☀Ignite Your Creativity☀ discussion

Welcome to the WTW Competition! The theme for this week is:

HORROR

I'm hoping that lots people will participate in this although I think most people don't like horror stories but isn't it fun to see what sort of freaky, unexplainable occurrences you can think up? Don't constrain yourself to just monsters and ghouls, murders can be really creepy too so don't be afraid to get writing! :D

My apologies for being dense, but to enter just post the link here?

Nope. You post your actual entry, no links

So, anyone can just join? How long should the entry be?

If you look at some of the past competitions you can read other entries and get an idea :)

Sorry guys, I was supposed to have this thread up a few days ago but got caught up with other things and forgot. Thanks to Rikka for picking up my slack ;p

*salutes* Right'o!

So... It really doesn't matter long as you put meat on them bones?

Again, sorry to be dense, but if you post your story under your writing in goodreads and post the link, wouldn't that make as much sense?

(Sorry this has two parts. I didn't think it would end up being this long)

Sheltered

“Damn it!” The money just ain’t worth it.
Again, yes again, Stacy found herself on the line with police, praying they were close before her recently discharged, unmedicated Paranoid Schizophrenic, client came trolling back to the Woman’s Shelter Stacy was trapped in for the next 9 hours and counting of a twelve hour overnight shift.
This was one part of the job not one worker enjoyed. How could they? Having to kick out a homeless woman due to her mentally instability knowing that when properly medicated, Darcy Trumble, was a perfectly amicable 40-something woman with a healthy love for jewelry making and 80’s hair bands. However, when the nonsensical ramblings began and the outbursts of Darcy’s mental anguish, the ones that were decipherable, turned to violent ideation, Stacy had no choice but to ask her to leave.
This was not the issue. The issue became a flat-out problem when Darcy kept returning to the facility, harassing the other guests and accusing Stacy of stealing her Jenny – Darcy’s twenty-two year old daughter who refused all contact six years ago - speaking of Jenny as if she was a baby Stacy stole right from Darcy’s arms.
Police became essential when Darcy threw a large rock through a window, it landing in the front lobby, scattering glass as sparkling as the snow just outside the doors. Cold air pierced the skin of all socializing in worn in leather couches on the chilled Thursday night, but Darcy was nowhere in sight when the police showed up. Pitching in to help out, the ladies helped tape up the window with an old cardboard box, while Stacy called the On Call Manager. Some of the guests caught sight of Darcy lurking around the facility after the window breaking incident; this was what had Stacy back on the phone with the city’s finest hoping they would stand guard at her side all night. Yeah right. All they could do was sit in the adjacent parking of a closed for the night mom and pop shop lot and keep an eye out.
“I guess if it’s all they can manage, it’s better than nothing,” Stacy gave in with heavy shoulders feeling no relief in the unsatisfying solution.
Quiet fell as a few hours passed and guests headed to bed after their caffeine and adrenaline wore off and Stacy set to completing her overnight tasks as she would any other shift.
Sweeping the floors she found wayward bits of glass that had made their way to the edge of the carpet and stubbornly snuggled their way into the crevice between the carpet and the old floorboards. Getting out the carpet took care of it quiet easily, once she fought with the contraptions tool extensions. Figuring the rest of the carpets needed a good vacuuming anyway, Stacy fumbled with the heavy beast and swung it around to do the carpets laid over the entrance tile and found herself stared down by a set of red-rimmed green eyes crowded by dark bangs that were growing out, shadowing the non-blinking set pouring down onto Stacy. Heart pumping in her throat, the gasp that escaped did so involuntarily, Stacy’s fingers gripping onto the vacuum as if she possessed superhuman strength and wield it as Darcy took another step.
“Darcy,” Stacy’s voice managed in a tremble whisper. The attempt to assuage the rage clear in Darcy’s gaze triggered something deeper inside the woman as her nostrils flared in anger. “It’s okay Darcy. We can talk about this.” Last thing Stacy wanted to do was have chat, but somehow she needed to get through to her client without scaring her off.
Not a chance. Catching sight of Darcy in the windows, the police barged threw the side-door entrance – one usually locked though the ever-helpful police insisted it stay open in case they needed quick entry – spooking the addle-brained ex-client, causing a possessed-like growl to escape as Darcy took off in a sprint down the hall, straight up the stairs where seventeen guests slept ignorantly slumberous.
Getting out of their way was a no-brainer. They may have drawn their guns but the police didn’t shot, they too took off, heavy leather boots pounding the stairs as Stacy stood frozen in the empty lobby as those boots sprung along the corridor, beating the floors like Stacy’s blood pressure in her temples. The anticipation was the killer. No screams, no efforts to calm a scattered mind, no recitation of Miranda rights, nothing. Only her clenching-in-panic thighs kept Stacy rooted in spot on the carpeted lobby as her curiosity nearly had her chasing after the police and demanding what they were going to do with Darcy.
The demand was unnecessary, but as lighter boot steps descended the stairs, the police had a problem. They would search the entire building, but Darcy had given them the slip.
“A window in the room with the TV was open, so we’re pretty sure she took off through there.”
Stacy found no comfort in the balding man’s assumptions and demanded they search the whole building twice over, making sure there was no chance of Darcy hiding out in one of the rooms. Claiming they did just that, only a half-hour later, Stacy found herself at the front desks computer doing everything she possibly could to take her mind off Darcy and the cops still standing watch outside. Instead of leaving the door unlocked, Stacy gave the police an extra master key and closed the door behind her. If Darcy could sneak passed them once, she could do it again and no way in Hell was Stacy taking the chance.
Mind-numbing paperwork stole hours like seconds and four A.M came sooner than Stacy thought possible. Grabbing her late night dinner, Stacy went down to the basement where the guests’ dining room was and stuck her Tupperware of pasta in the microwave. Rumours were the eighty year old converted house the facility now took over was haunted. Never before had that notion bothered Stacy, but Darcy had her so jumpy, her bladder nearly let go when the pop machine in the corner at her back, let out a loud buzz of electricity and shuddered before it’s light settled in a rhythmic hum. If she wasn’t at risk for high blood pressure before, this night would definitely make up for it. It wouldn’t calm down and find a tempo that kept her veins away from jumping and squeezing her blood erratically in shoots of spiky pains through her appendages.
“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”
A curse left Stacy’s lips before her hand to her chest slapped in place at the sound of the microwave finishing its work and sounding off as Stacy’s perfect excuse to flee the basement two steps at a time as the bottom of the Tupperware burned her fingertips. As soon as she got behind the desk, a sense of safety washed over her.
“Paperwork,” Stacy reminded herself. The only sure thing she found that kept her head out of presuming the worst and focused on the droning notes in front of her and she forked steaming spiraled noodles into her mouth as her thought process chewed over the next line of her notations. If she could turn her ears off this would be the night. After what seemed like a perfectly good distraction, Stacy found her hearing at a super-sensitive range, picking up every creak and moan the old house let out as the breezy snowfall outside battered its faded siding.
“Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it,” Stacy continuing silently in hopes to persuade herself of doing just so as she chewed on another mouthful of pasta.
An un-ignorable creak came from behind Stacy, one she knew as the swinging door to access the area behind the desk. Spinning in her seat, Stacy only made it half way as her ballerina flat slid and lost purchase on the tiles beneath them. The food between her teeth was sucked back into her throat as Stacy set eyes of Darcy’s form again, this time less than five feet away and closing.
With a step, Darcy didn’t need to close the space as her reedy arms raised and took up the rest for her, equipped with something Stacy had no chance of seeing until Darcy brought it down against her jaw. Pain. It spider-veined through Stacy’s skull, down her neck and spine as her body collapsed against the desk in her chair, the chair rolling away beneath her, sending her to the floor.
Breath came in quick chocking gasps as food clogged her breathing tube. Only one eye caught sight of the next hit as Darcy screamed about “My Jenny!” and batted Stacy’s skull with what she realized was a fallen tree branch, frozen from the snow. Blood blinded her left eye, the other spotted in dancing darkness as Stacy vomited a stream of food, raking inhale that burned her lungs.
This was the single most incident where Stacy understood why Mental Health patience were looked at possessed in the past. Clinically insane was one thing, but the Darcy Stacy knew was nowhere in those vengeful eyes. Al Darcy knew was that Stacy had something of hers and in this case, since it was a child, Darcy’s mother instincts had developed a personality all its own and was willing to kill to get her daughter back.
That’s what Stacy saw in those green eyes. Murderous retribution. Darcy was going to kill her.
Another cry out for the whereabouts of her child, Darcy punctuated this shriek by bringing down the branch into Stacy’s rib cage. Without blocking the blow, Stacy felt everything Darcy gave, her anger, her sorrow, the confusion, the intense need to react for the one she loved. It was misdirected but for Darcy it was real, and it was evident in the blood spilling from Stacy’s eyes, nose and ears.
In a moment of self-preservation, Stacy kicked out a long leg as Darcy tried to jump on top of her. Knowing if this happened Stacy was done for, the kick was administered without remorse for the torment Darcy was enduring. At this point, survival was more important. The kick had caught Darcy in the knee cap, sending her in a crouch to the floor. Seeing an opportunity, furiously grasping for the branch as Darcy’s fingers loosened around it, Stacy struggled as Darcy found her strength quickly. Shouldering the woman into the wall gave Stacy the chance to make it to her feet, but every breath was stabbing agony, the hit Darcy made clearly breaking a few ribs. Raising the branch again, Darcy brought it down on Stacy’s shoulder. Hands blocked only a portion of it, the rest another streak of blinding pain. The cry that escaped Stacy’s lips reached no one’s ears as the guests were on a different floor tucked in safely behind thick, fire-proof doors and the police were nowhere to be found.

(Part 2 of Sheltered)

Fine. No one else was going to save her. No spoken word was about to stop Darcy from her objective of ending Stacy’s life this night, so she only had herself. The next time Darcy took a swing Stacy was ready and dodged out of the way and shoved Darcy into the desk forcing her to drop the branch. Grabbing it greedily, Stacy had nowhere to run, as Darcy’s position blocked the only exit from behind the desk area, so instead of looking for a way out, Stacy looked to put Darcy down.
Not a second’s hesitation broke as Stacy hit Darcy across the back of the head. This rattled the woman, but the second hit had her face down on the ground, blood turning her dark hair to black ink. This however did not register for Stacy. After a night of edginess, Stacy’s adrenaline looked for an outlet and did so by white-knuckling the branch and bringing it down on Darcy again and again. Blind flurry blinded Stacy, or was that tears?
Blurry sight obscured Darcy from few and now the hysterical cries became Stacy’s as she stopped, Darcy no longer moving. No way would she check for a pulse or let go of her weapon. Without even turning her back on Darcy, Stacy walked backwards as blood pooled around the hapless woman, tears streaming through splattered blood of Stacy’s cheeks as she unlocked the door and searched for the police. At the sight of her, they came running, Stacy’s legs no longer able to hold her weight. Streaks of blood painted the white door at her back as they came upon her with questions. Words couldn’t find her voice. Her jaw was definitely messed up and it took a few too many seconds of damage assessment before the younger of the two men set out to search the area.
The balding policeman’s questions stopped when it was clear Stacy wouldn’t be answering them. Visions of Darcy’s battered head affixed in front of her eyes. Pulling her outside was a blessing. The facility felt like a trap and the cool air on her skin chilled her to the bone just enough to pull her out of the sunken despair of what she did.
“There’s no one there.”
She could have heard wrong. She must have heard wrong. “The desk,” Stacy managed in a blood garbled voice as ambulance sirens crept closer. The younger man was shaking his head as the balding cop kept asking him questions, but Stacy knew what they were saying. But how? How did Darcy walk away from that? There was so much blood. The sirens came closer and clouded her mind as the world around her slipped away into blackness as her brain shut down from the stress.
Sprigs of consciousness was granted when the pain medication wore off, but Stacy didn’t realize until now that her arms were strapped down. When she struggled a nurse explained Stacy was being detained until further questions could be made regarding the events, stating that Darcy had been found and was safe but was unresponsive.
Blackness resumed.
Her own moaning hit her ears before her eyes found the strength to open. Sharp pain in her head had her twitching away from it, but it was pierce her again. Lids fluttering the blurred form of a body stood over her, Stacy assuming a nurse changing some dressing or maybe stitching her up. How long had she been unconscious?
When the haze cleared, it wasn’t a nurse. Darcy stood over her, fingers digging into her forehead where the branch had split the skin. Darcy then putting blood soaked fingers into her mouth.
“Jenny is within me now,” Darcy stated.
All Stacy could do was moan. Her mouth wouldn’t work. Metal scrapped her tongue as if her jaw had been wired shut. With her hands strapped down she couldn’t reach the nurse call button and Darcy continued to stick her fingers into her forehead and lap the blood as Stacy thrashed, trapped in place at Darcy’s mercy. Pain raked her so puissant the last thing Stacy seen before she passed out was Darcy loitering frame eclipsing the ceiling, leaning over and prodding her wound again with a look of compete satisfaction.
The End

Andrew wrote: "Again, sorry to be dense, but if you post your story under your writing in goodreads and post the link, wouldn't that make as much sense?"

Well personally I am too lazy to click on the link to bring me to the writing, and I don't fancy having to go through chapters and chapters of writing if your story is a particularly long one. So... that's my view, you can ask Sarah (AKA head mod, but I'm sure you knew that) about it though under the rules thread) If you want to use a story you already put up on GR you could always just copy paste ;)

Sami-Jo wrote: "(Part 2 of Sheltered)

Fine. No one else was going to save her. No spoken word was about to stop Darcy from her objective of ending Stacy’s life this night, so she only had herself. The next time D..."

Wow that was a... LONG entry... I liked how it was descriptive and the end was sort of creepy... Delusions, who wouldn't love them? Do you want me to give more critique? Because I'm a little harsh if I get free reign... *evil laughter*

For future reference, it might kill me if ALL entries were this long, not that I don't appreciate the effort put into the story.

Andrew wrote: "Again, sorry to be dense, but if you post your story under your writing in goodreads and post the link, wouldn't that make as much sense?"

Andrew, Rikka already answered your question, but I will as well.

It's much easier for the person in charge of the contest to have all the entries in one place. If everyone posted a link to their entry, could you imagine how much forward and back clicking the person judging would have to do? It would take up much more time than necessary.

~❤Rikka❤~ *living is just a symptom of dying* wrote: "Sami-Jo wrote: "(Part 2 of Sheltered)

Fine. No one else was going to save her. No spoken word was about to stop Darcy from her objective of ending Stacy’s life this night, so she only had herself...."

I know sorry, it was the middle of the night. I wasn't even going to join the comp and then that came out. It was pretty off-the-cuff and probably why it's so damn long.
As far as critiquing, go ahead. I don't usually write in this fashion so it's always good to get an honest opinion, as long it's not intentionally cruel :)

Alright, I'm not too good at writing horror stories, but here's my best shot!

Lovely Eyes

"What do you wanna do?" Chance asked, glancing over at his younger sister, Anya. "I dunno. Wha'da'ya wanna do?" Anya mumbled through a pillow. She was laying face down on a couch, and Chance was sitting on the floor below her. He held a remote for the TV, but the TV wasn't working, being the old piece of junk it was. "I hate summers... Schools out and there's nothing to do, friends going to Mars or whatever." Chance shrugged one shoulder.

"At least you'll get your license soon. Then you can take me and my friends to the movies." Anya lifted her face off the pillow with a lazy smirk, then dropped it back with a heavy sigh. Chance shook his head and tossed the remote onto the table in front of him. "Remember that kid, the punk, who tried to steal my laptop?" Chance asked slowly, turning his head to his sister. "Sure." Came the grunted reply. "Well," Chance narrowed his eyes, his gaze drifting to the window on the left side of the TV. "He's staring at us right now."

Anya jerked up into a sitting position, looking at the window. Beyond the glass was a kid that was older than them, probably late teens, he had a funny looking red Mohawk that drooped to one side, and black hair everywhere else. Sort of tanned up, and wearing a tee-shirt that was plain white, he blinked at the siblings with rich brown eyes. Chance got to his feet and advanced towards the window, looking like he was going to punch the glass. Anya swung her legs off the couch, sitting on the edge of it, watching the punk kid as he watched Chance.

"What's your deal?" Chance called to him through the glass. It was a pretty cheap window, with nothing more than thin wood framing it. "Can I talk to Anya?" The kid asked, sending a glance at Chance's sister. Chance glared at the punk, getting in way of his view of Anya protectively. Anya was only fourteen, and this guy looked seventeen or eighteen. No way would he let this guy talk to Anya, he wasn't stupid. "She can help me." The kid added, then glanced over his shoulder. The window looked out into an alley way, the wedge between two apartment buildings. "No." Chance shook his head, in no mood that would change any time soon, and banged his fist against the glass in an effort to shoo the kid away, and pulled down the blinds.

~∮~

The 'punk kid', who called himself Wrath, was now in Central Park in New York City, sitting on the edge of one of the small bridges hanging over a small stream. He had his head tilted to the side, leaning against the bar his right arm was wrapped around. Calm, quiet, no human for half a mile at least, and the tantinizing smell of metallic sweetness surrounding him. He couldn't tell what time of day it was, but he was overcast in the shadows of the trees above him, only a few patches of sunshine were hitting the bridge, water, and ground.

Wrath watched the water with a zoned out expression, in tune with everything around him. Some people felt a soothing peace when they were like this, Wrath only felt something hard and dark come over everything at once, everything he focused on became heavy and tense. In a few moments, in his minds eye it was as though the world around him was having a mental siezure, some colors actually forming in midair, doubles appearing from an image, screeching sounds that were not vocal, and then it all snapped into place.

Wrath's eyes shifted to look at the left side, off the bridge in the distance he saw a young couple. The "siezure" hadn't been big enough to reach them, and only those in reach could see or be affected. The girl laughed and and leapt in front of the guy. They stopped. He said something, she smiled, they kissed... cliche puppy love.

Wrath narrowed his eyes, untangled himself from his perch, and strode quietly over to them, like a black cloud floating on the wind.

~∮~

Wrath licked along his wrist to the tip of his thumb, leaving a nearly clean, smoothered mark against the red. He was once again perched on the edge of the bridge, leaning his head against the bars, arms wrapped around, and if he streched his feet just enough the tips of his shoes could break the current of flowing red and blue water. The bodies had made a dam against the stream, and it billowed over all the dead and gutted fish, as well as the couple.

Wrath inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to better take in the scent of metallic sweetness... Blood was facinating. It was a bright, flowing lie. Smelling enticing, looking entreating, and tasting adictivly sharp, yet blank. He kept his eyes closed as he stood up, and walked away, continually licking his hands clean.

It took merely three seconds for Wrath to decided to stay and watch what would happen. Would a wild animal find the bodies? Something would have to sense this much death. Another tiny form lay crumpled between the belated couple. The three year old had wandered from the park. It's poor weak head had torn right off from it's neck. It made access to the blood boring, but made up for it in creating quite an interesting sight. Female child, wearing pink and brown flowery clothing, the necklace she had worn around her neck had stayed connected to the body, and was glued down by the blood. Wrath was simply sitting in a simple tree, in a simple position, right above a brilliant masterpiece. If only he had an actual canvas. No, that would ruin it. It would appear fake and not as overwhelming. It was so beautiful. The bridge added such a blunt reality to the fantasy of flowing red that still colored the one side of the river. The bodies of fish and humans had completely stopped the flow of water, yet it was beginning to become too much and trickle over the corpses. Wrath swung his legs as he sat on the branch, overlooking it all. He heard a scream. No. Not yet. Wrath seethed and his expression turned harsh, his whole body tensing. He could not be seen yet, his masterpiece could not be found. He had to hide here, otherwise they would kill him. Besides, Anya... She needed to know the truth, before anyone else saw this. Wrath wrapped his arms around him, his body shaking violently as sobs racked his body with an internal storm. The world seemed to split, colors unraveled out of the earth and sky, then jolted back together, leaving a shocked looking dead body of an eleven year old girl, who much resembled the little three year old. They had the same black hair.

After reassembling the piece, Wrath royally began to curse himself. How dare he! He stood more than knee deep in the cold, billowing stream, his body so tense with the element of his name that he was shaking uncontrollably. Too much was riding on this. It couldn't be found! How dare he be such a coward! Wrath opened his mouth in a silent scream, bending over and wrapping his arms around his head, although in agony. Then he lashed out at the masterpiece. The arm of the three year old was cut off and went flying, it's severed end hitting a tree and spun off to the ground. Wrath heaved in a shaky, loathing breath. Then another, and another, and because four was the lucky number, he used that breath to straighten, slowly dropping his arms to his sides, his head still hanging and his eyes glued to the scene of swirling water with blood around his legs. It calmed him a bit, or rather, distracted him into a calming. Once he shook himself from the sight, he lifted his eyes to the sky, closed them, and began to hum.

~∮~

Anya didn't feel the warning Chance did about the kid they'd seen. Why did he want to talk to Anya? He looked scared. Chance had gone on a bike ride with some friends, maybe to go bowling or something. Anya snatched up her shoes and left the apartment, wondering where she could find the kid. She checked the alley way, to find it empty. She muttered under her breath, suddenly feeling stupid. Why was she going after a weird looking kid who was older than her? He was obviously gone, and if he really wanted to talk to her, he would come... back... Anya's thoughts slowed and halted when she noticed something red below the window. It was spotted brown, and dripping on the brick wall. A tree. It was a coloring of a tree. Was that..? No, it must be spray paint. Anya considered Central Park. It had lots of trees, maybe he wanted her to come to him.

~∮~

Wrath plucked a leaf from the branch he sat on, and smoothed out it's edges to make it completely flat. When it fought against him and went crumpled again, he snarled and bit into it. Naturally, it yielded and fell apart too easily. That angered him more, and with the anxiety he already felt, it was too much. He screamed, and beyond the noise, he heard someone approaching. He stopped screaming, not noticing the tears that were beginning to stream down his face.

"Hello? Are you okay?" The voice came from behind the tree a ways. A female. They hadn't yet seen the masterpiece. Wrath jumped down from the tree, his knees buckling underneath him, but he didn't break anything, and any pain of impact was forgotten quickly when he turned his face towards Anya. Straightening, he watched wide-eyed as she stopped, staring right back at him. "You came..." He breathed. An involuntary sigh heaved through his body, and it broke loose his emotions. He began to cry again.

Anya blinked, confused at first and surprised when the kid jumped from the tree right in front of her, but then he started to cry. The sight took the sympathy from her and pulled her to the kid, and she hugged him tightly. "It's okay, don't cry." This was a bit awkward, but what else could she do?

Wrath opened his tear filled, blurry eyes and raised a clean hand to run his fingers through her hair. "My mother told me love could save people..." He paused to take a deep breath. Anya didn't let him go. "She told me... loving someone can take away all evil, and leave you in a world of peace. Anya, I love you." Anya froze when she heard that. What was this guy saying? He'd said her name back at her house, how did he know it? Was he a stalker? "I've loved you for a long time, and it's confused me. Anya, I love you, so you're in my way."

~∮~

Chance skidded to a halt on his bike in the parkinglot of the apartment building. "Alright, see ya guys!" He waved to his three other friends and dismounted the bike, pulling it alongside him up to his door. Once the door was in sight, so was a small, perfectly square box. It had no address on it, or any markings at all. Chance leaned his bike against the wall by the door and opened the box, carrying it inside.

Chance, curious, opened the box once he closed the door behind him, making his way to the table. It opened, and he dropped the box, staring at it in shock, waves of pain and panic rushed through him, and before he puked he ran to the bathroom. Inside the box, grass was piled in a heap. On top of the grass, two blue eye balls were positioned in the holes of a cut-off face, skinned right from the skull. The dead face looked up, perfectly, until Chance had dropped the box, and one of the eyes had rolled across the skinned face and down into the corner of the box.

Dawn◕‿◕β®∈∆₭to☾Ⓡ∑∀┣℈ wrote: "Alright, I'm not too good at writing horror stories, but here's my best shot!

Lovely Eyes

"What do you wanna do?" Chance asked, glancing over at his younger sister, Anya. "I dunno. Wha'da'ya wan..."

I like this, but after reading it I definitely want more. This is probably why my stories are too long, I keep asking for more. Like why is he evil? How could he love her when she didn't know him? Of course it also allows me to fill in the blanks which is fun :)

Sami-Jo wrote: " ~❤Rikka❤~ *living is just a symptom of dying* wrote: "Sami-Jo wrote: "(Part 2 of Sheltered)

Fine. No one else was going to save her. No spoken word was about to stop Darcy from her objective of e..."

I hope I'm not intentionally cruel... If I take it too far just tell me ok?

Firstly I liked the build up and the history of Darcy and all, but I think there's a little too much time spent on the anticipation and that made the attack fall a little flat for me. Horror is about anticipation of course, but personally I feel the CLIMAX of the story in horror is the best part. So to be honest, I was a little put off by the long introduction. BUT, I also think it was a good effort to explain the reasoning behind the attacking, so I can really understand the change in Darcy.

On the topic of Darcy, somehow I wasn't quite scared by the story, mostly because I felt sorry for her. I'm just weird that way so this is more of a personal thing than a real flaw in the writing. When I read the part about it being because of her daughter I couldn't quite think of her as a real murderer because I was sympathizing for her, something that takes out the horror element of the story for me.

HOWEVER, I love how you're very descriptive, and how you don't just keep using the same words over and over again. Some words seem a little out of place here and there, but that's probably just my sadly lacking vocabulary. The imagery is really amazing, I can really imagine the scene with Darcy and Stacy at the end. The only tip I can give you is maybe slow down the action scenes a little by going through the scene frame-by-frame, so readers know every detail, the thoughts going through the protagonist's mind, etc. Not that important here with all the vibrant images you can conjure up though. My favorite part of the story is the ending scene where Darcy's mental instability really comes through, though the words kind of felt out of place there, not really something anyone would say though I kind of understand what you were trying to show about her thoughts. Eat Stacy=Jenny's home? :P Just kidding! Love your story!

Dawn◕‿◕β®∈∆₭to☾Ⓡ∑∀┣℈ wrote: "Alright, I'm not too good at writing horror stories, but here's my best shot!

Lovely Eyes

"What do you wanna do?" Chance asked, glancing over at his younger sister, Anya. "I dunno. Wha'da'ya wan..."

Nothing like the crazy murderer on the loose with the misguided view of love... Haha I like this story a lot. Want me to critique it for you? ;)

~❤Rikka❤~ *living is just a symptom of dying* wrote: "Sami-Jo wrote: " ~❤Rikka❤~ *living is just a symptom of dying* wrote: "Sami-Jo wrote: "(Part 2 of Sheltered)

Fine. No one else was going to save her. No spoken word was about to stop Darcy from he..."

Thanks Rikka, not intentionally or unintentionally cruel at all. It's good to hear it straight. I'm just glad you liked any part of it at all. Especially since it was long, if you were fully disappointed, then I would've completely wasted your time.
I like bad guys you can sympathize with as it creates a tug-of-war of almost wanting them to get what they want in the end, even if it's creepily misguided.
Thanks for your honesty, I'll keep your suggestions in mind on the next one :)

Ugh. I don't read horror. So... Can a description of my own nightmare work?

@Sami-Jo: Aw, thanks! I was going to explain all those little details, because it was too short to describe it all, but that's like explaining a joke before the other person figures it out. I can explain all that for you, if you aren't satisfied with your own filling-in-the-blanks, afterwards if you want.

@Rikka: Yes! Definitely! I always accept help whenever offered. :D

Pirl{there was a quote here, but it was tסס lסng} wrote: "Ugh. I don't read horror. So... Can a description of my own nightmare work?"

I don't know, we'd just have to see? I haven't had a nightmare in a few years (not even a dream, I sleep too fitfully) so I don't really know the standards of a real nightmare.

If anyone needs help with ideas on what horror is like, you can read the Corpse Party series at mangafox.com for free. It's a manga (japanese comic) so its quick and easy to read :)

I know what manga is, I used to draw that... but I think I'll skip this week's competition.

That's a pity but ok...

Dawn◕‿◕β®∈∆₭to☾Ⓡ∑∀┣℈ wrote: "Alright, I'm not too good at writing horror stories, but here's my best shot!

Lovely Eyes

"What do you wanna do?" Chance asked, glancing over at his younger sister, Anya. "I dunno. Wha'da'ya wan..."

I think I only have two major problems with this story. Firstly, some parts seem rather unrealistic. For example, the guy who stole Chase's computer appears outside your house, at the window, and he doesn't seem to re that much? He evens goes to the window to talk to Wrath to ask what he wants, not really what would happen in real life. I know if it was me, I would be really freaked out and maybe call the cops. Especially since the room with the tv in my house is on the third floor. ;P Also, why is there a dam of dead fish and bodies under a bridge in (or near?) Central Park where I'm fairly sure there would be many people? And a blow from his hand can send the arm of a recently murdered three year old flying into a tree? Some details don't really connect for me :/

Secondly, You missed out the actual attack in the story. It's just my opinion, but I feel the attack is the best part in a horror story, seeing the gruesome, horrendous acts that can only be done by a true madman. It's one of the parts that really can send chills up my spine, like the description of a scene where a mass murderer pulls out the tongue of a 6 year old girl with nothing but a pair of tongs (Not sure if that could happen but just imagining makes me shiver).

Still, I really enjoyed your story, you have many beautiful metaphors in there. I especially like the parts where he view his killings as a work of art, something that seems cliche sometimes, but you manage to pull it off really well. THough some parts seem a little confusing, it still adds some mystery to your writing, and I quite enjoyed the storyline. IT could use a little elaboration and editing in some places, but it's overall a very well put together piece, I like it a lot ^^

Yeah, like I said, I'm not too good at Horror. I never watch it, and this is the first time I've written it. But thanks for your help!

- Well, I already had this character from somewhere else, he is Wrath, one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he has strength beyond normal humans, and he has his power to create "sizures" around him, too much for a normal brain to withstand. I forgot to add the bit about the fish, but there was something pointing towards it, it definitly not enough though, because even I miss it when rereading it now. It is patchy, I agree.

- Yeah, the attack... Heh. I don't do Horror, so I was going more for mystery, and also I think it's just disgusting, but I'll add that in there next time. ;)

- Thanks, it's not my best, and I hope I can prove that in the next competition, but it does need cleaning up, but I'm glad you like it nonetheless. ^-^ Thank you for your input.

“Truth or dare?” Thea’s voice is mysterious, foreboding. In this old house of hers it seems that every shadow, every creak could be your downfall. And with Thea as your guide… it doesn’t get much more horrific.
“Dare.” The room is silent as Stella speaks, her and Thea being the brave ones of our quartet. I huddle in the corner, dreading the task Thea shall assign her cousin.
“Go downstairs and get me a glass of grape juice. Alone.” Thea grins, knowing that none of us would like to leave our fort made of sheets to venture down into the dark house, but no one ever refuses a dare. No one.
And so Stella stands and exits our jimmy rigged fortress, entering into the dark stairwell to fetch Tea some grape juice.
We wait for a while, ears straining to hear a sound in the silence. When no noise comes, Luna, the third girl in our party stands and announces that she’s going to go check, make sure that Stella is alright. The two of them have always been closer than close, and sometimes I wonder if there isn’t more than friendship between them.
And so I am left with Thea. While I’ve known her for years, she sort of terrifies me. With her dark eye makeup and her graceful movements she seems a witch who glides through life, striking down any soul who threatens her serenity.
When neither Stella nor Luna reappears, Thea leaves to search them out. She tells me people have disappeared in her house before, and I almost believe her. But this little rumor doesn’t help the fear that clutches me throat when I’m left alone in the fort and all three flashlights flicker out in unison, leaving me in a darkness filled with haunting shadows and hidden menace. Then, the knocking begins.
It starts moments after the flashlights flicker to death, a soft rap on one wall a few feet away. I freeze. In attempt to calm my rapidly beating heart I try to convince myself that it’s just the rest of the girls playing a trick on me but then it comes again, closer. And another, even closer to my shaking form huddled in the darkness.
A scream, my scream shatters the silence in the rest of the house and when the parents asleep in their bedroom down the hall rush in to see what’s the matter, the room is empty.
I’m no longer there.
They turn on the lights in all the rest of the rooms in the house, calling our names frantically.
They find nothing.
Well, almost nothing.
Except the grape juice, spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Dawn◕‿◕β®∈∆₭to☾Ⓡ∑∀┣℈ wrote: "Yeah, like I said, I'm not too good at Horror. I never watch it, and this is the first time I've written it. But thanks for your help!

- Well, I already had this character from somewhere else, he ..."

*Facepalm* The moment you put he was a personification of one of the seven deadly sins I literally face palmed myself for not picking up on that at all.... *knocks head against wall* Horror doesn't really NEED the part of attack if you think it's gross, it's just a little personal preference of mine. Some people love just the anticipation and like you said, mystery. So your story is still great, even if you feel it isn't your best.

Ƙȧƴȧ wrote: "“Truth or dare?” Thea’s voice is mysterious, foreboding. In this old house of hers it seems that every shadow, every creak could be your downfall. And with Thea as your guide… it doesn’t get much m..."

AHhhhhhh I wanna know what happened~ ><

ME TOO!!!! UGH!

lol i made that up at a sleepover a few days ago.... and they were all "what happened?!?!?" and i said "well why don't you all go downstairs to get some grape juice and we can find out?" and they all shut up after that... :P

LOL:D

haha yeah

Mind reading my blog and posted writings?

me?

anybody else commenting right now?

no... i just wasn't sure.
give me the link and i'd be happy to.

On this group, in the blogs folder, and in the posted writings folder. Pirl's NEW blog and Pirl's Writing.

Haha, it's totally fine Rikka. Thank you, though. ;D