The Witching Hour - Halloween Fic Contest

[bury the year]

I'm not going to be all fancy and make banners and a dupe account. This is the writing section, after all. Anyways, your mission. Write a horror fic, either original or fan. Not necessarily Halloween-based, but at least make it gothic/scary/etc. Not all rainbows and fluffy kittens, unless said kittens eat men. The fic must stand alone: it shouldn't be an extension of something you've previously written. Also, the fic must be exactly 1000 words. (E.G, I can plug it into Word, hit “Word Count,” and get 1000.) If you’re off by even a bit, points will be lost. Fics will be graded half by myself and half by popular vote. The winner will receive something. Something cool. This contest will end November 13, and all entries must be posted on this thread to count. So, get writing. Happy haunting.

 

EDIT: Feel free to polish up your posted fics before the deadline - I only consider the final revision.

[Umbra]

Those of you who have read my earlier writing know what I am capable of. Let that serve as a warning to those of you who haven't. One occasion of semi-gorey descriptions, but hopefully nothing too bad.

 

[spoiler=Umbra presents: The Lady in Red]

It had become a tradition for them, his three grand-children, that their old grandpa Jack would tell them a scary story before they went out trick-or-treating. This time, it would be a story they would never forget. He certainly hadn't. He cleared his throat.

”This was a long time ago, just after the war; I was maybe eleven or twelve years old, if not younger.”

He looked directly at the children.

”Do you know where Hartford Hill is?”

They nodded. Hartford Hill wasn't too far away from the elementary school, and apparently the bestest place for snowball fights in the whole world. Jack nodded.

”Back in my day, there was a mansion up on that hill, abandoned for a long time. The four of us – Wilson Statham, Gary Burnell, Robert Johnson and I – decided we'd sneak in.”

Each of those names stung him, even now. Not even sixty years can take them away from me.

”I think it was Rob who suggested it. His dad didn't come back from the war, the poor boy. We went up to the Hartford mansion on Halloween Eve.”

 

He pulled his coat closer. He hadn't thought it would be this cold, or this dark. His parents had been sound asleep for several hours, and the ten-year-old Jack Kelley had somehow managed to sneak past their bedroom and out through the front door without waking them up. The excitement that had welled up inside him as he walked down the dirt road, heading for the Hartford House, was turning into fear. When he got there, they were already waiting for him. Wilson was scared, and Gary was practically shivering in his boots, but Rob... Rob was different. Empty.

 

The four boys stood in a semi-circle, about six yards from the house. The window-panes were long since knocked out. In the moonlight, the two broken windows on the front looked like a pair of silver eyes, dotted with black holes and cracks. Gary gulped.

”Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. We should-”

Rob's hand was on his shoulder.

”There's no going back. Not now, not ever.”

Gary looked at him, then at us, and then back at him. Rob was older than us, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and stood about nine inches taller. Eventually, Gary turned back to the house, and nodded.

 

Rob lead the way. The boys trailed behind him, like ducklings following their mother, as he walked up on the porch and up to the door. Gary and Wilson were closest to him; Jack was at the rear, which was probably what saved his life in the end. The older boy reached out and grabbed the doorknob, and gave it a turn.

 

At first, it didn't move. No matter how far Rob turned, the wooden frame didn't budge. Gary burst out again.

”See? We can't get inside anyhow. We should just go-”

Then, as if something had heard him, there was a sound of creaking metal. When the old hinges finally gave way, the door fell inward, landing on the old floorboards inside. Rob looked at him, the resigned look in his eyes still very much there.

 

Jack could barely see two feet ahead. Somewhere in front of him, Rob was talking.

”They say that a woman lived here once. She with the flowing red hair and the black dress. They say she was... beautiful.”

Jack nodded. He, too, had heard the legend of the Lady in Red.

”One day, the mailman found her on the porch, face-down. She was drenched in blood, and her fingers had dug into the planks. You probably didn't see the scratchmarks outside. When he tried to help her, she looked at him – if she could have. You see...”

”Rob, stop!”

It was Wilson who had spoken this time. Rob kept going.

”Her eyes were gone, as was her tongue. When she heard him jump, she turned to him, and tried to speak, but all she could muster was a...”

Somewhere ahead of Jack, Rob made a sound. It sounded like something between leaves rustling in the wind and a growling dog. Gary cried.

”Enough, Rob, we get it. You're only making things worse.”

Then, he said something that sent shivers down their spines.

”That wasn't me.”

 

For a second, they were stupified. Wilson spoke up.

”What do you mean, that wasn't-”

Lightning flashed outside, and in an instant an image was burned into their eyes that would last for a lifetime. There were stairs ahead of them, leading up. The old floorboards were whitened from age, creaking in the wind. She was there. Her black dress was barely rags, and her red hair was a mess, but Jack could clearly see the dried blood on her thin shoulders. Her face was a monstrosity of rotting flesh, hanging from the bones like fish left out to dry. Rob was standing with his back to her, and in the sudden light his eyes looked almost as empty as hers. We screamed, and ran away.

 

 

”Did that really happen, grandpa?”

Rebecca had spoken, without the usual disbelief in her voice. He nodded.

”Wilson Statham died over in 'Nam, but I think Gary Burnell's still alive. Runs a bookstore down on Faraday, if my memory serves me right. You can ask him.”

”How about Rob?”

It was Mike, the youngest, that had spoken. Jack shook his head.

”We never saw Rob again.”

 

After they had gone off, Jack tried to get some sleep. He had probably given them nightmares for life, but it was a story that needed to be told. Now, it wasn't just his anymore. He climbed out of the chair, and walked over to the bed. The moment he closed his eyes, there was a sound from outside; leaves rustling in the wind, of a growling dog, but most of all of fingers digging through the wall.

 

 

[Guest Rupert Giles]

Exactly 1000? As in, you cannot go over or under 1000? Um.....I'll give it a shot. Not gonna stand a chance but.....

 

And, good job umbra. Genuinely creepy.

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

Never written anything horror before, but managed this in two hours of solid work. Hope it works.

 

[spoiler=The Vengeful Ghost]

Dr. Robert Matthews sat at his office desk and flicked open his newspaper to the main article. The article detailing the headline that screamed ‘Another Teenager Murdered!’ in big bold letters, accompanied by a photograph of the site where his body had been found. With his tongue cut out, according to the article. ‘Third one in two weeks’ Matthews thought to himself, before a buzzing noise interrupted his reading.

 

‘Doctor Matthews, I have a young girl here to see you’ the receptionist told him over the intercom. ‘She doesn’t have an appointment, but she‘s really distressed. Do you have time?’

 

“Send her up” he replied.

 

Three minutes later and the girl entered. A fourteen year old; she was slightly plump, with red hair and glasses covered her acned face. And she was extremely upset. Without invitation the girl laid herself down on the doctor’s couch, verging on tears. Cautiously Matthews approached his chair, startled at this girl’s sudden appearance, before settling himself and speaking as reassuringly as he could manage.

 

“Miss, I am a professional psychiatrist. If there’s anything you need to talk about or need help with, know that I’m here to support you. What can I do for you?”

 

The girl replied shakily. “I’m Amuy... and... I think I know something about the murders going on...”

 

Matthews stopped at those surprising words, staring open-mouthed at Amuy before recovering his senses. “Okay. Take your time...”

 

“The three who’ve been murdered... they are in my school” Amuy stuttered. “They’re part of a group from the above year, and they and another two have been bullying me for months. Making fun of my weight and looks...” Matthews shook his head, children could be so naive. “But now these horrible deaths have happened... and I think I know what’s... but it can’t be possible. It’s driving me insane...”

 

The girl turned to face the psychiatrist and barely whispered...

 

“There’s a ghost protecting me.”

 

Matthews blinked several times. “A... ghost Amuy?”

 

Amuy nodded vigorously, as if that would confirm absolute fact. “I first saw it the night after the first murder, Angela Dawson.” Matthews briefly recalled the story, a pretty young blonde whose face had been violently slashed. “She always made fun of me because of my acne. But one night when I was in my room crying because of her and her friends, I saw something floating outside my window looking at me. A spirit that looked like an older boy, just floating outside my bedroom with his arms folded and a blank sort of look. I was scared at first, but he just seemed so calm, before he vanished. Next day... I heard the news.”

 

“Amuy, have you told anyone else about this ghost? Your parents?”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t want to scare mum. She doesn’t know about the bullying, that the guys murdered are connected to me. But I just had to tell someone, I think I’m going mad. The ghost appeared again a few nights later, after the death of Ollie Sawyers. He was a brute, but even he didn’t deserve... that...”

 

“Sawyers... was he the one who...” Matthews cut off from his sentence, trying too late to stop himself reminding the poor girl about the drowned boy who had found hanging in a fishing net. Amuy immediately welled up at the thought.

 

“Earlier that same day, Ollie had thrown a bucket of dirty water over me on the way back from school. He said I looked like some monster of the lake. That was when I knew the murders were definitely connected, even before yesterday’s third death. And I saw the ghost for the third time last night, floating outside, smiling kindly at me.”

 

Horrifyingly transfixed, Matthews tried a different angle. “Has the ghost ever spoken to you?”

 

“Only the last time...” Amuy was shivering at the thought. “I spoke to it first. I opened my window and shouted at it. I told it to stop doing these things. That it wasn’t right. But still it just floated there looking at me kindly. Then I heard a voice. It hadn’t opened its mouth or anything, but I heard something in my ear. It said ‘I’ll protect you from anyone who hurts you...’ Then it disappeared again. What should I do?”

Matthews sat back in his chair, baffled. What could she do? There was no protocol, no possible advice, for this. There was a long pause, broken only by Amuy’s quiet sobs, as he considered what he could tell the poor girl.

 

“Well, you’ve taken a brave step to tell me. It’s entirely up to you whether you have the courage to tell your mother or the police, as they could react very differently. If you see the ghost again, maybe... this might sound crazy (well the whole situation was crazy)... but try to engage conversation again and let it know how you feel about what you think it’s doing. I’m sorry... I really don’t know what else to suggest...”

 

“Ok, I’ll try.” Amuy wiped her eyes, before getting up to leave. She paused at the door. “I know what I’ll tell him. That what it’s doing is wrong. Those others might bully me, but what its doing is worse, and I can’t stand it being done for my honour. Thank you Doctor.”

 

As the girl left, Matthews returned to his desk, shaken. What he had just heard was not what he had expected. Shaking his head, the psychiatrist unlcoked one of his desks draws and pulled out his laptop. Whilst it was loading he reached back into the draw, and pulled out two photos. The first was of a family at the beach; a couple with a baby girl. Pulling a hand through his darkened red hair in angst, knocking his glasses slightly, he then studied the other. A photo of five school-kids. The computer loaded, and the face of a ghostly boy stared out from the screen.

 

‘I’ll protect you from anyone who hurts you...’

 

 

[bury the year]

Exactly 1000? As in, you cannot go over or under 1000? Um.....I'll give it a shot. Not gonna stand a chance but.....

 

And, good job umbra. Genuinely creepy.

Ayup. 1000 on the nose. It's part of, if not the major challenge; to be economical with words. Horror doesn't need to be over the top.

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

Bah, why did Umbra have to post his up first? You put everyone else off man! :P

 

Seriously people reading this and not entering, give it a try. I've never done horror before but this really was a fun challenge.

[Umbra]

Sorry, couldn't help myself. Horror is my personal favorite when it comes to genres, so when I saw this... it just kind of happened.

 

To everyone else reading this: Don't be afraid (pun not intended) to post. This is anyone's game: I know there's some serious writing talent out there on YCM that has yet to be discovered. No king rules forever, and I think it's my time to go on. People like Bahamut - people like you - are the real stars in this place. Not only can you win this: you probably will.

[Guest Fusion X. Denver]

I want to enter, but my schedule's really cramped, I'm not sure I'll have time.

If I find a free moment, I'll write something.

[~Tico~]

Will have something up soon. Although it probably won't even come close to winning against Umbra or Verz Bahamut...

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

I want to enter, but my schedule's really cramped, I'm not sure I'll have time.

If I find a free moment, I'll write something.

 

*places gun against Fusion's head*

 

You WILL write a story and enter it. DON'T THINK I WON'T DO IT!!!

 

Will have something up soon. Although it probably won't even come close to winning against Umbra or Verz Bahamut...

 

Refers you to Umbra's above post.

 

Don't know until you enter.

[bury the year]

Also, if we don't get 5 fics by the deadline, I'll extend it until we do. So, yeah. Enter if you even have the slightest inclination. You never know~

[Agro]

Also, if we don't get 5 fics by the deadline, I'll extend it until we do. So, yeah. Enter if you even have the slightest inclination. You never know~

O.o an extension. That'll help >:D

[~Tico~]

I have almost finished my fic and will have it up before the dealine unless unforseen circumstances occur. So please reserve a spot for me.

[bury the year]

No reservations. Just get 'em in.

[Guest ~ Epic Hero - Saber ~]

It took me more time to decide whether to include the title (a whole 2 words) to the 1000-word-mark, than to actually write the story.

 

I eventually decided to leave the title out. 1000 words, without it.

 

[spoiler=Hollow's Eve]

It was not easy being a Knight. The world expected you to be gallant and virtuous, pious and willing to put your life on the line to protect those in need. Certainly not a career fit for your average peasant. Sir Christopher, of course, was not your average peasant. He was an aspiring young man proud to bear the cross-marked shield that was strapped across his back. His normally faded blue eyes sparkled with zeal when he was consumed by holy fervor. And in his quests throughout the Holy Roman Empire, he had become renowned for his valor.

 

Rich, long blonde hair flowed underneath his helmet. His plate armor clang as his steed, a sturdy gray mare taken straight from the fields of Hungary, galloped through the countryside. One hand held the gilded reins, another cupped the hilt of his sword, strapped to his belt. A reminder of what he was here to do.

 

Recent tidings had brought him to Dresden. Dresden was one of the largest cities in the Holy Roman Empire. It was not easy to openly walk outside the path of God in such a place, but heathens were not known for succumbing to conventional difficulties. A witch had appeared in Dresden, and whispers of dark things, going as far as sacrifices and demonic summonings, had reached Christopher's ears. He had arrived in the city and assisted in the capture and incarceration of the witch, who was to be burned at the stake the very next dawn. However, she had somehow managed to escape overnight – foul magic, no doubt – and thus Christopher was now racing after her trail, which led straight into the forest of Dresden.

 

Sir Christopher rode into the woods, reveling in their shade after the blazing sun. Though the path became narrow and treacherous, his trained horse danced nimbly around outgrown roots and fallen trunks, jumping over thorny bushes. The knight himself had to cut through low branches with his blade. The good news was that the trail became clearer – even afoot, a journey through this dense forest was difficult to conceal.

 

So absorbed was the good knight in his chase, that he did not notice the oddities. First, it had grown eerily dark, even for this shaded place. The bright noon was akin to nightfall, and shadows came to life where light mingled with darkness. There was no wind, but the leaves whistled around him, moaning their silent warning. And the air had become murky and damp, as if he was wading through not a lush woodland, but a midden heap. Still, Sir Christopher paid no heed.

 

One of the greatest virtues the Catholic Church imbued in its crusaders was aspiration, ambition to be a warrior chosen by God. Sir Christopher certainly harbored a lot of that ambition. He had eliminated more heathens in his mere thirty-six years than others had during their lifetime. He had rooted out pagan covens, fought the Muslim dogs. He had presented himself before the very Pope. There was no doubt in his mind – he was one of God's chosen. A man destined to traverse His glorious path until the end of his life and beyond. He would be declared a savior. A saint.

 

A fervent smile crossed his lips as such noble thoughts surfaced in his mind. He spurned his horse forward, neglecting to examine the reason for which it had stopped and was nervously rearing its head, refusing to go on. The forest around them was dead. Rotten, black trees spreading their skeletal branches over the knight, like the cursed hands of wraiths and demons. No more leaves to provide shade, but shade was not needed, for day had turned to night, and clouds shrouded the stars, leaving only the crescent moon, pitifully thin, to illuminate the path with its fading light.

 

Nothing could have given him pause now, though. The footprints were fresh. The witch was near – he could hear her nimble steps, straight ahead. He could smell the stench of pagan magic. A final push of his unwilling horse between a pair of dead trees ,their branches intertwining to form an archway, and Sir Christopher found himself unexpectedly in a large clearing.

 

A perfect circle devoid of vegetation, too well-formed to be a work of nature. In its midst lay a pool, its still, black surface glowing under the moonlight. This was the right place. He dismounted and tied his restless horse to the nearest tree. The witch had disrobed, the gray dress she had been given to wear in prison abandoned close to the shore. Her slim, naked form, illuminated by the lunar rays, was already wading through the dark waters, halfway to the center of the lake. She turned around and smiled, no doubt trying to lure the noble knight with her unholy charms, but Sir Christopher, shielded by the light of God, would not be swayed.

 

“Your heretic life ends here, witch.” He declared, drawing his sword. Without hesitation, he stepped into the pool.

 

“My life does not end, knight. Yours, too... has just begun.”

 

Sir Christopher never heard those words, spoken in a soft, melodic voice. No sooner had he walked into the water, than arm-thick tendrils of blackness rose from the bottom, grasping his arms, legs, neck. He screamed and struggled, his horse howled, and a few crows shrieked overhead. And the witch, her black irises expanding to cover her entire eyes, her raven-colored hair flaying wildly around her head as dark energies cackled, embracing her nudity, clothing her in Satan's garb, approached the place where the knight had been standing, now dragged into unfathomable depths.

 

“Awaken.” She ordered, and her voice was empty, lifeless. Responding to her summons, Sir Christopher rose from the lake. His armor was black. His sword was black. His head – was gone.

 

“Worship me, my dark saint.” The witch whispered. And Sir Christopher, reborn as the Headless Horseman, bent knee to his new Goddess.

 

 

[Guest Fusion X. Denver]

Good luck, everyone.

[spoiler=The Crimson Jackal]

The darkness sped past the bright-red corvette, the lone occupant of the narrow highway winding through the valley. At the car’s helm were eight, bony knuckles tightly clenched, struggling to hold on to the wheel. Fred Foy was as nervous as could be, constantly wiping his wide brow lurking beneath his sticky, dark bangs. His eyes constantly checked his mirrors, spying no one else on the road. I am alone…all alone.

 

Fred gasped as he felt hot, streaming tears stroke his stubble. His lip quivered as his gaze lowered to a picture he had slapped on the dashboard a mere 20 minutes before. A beautiful woman stood in the frame’s center, clad in a long, flowing white dress, holding a tiny baby in her arms. Fred felt his heart seize each time he locked eyes with the image of his wonderful, perfect wife.

 

“Gloria…”

 

Fred snapped out of his trance, honing in on the looming exit sign to his right. He quickly swerved to his right and drove down on Exit 169. Fred glanced to his gas meter; he was almost out of fuel and finding a working gas station at three o’clock in the morning was too much of a stretch. He needed to stop. Digging through his pocket, he swore under his breath as he remembered his cell phone battery had died before he had left. Why wouldn’t he bring a charger? Fred was preparing to sleep on the roadside for the night until he saw a dim, blue light in the distance. The light originated from a sign saying, “Morton’s Motel: Making Midnight Mishaps Less Morose”.

 

Fred frowned at the broken alliteration, his ancient English teachings creeping into his mixed feelings of relief and despair. He pulled into the parking lot and quickly paced into the front lobby. He called out, “Excuse me, I would like a room for one.”

 

The grubby man behind the counter glanced up from his magazine, scowling at the unexpected guest. “The hell are you doing at three in the morning?”

 

“Sir, I do not have time to exchange pleasantries. Please assist me.”

 

The man rolled his eyes, opening a drawer behind the desk to fetch a key. “It’s $130 for the night.”

 

Fred obliged and paid the man, thanking him before retreating to room #201. Shutting the door behind him, Fred faced the drab, gray coloring of the dimly-lighted room. “Why must this room be so lifeless?” he lamented. “Why…”

 

He suddenly dropped to his knees sobbing uncontrollably into the dusty floor. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” After a minute of muffled yelling, Fred composed himself and slumped over the bed, reaching for the remote accompanying the miniscule TV across the room. He let his chin dig into his chest as he watched Kacie Dougall deliver her early news report on Next News. It was only when a familiar image flashed across the screen that he began paying attention. A small, white house with several police cars in front was displayed behind the reporter who grimly delivered a slew of facts.

 

“It was but one hour before when Gloria and Desmond Foy of 45 Greenwood Drive in Welming were found slaughtered in their front hall. It’s been confirmed that both parties had their chests slashed open and their hearts ripped out. This is believed to be another killing by the infamous “Crimson Jackal”.

 

The Crimson Jackal. Fred felt his blood boil as the name rebounded in his mind. He drifted back to the previous hour. He had been drinking at the Royal Tavern again; one liked to frequent that place in the midst of depression. Fred would have stayed longer if not for the bartender threatening to shoot him if he kept yelling about his cruel and horrible boss for the umpteenth time that week. He had blundered home in a drunken stupor, half-heartedly trying to sneak in his house quietly so as not to disturb his sleeping family. Moving towards the staircase, he felt his shoe step into something squishy. Hoping it wasn’t a dirty diaper, Fred flicked on the lights, discovering the entrails of his beloved wife across the floor, entangled around her mangled corpse accompanying the other small, altered frame of his daughter.

 

Fred felt himself falling as he stood there, farther and farther away from the grips of reality until he felt a bloodcurdling scream escaping his throat. Before Fred could do anything else, he heard a low whisper. He looked around, failing to find anyone with him. A cackle suddenly shook Fred to his core, slowly reverberating around the house and growing louder and louder by the second. “It’s time we got to know each other, Freddyyyyy!”

 

Fred dashed out the door, his chest still heaving ten minutes later as he drove out of town, straight onto the highway. Coming back to the present, Fred sat up in bed. I will not stand for this. Someone has to catch that maniac. It has got to be me. After all…I have nothing to lose. Feeling determined, Fred marched out of the room, headed straight for his car. He stopped when he entered the lobby, finding the man behind the counter dead in his seat. A crimson hole centered his chest, the desk and safe torn apart.

 

 

Fred dashed outside and looked to his car, finding two men trying to get in. “Hey!” Fred sprinted towards the assailants, begging to unleash his anger out on those who dared to cross him. The two men turned around and tackled Fred. Fred’s vision dimmed until everything went black.

-----

“Wake up, Freddy…”

 

Fred blinked, finding himself hunched over his steering wheel. Recognizing the voice, he gritted his teeth, not caring that he was parked in the middle of a desert nearby the valley. “Come out, you cad! Come face me!”

 

“Look to your left.”

 

Fred turned. His stomach churned at the face of his hatred, the face of the manic grin that served as the last sight for many.

 

His face.

 

 

Stupid question: That 5 dash break there at the end doesn't count in Word Count, right?

[Agro]

Phew, finally done. Hope you guys enjoy it, it took a while to put together. I get the feeling you'll need to read it at least twice to get the full effect. Hope that isn't a negative. But we'll see. So like I said, enjoy.

 

[spoiler=Warden]

It was hot. Nathan could almost feel the heat from the ground boil the skin on his arm as he pushed himself up.

 

The scent of the room was stale, as if someone had died. As his eyes tried adjusting to the scattered light around the cold room he coughed painfully.

 

The light that entered the room came from several holes lining the walls. But some seemed covered, and as Nathan slowly shifted sideways, he realized why.

 

Iron bars lined the room, which, as Nathan was beginning to notice, was a hall, stretching out long out in either direction into the darkness.

 

“Am I… prison?” Nathan coughed the words out. His throat was beginning to itch.

 

Looking behind himself at the hole that was carved into the wall of the cell, Nathan peered out to see if he recognized his surroundings.

 

He sighed. He couldn’t tell. Dirt was all he could see up to a few feet beyond the walls, where the granules were picked up by the wind and shielded the outside world in a dust storm.

 

Nathan walked back over to the bars that held him in, running his blue sleeve across his forehead. What sweat he swept away seemed to fall in a glob from his head and left a stinging sensation on his skin, as if he’d aggravated an old wound.

 

Slowly, he reached out to the iron bars, looking for his captors. But as his hands, darkened by dirt and sod, reached the steel, the door creaked open.

 

“I’m not… locked in?” Realizing he was free, he ran out from his cell, only to trip into the bars on the other side of the hallway.

 

He reached out his left arm to try to hold himself steady, but he missed the metal and fell into the beams. A shock coursed through his left arm and within a second it had gone numb.

 

Cringing, he reached his left arm over to grip his right shoulder where he’d lost feeling. He could feel a liquid running along his skin, as well as… something more solid. In the dim light he couldn’t see it, but he must have scraped against a piece of the metal and cut himself.

 

Realizing he’d need medical attention, he began limping along the hall. The place was so desolate, so decrepit. He couldn’t possibly imagine coming here of his own free will. Then again, he still couldn’t even remember why he was here, or even who he was or what he’d done before coming here.

 

And that buzzing noise, ringing continuously and consistently, coursed through his mind, pulling him away from his thoughts. It was beginning to drive him insane.

 

Finally, as if by a miracle, he noticed several cracks of light from a wall where a window should have been.

 

Without hesitation, Nathan turned the knob, and the door opened with no resistance whatsoever.

 

Curious, but daunted, he stepped over the old woodwork and into the brightly lit room. The sun through the window was beginning to set, and the winds from the sandstorm seemed to be dying down. Off into the distance, forever it seemed, a desert wasteland bordered by some of the most intimidating mountains he’d ever seen.

 

It was beautiful, but there was something about it, and the room he was in as well, that seemed, oddly familiar. Taking a step forward towards the window he felt something unstable move under his foot, causing him to stumble over.

 

“What, the bloody-?” Nathan stopped his complaint the second he looked back at his feet.

 

Whatever it was, it lay motionless, about two feet long, silent and harmless as anything else he’d run into. But there was an ambience about it, something that made his blood run cold.

 

Nathan leaned over, and clasped it.

 

Quickly, he pulled his arm back, using it as leverage to keep his head from falling into the vomit that he let fall onto the room’s floor. Slowly coughing, getting the rest of it out, with only one arm with feeling, Nathan tried to pull himself up. Only then did he finally notice the color of the excretion. Red, dark red.

 

Realizing he might be in a more critical condition than he’d originally anticipated, Nathan reached into his mouth trying to feel around to see if he’d been cut within the walls of his mouth. To his disdain, there was nothing there, in fact, there was less than he’d expected.

 

Nathan held his hand out in front of him, with his palm facing up. Six teeth, black and rotting, sat inconspicuously in the folds of his skin.

 

In a panic, he scraped them from his hand off on his shirt. As the teeth buried in his hand were scraped away, he realized another horror. The black coloring of his hand he’d idly checked off as dirt was no such thing. His hand was rotting.

 

Terror-stricken and beginning to think he was losing it, he pushed himself up quickly, only to stare horridly at the mirror in front of him.

 

His dark black hair was all but gone, and his eyes lay in open sockets, surrounded by black, decaying flesh. His arm, which he’d assumed was just limp before, was completely gone.

 

Heart beating rapidly he sprinted for the door, only to stop petrified as he realized he was not alone.

 

Dark shadows of men, maybe those such as him, lurked quietly in each and every cell.

 

“Where am I?” He thought to himself.

 

“Are you alright sir?” The voice echoed from behind him. Still as terrorized as he was before, Nathan turned to face the voice.

 

A boy, in the same condition as he was, with one eye hanging by a thread from his eye socket, stood curious looking up at the him.

 

“I could use your help, sir.” He turned his head to the side, his other eye sitting lazily in place. “I’m sorry to bother you at your office, but, you’re the warden, aren’t you?”

 

[DL]

Wow, this was my first time writing horror. What will come of it? ...idk.

 

 

Exactly 1000 words, so yay for that.

 

 

[spoiler=It'll be Fine]

 

“Hey, Mommy, how long until we get there?” a young girl asked, looking out the window of the red Suzuki.

 

The red-haired woman sighed with a smile. “We’ll get there when we get there, Alice.”

 

The girl pulled her head inside the car, then brushed her long blond hair out of her face.

 

“I know, I’m just really excited to see Aunt Diana and Uncle David! But not Charlie, he’s a crybaby, so-”

 

Suddenly, the girl’s mother screamed. Her father turned his head, just before a car crashed onto their right side. Alice’s head hit the door, and she lost conciousness.

 

“Julia! Alice!” the father yelled.

 

He scrambled out of the car, opened the back door, and swiftly grabbed Alice. There was a lump on her head, but she was otherwise unharmed. He picked her up swiftly, and laid her down on the grass on the roadside.

 

He then rushed to the other side of the car, which was smashed in. he tried opening the door, but it didn‘t budge. He could only see his wife’s face, and one of her hands protruding from the car.

 

“Julia! Hold on, it‘ll be fine!”

 

Julia smiled a bit. “I know it’s too late. I’m just…sorry I have to leave you two alone…take care of her, Robert.”

 

With that, she closed her eyes, and her hand went limp.

 

“Julia…” Robert muttered, falling to his knees.

 

After half an hour or so, Alice woke up. She looked to her left, and saw her father kneeling on the ground. They were deeper into the woods, and the sun had fallen below the horizon.

 

“Forgive me, Lord, for what I am about to do…” Robert muttered. “But it’s best for her…best for her…”

 

Alice blinked. “F-father?”

 

Robert turned, and smiled. “Oh, Alice, nice to see you up. I’ve got a nice surprise for you.”

 

Alice gulped, and stood up. “Daddy… w-where’s Mommy?”

 

“Oh, she’s gone…a bit ahead of you,” he replied, his hand reaching inside his bag and pulling out a hunting knife.

 

“You’re… not supposed to play with knives, daddy…they‘re dangerous,” Alice muttered, slowly backing away.

 

“Oh, it’s fine this time. This time…it’ll be fine,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m sorry…it’ll probably hurt…but it’ll be fine…it’ll be fine…”

 

“D-Daddy? I don’t…like this…”

 

Robert slid the sharp blade out of the sheath, stood up, and gradually walked closer and closer to Alice.

 

“You will, my dear… I promise.”

 

Alice trembled behind the tree. She took in sharp, quick breaths, but the rest of her body wouldn’t do a thing. All of sudden, an ant bit her leg. She yelped, and snapped out of it. She made a run for it. As she ran, she took out a small pink compass.

 

 

“Have to find…Aunt Diana…she’ll know what’s wrong with Daddy!”

 

“Alice!” her father called. “Don’t run, Alice. This is better for you…this is…good.”

 

Alice looked back, and tripped on a tree branch. She hit the ground with a grunt. As she sat up, her father caught up to her. He towered over her, smiling, his eyes losing focus.

 

“Hi Alice,” he said, chuckling. “Want that surprise, now?”

 

Alice screamed, and dashed under his legs. He turned around, and grabbed her ankle before she could get away.

 

“Oh no, Alice. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Don’t run away…”

 

“Get away from me!” Alice yelled, and kicked him on the face with her other foot. He loosed his grip, and she wrestled her leg from him, then continued her run. She swerved around a few trees, in hopes of losing him, and continued onto the correct path. But her father was running faster now. She stumbled upon a small cave, and squirmed inside it. Her father caught up to her, and reached his hand inside the cave, his frame being too big to fit inside.

 

“Alice, come out,” he said. “It won’t hurt, I promise…it’ll be good for you.”

 

Alice curled up on the ground, her hands on her head. He couldn’t reach her, but she had no way to escape.

 

Suddenly, her father grunted. “Alice, come out, now! I am your father, and you will listen to me!”

 

Tears ran down Alice’s cheeks, as she curled up tighter. Her whole body trembled.

 

“Alice! You f*cking listen to me!” he screamed. “I’m going to kill you either way, whether you like it or not! Now, do you want me to make you go easy, or stab your f*cking kneecaps so you can’t run anymore?”

 

Sobs could be heard from inside the cave.

 

“Come out! See, I’m unarmed, happy?”

 

Alice raised her head, and saw the knife was laying on the ground, next to his foot.

 

Alice’s vision went blurry. She dashed outside the cave, and grabbed the knife. Her father slammed his foot down in order to catch her, but she flipped the knife’s blade upward, and his foot came down on it.

 

He stumbled back, yelling. “Damn it! You little b*tch, after all I did for you!”

 

Before her father could recover, she dashed at him, and stabbed him on the chest with the knife. He fell back, and she remained on top of him, stabbing over and over, despite his agonizing screams. She stabbed him far after he had stopped moving, and she was covered in blood. Finally, she stopped, her breathing heavy, and the knife clattered out of her hands.

 

“Goodnight, Daddy…” she muttered.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Hey, Aunt Diana,” Alice said, standing at the front door.

 

The plump woman in front of her gasped.

 

“Alice! Is that you? What are you doing covered in blood? Where’re your mommy and daddy?” she asked, agitated.

 

“I’ll explain later, Aunt Diana, for now, can I have a bath?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Diana stretches her arms, and walked inside her baby’s room.

 

“Good morning, Charlie, how was your-” she began, the stopped as she saw Alice. “Oh, Alice, what are you- you‘re covered in blood!”

 

“Hi aunty. I gave Charlie a nice surprise…so it’ll be fine now,” Alice said, smiling.

 

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

Really enjoying reading these. Wide variety of stories, this will be tough.

[DL]

I added the title inside the actual spoiler

 

Without it, it becomes 3 words shorter than 1000 xD

 

EDIT:

 

Nvm, wasn't sure if title counted for the 1000, so decided to play it safe and add 3 words (whivh I actually think makes it at least a bit more descriptive.)

[Quiksilver]

What the hell.

 

[spoiler=Enjoy Your Meal]

Johnny was nervous. That in and of itself was not extraordinary, the boy having an overactive imagination that, unfortunately, tended to imagine how things could go wrong, but this time was different. It was different because of the reason - because the nervousness came from a girl.

 

Roxanne Lewis was new to the neighborhood of Oakley Hills. She was blond, blue-eyed, and was way hotter than any other sophomore girl at Oakley High School. Smart, too. All the teachers adored her. She was the entire package, and as such had been instantly seized by the “popular” group at school. But, apparently, she hadn’t gotten the memo from her new friends that Johnny Sulkiss was a nerd and that, therefore, no hot girl should approach him. Earlier at week she’d come up to him at lunch, saying in that sultry voice of hers, “Hey, wanna come over to my place this weekend?”

 

Johnny couldn’t remember what he’d said in response, too caught up in shock. However, it seemed to work; she gave him her stunning smile, and left him with directions to her house. That had been Tuesday, and while then he’d proudly waved around his invitation among his friends, it was now Saturday and he was frightened out of his wits.

 

Come on, Johnny! A voice in Johnny’s head said encouragingly, sounding suspiciously like his mother. She’ll like you if you be yourself.

 

Yeah, right, be himself? Another voice had scoffed, this one sounding like his father.

 

Johnny gulped nervously. His hands shook as he stood in front of the house, eyes wide. It was large and Victorian-style, the kind of house Johnny had seen a dozen times in his life. He should’ve been used to them. This, one though - well, it almost seemed scary.

 

Was this really happening? Last he heard, Roxanne had been going out with Zach Caudwell, Oakley High’s quarterback. Was this all a prank? Johnny frowned. Though, Zach hadn’t been to school in a couple days. Maybe that was a good sign.

 

Well, there was no turning back, in any case. He already told his friends he was going over to Roxanne’s house, and, moreover, she expected him to show. He couldn’t pass up this chance to score points with a girl that was actually hot!

 

Johnny jutted out his chin and began to walk forward. He scaled the porch steps, which creaked as he went up. Gulping once again, he made to knock on the door.

 

It swung open before he could, and an older woman stood in its place. As soon as he saw her, Johnny knew she was Roxanne’s mother – she had the same blue eyes and blond hair. She smiled comfortingly as she saw Johnny, the motherly expression on her face setting him at ease.

 

“Ah, you must be the boy Roxanne said was coming over!”

 

Johnny nodded, and attempted a smile of his own. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

Her smile grew wider. “What a polite young man!” she turned her head and called, “Roxanne! Your friend Johnny is here!”

 

And then Roxanne had appeared, as hot as ever. Her mother graciously made way for her to come forward and talk, disappearing back into the house.

 

“Glad you could make it!” she said, a bit breathless. “We were waiting for you to arrive.”

 

“Uh, we?” Johnny questioned.

 

“Me. I mean me.” Roxanne smiled, and whatever thought Johnny had been thinking was instantly banished from his mind. “Please, come in.”

 

“Alright, thanks…”

 

Still smiling, Roxanne led him into the house, on a trail that led past the kitchen. Mrs. Lewis was scrubbing dishes at the sink, and she gave him an encouraging look as he went by.

 

“Come, let’s go to my room.” Roxanne said, opening a door and gesturing for Johnny to go in. Johnny walked in without a second glance.

 

The first thing he noticed was it was dark. Then, when Roxanne clicked the light, he saw it wasn’t a room, but a staircase – and one leading down.

 

“Your room is in your basement?” Johnny asked.

 

“Yes. Please keep walking, it’s kind of stuffy…”

 

A puzzled look still on his face, Johnny began walking down. Suddenly, it grew cold and the sounds of the running water upstairs fading away into an ominous silence. A sound, faint but still very loud, came from below; it sounded like a growl.

Johnny stopped. “What was that!” he exclaimed.

 

There was another growl, only behind him this time. “I said, keep walking!” Roxanne’s voice, suddenly wretched and snarling, shouted from behind him.

The noise surprised Johnny and he leaped into the air with fright. The move was assisted by a hand to the back, and, suddenly, Johnny was falling down the stairs. Pain appeared all across his body as he rolled down the stairs, finally landing at the bottom with a thud.

 

“Aaugh…” Johnny tried to sit up, only to find he could gain no purchase on the ground, his hands slipping on some sort of slime. His eyes had instinctively shut during his fall, but he tried to open them now. At first, he thought he couldn’t open them, because all he could see was darkness; but them, as he turned and saw the bright stairway light above him, outlining Roxanne’s body, he realized the basement was pitch-dark.

 

“I brought another for you,” Roxanne snarled, the grotesque transformation of her once-sultry voice even more pronounced. “This time, it’s not a jock. No hard-to-digest muscles.”

 

There was a sudden movement beside Johnny, like some creature was in the darkness with him. A soft wretched growl sounded, this time close. Johnny could feel a presence looming over him, but he was paralyzed, unable to move.

 

There was a pause, but then Roxanne’s voice called out once more. “Enjoy your meal, Daddy.”

 

His inertia was broken, and Johnny crawled desperately for the stairs. He had made it halfway into the light of the stairway before something caught his foot. And then, he was dragged back into the darkness.

 

 

Hopefully italics don't increase word count or anything, because my story is exactly 100 words.

[~Tico~]

Here's mine. It probably won't be able to trump Umbra or anyone else here, but you never know until you try.

[spoiler=The Spectral Queen]

A light rain pattered away on the roof of the dorm as the hours slowly dragged by. Two boys sat in one of the rooms, one huddled by the side of the bunk bed, the other sitting in the center of the floor. The one in the center still wore his student’s uniform, while the one by the bed had discarded it for a black T-shirt and jeans. The glow of a flashlight was the only source of light within the room.

 

The boy still in his uniform got up and began to speak, his voice hushed. “Once, there was a high school student around our age. She was talented and seemed to have a sure shot for a good job and successful future. But one day, under the darkness of night, she was murdered by a-”

“Vincent,” Claude said dully, “we heard about this stuff 3 months ago. It was that murder case that was all over the news. It’s not even much of a story, so why-“

“That’s what those whose fear obscures the light of reality believe!” Vincent exclaimed, “However those who have seen past the veil of deception know the real truth. The girl in question was of royal ancestry, marking her as a noble among those who dwell in the afterworld. However, instead of dwelling within her ghostly kingdom, she still roams our world. Now untouchable by time, she lives on, searching for one destined to be her knight, a person for whom she can love for eternity with a passion that surpasses time itself.”

 

The other boy sighed. “That story is just the brainchild of a bunch of occult-crazed morons like you. If that’s all you’re going to be spouting, I’m not going to bother listening.”

 

He climbed onto his bunk and pulled up covers, burying his head in the pillows as he did. Vincent, although eager to continue, didn’t broach the topic further. He too climbed up to his bunk and sat there reading a book. A stray gleam of light revealed the title: The Eternal Enigmas.

 

…

The next day, both of the boys dressed, ate and headed for class. Neither of them really brought up the Spectral Queen’s tale again, Vincent because he knew Claude wouldn’t care to talk about it and Claude himself because it didn’t interest him in the slightest.

 

As it were, both boys were occupied with their thoughts when a commotion ahead caught their attention. A girl had crashed her bike and was struggling to extricate herself from underneath. Sighing, Claude threw his bag to Vincent and headed over.

 

After a few moments of hefting, there was enough room for the girl to wriggle out. As she straightened, Claude scooped up her fallen belongings and handed them over.

 

The girl looked up, smiling weakly. Her face left quite an impression, with piercing blue eyes, long black hair, and beauty surpassing that of anything he had ever seen. “Thank you for taking the time to help. Not a lot of people would do that.”

 

Claude shrugged. “I’m not most people.”

Heading back to where Vincent stood waiting, he pulled his school bag over his shoulder and strolled off. “See ya.”

 

As the two left, neither of them looked back. In doing so, they didn’t realize that something was definitely wrong. Although the girl had crashed her bike because she seemed to be in a hurry, she definitely wasn’t rushing to get anywhere on time now. Instead, she stared at the backs of the two boys as they headed off, her eyes rapidly changing color until they became fixed at a light blue on the right and a bright orange on the left.

 

“So that’s the one, hm?” she murmured, “He’s quite different from what I believed.”

 

Claude was in the room he and Vincent shared, staring up at the ceiling. For the past few days, he’d been haunted by strange dreams and sudden scenes that seemed to be pulled from some demon’s darkest nightmares. Although he had done his best to push that aside, it always seemed to return. Worst of all, he always felt a strange presence, like some ghost, that seemed to be watching him.

 

“Am I…going insane?” he asked into the silence.

 

He hadn’t thought to get any response, and was shocked when a voice penetrated the blackness of the room.

 

“Not at all,” the voice told him. It was female and somehow familiar.

 

Straining to see if there was anyone in the room, he was totally unprepared for a sudden embrace from what seemed like nowhere. “Agh!”

 

When his vision returned from banging his head against the wall, he was stunned to see the girl he’d helped four days earlier looking down at him with a smile to her pale face. Now she was clad in an elegant black dress with a white ribbon in her hair.

 

He tried to get up, but she held him down with strength disproportional to her size. “Please don’t; I won’t hurt you,” she whispered.

 

“What are you even doing here?!” he asked incredulously, struggling despite her words.

 

Her next words sent a shiver into him. “I’m here for you. Didn’t you hear your friend Vincent? The Spectral Queen still walks this earth, searching for the one destined to become her knight.”

“And that’s…me?” he asked, horrified by the implications.

 

“Oh, don’t be that way,” she said. “I’ve observed you for some while. All the others I saw were…wrong in their own ways, but you…” she smiled here, “you were just perfect in your own way. Acting all cool when you were with others, yet hiding that kindness under your heart. It was just so pure, so innocent; I couldn’t help but be drawn to you.”

 

“Now come, my chosen,” she said, drawing away and pulling him to his feet. “Let us go to the netherworld…” Before he could respond, she kissed him full on the mouth. As Vincent's footsteps suddenly pounded into the room, the two vanished.

 

 

[bury the year]

The submitting portion of the contest ends tomorrow, so finish your stuff up and post it if you're still interested. :3

[bury the year]

Okay, time's up. This thread is now locked: I will put up a new one specifically for voting.