Horror Fiction

Chilllll, Linus. Let him be goofy.

 

Well. 1 AM in a silent house is apparently the wrong time and place to read horror stories.

 

Obviously, I don't intend to sleep anytime soon. I'll keep checking.

 

I have been waiting for 2 and a half hours. It'll be 4 A.M. soon and I'm almost asleep anyway. I don't care how shitty your writing is, I request something to read.

 

It's 4 in the morning, I rarely stay up this late- um, early? Late? I dun even know. I kinda just skimmed over that because I really need sleep. Good night/morning/whatever.

 

(Cuz I'm an idiot who dosen't know how to do multi-quote posts )

Linus: Thanks for the...review? Dk. The reason why it has no plot is cuz it's a flash fiction: I just presented that select scene in a certain timing to portray. It's made to be very specific, yet at the same time vague, as you said- a blurry picture. The entire thing is half-baked to let your imagination run wild. And I would consider a revision of Out of sight, out of mind, but I sincerely doubt that I would make a scene prior to the one I wrote? As I feel that it has all the description you need to paint a certain picture. I will try to make the picture clearer, however.

Also, about the more character emotions- it's supposed to be a dead piece. It's on purpose XD Since it has no person's POV, and just a general overlooking of the piece. Thanks for your comments though!

Abbra: As short as it was, I do love your story to bits! The dull repetition only makes the ending seem even more off-whack then it normally would be. How your character gets through everything with coffee, and with each opening, the wife at his side, until one day she gets and affair. It's not exactly horror-it's more of the fucked-up-character type story, but it does fit under the umbrella of horror.

Especially how there's always a mentioning of the man believing that the wife loves him, and how he clings on to that idea, making him seem somewhat...unhinged. Especially because of the caffeine. Once more, amazing story, and please keep posting more! I'd love to see more from you.

Doug: Good to know that the leg part caught someone's attention. I was afraid it was too casual and people will just skim over it- that part, I find, really ties the story together. As for the bath: it's actually a bathroom, where the bath, toilet and sink are in one room. I based it after the one here. A small rectangular room, with the bath 1/4 by 1/4 of the room, toilet and sink next to it. The hose is actually the toilet hose by the toilet, which she uses to rinse the blood into the bath- an area separated by a frosted glass wall and door. (Forgot to mention it was frosted, therefore the title)

That, and I'll get to reading your story soon...

Love it. It's not exactly spine-tingling horror, but more of the eyebrow raising, wtf's going on? horror. One that needs MOAR.

The darkness, the shadows, chalking everything up to sleep deprivation. How they're nothing more then a zombie going through muscle memory. The stray student was quite a good touch, too. How in the end, they just give up, and fall back into the sleepless haze of their life. Another great piece!

 

Question; My story is more shocking, rough and unnerving than really scary (to me, at least).

Would it still be welcomed here? Or would you rather I post something else?

 

Heya! Post your story! As long as it dosen't fall under abuse or abuse any of the rules on the first post, go ahead and post it! I'm interested in reading it

 

I also found this amongst my piles of previous writing. I think I also turned it in for my writing workshop binder, but it was more just extra because I wanted to. If any of you read Hectic, I hope you'll like this. Yes, there is more to that madness. :3

Spoiler

(Note: Hectic different POV— This is Extra)
Passing

In the beginning, there was just the clock, and the boy. The hands kept ascending, descending. The boy’s heart kept beating. The two were in perfect sync. They were brothers by bloodshed, partners, in the sickening dance led around the empty house. Floors creaking, windows breaking, doorways splintering in their path. They would go out. They would fly into the night, like toxic ash, being blown by the wind. Free.

Not quite. The clock would lure him back, pressing him into his bed, lulling the boy to sleep with the incessant ticking. It was like laughter, mockery. Because of this, he did not sleep. The consistent voice would always be there, reminding him. Reminding him of the past. showing what the future might be like. Brutally displaying the present situation. He would cry. pathetic. No time. For time would not let him retrace his steps. Ever. Yet, even if he had been able to, there was not much he could do. He hadn’t taken a single step in years.

When others settled in the area, they always thought the boy to be strange. They were always wary, concerned… Though many feared the strange man who lived at the furthermost edge of town… Alone. He was always a boy though. A child trapped in a growing body. All because of time.

“Poor child.”

“Mysterious child.”

“Dangerous child.”

As far as they knew, he had no name, only a reputation. A thick shadow hanging over him, like a storm. A storm of chaos. The tide was rising.

Chaos came, as it must. It washed over the town like a wave. A thick, glutinous mass of heavy hearted satisfaction. All was drown in red, plagued, by the anger that seeps into one’s heart, sucking their life away in one stab of a knife. In the end, he was the last to be standing, atop the smoldering ash mountain of cremated souls. Alone.

The boy did not want to be alone. He was very much afraid of being alone. Even the clock could not silence the empty screams of company’s absence. The clock had shattered long ago. If only time would stop ticking.

An hour, a day, a year. It all seemed to go by so fast. He stayed rooted to the spot, simply waiting, for whatever must come next. Perhaps he wasn’t what everyone saw him as, and perhaps he was. Perhaps the landscapes seemed to wither, with the passing years, but none could tell for certain. There would always be change. That was one thing that was consistent. The one thing that he could know for certain. That fact satisfied him, for it was the one thing that would, momentarily, stop time from passing him by.

 

Pretty awesome story! I'd like to read the original.

Can't really find any problems with this.

 

She couldn't have been more than eight...why did he do it? Why did I let him! SHE WAS A LITTLE GIRL!

What was I doing...my job, of course, but I could have switched contracts. I could have been in the right place, at the right time but I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

I bet he's off someplace doing...it...again. That most dastardly act, that most heinous crime, illegal before the Laws of Man. That horrible man, nay! That horrid abomination that sacrificed his...its, humanity is free! AN OUTRAGE!

Brute beasts and sapient beings know better, why then, does this thing not? Couldn't he at least killed her? Before or after, but before would at least imply the remnants empathy, of humanity.

I know I will see him again, but NOT SOON ENOUGH! Why? Why can't I decide the things?

I know why; because I'm not Justice and I'm not Fate.

At least I could be the last to carry her, out of that dark place, where she was so cold and scared. Cold and scared, unlike how she was when I first saw her and her mother...

Wrote this ad lib, on the fly. What do you guys think?

---------- Post added 23rd Feb 2016 at 10:02 PM ----------

Messed up a word. Its good now.

 

This story was actually written as a sneak peek for a book I am currently planning. The names are changed, but little else is.

Anyway....

*Language Warning*

Spoiler

Brandon slowly clambered out of bed, left elbow aching slightly, as it always did in the mornings.
He carefully maneuvered his long, muscular legs out out the bed, and set his feet down onto the carpet, being careful not to wake his new boyfriend, still sleeping on the other side of the bed. He didn't really care, per se, whether the boyfriend was asleep, awake or dead, but the boy would complain if Brandon hopped out of bed the way he did when he was alone, and Brandon hated that man's incessant whining.
Brandon's burn phone, on the nightstand, started buzzing the moment he stepped foot into the bathroom, adjacent to the bed, and he cursed mentally, ambling over, in no great rush.
He knew who it was after all this time.
It was The Boss, represented by no more than his phone number, also a burn phone, and Brandon could tell from the first three words on the screen, glowing up ferociously, that today was going to be like any other, if only more stressful.
"Tim needs you.
9:30, our place."
Brandon sighed. He fucking hated Tim. Spoiled brat thought too much of himself, even as The Boss's son. He knew too much too. Brandon yearned for the day when he would - and he knew he WOULD - get the call that Tim had been caught by the you-know-whats and was being subjected to a little Q & A. Brandon would be sent in to clean up the mess, eradicate the threat and finally put a bullet in the little shit’s head.
Brandon shuffled back into the bathroom, snapped the phone in half and removed the memory card as well. With a sigh, he stepped up into the shower and turned it on, full cold, no heat at all.
It froze him. Armored him. Woke him up. Made him feel like the monster he was. Like nothing would ever be cold enough, clean enough for him. It had a similar effect to those motivational tapes some of the pansies lower down the food chain insisted on listening to, only he didn't feel like a "strong, confident young man."
He felt like what he was…
When he had scrubbed himself sufficiently raw in the shower, he dried himself, dressed, and clicked in his smart shoes into the kitchen.
"Work, Brandon?" His boyfriend asked, as if he couldn't tell from Brandon's "Boss" suit: A charcoal and grey, sharply pressed outfit that made his skin go white and his black hair and eyes go even blacker.
"Of course. Freakin' Tim needs me."
"Ah." The boyfriend sipped at his tea and pushed Brandon's cup across the counter.
When the boyfriend finished his cup, he set it down on the counter. Brandon stepped around to the cabinets behind the man and reached up for a box of cardboard-tasting protein bars, then turned to look at the boyfriend's back while he munched.
"Tim's a bastard. He's a liar, too," The boyfriend began, swirling the tea leaves around the bottom of his cup and focusing completely on the grainy mixture at the bottom. Byron soundlessly undid his tie and began to wind it between his hands.
"Having to work for him... I feel so awful for you."
"You shouldn't," Brandon stated calmly, looping the tie around the boy's neck and pulling it tight.
It was always this way.
Brandon would do his job, he'd make a mess, then he'd clean it up and leave maybe a speck of blood behind. The feds would get involved and they'd send someone undercover to lure him out, trying to fuck information out of him.
Brandon let them get comfortable, maybe let them have a week, then he'd kill them. Kill them, burn the bodies, and move to some other little hovel of a safehouse somewhere in the city. It was always the same.
Brandon was just glad his real boyfriend didn't know.
He could only imagine the whining.
Brandon couldn't stand whining.

Whatcha think?

 

The original I posted earlier in this thread btw.

 

Really good; I can't wait to find out more! I don't know if this fits in the horror category, but it sure doesn't seem lighthearted! Very mysterious... It really works for a novel though. I hope you can post more; I love the plot.

 

Thank you.

I don't know about posting more of the actual story, but I do character development exercises. I might post some of those.

^_^

---------- Post added 26th Feb 2016 at 11:03 PM ----------

Oh crap, I forgot about reading that...

Curse you, short-term-memory!

Anyway... Hectic is a damn good story.

Love both of them.