Writing For The Lost
Writing for the lost
A short horror story I wrote a while ago.
Word count: 2096
I've always wanted to be a writer.
I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail.
I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught.
I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others.
And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again.
Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.
That my stories are mere imitations of the great ones.
Well, they might be, for all I know they might all be damned.
Perhaps it would be better to stop, to call it quits, but I can't.
I can't.
I just can't.
As the thing I've been working towards my entire life, I can't let it go now or I will really have lost.
I work jobs I don't like in order for me to be able to purchase the things to write and to give myself time to read.
But a masterpiece is something I will never be able to write.
I remember once entering a competition just to be told that my writing lacks emotion and originality. Well I've been told worse before.
But still, I try and try again.
Probably until I can't anymore.
Until even breathing is something too difficult.
Recently I moved to a new house, it's old.
It's also difficult to keep clean, but the rent is dirt cheap.
I might be able to stay here for longer than half a year, so I'm pretty happy with it.
Perhaps it's time to hire a maid, though I would need to work even harder to afford one... Yeah, I should just do it myself.
Even though this house is in a bad shape, it feels almost as if it has a soul.
Like the house is a whole character in itself.
In a way it makes me feel less lonely.
The paint is slowly peeling from the walls and not all the lights work, but in a way it speaks to me.
Like something I've long lost or have yet to gain.
In all truth, there is something amiss with this house, something strange, but I dare not call it wrong.
The first night I sat by my mattress on the floor and took out one of my old notebooks.
"Alright, I think I'm going to write now." I said to the house, I said to myself.
Speaking aloud is something I do often when I'm alone, so I did not expect a response.
"What will you be writing?" a voice echoed through the house, entering my bedroom.
I was quiet for a moment, listening to the suddenly eerie atmosphere that had entered the room.
After a long while I finally mustered the courage to answered: "A story"
"What is this story about?" The house asked.
"I-I don't know yet..." I whispered.
I could feel my hand holding the pen tremble, but I didn't dare to run away, I didn't even dare to look behind me.
"How about you write a story about me?" The voice asked slowly.
"I-I can do that, please t-tell me." I hated the fact that I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.
"Hmmm..." The voice seemed deep in thought: "How about we write it together?"
I could feel a cold hand touch my shoulder, to then enter my body.
It was truly a strange sensation, nothing I had ever felt before.
But I guess I can say, I got possessed.
When I came to, I had written almost an entire book, my hands covered in blisters were sore as can be and I felt like I had had the strangest dream.
I dreamed that I was someone else.
I dreamed of the feelings they felt.
I dreamed of the pain they had to have endured.
As I looked at the pages written in a handwriting that wasn't mine, I could remember the dream more vividly.
I looked up to find an almost transparent man before me.
"Not enough." He mumbled: "Not enough."
"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.
"This is simply not enough..."
I let him think in silence for him, afraid of what would happen if I were to anger the spirit before me.
"It's not the whole story yet." He finally answered: "It has yet to be finished."
As I tried to get up, holding up my arms for him, wanting to tell him that he can try again, dark spots start appearing in my vision and before I know it I fall over.
"That must be the problem." I heard him say: "You are too weak."
The words sound harsh, but I also know that they spoke the truth.
I was weak... No I still am.
I can't do anything.
I have no talent for anything.
I am useless.
Somehow the ghost decided to take pity on me and sat next to me.
"You gotta eat something, my friend." He said in a kind voice.
I could feel an ice cold hand on my shoulder, so cold that it felt like it could freeze my body and turn it into solid ice.
Slowly I got up, my 'friend' following closely behind me, making sure I wouldn't fall over.
He helped me sit down at the table, where I reached for some of the fruit in the basket.
I took a bite and only then noticed that it had long spoiled, still I continued until I had finished it completely.
"What is it that made you so obsessive over writing a story?" My friend asked.
"Good writers live forever within their works, good writers never leave this earth."
"What caused you to think like that?"
"People disappear often, swiftly and without much noise. I don't want to go out like that."
My friend hesitated and then answered: "I see." I think he said it because he didn't want to invade my privacy.
"So, why do you want to have your story written?"
He shrugged: "I guess it's almost the same reason as for you to write. I don't want my story to disappear. I came to my end in a way I don't wish upon my most feared enemies."
"Why not find someone stronger and more talented than me?" I asked out of curiosity.
"You're the first."
Just what does he mean with that?
"The first that was able to allow me to write to speak out my anguish."
As I have regained some of my energy I carefully stand up, this time not falling over nor seeing dark spots cloud my vision.
"Alright, let's work together." I offered and my friend nodded in agreement.
Days went by in which I took better care of myself and had a moment in which my friend could take up my pen.
Day after day, more empty pages got filled with a story, the story of him.
As the final day grew closer, I could feel his frustration slowly ebb away.
Then it came.
It arrived much too early for my taste to be completely honest.
After all, I made a friend, a good one at that, someone that only I could hear and see, someone that told me different from my dark lingering thoughts.
"May I request something?" He asked kindly like always.
"But of course, anything that may be of help to you."
His face turned serious.
"I would like it if you were to publish this, under your own name."
Shocked, I looked at him: "But this is your story, yours and yours alone, you can't leave it to me! If you want it published so badly, I can bring it to a publisher and say that you, my friend, are the writer of this masterpiece."
He looked down.
"But you wrote it." He silently protested.
I immediately shook my head: "No, you did, you did it, you wrote the story of your life."
Then he slammed his fist on the table.
"Dammit! I want you to take it, you have been nothing but kind to me. I have worn you out to have my last wish be granted through you. Most people would run away if they ever were to even lay eyes upon me. You are the only one to understand me, so please... just listen to me."
Shocked by his sudden burst of anger and frustration, he reminds me that his last day is coming closer.
This time I look down: "Fine." I mumbled: "I will publish it under my name, but I will tell everyone that I wrote it with the help of a friend."
A sad smile crossed his face: "You better do."
And thus I went to the publisher the very next day.
It was one of those that had refused me before a couple of times, but this was the closest one to my house.
As I knocked on the door, I was greeted by the man that owned the company.
"What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?!" His voice was stern, perhaps angry even.
"I've come to show you something."
"Again?! You know I ain't reading anymore of that garbage that is written by you!"
"I wrote it with a friend."
"Oh, yeah, who ist?"
"He... he prefers to remain anonymous."
"Anonymous? Bah, the only thing I smell here is bullshit!"
"It's because it's his personal story."
A mailman walks by giving the owner a couple of letters.
At first I wasn't sure, but I noticed that one of them had something like 'EVICTION' written on it.
He then confirmed it to me.
"Look pal, there is no story big enough to save this company of mine. Rent is due and there are mouths to feed."
"Please..." I begged him: "Please just read, even if it's only the first page. No first half of the page is good enough."
He sighed.
"Fine then, but this is your last chance. If it's bad again, I will never allow you to enter this place anymore."
Thanking him, he let me inside.
Carefully I handed him my manuscript as he sat down on a chair.
"Half a page you said?"
"Yes." I nodded.
To my delight, as the owner started reading the story, he almost seemed to get absorbed in it.
He didn't read half a page at all like I had requested, page after page he read.
At some point I could see tears well up in his eyes, at another I could see the frustration in him like that of the protagonist of the story.
And then he closed the last page.
It had already gotten dark outside and he had read every word, not skipping anything.
With a satisfied sigh, he wiped his head and then looked at me.
"Well that certainly is how you do it, son."
I bowed and thanked him.
"I-it's truly almost something close to a miracle."
"Could you publish this for me?"
The man nodded: "Yes, yes. Of course."
It didn't take long before I could find my book in the local bookstores.
But I didn't take the time to celebrate this victory.
My best friend was gone after all, his place felt empty.
I couldn't care less about my income or the fact that I could finally live somewhere else that was cleaner or in better shape.
I visited his grave often, even talking to him, knowing full well he wasn't there to listen anymore.
Then one day another one came.
A spirit.
A lost soul.
Someone in need of my help.
Like before I wrote them a book, I wrote their story.
And in time they left me again too.
I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote and wrote.
Somehow in time I had become somewhat of a best-seller, people would even recognize me in the streets and ask me for an autograph. And I would always tell them that I never wrote a story alone.
I always told them that I shouldn't get all the praise.
Eventually I started noticing myself growing weak again.
Weaker than I had ever felt before.
Though some spirits would try to take care of me, I got sicker and sicker.
It wasn't something a doctor could cure.
It's my curse after all.
My curse is sucking away at my life force.
My unnatural talent is killing me!
Scared, I look up, dropping the pen from my trembling hands, spilling small drops of ink over the floor, my hands and on some of the pages.
"Are you okay?" The man, or rather ghost, before me looks worried.
"I...we..."
He looks down with eyes filled with regret: "Yes, you and I are the same. We both have the same curse, if you're not careful enough, death will come to get you earlier as well."
More Posts from Ardenla and Others
23:37
Here is another short horror story I wrote:)
TW: Gore, eyegore
How long has it been now?
5 years?
Or 15?
I honestly can't remember.
But I do know that it has been a while.
I really don't know where the time went since I started working at this hospital.
I'm a doctor here.
Not too good, but not too bad either.
Average really.
Really average.
But even so, seemingly needed.
Many people who start working here leave not too long after, but I stayed.
"Are you still feeling up for it? The night shift, I mean?"
The voice of the hospital director takes me out of my head.
"Sure." I mumble.
He turns his back to me: "Great! I knew I could always rely on you."
I nod and leave the room.
I am a bit tired, but some more coffee will probably get rid of that feeling.
Right, back to work! I think to myself, a bit less energetic than I had hoped.
I'm usually the one who gets the shifts the others can't do.
Though I really could have seen this one coming.
And working overtime has become rather normal.
As I quickly drink from my small cup of coffee, I rush to the room I need to go to.
While I pass two nurses on my way there I catch a few words.
"Is he doing it again?"
"I think so, maybe he should just leave."
"Yeah, or there might be more mistakes than usual."
I know that they are talking about me and I want to turn around to tell them that I can hear them, but stop myself just in time.
It doesn't matter anyway, if I say something, it won't change anything.
I really need to get going.
I do my shift like usual, I rather take my time with each patient then go fast through my list. This does unfortunately cost me my break, but then again I usually skip those, so it doesn't matter.
Time ticks by slowly and before I know it, the darkness has swallowed the outside world whole, only leaving some lights.
As I enter one of the patients rooms I greet them and take a seat next to the bed.
While listening to their problems, my attention suddenly goes over to the tv.
The pale blue light shows a news reporter.
The words 'URGENTS NEWS' in red light attract my attention.
Something about a virus? If I get it right.
"Doctor? Are you still listening?"
"Ah, yes, sorry. What were you saying?" Embarrassed I look through the list, avoiding eye contact, they luckily continue.
When I've listened to everyone in the room I get up and ready myself to leave.
I turn around one last time.
Wasn't there a tv in the room?
Maybe someone took it away...
Walking to my next stop I can suddenly hear others whisper.
"It was all his fault right?"
"That his patient died? Yeah, it is."
"That's awful."
"I wonder who is going to be next."
"If you ask me, he really failed his job as a doctor."
"Why do they even allow him to continue this work?"
I clench my fist, I really should just ignore it, but it's just too difficult now.
When that accident happened, they didn't do anything to help me or to stand by me.
They only use me to not get blamed themselves!
My thoughts don't matter and the whispering continues, getting only meaner, cutting deeper into my skin.
"Oh, will you please shut it?!"
I ask angry as I turn around.
But there is no one.
The whispering has stopped too.
Do I hear someone walk away?
Never mind, I should get back to work.
As I enter the next room, I'm greeted by an older man who is still awake.
I take a seat next to his bed and start our conversation.
After a while I suddenly notice that something has appeared on his right cheek.
"What's that?" I ask pointing at it.
"Is there something on my face?" He asks, a bit frightened from my seriousness.
I lean forward to take a closer look.
It looks red and swollen.
There is a strange stripe.
Suddenly it opens.
It's an eye.
It looks at me.
It stares into me.
It judges me.
It calls me a failure.
Then I remember what I had seen on the tv before.
A virus.
This must be it.
"Doctor? What's wrong?" The man asks, shaken.
"Don't worry." I say without looking away from the eye in his cheek.
"You will be in need of another examination."
I try to stay as calm as possible and rush him to the ER.
I call over some of my other colleagues who say they will come help me soon.
"What's going on?" asks the man with panic in his voice.
"You're sick." I say calmly
Suddenly my vision changes, it's almost like watching an old movie too close to the screen. My senses are gone.
The doctor notices the spreading of the eyes.
"I need to stop it, immediately." He mumbles as he takes the scalpel from the white table.
Calmly he lowers it closer to the biggest eye.
"I just need to remove it."
He knows that he should wait for the others, but they are taking their sweet time to get there.
"W-what are you doing with t-that?" The man almost starts to cry.
"Don't worry, I will save you." The doctor answers with a kind smile.
The scalpel gets closer and closer.
With one swoop he takes out the eye.
Blood flies around the room coloring it from white to red.
He can't hear his patients screams of anguish and just continues removing the eyes.
After a while his patient doesn't move anymore.
Did he fall asleep?
The door opens and the doctor's colleagues enter.
"W-what the hell happened here?" One of them asks in a trembling voice.
"We have a virus." The doctor answers calmly: "I just saved his life."
"Saved his life? You killed him!"
"No, he is just asleep for now."
One of the others steps forward to the patient.
"His eyes have been removed, why did you do it?" As he looks up, the doctor sees it.
His colleagues have been infected too!
There is another eye in her neck.
It needs to be removed immediately!
The doctor quickly moves close and slashes it out, she gurgles for a bit and then falls to the ground into a puddle of her own blood.
His other colleagues scream and try to run, but the doctor is faster.
"Don't worry, I forgive you from whispering about me. I will save your lives as well."
After the successful operations the doctor moves to the front desk, the people behind the desks aren't people anymore.
Their many eyes stare at him.
One of the monsters screams and the doctor looks at the red trail he has been leaving.
They hit something and an alarm goes off.
The lights turns red.
They must be spreading the virus!The doctor thinks.
He quickly runs at them, slashing their vitals. Removing some of their eyes.
It doesn't take long for more monsters to appear, these are even more Grotesk and have even more eyes than the others.
They try to grab hold of him by his arms, making him drop the scalpel.
But it's not enough to stop him completely and so the doctor runs away.
Hallway after hallway, it's endless.
They won't be able to find him.
They won't be able to infect him.
The hallways get darker and darker and a monster that was chasing him is getting behind.
It's time to hide somewhere, the doctor decides.
Quickly he opens the first door he sees and rushes inside.
He locks the door behind him and waits for the monster's noise to pass.
"You won't last long this way." An old creaking voice behind him suddenly says.
The doctor turns around and peers into the darkness.
It takes a couple of minutes for him to get used to it.
But then he sees.
In the room, on an old chair, sits an even older lady awaiting him with a smile.
Unlike the others in the building, she seems strangely normal.
Did she flee here? The doctor wonders.
Then he changes his attention to all the clocks in the room.
Has this room always been here?
He couldn't remember.
Some of the clocks are new, others are old.
Some digital, some have hands.
All of them seem to stand still on a certain time, yet all different.
12:03
18:49
11:55
09:12
No, on closer inspection, they're all broken.
"Do you want to know where you are?" the old voice asks him in a familiar voice, yet he does not recognize it.
Where had he heard it before?
"Who are you?" he asks, but she doesn't seem to feel like answering him.
Instead the old woman laughs: "In this room are the people who took their last breath. These clocks show the last time they did. Some are long gone, yet some just a minute ago." With this she smiles at the doctor, it's a joyless and cold smile. "This hospital has quite the history." She ends.
He doesn't understand, what does she mean with all that?
"Well, talking in third-person is the last thing that will help you understand the situation you got yourself in."
"What the hell?" My senses suddenly return violently back to me, my vision is back to normal as well.
I look down at my hands, even though it should be too dark to see, I can see the blood. I can smell it. I can feel it.
It didn't happen.
It didn't happen!
IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!
NOTHING DID!!
"You added to this pile of clocks here." The old woman smirks, but as I look up at her she isn't old anymore.
She is a child.
She looks like she came out of an old picture.
"Did you really forget about me?" She asks, moving her head slightly sideways.
I don't remember her.
Why don't I remember her?!
"That's unfortunate." She says as if reading my mind: "But it won't save you from what you did."
I frantically try to find the light-switch.
I can hear people in the hallway, they must be searching for me.
Suddenly the girl, now a middle-aged woman, swings an old hand watch in front of me.
23:37 it says.
Now I remember, 23:37, that was my reason for doing the work I did.
Wait, what time is it now?
The lights turn on, I wasn't the one who did it, but it's one of the former monsters.
I'm in the morgue.
There are no clocks in here.
"You're coming with us pal!" the intruder yells at me.
I sigh and look at my watch.
It's 23:37.
Perhaps it is my time too.
The flames in her eyes
The most recent short story I wrote.
I wouldn't call it horror, but to some it might be seen as frightening or dark. Personally I find it to be closer to fantasy.
Word count: 2298
This place, if I can call it that, feels like the strangest place I’ve ever been.
It’s so very cold here, although that might also just be my own body temperature, coming from within me. Am I cooling down this place? Though there still remains the slight chance of me being wrong about everything.
It’s far too dark to see, pitch black, darker than any place I’ve ever been .
Darker than the most cloudy of nights.
Darker than my room with the curtains closed at night.
I quietly wonder if I’m still asleep after all and decide to take a step forward to test this theory.
Unexpectedly I drop onto an unfamiliar floor.
So… I was standing when I awoke?
Not lying down?
With my hands I blindly scan the texture of the floor.
It’s colder than the air, my fingers run over something that feels like old tiles.
Damnit, why does it have to be so dark in here? If I could just see, I could have avoided falling.
Then the real question hits me: How the hell did I get here?!
Abduction?
I don’t remember a thing.
A nightmare?
It’s too real for that.
Should I wait? Would that be better? Maybe someone will rescue me.
Or perhaps this is a dream in which I must first die to wake up again?
But then I would need to get up and walk around…
After a couple of minutes of contemplating my choices, I finally decide that it’s time to get up again.
Almost embarrassingly childlike I stumble around in the dark.
Tripping over my own feet and at times an alien object, I finally reach something that could possibly be a wall.
Gently running my hands around me, I find another wall that seems to be made of something like metal bars, like those inside a prison cell. Too tight too escape from.
Still following this one might bring me to the exit.
I use the cold, rusty bars in order to move around, they feel old.
Taking one after another I carefully make my way forward.
Had this been a prison at some time? I question myself in silence.
Right, the silence.
This place seems to almost be completely without sound.
No noise of the wind, not even a little bit. Though I guess if I really want to hear it, I can just wave my arms around really quickly and create something like it.
Furthermore, there are no voices, no breathing from any other possible creature within this place.
I wonder if this might be normal or abnormal here, though both fill me with a sense of fear.
I feel my way out of the room, it seems like I’ve not been imprisoned.
Still I don’t feel any relief, because it seems to be terribly dark everywhere around me.
I find myself in what I believe to be a hallway, the walls stretch out always further than I anticipate and are made of a different kind of stone from the walls inside the cell.
I’m starting to lose hope and am just able to stop myself from panicking.
I don’t think I will get out of here.
And perhaps that might be for the best.
My thoughts turn darker than wherever I am, like it’s trying to swallow me whole. Dragging me deeper down with each desperate escape I try to make.
Perhaps I’ve been eaten by some kind of giant creature…?
If it was a creature, it would probably still be warm.
Finally I decide it’s enough and sit down hopelessly on the floor.
Yet no tears leave my eyes, they’re useless anyway.
I sit.
I wait.
I pluck my clothes, until it tires me.
I wait.
My body has now almost completely turned as cold as the floor.
My thoughts, only turning darker and darker.
I close my eyes. Well I’m not sure, perhaps they’re still open. It’s too dark to see.
I wait.
Suddenly something wakes me up as it tumbles over me. Something moving.
“Ouch.” I say even though it doesn’t hurt.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so, so sorry!” The voice breaking the silence startles me.
Echoing, I can make out that the voice most likely belongs to a girl in her late teens.
“Wait, someone else is here?” She asks frightened: “I thought I was all alone.”
“I thought so too, but I guess that’s not the case.” I answer as calmly as possible.
I feel a warm hand helping me stand back on my own feet.
“You’re so cold.” The girl whispers: “How long have you been sitting here?”
I shrug: “No idea.”
I hear her hair moving, most likely she’s turning her head to face me.
And then, I finally see something.
In the eyes of the girl, I spot what seem to be two little flames.
Two blue dancing little flames.
Two little flames that seem to have not lost hope.
Two little flames that want to escape this darkness and return back to the world of light.
“What’s going on with your eyes?” I ask without thinking.
“What do you mean?” She asks surprised.
“It’s like there’s fire coming out of them.”
She giggles: “Yeah sure, the chances of you starting to see things thanks to lying on this cold floor for so long, is pretty damn high.”
Ignoring her I ask: “Do you happen to know a way out?”
“What do you think? I almost can’t see a thing.”
“Almost?”
“Yeah, sometimes only a wall when it’s near and of course my own hands.”
I move my hands, but don’t see them. I can’t see the walls either.
“Really?” I ask.
Could it be that she’s somehow able to see more in this darkness?
She giggles again: “You really can’t see anything? You should be able to see your own hands at least.”
“No…” I hesitatingly answer, shaking my head: “But I can see your eyes.”
“That’s weird, maybe you're imagining it?” It’s clear as day that she’s not taking me seriously.
Ignoring her tone I ask: “Should we try to get out together?”
“Yes please, I’m super glad I’m not alone anymore.” I can hear a sense of fear in her voice, she seems desperately trying to hide.
The girl takes my hand, probably that there’s no way I would be able to find her once lost.
I mumble a thanks and we start walking.
“Are we inside some kind of labyrinth?” The girl complains as we find another wall.
“That might just be the case.” I answer now slightly annoyed by the girl.
“You know, it would help if you weren’t so cold all the time.”
“Sorry.” I apologize. I’ve been told this many times before. That I should act warmer if I want to have a good life. Yet, I’ve found it to be rather difficult. I’ve known what it’s like to be too warm and kind. You often get used by others.
I’ve learned my lesson and cut people off, blocked them away from me. It’s safer that way.
Feeling around with my free hand I suddenly notice a crack inside a wall.
“Hey, could you check this out?” I ask the girl.
“Sure.” In my mind she shrugs as she answers, perhaps she really did it, perhaps she didn’t.
“I think… we can break this down.” She whispers as she lets go of my hand.
I can hear her rummaging around, most likely taking out loose bricks.
“Do be careful that it won’t fall on us.” I warn her.
“Leave it to me, I can see it… though slightly. I believe this should be able to be opened up.”
I take a step back and let her handle it.
She takes out brick after brick.
“I think it’s big enough for both of us to fit through now.” She finally whispers.
She takes my hand again and leads me through the narrow hole in the wall and we enter a new place.
Probably the same as the one before.
“Is this just like the rest?” I ask.
She takes me further away from the hole and touches another wall: “Yeah, we’re still stuck in this labyrinth.”
Suddenly I spot something out of the corner of my eye and quickly take the girl further back, to the other side, away from whatever that is.
“What’s wrong?” She asks slightly frightened.
“I think… someone is there.” I whisper to her.
I see two large flames welling up in the distance.
“Are you sure?” The girl asks.
I nod, but of course she won’t be able to see that.
Carefully I try to lead the girl further back, but am only greeted by a cold wall against my back.
Too late.
The flames look our way.
At first I believe to hear something crackle, only to realise that it’s laughing. Laughing of an old woman.
“You don’t have to hide for me, dear girls.” She laughs in a sweet voice: “I may be old, but my eyes can still see very well.”
I can feel the girl trembling: “How… how is it possible for you to see us?”
“What do you mean, dear child? There is enough light to see everything.”
“No, that’s not true… it’s pitch black, I can barely spot my arms before me.”
Still holding onto each other we slowly walk towards the older woman with her flaming eyes.
Her voice turns to me and so do her flames.
“Can you two really not see anything?”
The girl answers for me: “She can’t, I can just see a little.”
“Do you know a way out?” I ask the older woman.
I see her flames moving, almost as if shaking her head: “No, unfortunately not. Though I believe that now that we’re not alone anymore, we will find a way out much easier.”
I guess she isn’t the one who has brought us here, if it even was someone.
“Let me come with you, we might find our way out quicker.”
I look at her flames and nod.
“My child, how were you able to see me, if you can’t see anything else?” The old woman asks questioningly.
Before I can answer, the girl does it for me: “She keeps saying that she sees the flames in other’s eyes. Still it’s probably just-“
“So you can see the flames of other people’s souls?” The older woman doesn’t allow the girl to continue.
I shrug: “I don’t know… it’s probably just all in my head. I’ve never seen anything like that in my ordinary life outside of this place.”
“Here’s a mirror. Can you hold it by yourself?” The old woman shoves a cold and heavy object in my hands, almost having me slip it out of my hands. Hurting my fingers to keep it steady.
I try to look at it, but there is no reflection of my own flames, if I even have them.
“Well, do you see them?” the lady asks, way too enthusiastic.
I shake my head and answer with a plain: “No.”
Both of them take a stand next to me, probably looking in the mirror.
Then I see something inside of it.
The flames.
Their flames.
So… I don’t have them?
Could it be that… I’m soulless?
“So? What do you see?”
“I see nothing, but the reflection of yours.” I answer honestly.
“That’s unfortunate.” The woman says, sounding deep in thought: “Could it be… that you had a not so fortunate life?”
As I remain quiet, she apologises: “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to ask such questions. But if you need someone to listen to you, I’m more than willing to help you lighten that burden of yours.”
“Thanks.” I say, though slightly annoyed. I don’t like people poking into my problems.
The old woman leads us through the hallways, making sure, neither I nor the girl end up falling over something.
“You two should be thankful that you can’t truly see this place. Something horrible has taken place here.”
“I see.” I answer coolly.
“Don’t be like that!” The girl starts panicking.
The woman laughs joylessly: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Why did you have to say that? Now I can only imagine all the shapes as dead bodies.”
The woman remains quiet.
So that must be the case.
Still, there don’t seem to be enough to cover the entire floor. Since the older lady is able to guide us through them so well.
“Gosh, this seems to be a dead end.” The woman sighs.
“Really?! I don’t want to go back there!” The girl cries out.
Carefully I let go of the girl’s hand, something has taken my attention.
There is something shining dimly straight ahead of me, it’s unlike the flames of my two companions.
Somehow friendly and familiar.
“What’s over there?” I ask while straying away from the others.
“You shouldn’t go there!” The girl calls out, but even though her voice sounds terrified, I don’t listen.
I feel like the light is calling me.
“My child! You shouldn’t venture there!” The old woman calls out to me, her ancient voice trembling in anguish: “Terrible things have happened there!”.
But I ignore her as well.
I feel myself walking into something like a puddle, too thick to be water, but I decide not to think about it.
The light is getting closer and closer, brighter and brighter.
“Ma’am, please get back here!”
“You’ll hurt yourself if you continue!”
I feel something sharp digging itself into my right leg.
Quickly I kneel down to push whatever it is away, but it starts digging deeper into it.
It hurts.
It hurts so fucking much!
Every time I try to reach it, my hands seem to slip away, whatever I’m standing in is way too thick to be just water.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about it!!!
As I’m finally able to take out whatever it is, I notice that little lights are dropping down.
I try to look at what I believe to be up, only to find out that the small lights are coming from me.
I smirk, I guess I’m not soulless after all.
I hear both women behind me yell at me to return, screaming for the fear I might get hurt or lose my life.
I don’t pay it any attention and continue.
The light I see behind that door.
My own tears seem to be leading me there as well, dropping quietly without sound, slowly they turn dark like everything around me, just showing small pieces of my path.
I reach out my arm for the light.
But instead of holding something warm, it’s something cold.
It’s an old door handle.
Very, very old. Something I would expect to find inside an ancient castle.
As I hold it, all the light fades once more and I open the door.
Snowglobe
A short horror story I wrote.
TW: Abuse, blood
Word count: 655
Hilda wakes up early in the morning, quietly she gets out of bed and walks to her window. As she opens the curtains she sees that there is a thick layer of snow outside. Her heart jumps with joy, not only will she get presents today, there is also snow!
Maybe she could build a snowman outside her house or hold a snowball fight with her friends. She would have an amazing day anyway.
She goes back to bed, her parents rather don't have her out at this time in the morning, Hilda knows that very well. Back under the warm blankets she tries to get just a bit more sleep.
It's time!
Hilda can hear her parents footsteps and whispering in the hallway, so she gets dressed and leaves her room.
Just before lunch her aunt arrives.
Hilda loves her aunt very much, she is a kind woman and always pampers her.
When her aunt enters the room she has a big box with her.
"Natalie, you know better than to spoil the girl so much." Her mother tells her sister.
"Well it's just the time of year to spoil such well-behaved kids like her." She smiles and gives a box to Hilda: "Be careful, it might break if you aren't."
Hilda immediately starts being more gentle with the box, when she gets everyone's approval she opens the box carefully.
In it there is a giant snowglobe, in it is a giant Christmas tree, surrounded by little houses.
Hilda looks up in awe: "Thank you auntie!" her eyes shining like a thousand stars.
Her aunt smiles at her: "Do you like it?"
"Yes, Yes, I love it!"
Carefully she shakes it a little, it makes it snow in the little village!
"Auntie..."
"Yes."
"Do you think there might be people living in the village?"
"If that makes you happy, then sure." Her smile is warm and comforting.
Hilda and her aunt take the snowglobe to her room and place it gently in a great spot, one where it stands safe and is able to be seen from any side of the room.
After lunch Hilda decides to go outside to play with her friends, she puts on her snowshoes, her warmest jacket and her gloves.
"See you soon!" Hilda calls out to the rest.
"Just be back before it gets dark!" Her father calls back.
As she opens the door she notices that it has started to snow again, heavily. Maybe even violently.
The snowflakes fly around everywhere.
Then the sky starts to break.
It breaks and shatters.
Shards fall down.
And then the blood rain starts.
Coloring the cold snow a hot, dark red.
The smell of iron can be smelled everywhere.
In just a few seconds everything has turned red.
A woman sits crying in a corner.
"ImsosorryImsosorry!"
She can't stop herself from apologizing.
The tears fall down like a waterfall, creating short-lasting stains in the old carpet.
"For the last time Hilda! THERE. ARE. NO. PEOPLE. LIVING. INSIDE. THIS. THING!!!"
Hilda whimpers.
"For god sake, GET THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME!!"
Hilda starts apologizing again, she can't control it, but it makes her husband get even more upset.
He keeps yelling and yelling at her, she doesn't really understand what he is saying anymore.
Is it really my fault? She wonders.
I don't even know what I did wrong?
Her husband is completely red-faced from anger.
So much anger.
He yanks her by her hair.
Then he takes her most prized possession.
Her snowglobe.
He takes it in one hand and hits her with it.
And again.
And again.
TWHACK!
TWHACK!
CRACK!!!
The glass shatters and the man kills his wife with the broken snowglobe.
Blood and water gets mixed and drips with the snowflakes onto the floor.
It doesn't take long for the police to arrive, the neighbors called. For a long time they had always looked away to what happened in that house, but the last blood curdling scream was enough for them. They did what they never thought they would do, calling the police.
The husband was arrested at the spot, but the damage was already done.
Hilda will never move again nor will she ever talk about the people living inside the globe again.
The walls are bleeding
My most recent short horror story.
Word count: 724
Trigger warning: Blood (who would have guessed)
It was just half an hour when it happened.
I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup.
Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning.
I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.
So what's a better time than now?
I walked towards one of the walls that was facing away from the windows, took a chair to stand on and placed my fingers over the paper's exterior.
It was a strange sensation, is this really paper? I thought to myself.
I hesitated.
Lowering my hands again and just stared for a moment.
Then other thoughts started to convince me to continue: This must be some kind of fancy wallpaper I don't know about. Fancy, but ugly, that explains the texture. I should remove it.
No, it needs to be removed!
Again I raised my hands and started by putting my fingers in between the wall and the wall at a place where it was already slightly loose.
Suddenly I noticed that I was touching something wet and sticky. Something of which I was certain that it couldn't be glue.
I swiftly retrieved my hand only to find the tips of my fingers to be soaked crimson red.
There's no doubt about it...
It's blood.
I immediately got down from the chair and ran towards the phone.
I need to call the police! Was the only thought running through my head.
Dialling the number, it luckily didn't take long for someone to pick up. I told them about the situation and that it was making me fear for my safety. I was told to wait by the door and open it for them.
A little later the doorbell finally rang, I felt a bit underwhelmed when I saw that they had sent just a single officer to check in on me.
Had they thought me mad?
"Good morning sir, Please show me what you found." He greeted me.
I took the man into my living room and showed him the spot.
"Good God..." He murmured.
He reached for his walkie-talkie and pressed a button.
"This is officer Green... Send to the bleeding house alert. I'm in need of backup. Over."
Some white noise left the small object, but nothing audible.
"This is officer Green. Does anyone copy. Over." He seemed to be slightly panicking.
Drip...
Drip...
I heard something coming down from upstairs and it didn't sound very good.
"Sir, I got to check something real quick." I said to the officer, though I don't believe he heard me at all. He seemed to be caught up in the buzzing of his communication device.
I ran up the stairs.
The dripping seemed to come from the bathroom.
Opening the door I found something horrifying.
Instead of water, blood was dripping out of the faucet.
Slowly filling up the tub with the dark coloured liquid.
I tried closing the faucet, but it only got worse.
Blood started pouring out.
I left again quickly, closing the door thoroughly behind me, trying to forget about what I had just seen and proceeded to my bedroom.
This wasn't in any way better.
I felt cold when I stepped into a lukewarm puddle of the sticky substance.
It was coming down from the walls, dripping, colouring and messing with all the furniture in it.
Entering the small hallway again, the walls had taken a colour of dark red as well.
Careful not to slip, I made my way back downstairs again.
"Sir, have you reached your colleagues yet?" I frantically ask the officer standing facing the wall quietly.
Something is wrong though.
Something about him seems so much different than how he was before.
The air around him...
In his hands he's holding a big piece of wallpaper and he's covered in blood.
Without looking my way, he starts talking.
"Perhaps this is its way of cleansing itself."
His voice sounds different too.
"What the hell do you mean?!"
"Usually when a wound is bleeding, it is in a way cleaning itself. The bigger the wound, the less chance of infection. The dirt will be washed away by the blood itself."
I feel anger and panic boiling up in my body: "Are you trying to say that I'm the cause of this?!"
For a moment there's silence, but then he shrugs.
"Nah, I wouldn't know that."
Angelic monster
A short horro story I wrote:)
TW: Blood & psychological horror
I've been such a coward.
Never before have I stooped this low.
Never before have I done something like this out of fear.
Yes, it's all because of a fear that can thoroughly be explained and the reason is an understandable one.
But somehow the feeling I got from doing it hasn't left me.
It's like it's slowly rubbing my back, poisoning my skin.
It has burned itself deep into my soul and the chills I got from that day still haven't disappeared in the slightest.
I dislike this feeling.
I hate this memory.
It feels like I will have to watch my back until my last breath.
That day I went with my students to do research on a strange cave that had been recently found, I'm a teacher you see.
We were driven there by the group that secretly had been holding my family hostage, I knew, but pretended not to and I was lucky that none of my students noticed.
The group wanted me to investigate this cave in order for more power.
It was said that monsters had been created from this cave.
The research I had done before had proven that somehow it's real.
That's when they found out.
My God, why did I have to find it?!
Why did I have to be the one to do this?
If I could go back in time...
Well it doesn't matter anymore now, everyone is dead.
All my students have been killed, every single one of them.
I still remember all their faces, I still remember their ideas, their wishes and the possible futures they could have had.
Well... I don't really want to go on about them anymore.
We found and caught the monster that was needed for the group's project. They needed a weapon and that's the one they wanted.
A monster that could destroy cities with ease.
Somehow the one we found looks much different from what had been foretold in the stories I had studied, no hairy paws or yellow eyes, but it was a monster nonetheless.
A monster of great skill and strength beyond that of a simple human being.
Now years later, the monster sits before me.
It has an almost angelic appearance, with white wings on its back like a lower class angel from the bible.
Its skin is dark grey, its form almost human, and covered with small white feathers, except for on its neck, face and claws. The head somehow has longer feathers growing out of it, like the hair on a human's head.
Its claws are like a combination of that from a bird and the hands of a person.
Having five 'fingers' on each hand that are more longer and slender than that of a human being and of course ending in sharp nails.
The other researchers and I have been unable to find out the gender of the creature, which is another strange thing. But then again, it's just a monster, nothing more, nothing less. It has already killed so many.
It snuffed out their lives like it was nothing and it will surely do so again.
Somehow, by continued teaching it has mastered the human language.
And now it sits before me, eerily calm.
There is a thick glass wall between us, since this monster is being used by the group as a weapon and is of course still a danger to everyone.
"Professor, what is it that you wanted to talk about?" the monster asks politely.
I can feel myself growing irritated by its tone.
Since when did it believe to address me by 'Professor'? That was reserved for my students, not this monstrosity.
Still I decide to let it slide for now, I don't want to anger it.
"Well..." I hesitate, while mustering up the courage: "It's about that day."
"I see." The monster looks down, does it remember? Does it feel guilt for what it has done?
"The day you found me, I assume." It guesses.
I nod: "That day I will never forget how you slaughtered my students." I almost growl at it whilst glaring.
"I didn't." It answers as if trying to hide its guilt.
I hate it.
I hate this monster.
"I want to know what went down there." I demand it: "How did you get there and why were you there?"
The monster hesitates for a moment but then begins to answer: "Well, I don't remember too much about that place. I believe that there are things I don't know about it at all."
"Be more clear."
"Yes, professor, I'm sorry."
"Quit calling me that." I guess I'm saying it now anyways.
It stops for a moment, almost looking shocked from my sudden burst of anger. Well it probably doesn't feel that anyway, I must have imagined it.
Then it nods as I sign to it that it should continue.
"From what I heard about the cave, it could be used as a way to conjure up monsters or demons."
"Go on."
"I don't think you would want to hear it."
"Continue." I say glaring at the monster.
It sighs in discomfort and then does as told: "I believe that there is something inside that cave that has the ability to turn something or someone who enters into a so-called monster."
"Yes, we noticed with the rat."
"Pro- erm, I mean sir, why did those students got sent inside? If you knew-."
I don't let it finish: "It was an emergency."
I was powerless that day, I couldn't do anything. It's not my fault.
"So, then do you remember entering the cave?"
To my displeasure the monster shakes its head: "No I don't. There are no memories from before I awoke."
"Awoke?"
"The moment I heard their screams."
"Well you are the monster of that place after all."
"Sir, I actually don't believe that to be the case."
Annoyed, I look at it: "And what the hell does that mean?"
"Like some of the other scientists say, I don't believe to have come from there, nor am I the creature you have been looking for. I'm just too different."
"They are just toying with you, giving you false hope, you're a monster after all."
Is it just me or did it seem slightly annoyed when I called it what I did?
No that can't be.
For a moment it remains silent.
"But then, isn't the monster in this situation yourself?" The monster then asks me as if it was something completely normal.
"What?! No! You're the monster, you are the reason they died." I panic, wondering what it is trying to do to me..
"I didn't kill them. I tried to save them all."
"Bullshit! You killed them, you were covered in blood when we found you!" I yell as I feel my face growing red. Why would it say such terrible things?
Somehow the monster remains completely calm.
"I didn't kill them." It repeats: "I tried to save them, but the one who went rampant was already killing the others even before I awoke."
"SHUT UP!"
But the monster continues: "I saved one person though, the girl, one of your students, she left the cave alive."
Rage has filled my mind and I'm unable to think clearly.
"I didn't do anything wrong!!!" I yell, slamming my fist against the glass.
But then calmly the angelic monster throws the undeniable truth in my face:
"Wasn't it you who pulled the trigger?"
The diver
Another short horror story I wrote.
Word count: 2339
"Are you ready?" Bob asks us in an excited tone.
I nod anxiously, but in truth that simple action is an enormous lie.
We have never been this deep before, no one has and the things we might come across at the bottom is a mystery to us.
Still, we have been training for this for months now. I should stop worrying and just dive down with my team.
Our heavy diving equipment gets their finishing touches and we are ready to go.
"Alright, you guys know what to do if something goes wrong, right?" James asks us.
"Yes." I answer, just nodding won't do it now. They won't be able to notice it with my helmet on.
The others let him know they know as well, it's just pressing the red button after all. Then James and the rest of the crew, still above water, will get us out.
If something does go wrong however, it will take a while for us to get back.
But I don't want to think too much about it.
With a loud splash my group and I jump into the water, slowly they let us down with the ropes attached to us.
I peer out of the small window in my helmet, watching everything slowly growing darker and darker the deeper I go.
Fishes rush away from me, while the seemingly unending plant greets me to come further down.
"Liam, You good?" Bob asks me.
"Yes, I'm okay. You?"
"That's good to hear. I really wonder what we will find down there." Bob still sounds as excited as before. Really that man knows no fear.
As it gets darker, we turn on our lights. But even so, there isn't much we can see except for each other.
Finally my feet touch the ground and we decide to look around to put everything we see on film.
We fasten the ropes to some rocks that seem sturdy enough, our suits are made especially for us to spend longer underwater.
Not only has it gotten darker, it has gotten much colder as well.
"Guys, you should come see this." I hear Kimberly say through the radio.
"What is it?" Asks Kyle, while walking towards her. I carefully follow them.
Finally I see what Kimberly wanted to show us.
It's a building.
A building made of old bricks, taken over by nature, but still standing in great condition.
A building underwater.
Unfortunately it's too dark to make out what kind of building it might have been.
"This is so strange, the robots we sent before didn't show anything like this." Kimberly says, astonished.
"They could have missed it, but I guess we have to call for archeologists now before we can continue." Kyle sighs.
"It shouldn't be a problem as long as we don't enter it." Bob suggests.
As we make our way around it, I take notice of the fact that there seems to be no fishes down here. Only plants.
"Hey, did you hear that?" Kyle suddenly asks, clearly afraid of something.
Bob looks around: "No, I didn't hear anything." If it wasn't for his heavy suit he would have probably visibly shrugged.
Quietly we move our flashlights around to see whatever Kyle could have heard.
"Where did it come from?" Kimberly asks.
"I-I think it might have come from the building."
"Ah, not used to the sounds of old buildings underwater yet?" Bob shares, but gets no answer except an annoyed silence from Kyle.
I look around further, letting the light of my flashlight slowly pass over all my surroundings.
There are more buildings.
A lot more.
And on the ground.... This almost looks like an asphalt road... like one used nowadays.
I call the others over to inspect it.
"Creepy... it looks just like above.... But wrong." Kimberly says reluctantly to go further.
"Yeah, I think we should go back." Kyle agrees, not trying to hide his fear anymore.
Something is wrong.
Not just this place.
But where the hell did Bob go?!
I look around.
The other two seem to have noticed as well: "Did you think he went inside one of the buildings?"
"Goddammit! We can't just leave without him. If he is just pranking us, I will-"
"He is not that kind of person." I answer quickly, I've known Bob for a while now. He might like to joke around sometimes, but this is beyond him. Something must have happened!
We search for our lost friend and call out to him, but no matter how well we look, he just doesn't seem to be around.
"Alright, I'm pressing the button." Kyle says, already holding the thing in his hand.
Kimberly agrees: "Yes, I will try to get in touch with the ship."
Then I can suddenly hear Kimberly saying in a panicking tone: "Guys... I can't contact them."
Kyle starts to panic as well: "FUCK, I knew this was a bad idea!"
I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel it as well, but there was something else that took my attention from the two.
I think I know this place...
These buildings... They are so familiar.
Carefully I walk towards one, the one that gives me this feeling the most and shine my flashlight just above the doors.
It's in a language I can read.
And it clearly reads 'Hospital'.
"Guys." I mumble to them, but they are too busy arguing.
A sudden idea enters my mind.
What if I enter? And go to the highest spot I can get... will I be able to get into contact with the others on the boat again?
I walk towards them: "Hey, I think we can still get help."
I explain my plan to them and at first they think it's ridiculous, but there isn't really any other option.
We have to enter.
The doors to the hospital are open, so getting in isn't difficult.
An eerie feeling creeps over me as I see the interior.
It looks just like the hospital I know, one I would rather not remember though.
"I think I know this place." I mumble to the others.
"You know this place? There is no way. This has been down here for god knows how long." Kyle answers me.
I turn towards him: "Couldn't you read the text above the door? Or really any of these nameplates?"
He looks at me confused: "Man, is your oxygen tank already malfunctioning?"
So they don't see it? But I can see it all so clearly.
"Liam, are you okay?" Kimberly asks.
"Yes, I'm fine."
I hate that they doubt me so much, but if I think about it, I would probably doubt me too.
Even so, I take the lead and thanks to me seeing the things they don't, find the stairs without problem.
It doesn't take long for us to reach the second floor.
"Bob?" Kyle suddenly asks.
"Wait, did you hear him?" Kimberly looks around.
"I'm sure of it. I heard him over there!"
Before we can stop him he walks towards where only he heard it come from.
"Kyle, did you hear his radio? Or his voice?" I ask, but receive no answer in return.
We follow him quickly.
Kimberly stops for a second to check if she can contact James again, but seemingly to no avail, as she continues on soon after.
As I turn back to look where Kyle went, I don't see him anymore.
"Kyle?" I call out to him.
"Shit, did he leave without us?"
We run towards the place we had last seen him, but it doesn't matter how many doors we open.
He is not there.
"Bob! Kyle! Where are you two?!" Kimberly yells.
"I think we should go further to let the others know." I tell her as we have searched the entire floor.
She sighs, but follows me back up the stairs.
We skip the next floor, since this door does seem to be locked.
I wonder how many floors this building has...
"Hey, Liam... I think I smell something..."
"What?"
"It smells like blood."
"We are really deep underwater right now... how come? Did you get wounded somehow?"
"No, I'm fine." She mumbles as I check for blood.
This is so strange... Kimberly smells things here, Kyle heard things here and I see everything different from them... just why? Are we all going crazy?
"Let's skip this floor then... it might be something dangerous."
"No, Kyle and Ben might be in danger! We have to find them." Before she can run ahead of me I stop her.
"Alright, but I will go first. Otherwise we will lose each other as well."
Luckily she seems to agree and we walk to the place where she smells blood.
"It's here." She whispers as we stand by the door.
"Alright."
Carefully I open the door and shine my light inside the dark room.
"Bob? I-Is that you?" I ask the man sitting slumped over on a chair, wearing a familiar diving suit.
"Liam..." Kimberly tries, but I ignore her and step into the room.
"Hey, wake up. We gotta go!"
I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a hard shake.
His head slowly rolls off and falls onto the ground, leaving me in a dark cloud of red mist.
"Liam!" Kimberly yells, but I can't locate her.
Blindly I stumble around, until I can clearly hear something break from beneath me.
I curse loudly, as I can feel something stab me and fall down.
I fall pretty fast, but water is still water, so it's at least a little bit slower. Yet not slow enough to fall multiple floors down.
As I finally stop falling, I open my eyes, cursing the fact that I'm still alive and that this isn't some terrible nightmare.
This place is awfully dark, just like the rest of the bottom.
It luckily doesn't take long for me to find my flashlight.
"Hey Kimberly! I'm okay!" I yell at what I think is above.
I shine my flashlight around me, is this... a morgue?
It sure looks like one.
Did I fall into the basement?
And are the floors that weak?
Then I hear a noise.
Something behind the table.
For a moment I hold my breath, something is there. I know it and it might be dangerous.
In the dark I hear the moving of a creature.
Quickly I shine my flashlight towards it.
It feels long that I'm standing here, it's slowly getting colder.
The creature seems to have stood still for a while, but then it moves into the light.
Out of the darkness appears a young boy, about ten years or so, teddy bear in his arms.
No diving suit, nothing that could help him breathe. He slowly walks towards me, not even swimming as if there is no water here at all.
But even stranger than all that is... I know him.
I know him.
Why? From all the people that it could have been... Why does it have to be him?
Carefully I take a step back.
"But... you're not here anymore..." I utter.
The child before me takes another step closer to me and I another back.
"Are you scared of me?" He asks in a rather sad tone, somehow also sounding as if we are above water. The expression on his face is one of deep sorrow.
"Y-yes." I answer honestly, but my answer makes me feel guilty immediately.
I can't think straight anymore, am I really underwater? Or was that a dream?
Is that child before me really...?
No that can't be...
Ronan has died long ago, I know it, I was there when it happened.
I wonder what would have come from him had he survived.
Would he have been taller than me?
Would he have become the person he wanted to be?
"Is something wrong?" He asks, this time without getting closer.
Suddenly I feel a burning sensation on my lip, I must have been biting it and causing it to bleed.
Without thinking my hand goes up to my helmet, I want to loosen it.
"DON'T!" Ronan suddenly yells at me while rushing to me, trying to pull my hand down: "If you do that, you will certainly die!"
I push him away.
"Don't you even remember me?" He asks in tears.
"Of course I do, I'm sorry... just how...?"
"I can't answer everything, there is something here. A monster. And I need to save you." Ronan puts on a brave face.
I shake my head: "Why? Just why? How can I be certain that you will? For all I know, you might be the monster."
For a moment he looks down, but quickly he turns his face back to me again: "Because I promised I would protect you."
"When?"
"Always! Since you were a baby. I always said that I would protect my little brother!"
"But now you're-"
"Yes, I know! No need to remind me. I'm sorry I left so early, but even so, I never stopped caring for you or watching over you! You don't deserve to die down here!"
Before I know it my vision gets all blurry from my tears.
It's really him.
How could I forget that determination from him?
But with the good, the bad memories return too.
The reason why he went to this hospital.
"Liam, we need to hurry." Ronan pulls me back to the present.
"You're right."
"Please take this." He says as he hands me his teddy bear.
"Thanks... but why?"
"It was meant to be given by me on your birthday, but you know I couldn't."
I don't answer, I just can't.
"So... will you trust me now?"
"Yes." I whisper as he takes my hand.
.
.
.
A search has started for the missing group.
Even the police and the army have gotten involved now, searching desperately.
As the sky slowly turns dark, there is still no sign of the divers.
Despairingly James helps with the search, checking every second for one of the missing to send an SOS. But even the location sharing that should have worked just fine has stopped functioning.
Adding insult to injury, there even seems to be a storm approaching.
"Goddammit." James curses quietly, frantically looking for another way to be useful in helping.
As the first few drops of rain come down, they are still searching.
"You still haven't heard anything?" One of the officers asks James.
"No, I haven't. I just hope those guys down there are okay."
"They have been down there for more than six hours, right?" He asks: "Sorry to say this, but it would be a miracle-"
A loud beeping suddenly interrupts the officer.
James rushes towards the machine.
"We found them! Or at least one of them."
An hour later they pull out one of the men of the group.
They remove his helmet to see that even though he is wounded, he is still breathing.
Though there is something strange about him.
He is holding an old teddy bear in his arms.
Plastic mannequin city
A short horror story I wrote a while ago:)
Word count: 849
TW: Blood, insanity, body horror
As artificial light enters the shop, I start to get ready for the people who will be visiting soon.
I hang the new clothes on the plastic hangers on which they're supposed to be and clean in and around the store. Most of the clothes here are made of polyester, nylon or acrylic.
"We will open soon." I hear my colleague whisper in my ear.
I nod in response and help out with putting out the plastic signs.
As the store slowly starts to get flooded with customers I take my place behind the counter and finish some more chores before someone comes to me to buy something.
After a good few minutes some come to pay for the clothes they deem fit to their bodies.
"Do you want to pay with card?" I ask.
"Do you need a bag with it?" I ask after.
"Do you want the receipt?"
Some of them don't like the questions and get annoyed, asking me not to ask them. Unfortunately my memory isn't good enough to remember who asked who. After a long time, their grey faces have become nothing but a blur in my dreams.
They all look the same after all.
The faces of mannequins are difficult to remember after all...
Every time I scan something the cash register makes an annoying bleep, one that keeps getting more and more annoyed the longer the day continues on, making me thankful for the mask I wear.
A client thinks I'm doing my job wrong and swears at me. I've been working here for a while now, so compliments are hard to come by.
I have a few colleagues who do get many, they look a lot like the customers, other colleagues usually leave soon after starting.
I wonder how long I can hold out...
A couple of hours later I swap places and start working more throughout the store, it's a big one, but I will manage.
I have to...
Customers with their plastic grey faces come to me for questions now.
With their long thin bodies they ask me how much something is, if we have something in another size or even if something makes them look fat.
That last one always surprises me, their plastic bodies all look the same.
They're taller than me.
They're tinner than me.
They're much more beautiful than me.
Is this their way of calling me out?
Do they like asking me these questions in order to mess with me?
I've had enough of that by my colleagues already.
I get sent to the storage room.
Did I do something wrong?
Did I make a mistake I didn't know of?
Or is there something that really needs to be done there?
Please just let it be that!
I turn on the light, it's one for a rather big storage. Unlike everything outside, this light is powered by gas and it's old, very old.
The shadows this light creates always scare me a bit.
The shadows look almost like the mannequins outside.
They look down on me condescendingly.
They judge me.
Their glares are so cold they send me shivering.
I start unpacking boxes, one after one, I do it as perfectly as possible.
I don't want to lose this job.
Suddenly the knife I'm holding for the boxes glides into my hand.
I wince out of pain and am just able to stop myself from cursing.
Thick, dark red drips onto the ground, staining the white plastic floor with the fluid.
A dark thought enters my mind: Perhaps in order to overcome my fear, I should become it.
I look down on my quivering hands.
Could I replace them to become like them?
Could I replace my skin and have a plastic layer instead?
To have no eyes, no nose and no mouth.
To be perfect, just like them.
Would it hurt or bite as the hot plastic would creep up my fleshy arms and legs.
Would I feel pain at all after the procedure and be perfect?
Would I be able to join them after it and be able to get just as many compliments and love?
But then again in all truth, I don't like their perfection.
Their perfection is one of arrogance.
In fact, I think I might even hate it.
I've tried so hard to become like them for such a long time.
I wear a mask to have my face look like them, I skip my lunches in order to become thinner like them.
But all of it...
All of it is for nothing.
It doesn't matter how hard I work, no one will ever accept me.
No one will ever care.
I shouldn't become like them to overcome my fear, I should become something far worse.
Something only I can be, something they can never be.
The floor beneath my feet seems cracked all of a sudden, cracked on the place on which I am standing.
The Gaslamp flickers approvingly, like it tells me to do what I want to do.
I don't remember the last time someone or something said something nice to me or even approved of an idea of mine.
But this lamp, the only real one in this entire building does.
I drop the mask and it shatters into a thousand pieces.
I love the noise it makes as it hits the ground.
Will they make that noise too?
I look down to the object in my hand.
I wonder what color they would bleed.
Delivery
A short horror story I wrote:)
Word count: 1757
TW: Gore, psychological horror
Click, click, click, thunk!
It could not comprehend what it saw above us.
A scarlet red sky greets us as we finally left the dusty old warehouse.
Dark buildings casted their shadows over the old and empty streets, only letting red light stream into view at specifical parts, showing what I wish not to see, almost like a spotlight on a stage.
To be honest I’m glad that the package I have to deliver can walk by itself. The thing would be way too heavy to carry.
Standing slightly shorter than an adult, this porcelain-looking (I don’t know, I’m not the collector, might be porcelain after all) automaton, is the object I’m meant to deliver.
Since the world has gone to hell, I’ve been doing deliveries for people with money and resources that are too scared to get stuff by themselves.
It’s a dangerous job, but to survive in need of things like food. This, right now, is the most comfortable job.
I point towards one of the dark buildings, only one of the door handles on which can be seen the reflection of the red light.
The automaton turns its head slowly upwards to look at me and then turns its head to the door. I can hear the gears working overtime.
Carefully and slowly we make our way to the door.
At the door I stop and the package does the same.
I swear that is some great tech…
While readying my crossbow, I listen to all the sounds around me.
The trusty sound of my crossbow.
The gentle ticking of the automaton’s gears.
The dripping of water… or blood.
Then I turn my concentration to whatever is behind the heavy doors.
The quickest way to the point of delivery is right through this building, so there isn’t much of a choice. Of course I could walk around it, but the chance of being seen by monsters is too big of a risk and I’m unsure if the little one here can run or not.
It was so strange, well the whole thing.
The guy that wanted me to get the automaton… crazy inventors I guess.
I found the machine inside a coffin shaped box.
I was told that the machine could walk and that I should use that to my advantage, so of course I did.
I can’t carry a whole coffin in my lonesome, no matter how hard I train.
A soft sobbing behind the door takes my attention.
I listen more carefully.
There is a distinct difference between the cries of a monster and that of a human luckily.
So, there might be another survivor in there.
My hand hovers over the doorknob, which looks almost to be glowing thanks to the lighting.
I’m scanning it in a way, trying to sense if there’s any heat coming from it.
But there’s no warmth coming from it and as I finally lower my hand I feel the cold iron entering through my gloved hand.
It might sound bad, like it’s completely frozen, but it isn’t. It’s just clear that it has been a long time since the door was opened last.
As quietly as possible I turn the knob and open the door.
The heavy object lets out a, for my feeling, too loud creaking.
Immediately I feel cold sweat in my neck.
Slowly. Slowly. Slowly. Carefully. Careful. Be careful!
I nod to the automaton that it can enter, but it doesn’t understand.
“Get in!” I whisper to it.
I can hear some of the gears turn, finally it responds entering the darkness without a word or hesitation.
I follow suit and close the door behind me again, terrified that something might have heard it.
Suddenly I sense something moving.
There really is still someone in the building.
Let’s hope that it isn’t one of the insane roaming around.
The constant blood red sky doesn’t help much when it comes to calming folks down.
Exposed too long and one might lose their mind… or so is told. I haven’t had any trouble with it yet.
There’s a shadow moving, well more like trembling in fear, behind the altar.
The red light behind him exposes him to be a priest.
Calmly I walk forward, until I make out his wrinkled face.
The look he shows me is one of pure terror.
I lower my weapon.
“Good evening sir.” I greet him, while holding my free hand up in the air to show that I’m not planning to do any harm.
“Y-y-you’re not o-one of t-them?” He asks, still trembling and almost falling over his own words from fear.
“No sir, as you can see I’m not.”
I sense the ticking of gears approaching closer to me and the priest shrieks.
I see him opening his mouth to scream, but I won’t let him. In a flash I rush over to him and cover his mouth with my hand.
“I need to deliver this package in one piece, so please don’t give away our location.” Then I silently add: “That would benefit you too.”
I can feel the thin old body shaking in fear, making me feel bad for scaring him like this.
Slowly he closes his mouth again and falls to his knees.
Quivering he puts his hands together, but just before his two hands touch, he drops them to the floor again.
“We’re just passing through, I don’t have a problem with you praying.” I tell him in a gentle tone.
The old man shakes his head, his state says it all, he’s seen too much.
“I-I don’t think God i-is h-here.” He cries.
I’m not a person of faith, I never was, so I’m not sure what to tell him.
“Do… Do you think I-I’m wrong?” He asks after listening to my silence: “T-that there never t-truly was a G-God?”
I sigh, just what the hell am I supposed to answer to a priest who has lost his faith?
“Sir.” I bow down to him, holding out a hand for him to help him up: “I just deliver packages. I don’t know what is the truth and what isn’t.”
He doesn’t take my hand and instead turns his head to the dusty floor: “Perhaps the teachings were wrong after all…” He mutters more to himself than to me.
I scratch the back of my neck: “Well…” Don’t say it, just don’t: “There’s a place with other survivors I can bring you to, if you want that is.” Only in my head I add ‘You can talk about this stuff with them’.
But he shakes his head.
“Leave! You won’t understand!” His voice is suddenly filled with anger and frustration.
“We’ll be going anyway.” I shrug.
“Leave!” He yells again and I suddenly hear something big climbing over the roof.
I curse and quickly grab the automaton’s arm.
“We gotta go!”
We rush further back.
Back door. Back door.
Where the hell is the back door?!
Part of the ceiling breaks down and a huge, spider like monster drops down, casting the room in even more shadow.
I hear the priest scream.
The monster turns to him.
I can’t see anything, but the next thing I hear confirms my suspicion.
The crushing of bones.
The tearing of flesh.
The dripping of blood.
As I turn back to the machine, it seems almost as if it found the door.
It’s holding it open and looking at me with its normal expressionless face.
“Great job, buddy!” I whisper to him, taking his arm again and rushing back out into the crimson coloured streets.
In order to keep to the shadows, we enter another building.
I believe this was a university at some point, built around the 13th century.
It’s much bigger than the church.
Again I hold my weapon ready.
You never know, it’s because this building is so big, it could be a nest for those things.
“Let’s be quiet.” I whisper to the mechanical being next to me and immediately think about how strange it is to talk to it. It’s a machine, not a human or a pet.
But it’s nice to have something to talk to, even if it’s just a bundle of gears and porcelain. As long as it’s not a hungry monster I’m okay with anything.
While wandering around I sense something moving inside one of the rooms.
I stop in my tracks and as the automaton notices, it too stops.
I remain silent and listen to the soft noise.
There might be another person in that room.
Quietly I walk towards the door and open it.
A person inside is sitting behind a desk that I'm pretty sure used to be a teacher’s.
This person doesn’t look as frightened as the priest from before, or perhaps I’m imagining it.
“Oh… so you’re human?”
I nod: “What did you expect? Or what did you hope for?” I did notice the man’s disappointment even though it was just a slight hint.
He seems to have noticed that I noticed and turns his gaze back to something on the desk: “I used to teach here, you know.”
“I see.”
“Do you have any memories of attending school?”
I shrug: “Nothing that stands out, just a more peaceful life and worries about nothing.”
The man smiles, his face looks red in the light.
“I see, that must be nice.”
I take a step closer.
“What are you reading?” I ask curiously.
“A book of faith.”
“Faith?”
“It’s all true you know.”
“They mention the apocalypse and the end of the world.” As he speaks he loses his composure and starts speaking rapidly in a desperate tone: “It’s all because people went to church less and less. I never did after all and you certainly don’t look like the type that would. Oh God, I should have gone and prayed, but instead I’ve weakened the Lord’s power to protect. This is divine punishment.”
“I see.” I answer: “If you want to, I can take you to where the other survivors are.”
The teacher shakes his head: “Never! We are meant to perish! It’s the only thing that can save this forsaken world!”
Crap that only made him yell even louder.
I notice a strange shadow in the corner of my eye.
Something from outside is trying to climb inside.
Arms that almost look human, but also very far from it.
I warn the man by pointing behind him.
“God is the one who decides my faith! You should join me in it!” He stretches out his arms to grab me, but instead the creature behind him has already taken hold of him.
I don’t want to see what happens next, so I quickly rush out of the classroom, taking the automaton with me.
We rush out, further, out of the city.
Into a forest, here even the leaves are red, but not scarlet like the sky.
As I believe that we’re far enough away from the shadows of the old city, we slow down.
I take a seat on a tree trunk and let my traveling companion sit next to me.
“Don’t mind all those people, buddy, just decide what you want to believe for yourself.”
Slowly I see the automaton’s head go up and down and then up again.
Wait…?!
Is it nodding?!
Book of the apocalypse
I've recently started posting a new book I'm writing on wattpad and I was wondering if there are people who might be interested in me posting it here on tumblr.
The story is about someone trying to survive on their own in a zombie apocalypse and ends up finding themself drawn to a book they find.
Anyway here are the prologue and the first chapter, please let me know what you think:
TW: Gore, psycological horror, spiders, depressing theme's
Word count: 673(prologue)+1800(Chapter 1)
It's dark.
An oppressive silence prevails.
Only to those who live close to the ground, a loud rhythmic noise can be heard.
This is of course exclusive for those like mice and creatures much smaller.
Creatures with a good sense of hearing.
To a cat or a dog it might still be audible, though they would probably only hear a soft tapping.
Something tapping across the floor at an almost unearthly speed.
Driven by something unknown to any breathing kind.
Yet somehow able to scare away those creatures with incredible hearing.
The tapping is the true sound of doom.
The ticking across the floor clearly means nothing less than death.
The tapping is that of many small insects.
Insects moving strangely in unison.
Insects all move in the same manner, as if not multiple but just one creature.
The ticking races onto a metal shelf and stops there for about a second.
To those with the good ears, they might catch something sounding closely like something's scraping the metal.
Or better... something eating the cold metal.
If you were to hold a light there and perhaps something like a microscope, you might spot some of the small scratches made on the metallic surface. Since they are so difficult to spot.
As the second passed the small insects continue their journey once more.
A loud noise can be registered by them, vibrations can be felt and they immediately stop in their tracks.
A person, a human, has come into the room.
Loudly to the insects, quietly to the human.
His heart makes the loudest, yet calmest noise.
A noise of comfort.
The man does not care or know that he's being watched.
He turns on a light and the insects start sprinting towards him.
The light shows what they are.
Their truest nature.
Small spiders, about half an inch per length, excluding their many thin legs.
The legs that made the tapping noise.
Small red eyes, seemingly scanning their surroundings effortlessly in high speed.
But the light shows something else about them.
Something else that is wrong.
They are in fact not any natural kind of spiders.
They're mechanical.
The light turns them into small flashes of silver.
If you were to inspect them up close with a magnifying glass, you might even spot very tiny screws and threads across their bodies.
The spiders leap and like some of the kind they're meant to represent, they almost seem to be able to fly.
The man has noticed them now too, but far too late.
The small man-made insects have already landed on his bare forearms.
He quickly tries to remove them with his big hands, which he is successful with only a few.
About two thirds are still on him and have decided to dig themselves into the skin of their prey.
The man yells for help and another one comes, just in time for those who had fallen back on the floor.
For some strange reason, there seem to be more of them now, it's like the spiders have copied themselves many times over. Perhaps with the help of the metal they had been 'eating' before.
The first man can feel the spiders move underneath his skin, climbing and digging their way further up his body.
Looking closer you should be able to see them move as little lumps through his flesh, they don't go too deep, well not at first at least.
Further and further they go.
They have a mission.
At least if you could call it that.
Crawling further without a moment of rest, almost oblivious to the panicking man trying to stab them with the help of a knife.
An ambulance has already been called and is on its way.
Too late, too late.
The small spiders make their way into his neck.
Mercilessly they continue.
As they finally reach their goal.
The head.
The brain.
Now they do dig deeper and deeper.
All the small spiders secretly and silently communicate to one another strange messages, such as: 'OUT OF CONTROL HUMAN' and 'ERROR'.
They had been made in order to help human beings, but ended up being the defining factor of their decline and deaths.
The spiders all drugged and changed people so much that they turned into nothing more than zombies.
Devouring the flesh of others without a hint of sadness.
The minds of these people were lost completely.
Chapter 1:
Grass.
Buildings.
Cars.
More grass.
Plants.
Metal.
What are these called again?
It's morning.
I'm thinking about words.
Thinking in words... it's been getting more and more difficult.
Am I going to lose them?
Train racks...?
No, train tracks! Those are train tracks!
It's morning and I'm living.
I'm alive... I think.
I'm alone.
There was something about mornings... right?
People counted them?
Back in the old times... I think.
Now mankind has long stopped counting the years.
If there even is something I can call mankind.
For all I know they have all but me died out, leaving me alone in this dark and dangerous world. The only one who can protect me is myself.
The only reliable one in this world is myself.
The only one making sure I don't end up like one of the monsters, is again myself.
Even with the fact that the world has practically ended for my kind, the sun still rises and after a while, it goes down again.
If you want to know how this all started, you're asking the wrong person.
Because I don't care.
Surviving till the next day is the only thing left on my agenda.
Even though dying might seem nice, becoming one of those things would be horrible.
I glance out of the window from the old train, watching the rising sun, all the while clutching the handle of my spear.
I made the thing myself so it's pretty shabby looking, but at least it does the job right and keeps the monsters at a distance.
Quietly and swiftly I leave the dark, abandoned vehicle.
If I stay here any longer they might find out after all.
Vigilantly I follow the tracks to the station, ready to fight or flight at any moment.
Those hungry bastards aren't getting me for dinner!
I won't be their prize nor the one they might see as a hero.
Though I highly doubt that they are able to either 'see' or 'think'.
As I walk into the broken down, but still dark train station I notice that even though it's in a bad shape. It still has some beauty in it.
It's an old train station, most of the part that has collapsed is the newer, later build-on part.
The old part is still standing strong.
Yes, most of the stained glass is broken, but the ornamented walls are still clearly visible.
Somehow giving me this really nostalgic feeling, to a time unknown to me.
I shake my head, It's not the time to be in awe with old junk, it's all useless now after all.
Making sure that nothing is around, I climb onto one of the platforms.
As I wander around I suddenly notice a strange object on one of the still intact benches.
Somehow it draws my complete attention, I cannot help myself but to investigate it.
I hold my spear before me, so if it moves, I can kill it immediately.
Step by step I get closer.
Is it dangerous?
Is it edible?
A million wordless questions race around in my mind, but none of them ask the right one.
Carefully I take the object in hand.
It's a book, my inner voice tells me.
It's a leather bound book.
Old, but still intact.
Without thinking I open it.
Not even the spiders have taken it, that's weird.
As I see the first page, something is hand-written on the bottom. It takes a moment to understand what it says: 'EX Libris: Q. F. Shannon'
This must have been the name of the previous owner.
I wonder what happened to them.
Though that is completely unimportant.
I turn a couple of pages and find more small black words scribbled on them in a strange form of...writing.
They make me feel... lightheaded... that's the word... right?
Suddenly I sense a presence behind me.
I take out my weapon and attack whatever is standing there.
Somehow it goes right through...
I can feel my heart pumping quickly.
Cold sweat slowly makes its way down my neck and back.
"Good morning." A strange voice out of nowhere says to me.
It's... speaking... human speech...
It's speaking to me.
Shocked by the sound, the voice of another human being, for the first time in a long, very long while, I turn around and point at them with my spear.
It's a strange person, wearing some kind of old and strange costume. One from the lost time.
Without speaking I threaten them with my weapon.
They are unlike me.
My spear should have hurt them... but it went right through!
I can't trust them!
I can't trust them!!
Distrust washes over me.
How could someone still be alive?
And be dressed like that?!
"Please, I mean no harm." The person says while holding up their arms
I don't answer and only stare at them with contempt.
Only now I've noticed that I've dropped the book as the person is looking at it.
Have the spiders evolved this much? Or have I finally lost my mind?
I swallow, scared of what to do next.
The thing before me tries to comfort me: "I'm not real."
"What... does that... mean?" I ask, having difficulty speaking, hurting my throat in the process of creating words.
The creature nods: "I'm imaginary. I'm simply something you made up. An Imaginary friend if you will."
Friend...?
What did that mean again?
Something about that word makes me agitated.
Something about that word makes me angry.
Something about that word makes me want to cry.
Something about that word makes me want to scream...
"Don't... You aren't that... I don't think..." I mumble.
They smile at me: "Well then, I'm Quiller. You may call me that or just mister or... something else, if my name is too difficult."
He looks at me as if waiting for an answer, but I don't.
"So what is your name?"
I think.
I think deeply.
At first I'm not sure what he means by the word 'name'.
Then a bad memory fills my head and just in time I'm able to shake it away.
It's been a long time since I had something of a name.
I remember that I was called something too, it was normal back in the day.
Back when there were still other people in the world.
I press my hand against my chest "...Don." I whisper: "I was called... that... I think."
Quiller gives me another smile: "That's a wonderful name, nice to make your acquaintance." He stretches out a hand and I stare at it.
"You... are supposed to shake it..." He says as he scratches the back of his neck with his other hand.
"Shake? But won't... it go through?"
His expression turns to one of pain: "Yeah, sorry. You're right." He takes back his hand.
I take the book from the ground.
"That looks interesting." He sounds surprised.
"I found it, it's mine." For some reason I'm clutching the heavy object against my chest as if it's my long lost treasure. Honestly I don't know why. But it feels like... I have to keep it with me.
"So you're going to read it?"
I skim through the pages, they're made of paper.
"It...would make for a good fire-starter."
Quiller's expression turns horrified: "Wait, no! You can't do that!"
"Why?"
"It holds someone's memory!"
"Memory?"
"Yes, every book is written by someone. They write it with their love, their hate, their life, their passion, their dreams. Never take another person's work too light."
Gibberish he seems to speak.
"Are you... one of them?" I ask nudging back somewhere.
He sighs: "No, of course not. Have I been trying to eat you since I met you?"
I just stare at him confused.
He takes another look at the book: "I... think I know that book."
I look at him questioningly.
"Maybe you should try to read it, it has a pretty good story. You can read, yes?"
"I'm able to read ingredients from food."
He laughs awkwardly: "Well that's a start..."
Without much care I put the book in my backpack and I continue my search.
It feels strange to have someone that at least seems to be real and walking close by, especially since he doesn't seem to be hostile in any way shape or form. What most things are.
I will keep a close eye on him, I don't really understand why I'm seeing him and I don't have another person like me here to check if I'm really making it all up in my mind.
It really does seem like the most reality-based explanation right now, I've been alone for a long time now.
I vaguely remember a story about someone befriending an object to stay sane after being alone for a very long time. It is said to be normal when someone is lonely.
But even so, is that really the case right now?
While scouting out the area, it suddenly starts to rain outside.
I guess I have no other choice but to stay the night.
As we walk into the inside part of the station I suddenly notice a couple of them, standing closely to the rooms that once had probably been stores.
Their bodies made of a combination of rotting flesh, metal wiring and some of them have something like mos growing over their heads and shoulders. Water slowly dripping from their horrible monsterous bodies.
Luckily they're standing far away, staring into space and not having noticed me yet.
Sometimes they shake in the strange way they usually do and return to staring.
It reminds me a bit of how they used to be when all of this started, back then they were out to kill every last human. Back then they rarely stood this still.
I guess since most people have died, they don't have much to do anymore, so staring is probably the only thing they can do.
Staring and standing.
It makes me wonder if they think...
No, that can't be true.
Monsters like that must be unable to think, if they do it must be about devouring the innocent and weak.
"Hey."Quiller whispers: "You should probably head the other way, they don't look very nice."
They don't look very nice? Is he oblivious to what happened? Does he not know?
Didn't he mention knowing of it before though? Well I should ask him later.
Now is not the time.
I tiptoe away from the creatures, making sure not to make a single sound.
When it all went down, I taught myself a new way of walking which was a lot quieter than how I used to.
Now it's second nature to me, I don't walk any other way now.
Well, okay, if I have to run, I run and sound doesn't really matter if there is something out there that wants to rip you apart.
I take the stairs to the second floor, scanning my surroundings thoroughly.
More old, empty shops and a lookout onto the platforms and surrounding area.
"Do you think I could go further up?" I ask the strangely clothed man.
"Well yeah, this building is old and even has a clock-tower. Maybe we should try getting in there?"
I nod approving, maybe he might be useful after all.
It doesn't take long for us to find a small hidden passageway.
"It should be through here." Quiller says to me.
I look at the narrow door in the ceiling and shake my head.
I hate small spaces, I would rather get there by climbing from the outside.
I look outside but am only greeted by the heavy rainfall, it's almost like the clouds are laughing at me.
Laughing at the fact that I'm scared.
And I hate them for it.
Next chapter:
The tree
The most recent short horror story I wrote:)
Word count: 722
TW: Psychological horror
Rain mixed salt with fresh water.
It's quite cold for a spring day, I think to myself as I close my coat to protect my body against the harsh weather.
I wander around outside and I suddenly find myself by an old tree, one that is rather famous around here.
None of the locals are sure if it is even still alive or dead.
Its bark looks so dark on the outside, as if it had been burned long ago and for one reason or another it never blossomed. It feels cold to the touch.
The place where it stands is rather strange too, it has the endless sea as its background.
Like I always do when I pass by, I stop for a bit, just to watch. Even without leaves it seems to immerse the place around it in shadow.
I've heard people talk about how it might have been a place where people were hung. But those stories have never been more than whispers, there's simply nothing to prove it. If you were to search the local archive you wouldn't find anything about it either.
I look towards the sea, for some reason the tree makes it look almost melancholy or sad.
This rain doesn't help a lot either, but even when the sun is shining, it's this tree that causes all to look depressing.
Happy families playing in the sea won't make it look any happier, not even weddings that take place on the warm sand.
As long as this tree is here, it will never make this a happy place.
There have been times in the past that people wanted to remove it, but it never seemed to go down.
Perhaps the whispers are true, that it's cursed, but I am not one for such superstitions.
In a way, I believe that this tree does also hold something beautiful and mysterious, like a long forgotten memory from which it is uncertain if it's a good or bad one. Perhaps it's neither of those, but never a dull one.
I watch as the raindrops fall down from the branches and darken the sandy ground beneath it.
It's just straight ahead if I wanted to go to the beach, I might go there if I feel like it, but I'm not sure yet.
Suddenly I hear a voice coming from behind the tree, at first it was the wind or the sound of the waves, but it really is a voice. I can't catch the words, they sound muffled by the rain.
I look to see and find a trembling girl behind me.
She's barefoot and looks dirty.
Her eyes are red from crying.
I estimate her age to be around 14.
Without a second thought I take off my coat and wrap it around her.
"Are you okay?" I ask, glancing around to see if I can see any other sign of life around us, but finding none.
She nods, still trembling.
I take a step back and take out my phone, ready to call whoever.
As I finally dialled 911, I look back to where the girl had stood...
She's not there anymore, like she had vanished into thin air.
Swiftly I look around, but she's nowhere to be seen.
I call out for her a couple of times, but no one calls back.
A 911 operator picks up and I try my best to explain what just happened and I don't get the feeling she believes me, telling me to just go home and not stay out in this weather.
I return home and close the door behind me.
As I sneeze I notice that I've already caught a cold, I should probably go take a hot shower.
But before I can even remove my soaked clothes I hear a knock at the door.
I'm surprised that someone would want to visit me in this weather.
Quickly, as to not get the unknown guest get soaked as well, I rush towards the door and open it.
"Good afternoon." A local cop greets me: "Does this coat belong to you?"
In his hand he's holding the coat I was wearing earlier.
I nod: "Yes it is.", but before I can take it back he retrieves it again, showing that another cop is behind him as well.
"We just got word of a disturbed piece of land and found a body there." He continues with a cold gaze that never leaves me: "This was found at the scene, hanging on one of the branches of the tree."
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I write short horror stories on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/ArdenlaMy NaNoWriMo: https://nanowrimo.org/participants/ardenlaRoyal Road: https://www.royalroad.com/profile/666383
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