My Theory Is That Frank Likes To Spy On His Tenants.

Sort of reminds me a bit of We Came to Welcome You by Vincent Tirado and The September House by Carissa Orlando.

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."

I enjoyed this! It was short and not too complicated. I’d recommend skimming over it for some light edits. Also just personal preference but I think this would so so well with more imagery and maybe a poetic prose-ish, if that makes sense. Good story!

I wrote a little short story

'I heard that when you can't fall asleep at night, it's because somebody is dreaming about you.'

'Cute,' I replied, wishing she would stop pushing silly superstitions on me. Eleanor was only trying to comfort me by trying to set meup with someone, but it was just too soon after my husband had died.

I guess she thought that because I pulled myself together pretty quickly after his death, I was ready to find someone to fall in love with.

But, anyway, it's not like I ever had any trouble falling asleep. No thoughts roamed my mind because it was empty. No thoughts troubles me to keep me awake. This was just one of her ploys to imply a random guy she thought I would like was interested in me.

I tried to tell her this, but she would never listen. But around the one year anniversary of my late husband's death, I started having feelings for someone. And i started having trouble falling asleep.

I told Eleanor about the guys, David, and how I felt... guilty. When we started dating, my mind became heavy with the guiland mythoughts denied any fraction of happiness to be savoured.

My sleeping became even worse. Most nights, I didn't sleep at all.

As the months went on, I felt crazier and crazier. I thought that if I seeked medical help, it would be a relief. But that wasn't the case.

Not until one night, when I actually slept. My dreams plagues me as much as my days did. I dreamt of my husband talking to me, telling me how ashamed he felt of me for loving another man. I couldn't distinguish this dream from real life.

I woke up, panicked. I must've been in between wake ad sleep, because I thought I saw my husband standing over my- what used to be our- bed. Not truly human, but not truly dead either.

My panic turned to terror as he said 'I've been keeping you awake for months, how kind of you to return the favour.'

clown graveyard and its just one grave

No story today, enjoy this horrific artwork of Anxiety

Anxiety, 3D concept art by Martin TK Hamilton

My take on 2 sentence horror:

I was spending some quality time with my loving wife and kids.

Lamp.

The second half of the second sentence really slaps ya in the face

He went to open his drawer shortly after waking up at 3 AM. When he opened it, however, there was a huge, menacing tarantula that jumped out at him. As he went to bed, terrified, he forgot that his closet was open, the skeleton of the 34 year old man he killed in 1999 was seemingly invisible in the cover of the dangling clothes. It seemed as if it were always looking at him, menacingly, he felt shivers go up his spine when he saw the fear in the man’s eyes flash before his as he was recounting that night in November 1999.

I loved this! Idk why it didn’t get more attention

Saturday Story #2: Down By the Bay

In the several years I've lived in this small town, it never rained. I remember growing up, not knowing what rain was until my parents and I visited extended family in another state. During the week we were there, there was a day where it downpoured. I remember sitting on one of the couches in the living room, curled up out of fear and asking my parents what was going on. They told me that it was raining and explained very broadly how the water cycle works. It was such a brand new and interesting concept to me. The instant returned home, I wanted to tell my friends about rain. My parents told me not to, that we were living in a decade long drought and that bringing up rain would make people sad. I didn't want to make anyone sad with my excitement, so I simply forgot about telling anyone.

Then I remembered.

About a year ago, a new family moved into town. They seemed like a run-of-the-mill, suburban family. Their eldest child, the daughter Korie, was my age (16), and their youngest, the son Thomas, was seven. They moved right into our neighborhood, right down the street. We were on summer break at the time with only two weeks left until school. And when school did inevitably come around, I decided to try and make friends with Korie.

Korie was probably one of the nicest people I've ever met. She was calm and would always strike up a conversation with me before class started. She had this way of talking to people that would instantly put them at ease. Countless times I would make jokes that she had some sort of undiscovered super power, or maybe she was a long lost goddess. She would always smile, giggle and shake her head at me. I'd invite her over after school and sometimes on weekends if her parents didn't have any plans. It was one of these weekends that Korie would inevitably ask the question.

"Isn't it weird that it doesn't rain here?"

"What?" I replied, somewhat caught off guard.

"Yeah, haven't you noticed? Ever since I moved in it hasn't rained once."

I remembered what my parents told me; "It's because we're in a drought. It's lasted for decades at this point."

"A drought ?" Korie looked at me, confused, "Weird. I feel like my parents would've known about one before we moved in."

We were both silent for a moment before Korie's phone buzzed.

"Parents need me to watch my brother, I'll see you later."

Then she left.

I had lived in this town all my life and never thought the drought was weird. No one else did. And maybe her parents just never looked into the town's history far enough to know about it. Maybe all they knew was that the crime rate was low and the houses looked decent.

Never did I think that maybe, just maybe, there was a secret being kept, that even I didn't know.

Life continued on as it was. Wake up, eat breakfast, get ready, go to school, get home, do homework, hangout with Korie, go to bed, and repeat. My usual boring routine, interrupted by a knock at my door on one Thursday afternoon when Korie had stayed home.

It was Korie's dad.

"Hey, kiddo. Your parents home?"

"No, my dad's at work and mom's running a bunch of errands before her shift."

"Oh," There was something in his facial expression that I couldn't place. It was like uneasy curiosity. "Would it be alright if I asked you something then?"

"Uh...sure?" I scanned over him, a little freaked out. I didn't know Korie's dad that well, and absolutely wasn't sure of his intentions in that moment.

"So, Korie mentioned to me that this town is in a drought, and that you were the one to tell her. I was just wondering if that's true?"

"I mean, it's never rained once in my life since I can remember, so yeah, I think it's true."

"And everyone in the town knows this?"

"Probably, a lot of them have been here for generations."

Korie's dad just stared at me as he thought. It felt like I could see the gears turning in his head.

"Okay, well, thanks for the talk, pal. I'll uh, I'll see you around then." He gave me an awkward smile before stepping off the front steps and heading down the street. I figured that would be the last time Korie's dad would be interested in the drought. It wasn't. Soon after, he started protesting at Town Hall and trying to publish articles in the local newspaper about how a town was trying to hide a drought from the media. He created conspiracies over it, things like the government was doing some sort of testing, or this was once an uninhabitable site caused by radiation. He went crazy. All over a drought. A lot of the townspeople simply huffed and shook their heads at the whole thing. A few tried to argue with him, and some even tried to silence him. That was the weirdest part. There were a handful of people treating this weird guy's dilemma like it was taboo. Not like he was crazy, but like he shouldn't be talking about it. It confused me, all of this over a drought? Why would people even bother?

My attitude quickly changed as soon as Korie went missing. It happened a week ago. Her dad reported her missing when she didn't come home from school, after he rushed over to our house. He looked so disheveled and frightened. I didn't know where she was either, I thought she had stayed home sick that day because she wasn't at school. The town joined the police's search efforts. We were out looking for hours, some of the adults posted things on social media for their friends in neighboring towns to see. News stations covered it. I was so shocked, scared and confused. I prayed that no one in the town had taken her. I prayed that she wasn't hurt, hoping that her dad's outburst hadn't caused someone to go over the edge.

I've been crying for the past few days. She was my best friend. Everything feels off. And today, when I looked out my bedroom window, I saw it.

The town has been in a drought for decades.

Today..

it finally rained.

Walk-In Fridge

“Ow!”

Ken yanked his hand away from the sink as the water gushing out became scolding hot.

He dunked the burned hand into the Sani sink, which was kept mildly cold.

Ken typically used his bare hands to do the dishes. One of the dish gloves he’d brought in for all the preps and dishwashers to use had a tear in the pointer finger, and the other one just filled with water, even after duct-taping both tightly around his arm. He never figured out where the hole was.

Inspecting his hands, Ken noted the pink splashed all over the back of them, accompanied by a slight burning, almost-itching sensation. He stepped away from the sink, his worn, black sneakers dipping into little puddles on the floor.

His hand throbbed to the sound of his heartbeat. Why do they constantly shove me onto Dish? He thought, exhausted. It seemed like only people with sensitive skin were ever thrown on there.

The other usual dish, Alex, had eczema and kept this giant white bottle of special lotion in her locker.

Outside, a powerful, blistering wind shook up trees and whistled against the building. It was getting late, 10 pm, only an hour before closing.

BAM! BAM! BAM! The powerful knocks on one of the two back doors made Ken jump.

Heart still pounding, It made Ken feel silly when he remembered that Alex and another coworker had slipped outside to smoke on their vapes for a bit.

Trying not to slip on the wet ground, he pushed open the heavy door, which was completely locked from the outside.

Alex and Leyla slipped in, stripping off their heavy coats.

“You don’t have to knock so loudly, you know,” Ken told them as he returned to his spot in front of the sinks. “I’m right next to the door.”

“Leyla just has a lot of pent-up rage,” Alex explained, before hitting the vape and blowing the sweet fragrant smoke into the air. Both girls had to re-tie their hair back into ponytails and tuck them into their work caps.

“Someday, Richie’s gonna write you guys up for this,” Ken smirked. He didn’t get why so many of his coworkers just had to bring their vapes with them to a part-time job. They couldn’t last six hours without it? Why not have the decency to do it in the comfort of your home?

Leyla shrugged. “Richie doesn’t care as long as we do our jobs.”

“And have you been doing that?” Ken raised an eyebrow.

“Do your dishes,” Alex grinned.

“Um,” Ken stopped them from heading back out into the front. “Shouldn’t someone get to cleaning the walk-in?” The three of them turned to the giant, metal door, where the fridge sat.

It was at the very opposite end of the sink, sitting next to the second door leading directly outside. When the restaurant was extra quiet, usually late at night, you could hear the soft buzzing.

Leyla sighed. “Why can’t you do it?”

“It’s not my job,” Ken frowned.

“It’s not ours either,” Alex readjusted her cap, as she did often.

“The prep’s supposed to do it,” Leyla said. “But Dominique left early. So now you should be the one to do it.”

“He’s so messy,” Ken frowned. “He didn’t do a very good job cleaning his station.”

“But he gets his work done the fastest,” Leyla defended.

“Not super effectively,” Ken complained.

“Whatever,” Alex rolled her eyes. “His station looks fine.” Dominique was Alex and Leyla’s friend, as were a lot of people in this place. Friends who had convinced each other to work with them.

Richie’s voice cut into their conversation. The three of them could hear Richie from the front: “Alex! Leyla! Where are you?!”

The girls sighed, and Ken shook his head as he watched them exit out to the front.

He turned to the sinks and got back to work.

Richie was tonight’s shift lead. They were closer to Ken’s age than the high schoolers who snuck out to vape.

As Ken got through the last dirty plate, he froze to an unnerving sound: movement, inside the fridge.

His eyes shot in its direction. No more sound.

The sound had been faint, as if someone, or something, had bumped into something.

Waiting silently for anymore noise, Ken’s heart thrummed in his chest anxiously.

He considered checking inside, just to see, but he told himself to just focus on what he was being paid to do: clean.

Now all he could hear was the rhythm of running water. Outside, he heard the voices of his coworkers welcoming guests. They didn’t get very many customers at this time. He never understood how they could afford to stay open so late.

Once the commotion out front died down, Richie strolled in through the swinging doors. They scooped a foam cup from the racks of ingredients and brushed by Ken, situating themself into the manager's chair, a little black one right in front of the desk, complete with a computer, screens displaying the camera videos, and mini drawers stuffed with so much shit Ken doubted the scribbled-on labels were accurate anymore.

“Richie?” Ken asked.

Richie raised their eyes to Ken. “Mm?”

“Who's gonna clean the walk-in?”

Richie stretched an arm above their head. “Don’t worry about it, Ken. I’ll force one of the girls to do it before they leave.”

Ken nodded. He hated things being left unclean for too long. It was why he was one of the best dishes: he got through them fast just so he didn’t have to watch them sit around in their filth.

“I know. You mostly work with Omar, right? Everything done early and quickly, right? But on my shifts, we like to wait ‘till the end of the shifts. You get a bit dirty after doing it, huh?” Richie smiled. Ken was used to Omar’s shifts; tonight was his first time working with Richie since they became a shift lead.

“It’s an easy clean-up, especially with the aprons,” Ken protested.

Richie nodded. “You know this shift is mostly newbies. Dominique is fast but he’s still a tad careless.”

Ken nodded in agreement.

After a bit, Richie returned to the front. Ken was left with nothing to do. All the dishes were done. All the trash was taken out.

He swept the floor, though it had already been pretty neat from the previous few times he’d swept. Usually, those on dish waited until closing to finally sweep, and there'd always be a fun assortment of trash and fallen food bits scattered about the floor, along with puddles of water and some mysterious sludges.

Ken had to squeegee some of the water on his side of the room into the big drain underneath his station. If the building had been designed right, the drain would be slightly lower in elevation compared to the rest of the floor, but unfortunately, some doofus made it the same height, and a bunch of water collected behind it, cloudy and gray from whatever elements accumulated underneath the sink.

Then he heard it again. A bumping sound. This time louder than before. Were Ken’s ears playing tricks on him?

His heart thumping, he ignored it. After finishing the floor he decided to reorganize the condiments on the rack behind the prep station. Unfortunately much closer to the walk-in, but he preferred it over going out front to help clean and serve whatever random customer decided to grab a burger at 10:30 at night.

Ken tried not to think about the walk-in. He hadn’t felt so nervous about it since his first few days working here. He’d calmed down since, but working with a new crew under new conditions was spiking his anxieties again.

Finally, he pressed an ear against the metal door and listened hard. No sounds.

10:50 approached, and the crew up front was bringing back the last of the dishes, including items they were technically not supposed to be taking back until exactly 11. But most of the leads preferred to close as early as possible. No one wanted to go home thirty minutes before midnight. Even during the summer, when the high schoolers weren’t concerned about school.

Finally, Ken watched Richie tell Alex to clean up the walk-in, and for Leyla to clock out. Leyla ignored them and instead stayed to help Alex clean.

They were in there for maybe ten minutes or so. Ken thought he should help, but decided it wasn’t worth it and continued scrubbing his station. He always closed it well.

Finally, Ken watched Alex and Leyla lug out a ginormous black trash bag from the fridge.

“Fuck, this is heavy,” Leyla murmured.

Ken cringed when they nearly dropped it. Ken hated it when the bag hit the floor.

The girls disappeared out into the dark, windy night. The door shut behind them. They’d forgotten to jam a hat or trashcan onto it to keep it open.

Ken went up to the fridge and slipped inside.

He was impressed. The walk-in was spotless.

Nearly. He spotted a small, red smear on the floor just beside his feet.

Ken shook his head. How could they miss such an obvious spot?

As he crouched down to his knees to wipe it away, his eye caught something underneath the racks.

Bending low, he pulled it out and inspected it. And then yelled.

A human finger. Bits of red gore hung from the middle joint where it had been severed.

Heart beating faster, Ken couldn’t believe it.

He barged out of the fridge just as Alex and Leyla returned. Their clothes were splotched and stained from the cleaning job.

“Alex! Leyla!” Ken snapped. “Look at this!”

He held up the finger to them, letting them both take in the sight.

Ken huffed, “It’s paramount that you make sure to take out all of the trash!”

~~~

Other short stories by me:

Those Green Eyes

For a super unique twist on the haunted house trope, I’d recommend this short read, Haunt Sweet Home, by Sarah Pinsker. It’s specifically about a woman working for a reality TV show, whose goal is to make a house seem haunted for new buyers.

"would you still love me if I was a worm?"

she said, as she reached for the zipper of her human suit.