Horror

The Rose Thicket
Other than that damn rose thicket, the house was perfect. Three bedrooms, two car garage, corner lot. It was close to the school. I fell in love with it the minute I saw it. It was a bit dated but then, it was an older home. The price was a steal. Our realtor said the elderly lady that lived there had passed and her son, now living out of state, just needed to get it sold. To me, it was a win, win for us and for him.
By Pam Reeder5 years ago in Fiction
And the wind howled...
Somewhere off the coast of North Africa, the wind picked up and blew harder and longer than usual. The temperatures are warmer than normal, and the ocean is hotter than it’s been all year. Waves steadily grew larger beneath the wind as they began their westward trek towards the continent of North America, swirling in a giant circle and gaining steam as it went. The further westward the storm went, the stronger it became, and soon it would crossover from a tropical depression to a tropical storm to a hurricane.
By Joey Lowe5 years ago in Fiction
On Repeat
My doorbell rings and I jump out my computer chair to happily go answer it. My husband and I have been craving Chinese food and tonight we finally ordered some. I put on some pants because who wears pants when they are home? A special note to all delivery people: If you ever wonder what takes us so long to get to the door, we are putting on some pants and chances are, they are never where we think we left them. I grab some cash from the drawer and run down the two flights of stairs to grab this food. I jump the last two steps making a thud noise, alarming the sensor light. The delivery man is peering through the door’s small glass window. I must have taken too long looking for my pants.
By Christina DeFeo5 years ago in Fiction
Heya Halai
“Heya Halai!” “Brother welcome!” A group of long haired Americans in various beige linens stood in a circle, around a fire. Someone had, and was playing, a drum. They moved towards each other, and stepped back, their arms and upper bodies billowing with the movement. The group expanded and contracted like they were breathing, like they were one thing.
By J.T. Kelleher5 years ago in Fiction
The Psych Intern
The psych intern is a mouse with silver blonde hair and large eyes obscured by glasses. She shakes constantly. She shakes during morning report, shakes over the keys of her computer, shakes as she brings her Styrofoam cup to her pencil thin lips. Her voice trembles, sputtering over her ink smudged notes. She isn’t unkind—not that any of us have interacted with her enough to determine her kindness. I don’t know what it is that bothers me so much about her. It must be the shaking.
By Claudia Neaves5 years ago in Fiction
Beware the Trees, They Move!
Looking back, it feels odd that such a terrible event happened on such a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly across a brilliant blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be found. The pool water was so clear and clean, it was practically begging you for a refreshing swim. It was high contrast to the murky green pond, a mere fifty yards away. It was early in the day, around 9:30. The heat was just starting to crank up, and the ground was still soggy from the sprinklers predawn rinse.
By Patricia Corn5 years ago in Fiction
Bob’s Bungalow
Bob A pungent smell of lemon mixed with herbs, shallow frequent breaths and awkward whistles of I’ve just seen a face — one of the fastest songs by the beetles. Those are the three main hints of his approach. He walks with such heavy strides, shifting his weight awkwardly between one foot to the other. But even at that, his presence still creeps up on me, like a blood-curling ghost with sharp fangs.
By Damilola5 years ago in Fiction
The Apparition
Petey Paul Puckett the triple P pugilist slouched along, hands in front pockets, whistling and kicking at stones as he went.
By Gregg Newby5 years ago in Fiction
Nightmares After Sunrise
Clary wasn’t supposed to be here. It was too dark, too early, too far from home. The little girl edged gingerly along in the darkness, guided only by the dim glow of the crescent moon above. Underfoot, the grass was damp, and around her, shadowy trees loomed. The girl hadn’t brought a torch with her; she hadn’t wanted her parents to wake up and notice the unnatural beam of light through their bedroom window. She regretted that decision now. Her over-imaginative mind, left unstimulated by the blackness of night, began moulding strange shapes from the trees surrounding her.
By Ayla Meg 5 years ago in Fiction
Premeditated
There was a knock at the door, Ruth stood from her rocking chair and answered it. She felt a pit in her stomach knowing it was her husband, Robby, though her facial expression remained dormant. She opened the door to see him holding a bouquet of wildflowers.
By Anon5 years ago in Fiction
The Root of Evil
Ruth breathed in the fresh countryside air, her lungs rejuvenated by the untainted atmosphere. It was almost enough for her to forget the past. Almost.
By Zak Kiesel5 years ago in Fiction
The Drones of Ear Drums
His instructor back at Fort Meade had encouraged Colonel Jacob Moss, U.S.A., Retired to compress his memories of things learned. To leave out excruciating details of his new life as his mother laid dying in the master bedroom of his homestead in Missouri. After all, time is relative and so is just the memory of that time. It was like the Yiddish language course he took at night school to get his BA degree (Georgetown University, class of O’ 81, a retro whoopie for him!) and currently for American Sign Language online to enable him to talk to the Poole family. He must not only work neatly but think neatly. For now, he must compartmentalize and compress his knowledge of Yiddish to make room for A.S.L.
By Patrick T. Kilgallon5 years ago in Fiction