Indieactivity... Thank you for the interview!

I was contacted by Indieactivity @indieactivity, an online source for everything entertainment.  They are so supportive.  They asked if I could share some thoughts on my writing.  I hope you find it helpful.


http://bit.ly/1IZXwpB


p.s.

I see you have been checking out the site for Friday Scary Stories.  I am sorry I have been consumed by the script I am working on.  But, I will be back soon.

I appreciate every single one of you!!!!

From Halloween 2014... Still working on my latest script.

I went to the river, today.  I go there for clarity.

For insight.

For truth.

The river was churning, full of debris.  It's hidden treasures, released from the most recent storm.

I sat at the end of the dock.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I saw a beautiful young women swimming around the many branches littering the water.  I watched her for awhile.

She turned to me, and waved.  I waved back.

She swam towards me.  Then, along side the dock.

She asked If I had seen her family.  She had gotten separated from them, and that they must be worried.

There was no one else around.

I told her I would help her.

I told her to take my hands.

She did.

She was so light when I pulled her out,  I fell backwards.

Embarrassed, I turned to her.  She was no longer the same.  Her long dark hair was mostly gone.  Just small patches on a few chunks of skin left.

Worms moved in and out of the holes, where her beautiful blue eyes had been.

There was only half a body.  The rest was gone.

After I wiped her skin from my hands, I covered her with my jacket.

I am afraid to move.

An old favorite I'd like to share again. Friday Scary Story, November 7, 2014

Dead silence.

No sounds.  None.

It woke me.

I looked out.  Thick fog fills the sky, and covers the ground.  No one is there.  No movement.  Nothing.

My gut hurts.  It feels like a warning.

What happened?  What is happening?

I go out.  I stand in the middle of the street.  I try to figure it out.

The ground... I see it on the ground.  The houses have long thick dark drag marks coming from the front door, ending at the curb.  It looks like blood.

It smells like blood.  There are bits of flesh.

My gut hurts again.  It is telling me to run.

I vomit.

On my knees, my eye catches something in the fallen leaves of scarlet and brown.

It's a finger.  A small finger.  I put it in my pocket.   I can't leave it.  It can't be alone.


I don't want to be alone.


My body is moving further away from the safety of my home.

I can't stop it.

Working... Working... Working...

I'm working on a script.  It is so much fun.  I love it.  I have been tight on time for the Friday Scary Story but, I will get back to it soon.

Have a fantastic, magical day!

I appreciate you.



It's almost Halloween... : )

Friday Scary Story, September 18, 2015

It's skin.

It's not mine.

When I jumped into the water from my boat, I landed on something.  I felt it slide up along my body.

I couldn't see, something covered my head like a child's blanket.

At the surface, I pulled it off.   It was human skin.


Then something touched my side.  It was half of a woman's body.


More parts are coming to the surface.  More people.


My boat is getting farther away.


Another body touched me.  I pushed it away.  It's arm came off like overcooked chicken.


It's getting dark.

Last night I saw a ghost. This is not a Friday Scary story, it is a ghost sighting.

Last night I woke up because I heard sounds.


Shuffling sounds.


Like an older person dragging their slippers as they walked.  I listened as it got closer to my bedroom door.


A sense of dread filled me.


A dark shadow filled the doorway.  It looked like a tall, hunched over man.

When I looked to where the face would be, it slowly backed out of sight.

I'm not sure who it was, or what it meant.

I didn't go back to sleep.  I waited for hours, listening.


It's been awhile since I've seen an entity.

I don't want to see it again.

Friday Scary Story, September 4, 2015

I was just trying to be nice.

I didn't know this would happen.

I shouldn't have talked to him.



He's still out there.  It's getting dark.  Why won't he leave?



He was on the train yesterday.  He noticed my manicure.  He said it was pretty.



He keeps getting closer.



I told him I wished I had real pretty nails.  It was just stupid conversation.



He knocked on my door today.  I don't know how he found me.  He handed me a box.  After I closed the door, I opened it.



It's a box of fingernails.  They are still attached to severed fingers.



He's at my window.

Friday Scary Story, August 28, 2015

Jello shots.

I should of said, "No".  We should of said, "No".  I wish we could take it back.

We didn't even know them.


It's so dark.  I can't see anything.



I can barely move.  



I don't know how long I've been in here.


I think I urinated on myself.

My fingers are raw, and throbbing.  I can smell blood.


It's such a small box.   Laura is beside me.  She stopped breathing. She is getting cold.

The air is getting thick.


I want to go home.  I want to hear my brothers fighting.  I want my mom to yell at me for not cleaning my room.  I want my dad to ground me.


Help me please.

I want to go home.

Friday Scary Story, August 21, 2015

A magician's bag.

It's full of tricks.

My uncle left me his.  It's been passed down for generations.

When I was little, my uncle would pull out a set of teeth on hinges from the bag.  He would chase me, trying to bite me with them.

They were made out my grandfather's teeth.  They took them out after he was dead.

When I opened the bag, they were in there.

I threw them away.  I don't want them near me.



I think he wants them back.


He's here right now.

He's been pulling out my hair when I sleep.  There are bunches missing.  I wake up screaming from the pain.

It's gathered into piles.  It's on top of the fridge.  I found it yesterday when I was cleaning.

I don't know how to give him his teeth back.  I took them out of the garbage, and put them back into the bag.

In the morning I will find where he is buried.  I will put them in the ground with him.


Maybe then, he will leave me alone.

Friday Scary Story, August 14, 2015

They're not suppose to move.

They're not suppose to be alive.

This one is.

I bought an old busted up mannequin from a thrift shop.  I wanted to scare my roommate on our camping trip.  I got here a couple days before her, so I could set it up.

It's alive.  I know this is crazy, but it's true.  

Last night I found it whispering in my ear.  It was inside my tent.  I pushed it away from me.

I ran to my car, but it won't start.  It did something to it.  I know it.

Running away, I fell down a hill.

My leg is busted.  I see bone.

It's dark out here now.  I hear it coming.

It walks like a spider.  I see it getting closer in the moonlight.


I don't want to die.

Friday Scary Story, August 7, 2015

I've locked all the doors.

I've locked all the windows.

I must not get out.  I can't let anyone in.

The old man at the end of the road finally got sick of me cutting through his property.  I never believed the stories that he practiced voodoo.  But, now I do.

He cursed me.

For the first time I saw him smile.  He acted like he was biting me, then laughed long and hard as I ran.


The last few days I have woken up with blood in my mouth.  Pieces of flesh in my mouth.


It's mine.


I must be doing it when I am asleep.  It's bad.  Pieces of me are missing.

I can't fall asleep.

It's the curse.  Curses are real.

Friday Scary Story, July 31, 2015

Eyes.

They tell you if a person is alive, or dead.

I work in a morgue.  I see dead ones.  I sew them shut.


I hate working alone.



A new body came in.  Her legs are missing.  It's cut smooth.  She has been dead for at least a week.


She started looking at me.


I know she does.


Her eyes are alive.

The stitches won't hold.  So I glued them shut.

It didn't work.

She looked at me again.


I'm hiding.  I'm in the storage room.

I heard her drop down.  I heard her slide over to the door.

Her fingers are sliding back and forth under the door.


I can't get out.

Friday Scary Story, July 24, 2015 - This one is from Dec. 5, 2014 - It's real so I wanted to say it again.

Dark spaces.

They are scary.

You never know what you will find.

Under my bed, it is dark.  Something lives there.  It has touched me.

I have tried everything to not let it, but it still happens.

It stopped for awhile.  It has been six years.  But, now it has started again.

For the last four nights, it has come all the way out.  I sleep with the light on.  I sleep with my feet tucked in.  I keep the blankets tight, but it still comes out.

It grabs onto me.  Then it pulls its self up.  It rests on top of me.  I won't open my eyes.  I don't want to see it.  It crushes me.  It is so heavy.  I feel like I am going to die.  I feel like it will take my breath away from me.

Before I pass out... it slides back down.  It slides away.

It never says a word.  It has no breath.

I wish it would stop.

I wish it would go away.

Friday Scary Story, July 17, 2015

Instinct.

Always follow it.  Always.

I took the stairs.  I started on the sixth floor.

When I saw an empty beer can tucked into the corner, my instinct kicked in. It told me to get out.  Take the elevator.

I didn't.


The next flight down, I saw what looked like a small flap of folded over skin on the railing.  It couldn't have been.

I went faster.


On the next flight of stairs, there were a handful of flies on something in the corner.  I looked close.  It was a severed nose.  There was no blood any where.  Just a piece cut from someone.

I tripped walking backwards.  My ankle snapped.  It made a loud noise.

So did someone else.


When I stopped at the bottom, I heard an extra step above me, then silence.


The door is locked.  It's never locked.



Someone is above me.  The person is throwing things at me.  They're humming... Rock a Bye Baby.  One of the pieces hit me.

It's the tip of a finger.

Friday Scary Story, July 10, 2015

Crying.

Sobbing.

Sometimes I think I hear it before I open the bathroom door at work. It's an old historic building, so it could be anything.

People say it's haunted.

Now I know, it is.

As soon as I stepped in, I felt it.

There are two stalls.  I saw a shadow in one.  I looked, nothing was there.

When I sat down, I saw a shadow outside the stall door.  As I bent down to see it, something grabbed my hair... from above.  It pulled me up to my feet.

I felt clumps tear from my scalp.

I screamed.

It dropped me.

The stall door wouldn't open, so I crawled underneath it.  It dragged me back twice by my ankles, before I got out.

The hall door won't open.  I'm locked in.

The lights went out.


She is laughing.

Her icy breath is hitting my face.

Friday Scary Story, July 3, 2015

I keep finding spiders.

Thick ones that move fast.

I found webs under my bed, and in between my clothes in the closet.

When I move my curtains, a few always drop down.


I followed one to the attic.  The opening is in the ceiling, above my desk.

When I pushed it open, a heavy spider jumped on my face.


I fell.  I must have hit my head.  I can't focus.


I can't make myself move.  I can't get control of my panic attack.


They're dropping down on me.  There's so many.  They're getting heavy.

I feel my face, and body swelling from their bites.

They are tearing at me.  

I hear them scratching in my ears.

I can smell blood.

I can taste it.

Friday Scary Story, June 19, 2015

Estate sales.

Antiques.

Beautiful items, with an interesting past.

What if the past is still alive in it?  What if it attaches to you?  What if it won't let go?


I think this is happening to me.

It was so beautiful.  It must have been given to someone out of love. When I got home, I put the ring on my finger.  Now, it won't come off.

I try.


So does someone else.  Something else.  I don't know what it is.

It has been waking me up every night.  I wake up from it trying to get the ring off my finger.

At first it just tugged on it.  Then it covered my arm and hand with scratches.

Two days ago, it bit me.  The teethmarks are still there.

Last night, when I woke up, there was a knife on my bed.


I am afraid to go to sleep.

Friday Scary Story, June 12, 2015

Drowning.

Suffocation.

I don't know how to make it stop.

It started two weeks ago.

I had heard the story about the girl.  She drowned fighting for her life.  Eight girls took their prank too far.  The pool closed for a week.

Last Tuesday I found a hair clip in the grass by the deep end.  I kept it.  I can't get it off me.  If I throw it away, it is in my hair again when I wake up.

It was hers.

Now, I see her in the pool.

She is starting to fall apart.

When I go under water, she is waiting for me.  She smiles with what is left of her lips, then starts to pull swimmers under.  One by one she holds them until they are out of breath, then releases them.

No one else sees her.

Yesterday, she got one of the girls who taunted her.  She held her under until she was dead.  There are seven more.


Please tell me...

How do I make her stop?

Friday Scary Story, June 5, 2015

Killers.

Sociopaths.

Is it learned?  Or, are you born that way.

I grew up next door to the neighborhood butcher.

He sold specialty meats.   I never ate any.

I used to watch him from my window as a little girl.  He would look up at me, then continue sharpening his knives.

As we both grew older his soulless eyes never changed.  He was a monster.  No one else could see it.


I don't know how to get out.  I am locked in a cage.  No one can hear my screams.  No one knows I am here.  The world thinks I am out finding myself before I go to college.  They don't know I am next door.

It amuses him to see my fear.  

I stopped being scared, I won't give him that.   When my time comes, he will die.  He will be the victim.

Not me.

What he doesn't know, is I learn well.  I watched what he did.  I know exactly what to do.  I will do to him, what he has done to others. This will be retribution for all the people I watched him butcher and sell.

He picked the wrong person.

This I swear.

Friday Scary Story, May 29, 2015

This is the second chapter of my book Aggi.  I hope you enjoy it.

Watch Out Or You Will Burn

“When you stink from perspiration and get too close to a flame or are in direct sunlight, you will spontaneously explode or catch on fire.”

This is what Aggi was taught.  Again, as a reminder, ghastly pictures were placed up and down the hall.  She was thankful they were not in her room.  It would have been very hard to sleep at night.  She had seen them before.  As fast as they went up, they came down.  She never found where they hid them.  She had looked.

There were a couple of pictures that were etched into her brain.  She even gave them names.  One was Mrs. Potts.  It looked like the home of an Englishwomen.  It was very pretty and proper.  Her whole body had been burnt to white and gray powder, except for her legs from the knees down.  They were untouched.  They were still covered in her old-lady stockings and sensible shoes. 

Did she suffer and cry for help, finally to fall into the fireplace?  Why didn’t the stockings burn too?  They were one inch away from the incinerated flesh and bones.

Aggi analyzed was how nothing else was burned, not the rug, not the chair nearby, nothing.  She rationalized that at least no one around her would burn if she forgot to wear deodorant.  

She worried about the greasy, oily goop that spread from a burned body.  Her mom said the melted liquid from burned flesh and bones was like glue, and the smell was horrific.  Even dogs were said not to eat food that had been splattered with the stuff.  Her mother warned her that there should never be any burned body goop in the house under any circumstances.  She made Aggi keep a full box of thirty-six deodorants in her room, so to never run out and foul up her precious house.

Aggi took the photo of Mrs. Potts from the wall.  It was at the end of the line of pictures taped up along the hallway wall.  After all, there were so many, she didn’t think anyone would miss it, and she was right. 

There has to be a way to make sure I don’t burn.

 Aggi had been afraid of exploding and burning her whole life.

 I need to take control of this. 

She went to the library.

The library was an interesting place.  Lots of people and no one talked.  The point was not to interact with anyone else.  It was an incredibly majestic building.  The pure architecture of it was priceless.  Walking up the steps was entering into the minds of all the people whose words filled the cavernous rooms.  Because Aggi had always been told she was stupid, she felt embarrassed to be there.  She thought her stupidity was visible on the outside of her, so she avoided eye contact.  That way, no one would know how dumb she was and kick her out.  She did not look at the librarian’s eyes when she asked about the picture for fear the lady would see her incompetence.  Aggi slid the picture over to the librarian, across the massive wooden counter, and explained she was doing a research project for school.  As librarians always know, the librarian pointed to where the books about medical oddities were located. 

Aggi shyly said thank you, and slipped away.

She pored over the books, absorbing every bit of information.  When it was something she was interested in, it was like a voracious appetite that could not be filled.  Aggi loved anything having to do with the human body and science.  The library was filled with rows and rows of unbelievable facts. 

Why isn’t the whole world crashing through the doors to be in here?  I won’t tell anyone, so I can have this place to myself. 

Later, Aggi found a medical book on autopsies.  So that no one would know what she was looking at, she squatted into a hidden corner, and started flipping through the pages.  Though it was disgusting, she could not put the book down.  They used tools that looked like they came from a gardener.  Huge clippers to cut through ribs, and saws to cut around the head and lift the top off like a bowl.  She read about how each organ was removed and weighed.  Even the brain was sliced on a deli meat cutting machine and analyzed. 

Later in the mortuary, the eyes were stuffed with cotton and sewn shut, along with the mouth. 

Remembering what her parents said about selling her to science made her sick to her stomach. 

I must stay alive.  I won’t let them do this to me. 

It was too much information.  It was making her shaky.  Aggi needed to go outside and breathe fresh, cool air.  To make sure the book would be there when she returned, she tucked it in with the books at the bottom of the bookshelf – backwards, so the library code was hidden. 

It was a perfect day outside.  It felt so cleansing.  The air was crisp and the sun was bright.  The leaves were turning the brilliant colors of fall.  Purple crocuses were poking out of the ground, and the fire bushes were bright scarlet.  After three deep cleansing breaths, Aggi felt a little stronger.  She felt a little more empowered.  She felt a little more grown up.  She had done something for herself at the library and was proud of it. 

Every day I must be stronger.  I can do it… I can do it… 

Aggi was standing straighter.  She rolled her shoulders back and held her head up.  She almost had a bounce in her walk as she went home for dinner.

When she got home, she was still smiling. 

As Aggi walked in the door, her mom sassed, “What’s wrong with you?  What are you up to?  Wipe that smirk off your face and get ready for dinner.  Everyone is waiting for you.”

Aggi deflated. 

Her confidence melted from her. 

Her mouth froze shut. 

She was silent. 

It was easy for Aggi to mentally put herself in another world.  It was a protective device.  She took a breath and released to a feeling that cannot be described other than it was instant.  Pain, hurt, sorrow, or any other things that were too hard to bear at the moment were removed.  Something may even be happening to her physically, yet a defense mechanism allowed her to move ever so slightly away from her body and continue on, sometimes with extreme indifference. 

Instead of living it, she went somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Snapping back happened quickly.

Aggi wanted to run. 

She wanted to run to Emma’s house.  She wanted to hear kind words.  She wanted to feel the kindness of Emma’s heart.  She would go get some rose petals to feel better.

Day 22:  October 18 – 343 days to freedom

I am nothing.  I have no existence.  I have no color, no reflection, nothing.  When I look in the mirror, I am hideous.  I am a monster.  I am dark inside like the color black.  I should have been named “Dark”.  That is how I feel.  I will call myself “Dark”.

Friday Scary Story, May 15, 2015

Deja vu.

I've been here before.  I've done this before.

I always end in the same spot.  I sit in the same booth.  In the same cafe.

People think deja vu isn't real.  It is.  One has haunted me for awhile. I need to stop it.  

There's always this particular man sitting at the counter.  His black hat shields his face from my sight. His heavy black raincoat falls to his ankles.  He has shiny black shoes.

He's here.  He scares me.  

I'm going to finish this deja vu.  I need to see what happens.

He coughed...  This is where I leave.  But, I'm not leaving.

It's okay.  Nothing happened.


Wait.


Something just fell out of his pocket.

It's a severed ear.  It landed in the blood drops leading up to his stool. I never noticed them before.  His coat side pocket is bulging.  It is wet.  It is dripping.  The pool collecting on the floor is red.

He just turned and looked at me.  I never let it go this far.

He's smiling.

I know what happens.   I remember now.


He kills me.

He puts some of me in his pocket, with the rest of them.

Friday Scary Story, April 24, 2015

Alaska.  Known for it's beauty.

I wanted to experience it.  I wanted to prove I could travel alone. Take care of myself.

It was a mistake.

Two hundred and sixty miles North of Anchorage, I needed gas.  I was tired, and I needed a hot shower.

Mobile homes, a gas station, and a shot up "Motel" sign.  It seemed good enough.

When the kid at the front desk told me there were no rooms available, I was offended.  There were no cars, other than mine.  I forced the situation.  He gave in.  

I got a room.  It looks like no one has been in here for years.  There are dead bugs all over.

I should of left sooner.
 
I tried, but the kid said he couldn't help me any more.  Then he looked over my shoulder, and stopped talking.

I turned around.  Across the room, there were five people sitting at a bar.  They were staring at me.  I felt fear.  One got up and slowly walked past me.  He stared hard into my eyes, smiled, then spit.  He spit out a fingernail. An entire fingernail.


The kid won't look at me any more.


I'm back in my room, hiding.  My car is gone, they've moved it.  

Outside my window, I can see them.  They are skinning and carving up animals.  I see the pieces.  They are in a pile.

There are feet.

Severed human feet.

Friday Scary Story, April 17, 2015

Photos.

They should make you smile.  Feel good.

But, I feel sick.  I feel crazy.

I've felt something has been next to me, against me, close to me, for the last week.  But, when I look, there's nothing there.  

I didn't know what to do, so I took pictures.

I grabbed my phone, and began taking selfies.  I took one in every room of the house.



I'm not alone.



There was something behind me.  It's in every photo.  A dark shadow of a person.

I'm scared.  It's 3:00 am in the morning.  I've been up all night.  I felt the shadow behind me.  I felt it getting closer.

It's here right now.  It's breathing on my neck.  I can feel it's icy breath.  I can smell it's putrid stench.

I just took another selfie.

It's not a shadow any more.  It's a man.  His head is close to mine. He's looking at me.  I know him.  He's the man that killed my mother.

He's been dead for ten years.

Friday Scary Story, April 10, 2015

Four minutes.

It takes four minutes for the train I ride to go through the tunnel.

At minute three, I knew something was wrong.  

The train lost power. It went pitch black.  It kept rolling, and stopped just outside the tunnel entrance.

Not a word was spoken from the twenty or so of us in the train.


Deafening silence.


The world is blanketed in thick layers of grey powder.

The surrounding forest is nothing but rows of bare trunks sticking out of the ground like coarse hair.  No life.  Nothing.


The passengers all scrambled out.  Fighting.  Frantic.


I refused to move.  


I don't know where the other passengers went, but I know where they are now.  They don't look right.  There is bubbly red foam dripping from their noses and mouths.  One of them is chewing on a small hand.  Another one, has long blond hair hanging from a piece of skin in his mouth.

They're scratching to get in.

They're leaving pieces of skin on the windows.


What do I do?

What do I do?

Friday Scary Story, April 3, 2015

The prologue and the first chapter of my book, Aggi.  

I hope you enjoy it.

Prologue:  The Interrogation

The interrogation had been going on for hours.  The room was damp and smelled like mold.  A cheap table and fold out metal chairs were the only items in the room.  The fluorescent light made everyone look sickly.  Aggi had her legs pulled up to her chest.  Her thin, pale blond hair, clumped together, made her appear almost bald.  Band-Aids were wrapped on her fingers to help her from chewing her skin bloody.  Her watery blue eyes stared vacantly at the ground.

“Explain this so I can understand.”

“I am so cold.  I hate to be cold.  Can’t we go somewhere else?”

“I need you to explain why this was in your pocket.”

“I really have to go to the bathroom.”

“After we get some information from you.  Look, you seem like a nice kid, but you need to help us to understand.”

“It’s for good luck.”

“Good luck?  How would this give you good luck?”

Aggi’s eyes met the detective’s.  She stared hard into his eyes with a puzzled look, then stared back at the floor.

“I don’t know.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you in your life, but this isn’t normal.  This isn’t right, if you are…”

Her head came up quickly at an uncanny angle and her dull blue eyes suddenly sparkled.

“When I went to see her in her coffin, I waited until everyone left.  I took out my rose clipper and snipped off her finger.  It was only a little one.  Who would care?  She was my friend and I needed to keep a part of her with me.  You know, so I would not forget her.  That’s all.”

Aggi then walked over to the door and stared at it, waiting to be let out.  The room was silent.

Agatha

            It blended in with the ground it laid on, but Aggi saw it.  It was a small dried up dead baby bird.  The ants had eaten the eyes out.  She knelt down over it, and picked it up.  She removed all the ants and shook off the lose debris.  She felt intense sadness.  Her eyes welled up with tears. 

            “It’s okay little one.  You are not alone any more.”

            Aggi reached into her pocket, carefully unfolded a small piece of foil, and wrapped the little corpse in it.  Then she wrapped it with a cloth handkerchief that Emma had made her. 

            “We are going to go for a little walk before I bring you home, okay little one?”  Aggi tilted her head waiting for an answer.  She seemed to get one.  Satisfied, she continued her walk. 

            Later she would put it in her closet against the back wall, lined up with all the others she had collected, so they would not be alone or scared or forgotten.

             Emma was always making new hankies for Aggi. She didn’t know why they were always disappearing.  But, as Emma put it, “All young ladies should carry a handkerchief.”  They were beautiful, white linen squares with colored embroidery along the edges and an “A” in one corner for “Aggi”. 

A

            Her name was Agatha. She was named this because her mother told her that all she did was cause agony in her life.

Life, as Aggi saw it, was different plains, different layers of existence.  Aggi did not know what layer she belonged on or where she fit in.  She wished she knew.  She wished she fit in.  She wished she belonged. 

Aggi was an observer.  She sat for hours watching people moving around her.  She concentrated on each one.  She studied their mannerisms, behavior and their eyes.  She tried to figure out what their life was like.  How they lived.  How they fit into this world. 

Aggi got home late, so she became invisible as she walked in.  She did not know her parents could see her.  As early as she could remember, they told her she could turn invisible whenever she wanted to.  They thought it was funny.  Aggi knew nothing else. 

They had kept her isolated.  She was their experiment to see what they could get away with.  It was purely for their entertainment. 

Aggi lived in a quiet, negative world.  Either her parents didn’t talk to her, or they were telling her how she did something wrong, or was just bad.  Her little brother never spoke.

Her mother and father kept pretty pictures ripped out of fashion magazines taped up and down the hallway to Aggi’s room.  They told her she was ugly because she was a bad person.  When she started being good she would turn pretty.  Whenever Aggi got the courage up, she would look into the mirror to see if she had changed.

Most people would say she’s a beautiful girl.  Her baby fine, soft blond hair wisps about her shoulders.  She is average height and very slim like a runway model. She has a perfect complexion, flawless in fact.  Her eyes stand out the most, crystal blue eyes that can change in an instant from penetrating to vacant.  Girls are jealous and boys want her.  When she sees herself in a mirror, she sees a warped monster as a reflection.

Aggi does all the chores in the house.  Her parents are pigs.  They drop their garbage wherever they are at the moment.  Her parents love American cheese wrapped slices.  The clear cellophane is everywhere, along with her father’s contact lens.  He takes them out and just drops them where he stands.  Sometimes he thinks it is funny to flick used ones on her. 

Her parents never clean.  They say their time is worth too much for that.  The house is either disgusting or Aggi has just cleaned it.  She cannot stand mess.  It makes her mind foggy, and she can’t think.  Her parents have her bury most of the trash in the yard.  They say it is “weed block”.  Aggi puts anything else in black garbage bags and slides it under various neighbors’ hedges at night. 

She cleans up every night before she goes to bed.  She is always so tired.  She sets her alarm for 11:50 P.M.  She then places it under her pillow so she does not bother her parents.  She does this ritual every night. 

When Aggi was little, her mother told her to stop crying, or at midnight her face would freeze like that forever.  To prove it to her, they showed her deformed pictures of people and pointed out deformed people on the street.  They said they froze like that.  Her parents taped these pictures up and down the walls of the hallway leading up to her room.

When the alarm went off, she would position herself, without expression, and hope she did not sneeze.  After midnight, she would set her alarm for school.

Aggi’s world was so ugly at times. 

She felt divided in half.  One moment she felt herself walking in a world filled with Emma, kindness, and possibilities.  The next moment she felt herself stifled and trapped in her parent’s world, where horror was constantly shoved into her face.    

“We are donating your body to science, you know.  We own you until you are eighteen,” her mom said, with her head tilted down and eyes peering up from the top of her head.

“If we piece you out, we should make a pretty penny.”  After a few moments of silence, her parents exploded with laughter and started poking at each other like kids in grade school.

Aggi said nothing.

The morning after they told her about donating her body, there were pictures taped up of cadavers in various stages of dissection.  They were very disturbing.  Some of the pictures took a minute to understand.  The head sitting in a tin cooking pan with the face skin removed and folded over on itself was one of the pictures.  Another was the skin of an old man’s face resting on a stainless steel counter.  It looked like a rubbery Halloween mask.  Her parents wrote messages on paper and taped them beside the photos.  One scribbled message said, “I’m coming to get you!” in red ink. 

She wished her life were different.

Aggi watched the families on television and wished for a life like that.  Her favorite show was the Brady Bunch reruns.  They were a perfect family.  Especially the scrumptious dinners they had.  They all sat together and passed around heaping platters of food.  She loved the way their forks tinked on the plates.  She wanted a family like that. 

Aggi would sneak out at night so she could walk the streets; peeking from a distance into the lit windows; imagining the happy life the people had in there.  Especially when it was a cool crisp night, and the smell of logs burning in the fireplace swept through the night air.  She imagined people huddled around the fireplace laughing, and playing games.  Sometimes not speaking at all.  Families who are just content, safe and loved. 

Aggi’s heart was heavy.  She wanted someone to love, and to be loved back.  She created her own family.  Aggi looked through old Sears and JCPenny store catalogs.  She found pictures of kids who she wished were her older brothers and sisters.  They became real to her.  So no one would find her paper family, she folded them into origami designs. She kept them on her nightstand.  They were her secret family.  Her mom would sometimes come into Aggi’s room just to knock one over and watch Aggi squirm as she crushed it under her foot.  Her mom knew they were important to her, she just didn’t know why.  As it would fall to the floor, Aggi would hold her breath. 

Please be okay… Please be okay… 

As her mom would grind it into the floor, Aggi would cover her ears to muffle the screams she heard from her origami person.  She would close her eyes hard and say nothing. 

“You are so weird. What did I ever do to deserve you?” her mother would blurt out. “Why didn’t I just abort you? I tried to, you know. I stuck soap up me to wash you out, but you wouldn’t die.”

No matter how many times she heard this, it would hurt every time.

Often, as her mother would leave the room, Aggi would hear her whine, “What am I being punished for?”

Every time it happened, Aggi would give herself a few moments to feel sad over the death, and then she would push away the sadness. She had work to do.  She would get one of the little coffins she made from old cereal boxes, and would bury her family member outside, back along the fence. 

The last time, it started to rain. Aggi tilted her head back to let the rain roll down her face.  It mixed with her tears. She memorized the moment.  She wanted to remember to never hurt people like her parents hurt her.

When she didn’t want to remember the hurtful actions or words of others, she would write them down on a piece of paper to quiet them from her mind.  Then she would destroy the paper, so no one else would know her thoughts and feelings.  Sometimes she would eat the paper, so her stomach acids would slowly destroy it.  Make it disappear.

Only one person had ever known that Aggi wrote.  That was Emma. 

Emma told Aggi, that she was a writer.

Day 1:  September 26 – 365 days to freedom.

Today is my birthday.  It is not special.  It never is. 

Emma gave me this little book to write in so it is harder for me to eat the pieces of paper I write on.  It is my birthday present.  It is the only one I ever remember getting.  She meant well.  I will write in it.  I will do it for her.

Some days I cannot smile. 

My face is so heavy. 

My heart is heavy. 

I feel the corners of my lips turn down. 

I cannot stop it. 

What does this mean?  Am I crazy?  My soul is pulling to the ground.  It is so strong.  I feel like letting go sometimes.  I feel like letting my body fall to the ground.  Is that death?  Would I die?  I am afraid to do it.  I am so alone.

Aggi

Friday Scary Story, March 20, 2015

3:00 am.

Something happened.

An explosion made my head numb.  The house shook hard.  Then silence.

No cars.
No birds.
Nothing.

I couldn't move for hours.

Then the sound.  A low beating, like marching, started in the distance.  

Now... it's outside my window.

It's like people shuffling their feet along the pavement.  It's mixed with some kind of clicking.

I cracked the curtain, and looked out.

It's people.  They are flowing down the street in a thick mass. Hundreds.  The people that fall, never get up.  They are ground into the pavement from the relentless footsteps, now on top of them. Their blood is turning everything red.

They don't look right.
They don't move right.
The clicking is their teeth.  Their mouths are opening and closing like they are eating, but they're not.

They look dead.

They are gathering under the power lines in the park.  There are thousands.  The lines are humming loudly, and getting louder.

I'm not moving.

Friday Scary Story, March 13, 2015

It's cold.

I can see my breath.

I'm the only one who can claim her body.

I thought morgues were clean.  It's dirty.

She's waiting in the corner of the room.  On a cart.  Mixed in with other dead people.

Their faces are covered.  Her's is not.  It looks like rubber.  There is cotton in her mouth.  I can see it through the stitches trying to hold her lips closed.

I reached under the fabric covering her body, and touched her hand one last time.  I felt long finger nails.

I always told her not to bite her nails.  She bit them bloody.  The hand I touched, had nails like an old dog.  Thick and curled.

I lifted the sheet higher and followed up her arm.

It's not attached.
It's not her arm.
It's different skin.

The man who let me in, still had his back to me.  I lifted the sheet even more.  The legs were different, too.   Shriveled old man legs. Too small for her large body.  They rested inches away from her torso.  I could see the bone.

I need to leave.  I need to get help.

I am sweating.  I feel like I am going to fall.  My ears are echoing.

The man is now watching me.


He is smiling, as only a monster can.

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I am honored to be on their site!  Please check it out, and all the other scary, creepy books and movies they share!

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Friday Scary Story, February 13, 2015

Little tiny teeth.

At first I could not figure out what it was from... But, now I do.

Little sharp teeth.  Doll teeth.

When I was young, I never liked her.  I never played with her.  She was from a second hand store.  Someone got rid of her, and she ended up with me.

I used to wonder what the marks were that went up and down the walls.  They were from her.

Now I see the marks on my sister.  She doesn't know how she got them.


I do.


The doll has gone too far.


I have plucked them all out.  They are lined up in a row.  Twelve sharpened baby teeth.  I wonder what child they once belonged to.  A morbid Victorian way of dealing with death.


She can't hurt me, or anyone else any more.

Friday Scary Story, January 30, 2015

Blood.

I smell it.

My body is sticky with it.

It's dark.  I can't see anything.

I don't know where I am.  I don't know how I got here.

I'm afraid to move.   When I did, something else moved beside me.  I don't know what it is.

I'm so scared.  I can barely breath.  I make myself, so I don't faint.

What happened?  Where am I?  

There's so much fear in my body, my heart might stop.


Something moved again.  It's under me.


Oh God... What have I done?
Please God... make this stop.  I want to be home.  I want to be home in bed, waking up to go to work. I will never complain again.  God please, let me go home.

I remember...

I remember... I went out.  I met friends.  We went drinking.  Then... black.




I feel a face beside me.  My finger caught in its open mouth.  I felt teeth.

The smell is so strong.

I want to live.

Friday Scary Story, January 23, 2015

A child.

Innocent, but sometimes frightening.

I've been seeing a child.  She looks to be about five years old.  She has long blond hair, and wears a summer dress.

It's winter.

I live in the woods.  There's no one nearby.

She's alone.

She never speaks.  She keeps at a distance.  

If I get close, she evaporates into nothing.

She wants me to do something.  She's visiting me for a reason.  Maybe I am the only one who can see her.

Three days ago,  she started coming closer.  I could see dirt on her dress and face.

She never smiles.

Yesterday, she was at the end of the driveway.

Today she's outside my window.  Looking in at me.

I went outside.  She let me follow her to the end of the road.

It ends at the forest.  She walked about ten feet in.

When I caught up with her, she slowly sat on the ground.  I sat by her side.

She looked real, she looked alive.  I knew she wasn't.

She looked at me.  Then at the ground in front of us.  Frantically, she started digging.  I found myself digging with her.  My fingers started bleeding.  My hands became numb from the cold.  But, they were out of my control.  They kept on digging.  Soon, long blond strands of hair tangled between my fingers.

I wept.  I knew what was there.

When her face was exposed, I was able to stop.  Her ghost was no longer beside me.

I never saw her again.

Friday Scary Story, January 16,2015

Coffins.

They are for bodies to rot in.  Disintegrate.  Putrefy.

The coffin at the end of the room is small.

Tiny... like a child's.  It's not.  It's my mother's.


I want to open it.

I want to look inside.


She died before I could see her.  They found her on the street.  She was alone.

No one is here with me.  No one would know if I opened it.

Time is ticking.

I only have an hour.  I only have an hour, before she's taken away and burned.

They say it wasn't pretty.  I should remember how she was, not how she looks right now.  Street people.  No one cares.  They are garbage.

I hear her voice.  She's asking me to help her.  It's a whisper... but, I hear her.

What if she's still alive?  What if she needs me?  What if she's too weak to open the casket, and she's burned alive?

Questions are tearing at my brain.  I feel mad.



I did it.  I opened it.



I should of come earlier.  I should have listened...

The top fabric is torn and shredded.  Her fingernails pushed away from her bone.  I closed her mouth and eyelids.

I'm sorry, Mom.

Friday Scary Story, January 9, 2015

Fear.

The kind that makes you sick.  Makes you vomit.

Something is in my house.  It doesn't have a form.  It has a presence.

I feel it behind me.
I feel it beside me.
It whispers by my ear.  I don't know what it's saying.

I asked it to leave.

I made it mad.

Every night now, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.  It stops at my bedroom door.  It stares at me.  I think it waits for me to fall asleep.

Last night, it touched me.  It touched my hair.  It was beside me on the bed.  I ran as fast as I could, out of the room.

I told it to leave.

I made it angry.

It pushes me now, when I am at the top of the stairs.  It bangs on the walls.  It opens and closes doors.  It is getting violent.  It is getting loud.  I am so scared.

I am leaving tonight.  I will never come back.

Scary Friday Story, January 2, 2015

Clowns.

They scare me.

What's behind the makeup?  What's behind the mask?

Traveling carnivals.  I don't like them.  That's where some live.

My mother made me go.  She forced me.

That's the first time I saw him.  He tried to make me laugh.  I wanted nothing to do with him.  I think that is why he follows me now.

He leaves me presents.  Dead things he kills.

Every night I peak out my window.  He stands there, smiling up at me from the ground below.

Jake went missing three days ago, but I know where he is.  I saw the clown drag him.  He dragged him away.

He watched me... as I watched him.  I wanted to save him.  I didn't know how.

No one has found him.  No one believes me.

The clown stays closer now.  He taps on my window.

He wants to get in.