| AN OLD NEGLECTED CEMETARY |
Rick McQuiston
|
The throbbing in his hand was steadily increasing. Looking down, he saw that a small pool of blood was forming. Before his eyes, the blood rapidly soaked into the ground. As more drops hit the dirt they would vanish immediately. He turned his head and looked behind him at the path he had come earlier. The trail of blood was completely gone. Not a single drop remained, not even on the fence he had climbed to get into the cemetery. |
| ANDY'S LAMP |
Rick McQuiston
|
As the newscast lady read about the day's events her pretty face started to distort. Her light blue eyes slid apart further and further until they were next to her ears. And from the vacant spaces where they had been emerged the glowing evil of the spider thing, its thick skull splitting open the lady's head as it snaked its way into the light of the news station room. |
| FACING YOUR FEARS |
Rick McQuiston
|
Random thoughts of the creature that inhabited her nightmares roamed freely across her mind. It was a sickening thing with numerous eyes and skin that was nearly transparent and coated with slime whose sole purpose was to plague her dreams and force her to seek therapy. Its form was as vague as the dreams it inhabited but it still processed the power to alter her sanity and slither into the deepest depths of her mind. |
| THE SHAPE OF COLOR |
Rick McQuiston
|
Blake stood there on his porch, gazing his helpless stupidity at the unusual and downright absurd malady that was defacing his plush green carpet of grass. The area was small, about the size of a basketball, and distinct in its contours. If one looked at it long enough one could make out the outline of a wolf's head, complete with sharp ears and snout. But it also could be construed as a simple geometric shape of various angles and points. |
| A MONSTER STORY |
Rick McQuiston
|
The night light sprayed its glow across the room. But did he really need it? He didn't know anybody else his age that used one and felt guilty for even having one. But he had to admit it did serve a purpose. It made it very difficult for any monsters to hide anywhere. There were so few spots that managed to avoid the light. |
| A NIGHTMARE YOU DON'T WANT TO TEMPT |
Rick McQuiston
|
Garrett shook his head from side to side as if it would help clear it. The inhuman sounds leaking through the door were obvious in their intent and seemed to grow angrier when the human sitting on the couch did nothing. Apparently it did not appreciate its victims merely sitting idly by waiting for their destruction. It preferred prey that had spirit. |
Dagon |
H.P. Lovecraft
|
Cyclopean
monolith, on whose surface I could now trace both inscriptions and
crude sculptures. The writing was in a system of hieroglyphics
unknown to me, and unlike anything I had ever seen in books,
consisting for the most part of conventionalised aquatic symbols
such as fishes, eels, octopi, crustaceans, molluscs, whales and the
like. Several characters obviously represented marine things which
are unknown to the modern world, but whose decomposing forms I had
observed on the ocean-risen plain. |
| B. |
Richard Kornak
|
I still hear 'em, that inescapable
pleading. My head won't let me forget. It's torturous. Only after I
scan the room, after I look to make sure everything is in its
place, to assure that there is no immediate danger, only then do I
realize that the screams I'm hearin' aren't in my head. They
weren't part of a dream. They are comin' from the
stables. |
| Impressions Of The
Dead |
Richard Kornak
|
After
another gulp from the stolen bottle, Roxanne crawled into the
shallow water through the reeds. Drops of rain mottled the surface.
This caused small choppy divots to appear and well out in rings.
With the water at her elbows, Roxy stared into the sky through the
clearing over the pond, considering the whereabouts of Ben's soul.
She was concerned about her own soul, what its destination would be
if she decided to drink Nick's chemical. She began to cry, probably
a direct result of her drunkenness. It was overdue. The rain
hitting her face dissipated her tears, so she sobbed loud enough to
hear herself, to know that her pain and her life and her potential
death were real. |
| Innocence Lost |
Rick McQuiston
|
Darryl finished drying his hands and
smiled. “Well, good to see you again. Don't be such a stranger.” He
extended his hand out to Simon who hesitated to shake it. Darryl
then grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. The smile on his
face faded quickly, further exaggerating the look of curious
malevolence that punctuated his features. The shadows bred from the
warm lighting overhead added additional horrible characteristics to
his face causing Simon to recoil instinctively. He pulled his hand
away and cuddled it to his chest. It felt strange, like it had
fallen asleep only much more pronounced in its
severity. |
| Nightmare |
Rick McQuiston
|
Why he
would not be able to move, especially with such horror approaching,
he was not sure. Perhaps because one cannot always control one's
actions in dreams. Or maybe because his subconscious was forcing
him to face his face and overcome them. Or maybe he was just too
scared to move. He usually conceded that it was a combination of
all three, although the last reason was probably more responsible
than the first two. |
| Do You... |
Have A Story...
|
To Submit To This Forum? If so check out
our guidelines page and send something. |
| Idiosyncrasies |
Rick McQuiston
|
Al was
puzzled. Devin had told him to come over to his place around six.
The movie started at six forty-five and they were going to try to
meet some girls first. He looked at his watch; five fifty- seven
looked back at him. Strange that no one was answering the door. He
peered in through the small window imbedded in the front door. It
afforded a clear view of most of the living room and part of the
hallway and kitchen. He leaned in as close as he could to the
glass. All was still and quiet…too quiet. The feeling that
something was wrong began to tap on his mind. |
| It's A Wonderful
Life |
Brian Wright
|
One moment he was watching the film, the
next he found himself in the middle of the action. The smell of
warm plastic in his nostrils, he was speaking into a primitive
recording device in a shadowy insurance office. He was Walter Neff.
He was explaining how and why he had murdered his lover's husband.
Bile rising in his throat, cigarette smoke violating his lungs, the
throbbing ache of a bullet wound. |
| Bounty |
Brian Wright
|
She walked for what
seemed like miles, freezing in spite of the thickly-padded coat,
before she saw the sign displaying NO VACANCIES. The sky was
turning purple, its one enormous eye growing brighter, as she
approached the long, low building along a dirt road leading off the
highway. Although there were several vehicles parked around, only
the end cabin showed any lights. |
| The Boxes |
Rick McQuiston
|
Five forty-seven. The time stuck to his
brain like velcro. Not much time left now he thought out loud
eliciting more than a few stares from passerbys including a stocky
blonde haired security guard who seemed to dislike troublemakers in
the mall. Lee straightened up immediately and smiled weakly at the
guard. He couldn't risk any problems now, not when it would be six
o'clock in nine more minutes. |
| The
Corpse Bride |
...A Folktale...
|
Their fun stopped
suddenly when the earth started rumbling and shaking beneath their
feet. The place where the stick had been opened up and a very
bedraggled looking corpse emerged, a living corpse, she had been a
bride, but now was barely more than a skeleton held together by
shreds of skin, still wearing an old torn white silk wedding dress.
Worms and spider webs hung on the once-beaded bodice and tattered
veil.The two young men were aghast."Ah," she said, "you have done
the wedding dance and pronounced the marriage vows and you have put
a ring on my finger. Now we are man and wife. I demand my rights as
your bride." |
| Fall of the House of
Usher |
Edgar Allan Poe
|
Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa
on which he had been lying at full length, and greeted me with a
vivacious warmth which had much in it, I at first thought, of an
overdone cordiality—of the constrained effort of the ennuyé man of
the world. A glance, however, at his countenance convinced me of
his perfect sincerity. We sat down; and for some moments, while he
spoke not, I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, half of
awe. Surely, man had never before so terribly altered, in so brief
a period, as had Roderick Usher! |
| The Nihilist |
Anthony DeCarvalho
|
Dace Senoit was lounging
in the waiting area at Miami International Airport. He had the book
Meditations from Christ in his hands, as he was observing the
people around him. Dace had no plane ticket. Like a shadow, he
crept nonchalantly through a checkpoint to sit in the passenger
waiting area. Because there were so many travelers around him, it
would be easy for him to tap into someone's subconscious and help
him or her remember dreams long forgotten. |
|
DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SHARE?
|
|
| Walking On A
Tightrope |
D.H.Pradeep
|
Roja's father urged her
to walk a tight rope every day. "After all," he told her, "practice
makes perfect." She knew that her father loved her and wanted the
best for her. Mani knew that his dear Roja feared walking the rope.
Sometimes the rope hung five feet high, other times ten or as much
as thirty feet above the ground. Her father proclaimed, "It's all
the same, Roja. It's the same rope - no difference." |
