The Tree

The book

A short horror story I wrote.

Word count: 1504

TW: blood & grief

I look up from my phone as I hear the noise of falling books.

It seems that Camilla has pushed Emily again.

My shy classmate is lying on the floor with eyes red from crying, though she certainly isn't the only one.

It's the funeral of another classmate after all, Jane, now the dead girl, used to be quite popular at school.

Always running around and helping others in need, even with her status, she never forgot about others.

Yes, she did break the rules more times than anyone could count, yelled back at teachers and was overall never afraid to speak her mind.

She was hard to dislike and everyone seemed to want to be close to her.

Unfortunately this means she had few 'real' friends, very few, but I digress.

The once so joyful girl, now lays weirdly calm and quiet in the open coffin.

I can't stop myself to wonder if underneath that layer of make-up our friend really is.

Would her lips be blue?

Would her skin be cold?

I too have bawled my eyes out when I got the news, Jane was dead and yet no one seemed to know or care what had caused it.

Like it was some kind of secret, would it be bad if it came out?

As her class, we were taken to be at her wake to show our respects, but I'm pretty sure the teachers would want to hang another lesson on this.

Perhaps they might have us write an essay on death or learn from our former friend to not become like her.

It sucks.

They suck.

But from all the people here, I hate myself the most.

The last time I spoke to Jane was last week, the day before she had passed.

If I had said something different, if I could go back, if I had known.... Would I have been able to change the outcome?

Would we be in school? Would she pass me by with a smile? Would she talk back to another teacher again?

But there won't be anything like that again and honestly it is difficult to believe.

I just... I can't accept it... not yet.

As the other girls leave I walk over to Emily: "Hey, are you okay?" I ask her, while helping her gather the books.

She responds in a sad nod, though in my heart I know she's not okay.

She looked up to Jane as an older sister, the two had always been close even before high school.

I look at one of the books I help her stack up and notice how well-made they are.

"T-these are pretty." I say, my head starts hurting again from the amount I've cried, I don't think there are any more tears left.

"Thanks" Emily sniffles and then she takes one from the pile: "Here, take one... you were one of her real friends too, I can tell." A sad smile crosses her face.

"Thank you."

I carefully take the book from her hand and help her back onto her feet, after that we quickly part ways again.

I look at my phone, it seems that I still have some time before my dad comes to pick me up.

I don't feel like talking to anyone and on my phone there only seem to be posts about Jane, so I don't really feel like being on it either.

I walk to a corner where I can be alone and take a seat on the couch.

I tuck my phone in one of my pockets and open the book.

I'm pretty sure Emily has made this herself, she's very creative and this looks like her style.

Like usual she has turned it into a sort of scrapbook with fitting pictures.

When I first held it I had already noticed it being pretty heavy.

It seems to be filled with pictures.

On the first page it says: 'Goodbye Jane, our dear friend, our dear daughter', with a recent picture from the girl in question smiling brightly, the birth- and death dates are noted underneath.

She didn't get much older than sixteen.

Did her parents commission Emily to make this?

I turn the page.

So... so this is what she looked like as a baby, huh...

I wonder... are all her pictures here?

I flip through it and it seems like that might be the case, though mostly the good ones.

There are some bad ones, but even so they are more light-hearted and funny, showing all her sides.

"Only Emily could have made something like this." I mumble to myself, she was probably the closest friend after all.

I stop at a random page, here the pictures seem more recent. They are from one of her social media accounts.

Jane had always wanted to be a photographer, so there are really a ton of them. Mostly herself though, with a few pictures of scenery in between.

I flip to the next page.

Is it just my imagination... or did she just move?

I look closely at the picture.

I'm... right?

It's a picture from about four years ago, taken in a theme park.

Both Emily and Jane are in this picture.

The Ferris wheel behind them, it seems to glow... like really glow!

I hold my hand slightly above it only to see the light reflecting back at my hand.

Suddenly the sweet scents of popcorn and cotton candy enter my nose just as the sound of cheerful music enters my ears.

From the page, Jane looks at me, turning her head and smiling at me.

Quickly I slam the book shut.

I'm just imagining things right?

Weary, I look around, but it seems like no one has noticed me at all.

So, too curious, I open the book again on a random page.

This time it's a picture from four months ago.

Jane seems to be alone in a garden filled with butterflies, not only in the picture itself, but also in the scrapbook around her.

Though this time nothing seems to move.

I sigh, a bit disappointed and look up from the heavy book watching the world outside the window.

Unlike what I expected, it suddenly seemed to have turned into the butterfly garden.

I can even see Jane standing by the plants with a camera in her hands.

Without thinking I walk towards the window, still no one seemed to have noticed me, neither me nor her.

I can see some of the butterflies walking on the glass and with each breeze the dark green plants sway gently.

I place my hand on the glass and Jane notices me.

With a familiar laugh she turns to me and waves.

Then she slowly raises her camera and takes a picture of me.

As the flash ends, I'm back on the couch.

Did I not move?

Not at all?

The book is still on my lap, I haven't even closed it.

I look down at the garden picture again, but it doesn't move.

I look out of the window and am only greeted by the parking lot. Yeah, there are a few plants, but not as many as in the garden.

Jane is also nowhere to be seen.

I turn back to the book and flip it to another random page.

This time it's from four weeks ago.

Jane is standing outside, watching the sun go down on the beach.

Only her dark outline is visible at the center of the slowly darkening sky.

Still, it's a good picture.

It feels mystical and mysterious.

As nothing happens I start looking around again.

Then I notice a white wall slowly turning yellow and shortly after purple.

The lights in the room turn into stars and if I listen closely, I swear I can hear the sea.

I can smell the salt water and feel the warm sand underneath my feet.

Jane's silhouette seems to welcome me, inviting me to join her.

Suddenly a loud noise or at least louder than my thoughts, takes me out of it.

It's her family, her parents are crying.

I feel horrible and I can't even bring myself to go up to them, to tell them about how wonderful their daughter was.

How she took me, as many others, out of the darkness and back into the light.

That it's okay to make mistakes, that it's okay to cry.

But I can do nothing.

I can only go back to the book, pretending I didn't notice a thing.

I open the book again, this time on the final page.

The last picture.

It's not a picture of Jane.

It's a picture of the city at night.

Is this the final picture she made?

I look at the date.

Four days ago...

That's the last day she's been alive.

Was this the night in which she had passed?

It had to be.

The picture starts to move again.

Jane seems to be holding whatever took the photo.

She is walking, from the way she takes each step, I notice that she's anxious about something.

There aren't many lights on.

Just a single street lantern, casting shadows around itself.

Suddenly she stops.

Something is moving close to the lantern.

"W-who's there?" I hear Jane say, fear clear in her voice.

No answer.

Something is moving closer.

And then it moves faster.

Jane drops the camera, or perhaps she fell.

A loud slashing noise can be heard, followed by a couple of horrid screams.

I can't move my eyes away from it.

Blood enters the picture.

But it won't stop at the picture.

It starts to consume the book.

And it doesn't stop.

Floods and floods of blood leave the pages.

I drop it, but my hands are already stained.

It just won't stop flooding. 

The library

Books are scary...

A story I wrote about someone stuck in a strange library.

TW: Psychological horror, gore

Only darkness.

No memories.

No thoughts.

No feelings.

No 'me'.

All of a sudden a bright light fills the place.

It is so bright that I can't see anything.

I?

Me?

As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice that I am in a library.

It is not a normal library, the bookcases look like trees, with their branches reaching far up.

Their leaves, all different, give the room a dreamlike feeling.

The roots which are growing all over the floor are connecting all the trees together.

The floor where I awoke is covered in a beautiful mosaic.

The light is coming from two big windows with stained glass, one above me and the other on the wall I'm facing.

It is not like how it is in a church, the stained glass is in much more colors and the image is something I can't really understand

It looks really vague, but maybe that was the intention.

Carefully I stand up and walk towards the nearest bookcase.

There are many, many books.

None of them seem to be sorted in any way, the genres couldn't be any more different and none of them are in alphabetical order. Not the titles or the writers.

It's a bit of a mess honestly, some of the books aren't even placed properly on the shelves.

As I walk around the room, I notice that there are no doors present.

How did I even get here?

I have no bruises or wounds and I don't remember being kidnapped, so that probably isn't it.

But neither do I remember coming here out of free-will...

I should investigate more.

As I look around I notice one other strange thing, it's one of the bookcases.

Just like the others it looks like a tree, but it looks like it has been dead for a long time. There are no leaves on the finger-like branches and it almost looks like it has been burned.

Still it is connected to all the others by the roots.

When I take a step closer, I can unexpectedly feel something...

Something bad.

An emotion?

A memory?

I don't know, but for now I shall leave it be.

I walk to another bookcase, this one has many children's books.

From bedtime stories, to those of wild adventures.

From fairytales to informative books.

And then there are the books without an author.

Carefully I take one out.

It is heavy and rather dusty, so I clean it off and open it with care.

It is someone's childhood.

Mine maybe, but it could also be someone else's.

I just don't know.

The pages are filled, everything is written to the furthest detail.

Every day, what happened, what they ate, people they met.

As careful as I took it out, I place it back in the bookcase.

I take out another, but similar book, again it is about the same child. Most of the other characters in it seemed to be the same as in the last book.

I can see now, why there are this many books, they must all be about this person's life.

So all these books are sorted! Not by genre or writer, but by date!

Quite proud of myself for figuring that out all by myself I continue on to another bookcase.

In it are a lot of schoolbooks and a couple of story books, these don't look as much for children as the previous. Most of them are too difficult or scary.

And again I open a random book from the ones without an author.

It is about a teenager, I think this might have been the child from the other bookcase before.

The same as before, everything is written to the finest detail.

The places they went to and the lessons they learned.

The bookcase after is about an adult, whom most likely has been the child and the teenager at some point.

This is by far the one with the most books, they must have enjoyed reading very much.

Same as before, the authorless book I take of a shelf is written into the smallest details.

About where they traveled to where they bought a house.

About losses and new lives.

I truly wonder who could have written these and all I am left with is the ability to wonder about who all these people are or were.

Although all of this is quite nice to read, my curiosity grows towards the 'dead' bookcase.

It has started making noises.

Scratching.

And something like speech.

I can't understand it though, it is all too muffled.

Quietly I walk towards the tree, step by step I get closer.

When I am close enough, I can see that none of these books have an author.

As I stand close enough, the sounds suddenly come to a halt and I place my hand on one of the books to take it out.

Slowly and with as much care as the others I take it from the dead tree.

This book is different from the rest, it is way heavier than it looks and the cover has been all scratched up. I am not sure if it was done with a knife or fingernails.

Or maybe it could have been teeth?

Vigilant of anything I can think of, I open the book.

As soon as I do, the scratching starts again and the muffled noises sound more like screams.

In this book are bad memories.

Fear.

Discomfort.

Sadness

Jealousy.

Pain.

Hate.

The handwriting in this book is terrible, more like someone scratched it in.

As I try to read what the words say, the tree starts to shake.

Quickly I take a few steps back.

Veins start to appear in the tree, filled with a strange growing color.

The roots of the other connected trees start to die, causing them to all drop their leaves.

Before they hit the ground they turn red and then turn into blood as they fall, splashing and making the mosaic disappear underneath the dark liquid.

Suddenly the first bookcase catches fire, burning all books with it in an instant.

Then burns the second and after that the third.

Before I can do anything, all the bookcases have been burned to ashes.

The blood washes over them, making even the last bits disappear.

All the books are gone and now I am only left with the dead tree.

The roots grow rapidly and start to cover the windows, until I am back in complete darkness again.

Only this time with all the awful memories.

Brother

This is the first short horror story I'm posting here on tumblr, I hope you like it and if you do. Please check out my Wattpad:

https://www.wattpad.com/user/Ardenla

TW: Gore, psychological horror

My brother has always been very kind. Not just to me, but also everyone and everything around us. We live together with our uncle in a nice house with a big garden. Honestly, the house might be a bit to the bigger side. I'm pretty sure we could fit another small family here, but I'm happy with just the three of us. My uncle is a pretty good cook too! And my brother and I do quite good at school and both have some friends.

Even so, something is wrong.

It has to do with my brother.

He is special. Unfortunately not always in a good way.

The first time it happened was during the accident that robbed us of our parents.

The car got crashed horribly, after it had been upside down a couple of times. It all happened somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I don't know exactly what happened, but at some point in time I had flow out of the car. I don't really remember, but I was surrounded by white. Someone was holding me and protecting me.

This was the first time that I saw my brother's angel.

They look alike. Both have the same face and body, but their eyes, hair and clothes are very different. The angel mostly looks calm unlike my brother, who shows a lot of his emotions. I'm not saying that showing emotions is bad. I honestly prefer my brother's emotional side, to the angel's cold side.

When the ambulance arrived, it took them a while before they were able to save my brother from the wreckage, he had been unconscious and didn't remember anything about the accident. Our parents unfortunately didn't make it. I don't remember crying so much as I did back then, it all still feels like a haze. That maybe in a few minutes the doorbell will ring and that I can see their faces again, that it was all just a horrible nightmare.

When the paramedics asked me about what had happened, I told them that my brother saved me. Or at least someone who looked like him. They looked at me with pity in their eyes, they carefully told me that it wasn't possible, but I insisted until they shrugged and gave up.

Are you familiar with the story that everyone has an angel and a demon on their shoulders? The ones you sometimes see in old cartoons or read about in old books? My mother always loved to tell me those stories. When they were still alive we would go to church quite often, but uncle thinks it's useless to go. Now we only go with our grandmother from time to time and with Christmas of course. Our mother believed in angels, I hope she is in heaven now.

I'm telling you this, because my brother doesn't only have an angel... He has a demon too. One that almost looks exactly like him, but like the angel is just slightly different. The demon is scary and seems to always be angry and full of hate. He hasn't hurt me, but he hasn't been nice either.

They're both just as tall as my brother and when they appear they are always standing close to him.

I wanted to tell our uncle, but my brother didn't want me to tell him. So I promised to keep it a secret. Pretty cool secret, huh? That is what I thought at first too, but I was wrong to think that.

The first time that I saw the demon, was when an older man tried to kidnap me. It happened close to the empty playground that we actually aren't allowed to go to. The man grabbed me by my wrist, it hurt, so I screamed for my brother who fortunately was just inside the hut we had built before.

My brother ran towards me, also screaming. Then it happened. His demon appeared, right before the man could take me inside a building. My brother's demon grabbed the man's arm. He squeezed it. He kept squeezing and didn't let go. The old man started screaming, burns started to form everywhere on his body and he let me go.

I ran to my brother, who then took me back home as quickly as possible. We never played anywhere near there again. We didn't tell uncle either. We just couldn't. My brother was scared, and because he didn't know yet, I told him about his angel, who saved me. This was when we made the promise to keep it a secret.

From this experience I learned that my brother has none or almost no control over his angel and demon. They usually just do some of the things that he was planning for even a second and come out when they 'feel' needed. Unfortunately this has cost the life of the neighbor's dog, the demon killed it.

Another thing that seems to be bad about my brother being able to somehow summon these two, is that it takes a lot of energy out of him. He gets easily tired and when they are both out, my brother will most likely pass out soon after.

Even though this has made my brother's life significantly difficult, he is always there for me and always ready to protect me. His kindness and strength makes me feel useless sometimes. So I always try to take extra good care of him too. I talk to him when I think he needs it or bake him cookies.

Last week something bad happened, something really, really bad. A friend of our uncle came by, or at least he claimed he was and us being the stupid kids we were back then let him in. Our uncle is a cop and this guy claiming to be his friend was actually a criminal, that wanted to emotionally destroy him. After my uncle arrested his friends. He wanted to kill us. That was supposed to be our last day. The day we might have joined our parents. But of course, the man had it wrong all along. He didn't know anything, he didn't know my brother and what would happen if he would hurt me.

One of the first things the man did when he closed the door, was stab me with a knife. It all happened too quickly, even though I screamed my lungs out, I didn't feel anything. I couldn't even hear my own screaming. My brother rushed to my aid. Both his angel and demon appeared.

His angel came to me, took the knife out and healed me. The demon on the other hand, went rampant. He ripped the scared intruder into a thousand pieces and when he was done he burned his screaming face beyond recognition. It was terrifying, I have never seen something as brutal as that and hopefully never again. I have never seen so much blood, it was everywhere. My brother who had tried to stop his demon, had collapsed and lied passed out on the floor. There was blood on the windows, guts even on the ceiling and some wall's had just turned completely black. For a few minutes I didn't even know where we were. When slowly some of the blood dripped down from the window, I could see the room. A couple of small beams of red light shone into the room.

Hell.

The only thing I could call that room.

Did a human really die in here? There is almost nothing left.

When my uncle came back, he of course, was very shocked to see his traumatized cousins covered in blood, in his ruined house, with bits-and-pieces everywhere from some unidentifiable person. The room, dark from blood. So much blood...

The police were quickly alerted and we were questioned, when my brother was back on his feet again of course. I was surprised when my brother told them the truth, he was crying and said he was afraid of what he might do to the people he cares about when the demon goes out of control again. Our uncle's colleagues had a difficult time keeping in their laughs at first, but soon after one snickered, the demon came out again. Attacking them. They were shocked and some of them froze up. Just in time my brother jumped in front, which caused him to get some really nasty burns.

My uncle didn't know what to say or do. He just stood there and stared with a horrified expression.

I ran to my brother first, I saw his wounds and tried to calm him down. While the officers looked terrified, I begged them to please not take him away. This fell on deaf man's ears unfortunately.

Another kind of police group was sent soon after what happened. A group that deals with the more 'special' kind of incidents. They weren't as nice as our uncle's friends. They took my brother away, the entire time he didn't want to look us in the face. Even when our uncle found his composure and tried to comfort him. He was taken, cuffed in a special van. I watched helplessly as they drove off.

I know it has only been a week, but I've not had a good night sleep yet, nightmares plague me day and night. I am getting counseling so it should get less with time.

My uncle and I are staying somewhere else, because everything still needs to be further inspected and of course deep cleaned. I honestly don't want to return there, I don't believe that, that place can ever be called 'home' again. Just thinking about it gives me chills and makes me want to puke.

Since nobody I know well enough died, I still have to go to school. My uncle did call me in sick for the first few days, but since the day before yesterday I go to school again. I don't like it, but we don't have a choice, the school is very strict. Uncle also said that it might be good for me, that it might take my mind off those terrible things that happened just a week ago.

My first day of school went as normal as if nothing ever happened, I lunched with friends who still believe I just got a cold and did the work that was given to me by my teachers. I'm not ready to tell them what happened just yet, how would I even start?

My uncle has brought me to school every day. The car has never felt this empty as I looked at the place my brother would sit. We don't talk much anymore and when I asked him about my brother, he didn't answer and just shook his head. He didn't want to believe what happened yet. I know it was hard on him too, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

I wish I could see my brother again, but I haven't even gotten any message from him or the officers who took him. I don't know if he's even alive. It makes me really worried.

Something strange did happen to me yesterday, I could feel someone watching me the entire day I was at school. I looked around everywhere, but there was no one.

Today was different though, well I could still feel someone watching me and following me around. But this time, when I looked carefully enough, I could see him.

It's my brother's demon.

Watching me without a break. Every time he notices me looking he starts smiling with this creepy, distorted smile.

It's still following me.

Dreamselling

My most recent short horror story.

Word count: 748

TW: Existential horror/dread

To sell your dream.

Dreamselling

Sold dreams

Someone decides their dreams impossible and sells them to someone without dreams

"I've had it!" I yell: "Mine is just simply unachievable!"

My colleague laughs: "Some dreams just are that way, many people here sell them, here there's no need for them anyway. Dreams just get in the way of getting finished."

We're sitting inside the grey lunch room of our workplace.

I turn to him and lean back: "Did you sell yours?"

A proud smile crosses his face: "Of course I did, daydreaming doesn't get you anywhere and I earned money with it too!"

I shake my head: "I don't think that it's the right thing to do."

"Why not?" He looks surprised.

A colourful memory comes back to me, one from very long ago, when I was still a child. I was playing in the green grass of my grandmother's garden. In both the bright yellow of the sun and the shade of an old tree from which the pink leaves almost seemed to glow.

That day so many years ago I told her my dream, the one I still hold to this day.

"That is such a wonderful dream, don't ever give up on it okay?" My grandmother told me after listening to it. I was so happy to hear those words, she wanted me to achieve that dream.

"So, why haven't you sold it yet?" My colleague asks again, taking me out of the blissful memory.

I shrug.

He continues: "If you do, you don't ever have to complain about it anymore. Life is so much lighter and happier without it."

"I know, I know... Live in the moment, right?"

He nods proudly: "I knew you would come to understand it."

The bell buzzes, letting us know that it's time to go back to work.

Back in my spot I think back about the conversation, should I do it? Should I not do it?

Honestly the dream hurts, I'm far from the place where I truly want to be.

As I get back to my apartment I find a bill lying on the floor by the door.

Damn, I guess I'll be losing a big chunk of my loan again.

Hesitantly I open the letter and look pained towards the many numbers.

Will I have enough to escape during the holiday? Or not?

I let out a long sigh and head to bed.

Closing my eyes I only find nightmares to haunt me, to taunt me.

This dream of mine is really that bothersome... isn't it?

After another day of work I feel more and more overwhelmed. Should I make the appointment? Would that bring happiness in my life?

It takes a while before I finally decide to go through with it...

"Please." The doctor gestures towards the bed and I lie down on it.

He notices that I'm a bit hesitant: "Don't worry, you will only come out a better person." He tells me in his kind voice.

I nod in response and the doctor pushes the bed with me on it into the machine.

There really is no going back now.

By the memory of my grandmother's words I start to quietly sob.

I'm sorry grandma, I'm really sorry, but I can't live with such an unachievable dream. Only to see others that have already achieved and others that already live that life that I want. It's better for me to leave it behind, to burn it, to let it be eaten by the flames. To leave it for another with a better chance.

The following years I work hard, get promoted multiple times and climb into the highest ranks. It's not because I want to go there, it's just because I don't care. Once you do something good enough you get faster at it too.

A colourful scene appears before me once again, it has been so long and yet in a way it also seems to have the same dull and grey look as the rest of the world.

Do I remember it correctly?

This is what I originally wanted, right?

Why do I feel so empty?

I've achieved that what I once dreamed of.

Oh, right... It's because I sold it... right?

I don't dream of this anymore, so it's simply useless.

It doesn't bring me happiness.

It doesn't bring me joy.

Because I left it behind.

I left it for another. Something better with quicker satisfaction.

Why did I even decide to sell it in the first place?

I feel strange.

Is that the feeling of regret?

This thick, slowly slithering snake, showing me the emptiness of my heart.

Was it really just a dream that I sold? Or was it more than that?

Was the money that I received from it really worth it?

The flames in her eyes

The most recent short story I wrote.

I wouldn't call it horror, but to some it might be seen as frightening or dark. Personally I find it to be closer to fantasy.

Word count: 2298

This place, if I can call it that, feels like the strangest place I’ve ever been.

It’s so very cold here, although that might also just be my own body temperature, coming from within me. Am I cooling down this place? Though there still remains the slight chance of me being wrong about everything.

It’s far too dark to see, pitch black, darker than any place I’ve ever been .

Darker than the most cloudy of nights.

Darker than my room with the curtains closed at night.

I quietly wonder if I’m still asleep after all and decide to take a step forward to test this theory.

Unexpectedly I drop onto an unfamiliar floor.

So… I was standing when I awoke?

Not lying down?

With my hands I blindly scan the texture of the floor.

It’s colder than the air, my fingers run over something that feels like old tiles.

Damnit, why does it have to be so dark in here? If I could just see, I could have avoided falling.

Then the real question hits me: How the hell did I get here?!

Abduction?

I don’t remember a thing.

A nightmare?

It’s too real for that.

Should I wait? Would that be better? Maybe someone will rescue me.

Or perhaps this is a dream in which I must first die to wake up again?

But then I would need to get up and walk around…

After a couple of minutes of contemplating my choices, I finally decide that it’s time to get up again.

Almost embarrassingly childlike I stumble around in the dark.

Tripping over my own feet and at times an alien object, I finally reach something that could possibly be a wall.

Gently running my hands around me, I find another wall that seems to be made of something like metal bars, like those inside a prison cell. Too tight too escape from.

Still following this one might bring me to the exit.

I use the cold, rusty bars in order to move around, they feel old.

Taking one after another I carefully make my way forward.

Had this been a prison at some time? I question myself in silence.

Right, the silence.

This place seems to almost be completely without sound.

No noise of the wind, not even a little bit. Though I guess if I really want to hear it, I can just wave my arms around really quickly and create something like it.

Furthermore, there are no voices, no breathing from any other possible creature within this place.

I wonder if this might be normal or abnormal here, though both fill me with a sense of fear.

I feel my way out of the room, it seems like I’ve not been imprisoned.

Still I don’t feel any relief, because it seems to be terribly dark everywhere around me.

I find myself in what I believe to be a hallway, the walls stretch out always further than I anticipate and are made of a different kind of stone from the walls inside the cell.

I’m starting to lose hope and am just able to stop myself from panicking.

I don’t think I will get out of here.

And perhaps that might be for the best.

My thoughts turn darker than wherever I am, like it’s trying to swallow me whole. Dragging me deeper down with each desperate escape I try to make.

Perhaps I’ve been eaten by some kind of giant creature…?

If it was a creature, it would probably still be warm.

Finally I decide it’s enough and sit down hopelessly on the floor.

Yet no tears leave my eyes, they’re useless anyway.

I sit.

I wait.

I pluck my clothes, until it tires me.

I wait.

My body has now almost completely turned as cold as the floor.

My thoughts, only turning darker and darker.

I close my eyes. Well I’m not sure, perhaps they’re still open. It’s too dark to see.

I wait.

Suddenly something wakes me up as it tumbles over me. Something moving.

“Ouch.” I say even though it doesn’t hurt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so, so sorry!” The voice breaking the silence startles me.

Echoing, I can make out that the voice most likely belongs to a girl in her late teens.

“Wait, someone else is here?” She asks frightened: “I thought I was all alone.”

“I thought so too, but I guess that’s not the case.” I answer as calmly as possible.

I feel a warm hand helping me stand back on my own feet.

“You’re so cold.” The girl whispers: “How long have you been sitting here?”

I shrug: “No idea.”

I hear her hair moving, most likely she’s turning her head to face me.

And then, I finally see something.

In the eyes of the girl, I spot what seem to be two little flames.

Two blue dancing little flames.

Two little flames that seem to have not lost hope.

Two little flames that want to escape this darkness and return back to the world of light.

“What’s going on with your eyes?” I ask without thinking.

“What do you mean?” She asks surprised.

“It’s like there’s fire coming out of them.”

She giggles: “Yeah sure, the chances of you starting to see things thanks to lying on this cold floor for so long, is pretty damn high.”

Ignoring her I ask: “Do you happen to know a way out?”

“What do you think? I almost can’t see a thing.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, sometimes only a wall when it’s near and of course my own hands.”

I move my hands, but don’t see them. I can’t see the walls either.

“Really?” I ask.

Could it be that she’s somehow able to see more in this darkness?

She giggles again: “You really can’t see anything? You should be able to see your own hands at least.”

“No…” I hesitatingly answer, shaking my head: “But I can see your eyes.”

“That’s weird, maybe you're imagining it?” It’s clear as day that she’s not taking me seriously.

Ignoring her tone I ask: “Should we try to get out together?”

“Yes please, I’m super glad I’m not alone anymore.” I can hear a sense of fear in her voice, she seems desperately trying to hide.

The girl takes my hand, probably that there’s no way I would be able to find her once lost.

I mumble a thanks and we start walking.

“Are we inside some kind of labyrinth?” The girl complains as we find another wall.

“That might just be the case.” I answer now slightly annoyed by the girl.

“You know, it would help if you weren’t so cold all the time.”

“Sorry.” I apologize. I’ve been told this many times before. That I should act warmer if I want to have a good life. Yet, I’ve found it to be rather difficult. I’ve known what it’s like to be too warm and kind. You often get used by others.

I’ve learned my lesson and cut people off, blocked them away from me. It’s safer that way.

Feeling around with my free hand I suddenly notice a crack inside a wall.

“Hey, could you check this out?” I ask the girl.

“Sure.” In my mind she shrugs as she answers, perhaps she really did it, perhaps she didn’t.

“I think… we can break this down.” She whispers as she lets go of my hand.

I can hear her rummaging around, most likely taking out loose bricks.

“Do be careful that it won’t fall on us.” I warn her.

“Leave it to me, I can see it… though slightly. I believe this should be able to be opened up.”

I take a step back and let her handle it.

She takes out brick after brick.

“I think it’s big enough for both of us to fit through now.” She finally whispers.

She takes my hand again and leads me through the narrow hole in the wall and we enter a new place.

Probably the same as the one before.

“Is this just like the rest?” I ask.

She takes me further away from the hole and touches another wall: “Yeah, we’re still stuck in this labyrinth.”

Suddenly I spot something out of the corner of my eye and quickly take the girl further back, to the other side, away from whatever that is.

“What’s wrong?” She asks slightly frightened.

“I think… someone is there.” I whisper to her.

I see two large flames welling up in the distance.

“Are you sure?” The girl asks.

I nod, but of course she won’t be able to see that.

Carefully I try to lead the girl further back, but am only greeted by a cold wall against my back.

Too late.

The flames look our way.

At first I believe to hear something crackle, only to realise that it’s laughing. Laughing of an old woman.

“You don’t have to hide for me, dear girls.” She laughs in a sweet voice: “I may be old, but my eyes can still see very well.”

I can feel the girl trembling: “How… how is it possible for you to see us?”

“What do you mean, dear child? There is enough light to see everything.”

“No, that’s not true… it’s pitch black, I can barely spot my arms before me.”

Still holding onto each other we slowly walk towards the older woman with her flaming eyes.

Her voice turns to me and so do her flames.

“Can you two really not see anything?”

The girl answers for me: “She can’t, I can just see a little.”

“Do you know a way out?” I ask the older woman.

I see her flames moving, almost as if shaking her head: “No, unfortunately not. Though I believe that now that we’re not alone anymore, we will find a way out much easier.”

I guess she isn’t the one who has brought us here, if it even was someone.

“Let me come with you, we might find our way out quicker.”

I look at her flames and nod.

“My child, how were you able to see me, if you can’t see anything else?” The old woman asks questioningly.

Before I can answer, the girl does it for me: “She keeps saying that she sees the flames in other’s eyes. Still it’s probably just-“

“So you can see the flames of other people’s souls?” The older woman doesn’t allow the girl to continue.

I shrug: “I don’t know… it’s probably just all in my head. I’ve never seen anything like that in my ordinary life outside of this place.”

“Here’s a mirror. Can you hold it by yourself?” The old woman shoves a cold and heavy object in my hands, almost having me slip it out of my hands. Hurting my fingers to keep it steady.

I try to look at it, but there is no reflection of my own flames, if I even have them.

“Well, do you see them?” the lady asks, way too enthusiastic.

I shake my head and answer with a plain: “No.”

Both of them take a stand next to me, probably looking in the mirror.

Then I see something inside of it.

The flames.

Their flames.

So… I don’t have them?

Could it be that… I’m soulless?

“So? What do you see?”

“I see nothing, but the reflection of yours.” I answer honestly.

“That’s unfortunate.” The woman says, sounding deep in thought: “Could it be… that you had a not so fortunate life?”

As I remain quiet, she apologises: “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to ask such questions. But if you need someone to listen to you, I’m more than willing to help you lighten that burden of yours.”

“Thanks.” I say, though slightly annoyed. I don’t like people poking into my problems.

The old woman leads us through the hallways, making sure, neither I nor the girl end up falling over something.

“You two should be thankful that you can’t truly see this place. Something horrible has taken place here.”

“I see.” I answer coolly.

“Don’t be like that!” The girl starts panicking.

The woman laughs joylessly: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Why did you have to say that? Now I can only imagine all the shapes as dead bodies.”

The woman remains quiet.

So that must be the case.

Still, there don’t seem to be enough to cover the entire floor. Since the older lady is able to guide us through them so well.

“Gosh, this seems to be a dead end.” The woman sighs.

“Really?! I don’t want to go back there!” The girl cries out.

Carefully I let go of the girl’s hand, something has taken my attention.

There is something shining dimly straight ahead of me, it’s unlike the flames of my two companions.

Somehow friendly and familiar.

“What’s over there?” I ask while straying away from the others.

“You shouldn’t go there!” The girl calls out, but even though her voice sounds terrified, I don’t listen.

I feel like the light is calling me.

“My child! You shouldn’t venture there!” The old woman calls out to me, her ancient voice trembling in anguish: “Terrible things have happened there!”.

But I ignore her as well.

I feel myself walking into something like a puddle, too thick to be water, but I decide not to think about it.

The light is getting closer and closer, brighter and brighter.

“Ma’am, please get back here!”

“You’ll hurt yourself if you continue!”

I feel something sharp digging itself into my right leg.

Quickly I kneel down to push whatever it is away, but it starts digging deeper into it.

It hurts.

It hurts so fucking much!

Every time I try to reach it, my hands seem to slip away, whatever I’m standing in is way too thick to be just water.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it!!!

As I’m finally able to take out whatever it is, I notice that little lights are dropping down.

I try to look at what I believe to be up, only to find out that the small lights are coming from me.

I smirk, I guess I’m not soulless after all.

I hear both women behind me yell at me to return, screaming for the fear I might get hurt or lose my life.

I don’t pay it any attention and continue.

The light I see behind that door.

My own tears seem to be leading me there as well, dropping quietly without sound, slowly they turn dark like everything around me, just showing small pieces of my path.

I reach out my arm for the light.

But instead of holding something warm, it’s something cold.

It’s an old door handle.

Very, very old. Something I would expect to find inside an ancient castle.

As I hold it, all the light fades once more and I open the door.

Seashell

Here's the most recent short horror story I wrote:)

Word count: 772

TW: Gore

Many years ago the harsh summer heat had killed most of the crops needed to feed a small town.

All were coloured brown and mushy even before being picked.

Autumn was quickly approaching and the people had to come up with a solution in order to save up enough to be able to live through the soon to arrive winter.

The town had gathered to speak of the matter and to find a possible solution.

"Maybe we should ask the other towns for help." One of the men offered.

"No, their crops have all perished as well. If not they must have the devil in their grounds." Another shouted, refuting the other.

Idea after idea was being turned down with refutes like 'too dangerous' or 'against all that is holy' or 'just plain stupid'.

This conversation that existed mostly of panicked yelling continued on for a bit, almost turning into a fight.

"Maybe we should try the sea?" A young child offered, it was a wonder that they were even heard. Their tiny voice was so soft, yet somehow still being audible to the people.

The room turned silent.

Perhaps it was the idea itself that had spoken the loudest, attracting everyone's attention.

The town usually fished during winter, but perhaps this was their only option right now.

Without food, they just wouldn't last.

And thus the decision was made.

All the capable men of the village would be sent out with the few ships they had, one to fish and another to travel further.

It didn't take long before departure.

Women and children stayed behind and wished the travellers 'See you soon'.

One of the families that was split that day was that of the shoemakers. The husband and oldest son went on the ship, while the wife and four other children stayed behind in the village.

The oldest son was about fourteen, back then seen almost as a grown-up and had to help at the ship like everyone else.

Their ship was the one traveling further.

At first all seemed to be going well.

For food they fished and in their first catch, the shoemaker found a beautiful seashell. He immediately knew that he wanted to give it to his wife when he would return, so he hid it in his pockets.

A couple of days went by and then it all went wrong.

A storm had caught the ship and its crew before they could flee.

Waves as high as castle towers threw themselves at the ship, causing the ship to make an eerie hollow sound at first and then the sound of something breaking could be heard.

One wave after another crashed the ship further, making it move sideways, causing the big wooden construct to lie down in the water.

The panicking crew ran around, tumbling, screaming.

The shoemaker dropped the shell he had found and tried to jump after it.

Just in time he caught it from falling off, but a piece of splintered wood impaled him and dragged him into the hungry ocean.

He was not the only one to succumb to this fate.

On the golden beach the shoemaker's wife looked towards the dark clouds in the distance.

Are they okay? She wondered, would the crew come back all right with a solution for the winter?

The woman stopped walking, while the wind gently blew her hair and skirt into a dance.

She bowed down, something in the cold, wet sand had taken her attention.

Something stuck out.

It was a beautiful seashell, one foreign to the village people.

It glistened welcoming in the sunlight, its smooth service almost seemed to reflect herself back to her like a mirror would.

There was just something soothing about the object lying before her.

The woman reached down for the shell and felt the cold touch her fingers, she was going to take this with her.

Would the sea take it back if she didn't take it?

Or would another be captured by its beauty and take it with them?

The shell had appeared before her and only her, so it's hers now.

Arriving back home she placed it above the fireplace in the living room.

As she put it down, she heard something strange.

Was it the rain?

She quickly glanced outside to the darker growing sky, yet no drop of water had shown itself.

Was that the sound of wood breaking?

The woman looked around, but found nothing breaking. Neither by child nor wind.

The dark clouds started to swallow the land.

The woman picked the shell up again.

The shell was making the sounds.

She held it next to her ear.

At first she heard nothing.

But then she heard the voice of her husband.

"Dearest, the ship went down." He spoke as if he was in the freezing cold.

"Our son is still at sea."

"If not saved quickly, he too will join the rest of us."

Writing for the lost

A short horror story I wrote a while ago.

Word count: 2096

I've always wanted to be a writer.

I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail.

I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught.

I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others.

And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again.

Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.

That my stories are mere imitations of the great ones.

Well, they might be, for all I know they might all be damned.

Perhaps it would be better to stop, to call it quits, but I can't.

I can't.

I just can't.

As the thing I've been working towards my entire life, I can't let it go now or I will really have lost.

I work jobs I don't like in order for me to be able to purchase the things to write and to give myself time to read.

But a masterpiece is something I will never be able to write.

I remember once entering a competition just to be told that my writing lacks emotion and originality. Well I've been told worse before.

But still, I try and try again.

Probably until I can't anymore.

Until even breathing is something too difficult.

Recently I moved to a new house, it's old.

It's also difficult to keep clean, but the rent is dirt cheap.

I might be able to stay here for longer than half a year, so I'm pretty happy with it.

Perhaps it's time to hire a maid, though I would need to work even harder to afford one... Yeah, I should just do it myself.

Even though this house is in a bad shape, it feels almost as if it has a soul.

Like the house is a whole character in itself.

In a way it makes me feel less lonely.

The paint is slowly peeling from the walls and not all the lights work, but in a way it speaks to me.

Like something I've long lost or have yet to gain.

In all truth, there is something amiss with this house, something strange, but I dare not call it wrong.

The first night I sat by my mattress on the floor and took out one of my old notebooks.

"Alright, I think I'm going to write now." I said to the house, I said to myself.

Speaking aloud is something I do often when I'm alone, so I did not expect a response.

"What will you be writing?" a voice echoed through the house, entering my bedroom.

I was quiet for a moment, listening to the suddenly eerie atmosphere that had entered the room.

After a long while I finally mustered the courage to answered: "A story"

"What is this story about?" The house asked.

"I-I don't know yet..." I whispered.

I could feel my hand holding the pen tremble, but I didn't dare to run away, I didn't even dare to look behind me.

"How about you write a story about me?" The voice asked slowly.

"I-I can do that, please t-tell me." I hated the fact that I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.

"Hmmm..." The voice seemed deep in thought: "How about we write it together?"

I could feel a cold hand touch my shoulder, to then enter my body.

It was truly a strange sensation, nothing I had ever felt before.

But I guess I can say, I got possessed.

When I came to, I had written almost an entire book, my hands covered in blisters were sore as can be and I felt like I had had the strangest dream.

I dreamed that I was someone else.

I dreamed of the feelings they felt.

I dreamed of the pain they had to have endured.

As I looked at the pages written in a handwriting that wasn't mine, I could remember the dream more vividly.

I looked up to find an almost transparent man before me.

"Not enough." He mumbled: "Not enough."

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.

"This is simply not enough..."

I let him think in silence for him, afraid of what would happen if I were to anger the spirit before me.

"It's not the whole story yet." He finally answered: "It has yet to be finished."

As I tried to get up, holding up my arms for him, wanting to tell him that he can try again, dark spots start appearing in my vision and before I know it I fall over.

"That must be the problem." I heard him say: "You are too weak."

The words sound harsh, but I also know that they spoke the truth.

I was weak... No I still am.

I can't do anything.

I have no talent for anything.

I am useless.

Somehow the ghost decided to take pity on me and sat next to me.

"You gotta eat something, my friend." He said in a kind voice.

I could feel an ice cold hand on my shoulder, so cold that it felt like it could freeze my body and turn it into solid ice.

Slowly I got up, my 'friend' following closely behind me, making sure I wouldn't fall over.

He helped me sit down at the table, where I reached for some of the fruit in the basket.

I took a bite and only then noticed that it had long spoiled, still I continued until I had finished it completely.

"What is it that made you so obsessive over writing a story?" My friend asked.

"Good writers live forever within their works, good writers never leave this earth."

"What caused you to think like that?"

"People disappear often, swiftly and without much noise. I don't want to go out like that."

My friend hesitated and then answered: "I see." I think he said it because he didn't want to invade my privacy.

"So, why do you want to have your story written?"

He shrugged: "I guess it's almost the same reason as for you to write. I don't want my story to disappear. I came to my end in a way I don't wish upon my most feared enemies."

"Why not find someone stronger and more talented than me?" I asked out of curiosity.

"You're the first."

Just what does he mean with that?

"The first that was able to allow me to write to speak out my anguish."

As I have regained some of my energy I carefully stand up, this time not falling over nor seeing dark spots cloud my vision.

"Alright, let's work together." I offered and my friend nodded in agreement.

Days went by in which I took better care of myself and had a moment in which my friend could take up my pen.

Day after day, more empty pages got filled with a story, the story of him.

As the final day grew closer, I could feel his frustration slowly ebb away.

Then it came.

It arrived much too early for my taste to be completely honest.

After all, I made a friend, a good one at that, someone that only I could hear and see, someone that told me different from my dark lingering thoughts.

"May I request something?" He asked kindly like always.

"But of course, anything that may be of help to you."

His face turned serious.

"I would like it if you were to publish this, under your own name."

Shocked, I looked at him: "But this is your story, yours and yours alone, you can't leave it to me! If you want it published so badly, I can bring it to a publisher and say that you, my friend, are the writer of this masterpiece."

He looked down.

"But you wrote it." He silently protested.

I immediately shook my head: "No, you did, you did it, you wrote the story of your life."

Then he slammed his fist on the table.

"Dammit! I want you to take it, you have been nothing but kind to me. I have worn you out to have my last wish be granted through you. Most people would run away if they ever were to even lay eyes upon me. You are the only one to understand me, so please... just listen to me."

Shocked by his sudden burst of anger and frustration, he reminds me that his last day is coming closer.

This time I look down: "Fine." I mumbled: "I will publish it under my name, but I will tell everyone that I wrote it with the help of a friend."

A sad smile crossed his face: "You better do."

And thus I went to the publisher the very next day.

It was one of those that had refused me before a couple of times, but this was the closest one to my house.

As I knocked on the door, I was greeted by the man that owned the company.

"What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?!" His voice was stern, perhaps angry even.

"I've come to show you something."

"Again?! You know I ain't reading anymore of that garbage that is written by you!"

"I wrote it with a friend."

"Oh, yeah, who ist?"

"He... he prefers to remain anonymous."

"Anonymous? Bah, the only thing I smell here is bullshit!"

"It's because it's his personal story."

A mailman walks by giving the owner a couple of letters.

At first I wasn't sure, but I noticed that one of them had something like 'EVICTION' written on it.

He then confirmed it to me.

"Look pal, there is no story big enough to save this company of mine. Rent is due and there are mouths to feed."

"Please..." I begged him: "Please just read, even if it's only the first page. No first half of the page is good enough."

He sighed.

"Fine then, but this is your last chance. If it's bad again, I will never allow you to enter this place anymore."

Thanking him, he let me inside.

Carefully I handed him my manuscript as he sat down on a chair.

"Half a page you said?"

"Yes." I nodded.

To my delight, as the owner started reading the story, he almost seemed to get absorbed in it.

He didn't read half a page at all like I had requested, page after page he read.

At some point I could see tears well up in his eyes, at another I could see the frustration in him like that of the protagonist of the story.

And then he closed the last page.

It had already gotten dark outside and he had read every word, not skipping anything.

With a satisfied sigh, he wiped his head and then looked at me.

"Well that certainly is how you do it, son."

I bowed and thanked him.

"I-it's truly almost something close to a miracle."

"Could you publish this for me?"

The man nodded: "Yes, yes. Of course."

It didn't take long before I could find my book in the local bookstores.

But I didn't take the time to celebrate this victory.

My best friend was gone after all, his place felt empty.

I couldn't care less about my income or the fact that I could finally live somewhere else that was cleaner or in better shape.

I visited his grave often, even talking to him, knowing full well he wasn't there to listen anymore.

Then one day another one came.

A spirit.

A lost soul.

Someone in need of my help.

Like before I wrote them a book, I wrote their story.

And in time they left me again too.

I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote and wrote.

Somehow in time I had become somewhat of a best-seller, people would even recognize me in the streets and ask me for an autograph. And I would always tell them that I never wrote a story alone.

I always told them that I shouldn't get all the praise.

Eventually I started noticing myself growing weak again.

Weaker than I had ever felt before.

Though some spirits would try to take care of me, I got sicker and sicker.

It wasn't something a doctor could cure.

It's my curse after all.

My curse is sucking away at my life force.

My unnatural talent is killing me!

Scared, I look up, dropping the pen from my trembling hands, spilling small drops of ink over the floor, my hands and on some of the pages.

"Are you okay?" The man, or rather ghost, before me looks worried.

"I...we..."

He looks down with eyes filled with regret: "Yes, you and I are the same. We both have the same curse, if you're not careful enough, death will come to get you earlier as well."

The fears of an inanimate object

I wrote this one a while ago, but still found it fun to share.

I hope you enjoy this short horror story:)

TW: Gore, blood, dolls

Word count: 1534

I have gotten so used to the smell, I don't even notice it anymore.

It's the smell of old books, old people and old junk.

I've sat here, day in, day out. Never able to do anything. I can't move or speak. I can't even blink.

My head has always been fixed in one position and that is forward.

I am like many in this old thrift store, an old, dusty object.

I am a doll.

I know I am, I've seen myself in a mirror before, that's when they brought me here and it is my very first memory.

It honestly is very strange, I am an inanimate object with thoughts and feelings, yet I can't do anything or let anyone know.

I was quite upset and shocked when I found out. Scared, but unable to show the emotion. Wanting to scream but unable to tell anyone. Unable to move, but wanting someone to comfort me.

That was the worst part of my being.

I just woke up, learning that my life held no meaning and I would never be able to do anything or be loved by anyone.

I hated it.

I hated my existence.

I hated whomever put me here.

I hated my creator, yet there is nothing I can ever do about it.

So I just sat here. Always in the same place, always dressed the same, always looking the same. Always with a little extra layer of dust covering me. Always praying. Always hoping for a change.

I've seen the sun come up and go under for a long time now, from a tiny window in the back of the store. Each time it came, it took a little bit of color from the objects in its way. Until they turned gray and were thrown out.

I was lucky, the sun never shone on me, it couldn't. So the light just lurked ever so slightly under my feet. Like a hungry predator, waiting for its prey to run. But I of course would never move, so it just left every time it had to go again.

At some point, I got jealous of the sunlight, it was able to shine. It was able to move. It was always there for the people and animals and I could or would never be able to.

Such a stupid thing to be jealous of.

I was even more jealous of the tiny birds by the window, as short as their lives might be, they were my only source of entertainment.

The birds sang to one another and could fly, they could travel. Oh how much I wished that I would have been born a bird and not an inanimate doll.

I've seen people come and go, I've seen them get older and then eventually one day they just stopped coming and new people took their place.

Take me home, take me home...

I silently wished.

But who would listen to the pleading of a voiceless doll, an object without a soul.

Something that can't do anything or even think.

Well of course they are wrong at that last part. I am very lucid after all.

Unfortunately...

Then one day, The happiest day of my inanimate life, a little girl and her mother came to visit the store.

The girl saw me.

As soon as she did, her eyes started sparkling. I've never seen anyone's eyes do that before. Especially when they saw me.

The girl almost seemed to fly towards me, that's how quick she was.

She was the very first person that would speak to me.

"Hello Dolly, what's your name? Do you wanna be friends?" Her little arms stretched out to me in a hug.

I've never had a hug before, it is so warm. I wanted to cry, but of course I couldn't.

I wanted to tell her to please take me away from here, oh please.

Of course I wanted to be her friend, I've always wished for one and she would be my first.

It was like she could read my mind.

She begged her mother to get me for her.

Her mother wasn't too sold on the idea at first and called me 'that creepy old thing', but her daughter didn't care.

She wanted me and started to throw a fit, then the shopkeeper said that they could have me for free.

What a nice guy.

Now the mother couldn't refuse anymore and she gave in.

"Fine, but keep that thing away from me." She told the little girl, while looking at me like I was a dirty old sock.

Well I forgive her, I was too happy anyway. I had been here for god-knows-how-long and even the spiders didn't like me.

And so, I left the old thrift store and started anew with a new family and a best friend.

Molly (the little girl) and I did a lot of things together, she would dress me up at least 17 times a day. With clothes her grandmother had made for me. She told us that she once had a doll like me, that also looked very similar. She was also able to repair and clean me a bit and after that I had become a lot prettier.

After all that, even Molly's mother didn't even feel that bothered by me anymore.

We had tons of tea parties and Molly had of course given me a full tour of the house and introduced me to all the other dolls and stuffed animals.

I knew all their names by heart. I wonder if any of them were like me, but there wouldn't be any way of knowing.

I might not be able to do or say anything, but I really did have the time of my life there.

I have a home.

We would eat breakfast together, we would go on walks together. We would talk about anything, well more like I would listen, but I really don't mind.

Unlike other kids, Molly is a very gentle soul and always takes very good care of me. She has never even dropped me, not even by accident.

One day school had started for her again, we met during the summer holiday after all.

I felt sad to let her go, she wasn't allowed to take me with her.

Every time she came home, she looked a bit upset. She seemed to try to hide.

One day she asked me: "Dolly, can I ask you something?"

I could see tears welling up in her reddish eyes. "Dolly, do you hate me too?"

This broke my heart.

Of course I didn't hate her.

I would never.

She was my dearest friend.

My personal hero.

I felt awful, I couldn't do anything. I hadn't felt like this in a while, it was like I was back in that awful dark place. Where I would never be able to do anything.

I want her to be happy.

She doesn't deserve whatever she's dealing with right now.

Not with how kind and gentle she is.

And yet, I just can't do anything...

I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to support her or at least to be supported. Her mother is quite busy and didn't always seem to notice.

I wish I could let her know, even if it is only her.

But I am just an inanimate object, incapable of speech.

Tonight something awful happened...

Someone broke in.

It was unplanned, he didn't seem to know the layout of the house.

The burgler was probably looking for valuables.

Only Molly and her mother were at home that night.

Both asleep.

The man accidently entered the wrong room.

Molly and my room.

Molly is a very light sleeper and woke up by the gently creaking door.

She noticed the bugler and started to scream.

So he hit her, he didn't want any witnesses.

He was desperate.

He would even kill to get his prize.

He hit her again with his bat.

And again.

I could do nothing but watch this horrible scene in front of me.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to save Molly.

He hit her again and she stopped crying, bleeding heavily.

Something snapped in me.

My emotions, but also my shackles which had kept me stuck for so many years.

I was going to kill him.

This man... had to go.

I don't know how, but I got out.

Out of my cell, which was my body.

Out of my dusty prison.

I shattered the room's window and with the glass shards, I pinned the man against the ceiling.

Anger.

Anger was the only feeling.

Anger and rage. Then maybe, also hate.

He screamed.

He cried.

It made me feel something... like joy.

Blood dripped down like a slow waterfall, creating a pool on the wooden floor.

Blood stained the carpet.

Bleed more...

BLEED MORE!!!

I think I killed him.

Did I go too far?

He stopped crying.

He stopped screaming.

Molly's mother runs into the room to save her.

I quickly return to my body, she probably hasn't seen me.

She screamed when she noticed the man on the ceiling.

She got her daughter out of that room as soon as possible, leaving me behind.

Leaving me behind in the mess I made.

I can see blue and red flashing lights outside.

The cops have arrived.

The paramedics as well.

Molly seemed to have had a slight concussion, lucky girl.

I'm so glad, it didn't get any worse.

Molly doesn't really know what happened though, probably just her child mind keeping her protected.

It has been a week and Molly is ready to return to school again.

And I guess I'm lucky too, it is take-your-toy-to-school day.

Molly has promised to take me.

I'm glad.

Now I can find out who made her upset like before.

And now I can do something about it.

With my new power, I will surely be able to make her happy again.

Snowglobe

A short horror story I wrote.

TW: Abuse, blood

Word count: 655

Hilda wakes up early in the morning, quietly she gets out of bed and walks to her window. As she opens the curtains she sees that there is a thick layer of snow outside. Her heart jumps with joy, not only will she get presents today, there is also snow!

Maybe she could build a snowman outside her house or hold a snowball fight with her friends. She would have an amazing day anyway.

She goes back to bed, her parents rather don't have her out at this time in the morning, Hilda knows that very well. Back under the warm blankets she tries to get just a bit more sleep.

It's time!

Hilda can hear her parents footsteps and whispering in the hallway, so she gets dressed and leaves her room.

Just before lunch her aunt arrives.

Hilda loves her aunt very much, she is a kind woman and always pampers her.

When her aunt enters the room she has a big box with her.

"Natalie, you know better than to spoil the girl so much." Her mother tells her sister.

"Well it's just the time of year to spoil such well-behaved kids like her." She smiles and gives a box to Hilda: "Be careful, it might break if you aren't."

Hilda immediately starts being more gentle with the box, when she gets everyone's approval she opens the box carefully.

In it there is a giant snowglobe, in it is a giant Christmas tree, surrounded by little houses.

Hilda looks up in awe: "Thank you auntie!" her eyes shining like a thousand stars.

Her aunt smiles at her: "Do you like it?"

"Yes, Yes, I love it!"

Carefully she shakes it a little, it makes it snow in the little village!

"Auntie..."

"Yes."

"Do you think there might be people living in the village?"

"If that makes you happy, then sure." Her smile is warm and comforting.

Hilda and her aunt take the snowglobe to her room and place it gently in a great spot, one where it stands safe and is able to be seen from any side of the room.

After lunch Hilda decides to go outside to play with her friends, she puts on her snowshoes, her warmest jacket and her gloves.

"See you soon!" Hilda calls out to the rest.

"Just be back before it gets dark!" Her father calls back.

As she opens the door she notices that it has started to snow again, heavily. Maybe even violently.

The snowflakes fly around everywhere.

Then the sky starts to break.

It breaks and shatters.

Shards fall down.

And then the blood rain starts.

Coloring the cold snow a hot, dark red.

The smell of iron can be smelled everywhere.

In just a few seconds everything has turned red.

A woman sits crying in a corner.

"ImsosorryImsosorry!"

She can't stop herself from apologizing.

The tears fall down like a waterfall, creating short-lasting stains in the old carpet.

"For the last time Hilda! THERE. ARE. NO. PEOPLE. LIVING. INSIDE. THIS. THING!!!"

Hilda whimpers.

"For god sake, GET THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME!!"

Hilda starts apologizing again, she can't control it, but it makes her husband get even more upset.

He keeps yelling and yelling at her, she doesn't really understand what he is saying anymore.

Is it really my fault? She wonders.

I don't even know what I did wrong?

Her husband is completely red-faced from anger.

So much anger.

He yanks her by her hair.

Then he takes her most prized possession.

Her snowglobe.

He takes it in one hand and hits her with it.

And again.

And again.

TWHACK!

TWHACK!

CRACK!!!

The glass shatters and the man kills his wife with the broken snowglobe.

Blood and water gets mixed and drips with the snowflakes onto the floor.

It doesn't take long for the police to arrive, the neighbors called. For a long time they had always looked away to what happened in that house, but the last blood curdling scream was enough for them. They did what they never thought they would do, calling the police.

The husband was arrested at the spot, but the damage was already done.

Hilda will never move again nor will she ever talk about the people living inside the globe again.

Delivery

A short horror story I wrote:)

Word count: 1757

TW: Gore, psychological horror

Click, click, click, thunk!

It could not comprehend what it saw above us.

A scarlet red sky greets us as we finally left the dusty old warehouse.

Dark buildings casted their shadows over the old and empty streets, only letting red light stream into view at specifical parts, showing what I wish not to see, almost like a spotlight on a stage.

To be honest I’m glad that the package I have to deliver can walk by itself. The thing would be way too heavy to carry.

Standing slightly shorter than an adult, this porcelain-looking (I don’t know, I’m not the collector, might be porcelain after all) automaton, is the object I’m meant to deliver.

Since the world has gone to hell, I’ve been doing deliveries for people with money and resources that are too scared to get stuff by themselves.

It’s a dangerous job, but to survive in need of things like food. This, right now, is the most comfortable job.

I point towards one of the dark buildings, only one of the door handles on which can be seen the reflection of the red light.

The automaton turns its head slowly upwards to look at me and then turns its head to the door. I can hear the gears working overtime.

Carefully and slowly we make our way to the door.

At the door I stop and the package does the same.

I swear that is some great tech…

While readying my crossbow, I listen to all the sounds around me.

The trusty sound of my crossbow.

The gentle ticking of the automaton’s gears.

The dripping of water… or blood.

Then I turn my concentration to whatever is behind the heavy doors.

The quickest way to the point of delivery is right through this building, so there isn’t much of a choice. Of course I could walk around it, but the chance of being seen by monsters is too big of a risk and I’m unsure if the little one here can run or not.

It was so strange, well the whole thing.

The guy that wanted me to get the automaton… crazy inventors I guess.

I found the machine inside a coffin shaped box.

I was told that the machine could walk and that I should use that to my advantage, so of course I did.

I can’t carry a whole coffin in my lonesome, no matter how hard I train.

A soft sobbing behind the door takes my attention.

I listen more carefully.

There is a distinct difference between the cries of a monster and that of a human luckily.

So, there might be another survivor in there.

My hand hovers over the doorknob, which looks almost to be glowing thanks to the lighting.

I’m scanning it in a way, trying to sense if there’s any heat coming from it.

But there’s no warmth coming from it and as I finally lower my hand I feel the cold iron entering through my gloved hand.

It might sound bad, like it’s completely frozen, but it isn’t. It’s just clear that it has been a long time since the door was opened last.

As quietly as possible I turn the knob and open the door.

The heavy object lets out a, for my feeling, too loud creaking.

Immediately I feel cold sweat in my neck.

Slowly. Slowly. Slowly. Carefully. Careful. Be careful!

I nod to the automaton that it can enter, but it doesn’t understand.

“Get in!” I whisper to it.

I can hear some of the gears turn, finally it responds entering the darkness without a word or hesitation.

I follow suit and close the door behind me again, terrified that something might have heard it.

Suddenly I sense something moving.

There really is still someone in the building.

Let’s hope that it isn’t one of the insane roaming around.

The constant blood red sky doesn’t help much when it comes to calming folks down.

Exposed too long and one might lose their mind… or so is told. I haven’t had any trouble with it yet.

There’s a shadow moving, well more like trembling in fear, behind the altar.

The red light behind him exposes him to be a priest.

Calmly I walk forward, until I make out his wrinkled face.

The look he shows me is one of pure terror.

I lower my weapon.

“Good evening sir.” I greet him, while holding my free hand up in the air to show that I’m not planning to do any harm.

“Y-y-you’re not o-one of t-them?” He asks, still trembling and almost falling over his own words from fear.

“No sir, as you can see I’m not.”

I sense the ticking of gears approaching closer to me and the priest shrieks.

I see him opening his mouth to scream, but I won’t let him. In a flash I rush over to him and cover his mouth with my hand.

“I need to deliver this package in one piece, so please don’t give away our location.” Then I silently add: “That would benefit you too.”

I can feel the thin old body shaking in fear, making me feel bad for scaring him like this.

Slowly he closes his mouth again and falls to his knees.

Quivering he puts his hands together, but just before his two hands touch, he drops them to the floor again.

“We’re just passing through, I don’t have a problem with you praying.” I tell him in a gentle tone.

The old man shakes his head, his state says it all, he’s seen too much.

“I-I don’t think God i-is h-here.” He cries.

I’m not a person of faith, I never was, so I’m not sure what to tell him.

“Do… Do you think I-I’m wrong?” He asks after listening to my silence: “T-that there never t-truly was a G-God?”

I sigh, just what the hell am I supposed to answer to a priest who has lost his faith?

“Sir.” I bow down to him, holding out a hand for him to help him up: “I just deliver packages. I don’t know what is the truth and what isn’t.”

He doesn’t take my hand and instead turns his head to the dusty floor: “Perhaps the teachings were wrong after all…” He mutters more to himself than to me.

I scratch the back of my neck: “Well…” Don’t say it, just don’t: “There’s a place with other survivors I can bring you to, if you want that is.” Only in my head I add ‘You can talk about this stuff with them’.

But he shakes his head.

“Leave! You won’t understand!” His voice is suddenly filled with anger and frustration.

“We’ll be going anyway.” I shrug.

“Leave!” He yells again and I suddenly hear something big climbing over the roof.

I curse and quickly grab the automaton’s arm.

“We gotta go!”

We rush further back.

Back door. Back door.

Where the hell is the back door?!

Part of the ceiling breaks down and a huge, spider like monster drops down, casting the room in even more shadow.

I hear the priest scream.

The monster turns to him.

I can’t see anything, but the next thing I hear confirms my suspicion.

The crushing of bones.

The tearing of flesh.

The dripping of blood.

As I turn back to the machine, it seems almost as if it found the door.

It’s holding it open and looking at me with its normal expressionless face.

“Great job, buddy!” I whisper to him, taking his arm again and rushing back out into the crimson coloured streets.

In order to keep to the shadows, we enter another building.

I believe this was a university at some point, built around the 13th century.

It’s much bigger than the church.

Again I hold my weapon ready.

You never know, it’s because this building is so big, it could be a nest for those things.

“Let’s be quiet.” I whisper to the mechanical being next to me and immediately think about how strange it is to talk to it. It’s a machine, not a human or a pet.

But it’s nice to have something to talk to, even if it’s just a bundle of gears and porcelain. As long as it’s not a hungry monster I’m okay with anything.

While wandering around I sense something moving inside one of the rooms.

I stop in my tracks and as the automaton notices, it too stops.

I remain silent and listen to the soft noise.

There might be another person in that room.

Quietly I walk towards the door and open it.

A person inside is sitting behind a desk that I'm pretty sure used to be a teacher’s.

This person doesn’t look as frightened as the priest from before, or perhaps I’m imagining it.

“Oh… so you’re human?”

I nod: “What did you expect? Or what did you hope for?” I did notice the man’s disappointment even though it was just a slight hint.

He seems to have noticed that I noticed and turns his gaze back to something on the desk: “I used to teach here, you know.”

“I see.”

“Do you have any memories of attending school?”

I shrug: “Nothing that stands out, just a more peaceful life and worries about nothing.”

The man smiles, his face looks red in the light.

“I see, that must be nice.”

I take a step closer.

“What are you reading?” I ask curiously.

“A book of faith.”

“Faith?”

“It’s all true you know.”

“They mention the apocalypse and the end of the world.” As he speaks he loses his composure and starts speaking rapidly in a desperate tone: “It’s all because people went to church less and less. I never did after all and you certainly don’t look like the type that would. Oh God, I should have gone and prayed, but instead I’ve weakened the Lord’s power to protect. This is divine punishment.”

“I see.” I answer: “If you want to, I can take you to where the other survivors are.”

The teacher shakes his head: “Never! We are meant to perish! It’s the only thing that can save this forsaken world!”

Crap that only made him yell even louder.

I notice a strange shadow in the corner of my eye.

Something from outside is trying to climb inside.

Arms that almost look human, but also very far from it.

I warn the man by pointing behind him.

“God is the one who decides my faith! You should join me in it!” He stretches out his arms to grab me, but instead the creature behind him has already taken hold of him.

I don’t want to see what happens next, so I quickly rush out of the classroom, taking the automaton with me.

We rush out, further, out of the city.

Into a forest, here even the leaves are red, but not scarlet like the sky.

As I believe that we’re far enough away from the shadows of the old city, we slow down.

I take a seat on a tree trunk and let my traveling companion sit next to me.

“Don’t mind all those people, buddy, just decide what you want to believe for yourself.”

Slowly I see the automaton’s head go up and down and then up again.

Wait…?!

Is it nodding?!