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.

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 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, 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, 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.

Friday Scary Story, November 28, 2014

I didn't remember what it was like to have two hands.  It had been so long.  You just get used to it.

I could not believe it when I got the call that it was going to happen. I was going to get a new hand.  They found the perfect match.

I imagined looking normal.  No more stares.  No more whispers.

I would be beautiful.  I would blend in.

Freedom.

It went well.  It took right away.  I am only a little bloated from the medicine that keeps my body from rejecting it.

It is a little bigger than my other hand.

It has been three months.  The doctors are impressed with my progress.  I am not so sure any more.

I asked them about what has been happening, but they don't listen.

No one is listening.  No one will hear me.

It moves.  It moves by itself.  Not a twitch.  A real movement, that I am not doing.

It does things.

It left me a message.  It said "Leave".  It wrote it.  It wrote it to me.

I don't want it any more.  I want it off.



I am free.

It is in the sink.  It won't talk to me anymore.  I am going to put it in the disposal.

I will shut it up forever.

Friday Scary Story, November 21, 2014

Severed parts.


I thought it was fake.

But, it's real.

Something fell and tangled in my hair.  It's a piece of an ear.  A person's ear.  A human's ear.  I don't know why...  I don't know where it came from...

I am on a hike.  All by myself.

Bad idea.

I didn't tell anyone where I was going.

Bad idea.

I don't know how long I have been standing here.  I can't move.  I see other parts mixed with the leaves on the ground.  They are all small. Someone is cutting them into cubes.

What do I do?

Run?

Where?  Which way?  I don't remember how I got here.  It all looks the same.

I was so stressed.  I wanted to get away from the world, from people.

Now, I wish I was smothered...  I wish I was squished by people...  I wish I was not alone.


The pieces don't smell.

They must be fresh.