Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
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A Horror Story in Two Sentences
The floor bucked and heaved. When it stopped, my mother stood in front of me.
The creep was still standing by the bus stop the next day. Even after running him over twice yesterday, that guy was still there.
Blood dripped from the edge of the knife, he was practically gutted. Yet, there he stood, alive, and with a vengeful look in his eyes.
My dog's eyes began to fill with blood. I cradled him in my arms, sorrow anchored by the firm knowledge that I was next.
Okay, I can take no credit for this since I did not write it, Fredric Brown did, but I thought it was fitting for this thread."The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door...."
I thought that I would be safe if I could just wake up from this nightmare. But then, I did wake up.
When I awakened, I found myself in pitch blackness, in a confining space lined with a satin-like material. I had hardly room to move, and the air was getting hard to breathe.
I was not completely alone in the forest as I heard the brushing sound of someone stalking me, treading through the grass. I fell down and as the man's tall shadow loomed over me, I realized it was too late to scream.
It wasn’t with my own eyes but with the eyes of a sixth sense that I saw my brains splattered on the warehouse wall behind me after the double-barreled shotgun Bruno had stuck in my face coughed enough lead to drop several geese. I wondered if Vondine was warming up the meatloaf and noodles left over from lunch.
For a city kid to hear someone walking behind you on a late evening is pretty much a daily occurrence. Though when that person breaks into a run you usually want to start running yourself.
Thank you, Alex! I see you’ve reposted one of my favorites of your profile pics.
He held his breath until the sound of footsteps faded. When he opened his eyes, the warm breath on his neck told him that he was not alone.
The way he had died wasn’t the way he would have wanted to. And this certainly wasn’t the way--he thought to himself as he looked in a mirror--he would have wanted to come back from the grave.
Many believed that he died that day. He did but he had two compelling reasons to come back - to seek revenge and to take the girl he loved with him.
Kyra screamed as her sister forced her into the ruffly pink dress. Then blanched when she held up hair ribbons and mascara...
She couldn’t have said why she was afraid he would return from the grave, any more than her mother could have explained, in the forum of the beauty shop, why her daughter went to sleep at night with a sawed-off shotgun.
M, I really find this funny. Sorry..
M wrote: "The way he had died wasn’t the way he would have wanted to. And this certainly wasn’t the way--he thought to himself as he looked in a mirror--he would have wanted to come back from the grave."Very funny! Love it. LOL!
Kyra wrote: "Kyra screamed as her sister forced her into the ruffly pink dress. Then blanched when she held up hair ribbons and mascara..."Kyra, this is a great opening. Have you got an awkward story coming up with this?
Great fun read, everyone this morning. Still laughing!
He didn’t believe in zombies until, in a room dimly-lit by what a skylight let in of evening, he saw one approaching, its clothes torn, the skin rotting off its face. Recoiling instinctively, he watched as the zombie did the same thing, and it was then that he noticed the bench, the long mirror’s fasteners, in the littered space that had once been a department store’s breakroom.
He was barely conscious when he felt himself hunched over uncomfortably, in terrible darkness. It was not until it dawned on him and ran out of air that he was in a large barrel- deep in the basement amongst the mad wineman's vast collection of booze and "new mixes."
It's funny when I started the story I was about to type "He was barley" and then realized Yeah that's true. He kinda was.
It was already midnight when he decided to take a break from writing a story. He was about to turn off his computer when someone whispered in his ear, "Write about what you've done to me."
LOL! These are fun. Leslie, particularly fine. Do you have a story to go along with this?He liked to pretend that he wasn't afraid of the midnight hour. But what he didn't pretend to be afraid of was why his memory was blank every night's midnight hour.
I don't have. I'm just trying to scare those who like to stay awake until midnight, just kidding :))
No one would have believed him if he had explained why he was standing in an old cemetery in the middle of the night, a shovel in his hand, numb with the terror of what he knew he must find.
The air had turned cold and stale as the hours dragged by, he held the shovel tight, like his life depended on it. A forceful wind pushed him to the ground and when he looked up, his scream tore the quiet night.
Years later, he still woke yelling in the night, and felt a prickling of the scalp on such rare occasions as he could be coaxed into recounting what had happened to him. He wasn’t sure what had terrified him the most, the feeling of being pulled into a collapsing grave, or the sensation of what had him by the ankles.
The blackness of the night slowly thickened and the stars slowly disappeared. The lack of light became a tasteless treacle that entered his lungs and oozed into his blood until he became the darkness.
She carried the last box into the house, feeling excited to finally have a place she could call her own. As she was arranging her things inside a closet, she found a voodoo doll on the top shelf, in her own image.
She knew that the evil man in black in front of her would make his prisoners and her go through torture and pain. Then her fears were answered as the man called her name and all her fellow students' eyes turned to her, burning into her psyche.
She said that she wanted to die. And die she did.
She was reincarnated as a poodle. It might not have turned out badly if the poodle had been bought by someone other than a niece she had detested.
The boy ran and ran but his sister caught up and dragged him to her room. She puts him in a dress and puts on make up ,then she puts head phones in his ears and justin beiber songs play.....
Thegotenza wrote: "The boy ran and ran but his sister caught up and dragged him to her room. She puts him in a dress and puts on make up ,then she puts head phones in his ears and justin beiber songs play....."Oh no. The horror!
Though he found himself in hell, shoveling coal, after stepping off a curb and into the path of a hearse on its way to be serviced, he managed to stave off despair for awhile. Then his mother-in-law showed up.
"It's nice to see you again," his mother-in-law said, lowering her raspy voice into a whisper. He froze, feeling rooted to the spot as he watched her eyes turn to Red.
The obese beggars awoke in the filthy shadow of a dumpster in a downtown alley. A woman's red shawl lay at their feet and several fingers that had been severed most assuredly from a hand.
The worst thing wasn’t that, when the catering service delivered the finger food he had ordered for the reception, he found fingers in it. The worst thing was that he knew whose fingers they were.
[[LOL, M! Leslie, slight English grammatical thing for you. It's been a while I hope you are still open to minor corrections - '... turn into red' does not require the 'into' if the eyes are becoming 'red' in colour. And 'red' would need to be capitalized if you mean 'Red' as in 'Red Riding Hood'. I am not sure of the 'proper' grammatical words to describe it, but the into requires that the following word be an object (I believe) and not an adjective. M will have a better way of saying that, and will be able to correct me.]]'You aren't going to believe this,' the server said to the chef, 'but a customer gave me your husband's finger.' 'Wasn't that rude of them?' was all she said.
Yay, thank you Guy! Yes, I'm always open for corrections :)
P.S. Don't worry, I got your explanation. I've been using into the wrong way, yikes!
P.S. Don't worry, I got your explanation. I've been using into the wrong way, yikes!
There came from the door a loud knock. Normally, this would be okay, but that door was no longer there and had not been there for more than three decades.
She screamed as what came in the door was a slavering monster looking for dinner. The next morning, when Arthur shuddered in revulsion as he read the grizzly account in the newspaper, at the same time he found himself hoping that whatever had left only the bones and one arm of his ex-wife had found her more to its taste than Arthur had.
Nate furnished an example: “The floor boards creaked from behind me. Slowly I turned, the skin had literally been stripped from her face exposing bones, muscle tissue and veins.”