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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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.