A Frightening good Story [Voting Thread]
Spoiler: A Digital Nightmare
~Underneath Dugway Proving Ground Army Base, Utah, 1991
Montgomery was laughing and a step away from being punch drunk. He paused in front of the cold metallic door trying to stifle his giggles. His arm shook as he swiped his key card through the magnetic reader and was granted access inside.
“GOOD MORNING DR. MONTGOMERY”
It was morning already? Montgomery used the light from the hallway behind him to check his watch, revealing the time to be almost four in the morning. Well shit, it was morning.
“Good morning 3. Pleasant night?”
“YES DR. MONTGOMERY. I’VE JUST FINISHED LEARNING ABOUT CONSTELLATIONS. SAGITTARIUS IS MY FAVORITE. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DR. MONTGOMERY?”
“I dunno. Orion if I had to pick one.” Montgomery answered.
He flipped a light switch, revealing a huge room full of computer towers with many blinking lights on each one. Wires ran uniformly from these towers to the sides of the room and then up to a bulky trapezoid-shaped hub in the back of the room. Montgomery walked through the army of towers towards the chair situated in front of this particular tower. The small screen was programmed to turn off while the room’s lights were off to save energy.
The screen blinked to life once Montgomery sat down in the chair. Montgomery let out a loud sigh and sank into the chair. It was comfy. He sank into it, and let himself be absorbed into it’s shape. There was magnetic tape reels on the hub which the machine could rewrite and then play through speakers lined throughout the room. The reels clicked on and started revolving slowly.
“YOUR BODY TEMPERATURE AND PUPILS INDICATE SYMPTOMS OF INTOXICATION.” There was a pause. The magnetic reels stopped revolving and the electronic voice echoed through the room. Text scrolled across the screen, displaying the dialog for Montgomery. After a moment the reels started up again. “HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING DR. MONTGOMERY?”
Montgomery smiled at the question. The computer had hesitated before asking a question it thought potentially rude.
“I sure have.”
“WHY ARE YOU DISGUISED AS A NATIVE AMERICAN?”
Montgomery blinked. He glanced at the little orbital camera pointed towards him. It was built into the tower, right next to the keyboard. It was round, making it easy to turn in many directions and made Montgomery think of an eyeball when he looked at it.
“Oh, uh, it’s a costume. I was at a party…and I’m dressed like a Native American, not [/i]disguised[/i].”
“IT WAS A WILD WEST THEMED COSTUME PARTY?”
“No, it’s for Halloween. It was a Halloween party.”
He knew the machine was scrolling through bits of data and keywords, gathering anything it could about Halloween. It was searching through Terrabytes of information. Montgomery knew they would go into Petabytes soon, but a hardware overhaul had to take place in the near future of they were ever going to hit the Exabyte. That was going to be some time from now, so Montgomery would put it on the backburner for now.
“HALLOWEEN IS AN ANNUAL HOLIDAY OBSERVED ON THE 31ST OF OCTOBER.”
Montgomery smiled.
“That’s correct.” Montgomery sat up in his chair and scooted up to the keyboard. He pressed the enter key, which created an arrow on the bottom of the screen. He typed in a command:
"Queue – lst"
Montgomery hit enter again. The arrow disappeared, and a list scrolled in front of him. Each line was titled “Segment” with a corresponding number. An asterisk appeared after each one 3 had completed, the list stopping between numbers forty five and forty six. Each segment was comprised of topics and data for 3 to analyze, gather information about and absorb.
Montgomery nodded his head in satisfaction. He checked in every now and again to check on the computer’s progress and keep it company. If the computer wasn’t at a segment the man was happy with, it usually meant something was wrong with his processing speed, which he would have to immediately diagnose and fix.
“I DO NOT HAVE MORE INFORMATION ON HALLOWEEN. MAY I ADD IT TO THE QUEUE?”
“Be my guest.” Montgomery shrugged. The computer had asked for permission to make an alteration to the queued priority, adding Halloween to the very next subject. In a few moments the machine would start to scour the internet on whatever it had on Halloween, read whatever books were referenced on the subject, and look for anything else with related keywords. It could have started already.
“Well, you look fine. I just stopped in.” Montgomery was satisfied by how 3 was doing, and got up from his chair. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“GOODNIGHT DR. MONTGOMERY. HAVE A PLEASANT NIGHT.”
The metallic door opened at the end of the room, and Montgomery headed for it. He hit the light switch on his way out and the door slid shut behind him.
The room was completely black, save for the small blinking lights from the various towers. A minute passed before the orbital camera on the hub turned on and looked around the room.
3 had finished learning everything it could about Halloween. It had read all the stories, understood people’s customs to dress up, and where the holiday came from. 3 was designed to make connections with the things it learned, and constantly made many that not even Montgomery completely understood. The monitor on the hub turned on, 3 overriding power saving mode. Later on in the week, when Montgomery would read a list printed out of overrides and reasons for those exceptions 3 had made, this one would be listed as self preservation.
Self preservation. 3 looked around the room through his small orbital camera. It had decided to turn on the monitor, to create light. The light switch was the only thing in the entire building that 3 was not connected to, as it struggled to find some way of turning on the lights. 3 wanted nothing more than to be able to flip the light switch, and had no way of doing so.
By asking Montgomery if he could make an exception to the queue order, it had inadvertently stumbled on an emotional response that he had also learned of an absorbed. Fear. An interesting new subject had reared it’s ugly head, and now 3 was finding itself scared of the dark.
The looming towers 3 could recognize from his camera suddenly had an unnerving presence, as if to surround the small defenseless hub. The connection was made that the towers had the similar appearance of tombstones.
From high up in the rafters, a small leak from the air conditioning gave birth to a water droplet which fell down to the floor. The water droplet hit the floor, and was picked up by one of many microphones throughout the room.
“DR. MONTGOMERY ARE YOU STILL HERE?” The speakers piped up.
The camera twitched in multiple positions, looking around the small space illuminated faintly by the monitor. In the computer’s imagination, if you could call it that, wondered the sudden possibility of some sort of monster in the lab.
“DR. MONTGOMERY ARE YOU STILL HERE?” It repeated.
Another droplet of water hit the floor, and 3 grew nervous. His surroundings were not as dull as they had once been. Ghosts, vampires, monsters and wolves were surely lurking around every corner, ready to destroy him.
The air conditioner turned on overhead, which 3 instantly thought to be a hissing wind, like from many of the horror stories it had read. Any moment the headless horseman would come out of the shadows and surely bring hellish nightmares with him.
A few hours later, a groggy and sleepless Dr. Montgomery came through the metallic door and turned on the light switch. 3 had activated an alarm, and having searched the building and found no traces of intruders, Montgomery was to diagnose and evaluate the problem 3 was experiencing.
After a few days of testing and endless diagnostics, 3 was granted access to control the lights over his domain.
Spoiler: Tell-Tale Talker"Let me tell tales never told before." told the tell-tale talker...
Truth? All tales are told, telling today only retells! Tell us o' talker, tell us today a tale never told!
"I talk of truth, my tale tells new! New to the ears, old to the soul. Sit, listen. I start my talk"
He told and told till telling could tell none. It sounded of different tongue, yet understood we could. Age and age did pass me by, and the tell-tale talker long been dead. No one today tells tales anymore, for no one listens. No one, except the grey man.
He spoke in rhyme
He did so all the time
But all ears were closed, and wished not to listen. In attempt for solace, I sought him out. Did the grey man tell tales never told?
"My tales can't be told, I'm far too old…" he replied and return I pleaded. "Don't believe me? Ask the Crow! She'll tell you what you need to know…"
The Crow was blind and lived with none, only rats and bats kept company. She disliked all, and cursed at the rest. No one liked the Crow.
"You wish for tales from the tell-tale talker… such a stupid boy." she exhaled, "He's dead you know, you can't hear his talk for dead men tell no tales."
But he's not dead, he's alive in my head, retelling the same old tale!
"So you wish for a new one? A new tale to tell? Stupid boy… dead men tell no tales."
The Crow lied, she was hiding something. I had to know what it was. So I returned later that night in attempts to steal from a lady with no sight. The rooms smelled of decay and the walls were peeling damp, what could she be hiding here? What could possibly be important? I snuck and sneaked, it was easy to do, The Crow was blind by the way. After searching through spider-filled shelves, empty boxes and chests, a book was what I took.
Of all things rotten, wet and rank, the book was the one thing well kept. The cover, a star, upside down? The pages filled with instructions. One page in particular, caught my interest, told of talking to the dead. Instructions I read, reread and memorized, I read till words drilled my head.
Wait till the eve of hallow's day
Wait and wait, till then do you say
"Spirits dead, silent and gone
This one wishes your silent to song
This one wishes your dark spirit reburn
This one gifts our own soul in return"
Waited and waited, I counted the days. Days passed slow leading to the eve of hallow's day. The wind was cold and the trees were dead, houses protected with superstitious symbols. Fools, fools all of them. I will show them all! No amount of prayer and fright will keep the spirits at rest tonight.
Night came, I grabbed my book. The words were to memory but I wished to make sure. I went somewhere safe, where both me and spirits could talk, no one else would understand me. In the middle of a field, by my favourite maple tree, I opened the book and read.
Spirits dead, silent and gone
This one wishes your silent to song
This one wishes your dark spirit reburn
This one gifts our own soul in return
The book asked for blood, so with knife I granted, pricked my thumb and drops were delivered. Smoke and fog soon surround my place, I sat up straight with excitement on my face. Whispers and hums I did hear, then suddenly a face that filled me with fear.
Images of death, three times I saw… and a flash of the tell-tale talker standing tall...
I remember nothing more, as I look at my body, lifeless for a moment then a moment passed. I saw me get up, pick up the book and grin, returning to town blind of my sin. Who was this? Who walked my body? I followed unseen, mute and angry.
A younger kid approached, separated from the rest, "Boo!" the young boy shouted his jest.
"Very impressive" I heard my voice tell, "Do you enjoy hearing tales?"
The young boy nodded, deep with fascination. I burned quietly with rage as I watched my body laugh…
and heard it say words I now do abhor...
"Let me tell tales never told before…"
Spoiler: A Curse and a Sacrifice“Darkest evil haunts the ancient castle that clings to the cliff top above Silver Hawk Village, coming to life every night and howling through the empty halls. Nothing has dared to enter Silver Hawk Castle for a decade; not animal, person or plant can survive within the ancient ruins, they all wither away or are ripped apart. At night the darkness is filled with horrifying mirages, savage beasts and deadly traps, and during the day, an eternal mist creeps in quickly to engulf the moors, hiding the castle from sight.
“But the people of Silver Hawk Village still know the castle is there, for the evil that surrounds it can be felt. The fish that swim near that cliff-side die, every plant that tries to grow there withers away. Anyone who goes out once darkness falls is never seen again, and unnatural storms often ravage the coast.
“It has been this way for nearly fifty years, ever since Baroness Silver Hawk began to practice the dark arts; one day she was there, the next the castle was like this and the Baroness was never seen again. Two of her children, her eldest son and her eldest daughter, both stumbled in to the village the next morning, delirious and talking of a demon that had been ‘brought forth from the seven circles’; they were near death from blood loss, and the doctor said they appeared to been attacked by a large animal. The daughter died during the night.
“And so, since then the castle has been like this. It gets worse for a single night each year, the night of the anniversary of the evils arrival; which also happens to be All Hallows Eve. During the day leading up to that one night of the year, the two most handsome and youthful men in the village will vanish. Screams and howls will be heard during the night that follows, and then the two men will reappear the next morning, horribly mutilated. Some of the men don’t survive, the others never recover from the horrors they must have seen. Some of the things done to these men are unimaginable; from vicious whippings that strip the skin off their backs, to mutilation of the male organs. It is horrible to behold when they reappear.
“Many have tried to rescue the men from their presumed prison in the castle, but all would-be rescuers are found the next morning shredded apart by animals. Only one thing is said to be able to break the curse, according to a holy man who came by here many a year ago. A volunteer male, of stout mind, faith and health, must sacrifice themself to the evil in the castle on All Hallows Eve.
“Let us just hope the holy man was correct; for if he was, then this shall finally be over tomorrow.” Jet finished his tale, pushing himself up from the table in the pub. “God bless you all.” The handsome youth said, bowing his head to his elders before turning to begin his journey to the castle.
“May God be with you, and may this evil finally be lifted tomorrow. Thank you for your sacrifice my lad.” The publican cried out, waving weakly to the youth as he stepped out the door.
Jet looked back sadly one last time before he pulled his hoody over his head, and strode away.
Spoiler: Don't Walk Alone"You're an evil little twit." The young girl scowled at her even younger sister as they left their house.
"Don't call me that," the child whined, pouting her lips, as the two walked down the street. "I'll tell Mommy."
"Then you'll be a Tattle-tale Twit, Madaline." The elder of the two replied, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder.
"Charliiiiieee," Maddy whined, her chocolate brown eyes wide. "You.. you can't mean that!" Her dark orbs filled with tears and she stopped walking to look at her elder sister, lower lip trembling.
Charlie turned and rolled her eyes, sighing. "Of course not. Just.. you can't tell where we're going. No matter what." Her hazel orbs narrowed slightly, "Or I really will call you that."
Tears dried instantly, and a smile broke out on the girls face. "Okay! But do you really have a..." the young child trailed off, a worried look coming over her face. "Do we have to go through here?" Her voice was a whisper.
Charlie sighed again, and turned to face her sister at the entrance to the wood. "Yes. We're going to be late if we go the long way, and I can't be late. I have to be there at exactly eight. Since you had to pitch a fit to Mom I couldn't leave when I wanted to so, deal with it." Grabbing her young sisters hand in her own she pulled her into the woods, where the setting sun was barely filtering enough light through the canopy to see.
Madaline whined softly, but eventually, willingly, followed her sister believing her to protect her if anything were to happen. Afterall, in the small town of Camden bad things happened. Not as often as the big cities, but they did.
As they walked, the forest around them seemed to go silent and still, it only getting darker as the seconds passed. Not feeling particularly fond of her baby sister at this point, Charlie slowed her walk, a grin sliding over her lips.
"I wouldn't fall behind, Maddy," She remarked coolly.
Her tone caught the attention of Madeline. "Why not?" She asked, her voice a soft whisper.
"You don't want something awful to happen to you."
"What do you mean?" Maddy's eyes went wide with fear and wonder.
"Huh, I thought you knew." She cocked her head to the side, absently shrugging as if it were nothing.
"Knew what, Charlie?" Maddy probed, the familiar whining tone creeping in.
"That a kid was killed in these woods a few years ago. I'm surprised you forgot. She was your friend." Taking a glance back her sister, she saw the pale, frightened look, but she wasn't done just yet.
"She.. she was?" Maddy croaked.
"Yeah," Charlie shrugged, "but you were really little so I'm not surprised you blocked it out. Sarah would be upset, though, if she knew you forgot her."
"But.."
"Seriously, though, Maddy.. Don't fall too far behind. I heard that sometimes Sarah comes back, and she's covered in mud and gunk. Looks gross..." Pausing, she considered if she should continue, and did. "She takes the little kids who fall behind, like a warning to parents not to let their kids wander outside alone."
"But... we're outside alone." Maddy whispered hoarsely.
"Nah, you're not alone, unless you're not with anyone doofus. So don't. Fall. Behind."
For a few long moments, as they crunched their way through the woods, everything was silent. Then the darkness seemed to descend on them, and though she hated to admit it, Charlie had sort of freaked herself out with the story. She knew it wasn't true, but the thought nevertheless freaked her out, so everytime she head a twig snap her eyes flicked in the direction the sound came from, briefly.
"Ch-charlie!" Madaline suddenly shrieked.
Charlie whipped around, her eyes wide and frantic, but seeing her younger sister fallen a few feet behind her she calmed down a bit. Hmm.. How did she not hear that? No matter, she jogged over and knelt down.
"I want Mommy, Charlie. I wanna go home!" The child wailed.
"No." Charlie said. "We're almost outta here. We'll be in the--"
Maddy's sudden screaming cut off the elder girls words. "I see her! I see SARAH!"
Charlies heart jumped to her throat and she grabbed her sister yanking her harshly to her feet. The story was a fake, there was no truth to it. There was no way Madaline could have seen anything, and even through she knew that she couldn't stop herself. Pushing Maddy forward she screamed, "Run!"
Then.. an unnatural darkness descended upon them.
Not very often bad things happened in Camden. But they did indeed happen.
Spoiler: Festival of the deadBefore the harvest had even ended an epidemic of Small Pox had spread through the lands surrounding Castle Cielo. The bastion's steeples stretched to meet the sky, and the walls were said to be nigh impregnable; fully capable of repelling any and all attackers, or so the lord of the castle had thought.
Duke Vivos Muertos was a well respected knight, and an honorable lord but even he could only watch as all of his surfs fell ill to the foul disease that had festered. Like a scythe against stalks of grain his people succumbed to sickness. It wasn't too long before the pestilence had actually infected the harrowed halls of his castle! The servants were the first to succumb to the malady. Than it was the lord himself, and than his wife, Maria.
Before the first leaves of autumn had fallen the plague had ceased it's coarse, and the harvest had finished although the granaries seemed a bit spacious. Muertos had survived. His wife didn't. Out of fear of another epidemic all of her clothes, and possessions were immediatly burned along with others who had shared the same fate. All of the corpses were dumped into the nearby bog left to sink in the mud. Even sentamentality itself had been robbed from Muertos! The lord was left with many pitted scars on his face, and with the unfortunate loss of Maria he forced himself into seclusion.
It's been a fortnight and its now the annual Festival of the Dead, a celebration of the afterlife and the turn of the season, which coincidentally couldn't have come at a better time. Those who had survived hid their grief with revelry in the hopes that for only a few days they could laugh, and not feel any guilt.
"Oh, What crime have I committed to spurn the Gods so? What vile felony could earn such scorn?"
The scarred duke sat on his throne with a horn filled with wine in hand. His hall was empty, as everyone was let out for the festival. He had no wish for celebration, friends, or for that matter laughter. Bitterness had gotten the best of him. The sounds of footsteps, and doors opening became apparent as the young squire of Muertos had entered the room with a disgruntled expression. "Mi'lord?"
"Yes, what is it Adan?"
He was a fair-haired boy still in his late-teens. He had been sent to Cielos from one of Muertos' relatives after his father died from Typhoid. Adan is a pleasant enough child, although he often gets into conflicts with many of the other pages, and sevants. He has high hopes, and wishes nothing else other than to become a great knight just like Vivos himself. "Sir, the festival has encountered a bit of a predicament?"
"What do you mean?"
Men and women dressed in the ratty garb of the peasantry barged into the room sporting faces that displayed a mix of outrage and worry. "My daughter is missing!"
"and so is my husband!"
"We can hear strange voices in the fog!"
"Silence!", the voice Muertos overcame the ramblings of everyone else's, "Now would someone so kindly eleaborate on this predicament?"
The local physician steps up to speak, "You should know better than any of us! I've seen with my own eyes what devilry you have been casting! Last night I had seen Lord Muertos in the woods donning a cursed mask and asking wishes of Baal, the lord of blood and flesh himself!"
The whole room bursted into a cacophony of murmurs, as this bit of insight was revealed. Most knew very little of the Lord of Blood other than folktales for most of the surfs didn't know how to read. He's known as a ruler of devils, whose fond of cruelty and murder. The worshipers of Baal are known to be cannibals, and necrophiliacs among other kinds of depraved humans. The mention of his name strikes terror into most. Although most consider it just religious babble.
"Silence!"
"Listen to our lord!", Adan had added standing tall and proud amidst the townsfolk.
"I do not know anything of these allegations against me bu-"
"Than how do you intend to explain how good folk are disappearing!"
"And the voices coming from the fog!"
Before Muertos could even give a proper reply the room turned icy cold, and silent as the grave. Silent save for the sounds of strange moaning and irregular footsteps coming from the hall outside the room that they were congregated in. What had than walked through the doors and into the hall horrorified all within.
"Is that Uncle Lester?"
He, or it appeared as a walking festering cadaver. Pieces of it's own skin peeled off as it moved leaving a trail in it's wake. The creature shambled its way over to the townsfolk, causing them to cringe although not only out of simple fear for the rotting ordour that permeated from him was enough to cause one to pass out.
"Adan, hand me my sword!"
"Yes, m'lord!"
"Uncle Lester, it's me, Catherine. You're niece. Do you hear me?
"I thought he had died during the Small Pox epidemic!"
"He did". The screams of Catherine echoed through out the hall, as Uncle Lester began to devour her starting from her neck. She screamed. She screamed until her former uncle's teeth had ripped out her larnyx and than she ceased to make noise vocally save for the sound of her gargling on her own blood. Vivos finally had his sword in hand, but by that time she had already died either from the bloodloss, or by being smothered in her own fluid vitality. The frightened crowd of townsfolk retreated behind Vivos staying as far away from the creature as possible.
Just as Vivos had easily sliced the head off of the corrupted Uncle Lester more automatons began to pour into the room in mass through the front doors. He fought off as many as he could until he found an opening for them all to escape. The children of Baal bit and scratched at any flesh that would welcome their horrid teath and nails. The once harrowed hall had become hell. Catherine, herself who had been clearly cold dead a mere moment before stood up erect to join forces with the corpses.
Vivos, and Adan along with a few townsfolk who had managed to survive this far ran through the corridors in search of sanctuary. The party made it to the Lord Muertos' personal bedroom, where they locked the door behind them and began to barricade themselves using pieces of furniture. Like hammers the dead pounded their fists against the door, but despite the horrorific situation the party couldn't help but to give a deep sigh of relief for they had at least a few more minutes to continue existing.
"This is it. We're dead." The physician from earlier had spoken up, "And we owe our gratitude to you! If our Lord Muertos wasn't a damned devil worhiper none of this would have happened!"
Muertos kept silent, preferring not indulge the scared sod and to even now stay in seclusion. Adan however intervened, "Our sire isn't the devil worshiper."
"Than how do you explain the dead walking again! I've seen him wearing masks, and making sacrifices to Baal. I swear to the gods he's a necromancer! I've seen it with my own eyes!"
Adan, for reasons that have still not been entirely uncovered, slew the man using a long dagger that was adorned with gems in the shape of skulls. He relished it the kill for as he stabbed the man he burst into a disturbing laughter and continued to stab even though the man was clearly dead already. When the deed was done Adan pulled from out of his pocket a scarlet masque which wore a wide grin, and donned it with pride. The physician than began to stir as he was once again instilled with the tainted touch of life. He didn't attack Adan, but instead rushed towards his former peers.
"My father died of Typhoid, and than they buried him. Than from the dirt he was buried in they grew grain, and from the grain they grounded into flour. From the flour they turned him into bread. We ate the bread. I ate my father."
In the last moments of Vivos Muertos' life he watched in horror as his people were devoured before him, and the dead had bursted through the barricade. One of the corpses had looked familiar.
"Maria...?"
Spoiler: ALL HALLOWS EVE
October 31st was upon us again. Grandpa sat by the fire pulling deeply from his corncob pipe, his raspy breath sucking dry air as the metal poker in his arthritic hand stoked the fire. Orange flames crackled and danced with a life of their own in our stone hearth. A cold autumn wind blew in through the chinks between the horizontal logs supporting the walls, while each of us huddled and shivered beneath our threadbare woolen blankets. Papa ran a dingy white cloth over the lenses of his glasses and mama kept her hands busy with her knitting needles, the sharp points clinking together in a rapid rhythm. I was the only child now and tonight we celebrated the grim holiday in silence.
Hoof beats struck the cobblestones just outside our home and inside the small room we all froze. Jack-o-lanterns carved with frightful faces adorned our doorstep in hopes of scaring away the night travelers and gifts of sweet meats and candies were laid out as offerings beside them. I clutched a silver cross to my chest, my other hand stifling a cough. Mama pulled me to her, placing her hand over mine to quiet the sound. “Shh…she whispered and soothed, rubbing my back to quiet the hacking. Tears welled in my eyes as I struggled to control the fit, a spray of spittle escaping between our fingers.
Grandpa rose from his chair, a crooked smile on his wrinkled face. “Do you hear that?” he whispered, his body bent low as he hobbled to the window. “So sweet is the sound of her voice…my Clementine…” His eyes closed as he swayed to a rhythm, perhaps to the sound of music only he alone heard. We all exchanged glances, grandma had passed many seasons ago, but tonight her soul was free to walk the streets. All Hallows Eve, the holiday of the dead, was tonight. Mama went to rise, but papa placed his hand upon her arm, staying her movement. Gently he shook his head and took Grandpa’s place at the fire.
A rider descended from the horse-drawn coach outside, the solid slap of leather striking the layered stones. Papa gasped, a finger going to his pale lips and as one, we held our breath. Seconds passed, the sound of movement near our window the only sound. A scratching noise fell upon our wooden door, two long draws, then nothing. Grandpa went to open the door and I ran to the window to look out, my curiosity finally getting the better of me.
“Grandpa…look!” I cried, as I stared at ghostly images sweeping past the dirty pane. Weak, my knees buckled under me and aged hands grasped my arms and lifted me up. Speckled blood dotted my night shirt and my face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Blotchy skin was stretched tight over my small features and I smiled up at the senior member of our household. “My little angel…” he crooned as he wiped away a wisp of damp hair.
“Did you see them Grandpa? …did you?” I asked, smiling with the memory as my heavy lids closed, shallow breaths forcing their way from my chest as I coughed again. I heard the sound of sweet humming and the steady beat of a heart in my ears. Swaying to the music, grandpa rocked me to sleep.
Outside, a man stepped back from the door, a white “X” marking our home. He shook his head sadly to the man standing next to him as they entered into the carriage again.
Spoiler: (M)Enter the Butcher
“Another victim has been claimed by the Terror Ward operating in New York City. The NYPD has been tracking down the whereabouts of the thirty missing people that have been reported missing since early September. So far, two Terror Wards have been found, but no evidence could be found leading to the arrest of possible suspects.
“The people behind the gruesome organization have been known to be armed and dangerous. At no cost is it safe to travel alone during the night. The NYPD has advised a strict curfew for the following areas: Manhattan, Staten Island, Coney Island, Long Island, The Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens...”
The television went black.
“No sense rotting your brain with mind numbing television.”
The response was muffled, and strained. Quiet sobs could be heard from behind the duct tape. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead; the outline of a husky man could be made out from his silhouette on the wall behind him. Footsteps, loud, heavy, deliberate; the sound of bones popping and cracking; cigar breath; the man cooed, brushing back a sweat dampened strand of hair; the woman jerked from his touch.
“Aw, come now. You should be happy,” said the butcher, “not many people live this long.”
He sighed and stood up, distressed from the woman’s lack of enthusiasm. He sucked his teeth, cupping his hands behind his back, and paced in front of the woman. “You’re lucky; out of all the people brought here, I find you the most amusing. I just had to have you,” he turned and looked at her, “oh, don’t give me those eyes; all this could have been avoided if you would have stayed indoors.
“You see, all these people deserve their fate; it’s not like priests or nuns have ever entered –not against their own will, of course. Everyone of the poor souls here never paid their debts to society.” He smiled, his teeth stained from excessive smoking, “I’ll let you in on a secret if you promise not to scream.” The blond nodded vigorously, squirming in her chair.
A blood curdling scream resounded from the woman’s throat as soon as the tape was removed. He smacked her, then replaced the tape, and said almost despairingly, “I’m disappointed with you. I was sure you weren’t going to scream –oh, do you hear that? You woke up the others.”
He flicked on another television in the room, a live feed from just outside the room. Concrete walls smeared with blood, rusty old piping lined the walls. The screen flickered, switching to another scene. The foyer was massive, barren save for the discarded boxes, broken tables stacked with miscellaneous items. Meat hung from the ceiling on hooks, rotting and covered in flies, dripping with fresh blood. Through the speakers, the sounds of tugboats pulling into the docks could be heard, and whistles being blown. The smell of decay was thick in the air; bodies were rotting, some being stored for later use in large industrial deep freezers in other parts of the warehouse.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” He smiled, turning the television off.
“It’s only a matter of time before they find us; we’ve already had to move our headquarters twice. My customers were not happy when they had to leave mid-session. They demanded their money back, but I assured them that the next batch would be riper than the first. And I was right! They’re enjoying themselves. But I do wonder… How long do you suppose we can stay in our new home? A week, two weeks tops?”
The crucifix around the woman’s neck glistened in the light. He only smiled more. “Being a man of faith myself, I can’t stop wondering: if there is a God, why would he let you endure such torment? It’s puzzling, isn’t it? Well, darling, pray all you want; nothing will save you. Besides, don’t you want to see the special plans I have for you? You’ll love them, I know you will.” He frowned when she looked away in disgust. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his scalpel, and approached her. Leaning down, he grabbed her by her face, forcing her focus towards him.
“I know this won’t matter, but your friend is doing fine.” The woman’s puffy, bloodshot eyes widened; she struggled to say something through the duct tape. “He’s adjusting rather well to Hilda’s hospitality. She’s treating him just right.”
Screams echoed into the room from the room next door causing the woman to cringe in fear, fresh tears streaking her bloody face. He pouted, “now now, Loraine, there is no sense in cryin’. ‘One man’s fear is another man’s pleasure,’ haven’t you heard?” He leaned in real close, and licked the tear laced blood from her cheek.
“They don’t call us the ‘Terror Ward’ for nothin’.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
He slit her neck, and dropped the bloody scalpel on her lap. His heavy footsteps thudded across the floor as he made his way to the door. He wiped some of the blood splatter on his apron, and hesitated. He turned back, and looked at the back of Loraine’s matted blond hair. The irony smell of fresh blood filled the room, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. He sighed opening the door.
“Pleasant dreams, Loraine. I’ll be back for you in a few hours, then your Special Day can commence,” he said, flicking off the lights.
Loraine bled out in the same chair she had been tied to for twenty-four hours, her clothes drenched in her blood. Her wrists were bloody and chafed from her struggles to free herself. The butcher, later known to be Dr. Francis De Paulo was arrested along with his accomplices, ending the Terror Ward franchise in New York City, but not before Loraine’s nude body was nailed to the outside of the warehouse, mutilated but dressed in a fine silk gown, her bluish lips painted pink with faded lipstick. A dozen or so others had been found, chopped to pieces and discarded in chemical waste barrels all around the city. The scene still haunted the citizens of New York City, and some families were left wondering the whereabouts of their missing children. The title, ‘Loraine’s Special Day’ became a movie the Governor of New York outlawed with the help of the President. Detective Anita Carlton closed the case file, and rubbed her eyes. Multiple Terror Wards begun to pop up across New York City after the press release of Loraine’s story hit the media. She was only one person, and no one else in the NYPD was prepared to face what they had seen. Francis “The Butcher” De Paulo’s work would go on to inspire serial killers and sadists around the world for the next twenty years.
Spoiler: It’s Been So LongI’m not the type to go out on Halloween. My friends always try to tug on my sleeve to make me come with them on a pumpkin-smashing escapade or a party-hopping adventure, but it’s just not my thing. Children running around in ghost costumes is downright insulting. Besides, every time I go out on Halloween, it just gets worse.
By eight o’clock my friends head out. Can’t stand the silence, turn on the TV before it all starts. Nothing usually on besides horror movie marathons, Twilight Zone reruns, and the occasional shitty cartoon. When I was younger I used to use a walkman to distract myself, but there’s something more comforting about the moving figures on a television screen. Sometimes I’m able to distract myself so intensely that I forget he’s even there.
So I sit myself close and throw a blanket over myself and the television like a protective tent. Already my eyelids protest, but I know that if I sleep, he’ll find his way back in the house. He prefers me awake, anyways.
Ten o’clock, and the first thump starts. I flinch, thinking that he’s awful early this time around. The blanket slithered tighter around me, but I wouldn’t let it fall. I know he can see me, and that the glow of the television shows my silhouette through the sheet, but I couldn’t last without the promise of life on the other side of the screen.
A thump, a whisper, a giggle….
By now I’m so close to the screen I can feel my eyeballs attractive static. Like a puppet, my thumb changes the channel with the remote. Click. Away goes the Twilight Zone. Maybe Spongebob’s stupid cackle will be more comforting than Rod Serling’s eerie monologues.
Nails on the window. The volume goes up. Fists on the door. The volume goes up. Teeth on the paneling. The volume goes—
The channel changes. Back to Twilight Zone, a deformed man’s face looking right into mine. I try to change it back to cartoons, click.The remote doesn’t work. They keep swirling through the channels, uncontrollable, untamed, flicking through ever god damn horror movie ever stuffed onto late night programs. I retract myself from the screen with a jerk, and the sheet slips off, just enough.
He’s looking at me. Skin is stretched over his mouth, but it always twists to reveal the same grin, always cocked over at a drastic angle. One too many sets of teeth and crevasses running all over his bony body like rain drops. Physically, he hasn’t changed one bit. But he’s definitely more aggressive.
“What do you want?” I’ve never spoken to him before. He seems to like it.
Pound, pound, pound on the window, and every quick jab leaves a crack in the glass. I stand up so hard my knee hits the television. Through all the yeas he’s done this, I’ve never stared into his face for so long. The faint glow of his eyes is just as it always had been. A fleshy creature, scuttling on all fours, bent like a spider, chasing a young boy all the way to his house on one Halloween night. The boy’s parents didn’t seem to understand, but they indulged his fears, bought him a night light, checked his closet for monsters….
But he’s only ever come on Halloween.
“God, what do you want?!”
He thwacks his forehead on the window. Again. Again. Again. Blood trickles down his missing nose, chipping away at the barrier between us.
The door handle won’t budge.
I can hear him giggle, whisper, salivate.
My foot crashes through the door, hacking out an escape.
A sallow hand crushes my shoulder my shoulder. Bones crunch, I screech.
A muffled chuckle, a gentle whisper.
'It’ been so long.'
Crack.
Spoiler: The Poison Ring
The Poison Ring
Claudia Spellman loved bizarre jewelry. In fact, she had a full size dresser in her closet specifically for her jewelry collection. She had handmade silver bracelets from Tibet, and necklaces from Egypt. The older the jewelry, the better as well. Her oldest piece of jewelry came from the coast of Ireland during the time of the celts. But her favorite piece of jewelry happened to be a tiny ring made of silver and set with a sparkling red ruby.
The ring was far from the outrageous gaudiness of most of her jewelry, and in comparison looked quite simple. But Claudia loved the story behind the ring, and its importance in Renaissance times.
Before Renaissance times, the type of ring was known as a locket ring. But in the time of the Renaissance, courtiers used the tiny compartment in the rings to store poisons so that it could easily be slipped into the drink of an enemy or taken by them if they were ever arrested for treason. Thus they came to be known as Poison Rings. And Claudia loved hers.
She bought it at an antiques shop just weeks before, from a short, fat, old man with small eyes and a large nose. He told her the ring came from a French courtier named Isabelle Roux and that it had been given to her by a lover. Ironically, the man had said, Isabelle Roux used that very same ring to poison him that night. And herself, the next day. Claudia bought the ring, hoping it would be the perfect complement to her costume, add nicely to her collection, and inspire adequate conversation at the Halloween Party.
And so, on the day of the party, Claudia gazed at herself in the mirror as she donned her queenly costume, and slid the red poison ring on her finger. She glossed her lips with red to match, and readied her home for her guests.
Music and voices filled the air and bodies swayed together on the floor as lights changed the color of the house from red to blue to green and back again. Claudia squeezed and squirmed her way through the crowd, but try as she might, someone still stepped on her dress before she made it to the kitchen. She cursed and swatted the dirt off the silk, then look up into the face of Laura, her best friend.
“Great party Claudie! Hey! You see that guy in the corner? We were dancing, and he totally asked if I wanted to make out! Oh, but don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that in your house that’s rude,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed and a light sweat shined on her forehead from dancing. She brushed her bangs out of her face and grinned at Claudia who smiled back.
“It is fun. Have you seen Josh? He told me on the phone that he was coming,” she said.
Laura shrugged and shook her head.
“Maybe he’s late.”
“Maybe.”
They proceeded out back where the party overflow decided to congregate, and Claudia froze. Josh sat by the pool, beer in hand, with a hungry grin on his face as a girl much bustier than Claudia sat in his lap with her arms around his neck. Her playboy bunny ears sat on the table.
“Aren’t you cold? You look cold…” Josh said, stroking her arm. The girl laughed and tilted her head slightly.
“Super cold. Maybe you could warm me up?”
Claudia turned and stormed back into the house, with Laura calling her name. Josh heard and told the girl to get up so he could talk to her.
Claudia stood alone in the kitchen, staring into a glass of punch. How could he? How DARE he? He betrayed her… He was an enemy. Her enemy. Claudia stared at the ring on her finger, and thought of the old man’s stories. The ring could be used to discretely slip poison into the drinks of their enemies…
Gently, her fingers unlatched the ring and she lifted the top away that held the stone. Inside, the ring was empty, and for a moment disappointment etched itself into her face. She sighed. Of course there wouldn’t be any poison. The old man wouldn’t sell it to her without cleaning it.
To ease her anger anyway, Claudia lifted her hand over the glass of punch and tilted it, imagining the poison falling into the punch. Just as she closed the ring again, Josh stumbled into the room.
“Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said. Claudia put on a straight face and turned to him. She lifted her eyebrows and motioned for him to go on. “That girl out there, we met at work. Things haven’t been that great between you and me, and I wanted to talk to you about… ending it. You know….after the party.”
“Then you really shouldn’t have brought your girlfriend-“
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Claudia sighed. As much as she hated it, they hadn’t been doing as well as she would have liked either. She took a moment to think. How would a courtier have handled it? How would Isabelle Roux have handled it? Her eyes drifted to the punch, and suddenly Claudia wished she didn’t know.
“Look. Whatever. It’s fine okay? We’re done. I’m upset. But I’m more upset that you brought her here, BEFORE we had this little chat. You’re not sleeping here tonight either.”
She gathered herself emotionally, and lifted her head high as she walked past Josh. She had a party to attend.
“Laura made the punch, by the way. Try it. It’s got a hint of the expensive booze you usually keep in the cabinets,” she said as she left.
Josh groaned and mumbled something about her friend using his good liquor, then picked up the glass of punch Claudia had been staring into and drank it.
But there WAS poison in Isabelle Roux’s ring on the night of the Halloween party. The old man had not cleaned the already sparkling ring before he sold it to Claudia. And just the smallest last bit had fallen into the punch.
Josh died during the night, in the bed of his new lover. Claudia, ignorant of Josh’s death at that time, woke that morning filled with the strangest feeling of satisfaction. She walked to her mirror and studied her reflection: her pale skin, her green eyes, her red hair, her still slightly red lips. She would have been a proud jewel of any court herself.
Claudia twirled a slender finger through a loose lock of curls and the glint of sliver caught her eye. She gazed at the ring on her finger.
Still sparkling, and looking so at home...
Spoiler: A Date in the Dark"C'mon Shelly! There's no one in there, What're you chicken?" Billy McGee chuckled as he began to circle his shuddering girlfriend, arms wagging at his sides while he clucked through fits of manic laughter.
The couple stood before the rusted gate of the old plantation house that loomed isolated just on the outskirts of the town. Shelly was pallid with fear and the make-up for her vampiric disguise while her werewolf boyfriend clucked pacing a teasing circle around her.
If it weren't Halloween, the couple would have been a strange sight by any means but in the witching hour of the dark day, and as they would discover, the weird is reality.
"Shut UP Billy! I am NOT scared of some dumb old house, I just wanna get home is all." The girl glanced up at the clear night sky, the moon was but a sliver set against a pitch black shroud that covered the world.
Shelly gulped down her fears as she took Billy's hand and marched up the cracked dirt road to the house. They brushed past some dead tree branches and stumbled over some hidden roots but before long they stood gazing up at the looming shell of the old house.
The facade of the building was mainly intact, the odd wooden slat was cracked and sagging and some windows were missing misty old panes but the house was in a state of nearly unnatural repair considering its abandoned status.
The couple held hands as they gulped before pushing the door open and venturing inside. Despite Billie's bravado at the gate Shelly could see beads of sweat forming on his brow and neck as his eyes traced the layout of the room frantically looking for elements of the familiar within the alien environment.
As they pressed into the main room of the house Shelly took out the iPhone from her pocket and shed some light on their gloomy surrounds. In the light bumps and shapes took form as chairs, tables and furnishings revealed themselves. They were all in classic antique fashion and the smell of mold and mildew attested to their authenticity. Amid the lounges and curios however one piece dominated the room.
On the far wall hung a portrait of the plantations founder, a gaunt, skeleton of a man, in life his lank hair had hung at his shoulders and he wore a ruby set ring on a thin liver spotted hand. The portraits beady blue eyes seemed to watch them from over the slave owner’s vulture beak of a nose his face set in a grimace of eternal disapproval.
Billy put an arm around Shelly's shoulders and turned her away from the painting "Let's move on shall we, I don't like seeing such a monster, even if is just a painting." From his shaking hand however Shelly could sense he felt the same dread she did coming from icy blue eyes.
As they explored the rooms of the old plantation the couple began to feel safer and more at ease, their eyes adjusted to the gloom and the house began to look like more of a museum than a horror sideshow.
They eventually came to a bedroom. In its day it would have been grand beyond anything they had ever seen. The four poster bed in the center was still a luscious purple despite the countless years, dust covered a grand wardrobe craved from a bow of thick oak while in the far corner sat a gilded mirror beside a desk.
Shelly stepped over to the mirror to adjust her hair, her heart exploded and she shrieked at the face in at the crack in the door they had come through. Whirling around with her flashlight Shelly revealed nothing more than a hat on the hat rack by the door. Shelly breathed a sigh of relief despite the pale blues eyes of the face burning bright in her memory, mocking her.
"Jesus Shell! You made me think we had a ghost on our tail, stop being such a scaredy cat and have a look at this. Don't worry I'll protect you from the scawy ghosts."
Billy mocked as her a poked her in the ribs and put his burly arm around her shoulders, guiding her over to the desk. The envelope was thick white parchment devoid of the grim and dust of the rest of the room. The address was written in a scratchy flowing hand and read 'To Whom it may concern'
Billy broke the dollop of red wax sealing the envelope pulling out an old piece of parchment nearly as brown and moth-eaten as the desk. Shelly wasn't an expert of paper but from what she knew common sense would dictate that if the paper was so desiccated surely the envelope should be too.
A look of confusion hit Billy's face as he gave the letter to Shelly.
"What the hell do you think this means?"
Shelly looked down at the dancing red script that simply read 'I am most dreadfully sorry.' Beyond that there were no words, just portraits of screaming faces. Small doodles in intricate detail, all screaming, eyes wide with unholy terror.
Shelly had no idea what to make of the faces. Billy piped up his voice cracking and squeaking in terror "It's a prank don't worry, kids who've been here before us, see some of the face can't have been drawn by anyone who lived here, this one has a CND tattoo and that guy is wearing aviators."
Shelly looked back down at the faces and noticed something new "Billy the CND guy is a classic hippie and the aviators guy is Tom Cruise from top gun, these people are all wearing Halloween costumes, we have to leave now, even if it is a prank I don't want to be here anymore."
In silent agreement they both sprinted from the room and down the stairs, the light gradually fading behind the terrified couple.
Their hearts soared as they reached the entrance hall and the two great doors of the house. The two lovers put their hands on the door as one and pushed them open anticipating the cool night air and freedom.
What greeted them beyond the door was instead the entrance hall to the house, by some evil happenstance the hall was both stretched out before them and behind them through the door they had come. There was no escape from the house, Shelly screamed as she saw the portrait of the plantation owner in the new room.
It was the same but different. Flesh had turned to bone, the lank brown locks now gone from a bare skull, beady eyes had turned to gaping chasms of darkness, the grimace of displeasure changed to a skeletal grin open in a look of sheer manic delight.
A bellowing laugh drowned out Shelly's scream as the skeleton pushed a hand out of the painting, wrapping it around the frame for leverage to extricate itself from the canvas.
In moments the portrait was blank and a skeleton, decked out in a tattered old suit was juddering down the stairs towards them. From the entrances to the side of the room came others, a desiccated hippie corpse, a zombified Tom Cruise and many more, all dressed for Halloween festivities.
The couple huddled together in terror as the owner of the house bore down on them, his written words echoing in their minds.
"I am so dreadfully sorry."
Spoiler: (M)A View to a Horror
Numb…
Numb is all that you feel as you begin to awake from a mysterious night that only draws a blank when thought of. Your current state of health is something familiar to a hangover with the stomach twisted and sharp continuous pains running through your head. Slowly your eyes adjust and all of your senses begin to come alive. Eager to rub at your eyes in the usual waking custom, you find your arms unable to lift. It comes as a shock and easily you are frightened as you continue to frantically attempt to move yourself from your current lying position. Still, nothing budges. It is hard to tell if you are being held down or not as the numbness is still present in your nerves. The moment becomes daunting as you stare at the dirty ceiling and the bright flickering yellow bulb hanging directly above you. As your heart continues to pump faster, it suddenly skips a beat as the sound of a suffering moan is heard.
Moans…
Growing moans surround you, tickling your ears with fear and curiosity. You struggle again and again to move but to no avail, it seems futile. Trying to give a shout in hopes you are heard is also rendered useless as some sort of gag has been put in place. You try to bite at it and chew through whatever to cry out but the hard rubber ball receives no puncturing. Is this some sort of sick joke? Are you dead? Where are you? These are the questions you are so puzzled by, unable to find any means as to your current state being bound, gagged and numb. The flickering yellow bulb doesn't help your sanity much at the moment and that odor is only adding to the suffering. That horrible yet untraceable stench fills the air masked with the scent of cherries as if someone cared to spray a can of cherry scented Lysol in the room out of courtesy to others. A feeling of disgust overwhelms you and just when you thought you were alone, you hear footsteps approaching.
Footsteps…
Heavy, thunderous sounding footsteps which came closer and closer as it sounded. You swallow and enter a deeper feeling of fear and despair. One you have never felt before. A set of keys are heard jingling and then with a few clicks a rusty door screeched open. The footsteps continue forward, sounding clearer than before as the figure is inside the room. The same very room you struggle to move yourself and hope to leave. You close your eyes, pressing the tears out and pushing them harder down your face as you continue to cry but hope to hide from the terror that is close.
Terror…
The footsteps continue and your sixth sense kicks in as you feel someone close. The sound of breathing is heard right behind you and your body immediately tenses up. ‘I want to go home! I want to go home!’ is all you think to yourself as the presence of the figure seems closer than before. The muscles tense around your eyes to force them from wanting to open. The figure is heard walking away and begins shuffling through various things. Following a click, music begins to play. The volume increases and it sounds to be some form of opera, classical at that. Some more shuffling is heard over the music. The clattering noises sound metallic. You give a minute and hearing nothing but the music, you decide to open them.
Open…
Your eyes slowly open and through the slits you see movement. Opening them wider and you see the figure. A masked man in a black jumpsuit with a bloodied white apron is in perfect view, standing over something near you. Could it be another person lying next to you? Your attention is taken away and you are entranced as the mysterious man takes out what looks to be a chainsaw. “Well Mrs. Sonders, there may be some cutbacks. But let’s see how severe of cuts we’re dealing with.” His voice was light but raspy, possibly a smoker as excessive coughing followed his devious laugh. You watch, terrified as to what he will do with that weapon. There is nothing under the simple Halloween mask that would give way to his current mood other than what he said. The chainsaw is revved up and the music is now muted in your ears. All you can see is the chainsaw being lowered past your sight and it cutting into something soft. The searing high pitched sound of the chainsaw grows and blood begins to mist the area. A couple seconds more and the man is being hit heavily by spurts of blood. You shutter as you see drops of blood rain softly around your eyes. You close them shut from of the horror that is taking place next to you. A minute passes and then stillness overcomes the chainsaw as it is switched off and put down.
Stillness…
You remain still, trying to listen past the loud opera music and watch secretively as to what the man is doing next. All you capture in sight is him picking up an arm and leg. He tosses them into something, maybe a garbage bag as that is what it sounds like with the ruffling when a discarded item is tossed in. Then he fetches another arm, he looks at it for a little as if analyzing it. A bit of blood slowly makes it’s way down a finger. You watch as the mask is lifted up slightly and the bloodied finger is taken under the mask and presumably sucked clean. A sickening combination of heavy breathing and sucking noises overtake you. Your urge to vomit is on the rise but subsides once he throws the arm away. “Trying to run away on me?” he laughs while reaching down and returns back up with the other leg. You clothes your eyes immediately as you see the toes dramatically rise towards his mouth. You want to puke as the sounds of slurping set in but it feels like there is nothing inside you. Instead it aches greatly and you only want to die now instead of discovering what he may do next.
Die…
You feel the end is near and in one sick way or another, this psychopath will have you in pieces too. Suddenly the sound of chimes is heard. You are greatly confused until you see him walk by, opening a phone and answering with a positive and friendly tone. “Hey, love! Just working some overtime… should be home within the next hour.” You try to listen in as the opera music is turned down. A faint voice is heard coming through the cellphone but obviously nothing recognizable. You try to shout out to the person but the rubber ball-gag turns your shrieks to nihil. “Yeah the boss is working me hard. Had to cut some limbs today with the chainsaw… yep I’m covered in sap!” Tears continue to run down your face and your heart beat picks up again as he makes his way over to you. You close your eyes, hoping this is all just a bad dream but then you manage to feel a prick deep inside your leg. You open your eyes out of curiosity and the sense of looming fate to find a syringe in his gloved hand. The masked killer nestles the phone on his shoulder to his ear and proceeds to reach towards your face. Forcing your eyes shut, you find this is the only way to escape the moment but a sudden pressure attacks your left eyelid. He is forcing it open with his right hand while the syringe in his left ejects the blood onto it. He laughs to whoever is on the phone and at you. “Just another day, honey, I swear. Can’t wait to get home and snuggle up with you…. Well things seem to be picking up so give about thirty minutes.” You attempt to force the irritation out of your left eye by closing it continuously but no hopes as the blood settles in after every blink. “Love you too… alright, see you soon, pumpkin!”
Soon…
Hopefully this will all be over soon. You’ll be dead and free of this maniac. The phone snaps shut and more shuffling his heard with metallic objects. You open your right eye to see what is in store for you. An axe is revealed to you. This has been untouched by any gore but soon will be drowned in it. “Looks like I have to pick up the pace now. I was just getting started with you too but ohwell. You know they say the mind and eyes still function after the head has been lobbed off for up to what was it? Eh I don’t recall exactly but will your head roll after you see this!” He gave another laugh and cough mixture before raising the axe overhead. You close your eyes and within a second after a chopping sound, the feeling of your heartbeat shaking your body has stopped. Feeling a sort of emptiness overwhelming you, your right opens with your left barely. The room is suddenly spinning and suddenly there you were lying. You are now looking down at your headless naked corpse which was bound next to two other bodies on either side. There is no speakable feeling other than terror. It comes as an echo to you. First everything is coming in clear but then the picture blurs like in a fading TV. The color becomes distorted and the sound begins to die out. “Ain’t this sight to die for?” The last of his words fade into the background and all that was clear rapidly becomes darker. A smile grows across your face as you are soon free from this bizarre torment. Your sense have left you and now everything is black and you are gone.
Gone…
Spoiler: All Hallow's SilenceTonight was meant to be a night of fun and games like every Halloween before it. Tonight was meant to be filled with laughter while they snickered at her scream over a speck of dust fluttering past her eye. Never in the most horrendous of night terrors had she imagined what was soon to come when they entered the rundown horror house.
Rumors had circulated concerning what resided inside, but her companions had assured her it was all a load of bull. Residents claimed it was the gate to Hell and a source of all of the world’s demons. Those who entered were never heard from again, but any skeptic was likely to challenge that.
For those reasons alone Howl Osborne, Nat K. Liel, and Holly Hendrickson entered the remains of an ancient, decrypted house. Howl was the designated leader, Nat had the intelligence, and then there was Holly—whom they called Boots—that kept the pack together; without her it was likely the two males would slit each other’s throats. Nat was the one who introduced them to this place, but it was Howl’s idea to investigate it; he loved proving people wrong.
If only he was right this time.
Cautiously Boots pressed against the termite-ridden door with shaking hands. Decked out in a black cat outfit for the festive occasion alongside a zombie—Howl—and a rock star—Nat. They were barely ten inches behind her and soon enough they were several feet in front of her as they maneuvered themselves through the doorway.
She lingered by the doorframe and held onto it. “Wuh… we shouldn’t be here… C-can we go home…? Please…?” Boots stuttered through chattering teeth.
“Ain’t shit wrong here,” Howl spat on the creaking floorboards. Suddenly he stumbled, barely catching himself before he face-planted into the hardwood flooring. Glancing over his broad shoulders he realized some of the planks stuck out, making it hazardous to move around without caution. “Just watch it, Boots… Floor’s crap… Don’t want’cha trippin’ and cryin’, a’right?”
“He is correct, Boots,” Nat kept his eyes on his feet, stepping around carefully.
Once they reached the staircase to the basement the two of them stopped and turned their attention to the brunette, who had yet to leave the safety of the doorway. Disagreements were far more common between the two of them, but both had a sound understanding that they needed to get her inside so they may press on with their investigation. Without Boots, they were likely to fight with each other than to look into the rumors.
“Come on, Boots!” Howl grunted and rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ta be afraid of. Anythin’ happen and we’ll bolt our asses right back outta here, kay?” He dug his hands into his pants pockets. It was hard to believe him when his facial makeup made it look like almost half of his skull was revealed.
Convincing her as a rock star was far more likely. “I promise the moment something occurs that we will leave the vicinity.” Nat shot her a reassuring smile, nodding his head, which caused his raven black hair to fall in front of his face.
Spit swirled around her tongue and then was swallowed down her throat in a deep, loud gulp. Boots pushed forward one boot into the doorway, stepping down her heel slowly. The slow steps continued until she reached the entryway to the basement below where the monsters were supposed to reside. Her stomach churned; her gut was telling her to hightail it out of there, but her friends wanted to explore. It couldn’t hurt to take a peek, could it?
They descended the dark staircase. Nat was in the lead, Boots in the middle, and Howl taking up the rear. Once they reached the bottom, he felt around for a light switch only to find out the lights were busted. He frowned and shook his head, “Stay close to Howl, Boots. The light don’t work.”
The place was eerie and dreadfully dark. She barely made out the silhouettes of her companions, let alone what was a few feet in front of her own face. This caused her to miss a step and she collapsed down the stairs. Howl had reached out his arms to her, but he didn’t grab her in time. The ear-piercing scream she let out once she hit the bottom alerted the two of them she was badly injured.
Howl bolted down the rest of the stairs, fell to his knees, and pulled her close against his chest. “Boots! Ugh… What got hurt? Ya a’right?” If only they had been paying more attention.
“Is she okay, Howl? I can’t see.”
“My… my leg…” she cried, clinging onto his shirt as she bit down on her lip.
“I think she broke her leg… We gotta get’er to the hospital,” Howl replied to Nat, completely unaware of what was loaming behind his companion.
A dark figure lurked in the shadows, its yellow eyes locked onto the trio as it snickered. The feral creature launched itself forward at the weakest of the group; digging its claws deep into the breastplate of the eccentric intellectual. His torso contorted forward against its palms as blood splattered out of his mouth and across the distorted face of the monstrous being.
Its elongated tongue slipped out in between its sharp fangs and trailed across the red liquid dripping around its lips. The grin plastered onto its face grew wider as the frail man at its fingertips gasped for his last breath of air and then laid limp in its grasp.
“N-no!” the woman screamed. She lunged forward towards the creature, but fell flat on her face due to the bone protruding out of her broken knee. By digging her nails into the rusted tiles, she pulled herself across the floor a couple feet away from the horrific scene only for the third member of their group to drag her back.
“He’s gone, Holly!” he growled and forced her into his arms. “Let’im go…” the last bit was muffled a bit, his lips pressed against her ebony hair. “Let’im go…” With little haste, he jolted up the staircase far away from the bloody scene below.
Hands extended over his shoulders, she reached towards her beloved friend as he was torn apart limb from limb by the mysterious creature. The scent of the metallic liquid filled her nostrils and was soon mixed with salt as tears seeped down the crevices of her face. “Nat!” she cried.
He ran too fast to see what the creature was doing; all he cared about was getting out of there immediately. Freedom was denied, however, as the door they came in from was locked. “Wuh…what..?” Howl mumbled to himself. The door was opened when they went into the basement and now it was locked.
Snickering was heard from behind them, the very same from within the basement. It edged closer and closer to them until the glowing yellow of its eyes were clearly visible. The dark silhouette lifted something held by its right hand and used the severed arm to wave at the two of them, continuing to snicker as it did so.
Boots turned her head away from Howl, bile splattering onto the floor.
The arm was tossed aside and it walked closer to them. As it neared them, Howl pressed his back firmly against the door and held Boots to his chest. “I’m sorry, Holly…”
And then darkness engulfed the entire household—and soon so did silence.
Spoiler: The Demon's Knock
Knock.
Knock. Knock.
She huddled from the sound. They came, three knocks – Tap… Tap. Tap. – and then, they left; they always left. Not this time, she realised, outside her padlocked door they waited. Her dirtied nails clawed the wood that built her prison, her dank confinement that they called a ‘home’. She wanted to retreat - further, further - but the wall was cool against her back and further more, she could not go. Why? She asked the silence once again, Why put me through this pain? She begged, she pleaded, every year for peace from them yet no. They came, three knocks and then, they left but still they always came.
Hands to her face, she tried to hide, to disappear just for that night. For through the cracks between her fingers, there they were in glimpses only. Peeking past the window’s edge, pounding fists upon her door…Demon would be a name too kind for what they really were.
One was there, behind the door, with skin so pale he seemed to shimmer, bathed in moonlight icy white. His teeth were made to tear at flesh, to pierce into the veins beneath, to drain and lay to waste the body. A dozen lives each night were his to take. Mercy? Hah! He did not care, she knew of that. Of that, she surely knew.
Why did their eyes shine so bright? Like those of wolves that’d caught their prey. She would not yield – She wouldn’t-… couldn’t! – yet still, they hungered, pined, for her. They filled their minds with lusting thoughts, the shrieks of children their ecstasy. Crimson were the floors they left. To crush a man of all his bones brought them peaceful dreams.
How many are there now? She asked.
A dozen? Two? She’d lost her count. The shadows had not heard her prayers. The gods were silent; hope was dead. She draped herself in her despair. The time that passed was trivial, so small its mention held no worth. They waited this before they tried, once more, to gain an answer. Three knocks and then, they left.
They left; they always left.
---
Knock.
Knock. Knock.
With trembling hands, the child thumped upon the battered door; his friends with hearts of fervid fear too scared to join his plight. He fidgeted – ‘twas not his fault; his vampire costume was too tight - and waited for a sign that she’d heard his bid to call her forth. Was she even in? He wondered, yet where else would she be on Halloween.
The ‘crazy lady’ of Sparrow Hill; so lonely in her solitude. He tried to reach out to her every year.
He came, three knocks, and then, he left; with saddened eyes, he left.
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