tray. An ugly squawk accompanied the sicking thud of the blow and the bird tumbled to the ground, alive but crippled, twitching sporadically. Liam hunched over and wiped his face, panting to catch his breath. An especially large group of vultures loomed overhead, circling. Robin finally snapped out of his stupor and approached his friend.
"Are you okay man? That was fucking intense!" Robin exclaimed, suddenly ashamed he hadn't acted sooner. A small group of onlookers were watching from a safe distance, all keeping their space and whispering amongst themselves.
"Yeah... I think I'm good. She needs to get to the nurse. Are you okay?" Liam was leaning over the bird's original target, setting his own well-being aside. She was seated on the ground, sobbing emphatically, and covered with more then a few scratches.
Robin didn't know her, but figured she was probably pretty cute in better circumstances. He was just about to reach over to help her up when the huge flock of vultures looming overhead caught his attention. He tilted his head back and his heart sank when he noticed it wasn't just vultures. The trees were thick with crows, ravens, blackbirds, hawks, condors, owls, falcons and eagles, among others he couldn't immediately name. They watched in silence, other then the occasional flutter of wings as they shifted positions, systematically flying from branch to branch, surrounding the courtyard from every direction. His mouth gaped open and he failed to form words. Silently, Robin reached over to Liam and tugged his shirt. Liam's eyes went wide as he took in their surroundings and an ominous orchestra of various birds echoed and reverberated throughout, caws and squawk and chirps eerily meshing. The group the scuffle had attracted were openly cursing and dispersing towards various entrances to the school.
"Robin, Jessica, c'mon!" Liam shouted as he started towards the cafeteria entrance, leading the traumatized girl by her hand. Countless wings shuffled and fluttered overhead as Robin sprinted after them. The massive multi-species flock were circling closer, tauntingly swooping in before retreating and flying overhead with alarming coordination. He felt feathers and talons brushing close by him, and he let out a loud scream and waved his arms to ward them off.
The girl who was just attacked had a similar reaction, swinging free from Liam's grip just before they reached the door, collapsing, flailing as she screamed incoherently. Liam turned and reached for her but a stray kick from her connected to his shin instead. "Fuck her! Just go!" Robin shouted as he grabbed his friend by his shirt and dragged him along. They hurriedly darted inside, along with a handful of various birds that glided in just before the door was quickly forced closed, several guys opting to continue holding it shut. An owl and a few other birds circled about the inside of the cafeteria, swooping and pecking at random students. Order gave way to discord as people ran and screamed, anything that could be thrown, was. Most of the debris was aimed at the birds, much of it hitting other people, adding to the chaos and confusion. Several fist fights were breaking out and some girl sat alone atop a table, cutting herself, tears streaking her otherwise apathetic face. Faculty struggled to yell over the ensuing anarchy, many of which were ignored, or worse, trampled. Robin collapsed and seated himself with his back to the door, helping keep it closed as he watched his classmates delving into madness.
"OH CHRIST! OH GOD, I can't believe this..." Liam cried out, mortified. He looked out the panoramic glass windows in horror, hands gripping his hair in anguish. Robin scrambled and crawled forward to join his friend, and overwhelming fear overtook him as he saw the sea of birds swarming outside. His stomach turned as he saw what his friend was watching; the girl he had tried to help was no longer struggling, simply being picked apart by vultures. She looked less like a human and more like strips from a slaughterhouse, sinews being ripped from her by beaks eagerly trying to take their share. Tears freely streaked Liam's face, and he collapsed to his knees, oblivious to the surrounding chaos. "Bro... Jessica... I cared about her, and now shes dead. What the fuck is this?!"
Part 3
Robin's mind raced as he tried to think of what to say, what to do. His heart sank and he had no clue what action to take. He only knew this was all his fault. The giant panoramic glass windows to the cafeteria were being systematically pecked at and scratched with beaks and talons, the surface starting to crack and give in. It shattered and a sea of birds filled the room like a dark, feathered cloud, greeted by screams and mobs of people dispersing, trying desperately to escape. The ever shifting collage of wings and colors circled overhead with uniform collaboration, menacingly diving towards their targets in groups. Stragglers were engulfed in a blur of feathers as they collapsed, crying out desperately for help. Liam was cowering, sobbing on the ground in a fetal position. Robin grabbed him and pulled him underneath a lunch table, crouched, and hugged him close. He helplessly watched the feet of people trampling others, heard blood curdling screams from his friends being eaten alive, all under the haunting chorus of squawks and caws. Robin closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He came to a decision.
The deafening racket had finally died down, replaced by the echo of wings flapping and hushed chirps and trills, and the uncomfortably organic sounds of the deceased being feasted upon. "Liam. It's going to be okay. I promise. You're going to be fine. Liam, look at me." Robin stated calmly. Liam, still quivering from shock, slowly raised his head and looked to his friend with bewilderment. Robin rubbed his friend's back as comfortingly as he could, whispering "I'm truly sorry for all this. I never meant to cause so much trouble. I don't ever expect you to forgive me, but I hope someday you will."
Liam was speechless, unable to make sense of anything that was happening. Robin took a deep breath, crawled out from under the table, and took in his surroundings. The cafeteria looked desolate, transformed into a scene from a post apocalyptic world. Signs of struggle and destruction were everywhere, the only humans in sight were being picked apart by groups of miscellaneous birds, moving only when prodded by eager beaks. Surrounding Robin was an army of feathered entities, all of various shapes, colors and sizes. Those that weren't occupied eating were standing on the floor or perched elsewhere in the cafeteria, their beady eyes all fixated on him. He slowly marched outside, the birds in his way fluttering to clear a path before returning to their statuesque stances, staring at him with emotionless countenance. "Where are you!?" Robin demanded fiercely as he stepped outside.
He felt more then he heard the responding rumble, and turned around. Monstrously gigantic talons gripped into the roof of Lincoln High. Robin maintained his footing as the ground rumbled below him from the deep, bellowing caw that reverberated out from the massive feathered deity that stood atop the school. It spread it's enormous, black wings outwards, casting a dark shadow that seemed to stretch out for miles, before settling and looked upon Robin with an otherworldly intensity. It's feathers were black as ebony with gray, colorless talons. Other then it's enormous size, the most striking feature was it's deep, gray eyes; they looked harsh and unforgiving. People in the surrounding neighborhoods looked on from a distance in disbelief, some hurriedly driving off, others hiding away in their homes. No one attempted to come any closer to the mythic bird. Sirens blazed in the distance, getting louder. The deity twisted its head nearly completely backwards to look.
"Please, leave them alone. I was wrong. I learned my lesson. I'll come home." Robin shouted. The gigantic bird returned his silent glare to the figure before him. Robin gripped hard at his scalp and forcefully pulled, flesh coming loose as he peeled it from his face. He squawked as he uncovered his beak, revealing a feathered figure as he pulled the strips of human skin away. He rustled his feathers and shook himself free, his true body black with gray eyes and talons, a human sized copy of the enormous avian before him. Liam had limped to the shattered window, witnessing the bizarre scene with an open jaw. He watched as the giant bird lifted off from the school and flew away, with Robin and the massive flock following behind.
I'm just writing this for experience and/or opinions. I'm pretty sure it's lame. 6443/7000 characters were used.
I was scared--no. That wasn't the right word. I was terrified. Stricken with absolute fright, I was paralyzed on the spot in the corner of my room. The closet door, it was moving. Shaking.
But let's flash back to 2 days ago.
Some back-story: I lost my family to a storm. And I couldn't remember what my son said to me before he died.
I was a detective of the police department in my community. A well-known detective, too. As usual, there was a stereotypical case: a murder.
Our squad was sent to the scene. A police officer came up to me and reported something that made me suspicious. "Detective, there isn't a street sign to be found since 23rd."
I thought to my self, "23rd? That's the street before the old abandoned warehouse."
I had decided to say something after thoughtfully pondering. "Just something convenient."
He looked at me, trying to reassure my suspicion.
As usual, I and 3 other detectives decided to enter the house, while the police were still taping the place as 'dangerous'. Nothing. Upstairs, downstairs, basement, kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, nothing seemed suspicious. But the attic had something that proved the murder to be true. A decaying corpse, lying on the floor. One of the new detectives threw up through a window, but I had taken a picture of it.
I turned him around, and saw a paper, literally stapled to this person's face. I had taken the paper off, looked down, and saw something that made me mentally sick. This guy's face was beaten in. There literally was no face whatsoever. It seemed his face had become oblivion.
The paper read in grotesque and crude writing, "Secret door under sofa carpet."
I told the others who were trying to look for prints or any clues, "I'm heading down to the living room, once again."
A detective told me, "Bring a cop."
I nodded solemnly and went down the stairs. I stepped out the front door and yelled for one cop to follow. He reluctantly agreed, took a pistol and flashlight and followed.
I asked for him to help me lift the couch. He did, and we moved it out of the way successfully. I had seen the carpet and lifted it. When I did so, I had seen a small, worn down, rusty hatch. I lifted it, and saw an endless plight of stairs leading down to the basement. Ice cold wind blew in our faces, giving us a feel of depression or death.
We stepped down, each stair, one-by-one, each feeling like one step further from Earth. We couldn't see a thing after 5 steps down. The cop turned on his flashlight. The eerie light only glowed for a few feet, but then vanished back into the wicked oblivion of this basement.
We reached the bottom. Each step burned through our shoes and felt like ice. Black ice. Each step made our hearts beat faster. They felt like they were going to explode. "ARGH!"
I looked around and turned around to ask him what that sound was. "Hey, do you kn-" What happened almost made me burst.
The cop. His heart literally DID explode. His chest looked like it was turned inside-out. And in it, was a diary of some sort.
"Someone is messing with us," I thought aloud. I picked it up, and flipped through the pages. Every page said something that was confusing.
It told of a story of a boy being lost due to the boy's creature he found. It had seemed the boy was going through a lot due to this creature. But the boy didn't let go if this creature. And it ended with something that made me cry.
In crude writing, it said in small letters in the back of the diary, "I care for you. Which means you must care for me?"
I put it in my bag and left the building. When I exited the building, I told the others that I had to check some evidence.
It was the next day when it all happened. In my spare time, I carefully looked through the pages, trying to investigate each page carefully. Each page told a story of the boy and his creature. But when I had finished reading the last page and phrase again, something sliced my soul like a sword through butter...no. Not even butter. Simply air. It felt like it swung through my soul like air. Then, that phrase kept repeating itself in my mind. In what is supposed to be a haven, it invaded my mind like nothing. "I care for you."
I felt sick to my bone. My face was turning pale. I was feeling nauseous and gross. I asked to go home early. They sheriff said yes, and I charged to my car. I couldn't stop thinking, "I care for you."
I got home, and immediately took a shower. It usually calms my mind...but it didn't. Everything made me think of it more for some reason. "I care for you." I finished my shower and dried myself off. I had looked through the mirror and for less then a split second, saw what seemed to be a boy and a demonic creature. "I care for YOU."
I ran off into my bedroom and shut my entire body under my covers of my bed. The phrase couldn't stop repeating itself.
I had lost all sleep that day.
The next day, I didn't even go to work. I barely ate my breakfast, but that phrase would ALWAYS repeat itself. When I finished, I went to my room until I felt something sting. My back. It felt like something slashed at it. I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw a large cut on it. It wasn't deep, but it was very large. I hid in my room and sat in the corner of my room. Something told me to do that, even if it wouldn't do anything.
I was too scared--no. That wasn't the right word. I was terrified. Stricken with absolute fright, I was paralyzed on the spot in the corner of my room. The closet door, it was moving. Shaking. It opened slowly. Out came something that made me cry.
Oh, the grotesque, black claws. The gleaming red eyes and terrifying yellow fangs. Dripping with its poisonous liquids and blood. Then, it snarled. It pierced my perspective of life perfectly. I froze completely. No movement whatsoever.
Out came a boy, holding a little doll. His head was down and his clothes were torn. He looked up with his soulless face and opened his mouth. "I care for you."
I soon found the monster's face. Oh, the horror. But when I soon looked at it, I saw something that triggered something in me. The beast. The creature. Something told me it wasn't a creature. And the boy...he seemed...familiar.
But before I could think of anything else, the monster touched me with its claw. And it hit me. Family.
"Do I care?" I asked.
"I care for you."
hola don't copy this signature plz thx i tried very hard 2 make it not really but still hue
"Obscured" Part 1
Darkness cannot hurt you; it is nothing, really. Darkness is a lack of light; it has no body, no form, no sentience, no soul. However, bad things do happen in the dark.
My life was dominated by a particular routine. When I woke, the sensation of light tickled my nose. The beam felt warm and yellow; I supposed it was six o'clock. As most do, I yawned wearily and stretched, feeling the morning air of the apartment on my neck. I rose, and took two swift and controlled strides to the left, and threw the curtains all the way open. As the light poured in, I sensed the pale white color on my face. Although it stung, I stayed directly in the ray. After a minute of bathing in sunlight, I sighed the usual sigh, closed the curtains, and retreated into my bedroom. Two strides back, and one stride left; I swung my arm and clutched the knob to the closet (right on target). My shirts and pants were pre-arranged, hanging side by side. I grabbed my pants and slip them on quickly; I grabbed my shirt and slipped it on quickly; I buttoned the shirt quickly, exact and even; I grabbed my belt off the hook, ran it through the belt-loops and tightened it.
One step back and I sat on my bed. I sat for a few minutes, running my hand along my wristwatch's face. The alarm on my nightstand rang.
My hand came crashing down, striking the stand. The commotion resonated and the nightstand flipped over, its ersatz wood frame toppling under the force. The alarm continued to ring. I clutched my hand as the blasted ringing continued. Sound came from in front, a little off to the left. I reached for the infernal alarm, but the siren sounded from right.
I yelled and scrambled madly for the alarm, before I felt a thin cable. I yanked it as hard as I could, unplugging the machine. It did not stop. The screeching hurt my ears and I flung the alarm into the wall, silencing it forever.
My hands felt very cold, and I was shivering despite the outbreak. I rubbed my face vigorously. I was already dressed, and my clothes felt stiff and constraining, but I walked slowly to my desk, looking for my keys and my sunglasses. I ambled towards the door leaving my white cane behind. I had been blind for ten years, I could manage one day sans cane.
I found my way out and stumbled into the hallway of the apartment building. Careful shuffles to the stairs, two flights down (carefully grasping the handrail), and a short trip to the main door; I was outside.
The sun was strong, but the air was cold. My skin felt an aura of heat, but I was shivering. I coughed dryly at the musty October air. The commute was only a few minutes long, consisting of mostly straight sidewalk, one intersection, and two turns. I had orchestrated my journey beforehand, taking note of the paces, as well as notable landmarks, such as the distinct sour smell of fresh bagels (which alerted me to the first turn).
Eventually, I reached my job; I was a customer service representative. (It was by no means a difficult job, but it required patience and a bit of panache.)
But, I always hated Halloween, and itâEUTMs not because I couldnâEUTMt enjoy the costumes or the candy. Many people skipped work, relegating the tasks to me. I departed late, trying to manage my way through crowded streets, reckless teenagers, and general bumps in the night.
My body felt heavy and my eyes hurt. I was drained. Typically, I slept without trouble; I rested easily and woke up on time. That day, something felt strange; I felt like my vision was returning. Light was unusually bright and I could discern figures and shapes and shadows. When I removed my sunglasses, I could make out my hands--obscure forms that wriggled. The sensation was immense, and the cold tears ran down my nose. I quickly put the glasses, the scene replaced by a shaded translucence.
The day passed quickly, without any conflict or rude customers. I picked the phone to clock out, and glided my fingers over the keypad. The buttons were solid yet forgiving plastic. I outlined the square of buttons with my finger, admiring the oily smoothness. My fingers lightly pressed down, and I could feel the depression of the buttons under my whim. I dialed the call center.
I was greeted with a long tone. I repeated to dial the number, and was greeted with silence. I pressed all the buttons, shoving my palm against the cubed keys, and I heard the clicks and clacks of the keys giving in. I kept pushing down on the receiver, and it felt like it was jammed. I wiggled it free and dialed, and again I was greeted by a long, wailing tone. I would explain the situation to my boss the next day, I thought; I grabbed my belongings and left.
The path back was always calm and uneventful. It was always midday, and if the sunlight wasn't blasting me in the face, the air was still, free from inclement weather. I exited the building and retraced my steps quietly, back to my apartment. I faced towards the sky, and I swore I saw the moon. It was laminating beautifully, in a very lucid white radiance. Beautiful.
The moon was calling to me, and when I reached the bakery, I stopped. The turn left, and I was home. Something was pulling me home, the same force that had been pulling on me all night. My view went from black to grey to white to red.
My head began to hurt. What the hell was happening? My stomach churned grossly and I vomited violently. My eyes hurt and I cried some warm tears. The world was spinning beneath my feet, swirling and grinding. I felt dizzy and disoriented, and I stuck my right arm out and felt âEU¦ nothing.
Nothing but air; where was the cold, moist, metallic streetlight? Was I not at the corner, by the bakery, deciding whether to continue home? How long had I been walking? And, I knew for a fact that a streetlight stood at the corner; from the sound of traffic, it must have hovered far into the street.
"Hello?" I asked the darkness. "Hello? Please, is anyone there?"
I was alone. How far did I walk? What time was it? I rubbed the face of my clock. 6 a.m.
I reached out trying to grasp at something--anything! I stumbled and fell over, and I kicked dust into the air. I quickly rose and took off my glasses. Where was I? Haze and dust and smoke and black. I blinked and coughed, straining my eyes. Then, I could see again. I could see figures before me. The visage was not muddled like before. Clear, apparent forms moved and swayed and a light shone from behind them.
I heard a snap! And I reacted, throwing my arms up. I looked at my hands, but could not see a thing. They were gone, and gravity was gone too. I felt weightless, cut in half, cut in fourths, truncated and decapitated. Was I six again? There was a subtle bump in the night, and I stayed beneath the sheets, never asleep, hoping the evil would go away, wishing the sun would rise and banish the monsters.
Giving out writing reviews to anyone who wants them (exception: poems. I'll find you).
"Obscured" Part 2
I took a step back, and the dark figures took one forward. I began to tremble, and my breathing was rapid and unstable. I felt streams down my eyes, and I wiped at them with my hands. It felt viscous and sticky and it clung to my forearms, gathering dust. I wasn't crying.
The apparitions were laughing. The hellish figures grew large and reached out and grabbed me. The light began to fade and I screamed. I screamed and screamed and stuck my thumb into my eye. I had a full grasp of my head and squeezed as hard as I could, hammering I thumb in with my other hand. I threw my weight around, shaking them free, running hard and fast, nauseous and mad. I pulled my thumb out, dropping raw cranial viscera into my palm. I reached for my other eye but Something was behind me and it knocked me down. I yelled for my mother, begging for the sun to rise and shine.
A moment later I startled myself awake. I could hear a commotion, I heard kids asking their parents what happened. Little patters here and whispers over there. My head was killing me, and I felt something grab my neck, and lift me up.
"You're gonna be all right. What's your name?"
"Eddie? Griffin."
"What day is it?"
"All right Eddie, we're gonna get you to a hospital; you're Ok," A man in a blue uniform told me.
I looked up into the sky and looked for the full moon. It was obscured by black clouds. I blinked repeatedly as my vision began to fade. I wanted to scream again, but I felt safe in the ambulance, safe in the sterile white compound, with a grey wool blanket on me, and the vehicle moving in a jerky but stable manner. Darkness enveloped the light and I began to lose consciousness. I saw the paramedic look away, and I felt a sting in my hand. Something small, and white, hidden in a black mist was looking back at me.
Note: I have no fucking clue what happened in that last one. I was trying to beat the clock (I did post before midnight ... Pacific time :P). I did email this to myself from Open office to Yahoo and back to Open office, but I have no idea where the Ã' came from. Ugh, that's what I get for waiting last minute. Good luck everyone!
Giving out writing reviews to anyone who wants them (exception: poems. I'll find you).