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Post by QueenFoxy on May 17, 2020 13:34:36 GMT -6
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 20, 2020 14:17:46 GMT -6
Part 2 Reid arrived home to his messy apartment after walking home from the buyer’s garage. He tossed his coat on the couch, and headed to the end of the room where his desk lay. It was large and tilted, imbedded with a computer screen. After dabbing a few times on his desk the screen lit up, and he sat down to begin his work. He had to get the code right this time, there wouldn’t be much work left if he didn’t. He scanned the bright screen, reading through his hundred pages of code, looking for slight errors and ways to improve it. Working on his code made time pass quickly, and by the time Reid finished the sun was rising. He saved his work onto his key, and went to have a seat on the couch, turning on the news.They were running a story about a mugger. The news woman, Reid’s favorite, was sporting a red dress, and her brown hair reached her shoulders. She smiled as she relayed the story. “There have been multiple sightings of what city residents are calling a ‘Vampire’ roaming the streets and attacking citizens. While police have refused to comment on the ‘Vampire’ bit, they have stated that there have been muggings by a man reportedly very pale. He is assumed to be very dangerous, and possibly deranged. It is recommended to stay alert, and travel in pairs when at all possible. Stay safe Los Venas.” After finishing the morning news, and learning nothing of note, except that the public was gullible enough to believe in Vampires, Reid checked the time on his PAL, and realizing how late it had gotten, grabbed his jacket and headed outside. His ex-wife would be expecting him, and her money, and she was always in a foul mood when he arrived late. Reid jogged to the train station and got on, just as the doors were closing. It chugged forth, and Reid fastened his seat belt. Maybe my son will be there this time, Reid though. Though I doubt she will let me see him. She never does. It took only a few minutes for the expeditious train to arrive at its next stop, and Reid departed, heading towards his ex-wife’s apartment. He was greeted, upon arrival, by his ex-wife’s scowling face, partly covered by swaying golden hair. “Where have you been?” She demanded. “I’m sorry.” Harry said, “I was working. Is Jason here?” “He’s at a friend’s.” She said, then tapped on her PAL, gesturing for him to transfer the funds. He connected to her PAL wirelessly, and transferred the funds to her, grimacing as he watched his account depleted, “There you go.” After checking her account again she said, “Don’t be late next week Reid.” She made a face, as if a foul taste had entered her mouth when she said his name, but Reid ignored it.He left and made his way home, hoping to sleep before work that night. He crashed on the couch after entering his apartment, and was almost immediately asleep. His sleep was unperturbed, and when he woke he felt well rested. He got dressed, and grabbed his Key, attaching it to a necklace he wore around his neck, and went to work. Reid walked for an hour, getting a fair distance between him and his apartment, before starting his search for a nice, new model car. The streets were Vacant, and dark, the street lights only dimly lighting the area. Reid squinted, seeing a yellow car in the distance, and made his way across the street. Behind him, Reid heard something, though he couldn’t make out what. He stood, just under a street light, and scanned the darkness before him. Seeing nothing, he decided he was hearing things, and continued on. When he approached the car, he inserted his key, and waited patiently for it to work its magic. He held his breath as it slowly turned, then exhaled when the light flashed green. Just before he retrieved the key a sound boomed behind him. He spun around, and peered across the street. A pale man, in a large brown coat had bumped into a tin trashcan, knocking it over. Reid scooted over, hiding the key from sight, and leaned against the yellow car, waiting for the man to pass by. He didn’t and instead stood in the alleyway, and stared directly at Reid. Reid could see his glowing eyes from across the street, hauntingly gazing into his soul. His heart raced, and he stood still, uncertain of what to do, then the man tilted his head, and screeched, the sound splitting the silence of the night. The man lurched forward, then sprinted ahead, quicker than Reid though possible. Reid darted to the side, swung around the car and scurried down the alley behind him. He could hear the clapping of feet behind him, as the man pursued him, groaning and screeching all the while. Reid dared not glance back, and pushed himself to run faster, down the alley and towards the next street. He kicked a trashcan as he passed by, knocking it onto the ground, hoping to delay his pursuer. Against his better judgment Reid turned his head to look behind him, and saw the man hit the can and fall, his face crashing to the black concrete. Reid hurried into the street, and took a right, concluding that he needed to make his way back to the car and drive away from his attacker. He rounded the corner, and sprinted to the yellow car, his heart thumping wildly. He tripped, just as he reached his destination, and scrapped his wrists. He seethed, and rose up, reaching for the door handle. As he did he looked up, and saw the man making his way towards him, screeching down the alley. He tugged on the door, but as it opened the man leapt, soaring over the car, and knocking Reid to the ground. The attacker swung his head down, razor sharp teeth going for Reid’s neck. Reid used all of his strength and pushed against the man, but could barely contain him. The man’s head reached closer to his neck, saliva pooling and dripping onto him. Adrenaline fueled, and Reid pushed up with his legs, throwing his attacker to the side. He got up, and tried for the car again, but just as he was there, the attacker reached him, and his nails dug into Reid’s shoulder. Reid swung around, and punched his attacker, but to no avail, the man continued flailing, reaching for his neck. Reid took another swing, but the attacker stopped him, twisted, and broke the arm. He called out in pain, and fell to the ground. He attempted to crawl away, but his attacker was on him. Blood soaked into his clothes as the Man bit into his neck voraciously, and Reid gurgled, gasping, but no air came. ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 21, 2020 12:46:47 GMT -6
Lots of action, too much for Reid it appears.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 21, 2020 23:33:04 GMT -6
Yes, sadly so.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 21, 2020 23:49:57 GMT -6
Crystal City Chills by Martin Flemming August 13th 2012. Crystal City, Arlington, Virginia. It all began around four days ago. Anyone working in US Department of Labor, US Marshals Service or the EPA offices were all evacuated by an unknown agency out their buildings and into the Crystal Underground, our underground shopping centre. Given that most of Crystal City is essentially an underground city, it would seem the safest option in a threatening situation. At that point, no one knew what was really going on. Until we heard the screaming. On surface level, we heard awful screams and cries followed by, what sounded like military or government orders and gunshots. One of the sounds which exceeded the pitch of everything else was peculiar growls and humming sounds. Three days passed. Around 1200 people hid in the underground tunnels, all of them not knowing what was going on above their heads. We just tried to piece everything together. The gunshots, the screams, the screeches. The military, government or some authority was obviously fighting something but what, we did not know. After the third night, a group of us decided to surface. We had to know what had happened to the city. The fear disappeared the night before, now it was sheer curiosity. As we searched for a stairway heading up, I felt a woman I had developed a bond with in the previous days, grip onto my arm, shaking. It was comforting. Sadly, any comfort I felt vanished when my eyes set on the site of the surface. Crystal City's beautiful marble walkways and shiny concrete sidewalks were all stained with blood and flesh. Decapitated body parts lay all over the urban neighborhood. I saw a man, who used to deliver letters in my office, lie dead in the middle of the road. His body was halved although a leg was missing. Something had clawed at his torso. His intestines lay next to him, half hanging out of a gaping hole. I felt her grip on my arm grow tighter. The fear had returned. We wandered for hours, eventually coming to the border between Crystal City and Pentagon City and that’s when we realized we were alone. Someone had blocked off any entry or exit to or from the city. We all realized that whatever was going on, whatever had killed those people was in the city with us. Some higher authority was putting us under quarantine. Including me, there were eighty-three of us in the group that chose to depart from the underground, something which now seemed like a bad idea. Our group was close together. No one wanted to stray. The woman I had grown to care for never let go of my arm. In the hours we walked from the blocked border back to the city centre, I silently counted over six hundred and nine bodies, or large body parts. We were all still none the wiser to what caused this carnage. But then we hit the centre of the city and caught a terrifying glimpse. By the time we hit the city centre, our group had split off into four groups, each heading into a different area of the city centre. I was with the woman, a teenage couple, an Asian American family (the father of whom I knew well) and a group of EPA workers. We headed to an area north of the Crystal Underground, hoping to find someone in the police station. The walk there was eerily silent. No one said a word and the sounds of the other groups had disappeared. I shared worrying glances with the father of the Asian family. We both knew this wouldn't end well. All the while, for around seven straight hours, the pretty woman held on to me. The police station. Someone I did not recognize had been impaled on an advertisement sign at the side of the building, however, under his pinned corpse, was, what looked like a dead wolf. The wolf was grey and had extremely pointy teeth that were on display due the creature’s jaw appearing to be locked open. A thick purple liquid oozed from a hole in the animals stomach. This creature was not a normal wolf. The exterior of the police station was caked in blood. The inside was worse. Moulds of flesh lay everywhere. Although it did not appear to be human flesh. It was darker and dripped with black oil. I felt her head hide behind my shoulder in fear. The scattered flesh smelled unusual, similar to a strong stench of gasoline. Behind me, I heard the EPA workers stop dead in their tracks followed by a growling sound coming from the corner of the room. Another wolf-like creature appeared staring and growling at us. Its grey fur covered in blood. Its pointy teeth arching over its lips. I heard EPA workers stumble out of the door. I saw only one remained, glued to the floor in fear. The teenage couple had pressed against each other glaring at the wolf creature in terror. A grip tightened on my shoulder. I pushed her behind me for safety. The wolf pressed forward, it's growling sounding more demonic the closer it came. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a second wolf, slowly walking towards the first one. This wolf was identical although had a large slice on its side which spurted purple blood. Whispers began behind me. The Asian family sneaked out of the door then sprinted. Seconds later, I heard a piercing scream coming from the mother of the family outside, then silence. Only five of us remained staring at the bizarre wolves. They appeared as if they were preparing to jump for us when a sudden humming sound came from a corridor to the left of us. The wolves recognized it and immediately lay on the floor. Descending from the darkness, four men appeared. Each wore a business suit which were all drenched in blood. Three men had long blades sticking out from their forearm. The blades ran all the way to the bone. All of them were bald and had large heads and pale faces. I pulled her close to me. They continued to produce low humming sounds. All together, the four of them looked at us and grinned. One of the men raised his hand, outstretched his palm then closed it and made a fist. He punched the air; however he made contact with something. The air rippled. More and more wolf creatures appeared. Each more demonic than the last. Each wolf lay on the floor next to one another. The air still rippled and more wolves appeared. Eventually, he pulled back his fist and clasped his hands. The other three men looked at him and smiled. She held my hand tight. The five of us stood incredibly still. I tried to move but failed. To my horror, the four men then glided towards the wolves and stood behind them as if preparing them for an attack. One of the wolves stood on its hind legs and walked towards me. The men looked at the wolf and one of them made a 'tut-tut' noise then clapped his hands together. A singular clap. The wolf imploded. In a split second, its grey fur disappeared and its thick purple liquid sprayed the room. The man on the furthest right raised his hands upward and the wolves began to rise. All of them, grinding their pointy teeth and oozing a purple blood. Staring at us, the men smiled one last time then grinned at each other. The middle man snapped his fingers and the four of them vanished into the air, leaving only a ripple in the air behind. I began to shuffle my feet, realizing I could move. No one said a thing. The wolves continued to stare at us and demonically growl. I counted twenty-three of them. Simultaneously, the adrenaline kicked in to all five of us and we ran out of the police station, not knowing what we just experienced. I heard the wolves growling and biting behind us. They were chasing us. I grabbed her hand and ran as fast as my feet would allow me. My mind racing, thinking about the men; their appearance, how they controlled the wolves to most likely kill everyone and how they just disappeared. Hands clasped, I ran with her heading for a passage to the underground. The teenage couple were in the same situation. The remaining EPA worker was slow. He was only a legs length away from one of the wolves. My vision felt as though it was impaired, I was running so fast. In the short distance, I saw one stairway leading to the underground but realized that it has no door or shutter. The wolves would be free to chase us in. Behind me, I heard a scream of agony. The EPA worker had fallen. My peripheral vision saw the teenage couple run into the passage I avoided, being followed by half of the pack of wolves. I was too late to warn them. It was only me and her now. Holding her hand, I recognized a building in the next street. My former office. It has an underground passage and would be a safe haven from the wolves. I felt hope that we would be safe. But then, my heart sank as I felt her grip loosen. Stopping dead in my tracks, realizing she had fell, I fought like I had never fought before. I kicked wolves away from her left and right. One wolf leaped into the air and sunk its sharp teeth into the flesh of my forearm. Pain didn't kick in, at least not yet. My main priority was getting into the office with her. I saw one last wolf rapidly coming toward me. Instinctively, I grabbed, what remained of a nearby metal pole, and held it in the air in front of me. Moments later, I was covered in purple blood. The wolf impaled halfway up the steel. With any strength I had left, I picked her up and limped towards the office building. I swung open the door, used what I could to block it and headed to the stairs and underground passage. She was in my arms, smiling at me, as I blocked the door between the passage and the stairway. I finally felt safe. Hours later, we sat against the wall of a coffee shop in the Crystal Underground. I kissed her forehead and she fell asleep in my arms. It was just a case of waiting it out. She looked so peaceful. I felt myself drift off next to her. A sound awoke both of us. She looked at me worried. A humming sound. A ripple appeared in the air. We knew they'd found us. I stood up, fists clenched, knowing there was no other way. She rose and stood at my side. I grabbed her hand and smiled and together, we stared at the ripple and listened for the noises. Prepared to fight. ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 22, 2020 7:17:29 GMT -6
They are brave in the face of such danger but it is the only logical option ... intense story writing.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 22, 2020 9:56:38 GMT -6
Yes, Rick. To fight was their only option.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 22, 2020 10:15:05 GMT -6
The Wendigo by Robert Campbell ‘We were done making our rounds and heading home, walking, we’d cut through the woods. Then there was an opening and we come on it.’ ‘Blood, everywhere. Splattered on the trees, the grass, the creek, everywhere. At first, we figured it was a pack of wolves. We’d seen it sometimes, they can’t scavenge and start hunting deer. The worst was when they breed with feral dogs. But this wasn’t like that.’ ‘Something had run up on a den of deer. Wolves won’t attack a den, Coyotes neither, because they’d get too much of a fight. There were three, I think, three bodies. Just torn apart. You’d see a head here, a leg here, and a torso there. Predators don’t do that. They don’t leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn’t done it for food. It had done it for fun.’ ‘But we didn’t know that. We saw a bunch of carcasses and we think it’s something we gotta take care of. I remember my brother telling me to go home; he thought it was a pack of feral dogs.’ ‘But I wasn’t leaving him, and I damn sure wasn’t walking through two miles of woods alone, with nothing but a knife and my flintlock. Jeb had the musket, and it was cocked and full up ready, and I wasn’t going without it.’ ‘Took me a while, to convince him, but finally we began tracking whatever did that. Wasn’t hard, we just followed the blood. The thing bleed a deer before it got away or it dragged one for a mile. I don’t know. I know that I’d never seen Jeb that scared before that night.’ ‘We started hearing noises. Like trees snapping and things running cold fast. I’ve been in a lot of woods, in my life, I’ve been all over this world, and ain’t never heard noises like I heard that night. I heard things, I heard animals screaming.’ ‘Heard deer, and heard fox, and rabbits and raccoons and birds, just scared. This is maybe twelve, or one o’ clock at night, except the fox and some birds, nothing was supposed to even be awake. But they weren’t just awake they were moving. I saw flocks of birds that night fly straight into trees just trying to get out of there. We came up on a pack of coyotes, nearly shot a couple thinking it was what we were looking for us, but then we saw they were running towards us. They ran right passed us, didn’t even notice.’ ‘Then some deer did the same. Some rabbits, and squirrels, foxes, even a couple wild hogs. These things were supposed to be eating each other and the only thing they cared about was getting away from there.’ ‘What we were tracking, it wasn’t something we were supposed to see, it wasn’t something old, and something we couldn’t kill. I don’t know why we didn’t just go home. I think that was his nature, to go toward trouble, to fight.’ ‘We finally get into an open valley. It was normally a corn field, but it wasn’t in season, so it was just flat dirt. We saw the tracks, then. A lot of the animals fleeing the forest had paved over the land. But where that deer blood was, nothing had taken a single step. Like they were leaving it for us to find.’ ‘The tracks were shallow. Whatever it was couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds, but that didn’t mean much. A bobcat weighing forty pounds nearly tore out my damn throat, once. All that means is that it’s quick and hard to hit.’ ‘So we follow the tracks, and it doesn’t take us long to find where it is. There’s this old church that sits on the top of a hill. ‘We get within fifty yards, and we hear this noise. A screeching kinda sound. It was sort of made up of two different sounds. One was a high pitched screech, another was a low pitched growl. It was making both, at the same time.’ ‘We get within twenty yards, and we hear this sound. I can remember thinking that it sounded like paper being torn apart, while someone was swinging water in a bucket, back and forth.’ ‘Jeb looks at me, kneels down, and whispers. I gotta stay behind him, ’cause we’re about to corner him. Any animal will fight when it’s cornered, especially when it’s a predator. But we can tell by the tracks that it’s just one. He tells me it’s probably a single, rabid dog, probably rabid.’ ‘The plan is to sneak up on it while its eating, shoot it, and then keep shooting it ’till it don’t move anymore, then slit it’s throat. And if it gets to my brother, It’s my job to shoot it or stab it to get it off him. So he walks up, and I’m right behind him, just a tad to his side, so I can see what it is. I wish to this day I hadn’t.’ ‘It was leaning over a carcass, tears off its flesh, and throws what it doesn’t nibble at aside. There’s blood all over the brick, glistening in the moonlight. It’s pale white. Human looking, but not quite human. It had arms and legs like a human, but it sat like a monkey, hunched over. And its hands weren’t normal; it had long fingers with claws at the end.’ ‘So we see that, and my brother hesitates. He wasn’t about to fire on a person. So he clears his throat, to try get it to turn around.’ ‘I swear to god, all the noise just ceased. I ain’t ever heard true silence before that, and not after it. But for two seconds, nothing, nothing, made any noise. Which made it all the louder when it turned around, made this shrill cry, and jumped Jeb.’ ‘He got a shot off. I think he missed. If he hit the thing, it didn’t mind. But it was on him, tears parts of him off. I start shooting it with the flintlock, point blank, but it barely bled the thing. I got off three bullets, and then I started hitting it with the gun butt. But it wasn’t budging.’ ‘It didn’t even register that I was there.’ ‘It’s clawing at Jeb, taking off bits of his flesh. It starts on his torso, ripping off the skin, his chest, then it moves up. It tore off his throat, it tore off his nose, his eyes, it scalped him. Then it started digging in, ripped off the bottom half of his jaw, the little bones and that tube in the neck, then his ribs.’ ‘I don’t exactly remember what happened, but somehow, my brother’s knife ends up in this things shoulder, and Jeb ends up on my back. I’m running, and by god I’m running faster than I’d ever run before or after. And its following me. I end up back in the woods, opposite the ones we been in. I’m headin’ towards my landlords house, cause it’s half a mile away.’ ‘I can hear this thing, screeching and moaning. I hear these tree branches crack and get thrown around. It sounds like someone’s taking an ax to every single tree I pass, its cracking so loud and often, but I just ain’t looking back.’ ‘Finally, I trip into chopped wood. I look up and there’s my landlord and bunch of his buddies, drinking brandy around a fire. I scream and I cry, and they come over. I’m telling them to call help, and they look at me, and I’ll never forget what they said.’ ‘What is that on your back?’ they asked me. Just as he said it, he saw. One of those god awful wool shirts my brother wore everywhere. It was what was left of my brother. Most of his head, his torso, but nothing after the waist.’ ‘Suddenly we hear it. Screeching. He grabs me, Jeb gets thrown on the ground. I’m fighting him, crying, cause I think we can still save him, somehow, but my brother had been gone before I ever picked him up. They has to pick me up and throw me inside before I come with him.’ ‘Others and all, we’re all inside, and their bolting doors, and getting new muskets ready. The landlord’s asking me ‘what happened?’ ‘what happened?’ but I just don’t know what to tell him. He pieced enough of it all together to understand that there was something dangerous there. The fire was still lit just outside and through the dovetail notches of the cabin wall you could look, and someone ran to call the Sûreté.’ ‘Outside, we see it walk in front of the fire. Don’t know what it is, one of ‘em says it looks like an Ape. Suddenly, something goes through the window. We shoot at it, but ain’t the thing. Its my Landlord’s dog. Just the body, though. Not his head or legs.’ ‘We start pushing things in front of doors and windows, when we hear something round the back. I remember one of his friends sayin’ that the doors were open. We hear wood just get ripped apart.’ ‘It banged around some more, but then it got quiet. Not silent, like it was before. We could hear it move around some, and the guys were talking, making sure the muskets were ready. Someone hands me a one. No sooner did I cock the hammer back did we hear something shatter upstairs. Then we heard it screech again except now it was louder, and it didn’t echo and fade out. Because it was inside.’ ‘We all rushed to the one door leading to the kitchen and push salting meats and drying apple pieces on the ropes and they all fall on us and we got to it just as that thing did. It opened the door just a bit and four or five men just slammed into it. It got its hand through. Someone with a rifle took care of that. Put the barrel right up to its wrist and pulled the trigger. Cut its hand off, clean.’ ‘That only pissed it off, though. It started pushing on that door, clawing. We were on one side, pushing as best we could, and it was on the other, doing the same. That wood just wasn’t going to hold, so someone tells us to keep our heads down. Suddenly the top half of the door is just gone, my ears are ringing, and there are splinters everywhere. Two or three of them just unloaded on the top of that door.’ ‘I don’t really know where it went after that. The Sûreté got there. I was still glued to that door, what was left of it. The sun was up before they got me off it. They put me in with the Nuns for a while. A lot of people talked to me, but I didn’t talk back, not for a long, long time.’ ‘When I got back home, I got a job for the landlord, working on the farm. We didn’t talk much, not about the thing. But, I signed up for the army when I was eighteen, and he sat me down to drink some brandy as a send off. I asked him, right away, what the Sûreté told him. The story they went with was a wild animal, probably a wolf, or maybe a bear that had been hungry or protecting young. I asked him how they could say that when they had the hand. He looks at me, stunned.’ ‘He tells me that hand never made it back to town. The Sûreté who had it, died. The hand was never found, probably taken away by an animal. They said it was the paw of a bear that looked like a human hand.’ The End ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 23, 2020 8:31:07 GMT -6
I have heard of this scary legend  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 23, 2020 11:28:33 GMT -6
It's very scary, Rick.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 23, 2020 11:41:45 GMT -6
The Haunting at Midnight by Thomas Schmidt
The old man walked gingerly down the dim lighted back alley official known as Keegan Street. Once a bustling commercial area of Porterville, the old street was now in a state of decay and long forgotten by most people living in the area. He walked silently, head down, much like any other man in his late 80’s. But Argus McKane was not like other men. That’s for sure.
McKane stopped at an old grey door with peeling paint and fumbled for his keys. Argus had lived at 105 Keegan Street for longer than he could remember and could walk the area almost blindfolded. Which was good given his failing eye sight and feeble condition.
The old man opened the door and went inside. The stairs immediately behind the front door took McKane up to a modest one bedroom apartment that he was renting. Over the years, Argus had paid enough in rent to actually own the whole building if he had just been wise enough to purchase it over 31 years old. But that had not been the case and Argus didn’t care.
McKane went up the stairs and entered the small kitchen area. He turned on the old stove and started to prepare a can of soup for dinner. He didn’t eat much and tended to have the same meals on most days. Canned soup and white bread. It made shopping easy for Argus.
People in Porterville had a hard time remembering Argus even though he had lived in the area all his life. He was a quiet man, a man of few words. In fact, many people had trouble remembering anything that he had said. He generally just nodded or grunted if approached by anyone in town.
But Argus had a history, a long forgotten history that he had successfully covered up for years. In truth, Argus had once been a successful businessman, operating a mill which had once been located at the eastern most end of Keegan Street. The mill had once dominated wheat processing in southwestern Ohio. McKane had established the business with his best friend, Jonathan Grugen. Together, the two men worked long hours and through their sweat, they built a milling empire which at its peak had employed 215 men. But over the years, the mill started to falter and employment cuts had to be made to keep the business solvent. Then there was the fire that largely consumed the mill building. What was left of the old structure was shuttered and ultimately torn down in favor of new development. Over the years, the business that had provided growth for the small town that became Porterville was largely forgotten.
McKane put his hot soup on a snack table in the living room area of the apartment and turned on the radio. Argus was too cheap to have a TV. He did have a set a number of years ago. An old Zenith black and white set with vacuum tubes. But when the TV failed and Argus found no stores in southwestern Ohio which carried vacuum tubes any longer, he just decided not to bother replacing the old Zenith. That was back in 1984.
The old radio was not in much better condition than the Zenith but at least it still worked. Argus had the radio tuned to an AM station that he listened to for news. The dial was never changed so he didn’t have to deal with finding another channel with failing eye sight.
The radio news for this evening was boring and monotonous so soon Argus was dosing off. His sleep; however, was interrupted by a familiar voice that seemed to come from the radio.
“Argus, Argus” the voice called out as the old man woke in a start. “Argus why did you kill me?” The voice was initially calm but became shrill as the words “kill me” came forth.
“Who, who’s there?” asked the old man as he nervously looked around the modestly furnished room in a state of fear.
“You know damn well who’s here” came the reply which seemed to emanate from the radio.
Argus rose from his chair and walked nervously around the room. It couldn’t be. There is no way this could be happening.
“Jonathan, is that you?”
“Yes, Argus. I have come to see you. I have come back to find out why you left me to die in that fire.”
The old man started to sweat as he continued to walk around the room. “You can’t be here. You’re dead. You died in the mill fire.”
“Did I? My body was never found Argus. How can you be so sure?”
The old man continued to move around the room in an effort to find any actual corporal being within his apartment. No one was around.
“Jonathan, I didn’t kill you. I, I tried to find you but the fire was too strong.”
“Liar! You knew where I was. I was calling for your help and you ignored me.”
“Jonathan, that’s not true. You have always been my friend. I cared about you. I still care about you…”
“You only cared about the money. That is why you started the fire. The money. The insurance we had on the mill.”
“No Jonathan. That’s not true.”
“Argus, where is the money? Where have you hidden our money?”
The old man was perspiring more than ever as his eyes darted around the room. This just couldn’t be happening. The fire was nearly 50 years ago.
“I, I haven’t spent any. I can’t….” The old man stuttered as he tried to reply. He turned the volume knob on the old radio to “off” but the voice still continued.
“You can’t spend it because you worship having it. It’s your god. You can’t tolerate the thought of spending any of it.”
The old man looked around, not knowing what to say in reply. Then the voice spoke again.
“Argus, you know what you must do. It’s been too long. You must make amends….”
As if in a stupor, the old man walked into the kitchen and picked up a pen. The note was short since there was not much to say. He put the pen down and walked to the old gas stove. As if in a trance, Argus turned on all of the burners and let the gas fill the room. He fell to the ground and sat against the wall of the room. Would he finally have peace?
Epilogue
The fire department and police came to 105 Keegan Street early the next morning when a 911 call came in for a gas odor at the building. The gas to the building was turned off and when the firemen entered, they found the limp body of the old man. The note on the stove seemed strange but after investigating scene, the police decided that the wishes outlined in the note should be honored.
Emily Grugen, the only child of the late Jonathan Grugen, seemed puzzled when summoned to the Porterville Police Department. She explained to the officer that she did not know of anyone named Argus McKane and to be honest, she had barely even known her biological father. As she explained, her father had been killed in an unfortunate fire many, many years ago and as a result, she had been raised by her mother and stepfather.
The officer escorted Emily to the Porterville Community Bank where she was handed the key to safe deposit box #34 and then ultimately shown to a private room. Inside the room, Emily opened the box that once had belonged to Argus McKane and shuffled through the papers. To her astonishment, she found cash inside multiple unmarked envelopes which totaled $530,000. The cash was in crisp, uncirculated bills which were all dated in September 1965.
A yellowed newspaper article tucked inside the safe deposit box provided a brief story about a 1964 fire which had occurred at the McKane-Grugen Mill and how Jonathan Grugen had presumably perished in the fire. The article stated that the old mill had been in decline for years and how it was unlikely that the surviving partner, Argus McKane, would rebuild the business. The estimate business loss quoted in the article was a value of approximate one half a million dollars. Nothing else was in the safe deposit box. ⚡
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 24, 2020 13:39:12 GMT -6
A well written story  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 24, 2020 23:32:41 GMT -6
The Monster of Jenkins County by Thomas G. Schmidt "Come on Tommy. You’re such a slowpoke.” 11 year old Jerry McCutchen grabbed the arm of his friend Tommy O’Brien and pulled him toward the woods. The two boys were standing in the backyard of the O’Brien house on a Saturday morning in mid-July. The backyard was long, almost 60 yards in length, and ended at a small hill that dropped off into the Jenkins County woods in southern Louisiana. The boys had explored the woods in the past and had enjoyed a number of youthful adventures while growing up in this rural community. But for some reason, Tommy O’Brien seemed hesitant to go on another exploration of the woods. “I don’t know Jerry. Maybe not today.” “What?? Come on. You ain’t scared, are you? Kind of worried that some monster might be in the bayou?” “I ain’t scared,” replied Tommy. “I turn 11 this Friday and I am plenty brave. Just think maybe we should throw ball today instead of going down in the woods.” Jerry McCutchen rubbed his right shoe in a bare spot in the grass, making a small hole while he thought. “Well, I think you’re scared. Mandy told me that you nearly pissed in your pants when watching that horror movie last Saturday.” Mandy Richards was a school mate of the two boys that Tommy secretly liked. He had attended a birthday party at her house last weekend when the movie had been shown. A “B grade” flick about zombies. In truth, it had scared Tommy a little but he didn’t want anyone to know that. Jerry hadn’t been there so why did he think Tommy was scared when watching the movie? “Not true. Wasn’t anything that scary in the movie. Zombies aren’t real so leave me alone.” “The ones in them woods are!” replied Jerry, pointing at the woods and speaking in a spooky voice right next to Tommy’s left ear. “And they’ll eat your guts.” “Stop being a jerk. If you are so hot to go into the woods then let’s go. I just don’t need you giving me a hard time about some girl.” Jerry McCutchen laughed as he pulled Tommy along toward the woods. The two had been friends since kindergarten and were always on adventures together. Jerry was the pushy one, generally looking for some challenge for the two boys to do. The woods behind the O’Brien home were the latest activity for them. The Jenkins County woods were an undeveloped public land classified as “forever wild” by the county. 46 acres in all, the woods encompassed some treed bogs in an area that some called the Louisiana bayou. The McCutchen and O’Brien parents had specifically told both boys to not travel into the woods out of concern that wild animals could be present. But the boys had disobeyed their parent’s orders and had a thrill at seeing an alligator in one of the bogs. What else lived there was anyone’s guess. The boys were off again to see what they could find. At the bottom of the O’Brien hill, the boys found the remnants of a wood fort that they had built earlier in the summer. Using pieces of lumber from the O’Brien garage plus an old window, a closet door and pieces from an old crib, the boys had nailed together a sorry looking structure that they called “Fort Apache”. The fact that Apache Indians never lived in this area didn’t dawn on the boys when naming their fort. A worn footpath started about 30 feet behind the fort and led into the belly of the woods. The path snaked through a fairly open treed area before finally reaching the first of many small bogs in the woods. The boys had already explored this area extensively so Jerry pushed for them to move on. As the footpath ended, the boys started to make their way through a thicker treed area of the woods that no one had appeared to enter. Animal sounds present all around them stopped as the passed through the area, giving the boys an eerie feeling that someone, or something, might be watching them. “The zombies want to get you,” whispered Jerry as the boys looked around. “They want your guts for dinner.” “Stop being a jerk,” replied Tommy as he looked behind Jerry, just to make sure that nothing was lurking in the shadows. “Are you always an idiot?” “Me not as smart as you,” hissed McCutchen as he intentionally stepped on a dry stick in an effort to make a snapping sound. “What, what was that???” Tommy flinched and shuffled quickly away from the noise as Jerry laughed. “Stop that. I mean it. You jerk.” “Yep, you’re brave and strong alright,” said Jerry with a strong laugh. “Just like a wet noodle.” Tommy regained his composure and moved on as Jerry continued to laugh. “You coming, clown ??” “Yes sir, Captain Braveheart. Lead the way.” The woods became darker and even more isolated as the boys continued heading west. Finally, there was a break in the treed area as a large bog came into view. Tall weeds were all around the swamp and decaying logs were present near the one end of the wetland. Animal sounds present when they entered the bog stopped as the boys moved into the area. “Cool. Look at the swamp. It’s just like that movie ‘The African Queen’,” stated Jerry as he looked around. “This could be a really cool movie set.” “Hope that isn’t a ‘gator over there,” pointed Tommy as he spied movement in the water. “We don’t need that.” “Oh, come on.” replied Jerry. “Gators don’t scare real men.” As they moved on cautiously toward the rippled water area in the swamp, something caught Jerry’s eye in the tall weeds. “What’s this??” “Hey, don’t pick those up,” called out Tommy as he saw Jerry grabbing what appeared to be a large egg from the weeds. “That’s some animal’s nest.” “Yeah, these are real cool. About the size of a softball.” Jerry tossed the egg lightly into the air and caught it. “Hey, don’t play with them. If the mother is around, she’ll get real mad.” “They’re abandoned. Nothing is around.” “Jerry, just leave them alone. Please.” Tommy had a feeling that Jerry was tempting fate by playing with the eggs. “Stop worrying so much. Everything is….” Jerry froze as he looked behind Tommy at the creature coming out of the swamp. Covered with mud, the creature looked like an alligator walking on its hind legs. But much larger in size. It was almost human in the way it walked toward them. And now, the creature was bearing sharp teeth as it growled in objection to the boys. “Tommy, watch out!” McCutchen cried out his warning but it was too late. The creature had O’Brien in its grip and was starting to tear at the young boy. Blood spurted from Tommy’s neck and arms as the creature torn at him. His cry for help was short as the limp boy fell to the ground right in front of Jerry. Jerry McCutchen didn’t wait around to find out if Tommy was still alive. He dropped the egg and bolted back toward the entrance to the swamp. The trees scrapped at his body and tore his clothes as he fled. McCutchen didn’t care. All he wanted to do was to place distance between him and the creature. Lots of distance. Jerry’s head became light as he continued to run toward the O’Brien house. Was he following the correct paths? Was he lost? He really didn’t know. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Jerry saw the familiar path that led back to the fort. He keep running, past the fort, up the hill and out of the O’Brien backyard. He didn’t stop until he was back at his own home, leaning against his garage. What had just happened? Epilogue Mary O’Brien called the McCutchen’s around 5 PM looking for her son. Jerry explained that he had not seen Tommy all day and that he had in fact been playing with some other friends at Tower Field Park for most of the day. Jerry could not help her with where Tommy might be. Ultimately, the O’Brien’s called the police to report their son as missing. The police looked for the boy for days before finally classifying Tommy as a missing youth. Did he run away? Was he abducted? Years went by without any news on Tommy O’Brien. Jerry McCutchen grew up and went on to high school and then college. During this time, his mood became somber for reasons his parents never understood. And he never returned to those woods. That is, until age 41 when for some unapparent reason, Jerry McCutchen walked back into the Jenkins County Woods. It was mid-July, the 30th anniversary of his previous visit to the woods. He felt compelled to return. McCutchen walked down the backyard of the old O’Brien house (it had long since been sold with the O’Briens moving away from the area). He gingerly walked down the hill to the area where “Fort Apache” had once stood. All that remained of the old fort was a few decaying boards that the boys had nailed to a group of trees that formed the perimeter of the structure. McCutchen walked on, travelling down a now overgrown path, heading west toward the swamps and bogs. In time he found it. The large swamp that Tommy and he had explored 30 years earlier. He stood there and sighed. Could it have really been so long ago? The movement in the swamp didn’t catch McCutchen’s attention until the creature once again emerged from the mud. Jerry looked over at it, no longer fearful as he once had been as a young boy. “I know you have come for retribution,” he said in a soft voice. “I didn’t realize what I was doing back then. But I’m sure that doesn’t matter to you.” The creature moved toward McCutchen as he continued to speak. The creature’s sharp teeth were exposed as it growled once again at the intruder. “I’m the one you want. Not Tommy. He was innocent. So take me.” McCutchen reached out as if offering himself to the creature. The creature growled one last time as it bit into McCutchen’s neck and tore at his arms. Blood once again spurted out onto the tall weeds ringing the swamp. McCutchen didn’t cry out in pain. He simply slumped over and fell to the ground. Then the creature moved back to the swamp and descended once again into the mud. The End ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 25, 2020 7:45:33 GMT -6
A sad ending to this tale |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 25, 2020 9:46:26 GMT -6
I guess he met his Karma, Rick.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 25, 2020 10:06:37 GMT -6
The Man Who Wouldn't Die by B.J. Neblett The subject known as X was a healthy fit and tone young man of about twenty years of age. X first came to see me a week ago. He was agitated and under extreme duress. Refusing a mild sedative, he demanded he be given a complete check up, including some procedures not normally associated with a routine physical examination. When he returned to my office yesterday I had the results of those tests.
And X had a most unusual tale to tell.
“It’s good to see you again. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“How are you feeling? You seem more relaxed today.”
His gaze passed through me. It was his one striking feature: his eyes, black and dull. Even as I think about them now I am filled with an unexplained dread. Hollow and empty, his eyes were those of a corpse.
“Yes, Doctor… better, calmer… for now. The tests… do you have the results of the tests?”
“I do. As I suspected and told you, they show nothing out of the ordinary. There is nothing physically wrong with you.”
He looked up at me sheepishly, as if afraid to ask. “Tell me, Doctor, please.”
“Very well, your vitals are fine. Heart rate, pulse, blood pressure and respiration… all fine. Blood work came back negative, as did toxins and other samples. The only thing which stands out is that your vitals and counts are slightly elevated; stronger than normal. This is certainly no cause for alarm.”
His voice turned anxious. “Go on…”
“Your reflexes and motor skills scored better than average; eye sight is remarkable. And I have never seen muscle tissue or bone as dense as yours.”
“And the rest…?” With the question X once again became agitated. I was struck with the feeling he knew the results before I gave them.
“Well, brain activity and function did test elevated, but normal. You can rest assured you are strong; healthy. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lived to be one hundred and twenty!”
With that X began to fidget nervously. My words, which certainly should have assuaged any fears, seemed rather to trouble him. He looked at me intently, those dark eyes studying, piercing. Finally X reached into his pocket, withdrew a photograph, and presented it to me. It was the picture of a man with graying hair and other signs of aging.
“How old would you say he is?” X asked.
“Oh, perhaps forty five, I guess.” It was then I realized the figure in the picture possessed the same chilling, dark, dead eyes. “Is this your father?”
X tensed in his seat. His mouth pursed, and then slightly curled in what I can only describe as a failed attempt to smile. “No… no, Doctor. That is not my father. The man in the picture is me.”
While his words were delusional, X’s posture remained alert, attentive. “You do realize the person in this picture, while bearing a striking resemblance to you, is easily twice your age.”
This time the smile broke through the stoic demeanor. It was a half crooked I’ve got a secret sort of smile which sent chills throughout my body. Combined with those hollow, dead eyes it was a look I shall never forget.
“But it is me, Doctor,” he began calmly, with an icy detachment of fact. “This is what I look like when I… if I…”
He paused.
We sat for an indeterminable, uncomfortable time studying each other. Finally X seemed to make up his mind. “It’s the curse you know… the curse...”
“Perhaps you should tell me about this curse.”
He arose slowly, his hands finding the bottom of his trouser pockets, and wandered over to the window.
And so began X’s strange tale.
“War,” he said at last, “war is the curse, Doctor. War… killing… from the moment Cain killed his brother man has been marked. Marked with the blood of Abel, and cursed with the thirst to make war; to kill his fellow man. It’s as normal as breathing. There will always be wars, Doctor. And there will always be young men to fight them.”
Those empty, hollow eyes glazed over, turning inward… seeing… remembering.
“I was a sergeant in the cavalry,” he continued. “We’d been engaging the enemy all day long, pointless hit and run skirmishes that slaughter men and gain nothing. Ironically, it was the day of my birthday. By late afternoon everyone was exhausted, the fighting scattered over quarter mile of rough ground. A shell landed nearby knocking me unconscious. When I came to it was dark. I was alone, the battle had moved on.
“Slowly, cautiously I began to make my way through the unfamiliar terrain. After a time, I became aware of something in the woods. It seemed to be following me, marking my progress, moving as I did.
“I turned.
“Suddenly, there was a flash of blue steel in the moonlight. Leveling my pistol, I fired twice. A figure staggered from the brush and collapsed.
“I approached my victim. To my horror he was just a boy, maybe twenty years old. And he was unarmed. Clutched in his fingers was a crucifix. It was the shiny metal cross that I had mistaken for a weapon.
“I knelt beside the lad, struck by my detestable deed. Then, without warning, his eyes flew open wide! Clutching at my shirt, his mouth contorted into a soul searing scream. He thrust the damnable silver cross into my hands.
“And then…”
Beads of perspiration dotted X’s forehead. He trembled and began to pace.
“… then an incredible expression, one of total and unimaginable peace settled over him. He died quietly in my arms.
“It was then and there I knew I was cursed; that I would never again find peace.”
It became obvious to me that X was suffering from some sort of severe post traumatic stress. The cause of his stress seemed obvious. “It is not unusual,” I suggested, “for a young man as you to have lingering feelings of guilt about tragic events in their lives.”
X turned suddenly, his face now ablaze with the most insipid grin. He laughed aloud. “Young man… young man, indeed! But you don’t understand, Doctor. I wasn’t a young man. I was thirty five years old! And the year was sixty-three… eighteen sixty-three! I was a sergeant in Jeb Stewart’s 16th Texas Cavalry. It was the Battle of Milliken’s Bend, Louisiana, what became known as our own Civil War!” ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 26, 2020 7:57:21 GMT -6
This was really intense  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 26, 2020 10:30:31 GMT -6
YES!! Can you imagine spending eternity killing your fellow human beings? Your brothers?
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 26, 2020 10:41:01 GMT -6
The Curious Case of White Chapel Alley by Louise Ann Barton Whitechapel District, London ─ 1888
“Murder or no, I’m not going down that alley in the dark,” Constable Barnes insisted. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Inspector Cranford glared up at the man. “In-sub-ordin-ation,” he said, drawing out the word, rain running off the brim of his bowler. Having just returned from her Majesty’s service he’d been newly assigned to this latest in a series of brutal murders in White Chapel Alley.
“Begging your pardon, Inspector, no one who goes into that alley after dark has come out alive. You’ll not be getting anyone to go in there tonight. Best wait for daybreak.”
“I’ll have your pension, man!” He turned to Constable McBurn, who shrank back toward the street lamp.
“Inspector, I have four children,” McBurn begged. “We can go when it’s light and no harm done.”
“No harm done,” the inspector thundered. “Why, the rats will have been at the remains by then. This downpour will wash away evidence.”
“Please, Inspector,” coaxed the taller constable. “Sunup is in less than two hours. We can wait inside that tea shop, where it’s nice and dry, with an eye on the alley.”
By now the rain-soaked inspector was beginning to long for a hot cup of tea and allowed himself to be led through the puddles and into the shop.
The proprietress greeted them with a toothless grin. Without waiting for their order, she placed three steaming cups of strong tea on one of the small tables.
“Thought for a mo, you were actually goin’ down that alley,” she chortled.
“I fail to see the humor,” Cranford snapped.
“Oh, no one ever goes in there after dark. Not if they want to come out alive.”
The inspector grabbed her skinny wrist. “Tell me about it,” he demanded. “Who’s responsible for these deaths?” She twisted frantically, but he held her fast.
“All right,” she moaned. “Something in there. After dark. Like the Ripper it is, but not human.”
“What does this murderer look like?”
“Oh, sir, the only ones who’s seen it is dead.”
He released her. “Claptrap!” He started for the door. The constables blocked his path. The old woman began keening softly.
“What is the matter with all of you?” Cranford demanded.
“Begging your pardon, inspector,” Barnes said, “when you see the body . . . after the sun comes up . . . you’ll understand.”
Cranford would have ordered them to stand down, but their eyes told him more than their lips ever could. Reluctantly, he took his seat and picked up his tea, wondering if the cup had been properly washed.
With the first rays of sun, the men ventured into the alley. They poked about amongst the garbage and human waste until they came to the corpse. It was a man, lying on his back. His eyes were staring, mouth wide open, as if he’d seen something horrible.
The Chief Coroner’s examination revealed no wounds other than the marks on the victim’s left wrist, as if Death itself had gripped him with one bony hand. The coroner announced all those found in White Chapel Alley had met the same fate. “As if these poor blokes had been frightened to death. Not like the Ripper at all.” And although the good inspector tried valiantly to uncover the person responsible, matters did not progress.
Then a royal summons came to this former colonel, a welcome diversion, asking him to take part in an affair of state, replete in dress uniform and sword. After the event, he departed for home. Despite the thick fog rolling in from the river, he decided not to hail a cab. Deep in thought, he walked without purpose, soon finding himself in the White Chapel section. And he felt compelled to visit the alley.
It was one in the morning as he hurried along in splendid dress, his sword at his side. His footsteps echoed in the empty streets as he located first the dirty, little tea shop and then the alley. Cranford unbuckled his sword and strode up to its mouth. Made confident by Scotch, he shouted to whatever might be lurking inside.
“I am Inspector Cranford and a colonel, late of her Majesty’s Service. Come out now! Let’s have a look at you!”
At first only silence greeted his shouts and he felt foolish. But then he heard it. A rustling. As if someone small and feeble, was shuffling towards him. He froze in fear, under the street lamp, waiting.
To his surprise, a tiny, old woman draped in a shawl crept closer in the dark, stopping just inside the alley and held out one hand. She wore a long dress, with an apron. Her head and face were covered by a ruffled, white-cotton bonnet. She didn’t speak, but Cranford thought she needed help. He took a step closer and still she didn’t move. She motioned for him to come to her. And so he did.
He had no sooner stepped inside the alley, when the creature’s hand lashed out. Just bones it was, without flesh, and it gripped his wrist. He gasped, but couldn’t break free. She began dragging him, into the alley, into the darkness. The darkness from which no one had ever returned.
With a mighty shout, he swung the sword, cleaving the bonnet free. She had no head, no face, and the bonnet fell limply, back into the alley. But still that skeletal hand gripped him, dragging him, step by step, into the darkness. In desperation, he lashed out again, severing her hand at the wrist. As her body reeled backward, Cranford took to his heels and didn’t stop until he reached the coroner’s office.
It took all the coroner’s skill and several trusty instruments to pry that dead hand from Cranford’s wrist. Within 24 hours, White Chapel Alley was ordered bricked solid and Cranford announced he was done forever with soldiering and criminal investigations. Inspired by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, he became an author. His first story for the Penny Dreadful was “The Curious Case of White Chapel Alley.” ⚡ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 27, 2020 9:01:59 GMT -6
A curious case it was! Super spooky |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 27, 2020 21:41:28 GMT -6
Cell Reflection by Martin Fleming As the guards escorted Leon down the corridor which led to the 'Injection Room', he knew he wasn't ready to die. The warden of Northway Passage Prison stood outside the room with a sick toothless grin on his face. It was obvious he got some sort of sick pleasure out of this. It satisfied him knowing he was about to free up some space in his precious iron hotel. It unnerved Leon. Leon Danika realised he would not feel any human emotion in a few minutes. Even though he knew many people wanted him to die. The room he was being lead into was like a shoebox. It was cold and dirty with a strapped chair in the middle. It reminded Leon of a dentist chair. Next to the chair was a silver table with a collection of needles and syringes on it, but Leon recognised what one was going to kill him. The guards and the warden had disappeared. Leon looked at the mirror in the room and knew it was two-way. That they were watching him face the reaper from behind the glass. The prison doctor lay Leon on the chair and strapped him in. A tear rolled down Leon's cheek.
Leon felt his hand twitch. He became aware of an itch in his back and his eyes shot open. The realization hit Leon. He wondered, was he dead?
Leon's wrists were lined with red marks from the straps, which made him realize he definitely was strapped in to face the needle. So what was going on now? The only sound in the room was a tick-tock sound from the polished silver clock on the wall. It said it was four-thirty five pm. Leon was scheduled to die at four thirty. The shoebox room was a lot darker than before. The dim lights flickered above head and highlighted the only door in the room. Leon stood, allowing the blood to flow back to his legs and feet before taking his first steps. The doorknob felt cold and rusty and it squeaked when Leon opened the door. The corridor that Leon stepped into was not how he remembered it. It was much gloomier than before. It was like Leon had stepped into a room that had been hit by a bomb years before. At the end of the corridor, Leon spotted a brown teddy bear. As he approached it, he noticed its right eye was missing and there was a tear in its leg. It sent a chill through his body.
The rest of the prison appeared to be abandoned. Leon couldn't explain it, or explain why the prison interior had become completely black. Because of this, Leon couldn't make out where in the prison he was. It felt like he was in an infinite loop. Every corridor seemed to be the same, some had cells, some didn't. He passed one cell which had a cold breeze coming from behind the bars. The cell gave Leon a strange familiar feeling. Was it his? Was it the cell he had spent two and a half years in? A light dripping sound came from the cell next to the one with the breeze. Leon squeezed his skinny arm through the bars and could feel cool water splash into the palm of his hand. The sensation was soothing. He pulled his arm back through and heard a hard scratching sound coming from the next cell. Leon kept his distance from the bars. The pace of the scratching slowed and there was suddenly a beam of light in the centre of the cell. A match. Fire.
The small circle of fire grew bigger. Leon became uneasy. Fire makes everyone uneasy, he thought. As the flame became larger, Leon noticed a face behind the orange. There was a disfigured man standing behind the bars. His nose was replaced by an indent in his face and one eye appeared to be black. His mouth grinned on one side, a grin that reminded Leon of the warden. The man appeared to be in all black. Either that or he was just a floating head, Leon thought. The flame went out and the man disappeared. Leon's mind raced. He couldn't figure out what was going on, but for some reason, he felt kind of calm. Like everything was going to be okay. Leon's optimistic feeling vanished when he heard crying coming from the next cell.
Leon could his feel his heart beat and his hands shake as his fingertips glided across the steel bars. The crying was peculiar. It was obviously a little girl, but it sounded distorted. The sound became louder and closer. Leon stepped back from the bars and felt his spine hit the hard wall. A little girl appeared behind the bars. She had blonde hair and was holding a brown teddy bear. Leon recognised it as the one he'd seen earlier. But the little girl's face struck Leon the most. He recognised it. But he couldn't place it. And then it clicked. It was the girl he was convicted of killing.
Leon never liked to think about what happened that day the girl died. It was at a time of panic. The little girl was an orphan who had watched Leon kill a man who beat up his younger sister the year before. Leon grew to hate the man as it had left his sister traumatized. When he approached that man, he became hostile and violent, but Leon got the better hand and ended up killing him. Unfortunately, a little girl witnessed him stab the man in an alley. Leon panicked and, in a fit of rage, worry and panic accidentally stabbed her, killing her. When the police arrived, Leon was sitting in the alley in the pouring rain next to two bodies.
The little girl's face was pale. It was not how he remembered her. Leon knew this situation never made sense. Since he woke up, things hadn't seemed right but logic never came into Leon's mind until now. He had no idea what was going on. The little girl disappeared into the black abyss the rest of the cell looked like and the crying ceased seconds later. For the first time, he appreciated the silence. A familiar scratching sound came from the next cell. If Leon remembered correctly, this would be the last cell in this corridor. Each corridor had five cells each. Before Leon's eyes adjusted to the image behind the bars, he noticed the flame, but no one was holding it. He gently pressed forward towards the bars to see the source of the flame. HIs feet froze on the spot when he felt a bizarre feeling on his neck. Breathing.
In horror, Leon whipped round as fast as he could to see the same disfigured face, but he could see it more clearly now. An eye was black and the other was bright white with no pupil. There was nothing resembling a nose, only a dent in the face. And the mouth was closer to being vertical that horizontal. His lips were grey like the lips on a corpse. Leon realised he had jumped back into the bars in terror and was breathing heavily. The disfigured man placed a hand in front of him to silence Leon who stared in disbelief. "What is going on?" The man let his hand fall.
"You can put the pieces together. I am only a messenger." The man said, in a deep croaky voice. It scared Leon but the man was right. He could put the pieces together. He was scheduled to die. Maybe he had. That would explain the way Leon felt. Emotionless.
"A messenger for what?" Leon asked, his voice shaken.
"I am only here to ask a question. Do you want to move on or stay?"
"Move on to where?" Leon asked curiously. What was the disfigured man talking about? Leon waited for a reply but the man never opened his mouth. He stared at Leon as though patiently waiting for a response. Leon only had a few pieces of what he assumed was a rather large puzzle. But one thing he knew for sure. Anywhere had to be better than here. "I'll move on."
"Very well."
The man waved his hands in front of him and a strange circle appeared. It was orange. As seconds passed, the circle grew larger and larger until it was the same size as Leon. Leon stared in terror and he realised the orange was really fire. It terrified Leon but he felt drawn to this portal of sorts. The man gestured for Leon to step into it. He had never felt terror like this but he stepped forward into the portal unsure about what was awaiting him. What else he would face in whatever 'life' he was currently experiencing.
"We have now completed the third and final phase of the execution. Time of death, four thirty-four pm. That's it, Warden, done. Danika is dead." ⚡
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 28, 2020 13:36:18 GMT -6
Clever writing  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 28, 2020 20:26:28 GMT -6
Santa's Head Elf by Andy Morris All was quiet and still in the dim half-light of the deserted walkways and avenues that swept through the Regent Shopping Centre. The late-night Christmas shoppers had left some time ago, returning to their warm cosy homes and so nothing should be stirring here now at this late hour. Yet the crisp December silence was broken by the tiny jingling sound of a little bell. It was coming from the magnificent Christmas tree that stood resplendent in the centre of the arcade. Beneath the boughs laden with countless decorations and reflected in the sparkling glow of dancing fairy lights, stood a small boy, no older than seven years old. All alone, he was patiently waiting for someone to find him and with such a helpless expression on his young face Evangeline’s heart instinctively went out to him. He stood next to the pile of colourful presents stacked under the tree with one of the multi-coloured boxes clutched in his small hands. On his head he wore a scarlet elf’s hat with a tiny gold bell that tinkled as he moved. To match his hat someone had dressed him in a jolly red and green outfit. Emblazoned across his chest in large gold letters were the words ‘Santa’s Head Elf’.
Evangeline wasn’t the only person drawn by the little jangling bell. Her hand flew to her mouth as predatory figure stalked from the shadows on the far side of the open-planned ground floor.
“Oh no” she breathed. “Please, not again”.
Too late, Sydney Glitter the security guard had seen the child and was circling towards him with a snake-like smile. A buried fear, Evangeline had prayed she would never experience again, quietly stirred beneath the quiet waters of her mind. She had to stop him, it couldn’t happen again. She made not a sound in the hushed stillness of the evening as she quickly glided around the curving walkway towards the escalators momentarily losing sight of the two figures.
Evangeline whispered past sleeping stores whose sales assistants were long gone. The luxurious glow from the festive window displays almost warmed the cold empty avenues. Pools of colourful light spilled out onto the polished cream floor, creating magical stepping stones that only she could enjoy. Spending her time wandering around the shops and walkways in quiet solitude watching people go about their business, Evangeline had got to know every inch of this place over the past year.
As silent as the falling snow she drifted down the now motionless escalators onto the expansive ground floor. Flowing around the large bronze sculpture of some Olympian, she passed the unmanned information desk. Somehow the blank display screens always unnerved Evangeline at night. It was as if they were alive and watching her so she habitually averted her eyes from them. On her left, her previous employer Gap drifted past in a merry blur.
Evangeline still liked to visit Gap from time to time. This time last year, her carefree life had been full of excitement and dreams of one day moving to France. Her best friend Sammi always complained she was a real daydreamer but Evangeline was determined to realise this ambition. She would eventually move to Paris, find a job and meet the man of her dreams. It was when she started that French class at night school that Sammi started to think that this time she may actually follow through on her plans this time. Sammi often nuzzled into her thoughts whenever she came this way these days, bringing with her that tired sense of longing that was so hard to ignore. Evangeline recalled the countless nights they spent trawling the local clubs and bars on the lookout for fit men to chat up. Then, the following day lunch times they would sit in the food court by Subway drinking diet cokes, and complain about the morons that they always seemed to attract whenever they hit the town. Evangeline hardly saw Sammi now, since she left Gap a few months ago. Every day she searched the crowds of shoppers swarming through the centre to see if she could spot her. But her friend, just like her dream of Paris were gone now, swept away from the shore of possibilities leaving her alone and stranded. She was unseen and ignored by everyone with only her grey dreary thoughts for company.
Evangeline had felt this way for about a year now. Twelve months ago tonight she had been at work and running late, again, when she should have been closing up the store. Sammi had phoned up to discuss their plans for that night and Evangeline had lost track of time. When she did finally get off the phone she saw everyone else had left and all the other shops were closed. Even the artificial lights high up in the ceiling had been switched off, allowing long shadows to creep out between the twinkling Christmas illuminations. The busy bustling atmosphere of an hour ago had been replaced by a brittle silence that filled the centre with an almost eerie quality. Evangeline’s clomping footsteps echoed far too loudly around the empty shopping centre and she thought of Sydney Glitter, the security guard. He had been prowling somewhere in the dark but she never even saw him. He had always given Evangeline the creeps and she wanted to close up and go quickly before she ran into him and had to explain why she was still here. She had been standing by the door watching the steel shutters descend when he struck. She never heard him coming and, fortunately, never felt the fatal blow. She was dead before she even hit the floor and her poor ruined body had never been found.
The faint squeak of shoes on a polished floor brought Evangeline back from her morbid pit of despair. The boy seemed not to have noticed Sydney Glitter as he cautiously made his way across the courtyard. He was watching the abandoned boy in the way a hungry fat toad watches a fly innocently buzzing around a pond.
It was his large wobbly neck that accentuated Sydney Glitter’s toad-like appearance. It often jiggled as he swaggered around the Regent Centre. Evangeline had always been grossed-out by slimy reptiles. Sydney Glitter was his late forties but had a lecherous eye for the cliques of young teenage girls that swanned around the centre at weekends and school holidays. He carried himself with an air of unquestioning authority and natural suspicion of others. Unlike the other security guards, Sydney Glitter never passed the time of day with anyone. His brooding dislike of his fellow human beings was, unsurprisingly, not just limited to sales staff either. Evangeline used to watch him in bemused fascination and utter disbelief as he paraded around the centre. When he wasn’t hounding and intimidating young people, he would be gambling on horse races from the comfort of the security office. Evangeline had on more than one occasion witnessed him blackmailing suspected shop-lifters in exchange for not calling the police and she had even seen him inviting prostitutes into his office the early hours of the morning. That’s when Evangeline realised she had seen enough and stopped watching him.
Now, however she watched closely as she ghosted across the open floor space between decorative wooden benches. From her angle, she could see the vicious stick hidden out of site behind his back. It was decorated with red and white stripes so it resembled a large candy cane. She couldn’t let him use it again. It was the same stick he had used on her, she realised, shivering at the memory. Swallowing hard and balled her hands fists. She had to stop the monster before it was too late.
“Hey” Sydney Glitter called to Santa’s Head Elf impatiently. “You shouldn’t be here, the Centre’s closed”. Evangeline came up before the security guard, blocking his path before he had chance to get any closer.
“Don’t do it” she pleaded, pathetically. Sammi would have laughed at her uncharacteristically squeaky voice. She cleared her throat as Glitter towered over her.
“Stop it” she demanded more forcefully. But Sydney Glitter had no idea she is there and he trudged straight through her insubstantial form, his bulbous eyes never leaving the boy.
The certainty of what was about to happen churned Evangeline’s ghostly stomach. This could be happening to anyone. What if it was Sammi? Evangeline surged forwards towards the pile of Christmas presents beneath the tree. If she could knock some of them over it may cause a distraction. But it was no use; she had no body and no power in the physical world anymore and the presents did not move.
Meanwhile Sydney Glitter was almost upon Santa’s Head Elf. As Glitter advanced on the boy he glanced slyly to either side, reassuring himself that no one else was around. No prying eyes to witness what would happen next. Evangeline shouted at him, waving her hands at the pair and jumping up and down. Just for a moment Glitter paused and looked in her direction. His puzzled expression suggested he may have seen something from the corner of his eye. But the moment passed.
The colourful box that Santa’s Head Elf had been looking at slipped from his fingers as the black shadow of Sydney Glitter fell upon him.
“Get away from him!” Evangeline screamed frantically but her silent plea went unheard. She circled the two in desperation, chewing her non-existent finger nails as her chattering mind searched for a way to help. Santa’s Head Elf looked upwards, his blue watery eyes slowly taking in the grotesque form of the security guard. It was already too late and Evangeline was out of time. She hurried behind the safety of the Christmas tree and peered between the branches helplessly as the boy reached out a tiny hand, seeking reassurance from an apparently friendly adult who was supposed to help him.
“No” she whispered silently, shaking her head.
“Where are your parents?” Glitter enquired touching the boys shoulder almost tenderly with a large hairy hand. Santa’s Head Elf opened his mouth but, as if sensing something in the security guard’s expression, he stopped and backed away slightly.
“What’s your name, son?” Glitter asked gently, crouching down to show that he wasn’t really a threat. Evangeline wanted to look away but morbid curiosity held her firm. Santa’s Head Elf looked away for a moment but then he glanced up at the security guard again and that’s when Evangeline noticed the change. He was no longer a little boy. His once frightened little face had changed; lips twisted into a malicious grin. Evangeline was the one that cried out as the creature swung the candy cane stick from behind his back. It swished with such speed, as it had done last year. The colourful Christmas treat slashed through Sydney Glitter’s neck, deftly separating his head from his shoulders. The heavy body crumpled to the floor with just the rustle of fabric as the head landed with a wet splat at his feet. Sydney Glitter’s dead startled eyes were staring towards Evangeline and like her; he never saw it coming either. Evangeline shrank back instinctively in case the evil elf could see her decided to punish her a second time. Still unable to flee or even cover her eyes Evangeline watched the macabre performance as the creature bundled Sydney Glitter’s headless body effortlessly into the brown sack and placed the severed head in the colourful box he’d been holding earlier. Then With a joyful laugh he swung the sack over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all. Evangeline remained perfectly still as the elf danced merrily down the shadowy corridor with his trophies, past Beales, towards the entrance to the car park. Evangeline stayed hidden behind the Christmas tree for some time afterwards as the sound his little jingling bell could still be heard long after Santa’s Head Elf had gone. ⚡
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 29, 2020 7:20:12 GMT -6
Such a murderous Head Elf!  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Aug 29, 2020 16:08:58 GMT -6
Desert Rot by Timothy Rock His fire was a bluff of life in the withering carcass of his company. Walton stood staring at the sands around him. The dunes rose and fell with the hypnotic rhythm of ocean waves, gusts of wind scattering the nighttime sand through the air like a silver whip. Above him the sky opened in a vast display of constellations he had forgotten the names of, each star pulsing a small but vibrant light.
He had led them out here. Three hundred men wrapped in crimson robes with a sword and spear in each hand. There had been complaints of bandits in the Middling Pass; robbing, killing, raping. The Legion had been sent to quell the bandits, Walton had been placed in charge.
He had ordered a group of twenty to enter the Middling Pass at nightfall. “Bring back four or five of them,” Walton had told his Lieutenant, Jory, “We will hang them from the ravine overlooking The Pass. We will send a message to the others.”
“What of the rest, Commander?” Jory had asked.
“Kill them and burn their bodies.”
Eighteen of the men sent into The Pass returned with five of the bandits in chains; three women, two men. Jory reported back to him, his face swollen with ugly red veins surrounding a deep red gash underneath his left eye. “It was the old man at the end, Commander. He bashed a stone against my cheek and stove another boys head in through his helm. He’s got a strong arm.”
Walton examined the old man. His face was small and the lines that etched its surface were caked with sand and dirt, his eyes were deep set in his head. Drool ran steadily down an uneven, knotted beard.
“We caught most of them off-guard, Commander.” Jory continued, “Most of our men made it out unharmed aside from one boy who caught an arrow through his throat.”
“Did you bury our dead, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Commander, and we burned the dead refugees.”
“Good.” A single bead of sweat ran down the old man’s skin leaving a muddy trail in its wake. The old man made a low guttural noise and retched over into the sand. The sun hung unwavering the sky.
“Hang them.”
They were hung from the ravine that overlooked The Middling Pass; Three women, two men. A message to all others.
A strong gust of wind rushed through Walton as he stood in the moonlight. His fire wavered, its heat disappearing momentarily and leaving a heavy, cold feeling of despair in his chest before snapping back into place.
There were only thirty or forty men left now, it’s been so hard to keep track. The twenty he had ordered into The Pass had been the first to go. Their skin blistering and turning black, falling off in long, pulpy strands. Their eyes yellowing into a grimy, opaque stain set far back into their skulls. Then came the vomiting, the dehydration, and the hallucinations. They would keep up with the marches at first but eventually they would just drop. More each day, more each night. Until only the bones of his camp were left. What was once filled with the sounds of drinking and laughing and gambling now echoed a terrible silence. Each night more and more fires would go out. Until only his was left.
The night before Jory died he had come to Walton’s tent. “The bandits, Commander.” He said. “Some of them had been sick, sick with this Rot. Black skin, blisters, vomiting. It was them.” Walton didn’t reply.
“The men, there a whispers throughout the camp that we are lost. Whispers that you are leading us out west. We aren’t lost, are we?” There was hope in his voice. Jory had wrapped himself in the robes of the Red Legion but the tips of his fingers had peeled away to reveal stringy red stumps, and Walton thought that if he were to lift up the robe that the soft flesh of his throat would be blistered and black. Again Walton didn’t answer. Jory left without another word; the next day he had been found dead in his tent. That’s when the fires started going out at night.
The camp was quiet. Walton’s fire was alone. Clouds rolled into the sky and suddenly Walton thought that the silvery dunes around him had become hostile and cold, no longer a visage of beauty but a frigid cage surrounding him. Walton removed the glove on his left hand and the skin of his palm had begun to turn an unnatural purple color, the tips of his fingers bleeding slightly.
“No Jory, we aren’t lost.” He whispered.
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Post by lostineternity99 on Aug 30, 2020 10:19:48 GMT -6
There is a little bit of hope at the end of this stark tale  |
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See you all more tomorrow. Happy Friday/weekend everyone