It HAS to be original!
If you can’t come up with a print here are a few! —-> Kermit, haunted book, creepy neighbors?
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I sat in my room, oblivious to the world around me as I flipped through the pages of a really good book. I suddenly awoke from my trance to hear the front door unlock, acknowledging that my mom had returned. Suddenly, my heart lept into my throat as I remembered: I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer!
You lounge on your bed, comfy with a book. Its 10:51 pm, and you begin to tire, as you close the soft pages of your book and begin to slumber you hear it...
Click click clack
Your confused as to what causes this noise, but brush it off and go back to sleep. Then you hear it again...
Click click clack
Now unable to sleep you leave your bed and begin the search...
Click click clack
You search the kitchen, the bathroom, the livingroom...
Click click clack
The noise grows louder all around. You search the guest room, the basement, the attic...
CLICK CLICK CLACK
louder and LOUDER, the noise grows. You track it to a closet, tucked deep in your house. You climb inside...
CLICK CLICK CLACK
the door slams shut, you rush to open the door but you feel no handle...
CLICK CLICK CLACK
the walls around you begin to shrink...
CLICK CLICK CLACK
you scream but no one can hear you over the...
CLICK CLICK CLACK
you gasp for air, as the walls grow thin...
CLICK CLICK CLACK
you feel exhausted from the search and as you draw your last breath, only one thought remains...
click click clack
I finally finish the Flooded District segment, only to scrunch my face in shame and frustration as I see my Chaos level has entered High Chaos. “Damn, I killed more people than I thought.”
There was no way I’d be able to bring down my chaos by the final level, and I was aiming for Low Chaos for this run. So, with a determined grin on my face to spare the bloodshed this time, I load my latest save file.
“You should eat, Corvo. This meal comes from a friend.”
Just lemme know if you don’t get it and I’ll happily explain lol
I leaned over to read the bright neon green number on my alarm clock. "How is it already 6:00am." I groan to myself as I roll over, agitated, I got up.
I brewed my morning coffee and got my work clothes on. I got a call from my boss that today I had to go to an office building in report of a double murder. Apparently a man named Daniel found out his wife was cheating on him with a close co-worker, and he decided to kill the co-worker and his wife, Jill. He had stabbed the co-worker with a flat-head screwdriver 37 times in the stomach before moving onto Jill. His wife was stabbed with the same screwdriver with the same amount of times. Boss says that that was might be because the affair lasted that of 37 days. Additionally that the husband was found in the woods trying to hide in an abandoned shed. ______________________________________________
The true horror story is that I'm to bored to finish this, and I pulled this out of nothing but tiredness. Sorry... Maybe I will come back and finish this after I go do some stuff.
Not exactly a story, but a poem i made based off a Japanese urban legend
Speak it if you dare
“Hanako-san, are you there?”
As the lights flicker
The fear will make you sicker
One to three at night
Only the brave take their flight
At their seeming might
None a peep or soul in sight
Don’t bother the girl
Or you’re in an unknown world
Doors close on their own
At least that’s what some were shown
Coming from the sink
The red wine that vampires drink
Hydras from the hole
Try to take the humans’ souls
They say the sole way
Is to show a perfect grade
But once you’re lured in
A sad voice reveals your sin
“I’m here” or “I’m done”
Who said it meant any fun
Once it fades to black
You will fall into her trap
And there’s no use coming back
My niece gave me permission to post her short horror story here.. It's based on a Thai urban legend and she's new to writing, so any feedback would be great:
Any moment now.
The silvery moonlight slips gracefully through the barren window of the modest wood hut, illuminating Kop’s milky-smooth face. In an alternate universe, this might be a normal, peaceful childbirth - one surrounded by family and friends holding carnations and blue balloons for the baby boy.
But Kop knows she will die soon. She’s come to terms with that ever since hearing the news of her pregnancy. She’s long since accepted her fate. She is alone, has always been alone. Life has been good to her, and she has been good in return - but she won’t be sad to leave it behind.
But Kop will fight for it. Kop will kick and hit and claw - anything it takes to hold Death off until her baby is born, safe and sound.
Kop feels her presence in the room, chilly and cold and terrifying.
She hears her whisper dark, twisted words into Kop’s ear, so cruel that she wishes it
would just end already.
She smells that telltale scent of rust and blood - the one etched into every folklore book in the small Thai village of Lampang…
…the place she once called home…
…the place where she will inevitably die tonight.
Kop feels, hears, smells the entity roaming across the very house in which she is giving birth - her house.
Yet, she is glad she cannot see her grotesque figure, as her eyes are squeezed shut in a mixture of agony and horror. She is glad that the disembodied head and trailing internal organs of her killer will not be the last thing that crosses her eyes before she is ripped into pieces.
Kop feels the baby wriggle and writhe inside of her.
Her chapped fingers tighten their grip on the bedsheets as she pushes, feels hot liquid between her thighs, burning through her skin.
Hurry, she pleads, her voice cracked and tinged with hysteria. Hurry, baby. She prays for a quick childbirth. She can only hold Death off for a little longer. Mama needs you to hurry. I’m sorry. Please.
Icy skin on hers. The unmistakable stench of blood and rotting carcasses. Animal-sounding hisses.
One thought and one thought only runs through the nerves of Kop’s distraught mind - the thought is Death, and tonight, Death takes the form of a name that is feared by the whole nation, a name etched in every Thai folklore book;
Krasue.
Kop knows and understands that Krasue will kill her, tear her into bloody shreds, just as she’s done to other women giving birth in the past.
But she needs her son to make it out in one piece.
Baby pulses. Wriggles. Kop pushes hard. Blood. Icy cold. Skin on hers. Whispers. Agony. Horror. Desperate pleas. Baby, hurry!
pulsewrigglepushbloodcoldskinonskinwhispersagonyhorrorpulsewrigglepushbloodcoldskinonskinwhispersagonyhorrorpulsewrigglepushbloodcoldskinonskinwhispersagonyhorrorpulsewrigglepushbloodcoldskinonskinwhispersagonyhorrorpulsewrigglepushbloodcoldskinonskinwhispersagonyhorrorbabyhurrybabyHURRYBABYHURRY
HURRY
Because Krasue is inching closer and closer, and now the slimy pink tendrils of her intestines are on Kop’s foot, and now her kneecap, and her thigh, and…
PUSH
With a horrible shock, Kop realises the creature is moving ever-so-slowly toward the baby.
THE BABY
please no, she whispers, but her words are small. baby, hurry. she can only harm you if you are part of me. baby, hurry. please please.
pushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpush
PUSH
A minuscule head wriggles out of her, then arms and a torso and legs, all pink and naked and slimy. It opens its mouth to let out a wail.
YES
But the Krasue is leaning toward the infant, mouth agape, fangs gleaming in the lonely moonlight, desperate for a bite.
she can’t harm him if he’s not part of me, Kop repeats silently - a mantra, egging her on. she can’t harm him she can’t harm him she can’t harm him.
She sees a viscous cream-coloured tube, long and worm-like, sprouting from her uterus and onto the
rest: baby’s navel. The umbilical cord - it is the only physical connection between mother and son, and she must cut it. Kop grabs the bulky tube with her right hand and brings it to her mouth. She chews through it quickly, the taste rubbery in her mouth. YES! The last thing Kop sees is her son - a slimy, soggy, doughy ball. She sees hope in this creature as he shrieks for his mother. She hears beauty in his screams, drowned in the maniacal giggles of the Krasue, which she feels inspecting her body, debating which limb to gnash her teeth on first. Even though Kop will die the most gruesome of deaths and lose hers, she sees new Life in this infant - a small piece of her to live on.
Goose island. Derelict. American town falling apart. On coast.
Land in Philadelphia to an organised trip. Meet some strange people. Man with dangly nose and a tin lid he puts on his face to mask his weird skin. Is it falling off or just very thin. Woman who has a dark past maybe on the streets. Kind woman with tablecloth to make a nice table set for us.
Hints town gets better wins award. At the time it was seaside town and all the glam American style buildings are crumbled. Dark alleys and stories of a man who killed someone and ran away. Dog barks.
One of films called the howler. Seems that the resort takes you on lots of little trips.
I’m the end the resort was part of weird film series that I was watching on tv. The first episode was the one I was actually experiencing with fg. To get there landed in Philadelphia and no passport control. Climbed along windows to get to complex then realised we went wrong way. Once in Complex we had to choose our activities for the week I.e concerts shopping and sightseeing. Fg didn’t want sightseeing and I was confused. Then we met the strange people like man with white tin mask for face. He was so short and could climb about his room (Paddington ref). Turned out he was very sad
Twist was when I realised all this was a set of documentaries and films I was watching and some of the people in the first part (holiday club) a couple had died. Txt from fg saying she looked documentary up on google and it had all this weird info.
Goose island was weird and vivid. Each street unfolded as more derelict and lots of people going about their days looking miserable.
Then transpired that the town was huge for its fighting clubs and suddenly Rows appeared of old theatres and fighting clubs where people would say meet me at this club to fight. People would watch.
Across the street they were refurbishing the oldest saloon type bar where you got a shot for a dollar and an exuberant American bartender was spit cleaning the glssses then filling them and juggling them in a show before pouring your drink.
Pussy wash ad. Gentle cleansing for working women to be fresh. Used pussy so many times as a feminist statement.
La vie est un sommeil, l’amour en est le rêve.
