Two-Sentence Horror Stories

Secret Garden

The first day at her aunt Olive’s house, Ophelia had been afraid; by the last day, she was terrified.

She could see it through the window, dirt and boards and cracks in the glass; Olive’s garden had bloomed.


For Sale

Next time they come down here, I’ll kill them, Nervous swore and this time, he meant it.

Downstairs in the windowless basement, he had no way of seeing the “For Sale” sign pounded into the dry earth in the front yard.


Left Behind

“It’s not fair,” Cassandra sobbed, collapsing into her father’s stiff embrace.

Don had said he’d never leave her, but he’d done exactly that; she hadn’t even finished the operation!


Snuggle Buddies

“Goodnight, Porthos,” Cyd Roseland said as the bed dipped beneath the dog’s weight.

He was just thinking to himself that his old friend might need to go on a diet when he heard Porthos begin to bark in the hallway.

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Ophelia’s Dolls

“Mama,” she said, quietly. I almost didn’t hear her; my mind had drifted, far away from the seemingly endless stretch of asphalt and sand, away from the hot vinyl seats that stuck and peeled away from my skin every time I moved. Away from my daughter, sitting quietly in the seat beside me, playing on the tablet she’d received for her last birthday.

“What is it, Ophelia?” I asked, glancing over at her. She was all but stabbing at the smudged screen with one delicate finger, her frustration apparent. I saw the familiar bright colors and dark lines of the dollhouse game she was too old to be playing, but I had given up on trying to convince her to find something more age appropriate. Better something too young for her than too old, I supposed. We passed another sign, warning us that we were almost upon Strangetown, and I sighed.

“My doll won’t stop crying.”

Continue reading “Ophelia’s Dolls”

Emperor of the Dark, Ch6: Phantoms

 

title2

Warnings: None

Can also now be found on my livejournal: Part 1 and Part 2.

Edit: 8/9 – Fixed formatting issues, and a bunch of spelling errors.

Continue reading “Emperor of the Dark, Ch6: Phantoms”

Emperor Gothic

Originally posted @ my tumblr.

You came back. It wasn’t something you planned. But you’re here now. The doors have closed behind you; the train has left the station. It doesn’t come back. You’re here now.

The ride home is quiet and dark. Your mother is driving, sitting beside you as cold and still as a mannequin. She doesn’t look at you, she doesn’t speak. The radio doesn’t play music; no voices can penetrate the broken, sputtering static. You turn it up, anyhow.

It snowed while you were gone. It didn’t use to do that. Pleasantview was always too warm. You ask your mother when it started, but she just puts another cigarette between her trembling lips and stares out into the wintery wasteland.

Snow has devoured the town, but there are no snowmen, no abandoned imprints of frozen angels. No sleds, no shoveled paths. No children anywhere at all. Not where you can see them, anyway.

Occasionally, if you leave the house early enough, there are little footprints in the yard, and you wonder… but then the snow falls again, and those too, disappear.

You try to watch TV during the day. Options are limited. You watch celebrity chefs flambe themselves; the camera lingers until they stop screaming, and then the next show begins. You watch the weatherman talk about himself. You watch the news talk about Bella Goth.

You’ve heard rumors of a woman in a red dress wandering an isolated desert town, but those are only rumors. You don’t even know where you came across such a tale.

Maybe you heard it on the radio.

At some point, you have to go outside. There isn’t much time. They’ve implemented a curfew; you have to be home before dark. Stragglers are promptly collected. It’s best to be home before dark.

You move slowly across the icy paths, and you don’t look around. You’ve made that mistake before. It would be unwise to make it again.

You pass the park. They’ve put walls around it and closed it up. You can hear voices on the other side of the walls. You can’t go in; they can’t get out.

You pass the town’s only grocery store. The parking lot is full of cars, and the cars are covered in snow. It hasn’t snowed in days. The Caliente sisters watch you from the window. Their mouths move in silent pleas as they try to follow your movements to the exit. They make it halfway to the automated doors, and then veer off, disappearing into the laundry detergent aisle.

You feel oddly bereft at having lost them, but you keep walking.

Somewhere, a dog is barking frantically. It’s been barking on and off for years. A chain jangles, but you can’t tell which direction it’s coming from. There is no answering cries. This is the last one, and it knows it.

You keep walking. There isn’t much time.

Your legs ache and your lungs burn. White houses buried under white snow. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know where you’re going.

You end up back outside of your mother’s house.

You tried to get out. It wasn’t something you planned. But you’re here now.

First Draft Hell

x-posted from tinylies.org

Excerpt from “Pain”:

“Put your hands on him. One on his face – anywhere on his face, that’s fine – and one on his heart.”

Bella did as she was instructed, gently placing one hand directly in the middle of the boy’s sweat-slicked face and the other on his desperate, rabbit heart.

She looked helplessly at Olive, unsure what to do next.

“Concentrate,” Olive said, lowering herself onto a chair across from the bed. “Think of the Pain gathering inside of him, under your hands. Concentrate on absorbing it.”

She imagined the Pain, hot white with rotten, purple-black veins, pooling beneath the skin where her hands rested.

It filled her hands. Hot, burning hot. It spread up into her arms, travelling fast, expanding in her chest like a balloon filled with razors and broken glass. Overfilling, ready to burst. .

It hurt like hell.