Horror
The Chocolate Monger
Robert Mumford had always loved chocolate. He had chocolate every day in as many different ways as he could. Chocolate donuts at breakfast. Chocolate soda at lunch. At dinner, he had chocolate milk and chocolate cake for dessert. Mumford’s Chocolate Limited did a good business selling refined chocolate concentrate syrup to manufacture chocolate masterpieces. At Mumford’s, a huge tank of chocolate syrup did not wait long to distribute its contents to manufacturers that turned the sweet liquid into money.
By Mark Stigers 5 years ago in Fiction
The Kindness of a Stranger
Mr. Tobin was ordinary. He was quiet, a little odd, but he was ordinary. I remember thinking that every day on my way home. I waved just like always, the neighborly thing to do. Pulling slowly towards my driveway, I noticed he was watering his flowers. This is how I passed him most days, slowly working his way up and down the rows of his late wife’s garden. How long had she been gone now? Two… three years? I was pulled swiftly from my thoughts when I had finally reached my house and Ranger bounded around the front yard. I rushed out of the car quickly to keep his giant paws from tearing into my brand-new SUV. He was still a puppy and brought a whole new meaning to house training. I caught him mid-jump, catching his legs just above his paws. Ranger was only 6 months old, but already toward over my small five-foot frame. What was I thinking getting a Great Dane? He made me feel safe though. That is what I had wanted, needed. Despite his overzealous personality, he was doing wonderful in his training. Once in his work harness, he was all business. I slipped the harness over his head to begin our evening walk.
By Paige Baker5 years ago in Fiction
Faux Glamour
Trudging along through the dank dusk air, he feels his limbs growing increasingly heavy. The forest seems to be an infinite expanse of trees and unforgiving brush. For hours he had walked, growing increasingly desperate and antsy as he seemed to go in circles with no end in sight. As he accepts his defeat and begins to settle on the lush floor, he hears a light sound, almost a twinkle. He lays back, head pressed to the floor and stares at the sky imagining the stars calling him home. He must be crazy, must be imagining the sound, but then he hears it again.
By Jessica Braatz5 years ago in Fiction
The End
This was the end. He knew it. There was no doubt in his mind, he would live out his last moments in this dilapidated old barn. He checked the door once again, it was securely locked, the bar in place. There was no way whatever it was out there was getting in at him, not this time. Was it really what it had looked like? The fur, the teeth, the sheer size and bulk of the creature that had savaged him that couldn’t possibly have been what he thought it was.
By Dave Rowlands5 years ago in Fiction
Rigor Mortis
Monday 5.15pm I am tired. My head is heavy. I walk towards the station. Nearing in the distance I hear the click clack of the electronic station gates, those blind little demons that suck our tickets into their bottomless voids or spit them out and let us pass. I admire their burning intellect, to know which ones to swallow and which to spit! The inexhaustible force that propels the tickets through the electronic gates is like the force within which I am carried towards the train station, towards the train. I walk into this vortex like a zombie, roboticised, lobotomised. The lights are on but nobody’s home—brain numb—unaware of where I’ve been or where I’m going, only vaguely aware of this force hurling me toward my destination.
By Anna Bennetts5 years ago in Fiction
A Murder Of Crows
Another day was being annihilated by the creeping hand of approaching dusk and the 12 crows flew toward the old red barn. With keen eyes and the blue-black sheen of their feathers, the wise birds found a perch. They surveyed the area and locked their gaze upon the open front of the barn. After some squawking, shaking and a little hesitation, they all flew into the big structure.
By Carl Parker5 years ago in Fiction
Keys and Cake
Previously, Part 1: From A Distance Part 2 Dear Diary, I’m far past the place where I can distinguish what is or is not a silly idea. I just want to say that there’s something distinctly comforting to me in carrying around this old-fashioned room key.
By Paula Shablo5 years ago in Fiction
The Homestead
I never intended to return here. As I drove down the bumpy lane I realized I’d been holding my breath, my knuckles white as I clung to the steering wheel with a death grip. I put the radio on, hoping to calm myself with the latest summer hits, but somehow the channels were scrambled and an angry male voice spat fire and brimstone through the crackling speakers. I turned it off. I didn’t need any more reminders of my destination.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Footsteps
The sun sat low in the west when Kyle arrived at the house for the first time. The wrap-around gravel drive arced beneath a massive oak that had begun to shed its leaves, and a cool breeze set some dancing down to the shabby lawn. Kyle began to open the side door of the Econoline van when his mom interrupted him.
By Anthony Criswell5 years ago in Fiction
