Friday Scary Story, October 24, 2014

It's finally quiet.

The banging has stopped.

If I move an inch...  He will escape.  He is so much stronger than me.

I am the only one here.  Everyone else is gone.

I am getting tired.  He is counting on that.

Think.  Think.  Think.

I thought he had forgotten about me.  That he had decided to leave me alone.

Puppets.

Some people think they are fun.  I don't know why.

He belonged to my grandmother.  She kept him locked up.   I wish I had never let him out.

One of his glass eyes is cracked down the middle.  But, I think he can still see.

I tricked him into the closet.  He's going to be angry.



I wish I was someone else...

Prologue and first chapter of my newest book Queeny, The Monster Maker

Prologue

The room was hazy.  Blue smoke drifted in the air.

The air felt moist.  It coated your skin.  It suffocated your pores.  

A single light bulb hung from a frayed electrical cord.  The bulb was tinged yellow from cigarette tar and nicotine.  A fly stuck to it.  It had flown too close. 

It desperately tried to free itself.  It could not.

A raspy, sinister whistling of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” swallowed the room’s silence.

Delicate hands sewed two thick, fleshy pieces of material together.  The needle was large.  The thread, a heavy fishing line.

The material was tough to sew.  It looked like skin.

The stitches were crude. 

When the sewing needle struggled to get free, the whistling stopped.

As the needle released, the hands began to sew again.

The whistling continued where it left off.

The next piece sewn onto the patchwork had hair on it, long human hair.

 Red

Decomposing bodies littered the ground in different stages of rot, and putrefaction.  Bodies propped here and there, some partially buried.  It looked like mannequin pieces littering a park.  The strong smell of death wound its way through the trees and brush.  Swarms of flies filled the air.  It was not a place of violence, nor a place of worship, but a place of study.  The study of body decomposition provided by volunteers who freely gave their bodies after death, for others to learn.  It was called the Body Farm.  

Red, a young man, poured over the information on his iPad.  He was studying the Body Farm at the University of Tennessee.  He had always wanted to study Forensic Science, but had changed careers when his father died.  It had been ten years since his father’s murder, and he had decided that it was time to move on.  It was time to start living for himself, instead of living to catch whoever killed his father.  He had joined the police force like his father, but for that purpose alone.  Now, it was time to let go.  He wanted to find a love, a sweet love, and start a family.  He wanted to be a dad, just like his own.

He lived in a small town, so it was hard to start over there for him.  He had applied to the University of Tennessee Forensic Program, and gotten accepted to start school in the fall.  He had been preparing his mind for the new adventure.  Learning to let go.  He had never lived away from his hometown. 

Being a kind soul, a gentle soul, sometimes hurt him.  He could be too trusting when it came to people.  His family used to joke that it was written all over him, and that he was a mark for women with hidden agendas.  Red had been seeing counselors since his father’s death, and had also been working on boundaries, especially when it came to females.

Red walked over to his closet, and opened the door.  Hanging on the wall before him, in a place of honor, was a small deep blue velvet cape.  His name was written across the back in big gold glitter letters.  It was a hero’s cape.  His mom made it for him on his fifth birthday.  He wore it, to fight monsters.  Red touched the glittery letters and smiled. 

He was ready for his new life.

You can find it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Linda-Scarlett/e/B009WU9DPM/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Friday Scary Story, October 17, 2014

I take the train eight times, every week.  It goes through a long underground tunnel.

A massive graveyard covers the hilltop above.

When it rains real hard, I wonder if water that passes over rotting bodies drips down over the train.

I don't want the water to touch me.  No offense to the dead, I just don't want their juices on me.

The last two weeks, as soon as the train enters the tunnel, I hear a child crying.  No one else seems to hear her.

After the first week, I figured she was dead.  

Sometimes... I hear the dead.

Sometimes... I see them.

She told me, she was looking for her hand.  She needed to be whole.  She had gathered all the other parts the man had cut off, but she couldn't find her hand.  There was no blood, but I could then see how the different parts of her where not put together as well as they could be.

I don't want this task, I don't want it at all.  My mother always said, "You can't help the gifts you were born with."

Tomorrow, I am going to see if I can find her hand.

Friday Scary Story, October 10, 2014

I think I need help.

Something is terribly wrong.

It started last night.

It started with a stupid saying people had when I was little.  They said, never look into the mirror and say "Mary Black" three times in a row.

Mary Black had been murdered a long time ago, for being a hideous serial killer.

I was so bored last night.  I couldn't sleep.  I was sick of the computer, and I hate T.V.

Brushing my teeth in front of the mirror,  reminded me of the childhood dare.

I felt foolish.

I repeated the words three times... Mary Black, Mary Black, Mary Black...

I stared hard into my pupils, daring something to happen.

It did.

The room darkened around me.  I didn't turn away.

I tried, but I couldn't stop what I was doing.

I felt nauseous.  My eyes were no longer mine.  They were the eyes of a monster.

My face looked like it was melting off my bones, my mouth dropped against my neck as if unhinged from my jaw.

I ran out of the bathroom, my jaw flapped against my body.  I grabbed it and held it shut.  I ran to my bed.  I covered myself, until the air became to hot to breathe.

Why did I do it?  Why did I do it?  Why?

I am not sure when I fell asleep.

I woke up a few hours ago.  My jaw is sore, I am afraid to open my mouth.


What would you do?

Friday Scary Story, October 3, 2014

Sometimes dreams feel real...

Sometimes I don't know if I am in one, or not...

Three days ago, I had a dream.  I was staring at an old abandoned farmhouse.  It was overcast and drizzly.

I was with two small children.  We needed shelter.

We stood there staring at the house.  I felt a presence was there.  I felt like something was watching us.

I had to check it out, before letting the children go too close.

I felt sick as I walked closer to the screen door.

I was afraid.

I could feel the entity.  It was trying to scare me away.

It was so strong.

My breathe was shallow.  I wanted to run.  But, I stared hard into the discolored screen.

I saw it.  It was a women, she was only a few inches away from my face.

She was a ghost.

I stared at her eyes.  They were so familiar.  They were the only thing that had color.

Suddenly, I felt like I was melting.  Heat was pouring over me.

I realized, her eyes were mine.

I was staring at me.

It's been three days since I believe I had a dream...

I am afraid to look in the mirror.

Friday Scary Story, September 26

Do you listen to your gut?

If it says run?  Do you run?

Sometimes I don't.



After work, I waited by the elevator.

It is the sixth floor.

From the corner of my eye, I see a dark object.  It glides over unnaturally, as if floating.

It is a man.

He is extremely thin, and tall.  He is so hunched over that he looks like a candy cane.

It is 100 degrees outside, and it is odd that he is heavily cloaked in black, and is wearing a wide brimmed black felt hat.

My intuition warnings are loud.  I feel very strongly that I should not get on the elevator with him.

I ignore my gut, and tell myself nothing will happen.

I get on.  My gut still hurts.

As we slowly hit floor four, he unkinks his body and stands straight and tall.  Directly facing me.  He stares me right in the eyes, and says, "I could get off on the fourth floor and jump off the building."

I do not move.  I do not respond.  I do not want to imprint on this man's mind, or being.

The elevator stops at floor three.  A woman get on and stands between us.  As she steps in, he shrinks back into his candy cane shape, hunched over and pathetic.

What would you do?

Every Friday... A scary story.

Every Friday... I am going to post a frightening experience.

All I ask, is that you tell me, what you would do?

Would you run?

Would you fight?

Would you freeze up and...


I look forward to tomorrow my friends.