Tag: horror writing

Scarecrow

Sketched TextLeave a comment

The scarecrow was the first change I made when I moved into my new home. I had no intention to maintain the vegetable garden my predecessor had cultivated, so why not cultivate friendship?

It was heavier than I thought it would be, likely from the rain. As I stood on the ladder, hoisting the sodden body off the post, I saw the first crow land in a tree nearby. I don’t think they were ever scared of it. They were simply clever enough to see that they were unwanted.

I had planned to tear the scarecrow apart to dispose of it in pieces over time. Then I thought about the legacy of rain that thing had withstood and the mould likely hiding inside, and left it to rot against the fence at the far side of the property.

The post was a separate issue. It had been cemented in, and the wood had been treated so it did not show signs of weakening or rot. I put it down the list of jobs that needed doing, and placed a piece of bread at its base as a peace offering.

The next day, the bread was missing and I saw two crows in the tree. Where the bread had been was a single button. It was blue and plastic, but unscratched and shiny. I picked it up and replaced it with a handful of peanuts. A chorus of caws sounded, that I interpreted as approving.

The gifts continued to be a novelty, for a time. Coins, buttons, an earring, pens.

The glass eye was the end of that time.

Read More »

Instructions

Sketched TextLeave a comment

Do you ever start a project, like cooking or sewing where you read the instructions, then forget them the moment you put them down? Confidently starting, then having to unfold the pamphlet, reopen the book, or pull the packet out from the bin?

It’s incredibly frustrating, so this time, Theo concentrates. He cleans his hands, makes what little space he can on the table, and opens the book. He finds the current step, reads through the rest and closes the book.

Then he focuses on the next step, with unblinking eyes and a steady hand.

Then he

Shit.

Theo grumbles to himself, rolls his eyes, and reaches for Gray’s Anatomy for the fourth time.

Two Sentence Stories (part 25)

Sketched TextLeave a comment

Hearing the birds landing on the roof, Joe smiled at his perfected business model: selling people pet birds that were trained to return to him.

Sleeping soundly, Joe did not smell the smoke or feel the flames that spread from the device tied to the pigeon’s leg.

The seating chart was terrible and made no sense to anyone but the host, who insisted everyone take their seat and raise a toast.

Michael, Olivia, Liam, Omar, Charles and Helen all raised their glasses.

Three Sentence Stories (part 13)

Sketched TextLeave a comment

My neighbour started a new business of renting out his goats to clear weeds from overgrown properties. Seeing his success, I based mine off the same model.

Pigs really will eat anything, and housing can get overcrowded.

In the grocery aisle’s blindspot, the conman poured a puddle of water, disposed of the bottle, and carefully laid down.

Moments later, the manager helped him melodramatically hobble into the office to await the ambulance, though the conman insisted he could take a taxi to the hospital if given funds to cover the trip and bills.

When the ambulance finally arrived, they found the conman with a broken kneecap and the manager apologetic that there weren’t cameras in the aisle or his office.

Sacrifice

Sketched TextLeave a comment

I’m glad we have a moment alone. We don’t have long, but I have something very important to ask you. I know it doesn’t look good outside. We have limited resources, and God knows we’re crowded. But there’s a way out for you.

You’re not like the others: you’re smarter. We’re going to need people like you in the future. But with what supplies we have, only ten percent of us can make it. And you need to be one of them.

There’s a bunker below, only a few of us knew about it, and I think I’m the only one left who still knows about it. I’m assembling the best group I can and hunkering down for the long haul.

No, it’s just you. You’ll have to leave them behind. But you’ll survive. Unless you’d rather someone take your place?

No?

Good. 6am. The door will be unlocked.

Hello everyone. First time addressing everyone as a group, I believe. It was lovely getting to speak with you all individually, and to hear your answers to my question.

Happy to answer any questions you might have, although they may be answered by the following:

Yes, I expect that the screaming and banging on the door will stop soon. There’s nothing down there.

Tourist Attraction

Sketched TextLeave a comment

The temple was famous for the sound produced when the wind blew through. A faint kind of wail, almost like choral singing.

Sarah stayed as long as her tour allowed, but the sounds of other tourists kept her from hearing it clearly. She’d hoped to record some of the sound for herself. Her frustration must have been visible, because the tour guide offered to bring her back after hours if she paid extra. Sarah immediately agreed.

Standing in the courtyard that evening, Sarah was finally able to hear the sound without interruption. It was not a continuous noise as she’d thought. It rose and fell in intensity, but not in relation to the speed of the wind. In a moment of stillness, the noise continued, much fainter.

There were words within it.

Help me

Hel-

Sarah woke in darkness, the only light from a vent above which flickered open when the wind blew. Around her, starving figures screamed towards snatched glances at the sky. Below her lay the bodies of those who had fallen silent.

Sarah screamed.

Return and Burn

Sketched TextLeave a comment

Littering was Joe’s biggest pet peeve. He could be having the best day of his life, but the sight of someone lazily dropping trash would put him in a bad mood for hours.

So already stuck in inching traffic, staring at the debris on the side of the road, Joe was on a hair trigger.

The blue car ahead of him, who didn’t give him so much as a wave for letting them merge in front ten minutes ago, rolled down their window. He saw the driver fiddle with something in the centre console. He saw them drop the disposable coffee cup out of the window.

Traffic moved slightly. Enough that Joe could open his door to retrieve the cup. What contents hadn’t been spilled were cold, no longer drinkable and thus discarded.

Joe put it in the cup holder. He’d recycle it later.

Five minutes later, he saw the driver of the blue car drop the remains of a cigarette from the window and found himself unbuckling his seatbelt. A few moments later he approached the blue car on foot. The driver’s window was still open, the driver exhaling after drags of a second cigarette.

The cigarette butt was thrown in first, the movement enough for the distracted driver to turn and notice Joe, holding the coffee cup with his fingertips.

There was a blur. Then searing pain. Then screaming.

Joe returned to his car. Those disposable coffee cups really are the worst, he thought. The lids pop right off, and they barely hold in any heat. Plus they get floppy after a while, so it burns when you try to refill then. He gingerly screwed the lid tightly back onto his half-full thermos. The coffee inside was still too hot to drink, and he’d hate to get himself burned.

Unheeded

Sketched TextLeave a comment

There is power in the unheeded.

Agreements hidden in the introduction to a recipe, skipped over and agreed without perusal. You have agreed to take on the burden of that witch’s anxiety, shared between you and anyone else who makes her kale and zucchini bread. It had 3 reviews and was on the second page of the search results. Consider medication.

Minutes of your life are stolen between the last time you looked at your watch and when you look at your car’s clock. You’re certain it didn’t take you five minutes to put on your shoes and walk to the car. You are right. You have personally added two weeks to the lich’s lifespan.

The dreams you forget are the best ones. You probably didn’t deserve them, anyway. Gregory the Night Thief deserves them. You deserve restless sleep and dry mouth.

Actually, that might be the anxiety talking.

You should share that recipe.

Two Sentence Stories (part 24)

Sketched TextLeave a comment

Upstairs and warm in bed, Anna reached sleepily to pet the warm, furry creature next to her in bed.

Downstairs, her pet cat stood proudly over what turned out to be the second rat that had come through the cat flap.

She edited her photos so much that none of her dates could recognise her in person. This meant that when they returned home dejected after being stood-up, none of them could identify the intruder.

His friends has assured him that the worst thing she could say was “no”, but on bended knee with the ring glinting in the light, her response broke him.

“who are you?!”

Covers

Sketched TextLeave a comment

It was a simple but clever display, Marsha thought. A dozen sculptures, all hollow, made of cloth and glue. Each looked like it was fabric draped over a famous sculpture – the kind of works the museum could never dream of housing.

It was a popular display too. People enjoyed guessing which sculpture was meant to be underneath. Marsha’s favourite guess was from the middle aged man who insisted to his teenage daughter that the outline of Rodin’s ‘The Thinker’ was one of those Ronald McDonald sculptures they used to put on benches.

There was concern about damage from the public. Being hollow, the sculptures were fragile and very light. They were also unsteady: the artist gave them uneven bases, where the fabric did not quite reach the ground. This let the audience see that there was nothing underneath, but meant that some were a little wobbly.

Marsha was locking up that night. She collected her purse from the office, then walked through the gallery to the exit. She held her keys in her hand – Marsha’s manager already locked the doors an hour ago when she turned the main lights out. Marsha had stayed behind to count the till and close up the gift shop. In the dim light from the front door and the exit signs, walking through the room of draped figures felt like passing a ballroom of frozen ghosts.

Entering the room, Marsha felt something was wrong.

Halfway through, she realised what the problem was.

She continued at the same pace, trying not to let any outward signs show. She forced herself to hum, rather than hyperventilate or cry out.

Trembling, she unlocked the front door, looking at her reflection to see if anything approached her from behind. Once she was outside and the door was locked again, Marsha bent down and pretended to tie up a zippered boot.

There were now 13 sculptures – one more than there should be. And from her low vantage point, Marsha could see there was nothing under any of them. Someone must have snuck in their own work, she deduced.

Now that she knew it wasn’t an intruder hiding under a sheet, Marsha stood up and looked more carefully. She had to press her face against the glass, cupping her hands around her face to block out the streetlights.

Scanning the familiar shapes, Marsha frowned. It was obvious immediately, because it was so plain. Slightly shorter than the others, it was an outline of a person standing straight, with their arms at their sides. A less-skilled copycat, then. Not the artist adding a late contribution.

Marsha got her phone out of her purse to take a photo. Looking through the screen, she gasped. It looked closer.

Looking up from the phone, she was certain it was. The sculpture was now placed at the edge of the entry carpet.

Marsha took one step back. The figure took one step forward.

Marsha ran, and did not look back to see if it followed.

The next morning there were twelve sculptures again, and Marsha did not offer to lock up for the duration of the exhibition.