Charlotte always told herself that whenever she felt someone watching her, that she was simply nervous. She would turn around and there would be nothing, but still the feeling was always enough to send her running to her destination.
One day, when Charlotte was walking down the sidewalk to her subdivision, she got what she termed her “typical paranoid delusion.” It was also then that, in her moment of lapsed concentration, she tripped over something. Despite the fact that she feared stopping, she picked up the object and looked at it. It was a side-view mirror from a car, obviously lost in a wreck. She knew the road there was dangerous.
Then, Charlotte gasped. In the mirror, she saw a figure standing a few feet back. Its face was human, but warped. Its arms were outstretched; the nails of its fingers were long and twisted. Then Charlotte shrieked in horror.
“OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.”
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Scratchy Scratchy
As a child, Jeremy heard scratching coming from a section of wall in his bedroom. For years, he imagined such things as the murdered body of his brother clawing at the wall, trying to be found.
His mother, however, believed he was reading too many scary stories before bed. When Jeremy kept complaining she told him that the wallpaper in his room—an old floral print—was there to protect him from the evil spirit.
“So it keeps them out?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” she said with a frown. “It just keeps you safe,” she replied cryptically.
Years later, Jeremy had left for college and one Christmas decided to come back to see his family. That night, he slept in his old bed and was almost asleep when he heard the old, horrible scratching sounds coming from behind the walls.
It was then that an older and braver Jeremy got up, turned on the lights, and ripped the wallpaper from the wall to try to get a better look at things. Once the paper was gone, he spied a small, fist-sized hole in the wall.
Jeremy only meant to pull back a small piece of the wall, but managed to rip a large, child-sized area of wall. There, his eyes were met with rotting wood and scurrying spiders.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he tossed the section of wall to the ground, vowing to get some plaster in the morning and patch the whole thing up. However, something caught his eye that terrified him.
As he looked down upon the back of the wall, he could see dozens of deep grooves that looked like claw marks, most of which seemed to have been burnt into the wall.
Turning around, his eyes were met with a pair of fiery circles, standing where the section of wall once was. The last thing that passed through Jeremy’s mind was the realization that the paper was meant keep the evil spirit in.
His mother, however, believed he was reading too many scary stories before bed. When Jeremy kept complaining she told him that the wallpaper in his room—an old floral print—was there to protect him from the evil spirit.
“So it keeps them out?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” she said with a frown. “It just keeps you safe,” she replied cryptically.
Years later, Jeremy had left for college and one Christmas decided to come back to see his family. That night, he slept in his old bed and was almost asleep when he heard the old, horrible scratching sounds coming from behind the walls.
It was then that an older and braver Jeremy got up, turned on the lights, and ripped the wallpaper from the wall to try to get a better look at things. Once the paper was gone, he spied a small, fist-sized hole in the wall.
Jeremy only meant to pull back a small piece of the wall, but managed to rip a large, child-sized area of wall. There, his eyes were met with rotting wood and scurrying spiders.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he tossed the section of wall to the ground, vowing to get some plaster in the morning and patch the whole thing up. However, something caught his eye that terrified him.
As he looked down upon the back of the wall, he could see dozens of deep grooves that looked like claw marks, most of which seemed to have been burnt into the wall.
Turning around, his eyes were met with a pair of fiery circles, standing where the section of wall once was. The last thing that passed through Jeremy’s mind was the realization that the paper was meant keep the evil spirit in.
Star-Crossed Night
Jake's college's theatre always locked up for Halloween. The legend around the school was that years ago on Halloween, a prop incident caused the deaths of two people: an actress and her stagehand boyfriend, who rushed to try and save her. They say that each Halloween the ghosts relive the play that led to their deaths.
Jake turned to his girlfriend, Sophia and said, “I see the old coots closed up this shack again this year. Silly superstitions. Bah.”
Sophia shook her head. She wished Jake was a little less bold sometimes. “Jake, babe, I’m sure there’s a better reason than just-.”
Jake cut her off. “No, hun. They close it every year out of this crazy belief of ghosts coming and performing. My brother went here years back, and he remembers them doing this every year.”
Sophia sighed. She knew what he was going to suggest they do. She had seen the look on Jake’s face before. It was a look of determination and excitement. This mean adventure and—more often than not—trouble.
“I know what we can do,” he said, grinning as he leaned against the door of the theatre. “There’s a window around back I left cracked and unlocked yesterday while I was snooping around. We can get in through there and prove there are no ghosts in there.”
Knowing she had little in the way of options, Sophia obliged. Around back, true to his word, there was a slightly open window. Below it was a stack of fairly sturdy-looking crates, piled conveniently right to the window’s edge.
Since it was getting dark and people were making plenty of noise around the area, no one took note of the two knocking over a crate or two as they climbed into the window and dropped down onto the floor in a changing room.
The entire theatre, usually bustling with noise of some sort, was eerily silent. The room they were in was clearly the women’s dressing room. There were wigs and dresses strewn about, as if the owners had left in somewhat of a hurry. The truth, however, was far less disturbing: housekeeping didn’t work weekends, and because Halloween fell on a Saturday, they had closed the theatre earlier in the day Friday.
“So, what do these stupid stories say about this place, Soph?” asked Jake as he fiddled with a few things in the room.
“All I really know is that the ghostly performance is supposed to happen at sundown on Halloween.
“The stage, then,” said Jake, grunting as he pulled the heavy dressing room door open. “Ladies first,” he said as he held the door open for Sophia.
As soon as they walking into the main part of the theatre, they both realized something was off. Though it was almost sundown outside, the weather was still on the warm side. However, in their current room, the air was cold and damn.
“Hey, you two,” echoed a female voice from behind them. “You shouldn’t be in here. Don’t you know the stories they tell about this place?”
“And just who are you?” Jake asked mockingly, turning around to face his accuser.
“I’m Tish, and it seems you had the same idea as my friend, Blake. He’s a bit stubborn, so he decided to try for the back entrance.” She stopped for a moment and pointed to the stage. “Ah, there he is now,” she said as a man stepped onto the stage.
“How did you get in, then?” asked Sophia.
“They forgot to lock the front door,” Tish replied with a smile.
“Hey, Tish, get up here,” Blake shouted. “The view is pretty nice from up here.”
Tish ran up the steps leading up the stage as Jake and Sophia made their way closer to the stage. Above them, a stage light could be heard swinging, as if loose.
“Hey,” shouted Sophia. “I wouldn’t be up there. That light looks unstable.” Concerned for them, she walked up the stage. As she did, the light snapped free of its rigging and plummeted towards Tish.
“Look out!” shouted Sophia as she pushed Tish out of the way. The light landed on Sophia, pinning her to the floor.
“SOPHIA!” Jake shouted, stunned by what had happened. He leapt onto the stage and tried to push the light off of her, but there was just enough power left in the light to send a fatal jolt of electricity through him.
As Sophia’s vision darkened, she heard Tish say coldly, “Thanks for taking our places here.”
Jake turned to his girlfriend, Sophia and said, “I see the old coots closed up this shack again this year. Silly superstitions. Bah.”
Sophia shook her head. She wished Jake was a little less bold sometimes. “Jake, babe, I’m sure there’s a better reason than just-.”
Jake cut her off. “No, hun. They close it every year out of this crazy belief of ghosts coming and performing. My brother went here years back, and he remembers them doing this every year.”
Sophia sighed. She knew what he was going to suggest they do. She had seen the look on Jake’s face before. It was a look of determination and excitement. This mean adventure and—more often than not—trouble.
“I know what we can do,” he said, grinning as he leaned against the door of the theatre. “There’s a window around back I left cracked and unlocked yesterday while I was snooping around. We can get in through there and prove there are no ghosts in there.”
Knowing she had little in the way of options, Sophia obliged. Around back, true to his word, there was a slightly open window. Below it was a stack of fairly sturdy-looking crates, piled conveniently right to the window’s edge.
Since it was getting dark and people were making plenty of noise around the area, no one took note of the two knocking over a crate or two as they climbed into the window and dropped down onto the floor in a changing room.
The entire theatre, usually bustling with noise of some sort, was eerily silent. The room they were in was clearly the women’s dressing room. There were wigs and dresses strewn about, as if the owners had left in somewhat of a hurry. The truth, however, was far less disturbing: housekeeping didn’t work weekends, and because Halloween fell on a Saturday, they had closed the theatre earlier in the day Friday.
“So, what do these stupid stories say about this place, Soph?” asked Jake as he fiddled with a few things in the room.
“All I really know is that the ghostly performance is supposed to happen at sundown on Halloween.
“The stage, then,” said Jake, grunting as he pulled the heavy dressing room door open. “Ladies first,” he said as he held the door open for Sophia.
As soon as they walking into the main part of the theatre, they both realized something was off. Though it was almost sundown outside, the weather was still on the warm side. However, in their current room, the air was cold and damn.
“Hey, you two,” echoed a female voice from behind them. “You shouldn’t be in here. Don’t you know the stories they tell about this place?”
“And just who are you?” Jake asked mockingly, turning around to face his accuser.
“I’m Tish, and it seems you had the same idea as my friend, Blake. He’s a bit stubborn, so he decided to try for the back entrance.” She stopped for a moment and pointed to the stage. “Ah, there he is now,” she said as a man stepped onto the stage.
“How did you get in, then?” asked Sophia.
“They forgot to lock the front door,” Tish replied with a smile.
“Hey, Tish, get up here,” Blake shouted. “The view is pretty nice from up here.”
Tish ran up the steps leading up the stage as Jake and Sophia made their way closer to the stage. Above them, a stage light could be heard swinging, as if loose.
“Hey,” shouted Sophia. “I wouldn’t be up there. That light looks unstable.” Concerned for them, she walked up the stage. As she did, the light snapped free of its rigging and plummeted towards Tish.
“Look out!” shouted Sophia as she pushed Tish out of the way. The light landed on Sophia, pinning her to the floor.
“SOPHIA!” Jake shouted, stunned by what had happened. He leapt onto the stage and tried to push the light off of her, but there was just enough power left in the light to send a fatal jolt of electricity through him.
As Sophia’s vision darkened, she heard Tish say coldly, “Thanks for taking our places here.”
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Old Hospital
A man, bleeding from a gunshot wound walks into a tall brick building. He screams for help, and two nurses rush out from a pair of swinging doors.
“Relax, sir,” one of them tells him. “We will take care of you right away.”
They lift him onto a stretcher and wheel him down a long hallway, full of typical-looking waiting rooms. However, from the rooms he can hear the sounds of muffled moans and the soft crunching of bones.
“What is going on in here?” he asked, panicking.
“We’re taking you to be taken care of,” a nurse said with a grin.
“The hell you are,” he shouted at he rolled off the stretcher and onto the floor, landing on his wound. “What kind of hospital is this? You’re supposed to heal people in a hospital, not kill them.
He backed up against a room and stole a glance into it. There, in a chair, a man with a rash could be seen being torn apart by hands that protruded from the walls and then pulled into the walls themselves.
“What is this?” he screamed as the nurses surrounded him and pulled out a syringe full of clear liquid. He struggled as they injected it into him.
As his vision began to fade, he muttered, “This is a horrible hospital.”
“Who said anything about this being a hospital?” the nurse asked. “This place just likes eating the weak.”
“Relax, sir,” one of them tells him. “We will take care of you right away.”
They lift him onto a stretcher and wheel him down a long hallway, full of typical-looking waiting rooms. However, from the rooms he can hear the sounds of muffled moans and the soft crunching of bones.
“What is going on in here?” he asked, panicking.
“We’re taking you to be taken care of,” a nurse said with a grin.
“The hell you are,” he shouted at he rolled off the stretcher and onto the floor, landing on his wound. “What kind of hospital is this? You’re supposed to heal people in a hospital, not kill them.
He backed up against a room and stole a glance into it. There, in a chair, a man with a rash could be seen being torn apart by hands that protruded from the walls and then pulled into the walls themselves.
“What is this?” he screamed as the nurses surrounded him and pulled out a syringe full of clear liquid. He struggled as they injected it into him.
As his vision began to fade, he muttered, “This is a horrible hospital.”
“Who said anything about this being a hospital?” the nurse asked. “This place just likes eating the weak.”
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Must Find Amy
The zombie infection was spreading through John’s town, but that was the least of his worries. He had lost his daughter, Amy, and knew he had to find her.
For two days, he wandered around the town, sneaking past the wandering zombies. However, on the third day, he became desperate, and began to shout, “Amy! Where are you Amy?”
He yelled, not caring if any of the zombies hear him. Suddenly, a survivor stepped out. Excited, John ran toward him, asking if he had seen his daughter.
The man shot him twice in the head, hearing only, “Braaaains.”
For two days, he wandered around the town, sneaking past the wandering zombies. However, on the third day, he became desperate, and began to shout, “Amy! Where are you Amy?”
He yelled, not caring if any of the zombies hear him. Suddenly, a survivor stepped out. Excited, John ran toward him, asking if he had seen his daughter.
The man shot him twice in the head, hearing only, “Braaaains.”
Friday, September 24, 2010
Split Ends
In the city of Batesfield, in the Central United States, a serial killer was murdering women by cutting their heads open along their hairline.
As a response to this, the women set aside their pride and shaved their heads.
After a week of no murders, they felt safe.
That was, of course, until the body of a woman was found. Her head was smashed in.
As a response to this, the women set aside their pride and shaved their heads.
After a week of no murders, they felt safe.
That was, of course, until the body of a woman was found. Her head was smashed in.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Upward Staring Eyes
Julie missed going outside. Ever since she got sick a month ago, her life seemed like little more than a dream. All day long, the only thing she could do was watch the television stationed on the wall in front of her.
“Sleep well, mom,” Julie said as her mother walked into her room to turn off the television.
Her mother didn’t say anything to her again that night. Instead, she adjusted Julie’s pillow, sighed, and wondered if her daughter would ever come out of her coma.
“Sleep well, mom,” Julie said as her mother walked into her room to turn off the television.
Her mother didn’t say anything to her again that night. Instead, she adjusted Julie’s pillow, sighed, and wondered if her daughter would ever come out of her coma.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Writing Home
Dear Mother,
Hello, mother, it’s your son. I miss you and wish you could be here. The future is such a wonderful place. The world is finally safe, and I helped to make it this way.
That’s right. I helped to save the world. I’m sure you remembered when the scientists announced their findings: that the world was collapsing under our own weight. That we had developed too much of the world.
America chose to lead the fight against this problem. After carefully combing through their options, they set up what they termed “Demolition Squads.” I worked for them, getting rid of things that were deemed to weigh too much.
At first, the world was opposed to such drastic measures. However, after the results showed the plan was working, they reluctantly followed suit.
It’s hard living with what I did for almost two years. All the homes I wrecked, the families torn apart. I just remind myself I helped save the planet.
I’m also glad obesity is no longer a problem.
Your son,
David
Hello, mother, it’s your son. I miss you and wish you could be here. The future is such a wonderful place. The world is finally safe, and I helped to make it this way.
That’s right. I helped to save the world. I’m sure you remembered when the scientists announced their findings: that the world was collapsing under our own weight. That we had developed too much of the world.
America chose to lead the fight against this problem. After carefully combing through their options, they set up what they termed “Demolition Squads.” I worked for them, getting rid of things that were deemed to weigh too much.
At first, the world was opposed to such drastic measures. However, after the results showed the plan was working, they reluctantly followed suit.
It’s hard living with what I did for almost two years. All the homes I wrecked, the families torn apart. I just remind myself I helped save the planet.
I’m also glad obesity is no longer a problem.
Your son,
David
Monday, September 20, 2010
Wedding Band
I’ve heard the stories. Stories about the bride who plunged into a lake, clutching her new wedding ring.
I’ve heard about the man who found the woman’s corpse, bobbing just below the water’s surface. Heard how he pried the simple gold wedding band from her hands and made his way home.
I’ve heard about how he drowned himself in his bathtub, ring on his finger.
I’ve heard about how the paramedic had to cut his finger off to get the ring off. She had to have the ring. I’ve heard how she then drove her ambulance into the lake.
I’ve heard about this wicked ring. This simple band of gold. Simple, yet hauntingly beautiful. The ring that loves the water, yet drives people to possess it.
I just had to have that ring. Even if I had to pry it off a bloated corpse’s finger.
I’m writing this as a warning to everyone. I’ll continue in a bit. First, I think I’ll go swimming.
I’ve heard about the man who found the woman’s corpse, bobbing just below the water’s surface. Heard how he pried the simple gold wedding band from her hands and made his way home.
I’ve heard about how he drowned himself in his bathtub, ring on his finger.
I’ve heard about how the paramedic had to cut his finger off to get the ring off. She had to have the ring. I’ve heard how she then drove her ambulance into the lake.
I’ve heard about this wicked ring. This simple band of gold. Simple, yet hauntingly beautiful. The ring that loves the water, yet drives people to possess it.
I just had to have that ring. Even if I had to pry it off a bloated corpse’s finger.
I’m writing this as a warning to everyone. I’ll continue in a bit. First, I think I’ll go swimming.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
It'll Be Okay
She told me that it would be okay, that she was just going out to get some groceries. After all, the storm had knocked out power for several days and most of our food was beginning to spoil anyway.
I remember the fight we had all too well, even though it was over a week ago. By now we should be laughing it up. But we’re not, because I’m still mad at her. I guess it could be said we’re not on speaking terms.
“You hate driving, and refuse to do it!” she said as she hoisted a soggy head of lettuce into the trash can.
“There’s bound to be debris everywhere,” I said, cautiously. Power was still out, so we were fighting by candlelight.
“You just don’t want to be alone in the dark,” she said bitterly.
She was right.
I hated the dark. Feared it ever since I was young. At the time, there was no power in the city, save the supermarket, which could be seen from down the street.
She was always right. I came to hate it. I wished I could be right for once.
“I’m leaving, and when I get back I hope you’re in one piece,” she said as she grabbed her keys and headed for the door.
“B…but,” I stammered.
“It’ll be okay. I’m only going down the street to get some food that won’t rot. I’ll be back,” she said with a faint smile.
I watched her pull out of the driveway and off into the distance, past a house.
I kept hearing her in my head.
“It’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be back.”
It was just my luck.
This time, she was wrong.
I remember the fight we had all too well, even though it was over a week ago. By now we should be laughing it up. But we’re not, because I’m still mad at her. I guess it could be said we’re not on speaking terms.
“You hate driving, and refuse to do it!” she said as she hoisted a soggy head of lettuce into the trash can.
“There’s bound to be debris everywhere,” I said, cautiously. Power was still out, so we were fighting by candlelight.
“You just don’t want to be alone in the dark,” she said bitterly.
She was right.
I hated the dark. Feared it ever since I was young. At the time, there was no power in the city, save the supermarket, which could be seen from down the street.
She was always right. I came to hate it. I wished I could be right for once.
“I’m leaving, and when I get back I hope you’re in one piece,” she said as she grabbed her keys and headed for the door.
“B…but,” I stammered.
“It’ll be okay. I’m only going down the street to get some food that won’t rot. I’ll be back,” she said with a faint smile.
I watched her pull out of the driveway and off into the distance, past a house.
I kept hearing her in my head.
“It’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be back.”
It was just my luck.
This time, she was wrong.
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