What’s a horror trope that you are sick to death of reading? Tropes that are simply overused?

Looking for a horror e-book that does something different? Check out Terror in Brief, a collection of 200 horror stories that are just two sentences long. If you enjoy reading these incredibly short horror stories, download the other five e-books in the Terror in Brief series.

Terror in Brief
A collection of 200 chilling horror stories that are just two sentences long. Though these horrific stories are very short indeed, they may still give you the creeps. Encounter corrupt people of pure evil, come face to face with bloodcurdling monsters and beings and bear witness to deadly phenomena.

Terror in Brief: Volume II
Another collection of 200 frightening horror stories that are just two sentences in length. These tales may be extremely short, but they can still induce fear and panic. Meet the deranged and murderous, witness what beasts and spirits can do and watch as terrifying incidents wreck people’s lives.

Terror in Brief: Volume III
A third collection of 200 fear-inducing two-sentence horror stories. Don’t write these extremely short stories off just yet as they can be quite scary. See what the worst people are capable of, watch out for violent creatures and otherworldly lifeforms and behold strange, life-threatening events.

Terror in Brief: Volume IV
Yet another collection of 200 horror stories, each made up of just two sentences. Though these tales are on the shorter side, they can still be frightening. Watch as people commit wicked and murderous acts, behold the savagery of living things that aren’t human and see how unfortunate situations can prove tragic.

Terror in Brief: Volume V
A fifth collection of 200 two-sentence horror stories. Though these bitesized tales are incredibly short, they can still freak you out and put you on edge. Read extremely short stories about deranged creeps, remorseless killers, reckless beings and terrifying occurrences.

Terror in Brief: Volume VI
In this sixth collection of two-sentence horror stories, there are 200 extremely short tales of terror. They may be over in a second or two, but they can still produce fear, dread and disgust. Read stories about lawless brutes, thoughtless killers, harmful non-humans and strange happenings.

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I just finished writing my short horror story and I have a preview of it on Wattpad. Would anyone like to read it and give me any feedback on what I could improve as I want to better my skills as a writer. I would very much appreciate it. It’s called B.E.N. https://www.wattpad.com/1441154860?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading_part_end&wp_uname=KnightFall89

I was wondering if I could find a writing buddy on this app. I’m seventeen , looking for a murder mystery writer or anyone to help me. We can build each other up when we don’t feel like writing . I’ve been in quite the writing slump for my first draft of my novel and it sucks . I need someone to help lift me up and get me where I need to be and I’ll do the same . Please anyone . If you’re interested text me/dm me .

Time is a interesting thing. The length of every day does not change yet as many people grow older time seems to move faster. People lose the time to appreciate life sometimes. The beauty of life. The beauty of nature. The beauty of the world around us. It is the most beautiful thing many people will see in a lifetime, and with all the beauty of the world it can often be quite eerie. Sights that instill fear into your heart thought their may be no reason to be on edge. As night comes these feelings can come easier, but certain areas never fail to put a shiver down my spine. The Louisiana Bayou was one of these yet I found myself there in July of 1997. My parents lived in Houma, a choice made after I had left for college. We had previously lived in Kansas but after the house fire and grandpas death my mom couldn’t stand to go near the place so they moved here. My dad had grown up in the town, a low income family that lived in a trailer park. He only had his mom, his dad died in a fishing accident when he was two, the trailer was the only thing she could afford. He had no siblings, no pets, nothing but his mom. She died not long after he moved away for college, an overdose. I guess coming back home made him feel closer to her. I was driving along Route 90 that night closing in on Morgan City. It was getting late and decided to head off an exit to find somewhere to stay. probably a moldy old motel built in the 30s, good enough for a night. As I pulled off the exit the roads narrowed and the lighting went away, only my dim headlights lit up my surroundings. The roads curved surrounded by dry trees with their branches arching over the path and overgrown vines strangling them. The damp swamp made a moat around the street. The hum of my pickup truck soothed me halfway to sleep, my eyes began to shut, foot pressing heavier on the pedal as I sped up. I felt myself sinking away, sinking into the seat, into my dreams. Next thing I knew I woke up with glass all around, my head hurt and I had a gash on my arm. The front end of my Ford Ranchero was crinkled like paper and was half submerged in water. A puddle had formed at my feet. My ears rang, my hat ended up on the hood, and I could hear the splash of steps in the water. I looked up and saw the silhouette of 3 men standing side by side in the swamp, I couldn’t see any features but they were extraordinarily tall. From what I could see they were 7-8 feet tall, they were up to their waist in water and a bright light beamed from where their heads would be. Hell for all I know they might not even be human beings, they could be something more. Aliens? Demons? Ghosts? I just stared. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. That’s all I remembered before I got knocked out.

On the night of september 12 2008 a 17 year old girl by the name of Casie Walters went missing in buffalo NY at around 7:18pm, then a week later on september 20 a video popped up on the popular video sharing website youtube titled “hi john, i got a new gf”, in the video a unnamed man is talking to the camera at a man named john describing how he met a girl at the mall who he is now dating. He then proceeds to step away from the camera to open a bathroom door to reveal his “girlfriend” tied up on the floor begging him to let her go, he steps into the bathroom and closes the door as the video ends. As you could image the internet went crazy trying to figure out who this man was and where he was keeping this girl, less than a week later he uploads another video in which he is sitting on a couch eating popcorn and talking about how his girlfriend always wants to go out to eat, meanwhile the girl is in the background crawling towards the door. When she gets to the door the floor under her makes a noise and the man gets up and walks towards her as the video ends. Like before, the internet went crazy trying to figure out a way to save this captive girl and after a month he had uploaded 4 more videos, each as disturbing as the last. Until october 18 when an internet user who happened to live in the same city as the man saw the man walking around one day and he decided to follow the man home and report him to the police along with his address, the man was later identified as 33 year old patrick hymen who had abducted Casie Walters and kept her in his home for a month and 7 days. Casie was later (after some questioning) returned to her family, the police determined that Patrick had abducted Casie from the mall and brought her to his home where he had filmed those now notorious videos. Patrick Hymen claimed in a police interrogation that “she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen and I knew I just had to have her” when asked who “john” was Patrick simply replied “my good buddy” and refused to answer any further questions on the subject. Thankfully, Patrick never harmed Casie in any way, he only kept her there and treated her as if they were a couple. Patrick was sentenced to 11 years in prison and is currently residing in prison.

I took inspiration from the popular video "hi walter" to write this. The ending needs some improvements but as it is I think it's a passable story.

My second horror novel is available on Amazon! To all the writers of horror: Keep going! Don’t stop writing! I believe in you!💯

I don’t know if this will catch anyone’s attention or will ever be read but I’m gonna just let it all out. Not looking for advice or using this as a cry for help. I guess I’m utilizing the internet as a way to vent about today’s events. I’m not a fan of people and I can’t stand being in public. There is no way i would discuss this in person with anyone but behind my computer screen seems more comfortable. But enough stalling, I am here to discuss what happened a few hours ago before anyone comes looking for me.

 I want to start off by saying, I fucking hate people. I live alone and prefer it that way. I do my best to avoid any social situation and would much rather pay for overpriced fast food and have it delivered than to go out or stop at a grocery store. But with the constant inflation and the price of fees going up for delivery services, I was stuck having to bite the bullet and go shopping. Work has been slow so I haven’t been making as much money as usual, thanks to the corporate gods deeming it necessary to cut my fucking hours. 

  Anyway, I had to hype myself up to crawl in my car and head to the local grocery store to buy food. It's a ten minute drive from my scummy apartment. I had a total of sixty dollars to spend and hoped that it would last me until my next paycheck. Once I arrived at my destination, I sat in my car for a while and just watched other people come in and out of the establishment known as Willy’s Bottom Dollar Grocery. Sixty dollars, what can that buy anyone in this day and age? A bunch of ramen noodles, mac n cheese and a few other extra bits of bullshit. But i could get more food there then spending it on fast food which would be enough for maybe two meals off of the cheap menu.

 After procrastinating for a long while and breathing in the hot air from the non existent air conditioning of my beat up corolla, I finally opened the door and began my walk into the store. The cool air assaulted my sweat drenched face when the glass doors squealed open. The sound was atrocious but the sensation of the cold helped relax me. My nerves were a jumbled ball from the intense heatwave and the knowledge of having to be in a public place. God I hate being around people. I was greeted by an elderly woman who was standing guard by the self checkout area. As if anyone would be intimidated by her. She was short and plump with tons of wrinkles that i swear moved with the gust of air from the vent above the entrance. 

 I stared for a minute too long at her and the smile she had soon faded to a scowl. I removed eye contact, letting my gaze lower to her name tag which indicated that her name was Darlene. She looked more like a Betsy but whatever. I walked towards the area where they kept the shopping carts. There were two different kinds, the big silver ones with the red plastic handle and the small blue ones with the dingy white rubber wheels. Seeing that I wasn’t going to be buying much, I grabbed one of the blue ones. And wouldnt you know, the one I picked had a fucked up wheel that spun and let out an unnerving rumble as I rolled it across the glazed cement floor. God damnit.

I can’t stand it when the shopping carts are in bad condition, if I had it my way, I would throw the defective ones away. But I was trying to make this a quick trip and really did not want to turn around and get another cart. And there was no way I was walking back towards the wavy, wrinkled flesh goblin. So to the pasta aisle I went in a hurry, the rumble of the broken wheel made a loud racket that sent a wave of embarrassment flooding into my psyche. I did my best to avoid any eye contact with people and serpentined around anyone who was moving too slow. I can’t stand that shit. Just move with a purpose, grab what you need and move on. Something about the way other human beings act in a store always drives me up the wall. The stress of it all increases with the time I’m in a store and by the time I’m checking out, I have a pounding headache from the high amount of annoyance. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who knows the proper way of how to act in any store and it can be extremely frustrating. So far for this trip though, nothing had really bothered me too much. That was until I finally made it to Aisle Nine.

All i needed from this aisle was maybe six packets of ramen and five boxes of the off brand macaroni and cheese. As I made my way to the blue boxes, standing in front of them was a haggard old man. He wasn’t doing anything but staring at the boxes and chewing on his cheek like it was a piece of gum or something. I don’t know why some old people do that but I swear I always see it. His back was at a weird arch and the cane he was holding looked flimsy, not suitable to even hold a toddler up. He was mumbling to himself as he chewed but he never blinked or lifted his eyes from their fixed position.

 I stood there for what felt like five minutes before I made a few steps closer, hoping to reach beyond him and grab my macaroni. But when I got closer to him, good god….the stench. I can’t make this up, the man smelled like a dog who had been soaking in a pool of piss and had recently vomited all over itself. The smell made me gag and I immediately backed away. I decided that I no longer needed to get that item and spun around to grab my cart and leave the aisle. My irritation was beginning to surface but only a small bit. I was more disgusted than anything. The smell of the old man lingered around until I made it two aisles over, in the bread area. I planned to  grab a loaf of bread for some good old fashioned peanut butter sandwiches. Thinking about my first item, I would try to go back for the macaroni and also get some ramen. Hopefully by the time I was finished in the bread aisle, Mr. Vomit would be gone. 

 With a tight budget, I scanned the shelves for the cheapest brand which came in a clear bag with red letters that spelled “Bread”. I knelt down to grab the nearest loaf when I heard a loud nasally explosion and felt a wet mist assault my wrist. I screamed inside of my head, “What the fuck?!” as I looked up to see some acne faced teenager staring at me with a long trail of snot hanging from his nose. I couldn’t move from the shock of what had just happened. I remained in place but then the kid spoke. “Calm down dude, I’m not like sick or anything.” I bit down on my bottom lip before speaking my peace. “You should really cover your mouth when you sneeze. You know? To avoid spreading germs.” I spoke in a slight sarcastic tone. The kid was old enough to know this and me having to say it just annoyed me. “Whatever dude.” The little shit blurted out as he stormed off, flipping me the bird as he did so. Motherfucker. Shit like this is why I hate people. Inconsiderate pricks like that kid and old people who don’t know how to take a hint like Mr. vomit. My stress was starting to boil and I hadn’t even put a single item in my cart.

 I rubbed my wet arm against my pants and grabbed a loaf of bread then made my way back to get my macaroni. I would grab the peanut butter after returning to Aisle Nine.  I turned towards the aisle and would you believe it? Mr. Vomit was still there. Standing in the exact same spot and staring into space. Jesus fucking christ. What goes through people’s heads when they do things like this. I was determined to get what I needed so I said to hell with it and took a deep breath. I held it in as I hastily walked towards the old man and grabbed the off brand mac n cheese. 

 As I exhaled and walked back to my cart, he muttered in my direction. “Cocksucker.” I turned around and stared at him, he didn’t look at me. Instead I watched his face begin to turn red then a grunt reverberated from his clenched jaw. All of the sudden he let out a wet, disgusting noise that did not come from his mouth. I paused, wondering if he had soiled himself and soon I received my answer. I thought he smelled bad before, but now it was just otherworldly in its vileness. He turned his head and looked at me, muttering once again. “You fucking cocksucker.” I had enough of the situation and left Mr. Vomit to his own filthy atmosphere. I couldn’t believe the old man did that and then glared at me while whispering insults. What the hell was going on today? I threw the boxes in my cart and left in a hurry to remove the stench from my nostrils.

 I pulled out the calculator on my phone to add up the amount of the boxes and single loaf of bread. So far I was at six dollars and fifteen cents, that rounding it off with tax. Due to the foul situation, I was only able to grab three boxes instead of five. I decided to skip the ramen since it was apparent the noodle aisle was now off limits. I was craving something salty so I decided I would add some pickles to my week of provisions. That was the only thing I needed from the condiment aisle which I was currently at, minus a jar of peanut butter. Three dollars for the cheap brand but the pickles, I couldn't go cheap on those. They had to be the Kosher Dills otherwise I wouldn't eat them. It’s like a delicacy to me, so they were worth the six dollars. So in total that would leave me with roughly forty five dollars to spend that included tax. I quickly headed to the shelf of multiple brands of pickles and scanned the area until I found the jar filled with those delicious spears. But lo and behold there was someone in my way once again. 

A very large woman on a motorized scooter. To be honest, I don't even know how the thing was even able to move. I know I shouldn’t fat shame, but holy hell. I was caught off guard by her size, although I did not think too hard with insults until I realized she was going to be there for a long time. She was grabbing jars and reading the labels with a large rectangular magnifying glass. Yes. A fucking magnifying glass. What in the hell do you need to look at in such great detail that requires a tool like that? I couldn't even hold in my annoyance at this point. Her slow movements, the heavy breathing from setting one jar down to pick up another and the wailing of the springs in the poor chair of that scooter. So many things just clawing at my patience. I let out a long sigh and was met with a glare of pure hatred. “What?!” The large woman yelled at me, spit flying from her bright red colored lips. A drop of saliva landed on my shirt and I could feel heat rising in my chest.

 I let out another sigh and did my best to remain calm. “Ma’am, can you please back up a bit so i can grab what i need?” I didnt wanna fight, I just wanted my damn pickles. She scoffed at me then yelled once more. “You can wait til I'm done. I am on a diet and need to know the salt levels on every brand so I dont ruin my figure, asshole.” She quickly turned her head back to the jar after she spoke. That really pissed me off. “What figure? You enormous cow?!” I thought that in my head but refrained from vocally insulting the rude woman. She was in a scooter, it would take no effort to push a button or whatever just to move two feet. That's all I asked for but no, she wasn't having that and it. I was made to just stand and wait like an idiot. With the other two incidents, my level of patience was growing very thin. I abandoned one food but i was not leaving this store without my fucking pickles. So I took a deep, calming breath and asked her to move once more. I was met with shouting, more spit and somehow was accused of being prejudiced towards the disabled. I don't know where that last part came from because I never said anything about a disability or her weight. At least not outloud. Either way I was fed up but did nothing except take a few steps back and waited for the woman to finish her inspection of the ingredients. You know, because the jars are  filled with all kinds of chemicals and other bullshit that needs to be examined with a fine tooth comb. Give me a fucking break.

 Apparently she didn't like me standing there and started scoffing and shooting glances of frustration at me then finally yelled at me for a third time. “Do you mind?! I can’t concentrate with you there. Have some consideration, asshole.” I threw my hands up in defeat and placed them on the bar of my cart. I could hear her strained breathing as I made my way to the end of the aisle. I stopped right there after thinking about all that had happened so far. Too many rude interactions that had ruined my shopping experience and I was done with that. If this lady didn't wanna move then i was going to make her move. 

 I turned around and walked back towards her, leaving my cart behind. Without any hesitation, I grabbed a deluxe jar of off brand whole pickles and dropped it on top of the woman’s skull. It didn’t shatter as I expected it to, instead it made a loud thud sound and kind of bounced off of her head. She squealed like a pig being tortured and it hurt my ears. I raised the jar above my head and landed four more blows before my arms began to ache. By that time there was a large stain of red on the edge of the jar and a huge gash on the left side of her scalp. The blood was flowing at a slow pace and blending with her blonde curls, almost dying them a faint orange color. 

She had stopped squealing and fell limp against the handle of the scooter. Her hefty chest blubber had triggered a button that sent the scooter rolling off towards the end of the aisle, I had to jump backwards to avoid my toes being run over. It slammed into the side of a freezer box that held the frozen burger patties that were on sale. Buy two, get one free. I placed the large jar back on the top shelf and grabbed my kosher dills. I walked back to my cart and placed them gently next to the peanut butter. I walked past the woman, seeing that the wheels of the scootr were still spinning but the freezer stopped the thing from actually going anywhere. I thought I could smell something burning as I walked towards the canned goods aisle. The rumble of my cart’s defective wheel caused a slight vibration that rattled the pickle jar against the metal rack it sat on.

I decided to grab a few cans of ravioli and chicken noodle soup, lucky for me the name brand was on sale. Four for five dollars so I got four of each which brought my new limit to thirty four dollars. Always got to add the tax, just in case. I felt pretty good about the stuff I had gotten so far. Granted in this economy, everything is overpriced but what can you do? 

With the cans placed neatly in my cart I decided I needed to get some milk and maybe some cereal. I did the math and figured I could get a gallon of skim milk and two boxes of cereal and maybe have a little money left over for some chocolate and a few other cheap items. I looped around, passing the pasta aisle again, noticing Mr. Vomit was no longer there but an employee was in his spot, mopping up some green colored sludge. We all can take a guess on what that was. I was a few steps away from the milk when I watched some big muscled bound man park his cart in front of the milk. He left it right where I needed to be and just casually walked away. Some people just have no courtesy for anyone these days. He completely left the aisle and wandered off somewhere else. One of the big silver carts, packed with cases of water, protein powder, fruit, meat and a lot of olive oil for some strange reason. I didn’t want to give too much thought to it but seven bottles of olive oil? Who does that? Well I decided that I wasn't gonna wait so I shoved his cart a bit aggressively then opened the door of the fridge to grab my skim milk and placed it in my small blue cart. I heard a crash and then a deep voice shout. “Who the fuck touched my shit? I let out a long sigh and thought to myself. “Great. I pissed off Mr. Muscles.”

 He came around the corner with his chest puffed out and a nasty vein poking out of the side  of his tree trunk neck. His eyes were wide and shifting towards his cart then at me. I was the only one around so there was no doubt he knew I was the culprit. “Anyone ever tell you to not touch people’s shit?” He snarled. My heart raced a bit as he walked towards me, I stood there frozen and apologized. My quivering voice gave it away that he intimidated me with his size and stature. He lifted me up by my shirt collar and threatened me a few times then called me a pansey before dropping me and telling me to watch myself. I landed on my ass when he dropped me which hurt but I didn’t let it show. As I got to my feet he locked eyes with me one more time then stormed towards a different aisle. “Hulk Hogan wanna be motherfucker.” I muttered under my breath. I had my milk so the next destination was towards cereal. One of the more expensive items in this run down grocery store. I left the aisle, rubbing my ass to attempt to dull the pain.

 I grew up eating things like coco puffs, frosted flakes and fruity pebbles, however in those days the boxes were like two bucks a pop. Now it cost fucking seven dollars for a small box of name brand cereal. So I was stuck with either the water downed flavored stuff in a flimsy box or the shit in the large bag that gets soggy after ten seconds of being coated in milk. But at least I could get more than one thing for less than fifteen dollars. A box of fruity O’s and a bag of coco diamonds for a total of twelve dollars. I felt lucky because after all of what I got, I still had roughly seventeen dollars left to spend. Realizing my fate, I went back to the condiment aisle to get a jar of grape jelly as a bonus to my sandwiches for the week and who did I see once I got there? The little prick who sneezed on me. My luck increased at this so I grabbed my jelly, placed it in my cart then grabbed a jar of strawberry in one of those glass jars and sprinted towards the teenager.

He didn't notice me until after I had stopped a few feet away and thrown the jar at him. The jar bounced off his face and shattered near him. He fell to the floor, crying and demanding to know why I had done that. I took what was left of the broken jar and dug it into his eye socket but stopped after accidently stabbing my thumb with a jagged edge of broken glass. I cursed then rose to my feet and began stomping on his neck until the screams stopped and I heard a crunch. A lady walked in the aisle and yelped when she saw us then ran away, yelling for help. I wiped my thumb on my shirt, leaving a small stain on it. I grabbed my cart to continue shopping. At this point I was kind of just roaming around, looking for anything that looked good. The jelly dropped my money to basically eleven dollars so I had no idea what to even get. Even for the cheap stuff, jelly was kind of expensive. I saw the big muscle man as I wandered and I avoided him by darting into the opposite aisle. This one was filled with bags, aluminum foil, tupperware and utensils. I spotted a knife set and grabbed rather large one and stared at it. I envisioned myself assaulting Mr. Muscles and getting revenge. I gripped the handle tightly and ripped the thin plastic to free the wide metal blade. I left my cart in that aisle and headed towards where i saw the big man, plotting on how I would attack him.

       He was aimlessly wandering around, looking at different types of soup. And once again he had left his cart in the middle of the aisle as he strayed away from it. “Fuck this asshole.” That's what I thought to myself as I glared at the cloud of a man, watching the fluorescent light reflecting off of his bald head. It looked like he shined it with wax every morning as he lifted weights, playing Roadhouse in the background. He hadn't noticed me there and eventually he lined up perfectly with his cart and I shoved it as hard as I could. It sped towards him, slamming into his waist and sending him falling to the floor. He let out a winded shout. “Who the fuck?!” I leaped onto his chest and placed my knees on his shoulders. His eyes grew as big as dinner plates when he saw the knife in my hand. His voice became a trembling whine of pleading but I ignored the words as I started jabbing the blade in any area it decided to penetrate. I lost count after maybe fifteen or sixteen stabs. Once I felt the burn in my arm and Mr. Muscles no longer squirming, I jammed the blade in one more time before getting up and pushing my cart to the next aisle. That incident was a torrent of blind rage and to be honest, I don’t have any idea where I stabbed him or where I left that knife. I know I lodged it somewhere and it stuck though. The front left wheel of my cart rolled into the growing puddle of blood and I created a narrow trail as I walked away.

I still had not found anything that caught my fancy to spend my remaining dollars on. But then I made it to the candy aisle and that changed. For nostalgic reasons I searched for the classic white chocolate bar, you know the Zero bar? A bit hypocritical of me, but I abandoned my cart to check out the variety of candy. I had no luck in finding my preferred treat so I stood there, pondering on a good substitute. My concentration was broken by the sound of a woman yelling on the phone. She had the damn thing on speaker and the other person was just as loud but with that somewhat static tone. The two were bickering about which summer house to stay in or something along those lines. She walked passed and clipped me with her ugly but no doubt expensive purse, not even acknowledging my existence. I ignored it and continued with my thoughts. “I don't care Darrell! I want to go to South Carolina this year! Fuck Roger and his fat wife, theyre not coming to that condo! And if Sharon has an issue then I’ll……”  Her voice was beyond obnoxious. The conversation was rattling my brain and I felt a migraine forming in my skull. 

 This lady was driving me insane and she had only been near me for a good sixty seconds. She refused to shut up or at least have the decency to quiet her tone. No one wants to hear your entire conversation. I couldn’t tune out the sound and I just quickly grabbed the nearest wrapper and walked towards my cart. I didn’t really know what I grabbed but chocolate is chocolate so I didn't care. I just needed to get out of the aisle and away from the sound. Three paces away and this blabbering hag was standing right in front of my cart. “Darrell. Darrell. Shut up. Yes you pay for it but it is mine.” She spoke with that rich, snooty tone. I couldn't take it anymore and I snatched the phone from her hand and threw it down on the floor. She gasped as the thing broke into multiple pieces. “Huh? You son of a bitch! I'm getting security! You don't know who you're dealing with!” She screamed and began shuffling away. I grabbed the lady by her hair and slammed her face into the shelf filled with baking supplies. A bag of flour burst open and coated the woman's face in white powder. I continued to bounce her face on the shelf until that white turned red. She gasped for air and I let her drop to the floor. The sound of her skull hitting the concrete made a sound that made my stomach ache.  She whimpered and I picked up the broken pieces of her phone and shoved them in her mouth. She fought but it was no use. I kicked her in the face a few times and I'm pretty sure she may have swallowed one of the broken pieces. I decided that was enough and went to the next aisle to spend my last eight dollars.I realized I grabbed a king size snickers which was three dollars. I ended up having to loop around back to the aisle and double check the price. The loud woman was still on the ground and I couldn't tell if she was dead or unconscious. There was blood pooling around her head and some leaking from the corner of her mouth however. But that was not my problem so I moved on. I was feeling like maybe some pop tarts would go well with my assortment of snacks.

       Name brand pop tarts run almost five dollars a box but lucky for me the cheap stuff had a sale going on. Two for six. So I was able to get a box of cinnamon and cookies and cream. I was pretty excited about that. After doing the math I realized adding in the tax that I had officially reached my budget of provisions so I spun around to go check out. As I went past the aisles, I saw people rushing past me. I’m sure they were headed to help the morons that pissed me off. I heard a man shout. “Call an ambulance! She's still breathing!” I wondered if they were referring to the lady on the scooter or the one who swallowed pieces of her phone. I continued walking towards the front of the store, another person shouting about a giant mess in Aisle Five.

        I opted out of the normal check out lanes because no one was there, no doubt scrambling to take a hold of the situation. So I headed to the self checkout kiosk where the wrinkled goblin was still stationed. I casually began ringing up my items and she rushed towards me. “Sir make sure to scan your items one at a time” I ignored her and continued scanning the barcodes. She spoke again. “Make sure to use your advantage card if you have one” I placed my Kosher Dills in the bag then turned to her. “I don’t have one.” The woman with the name tag “Darlene” looked at me in disappointment and started telling me that I should get a rewards card. I declined but she then started describing the process. I Said again that I was not interested but it seemed to go through one ear and out the other. She grabbed my arm and looked me in the eyes as she told me I really needed to sign up for the store's bullshit card.

 I didn't say a word as I drew back and punched her square in the jaw. Her eyes rolled back and a mixture of blood and saliva shot from her mouth. I'm pretty sure I watched a tooth fly out as well. I was right when I heard it clink on the floor. She started to groan, her head bobbing as she tried to lift herself up. I scanned another item then kicked her a few times in the ribs until she collapsed. I placed the last item in a bag and looked at the total displayed on the screen. Fifty four dollars and ninety seven cents was the total. “Holy shit.” A smile cracked across my face when I saw that and I thought to myself. “Under budget. This has turned out to be a good day.” I put all the bags in the cart and strolled outside to load my trunk up with my haul. I could hear shouts of panic as the glass doors squealed shut behind me. Last thing I heard was, “Oh my lord! That man attacked poor Darlene!” I kept walking and didn't miss a beat until I got to my car.

      After I put my cart in the rail thing, I got in my car and started driving out of the parking lot. I stopped when someone slowly walked out of the door, an old man with a cane. “Son of a bitch” I thought of the words and said them out loud. It was Mr. Vomit, slowly shuffling to his vehicle with a bag that looked like it had maybe two items. I looked behind me to check if there were any cars. All clear. So I backed up a wee bit then put the car in drive and slammed on the gas. The engine revved and the rpms needle bounced furiously. Soon a loud thud sent a rattle to the front end as I watched the old geezer roll across my hood, windshield and fly over my car. I saw his body land on the asphalt through my rear view mirror. He hit hard, his body was limp with no movement whatsoever. He had left a slight crack in my windshield, accompanied by a splatter of blood. I pressed my foot on the break and put the car in reverse, gunning it hard and feeling the lift of the tire as it rolled over the old man. I repeated the process but switched to drive and ran over him one last time before finally leaving the parking lot of Willy’s Bottom Dollar Grocery. 

      I took care of the final annoyance of my shopping experience and drove home with a smile on my face. During my drive I saw an ambulance and two squad cars speed past me. I’m sure it is no surprise on where they were heading. I made it home and cooked some macaroni and cheese then accented the dish with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The sight of Mr. Vomit's mangled corpse filled my head as I ate but surprisingly, it didn't deter my hunger. I feel like the events of today were out of the ordinary and something compelled me to share it so that is why I typed all of this out. All of this happened about two hours ago and now I think I hear sirens. That might be for me so I'll end this. Just wanted to share my story. Has anyone else ever had a day like this?

I am attempting to write a short horror novel/story and would like to see if anybody can read what I have written so far and give some constructive criticism. Story is included below. It is a little long at the moment especially for just two first chapters, but I appreciate if anyone does read the full thing and give me feedback.

Prologue:

On the night of August 22nd, 2008 is when my life had changed forever. I had received a phone call from a person I had been waiting on a call from for several years. I received the call at around 10 at night, when I looked at my phone it was an unknown number, starting with a country code of 1, it was somebody in the United States, most likely wasn't a scam call. I picked it up out of sheer curiosity.

When I picked up the phone on the other end was an alien but recognizable voice. It was Corey Johnson, a police officer back in my hometown of Wylleville, Virginia. He sounded older and wiser but more broken at the same time. Corey spoke to me in a somber but urgent tone. He had told me that the police had finally found out why my life was a nightmare as a kid and told me to fly over as soon as possible.

With that having been said I packed my bags immediately and booked a flight over. I was living in Canada at the time to attend college so I knew I had a lengthy flight ahead of me. The earliest flight that could get me back to the United States was a flight that left the next morning and had me at a layover in Colorado before a flight to Richmond, from there I'd have to take a taxi, giving me enough time to recollect everything from my childhood and ponder what had happened recently.

After I booked my (expensive) flight I told my room mate that I was leaving for the States temporarily for some important business. Going to sleep that night I had troubles falling asleep, tossing and turning all night staying up with my thoughts. Thoughts of how I could finally relieve myself of the guilt and painful memories of my childhood and put them to rest.

The next morning when the time came to leave for the flight I asked my room mate to drive me over and they agreed, probably because I promised that fatso I would give him cash for lunch after he dropped me off. I had never told my room mate about my childhood and my stories so he was unaware of why this was so important to me, instead he moaned and whined about how he would have to do the grocery shopping himself for a period of time.

When we pulled up to the Toronto Pearson airport I got out with all of my luggage and stood outside the airport for a minute to take a quick smoke. As I smoked something seemed off. The weather outside was generally cool around only 17 degrees Celsius (or about 63 Fahrenheit for those born American like me) and in the distance a thick fog was descending with a very light layer of fog already on the ground. The area was generally empty with nobody around, quite odd for being at one of the busiest airports in Canada. Nevertheless despite the off putting nature of the world around me I entered inside the airport.

When I entered the airport it was still empty for the most part other than workers and the occasional flight-goer. It was like the end of the world had happened during the drive there and I didn't even know. I checked into my flight just fine and went through airport security without a hitch. I eventually sat right at the gate to enter my flight and waited. I had about 2 hours until my flight and had time to kill so I pulled out my phone and started to scroll through Twitter.

About 15 minutes passed after scrolling through Twitter and I had saw something that would change the course of this flight for the better. Slipknot had just released a new album called "All Hope Is Gone". I had to listen to this on the flight there. After what felt like an eternity had passed (in reality only about 20 minutes) I eventually broke down and pulled out my headphones and listened to the album. A few minutes after I finished the album somebody came over the intercom of the gate and announced boarding would soon begin for my flight so I got up to get ready to board.

As I stood up I noticed that at the gate there was nobody else other than the workers who were to assist in boarding. I pondered to myself how peculiar that was and waited until it was time to embark. When it was time to board the plane I got up and got on the flight without any problem at all.

While waiting for the plane to depart from the airport I overheard the pilots talking in the cockpit about the flight. One of the pilots said to the other that the flight only had two tickets booked and that strangely about an hour after the first one was booked the next was booked in the seat next to the first ticket.

When I heard this I freaked out a little. That was strange considering I bought my ticket at almost 11PM and nobody was coming with me but I brushed it off. Maybe the person wanted some companionship for this long flight.

7 minutes before the flight took off is when the second person finally came on board. The person sat right next to me and immediately sat down and seemed to start napping. Odd but I couldn't do anything about it.

When the flight took off I just stared outside the window. At this point the entire runway was covered in the thick fog that was descending from the heavens before. As we took off in the distance I could see Mississauga covered in the thick dense fog and the lights of the city just barely breaking through. I thought to myself about how this could be considered optimal flight weather and how the flight was not delayed.

Eventually an hour after the flight had taken off the man that had sat next to me poked his head back up. I got a good look at him and noticed something strange. He looked almost just like me with minor differences. If you put me next to him right in front of my mother, even she would probably get confused. The man eventually turned to me and looked at me. His face looking empty and blank.

"Did you listen to the new Slipknot album yet?" The man spoke to me, the words seemingly flowing out of his mouth in a soft but careful tone.

I looked back at the man and was confused. How did he know I was a fan of Slipknot? This wasn't the 90's anymore, Slipknot wasn't on top of the world anymore, so what are the chances this guy would have heard it too?

I looked back at the man and quietly told him, "Yes."

The man looked back at me and asked my thoughts on the album. I had told him some of the stuff on there was good like Sulfur or Dead Memories but that it would never top Iowa as the best Slipknot album. After saying that the man repeated back to me almost the exact same opinion. Strange that he thought the same thing and looked just like me, but who I am to talk, Slipknot fans aren't the most diverse hivemind.

After that the man mostly just stopped talking. He'd ask me a few things here or there such as where I'm going or what my name is, but for the most part it was silence from here on out.

After the conversation had well died off I decided the best way to pass the rest of the time was to just try and recall my childhood and why I was heading out anyways. Other than a few select moments most of the bad parts of my childhood I had forgotten about.

I stared back out the window at the ground below us and tried to remember. It took me a while to recall, but I eventually remembered what had happened that summer in 1994.

1994:

The summer of 1994 was a different time. At the time I was only 6 years old and was happy living my life just fine. I had just gotten out of Kindergarten and during that time I had become best friends with a boy named Allen.

Allen and I were both huge fans of the Power Rangers. My favorite Power Ranger was the red one and Allen's favorite was the blue Power Ranger. Before school ended we'd often go to each other's houses to watch Power Rangers together. Allen's family was a bit strange, he had no mom and lived outside of town in a nearby area called "Shady Vale Trailer Park".

My family lived in right inside the town of Wylleville, Virginia and lived inside the Maple Tree neighborhood. Most of the time if we were to meet up I'd go to Allen's house instead since I found it more fun. He had everything he needed on his street. A park nearby, a small baseball diamond and even a patch of woods right behind his house.

When the summer started I'd go over to Allen's house every weekend and spend the night. Usually I'd go over Friday night and stay there until Sunday. During the day we'd go to the park and play for a bit with the other neighborhood kids. If nobody was outside or we got bored we'd often go to a nearby ditch and try to dig further into the ditch to make it bigger.

While I was over at Allen's house I noticed that Allen's dad seemed to not care too much what we would do, he would just let us roam free around the neighborhood or stay up as late as we wanted. He would tell us just make sure we come back to eat something at dinner and to stay safe.

Usually on Saturday nights Allen and I would watch a scary movie (I wanted to do this as often as possible as my parents would not let me do this) and then go outside in the dark to mess around.

After watching a scary movie we'd often end up in the small patch of woods and mess around. We'd jump out of the trees and scare each other or scare other people walking past.

One night after watching a movie we went outside into the woods as usual and messed around. Allen suggested we play hide and seek in the dark woods to have some fun and I agreed to that. I was told to hide first and did so.

As soon as Allen started counting I ran as fast as possible further into the words. Eventually I came across a storm drain that was seemingly under a small man-made bridge. The area was heavily wooded and seemed to have no reason to exist. The ground dipped down in a slope and underneath this small bridge was the large drain. The drain was dark and extended way further than my eyes could see, so naturally as a kid I decided it was the best spot possible to hide. If anything Allen would be too scared to check it. It was the perfect spot.

Time passed by and Allen never found me. I had been waiting what felt like an hour in the storm drain and decided to come out to look for Allen. The woods looked even darker than before and I decided I needed to find Allen as soon as possible so that way I don't get lost in the woods.

I walked around for a few minutes, occasionally hearing rustling leaves or breaking twigs and would follow those noises. I'd call out for Allen but would receive no response but still hear the noises further ahead. Having no choice but to follow the noises.

After what seemed like forever I saw something in the distance, it was a light source, floating as an orange glow in the far-off woods. Most likely a fire of some sort, I followed. In my mind I knew how odd it was, I was in the middle of the woods after all, but with no other option I walked toward it anyways. As I came close to the light the area seemed to become a different place.

The woods had lightened up and this area was mostly a circular area with no trees at all to it. The ground was completely devoid of life, no grass or plants, just straight dirt. At the center of that circle was a man.

The man was sitting in front of a fire he had made in the center. He was dressed in all black clothes and hard to spot. Originally I had thought that my mind was just playing tricks on me.

As I walked into the area I was prepared to tell the man what was happening to see if he could help me, but as I drew nearer he seemed to not even notice that I was there.

I continued to get closer but as I got nearer something seemed wrong. I could faintly hear the man mumbling to himself. The mumbling was not in English or any other language I could pick out. I could not make out any words at all, it seemed to just be gibberish you'd hear in an 80's Fantasy movie when the wizard casts a spell.

Once within 10 feet of the man he reacted to my presence. When the man realized I was there he stood without breaking his streak of words spewing out of his mouth. Even this close the words still seemed to be nonsense. While standing the man simply just stared at me eerily.

"H-h-hello, my name is Drew. I got lost playing hide and seek with my friends." I called out to the man in a vulnerable tone.

The man blankly looked at me. Repeating what I said back to the man I received a blank stare again. Deciding I'd be better off just walking away and finding the way to Allen's house by myself I got ready to walk away.

Starting to turn around and walk away I heard a noise. The noise was akin to a simple click and it rang out loud considering the lack of ambient noises nearby. Turning around I could see the man was holding an unidentified object in his hands. Unable to make out what the object was in the dim lighting I decided to get out as fast as possible. Looking back on what happened now, my adult mind clearly remembers the object as some sort of pocket knife.

I ran out of the area as fast as possible, I didn't know where to run, anywhere but there was fine. I continued to run until I couldn't anymore. After some time I had stopped in front of a strange building. The area was heavily wooded and in front of me sat a fence adorned with barbed wire at the top.

Looking over the fence I could clearly see the building looked like some kind of abandoned factory. The factory was overgrown with vines growing on the sides and some of the sides of the building collapsing in. The factory was large and seemed like a good spot to hide temporarily until the morning so I decided to do just that.

Walking around the building it was obvious it had been abandoned for a while for some reason. Trying to find an entrance to the building I circled around the fence until I found a section where the ground below had been dug out for presumably trespassing on the property. Being the stupid kid that I was I crawled underneath to enter the property.

After getting underneath the fence the first thing I noticed was an already open, large, barn-style door to the building and some well-worn warning signs that seemed to warn of some workplace danger. Desperate to make sure this man never found me I entered through the door and attempted to close it some. Too weak to close the door I ventured further in to hide.

In the room after entering was a large floor and some machines that were rusted and looked non-functional. Looking to the right I noticed a set of stairs that led to a landing above the room and decided to follow the stairs up. Once at the top of the stairs I noticed a chair at the top overlooking the floor below and decided to sit in it and wait.

After some time I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning to light entering the building at the bottom floor. Able to now see the objects inside the factory it looked like an old ammunition factory. I picked myself up and squeezed back out of the fence the way I came through and noticed that nearby I could barely see through the trees what looked like a road.

Walking towards the sight it became clearer that it was in fact a road. The road happened to be one just outside of Allen's neighborhood and I would be able to just walk back to his house. As I reached the road I noticed the odd weather. The area was covered in a thick dense fog. Thick enough that you could cut it with a knife. Despite the odd weather for summer time I carried on towards Allen's house.

Once I reached Allen's neighborhood something seemed off. There were several police cruisers parked around the neighborhood. I didn't see any police officers or in fact anybody at all but something felt wrong. I walked up to Allen's house and walked inside without anything else out of the ordinary happening.

Except when I walked into Allen's house things were suddenly different. There were several police officers in the house talking to Allen's dad. Allen's dad sat at the table, head down with a glass bottle at the table. Looking around I could see that Allen was in fact nowhere to be seen. One of the police officers noticed me and came over to talk to me.

The officer told me that Allen didn't come home last night and was reported missing. The officers asked me questions such as what were we doing last night, when was the last time I saw him. I answered to the best of my ability but left out the fact of the man in the woods.

After some time the police officers left the house and Allen's dad drove me home. The entire ride was silent and devoid of any interactions. Once I got to my house I kept going on as if nothing had happened, I didn't understand what was happening.

I never saw Allen again for the rest of that summer. In fact, nobody saw him at all for the rest of that summer. I tried to help Allen's dad look for him but nothing ever came out of it. I felt guilty, I felt as though it was my fault.

When school started back up again later that year in the fall and I started first grade Allen was still nowhere to be seen. Nobody in school had seen Allen either.

Title: Still Water

"This is the last" he whispered, gazed fixed to the lifeless and darkened street outside his window. An atmosphere that matched the desolate emptiness in his soul. The raw emotions etched on his face, a blend of anger and sorrow, betrayed the depths of his anguish. Memories of his life danced before his eyes, a bittersweet symphony playing in his mind, he allowed himself to drift. The throbbing ache in his head served as a constant reminder of the torment he couldn't escape. Cold steel parted his lips as his fingers raced across the surface of the smooth barrel, fumbling the slide. A sense of determination flickered in his eyes, momentarily overshadowing the despair. With trembling hands, he carefully loaded the gun, each click of the cartridges entering the tube echoed in the silent room. The weight of his decision pressed heavily upon him, yet a strange calmness settled within his soul.

Outside, the street lay still and quiet, it's only sign of life, the occasional flicker of a distant streetlamp. It seemed as though the world had ceased to exist, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his demons.

With a deep breath, he pushed the barrel further into his mouth gagging, his finger hovered over the trigger. Images of his past flashed before his eyes – moments of joy, moments of pain, moments that shaped him into the man he had become. The family he onced loved are all gone, victims to the the slaughter that would inevitably consume all life. With a silent prayer, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. But instead of the deafening roar of a gunshot, all he heard was the soft click of the hammer striking an empty chamber. Startled, he opened his eyes to find the cartridges stacked neatly atop the table with an accompanying note "Oops...you missed try again". His heart plummeted as he hurled the long gun away and scrambled into a nearby corner. "Please, let it end... God, please," he murmured, his voice trailing off into a fragile whisper. Desperation clawed at him as he huddled in the corner, his mind consumed by fear. Moments later, a shrill cry, accompanied by sounds of struggle from outside, shattered the tension. Quietly, he crept toward the living room window, straining to locate the source of the hellish cacophony amidst the darkness. Cautiously peering through the window, a horrifying tableau unfolded before his eyes. A pack of ravenous dogs encircled a young mother and her daughter, their faces etched with terror. Tears streamed down the woman's battered face, her expression twisted in agony and distress as she tightly clung to her helpless child. In the midst of the gruesome scene, several hounds wrenched the child free from her trembling hands. The piercing screams of her child echoed through the air as she was mercilessly torn apart, limb by limb. Moments after, the mother was then set upon, her screams echoed alongside her daughter's. In that moment, a chilling realisation washed over him, "Hell is real".

Chapter 1: Bloom

Nothing is sweeter to the heart than the love of God, it is that same love that drives us to worship, to fall on our knees and beg for mercy at the slightest hint of our master's displeasure. When "He" calls we answer, we giveth of ourselves no matter the hour or the cost. I remember when I first heard "Him" call, it was during the early months of 1991 just before the cold chill of winter began to settle in. My wife, Sandra and I were tending to our farm animals before dinner, dusk was shrouded in a thick mist, casting eerie shadows across the farmyard. Sandra's voice, usually warm and comforting, seemed distant, swallowed by the encroaching darkness. As we worked, a sense of unease crept over me, like unseen eyes watching from the shadows. And then, in the stillness of the evening, I heard it—a faint whisper carried on the wind, beckoning me towards the woods beyond our land. Whispers were nauseatingly sweet, akin to the stench of rotting fruit. My heart quickened its pace, my knees buckled beneath my weight. I'd fallen on my knees as if showing humility to something or someone, a sensation of cold rooted me in place. Sandra paused, sensing the change in the air, her eyes flickering with a mix of concern and fear. But she didn't hear it: the haunting whisper seemed to call only to me.

With a trembling hand, I gestured towards the woods, my voice barely a whisper as I tried to convey the inexplicable pull I felt. Sandra's eyes widened in alarm, her grip tightening on my arm as she tried to bring me up into her arms, but I could not resist the siren call that seemed to emanate from the depths of the forest. "Become one, come to us", it repeated as if on a recorded loop, within minutes everything went dark and my mind became numb. Sometime later I awoke in a hospital bed surrounded by medical staff and Sandra, according to whom I'd had a stroke. The air in the hospital room hung heavy with unspoken tension, the weight of my inexplicable behavior pressing down on all of us. Sandra's eyes bore into mine, searching for answers that I myself couldn't provide. Every night, I would lie awake, haunted by the memory of that moment in the fields, the pull of the unknown consuming me from within. The doctors' explanations felt hollow, their diagnoses unable to penetrate the veil of darkness that shrouded my mind. And as the days stretched into weeks, I couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister lurked just beyond the edges of my consciousness, waiting to drag me back into the abyss.

The day of my homecoming on the first winter is when it all started, as the icy grip tightened around our small town, a sense of dread settled over us like a suffocating blanket. The once vibrant fields now lay barren and lifeless, the earth refusing to yield even a single blade of grass. The silence of the countryside was broken only by the mournful howling of the wind, carrying with it the echoes of unspeakable horrors lurking in the shadows. Each day brought new reports of livestock disappearing without a trace, their blood staining the snow-covered ground where they once grazed innocently. And as the days grew shorter and the nights longer, the darkness seemed to seep into every crevice of our existence, a palpable presence that whispered of doom and despair. With each passing day, the veil between reality and nightmare grew thinner, until it felt as though we were living in a world unhinged from the laws of nature. Whispers of ancient curses and vengeful spirits began to circulate among the townsfolk, desperate attempts to make sense of the madness that had descended upon us. Yet, no amount of superstition could explain away the horrors that unfolded before our eyes.

People vanished without a trace, their empty homes serving as grim reminders of the darkness that now consumed us. Fear became our constant companion, lurking in the shadows and tainting even the simplest moments of respite. And as the snow piled higher and the temperature plummeted, it seemed as though winter itself had become a manifestation of our collective despair, a relentless force bent on crushing us beneath its frozen weight.

But amidst the chaos and the despair, there flickered a glimmer of hope, a small flame that refused to be extinguished. For even in the darkest of nights, there are those who cling to the belief that light will eventually pierce the shadows, that salvation can be found even in the depths of despair. And so, we huddled together, each night, gathering around flickering candles, casting long shadows that danced across the walls like specters of our own fears, clinging to each other, determined to weather the darkness that threatened to consume us all.

Whispers of betrayal and treachery filled the air, the weight of paranoia pressing down on us like a suffocating fog. In the minds of many, one could be trusted, not even those closest to our hearts. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind outside, sent shivers down our spines, the fear of the unknown gnawing at the edges of our sanity.

And in the depths of the night, when sleep eluded us like a fleeting dream, we would lie awake, tormented by the echoes of our own tortured thoughts. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever, an abyss from which there could be no escape. For in a world where even the light had been swallowed by shadows, what hope was there left to cling to?

My neighbor Jim Clarke was among the first to go missing, his sister's frantic report marked the beginning of the disappearances. I remember growing up with him, he'd always been a creature of habit; his relentless need for connection, had always made him seem like a tragic figure consumed by his own fears. He'd have to check in constantly with his family during the day, or else he would have panic attacks. From the story I'd read in the local paper, a welfare check was conducted and authorities found nothing but eerie silence in his house. No sign of struggle, no trace of where he might have gone. Just an empty space, like Jim had never existed at all. Yet, amidst the silence, a sinister trail emerged, leading to a dilapidated cabin. Within, strewn across the floor, lay the entirety of a man's blood-soaked skin. That man, none other than Jim Clarke, now reduced to a gruesome ornament.

The community whispered about it for weeks, speculating on what could have happened to him. Many speculated that it was the work of a serial killer, while others assumed it was the work of some supernatural entity. Unbeknownst to all, the latter would be correct.

Hey everyone, this is an amateur writer. I wrote my first novel a year ago but never uploaded it on wattpad. Now when I have published it on wattpad; I request you to go through it. Open to all feedbacks. I would be glad if you take the the effort to do so.

Novel name: Alone Amongst the Foes.

Genere: Adventure; Fanfiction;

Based on Hasbro's Transformers Action Figures.

link to wattpad:

https://www.wattpad.com/1439482773-alone-amongst-the-foes-for-the-readers?utm_source=web&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share_reading

Thanks ya all.

Picture this: you're lying at home after a long and grueling day at work, bored out of your mind, nothing to eat. You figure that since you have gotten paid recently you should go out to eat somewhere fancy, perhaps the vegas strip. You walk along a busy street flooded with people and high end restaurants but one catches your eye, a seemingly cozy place called  “the cannibal cafe”. you think “what a morbid name” but you enter filled with curiosity, inside you are greeted by a dapper young man; “welcome to the cannibal cafe, please fill out this waiver if you are to continue this experience”. As you read through the terms and conditions you notice that something is off about this contract. “ In signing this form you agree to the conditions of consuming human meat, as well as allowing your flesh to be cooked and eaten by tomorrow's consumers”. You laugh and think to yourself “damn this fake contract looks so real”, you sit down and look over the menu as you read some of the strange meals they offer “human ribs”, “brain stir fried rice”, “fried fingers”, you decide to order the “foot tacos”. You eat and pay but  As your about to leave your waiter approaches you “sir, please sit back down we are about to collect meat for tomorrow's consumers” as you sit back down the waiters pass out wine glasses containing a weird red liquid to each table, the head chef steps up and proclaims “greetings consumers, we have passed out our kool aid laced with cyanide and we kindly ask you to please drink it so that we may use your flesh to feed future consumers''. The people around you drink the liquid and proceed to drop dead like flies, as you realize the morbid reality of your situation you run as fast as you can to the door before two staff members stop you, they hold you down as you scream “please i didn't know this was real i want to leave, i don't want to die!!” but your cries are met with silence as the chef takes one of the drinks and forces it down your throat as you kick and scream and beg for your life. You never made it out, you died a horrible death and your body was later used for a family of 6 the next night.

This is my first story I've written so plz don't judge to hard but if you have any ways the story can be improved lmk!

I am dabbling with a new dystopian horror idea, and I'm curious if anyone would be interested in the idea. I am not super familiar with the horror genre or market, and I don't really know how much detail in horror is too much, and what is considered appropriate, so I'd love to hear any thoughts.

​

After centuries of using fossil fuels, the world has finally run out of them. Scientists have discovered a way to convert humans into the fossil fuels needed to keep electricity running, but this method is inefficient since one life can only create a few hours of electricity.

The scientists start to experiment with a parasite that can join a human and can make it so the human's life can be indefinitely harvested in place of fossil fuels by feeding it and converting its body into coal.

But when they run out of feed for the parasite, the parasite is desperate for more food. The human host and the parasite are left to find more to feed on, while the host battles with whether to get revenge on the scientists that made them into this or to try to escape, all while battling with the hunger the parasite gives him.

​

This story would involve a lot of gore, body horror, and death within it. I'm not sure if I want to pursue this project long-term, but I'd be curious if horror-enjoyers would be interested in reading it.

The stench. That's what woke her. The smell of something rotten filled her nose, her mouth—her head. All other smells were sent out. It was just rotten odours now. She opened her watering eyes. A mixture of onion and vomit powered her tastebuds—it's from the smell. What is that smell? Where?

Tanya jumped up from her bed and stood in the dark. Arms stretched out, like a zombie, making her way to where she thinks the light switch is—where she knows it should be. Her feet felt through littered shirts and underwear sprawled along the rug. The rotting smell is all over, seeping through the cracked apartment walls, sinking into the carpet, the clothes, skin—like a smoker contaminating their belongings with the stench of their favourite aroma. Tanya felt for the switch on the wall and flicked it—nothing, just darkness. Tanya felt for the doorknob. The cold brass, embedded with time, embedded with the dirt of past tenants, uncleaned by careless landlords, turned.

More foul odours poured into the bedroom—sewage, burning garbage, and something very rotten. Tanya clasped her mouth and nose, peering into the hallway—pitch black. The stench was like airborne ooze. She felt it, thick, like hot heat slumped onto her tired body. She pushed through, not noticing how cold it was until her foot made contact with the linoleum.

Socks. That would be nice.

i love short horror story but have never written before so i decided to try my hand at it. i want whatever critique that i can get however harsh you want to make it as i need to improve somehow

heres the story i feel its a bit short and would also like tips for making it feel longer

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My limbs were getting too long.

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It was around 8:30 pm when I noticed. I was scrolling through reddit when I had to pee, so I got up and went to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw that my pants weren't reaching my ankles. It was odd because earlier, when I put them on, they were a bit too long. I ignored it for the moment and went back to bed. By the time I got back, it was already 9 pm, so I went to sleep.

When I woke up, it was still dark outside. I felt a massive pain and, at the same time, no sense of touch in my limbs. When I opened my eyes, I screamed. I looked at my arm, stretching and reaching until it touched the wall. The pain I felt was my arm growing and pushing against the wall. As I sit here and use text-to-speech to write this on the last sub i was browsing when i went to sleep, my limbs have grown almost an inch. I pray that whatever has caused this hasn't affected my mother in the next room.

Hello, I'm an aspiring author in highschool and I would like some tips on how to get better at writing and developing my stories. I currently am working on 3 horror storys and would love some advice.

My designs include unlimited revisions and both ebook and paperback, as well as promotional material and any other changes you might need. I will chat with you and ask for input every step along the way.

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You can find my portfolio right here: https://www.behance.net/igorandrich

Horror stories that are limited in length but still packed full of terror, dread and death

Flashes of Fright contains 13 horror stories, each of which is 1,000 words long. These stories include …

– ‘Level 25’. A video game character with a mind of his own dreads facing the final boss.

– ‘One Bad Deed Deserves Another’. A high-flyer ignores a little girl he knocks over and is taught a fateful lesson.

– ‘Seawash Manor’. Two siblings spend the night in a haunted house and have a life-changing experience for the worse.

– ‘What a Way to Go’. The king of a disease-stricken nation has a gruesome punishment in mind for a prisoner.

Witness horrifying, unspeakable acts and watch as people meet their maker in disturbing ways. See how the deranged wreak havoc, cause chaos and bring lives to a close too soon. And stand by as innocent people face gruesome, deadly punishments.

If you’re looking for some rather short horror stories, you’re bound to like reading Flashes of Fright.

Buy now and prepare to be scared, upset and freaked out by these extra-short horror stories.

Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, Kobo

Trochildae By Al Bruno III

The air was humid and thick with pollen. The path that led through the field was uneven and uphill. The grass that bordered it was thickly flowered with blooms the color of blood. Trees surrounded them, hemlock spruces and white cedars. Occasionally a cicada-like hum would rise up from all around and then fade away.

Joseph hurried after the old man trying to make him sell but the old man just wouldn't listen.

“Creer family moved here in 1806,” the old man said. He was white haired but broad-shouldered and thickly built, “The Protestants in New York hadn’t taken too kindly to them ‘cause they kept to themselves and didn’t worship in the fine respectable churches everyone else did. They bought these acres, it wasn’t farmin’ land you see. Gully’s too deep and the ground’s no good for tillin’.”

“Mr. Fenner my company is more than willing to meet almost any price...” Joseph paused to brush a burr from his slacks, he was sure that by the time this was over his suit would be ruined. Not that he ever wore one of his really good suits when visiting these hick towns, but he still didn’t like the idea of getting grass stains or worse on what he was wearing. Something whizzed past his head, it looked like the biggest, pinkest bumblebee he had ever seen. Joseph had always hated the out of doors. Camping and long walks on the beach were not for him. He preferred the odors and sounds of the city, he’d take subway rats over bunnies and woodchucks any day.

They spied a post nearby, just a bolt of wood standing out in the middle of the tall grass. A milk bottle hung from it. The old man made his way to it and filled it from the watering can he was carrying. The fluid that trickled into the bottle was thick and syrupy. “Now the Creer family was all daughters...” he continued, “well that ain’t really true but they had no luck with the male children. Those that weren’t stillborn or simple ran away from home soon as they could.”

When the old man came back to the path there were a dozen or so ticks on his overalls. Joseph felt his skin crawl, he started brushing at his clothes self-consciously. Was there one crawling up his leg now? Was there more than one?

And why was it the old man just wouldn't listen?

The tree line was growing closer, “Now the Fenner family married into the Creers. The Fenners had made their fortunes in Mexico but they came back up north right before the Alamo fell. Soon enough all the Creer daughters married the Fenner sons. Most of ‘em settled here, they built additions onto the house and made families of their own. Some families moved in to town to make their fortunes,” the old man turned and gave Joseph a ragged grin, “but I’m the last now. Last for miles, wife and kids all gone.”

“So why stay here?” They reached another post with another bottle, the old man filled it. Joseph turned to look back and grimaced at how far they had come. There was a weathered stone wheel lying near the path, there had been writing on it once but it had been reduced to mottled shapes. “All your neighbors have sold to us already. We want to break ground by the fall.”

The old man got back on the path and started walking again, “But ain’t there enough stores in the world already? Besides, if I sell and you plow all this under where will the Trochildae go?”

“Tr- what?”

“Trochildae, least that’s what we Fenners call them. Ain’t got no proper names really but they’re like hummingbirds.”

Joseph groaned inwardly, he had thought the old man was a just a crazy old coot but it was worse than that, he was a tree hugger. “Mr. Fenner there is no record of any endangered species...”

“Well of course not,” the old man replied, “but they're here, been livin' here since before the Creers and the Fenners, since before any man lived at all. Some say the Old Ones brought them down from the stars.”

They followed the path into the woods, Joseph breathed a sigh of relief at the cool shade. He watched the old man fill another bottle. He began “Mr. Fenner I think we have gotten off the subject...” then his words trailed off.

They had reached a clearing in the woods, a rough circle where no plant grew and slabs of stone protruded from the ground. There were figures tied to the stones, men, women and children all bound and gagged with strips of leather. Their flesh was pockmarked and torn. To Joseph's widening eyes they looked like mummies.

But some of those mummies were writhing in place.

A sharp sting of pain made him cry out. Joseph snatched at his cheek and found his fingers warm with blood. There was something flitting around his head, moving fast and filling his ears with a heavy droning buzz.

The thing- the Trochildae- moved too quickly to be seen clearly but Joseph could see it was only bird-like in the vaguest sense of the word. The body was frail-looking and devoid of feathers, dark veins ran through its flesh and its wings moved so quickly that it was impossible to judge how many of them there were. Joseph screamed and swatted at it, backing away and in to the old man's waiting arms. The old man was strong, impossibly strong.

The forest came alive with the sound of the Trochildae as Joseph was expertly bound to a stone. Dozens of the creatures flew this way and that in anticipation.

Over and over again Joseph begged for mercy, but the old man just wouldn't listen.

Hey r/WritersOfHorror ,

​

I'm thrilled to finally share my debut novella, Newfound Revelations, which just launched on Kindle!

​

Here's the Blurb:

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In a universe teetering on collapse, a new generation inherits the burden of a forbidden quest for knowledge. Will they learn from the past and forge a path to harmony, or are they doomed to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors?

​

If you're a fan of:

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Thought-provoking concepts and complex worlds

Stories that explore empathy and understanding

Fast-paced narratives with unexpected twists

Then I think you might enjoy "Newfound Revelations"!

​

As a new author, I'd be incredibly grateful for any support. Here are a few ways you can help:

​

Check out the FREE first chapter in the comments below!

Grab a copy on Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CTHSZJDX

Leave a review (honest feedback is always appreciated!)

Share the word with your fellow sci-fi fans!

I'm also happy to answer any questions you might have about the story or the writing process.

​

Thanks for your time, and happy reading!

​

P.S.

​

Feel free to share your favorite sci-fi reads or what kind of stories you're looking for in the comments below! I'm always on the lookout for new recommendations.

Honestly I’ve always enjoyed everything horror and I’ve been writing for awhile coming to realize that i have a passion for writing stories especially horror stories I call it The Wither Rose

Hi, my name is Jenna, I'm currently writing a paper for my English class about horror as a genre and why people enjoy and seek or media that scares them. I'm looking to interview someone who has the perspective of an author. A simple interview over DM's or emails. The only criteria I'm looking for is someone who writes frequently. If you've ever been published that would be great as well but not necessary! The biggest thing would be if you've ever gotten feedback on your work, and that you have an understanding of effective and successful elements of your writing. If anyone could help me out here I would greatly appreciate it!

(1948) Homeward Hunting Ground

 The war had ended three years ago and with that came the end of the Nazi reign. By this time Sergeant Kantrell was just simply John. He Saw his term through the end of the war with plenty of more successful wins under his belt. Periodically collecting more tokens for his kills but none he held closer than the mysterious trinket he had found in his pocket the night Walley had told him what John had done on their final mission together. That little crude object remained in his pocket for every mission and it provided a continuous repeat of successful battles. Earning him plenty of bragging rights and a incredible taste for Nazi blood All missions ended with the death of the enemy while John remained untouched. He gave all the credit to his lucky charm, regardless of the horrible occurrence that came with it. He still couldn't make sense of what happened that night and nothing beyond what Walley told him ever resurfaced into John's mind. It remained a mystery to him and he was never able to get any more insight from Walley, if there was any because the day after they were picked up both men were separated. John never saw or heard from his friend after that and the last thing he had been told was Walley ended his time with the military to pursue a career helping children. John could never get the full detail but was happy to hear that his friend was doing something fulfilling.
 John never returned to his hometown of Sesser but did come back to the state of Illinois. He abandoned all ties to the Kantrell Plumbing Company and the home where his parents died. He was his own man and decided to live in Harrisburg where he was able to buy his first house and even get a job as a coal miner after the rise of mining during the war. Things just continued to work out for John as his life kept moving forward and even though he no longer fought in the war he still kept that little trinket of his close at hand. It didn't matter if he was going to work in the darkness of the mines or just leaving the house to go to the store, that little oblong coin was always in his pocket. It never failed to bring him good fortune, things just always seemed to work out for him and he never dared to go anywhere without it. There were plenty of accidents in the mines that brought many miners to their deaths but any time John clocked in it never happened during his shift. The mines were a good place to work in the sense that it kept John's mind busy and didn't leave him thinking of his time in war, the incident with the blackout he had or that horrendous flashback of his parents. He was done with battle and although he enjoyed the fight while in service, in the normal world he no longer had that bloodlust. The job gave him a sense of purpose and kept him in shape.
 The people he worked with were decent guys but occasionally he would run into someone with a bad attitude. One such person was a large man named Todd. Just some run of the mill corn fed asshole with a chip on his shoulder. Any time he came in contact with Todd, there was always some rude comment followed by a slight physical push. 
Whenever this happened John would do his best to ignore it and move on but over time it continued to get worse. It would anger him, his blood would start to boil and oddly enough, his trinket would heat up in his pocket. He never knew why that happened so he just figured it was his anger fueling and causing his skin to make him think that's what he felt. The sensations continued to get worse with each passing day that his nemesis would piss John off. He finally had enough and decided today was gonna be the day that John was going to fight Todd. The day went as usual with John going down the elevator to his area and like clockwork he would feel a hard shoulder hitting his back. "Get the fuck out of my way", grunted the nasty bastard. Any other time John would shrug it off or ignore him but he had reached his breaking point. So he retaliated with a snarled,” Why don't you go fuck yourself." The man paused for a moment not believing what had just been said and then leaned into John's ear and spoke in a hushed tone, "When this shift is over I'm gonna find you and beat the living shit out of you." He shoved John and made his way down the dimly lit shaft. John was fuming with rage, hands shaking and he violently set to work. By the end of the day he was completely exhausted but still filled with anger. He walked to his truck and just sat for a while watching everyone else get into their vehicles to leave the jobsite.      
 Eventually the one person he had been waiting for finally emerged and got into his vehicle. John slowly pulled out from the job and began to follow Todd, who was owed the beating of his life.

Passing all the houses and shops along different roads, twists and turns leading through cornfields John found it funny. This motherfucker really was a corn fed asshole and that thought really made him laugh. But the laugh quickly left him to be replaced with the original emotion of anger and hate. The more he thought of the man, the angrier he got which brought visions of John beating the Todd’s face in until all he saw was blood. His pocket began to heat up and the images in John's head morphed into the man hanging from a tree with his eyes replaced with broken shards of glass. He shook his head to clear the images. He didn't want to kill the guy, just put him in his place and show him there are consequences to being an asshole.
Yes he wanted to beat the shit out of the guy until his face was bruised and bloody but there was no thought to take his life. But again another image popped into John's head and this time it was of the man lying in a tub filled with blood and the skin of his face completely peeled off. And once again that burning sensation hit his leg when this vision filled John's mind. His body began to shake as he remembered the sight of finding his mother in a tub filled with blood, the trauma was attempting to take over. His train of thought was broken when the truck in front of John pulled up to a trailer out in the far reaches of the cornfield and down a gravel road. The truck parked in front of the trailer and Todd stepped out. John pulled up behind the parked truck and mimicked the act of stepping out of his own truck. When John slammed his door shut it caught Todd’s attention, who turned quickly then smiled wide before shouting, "Oh you little prick. Decided to come and find me instead?" John didn't say a single word as he approached with both fists clinched and ready to begin.
The two men began to walk towards each other, Todd walking with confidence as he started to ball up his fists. Before he could lift an arm, John had landed the first blow across the Todd's jaw. In an instant he fell flat to the ground with a hard thud. John lost it and began to kick him in the ribs and even landing a few kicks to his head. John knelt down to continuously punch every inch of the cocksuckers face until blood began to spew from his mouth and nose. John took a slight pause to wipe some of the blood from his own face. Before coming down with another punch, Todd gurgled. "Please stop. You win! I'm sorry!" John just looked at him for a moment and that burning returned to his pocket once more. John snatched the fucker up and walked him to the door of the trailer. "Open the door." spoke john with a forceful tone. Not knowing what to do, the man did as he was told. The moment the door was unlocked John kicked him in the back, knocking his face onto the floor. John rolled him over and started to beat his face again and caused blood to leak out of his ears. John stood up and walked to the kitchen area and grabbed the biggest knife that caught his eye. He didn't think twice when he jammed that blade deep into Todd’s chest nor did he pause to consider the forty five additional stab wounds he inflicted on the body of his enemy. The more he dug that blade in the more alive he felt and there was no stopping him. The fun ended when the handle snapped off from John digging the blade into the center of the right eye socket. In the end the police would document a total of seventy five stab wounds to the torso and face of Todd Skirman, six weeks after John had left the scene. No suspects were apprehended, men at work were questioned but this man was an asshole to everyone which left too many enemies that could be suspects. John was never questioned and continued his work day to day. Once again his good luck charm kept him safe. After that day it seemed that whenever there was an issue with someone that caused any inconvenience for John, the coin would heat up in his pocket which caused his anger to soar and that person would end up dead. The images would start then shaking in his hands and once that good luck charm of his burned, there was no turning back. But no matter the case, he was never found to be associated with the deceased and he always knew it was his luck. He didn't go about this often and the choice of victim was not random. It was just triggered when someone pushed his buttons and would want to start something with John. This was his dirty little secret though, he was still making a body count even after the war had gone and passed. His good luck charm kept him safe but also showed him what it was he should do with the people that really set him off. This continued to be how his life would go until eventually it calmed down for a while when he met a girl. Abigail was the receptionist that handled the checks in the main office for the coal mining company John worked for. They had chatted periodically whenever he would go pick up his weekly check. Within six months the chatting had turned into dating which led to the two getting married. It was all that John could hope for in his life. He already had the job and a house but now he had the perfect wife to bring more joy into his life and that was all he needed. With the turn of events he got less angry and killed less while he was with Abigail. She was never aware of her husbands sporadic indulgences of murder. He would still get his urges and he would still get lucky to not ever get caught. It was just a form of releasing those primal urges every now and then. By November of 1949 John and Abigail had brought into their lives a son, little John Kantrell Jr. The couple couldn't be any happier than what they were at that very moment now that their family was complete. John was a very proud dad to say the least and he enjoyed every moment he had with his son. But good things never last and before long the primal urges beckoned with increased intensity from the amplified powers of John’s favorite little trinket. What once had been a periodic occurrence changed to a weekly habit of taking a life. The urge to kill was uncontrollable by this point. By the time little John Jr. was a few weeks shy of six months old, his father had racked up a total of forty five victims. Each one varied in race, age and sex with all different methods of murder. Ranging from strangulation by thin strands of wire that almost severed the heads of victims to dismemberment with skinning victims alive before finally snuffing them from existence. John didn't care who the person was or how he ended their existence as long as he got his appropriate dose of satisfaction watching the life leave their eyes. It soon became a sloppy turn of events when he would come home with scrapes and bruises accompanied by blood stains on his clothes. Any time Abigail would question him about the marks or the blood it would cause John to become irritated and he would shut the conversation down with a quick blame on an incident at work. For a while that excuse ended her questioning but only for a short time. John would come home every day in this state and always returned home hours past his normal schedule, this added to the concern of his wife. John's lust for violence finally made its way into his home and he had become exactly like his father with the beatings he gave to his poor wife. But these were much more savage and only the slightest glance in a disapproving way would set John off. On two different occasions Abigail almost lost her life at the hands of her husband. Once was when he beat her with a belt then afterwards wrapped it around her throat until she lost consciousness. The other time when she was in the kitchen doing the dishes. With no word or warning, John hit her with all of his strength in the back of her head then placed it under water almost drowning her. Slight issues with people was no longer the spark that ignited his rage, he now hunted purely for the sight of blood and death with no specific reason behind it. John had become a monster that stalked the streets of Harrisburg in search of his next victim but he had also become a monster that craved the whimpering fear that echoed from the walls of his home. Things become their worst on the night of May 1st 1950 when he took it upon himself to repeat his own history. He showed up to work as usual but his pocket began to heat up and the continuous sensation of claws scratching at his brain, no words spoken by the voice but sensations that reverberated the rage inside of him. The urge to kill resonated through every fiber in his body. Every face that met his gaze was morphed into an ensemble of gore that caused a crazed grin to painfully stretch across his face. The voice he heard spoke in sensations rather than words and without any hesitation John grabbed the first person next to him and sank his teeth deep into their neck. He felt the vibration from the scream and bit down harder until he could lock his teeth around the man's Adam's apple. With a quick crunch and jerk, the man fell to the ground as John chewed on the mouthful of bloody sinew, gazing at the dying man before swallowing. The smile got bigger with every corpse he created until not a single person was left breathing in that tunnel. The drive home was a vague blur however during that time, flashes of the past filled his mind. All the slaughter, screams and blood from that mission during the night he blacked out resurfaced. John truly enjoyed the sights that had been bestowed upon him and knew finally where his good luck charm came from. Upon getting out of his vehicle, John paused for a long while remembering all the faces he witnessed before death met their gaze. His smile would not falter as he slowly crept to the front door of his home to give his wife the gift he had shared with so many people. He was not greeted which was no surprise considering what happened any time Abigail looked at him. He walked into the living room to see his wife reading a book and little John Jr. asleep in the extra crib. No words were exchanged when John snatched Abigail up by her face and drove his fingers deep into her eyes. He could feel them pop and ooze on his finger tips, the soft tissue jamming under his nails. She screamed and John quickly removed his fingers from her eye sockets and placed his hands on her shoulders. He threw his knee into her stomach and the force dropped her to the floor. She wailed in agony as John laughed while walking towards the kitchen. He returned shortly, watching his wife squirm on the floor and holding her face, cradling the now vacant holes where her eyes used to be. He knelt down to place a knee on her chest and landed a few punches before grabbing a handful of hair. With one hand he held her head still while the other gripped a knife, shoving it into her mouth.
She attempted to avoid the blade but John’s grip pulled the hair so tightly that it was impossible to escape. He slowly began to saw at the corner of Abigail’s mouth, blood pouring from the separating flesh and more screaming pierced the air. He removed the blade and hit her in the face again to silence the screaming. The knife returned to her mouth and the process was repeated, John finished his work by creating a horrid Glasgow Smile. Once he had finished that, he dropped the knife and with both hands, pulled at the disheveled locks of hair then began to slam Abigail’s skull against the hardwood floor. After the screaming silenced, he snapped her neck for good measure before turning to a crying John Jr. who had awoken during the attack. John stared at the frantic baby for an eternity before wrapping his hands around the child's neck. As his hands tightened, a shock hit every nerve in his body that left him paralyzed. The scratching in his brain returned but communicated with words this time, "No! This child must stay alive." With that, John released his hands to obey the commands being demanded through the voice and sensations that controlled his body. The following morning John drove to the Willow Tree orphanage outside of Harrisburg. Taking John Jr. who was wrapped in a blanket and housed in a wicker basket, he set the basket down. John placed the paper that he was commanded to write, stained with the blood of his former wife on top of his son’s blanket. He raised his hand to knock on the door when his pocket became ice cold from the coin. The voice echoed in his head, "It no longer belongs to you. Leave it" With no control over his body, John mentally cried when removing his prized possession from his pocket and bending down to place it on top of the blood stained note. Standing up straight, John banged on the door then left before anyone could answer. He got into his vehicle and drove off in a hurry without even looking back. John Jr. woke up and began to cry uncontrollably from confusion and fear. A few moments later the door of the orphanage was opened by one of its large and bearded caretakers. The large man looked down at the wailing child with sadness in his heart wondering why anyone would leave such a helpless babe alone. Quickly he grabbed the baby from the basket to calm him and noticed blood on the child's clothing. The man found no injuries for the blood and looked down to see the note as well as the oblong trinket. He grabbed both, the metal touched his skin and it was ice cold which he found to be odd since it was not winter. The blood on the note brought a confused look to the mans face as he read out loud, "John Samuel Kantrell Jr. Mother Abigail. Father John." No other words were on the paper, only names of three individuals. The man stood in awe as he repeated the name and realizing he knew that name. He looked down at the now sleeping baby then looked beyond the streets and muttered, "Sergeant John Kantrell?" A few weeks later a total of eleven dead bodies were found in the town of Harrisburg. Nine miners were found, causes of death ranged from hand tools impaled in various areas of the body, crushed skulls and two were found with their throats ripped open by what appeared to be some kind of animal. One woman was found laying in her living room, eyes crushed deep inside her skull, jaw ripped open and her neck had been broken. The final body was found off the side of County Highway 37 in a brutal collision to a guard rail. The man's face had been crushed by the steering wheel indicating that the vehicle had been moving at top speed before colliding into the railing. Registration of the car was traced back to be the owner of the house and spouse to the woman who was found on that same day.

https://www.amazon.com/Starfall-Fables-Chaos-Book-1-ebook/dp/B094Q6NJJK/