Horror
Young Blood, Act I
Amy Franklin wasn’t exactly thrilled for even the concept of the night ahead of her. At thirteen, who could possibly feel any form of excitement to hang around a bunch of adults and some kid they didn’t know? Sitting awkwardly and listening about what politicians her parents did and didn’t like wasn’t exactly “good times” in her opinion.
By Stephen Newton5 years ago in Fiction
The Box
The day my older brother, Thom, died I had received a box. It was about the size of my torso but rather light in weight, made of a hard, cardboard material, covered in light brown paper, with nothing but duct tape keeping it shut. Originally, I had no desire to open it. As I had just lost my best friend in the whole world, presents were the last thing on my mind. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and the box still remained untouched, resting on the floor of my closet, just out of sight. Eventually I had no memory it was even there.
By Talen Wallenburg5 years ago in Fiction
The Shark Life
Walking down towards the ocean James looked out across the never ending water. He could see the sun beginning to rise across the glass surface of the water. It looked as though that glowing orange sphere was rising from the water itself. It was not a long walk to his dock, and it was only a short time before he had his anchor up, and was all set to head out. His cell phone began to ring, and the sound jolted him out of his own deep thoughts. It was in that moment that he realized he had made a huge error, and did not leave his phone at his house. Stupid he thought as he set his phone on the floor of his boat and smashed it. He threw the pieces into the water, and thought well that’s what I get for not following the rules. It was one of his basic rules that he had forgotten to follow, and he knew better. Always, always leave your phone at home when you go out to hunt. Now that his phone is at the bottom of the ocean he will have the excuse that his phone was stolen days ago if ever questioned.
By Deanna Williams5 years ago in Fiction
A night at Ghostie Manor
The smell of copper fills my nose as I walk towards that house covered in that bright yellow tape. It reads, do not enter police work. It flutters in the breeze. This house was one of the few classic ones, made out of wood, stone, one of the few that had not died in the war. It rests off Titus street, down the way is one of the first coffin hotels in the city. It was a landmark, the people that owned the home renting it out to folks that wanted to feel the past, breathing down their necks. Popular, amongst thus with too much money and not enough sense to stay out of the slums.
By Storyteller5 years ago in Fiction
The Box That Jack Found
Jack was a modern day latch key kid, the key to the house swinging from his neck as he walked home from the bus stop. The other boys at school would try and take it from him, pulling on the shoestring necklace, joking about this or that. He brushed it off, but really it was embarrassing.
By Cereal Oatmeal 5 years ago in Fiction
ONE TOO MANY DREAMS
I had the urge to pee so I walked to the toilet. As I was peeing, I felt light headed, it was like a vertigo effect. I exited the toilet and found myself in a twin otter. ‘They don’t have toilets’. I thought to myself. I looked but the toilet door wasn’t there anymore. In that moment I got a glimpse of the pilot about to jump off, I ran quickly and clung onto him. We both fell out of the plane but my grip wasn’t strong enough to hold on–
By Alison Cole5 years ago in Fiction
Shameful Cake
Chief of Police Lenard Kelly reached for the brass handle of his office door to enter, as his pager chimed a warning repeatedly. It was dark in the hallway. The only light visible was the sheet lightning outside the building that poured through the blinds and Lenny knew with his eyesight, it wouldn't be enough. He fumbled for the light switch on the right side of the wall that had consistently and habitually eluded him over the past two decades.
By S.C. Nierenberg5 years ago in Fiction
Deadly Justice
“The ratings don’t lie – we’re losing viewers by the thousands each week. If it keeps up we’ll be off air for good!” Kramer paced up and down like a raging bull in front of the team, the effect somewhat weakened when he paused to check out his own reflection mid-strop.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
The Art of Baking
Baking is a Science It was a frosty Sunday morning in Dunwich, three children were missing, and the federal detective had turned up dead in the street. It was the sort of morning that starts off unpleasant and promises to get worse as the day goes on. Enterprising employees at the local markets would find their fingers red and aching in the chill air. Pious folks would huddle under heavy coats to hear their weekly sermon, and today the stories of fire and brimstone might be viewed with a little more warmth.
By Kieran Brown5 years ago in Fiction
The Fat Rat
The long-armed clock slowly ticks and tocks until Jossie felt like it was mocking her endlessly. Directly under the clock stood Mrs. Abigal Finch, with her cubed glasses sitting uncomfortably on her fat nose. Jossie had never liked Mrs. Finch, she knew that sometimes Mrs. Finch would pull boys aside to give them a “private” lesson.
By Jared Kirts5 years ago in Fiction
