Tag: horror

Three Sentence Stories (Part 6)

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When my maternal grandmother died, she willed me her house on the strict condition that I not unlock the basement for the first month. This was easy, as I was out of the country for weeks immediately after the funeral. When I finally entered the house and opened the basement, I was horrified to find that my father had not run away years ago.

It took all night, but I have finally boarded up every window and door. There’s no way that the creatures can get to me now. I just hope that they don’t wake up before the fire consumes their house.

The voice over the speaker tells us that out of the ten of us, only one person will get to leave alive with one million dollars.

Looking around, I see that others are confused as one-by-one they realise there are eleven of us here. I can’t believe they forgot to change the announcement after all the money I paid to get into this.

The Arrangement

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Timothy Collins was not the rarest person to see in the hardware store. What was odd, the cashier thought, was the sudden regularity of his visits. He seemed to be wearing out his tools at an incredible rate.

As the town’s gravedigger, Mr Collins was expected to be ready to dig graves at fairly short notice. But, as the newspaper had joyfully proclaimed yesterday, the small town of Orwey had seen no deaths in just over a year.

So it was very odd for Mr Collins to be regularly replacing his tools. The cashier asked if someone had passed away. The reply was said with soft surprise, as though it was such an obvious answer that he had to think of how to phrase it.

“No, not yet”

The cashier assumed someone must have taken ill and decided not to press further. Mr Collins looked tired, but certainly seemed to be in good spirits. He did not, however, take his receipt.

 

The butcher was the first to see Timothy Collins digging in the park.

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One Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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I know that there wasn’t enough air in the base for everyone to survive until the resupply craft arrived, but that doesn’t help as I stare at the floating corpses through the window, still screaming and reaching for me.

I can still feel my missing hand from time to time and for the most part I try to ignore it, but when I feel a cold hand in mine, I let it lead me away from the train tracks.

Stumbling into the bathroom after unlocking bedroom door, he realised with horror that the door only locked from the inside and he lived alone.

 

A Perfect Portrait (Part 2)

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Alex had never considered himself someone who loved their job.

He liked it well enough on average, but that day he felt strangely energised. The walk there had lifted his mood with every step and he almost forgot to take his breaks, given how much energy he had. While sitting outside for his enforced break he wasn’t even bothered that he didn’t have the money for lunch. Sitting in the dappled sunshine was enough.

This mood followed him all the way through the day, towards his building, up the stairs and all the way to the door. The moment he stepped through the threshold, he found his face dropping its smile and he only walked far enough forward that most of him would land on the bed.

He wanted to sleep more than anything, but his phone buzzed in his pocket and he had the energy to check that, at least. It was a message from an old friend asking when his new place would be ready to host a games night. Looking around his living meagre space, Alex reasoned it might never fit particularly since apart from the chair he couldn’t exactly move the furniture around. He was in the middle of replying when he realised that something was wrong.

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A Perfect Portrait (Part 1)

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It was only when Alex finished unpacking his few possessions that he noticed the painting.

His room was relatively plain. The walls were painted cream and the hardwood floors were thoroughly scuffed.  It had a bed, a desk, a bedside table with drawers and a wardrobe. He remembered those from his hurried inspection of the room a week ago, but he did not remember the painting.

The wooden frame appeared was the same colour as the rest of the furniture in the room and it sat so flush against the wall when he inspected it that Alex concluded it was glued in place.

What was particularly odd was the subject matter. It was a painting of a plain room with a chair off to one side. The room pictured had green carpet and a faded wallpaper design made of yellow flowers and white stripes and grey stripes. For a prominent painting, it was incredibly boring, except for how real it looked. As the sun set through the window, he could swear he saw the shadow of the chair shifting to match the time. It was only when he found himself leaning closer, straining to see the painting that he realised his room had grown dark without him noticing. He quickly put the light on and shook his head, wondering how he could let time get away from him like that. He sat back on his new bed, which felt much sturdier than his last. Like all the furniture included in the room, it was built into the wall. He suspected that might be why the painting was stuck to the wall – maybe the landlord had a problem with theft?

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One Sentence Stories

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I pick up my beloved childhood ragdoll from the attic floor and as I embrace her I am horrified to feel bones moving under the fabric.

The noise-cancelling earphones helped, but he could could always hear the scream of the pedestrian he’d hit a year ago.

She opened the lovingly wrapped gift box to find that it contained every item she’d lost during her lifetime; earrings, keys, and more worryingly her baby teeth.

 

Two Sentence Stories (Part 7)

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On his deathbed the man confessed to his crimes, safe in the knowledge that he had escaped any punishment in this life. I simply listened to his admission, then his shaking, pain-wracked breaths and waited for him to awaken to re-live his last day again.

I walk amongst my party guests, watching them anxiously trying to figure out who the sacrifice is going to be that night. I see one place a glass down with a coaster and subtly touch her shoulder as I pass by, followed by eager eyes.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the dishes were done this morning. It was less pleasant when I remembered that my husband died two weeks ago.

 

Three Sentence Stories (Part 5)

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It’s rare that someone I met online looks exactly like their profile photo.

I thought that when I met him I would be able to bust him for using someone else’s photo, but as he introduces himself I find myself silent. He looks exactly like the last photo that was taken of my friend before he disappeared ten years ago, down to the birthmark on his neck.

He collapsed, panting and drenched in blood that was too dark to be human. The corpse of the monster lay still in front of him with far too many legs curled up around its torso.

It was such a shame that he never had time to realise that it was only a child.

I can hear my children beating at the boarded door and see their silhouettes, backlit by the setting sun. I remain quiet and listen for the approach of the creatures waiting in the darkness. While waiting for the problem to resolve itself, I hug my remaining child and gently remind him that this is why he should always listen to his mother and not stay outside after dark.

 

Four Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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I never know what to do when someone is singing me happy birthday. It’s why I never tell anyone when my birthday is. It’s also why I make sure I’m home alone all day.

So I refuse to open my eyes as I hear someone singing above my bed, leaning in closer and closer.

After my daughter woke my up for the third night in a row, I was getting near the end of my tether. After she stopped babbling about the man at the window, I finally convinced her to let me tuck her back into bed.

When she finally settled, I opened her window for some fresh air and saw a figure on the street, smiling far too widely. As it turns to walk away on limbs that don’t quite bend right, I lean out and find my hands resting on scratch marks on the window frame of my fifth floor apartment.

I never got over the death of my twin sister. My parents seemed to move on quickly, they always said that they were just happy to still have me.

I miss Jennifer.

I miss being called by name and I hate that I had to move into her old room and wear her old clothes.

 

Five Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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Richard had always dreamed of visiting this cathedral.
He had never heard of it before, but standing before it he realised that it was the same cathedral he had visited in his dreams throughout his entire life.
As he stared at the building, the eyes of the gargoyles seemed to watch him intently and as he circled it, their heads turned to follow him. Finally he found an empty platform, the gargoyle beside it extending its arm downwards towards him.
If the tour guide that passed that spot ten minutes later noticed the new gargoyle, he didn’t include it in his speech.

I think I was just born.

There are people standing around me talking, but I don’t understand them yet. I hope they like me.
It takes a few seconds, but I start to understand some of what they are saying. “Artificial intelligence” “six years” “project funding” “Shut d-“

It was a shock when I woke up to find a set of footprints in the snow leading to my front door. What was worse was that they clearly spent some time pacing near the door, before heading towards the window to the laundry at the back of the house. Fortunately I had awoken in the middle of the night and it didn’t appear they had been hiding in the laundry for very long.

Quietly stalking my hallway, I held the already bloody knife tightly. I had already taken this home for myself to get out of the cold and no one was going to take it from me.