prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,uv8ml4,The Devil is in the Details,Victoria Shellady,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uv8ml4/,/short-story/uv8ml4/,Horror,0,"['Fiction', 'Thriller', 'Crime']",59 likes,"
	I was sixteen years old when they found the six bodies underneath our living room floor. I’m not one to share personal details – mostly because I have a tendency to run my mouth and say too much – but I think about that night often. Usually as I’m just crawling into bed, in that time between hazy wakefulness and deep rest. Which, if I’m being honest, I’ve never been the greatest sleeper anyway. I’m at my most productive at night. And as a result, I spend a lot of time staring up at the ceiling, contemplating if it will be the night I spill all the messy details to some reporter that’s trying to make it big. But then I think: the media has already had their fun with my family. And their exuberant reporting, rightly or wrongly, landed my good name in the history books by the time I turned seventeen. 
	If I were to set the record straight, it would go a little something like this: I can’t forget that sound. It’s one of the most haunting things about that night, the thing I can’t quite shake. And it has followed me my entire life. 
Thud, thud, thud, thud. 
 
It was a hand at our front door, pounding incessantly. 
	It sent shockwaves from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I broke out in a cold sweat, realizing that the swirl of blue and red lights outside my window, paired with the pounding at the door, meant one thing: the police. 
	My mother, who was notorious for sleeping through just about everything, raced into the hallway. And through the crack of my door, I could see her standing at the top of the stairs, hand to chest. She was wearing her favorite silky pink nightgown, the one that grazed the floor as she walked. She always looked like she was floating when she wore it. But in that moment, it dragged behind her in a fury. 
 Thud, thud, thud, THUD.
	My panic didn’t keep my curiosities at bay; I jumped down from my bed and padded toward the door. I peered out, waiting for what came next. 
	My mother’s voice was the first to break through the weighted silence. What is it, what do you want, she said. Then came a series of sentences that melted together – talk of my father, where he was, my mother questioning if he got into an accident, then a firm voice asking who was home. My mother’s distress soared another octave. She demanded they call their commanding officer so she could talk to him or her directly. I had never seen her so angry before. 
	I peered over the banister to find the two officers – standing on either side of my mother – in the entryway. You have no right, my mother yelled. One of the officers mumbled something to her. Then, she called out for me and my younger brother, Rob. 
	I didn’t want to descend those stairs; when the police are involved, a bad ending always follows. And I wasn’t ready for my bad ending. 
	“It’s alright,” he said, lifting his palm to us and gesturing to come down to the landing. With my brother under my arm, I took that first step down. 
	And stepped right into hell. 
 
	They ambushed my father when he came home – tackled him as soon as he came through the door. Poor guy didn’t even notice the two cop cars parked outside because he had spent the last few hours pounding down gin and tonics. 
	While Robby was watching TV in the living room, I snuck around the corner, walked down the hallway and positioned myself outside the kitchen door. For some reason, the police thought the best place to question him was where we ate our food. 
“Tell me where the bodies are, Jimmy,” one of the officers said. 
 
	“I don’t know,” my father replied. But his voice betrayed him – he couldn’t hide his shakiness.
	A grumble of incoherent words, then, more clearly : “Do you even have a warrant to be here?” My mother. She had watched one too many Law & Order episodes over the years. “It’s a reasonable search, probable cause,” said the other officer, his voice much deeper. “Don’t need one when you pose an imminent threat to our community.” 
	“You know me. You know my family,” my father said, his voice fumbling on the word “family.” 
	“For god’s sake,” my mother yelled. “Don’t say another word, James, we need our lawyer here.” 
	“Jimmy. We all know the kind of work you do. And considering the circumstances, I can’t look the other way just ‘cause we’re friends.” 
	My father was a scientist – that’s what I told people who couldn’t wrap their head around the industry jargon. But to those who really knew him and his work at the University, he was an expert in forensic and human sciences. Criminal forensics, if we are being precise. He spent his days teaching people about chemical compounds, cleaning and evaluating dead bodies, and the proper techniques to preserve evidence. He was a brilliant man, and an extraordinary teacher. I would know; I’m his kid. And he taught me everything. 
	But if anyone knew how to get rid of a body, it was him. 
 
	In the last 12 months, seven university students had gone missing. Four of which were directly enrolled in his graduate forensic seminar. The same faces that flashed across the nightly news had been in our home. They spent time on our front porch. They tossed back a beer or wine while discussing local crime scenes. They ate at our dinner table. Studied in the hammock hanging between two willow trees in our backyard. He was even seen chumming it up with students at happy hours. If it wasn’t clear already: my father loved his students. Adored them, actually. To the point where he treated them like his own children. Even though they weren’t. 
	“Did you really think people wouldn’t notice, Jimmy?” An officer asked.
 Everyone noticed, I thought. How could you not? 
 
 Tell us, they pleaded. It’s time, they said. Where are they? We have to bring them home. You don’t need to hold this secret anymore, Jimmy. 
	I have to admit that even though it’s been 20 years since that night, their certainty in that moment still makes my blood boil. They had such confidence in their accusation and so little to show in the way of proof. Because let’s be honest, a close relationship with a student is a pretty loose thread when it comes to tying someone to murder. 
	Unfortunately, my father was at his limit for keeping secrets. 
 
“They’re under the living room floor,” he said. 
	At that moment, I fell forward, spilling onto the kitchen floor. I had forgotten just how weak that door was. And I would pay greatly for my curiosity. Because even as I was staring down at the black and white tiles – hoping I was invisible – I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. And when I looked up, our eyes locked. 
	I couldn’t breath, couldn’t force my lungs to expand. This was it. This was that moment, the ending that I knew was coming. His eyes told me the only thing I needed to know. 
 
	The details of that night have been bent and twisted by the media. So many stories, so little accuracy. Which is ironic considering the news is supposed to hold itself to the highest level of truth. But I suppose I should give them some grace. They’re only human, and humans get things wrong. 
But I digress. 
 
	My father never spoke another word. Not at the police station. Not in the trial. And definitely not to me. My last moments with my father were spent in observation, while the police pulled my childhood home apart. While they dragged six bodies out from the depths of our foundation.
	You know what’s funny? The guilt in his eyes turned to shock. And it got me thinking: did he not predict it would turn out this way? Is this not the ending he imagined – my mother leaving his side, our home being torn apart, his daughter’s presence as it all went down? Was he worried about the woman I would become if he was found guilty? 
	I had so many questions. One very important one – but I wouldn’t get to ask it that night. It didn’t take long for a jury to convict him – only three weeks. The finger prints, clothing fibers, and driver’s licenses hiding in our basement were enough to put him in jail for life, without parole. 
	And the papers complained it was too easy – that my father was the sloppiest, yet most intelligent killer our town had seen. It was as if he wanted to get caught. One journalist said he was, and I quote, “the only educated, well-versed scientist with a knack for murder and childish mistakes. He wouldn’t have been able to clean up spilled milk.” 
	Let’s be clear, my father was no idiot. He was not childish or impulsive. He was kind, warm, and exacting. He was present for everything in my life, showing up to every parent teacher conference, soccer game, and choir concert. He showed great regard for my interests, encouraging me to try anything and everything, even if it was a bit odd. Like when I said I wanted a taxidermy kit and he bought me one the next day. He was a good father. Not a monster. The only thing he was guilty of was spending an increasing amount of time with his students. To a point where he started missing family dinners. And school events. Then birthdays. 
	But tabloids don’t want to hear about the happy shit. They want the darkest parts of a family tragedy. They beg to hear about the warning signs, the late nights. How he protected the specifics of his work, holding the details of his day job like a precious piece of blown glass. They wanted to know about those nights my father caught me in his laboratory, poking around and playing with his chemicals and tools. Or the panic in his eyes when he saw me playing in his sacred space. A place I was never allowed to explore on my own.
	Or they might have been more interested in how he hated when I spent too much time with his students. How I asked so many questions, got too close to young men that were twice my age. Certainly that detail would have popped in the tabloids. 
	But I never gave an interview to the press. Actually, I never spoke to anyone about my childhood, or what was left of it after my mother slipped into a state of catatonic depression and my brother went to live with my uncle. Considering how fast people turned on my father and how much my life had imploded, I figured the best way to stay under the radar was to keep a tight lip. And once I turned 18, I moved to a completely different coast. Changed my name. Dyed my hair. Curated a new life. 
	But a new identity doesn’t erase the truth. It can’t kill biology or erase the girl that was. Is. History can’t be escaped in cases like this. And my history called to me. Over and over again. Even after I got married, had two children, and started a new job as a physician's assistant, I still thought about my other life. Before I became this woman named Jennifer. After twenty years, I felt that tiny question nagging at me. 
	One flight and a 35 minute Uber later, I was standing just outside the jail that held the man I once called a father. All of those years without exchanging a single word – I couldn’t be sure if he would even agree to see me. But then I remembered the man he was, how much he loved me and adored being a father. 
	I willed myself to move and opened the door. I signed in at the visitors desk and waited. Waited for the guard to come out and say that he would see me. Hours passed without a word, which chipped away at my confidence. But just as I was about to stand up and walk out, the door opened and I was ushered in. 
The room was small – warm from poor air circulation. It smelt of sweat and metal, with a splash of bleach and windex. I’m sure my father hated the swirl of incompatible chemicals. I certainly couldn’t stand it, but I swallowed my pride and sat in the only metal chair that was available. A few moments later, on the other side of the plexi glass wall, he sauntered in. His
	gaze was set on the floor, but I could make out the signs of aging on his face, no doubt from stress and time spent around mildewy walls. 
	I leaned forward, picked up the phone. I waited for him to do the same. And when he did, he finally looked at me. 
	So many years. So many memories between us. And one question. 
	“So,” I started, “do you want to know where I hid the seventh body?”
 
","July 07, 2023 17:10","[[{'Ken Cartisano': 'Hah, very clever. No wonder he was surprised when they found six bodies, he knew there was a seventh. Great story, great writing, great ending.', 'time': '03:29 Jul 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Serena Pacheco': 'This was so good! I need a part two. I wonder where the seventh body is. Great writing and a great story.', 'time': '01:04 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Хадусенко Артём': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY', 'time': '06:11 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Analicia Russell': ""OMG THIS NEEDS TO BE A BOOK! The twists! You're an amazing writer and one day I hope to see your name on the cover of a best-selling novel!!"", 'time': '21:35 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Adored Daughter Of God': 'I need a part two!! Or at least I need to know where the seventh body is! This was such a great story. That last line completely blew me away, I was not expecting it! Well done!', 'time': '19:26 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marie Perederii': 'This was bone-chilling and amazing! Perfect for the theme! Miraculous work!', 'time': '17:51 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Victoria!\nWhat a stunning shortlist! Congratulations! It was written beautifully and you scattered just enough bread crumbs for the mind to begin to wonder about these mysteries. I loved the way you built up the justification in these characters’ minds and interesting to see the way there’s a shift into excusable disdain for the world. I think I knew when you wrote that line about being the father’s kid. Nice work!!', 'time': '05:23 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""Wow. Amazing. Love love it!\n\nThe motive first came in, just slightly, with 'To the point where he treated them like his own children. Even though they weren’t.' - She's jealous. \n\nConstant hints, there if you look for them but so subtle that you don't notice until you do look for them. \n\nFavourite sentence: 'Was he worried about the woman I would become if he was found guilty?' - There's so many meanings to this. Among them, would she carry on killing, letting other people take the blame, because if she got away with it once she would think ..."", 'time': '11:53 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Yifei Li': 'Hello! I am an official editor from NovelToon and it\'s a pleasure to meet you! NovelToon is a reading platform that gathers story enthusiasts from around the world. As a large platform, the highest number of clicks on a single work here has reached nearly 10 million.\n\nWe have read your short story and think it\'s fantastic.\n\nWe have launched an online magazine project and we are currently looking for quality content in the ""Drak"" genre (including short novels or stories like dark fantasy, dark sci-fi, dark romance, horror, and mystery). We be...', 'time': '02:34 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Boyana Andonova': 'I loved this, you are very talented. Would u consider writing part 2?', 'time': '13:51 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Drew M': 'Really well done Victoria. I have to ask: was the daughter the killer? Seems like you left some clues along the way that point to that - e.g., ""The only thing he was guilty of was spending an increasing amount of time with his students"" (sounds like motive BTW). Also reconciles how a criminal forensics professor leaves so much evidence against himself ... he was trying to cover for his daughter.\n\nAs I typed this out I think I\'ve convinced myself. I love the subtlety - excellent execution.', 'time': '17:03 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': ""The daughter is the killer, you're spot on. I played with the idea of both of them being in on it, but I found it more fun to write in that the daughter was the one actually committing crimes and he was covering as best he could for her in a way by not saying anything."", 'time': '18:40 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': ""The daughter is the killer, you're spot on. I played with the idea of both of them being in on it, but I found it more fun to write in that the daughter was the one actually committing crimes and he was covering as best he could for her in a way by not saying anything."", 'time': '18:40 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin B': 'This had a great hook that really delivered on its first line. Good job.', 'time': '16:30 Jul 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you for the feedback!', 'time': '18:40 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you for the feedback!', 'time': '18:40 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'K Arlington Andrews': 'Love Love Love this piece.  You had me from the first sentence, I Must say, I knew the ending was coming, but you delivered with one hell of a punch! Congrats on the shortlist and thanks for sharing', 'time': '04:02 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you for reading!', 'time': '18:40 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you for reading!', 'time': '18:40 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Frightening. I have to recheck your name. Then, I recalled where I am from. Congrats.', 'time': '19:14 Jul 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'So they were in on it together? That’s how he knew the bodies were in the floor when the police asked?', 'time': '18:08 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': ""She was committing the crime. In a way, he was in on it because he didn't out his own daughter right away. He buried the bodies under the floor."", 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': ""She was committing the crime. In a way, he was in on it because he didn't out his own daughter right away. He buried the bodies under the floor."", 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kelly Sibley': 'Your first sentence hooked me!', 'time': '06:53 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Happy to hear that!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Happy to hear that!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sarah Saleem': 'Really good crime thriller filled with suspense, I really liked that ending line and the writing style.', 'time': '10:39 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I guessed she had a hand in there somewhere. Nice reveal. Good suspense.\nCongrats on the shortlist. This was a thriller.', 'time': '00:49 Jul 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:42 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:42 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'Well done. This is a compelling story with a nice twist. I especially like the unique voice of the narrator.', 'time': '21:26 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Victoria Shellady': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Arter Fake': 'Wonderful! What a twist! I liked it a lot!', 'time': '16:42 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jesse Kae': 'Well written, I enjoyed reading it!', 'time': '11:25 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,woag0l,Shimmering Silver,Greydon Blight,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/woag0l/,/short-story/woag0l/,Horror,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Science Fiction']",32 likes,"
And lo, it rained from the sky; ripples of blue echoed through the air akin to the early morning, as if the sun rent the veil of night. Terror enveloped me, but in wonderment that fear fast diminished. The stars of the night sky dulled in its presence as the horizon was engulfed by billowy white clouds, tinged with fiery wisps at their fringes. As the light faded and the celestial gift plummeted to earth, its descent accompanied by a shrill and discordant whistle, the ephemeral day drew to a close and yielded once more to the night. The stars reclaimed their brilliance, and the blue turned to black.My eyes were unable to avert their gaze from this wondrous sight, for it was a blissful offering from the heavens that had fallen into the nearby woods: a gift meant for me to open. Curiosity stirred within me, urging me to quell any lingering doubts. I resolved to march towards the crater and pull at the ribbon. This treasure would be mine and mine alone. I longed to weave my hands through its warmth, allowing it to cool against my breath. I loved it, truly and deeply. That distant thud that shuddered the house upon its landing was a summons directed at me, a beckoning that could not be ignored. It craved my affection.***A nervous dread enveloped me as I ventured through the gnarled branches of the forest, the scent of gasoline and woodsmoke pervading the air. The fumes stung my eyes, obscuring my surroundings in a milky haze. Without the need for sight I followed the call that brought me to the hearth of this fire, not conveyed in words but in a sorrowful melody that could be felt in each nerve of my being. Once again the dread is hammered down, pushed deep below the all-encompassing love until its weight rendered it to a mere powder.Large swells of smoke undulated from the centre of the impact. They swirled in a tumultuous motion, reminiscent of the foaming waves of an enraged sea crashing upon steadfast rocks. Within this chaotic display a cocoon of pale crystalline air gleamed with grandeur. As I ventured closer my sweat evaporated into wisps of vapour that quickly became one with the swelling smoke. With a sweeping motion I waved my hand through the glaze and arrived at its core.A shimmering silver presence floated before me; the tears washed my eyes clear so that I could gaze upon it without hindrance. It blotted out the sky, an immense entity that defied reason, and yet I found myself able to cradle it within the palm of my hand. Its touch ignited the ground and transformed the landscape into a fiery inferno, while an inexplicable chill permeated the air. At first glance it appeared a flawless, perfectly round sphere. But in the next moment it danced and twirled around me like raindrops caught in a volatile storm. It possessed the ability to mirror the surroundings, reflecting the woods with pristine clarity. And then in the blink of an eye it transformed into a radiant light, coated in an oil-like substance that bestowed upon it all the colours of the rainbow, shifting in hue from dusk to dawn. “I am here,” I said, though the words were not solely my own, as they harmoniously echoed from the mouths of others surrounding me—men, women and children wept in unison. We had all answered its call, yet my love surpassed theirs. The essence of who I am wailed as well, but I disregarded their cries and sought solace in the shade of the towering trees, those too strong and old to be ripped up from the ground. Their shade would shield me from the sight of what I had to do, what the silver needed of me - it could love only one. ***Their blood warmed my hands as the core of this silver was washed with a chill air. “Have I earned your love?” I asked, my voice resounded in solitude, the words curled in the air with grace like a spectral mist. The wind took my question, ascended high until it could no longer be seen, blended into the bright light of the silver entity.And in that moment fear seized me. Incomprehensible utterances trembled through the broken branches of the surrounding trees, leaves bled embers, and the ground receded beneath me. The dread and doubt that I had buried, crushed and disregarded were no longer fleeting moments of uncertainty; they had consumed my entire existence. For a brief spell I was free - free to see that I had become prey, groomed and lured by that which hungered mightily. I rose high, as light as a feather caught in the storm, akin to spoken words ensnared in searing mist on a cold night.The silver transmuted into something else entirely. Initially it enveloped me in a blanket of velvet warmth. Soon thereafter tendrils began to thread through my skin, knitting us together as one. At first it felt like love, a pulse of soft ecstasy goosepimpling my skin. But that moment was fleeting, soon after I could feel pure ice weave through my bones. I looked on as it clambered over my body, its face taking shape until the silver became a mirror, the reflection a scared man; a familiar stranger. As it kissed me I felt myself fall back down to earth and into the dark.***The ground was where I awoke, reminiscent of an abandoned runt from the litter. Nestled amidst the fallen leaves I awaited the break of true day. At first I crawled, my movements uncertain, until the recollection of walking flooded back to me. Faltering over clumsy feet towards my mother, her radiance shimmered with pride - she couldn’t hold back the tears. A memory long forgotten and not my own, brought to the surface only now that it was needed.I ran, as an inexplicable force propelled me forward, urging me to something unknown. It evoked within me an overwhelming desperation; an emotion so deep I struggled to grasp an understanding of its purpose. I dashed homeward, burst through the door and tumbled up the stairs. A confusing dread clawed at its cage, the sight of an empty bed where two once slumbered brought me to tears. But why? In the adjacent room a smaller bed intended for a child remained empty and unmade.Two voices among the countless last night now bore an eerie familiarity. The dried blood that coated my arms began to burn and itch. A lingering presence persisted within me - a parasite of the man that should be long lost amidst the rubble of the void. In boundless darkness his tormented screams resounded and reverberated through the depths of my being, erupting from my own lips in a howl of pain, wrestling control. The feeble flickering of light, mere fleeting moments of dominance, witnessed this vessel gain possession of a knife.“I am your gift,” I whispered to him, my voice laced with wisdom, “Watch from your shelter of safety as I give purpose to your existence. Allow my love to radiate through you, turning the shadows into everlasting day.” Yet he paid no heed to my words, dismissing my guidance without a second thought. I plunged it deep into my throat, succumbing to the irrepressible urge to die as if it had become my sole purpose. Deeper still I drove the blade until the pouring wound wept tears of red, and then shimmering silver.
","July 13, 2023 22:36","[[{'Kevin Logue': 'Poetic encounters of the third kind with a bit more murder and suicide, I like ha. \n\nGood read Greydon!', 'time': '06:36 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greydon Blight': ""I wanted to give the classic abduction story a spiritual feel, I'm glad you enjoyed the read!"", 'time': '13:03 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'It was very ethereal, if you were going for spiritual then you nailed it!', 'time': '13:14 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greydon Blight': ""I wanted to give the classic abduction story a spiritual feel, I'm glad you enjoyed the read!"", 'time': '13:03 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'It was very ethereal, if you were going for spiritual then you nailed it!', 'time': '13:14 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'It was very ethereal, if you were going for spiritual then you nailed it!', 'time': '13:14 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rose Lind': 'Poetic and some sort of spiritual delusion to suicide worked well', 'time': '05:17 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greydon Blight': ""Thanks I'm happy you enjoyed it!"", 'time': '13:00 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greydon Blight': ""Thanks I'm happy you enjoyed it!"", 'time': '13:00 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Such beautiful poetic descriptions creating a bizarre turbulent experience.\n\nThanks for reading and liking my simple tale of tacos.\nThanks for liking my public speaking.', 'time': '15:21 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greydon Blight': 'Thank you so much for your comment! And thank you also for taking the time to read my own!', 'time': '12:49 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greydon Blight': 'Thank you so much for your comment! And thank you also for taking the time to read my own!', 'time': '12:49 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,bews11,Shadow Self,Katharine Widdows,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bews11/,/short-story/bews11/,Horror,0,"['Fantasy', 'Horror']",26 likes,"
Arthur Drake coughed a breath of acrid smoke from his lungs and took a few steps backwards, away from the heat and the stench and the shrieking. His stomach churned with bile and his eyes filled with tears. Tension dragged its way through his muscles, pulling his ribs tight around his lungs and his shoulders high up to his jaw. Might this happen to him one day?The jostling crowd shuffled backwards with him, expanding their circle away from the pyre as a wave of searing heat emanated from the burning wood. Evelyn Crow’s piercing screams scorched the air as much as the flames from the crackling branches. It wouldn’t take long for her rope bindings to burn through and then she would fall from the A-shaped poles into the heart of the furnace below.The sun, setting in the west, cast the east side of the construction in shadow. From the apex of the wooden frame, down to the base of the fire, a shadow fell onto the long grass marking out the rough form of the night’s grim spectacle. The only thing not cast in shaded darkness was the outline of Evelyn herself. Her shadow was nowhere to be seen.“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!” the masses chanted in an almost-frenzy.A gong reverberated across the fields and the crowd fell silent, though the woman on the pyre continued to wail and screech.“Evelyn Crow, damned witch of Bramcastle Valley."" The high priest’s voice raised above the background noise. “You released your shadow, now we will release your soul. Be cleansed by the fires of oak and ash, by the words we spoke, by the flesh we lashed. Be cleansed! Be cleansed!”The villagers might have been on the edge of a celebration at the downfall of poor Evelyn, but Arthur was mourning. Mourning his companion, mourning his mentor and mourning his chances. He stayed to hear the speech of the high priest, but expected to regret it. He still couldn't quite believe that this man of authority was burning his own sister alive.“Shadowmagic has been outlawed in The North for two score years and eight,"" the black-cloaked priest shouted at the crowd. “A trusted soldier of King Welland’s army released his own shadow, and used it to access battle plans. He sold the information to a southern General, and the battle would have been lost, with thousands of our kin enslaved, if King Welland hadn’t sacrificed his own son to a duel with the southern champion. Separation of the shadow from the body is an aberration. Let the burning of Evelyn Crow be a reminder to you all.”The gong sounded again. Arthur shuddered.“I burn you in the name of King Welland. You released your shadow, now we will release your soul. Be cleansed by the fires of oak and ash, by the words we spoke, by the flesh we lashed. Be cleansed! Be cleansed!”Arthur could stomach it no more. Not the sight, not the smell and not the ear-piercing sound. He checked the ground to his left, his shadow was in place, following his every move, just where it should be. It was time to go home.“Goodbye Evelyn. I’m so sorry,” he whispered behind his hand and turned his back on the flaming mound and on Evelyn's cruel-hearted brother.Returning to his simple log cabin, Arthur paced back and forth in the lamplight, his shadow striding alongside him at every step.“You don’t have to do that when we’re at home.” Arthur scratched his head. “No one's here to see us.”His shadow stopped still, frozen against the back wall of the living room, while Arthur continued to pace. After a few seconds it dropped back into line, matching his rhythm step by step, mirroring the swing of his arms.“Stop it! Stop it! I freed you for a reason. You have your own will now, you don’t have to mimic me when we're alone. It’s been a month! Evelyn said her shadow only took a day to adjust.”The shadow shrank down to half Arthur’s height and took to the far corner, cowering away from his harsh words.“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. I just. . . it was hard to see Evelyn put to death. Without her you would still be a mindless attachment, following me about with no choice in it. You should be sad, too.” Arthur stopped walking and held his head in his hands, leaning against the bookcase.The shadow grew to full size again and reached its arm along the wall towards the bookshelves, extending its shady fingers until they met Arthur’s shoulder, as if to comfort him. Arthur looked up and caught a glimpse of his companion’s hand settling at the top of his arm.“Why don’t you go and look for Mary?” he said. “It's dark out, you won’t be seen, and no one will come here – the whole town will be at the fire until dawn. The whole town apart from Mary. She’ll be mourning somewhere in the forest."" She was the only person who would miss Evelyn more than him. Would she ever forgive her father for burning her favourite aunt? ""Oh, my dearest Mary, I wish you would accept my support. I could do so much for you.”Arthur’s shadow hovered a few inches above the ground for a moment. Then it pulled back its right arm, formed a fist and punched the shadow of the vase on the corner of the dining table. The vase shadow distorted momentarily, then broke into several shady pieces and fell silently to the floor. The shadow slipped across the back wall, round the corner of the room, and drifted through the sliver of a gap between the door frame and the closed front door.Arthur sighed. He liked that vase, but now it would have to go. Anything without a shadow would raise suspicion, and a badly damaged shadow would fool no one. He'd have to destroy the vase to destroy the shadow completely, and get rid of all the evidence. He put the ornament into a pillowcase and smashed it with a poker from the fireside. He put the pieces into the bin. The broken shadow melted into the floor and was gone.Arthur opened the rounded wooden box on his dining table and took out a creased page of paper. Had he made a terrible mistake? He unfolded the sheet and began to read out loud to himself:Dearest Arthur, It is of the utmost importance that you destroy this note as soon as your aim is achieved. Should either of us be caught performing these acts then surely my brother will ensure that death will swiftly follow. Take this as a warning from me – once separation is achieved, the part of you removed will develop its own opinions, its own attitude. It will, of course, be you. But it will be your shadow self, the darker parts of you. It may manifest in unexpected ways; it may magnify the parts of you that are the most distasteful. There is no way to predict which parts, but know that they could turn ugly. However, your yearning for Mary, my spinster niece, gives me hope. I have imparted as much information to you about her as I can. It is now up to you to win her heart by any means necessary. There is no reason for either of you to be lonely in this life. Use your shadow to get to know her. Woo her with the knowledge it uncovers. I will die happy if she avoids my fate, spending my old age unmarried and childless. You both deserve happiness, companionship, togetherness. As promised, the instructions are overleaf. Follow them precisely and then destroy this letter. Destroy this letter. Yours,Evelyn Arthur balled up the paper and placed it in the fire grate. He struck a match and lit it, watching the smoke spiral into the chimney. A tiny movement in the corner by the door attracted his attention.“Why are you back so soon? Were you seen?”The shadow grew to full size and flattened itself against the wall, shaking its head from side to side, indicating no.“Did you find Mary? You haven’t had time to go to the forest and back.”Again, the shadow shook its head. It reached a dark grey hand out across the floor towards Arthur’s feet, brushing its fingers against his boots.“If you have no new information about my Love then go out and get me some and don’t come back with nothing! I created you for a reason. Do not let me down.”The shadow lifted up from the floor, stretched across the full length of the ceiling, slithered headfirst through the window frame and sneaked back out into the night.Arthur woke with the sun probing its way into his room. He turned over, away from the light, and found his shadow lying next to him in the bed. It was sprawled out, full length, head on the spare pillow.“Hey! You’re supposed to sleep on the sofa.” Arthur poked at the shadow with a finger, but it pulled itself away from his touch, dimpling its outline against the mattress so he couldn’t quite catch it. “Maybe it’s good you’re here. I need you to come with me today. I have to go to the market and I can’t be seen without you. They have watercress on Mondays, Mary’s favourite. I’m going to practice making that salad she likes. If I’m lucky, they'll have her favourite yellow roses too. I might surprise her with a bunch. I can leave them on her doorstep while she’s out teaching. She’ll like that. Coming home to another surprise.”The shadow pulled away from Arthur’s body in a sulk.“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. I need you on your best behaviour to go out. You like following me, I know you do.”A moment later the shadow quietly fell into place at Arthur's side and seemed to cheer up a little as it did so.Arthur and his shadow made their trip to the market and dropped twelve yellow roses outside Mary's door with a note that read ""From your admirer, I'm so sorry about your aunt."" Then they returned to the cabin, where Arthur removed a bag of watercress from his knapsack.""I do love her, you know,"" he said to the shadow. ""And again, there's no need for you to be connected to my every move when we're alone at home. Please find your own space to exist in."" Arthur washed the watercress and cut up some radishes. His shadow stepped back a few inches, but continued to mimic his movements as he chopped tomatoes, lettuce, spring onions and apple. ""Honestly! It's as if you're obsessed with my every move! What's wrong with you?""His shadow retreated across the room and collapsed into a heap of darkness on the sofa. Arthur was past caring if it was upset with him. He was much more focussed on Mary's favourite salad. If he couldn't dine with her, he could at least dine like her. Since Evelyn would no longer be joining him for dinner twice a week, it was time to find out just how much information his shadow could glean about the elusive object of his desires.Arthur finished creating the dish and sat at the dining table to try it. It was a little peppery, but rather enjoyable, especially as he felt it brought him closer to Mary. Even if she didn't know it. One day she would realise that he was the man for her, and all would fall into place.""Since you failed to even find Mary last night, you need to go to her house tonight and watch through the windows. You must not be seen, of course, so keep out of the way. I have no intention of ending up on a flaming pyre. And don't forget that if they burn me to death you will also cease to exist."" Arthur cleared the dishes. His shadow stood up and followed him. ""I want you to find out what she did with my roses. Are they in pride of place on her mantlepiece? Has she kept them by her bed? Will part of me be close to her as she sleeps?""The shadow threw its head back, as if to sigh, and slipped away under the front door into the twilight.Arthur was glad to be left alone for a while, and he used the time to work on his oil painting of Mary. It was done entirely from memory but was quite a good likeness, if he did say so himself. In it she was standing in front of his bookcase, holding a perfect yellow rose, and there was a gold wedding ring on her finger, the exact same one he kept in a box under his pillow.His shadow did not return for several hours. Arthur had gone to sleep, and it snuggled in next to him on the bed, as if it had never been away.As the sun pushed itself between Arthur's curtains the following morning. He yawned and turned over, stretching his arms out in front of him. His shadow nestled itself deeper into this accidental embrace. Arthur opened one eye. Then the other.""What are you doing?"" he snapped. ""You're supposed to sleep in the living room, on the sofa. Anyone would think we were a couple. Is that what you think? Do you think we're in a romantic relationship? We are not!""The shadow shot across the sheets, dropped onto the floor and rolled under the bed. Arthur leaned over the edge of the bed, hanging his head, upside down, above the rug. ""Where have you gone? I can still see you, you know, your antics don't impress me. Now what did you find out about my beloved last night? Did she adore her roses?""The shadow shook its head.""What do you mean 'no'?""The shadow, still hiding under the bed, presented one hand to Arthur and made scissor movements with its fingers.""She trimmed the stems?""The shadow shook its head.""She cut them up?""The shadow nodded. Arthur gasped.""Did she cut them up? Did she cut the heads off?"" Arthur jumped out of bed and lay on the floor, facing the shadow. ""Why would she do that?""The shadow gave a nod, and followed it with a shrug.Arthur stared hard across the floor. The morning was edging in from the window on the other side of the room, dimly lighting up the under-bed space. There was something else under there, something other than his own shadow. Something dark, and flat, and spooky.""What have you got?""The shadow shrugged.""Seriously, what have you got under there? And how have you got it? You can't carry anything but shadows! Come out and show me.""The shadow shuffled forwards, dragging one hand behind itself, and something followed, but not by choice. It slowly emerged from under the bed and Arthur stood up to look at it. His shadow stood up too.Draped over its outstretched arms, limp and lifeless, was a second shadow. A woman's shadow. Mary's shadow.""What happened? Did you do this?""Arthur's shadow dropped Mary's shadow to the floor, kicked it in the ribs, stepped over it and disappeared under the door and into the living room.Arthur's blood boiled and then ran like ice. ""You jealous fool!"" he shouted through the bedroom door. ""What have you done?! Her father will kill us both!""Mary's shadow was dead, but fully intact. Its outline was easily recognisable as the focus of Arthur's obsession, from the curly hair, right down to the heeled boots, so Mary herself must be alive. Alive, but shadowless.Shadowless. How long would it take for anyone to notice? He had to warn her.***""Who's there?"" Mary shouted from the inside of her front door as Arthur knocked again.""It's Arthur Drake. I must talk with you. It's a matter of the utmost importance.""""I can't see anyone today. Especially not you. Stop creeping around here and don't leave me any more flowers.""Arthur stared daggers at his shadow. ""She knows,"" he whispered. ""She knows she's missing her shadow. I can't believe you did this! Do you know how serious this is?""Arthur's shadow shook its fist as if to mock his anger, then bent double in laughter.""It's the middle of the day! Someone will see you! Get back in place!"" he hissed.The shadow stepped away, a good two feet away.""What are you doing?""Arthur glanced down the track leading away from Mary's cabin. A tall man in a black cloak on a bay horse was approaching. He had a bunch of yellow roses in one arm. The high priest, probably coming to console his daughter.""Come back. Come back! I'm sorry. I beg you to get back in place.""Arthur's shadow seemed to no longer care what happened to Arthur, or to itself. It ignored his pleas and crouched down onto the dirt track, making itself as small as possible, before sloping off towards the forest.
","July 12, 2023 19:40","[[{'Alex Sultan': ""Hey Katharine, I just read through and I thought it was a pretty cool story with a good concept. The idea of shadows being seperated was interesting, and I enjoyed the fantasy touch to it. I liked the scene with the shadow hiding under the bed a lot, and I thought the humour, intended or not, was well done. The beginning was striking, with the whole witch burning, and I liked how the ending implies another two.\n\n\nI do have some notes if you're looking for it. I thought I'd go through the story as I usually do. I do like stories in this sort ..."", 'time': '18:07 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you Alex - this is brilliant - given half a chance I will never ignore your feedback! There is time before the deadline still, and even though I should be packing for a weekend away I will do that later - edit edit edit!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""OK - I have made a bunch of minor changes in line with your comments.\n\nI agree that the speech made by the high priest is a bit stilted but I can't think of a quick way to fix it - will think a bit more. \n\nI also agree that the end is overly coincidental. I actually don't like the ending - I have been trying to improve it since I posted the draft. Perhaps I can give the priest a reason to be there though - perhaps he is Mary's father - he burned his own sister at the start of the story? he's a proper hardcase! Thinking about it."", 'time': '19:02 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Alex Sultan': ""Not too bad an idea on having the priest be related to her in some way. It'd require a bit of working things around but it could work"", 'time': '19:19 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks - I've had a go at adding that in - if you have time for another read through that would be awesome - don't worry if not. I'm going to read it out loud to myself now and see if I can tell for myself if it works."", 'time': '19:40 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': 'Hey Alex - how are you doing? How\'s the novel coming? if you are interested and have time, I have written a piece this week called ""Winners Club International"" and I\'d love your comments on it. I hope all is well.', 'time': '19:26 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Alex Sultan': ""I'm doing well, thanks. Novel is nearly done - should be a month more before I have a really solid draft. And I'd be happy to read over your newest story. I should have time tomorrow to go through it in depth 👍"", 'time': '14:48 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""That's great news about the novel! Almost time to congratulate you! Thanks in advance for the read through - I feel like it needs more atmosphere - might do an edit tonight before you get to it."", 'time': '17:23 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you Alex - this is brilliant - given half a chance I will never ignore your feedback! There is time before the deadline still, and even though I should be packing for a weekend away I will do that later - edit edit edit!', 'time': '18:41 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""OK - I have made a bunch of minor changes in line with your comments.\n\nI agree that the speech made by the high priest is a bit stilted but I can't think of a quick way to fix it - will think a bit more. \n\nI also agree that the end is overly coincidental. I actually don't like the ending - I have been trying to improve it since I posted the draft. Perhaps I can give the priest a reason to be there though - perhaps he is Mary's father - he burned his own sister at the start of the story? he's a proper hardcase! Thinking about it."", 'time': '19:02 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Alex Sultan': ""Not too bad an idea on having the priest be related to her in some way. It'd require a bit of working things around but it could work"", 'time': '19:19 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks - I've had a go at adding that in - if you have time for another read through that would be awesome - don't worry if not. I'm going to read it out loud to myself now and see if I can tell for myself if it works."", 'time': '19:40 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Alex Sultan': ""Not too bad an idea on having the priest be related to her in some way. It'd require a bit of working things around but it could work"", 'time': '19:19 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks - I've had a go at adding that in - if you have time for another read through that would be awesome - don't worry if not. I'm going to read it out loud to myself now and see if I can tell for myself if it works."", 'time': '19:40 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks - I've had a go at adding that in - if you have time for another read through that would be awesome - don't worry if not. I'm going to read it out loud to myself now and see if I can tell for myself if it works."", 'time': '19:40 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Hey Alex - how are you doing? How\'s the novel coming? if you are interested and have time, I have written a piece this week called ""Winners Club International"" and I\'d love your comments on it. I hope all is well.', 'time': '19:26 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Alex Sultan': ""I'm doing well, thanks. Novel is nearly done - should be a month more before I have a really solid draft. And I'd be happy to read over your newest story. I should have time tomorrow to go through it in depth 👍"", 'time': '14:48 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""That's great news about the novel! Almost time to congratulate you! Thanks in advance for the read through - I feel like it needs more atmosphere - might do an edit tonight before you get to it."", 'time': '17:23 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Alex Sultan': ""I'm doing well, thanks. Novel is nearly done - should be a month more before I have a really solid draft. And I'd be happy to read over your newest story. I should have time tomorrow to go through it in depth 👍"", 'time': '14:48 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""That's great news about the novel! Almost time to congratulate you! Thanks in advance for the read through - I feel like it needs more atmosphere - might do an edit tonight before you get to it."", 'time': '17:23 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""That's great news about the novel! Almost time to congratulate you! Thanks in advance for the read through - I feel like it needs more atmosphere - might do an edit tonight before you get to it."", 'time': '17:23 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Zorah Starr': 'I really enjoyed this read! Your opening paragraphs had me hooked from the beginning. It also love how the quick explanation of the magic foreshadows (ha)  the conflict. Absolutely great story!', 'time': '02:13 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you for reading and for your kind comments 😊', 'time': '05:05 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': 'Thank you for reading and for your kind comments 😊', 'time': '05:05 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'RJ Holmquist': 'This was a great read! The opening worked as a hook for me and the freed shadow concept kept me wanting to see what would happen next. Fascinating dynamic between the shadow and the person. The shadow seemed to want to be ""close"" to Arthur, but Arthur only wanted him to touch him when he was useful. Rich ideas in there about relationship to self, especially once shadow decided he had enough and left Arthur stranded in the sunshine.', 'time': '14:53 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you for reading and for your comments. I'm glad you liked the story. Yes, the shadow has inherited the tendancy towards obsession from Arthur himself who is obsessed with the woman. But Arthur doesn't know how to deal with it when he becomes the object of such an obsession. Perhaps poetic justice?"", 'time': '15:07 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you for reading and for your comments. I'm glad you liked the story. Yes, the shadow has inherited the tendancy towards obsession from Arthur himself who is obsessed with the woman. But Arthur doesn't know how to deal with it when he becomes the object of such an obsession. Perhaps poetic justice?"", 'time': '15:07 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'I love the way the shadow communicates personality without ever having a line of dialogue or a facial expression. Well done.', 'time': '23:40 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you Ellen, I'm really glad that comes across."", 'time': '04:22 Jul 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you Ellen, I'm really glad that comes across."", 'time': '04:22 Jul 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'This is a cool premise! And as I read along, Arthur struck me as a curious character too. \n\nWhile he loves Mary, he seems to hate himself. He doesn\'t approach her directly but instead depends on spying via his shadow - but he treats his shadow shabbily. (And if his shadow is his dark side, and it killed Mary\'s shadow, what does that say about Arthur himself?) And then there\'s what Arthur does - ""If he couldn\'t dine with her, he could at least dine like her."" He is becoming *her* shadow. This seems delightfully twisted :) Particularly given M...', 'time': '20:40 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks very much for this Michal. You pick up on a lot of the things I am trying to get across about Arthur so thats great to hear. \nIt's a bit odd that you picked out that typo - I fixed it an hour or so before you posted this comment - I also did a few edits to change the ending up a bit. So I'm not sure which ending you read if you could still see that typo! Have you got the version where the high priest is Mary's father? That's the final version. (Assuming I don't have another idea at 3am LOL)\nThank you for reading - I appreciate it."", 'time': '20:49 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michał Przywara': ""Ah, that's on me then :) I often leave a bunch of stories open in tabs, but don't always remember to refresh them, and so I must have missed your changes. Yeah, the father-ending is new to me.\n\nThat makes the burning all the more horrid, though there's no doubt the high priest is a true believer. All sorts of horror in this piece :)"", 'time': '21:04 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thanks very much for this Michal. You pick up on a lot of the things I am trying to get across about Arthur so thats great to hear. \nIt's a bit odd that you picked out that typo - I fixed it an hour or so before you posted this comment - I also did a few edits to change the ending up a bit. So I'm not sure which ending you read if you could still see that typo! Have you got the version where the high priest is Mary's father? That's the final version. (Assuming I don't have another idea at 3am LOL)\nThank you for reading - I appreciate it."", 'time': '20:49 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michał Przywara': ""Ah, that's on me then :) I often leave a bunch of stories open in tabs, but don't always remember to refresh them, and so I must have missed your changes. Yeah, the father-ending is new to me.\n\nThat makes the burning all the more horrid, though there's no doubt the high priest is a true believer. All sorts of horror in this piece :)"", 'time': '21:04 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Ah, that's on me then :) I often leave a bunch of stories open in tabs, but don't always remember to refresh them, and so I must have missed your changes. Yeah, the father-ending is new to me.\n\nThat makes the burning all the more horrid, though there's no doubt the high priest is a true believer. All sorts of horror in this piece :)"", 'time': '21:04 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jon Casper': 'Tremendously imaginative story and very enjoyable read!\n\nStrong opening paragraph. Intrigued by ""might this happen to him"" question.\n\nWe\'re at a witch burning--for an actual witch, apparently? Interesting worldbuilding with ""Shadowmagic.""\n\nFrom what I gather, both Arthur and Evelyn have released their shadows, but only Evelyn got caught. Arthur\'s shadow, now an independent entity, still behaves as if attached in public, to conceal the separation. \n\nI assumed initially that Mary was the name given to Evelyn\'s shadow self, but then realized, s...', 'time': '16:33 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you Jon!\n\nPunctuation now corrected throughout. \nYour observations are correct - Arthur's shadow has taken on Arthur's own obsessive tendencies and become obsessed with Arthur in the way Arthur is obsessed with Mary. Evelyn did warn him in her letter that something like that might happen - and that it might turn nasty. \nThank you for your wonderful crit - I will enter the story tonight."", 'time': '17:43 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you Jon!\n\nPunctuation now corrected throughout. \nYour observations are correct - Arthur's shadow has taken on Arthur's own obsessive tendencies and become obsessed with Arthur in the way Arthur is obsessed with Mary. Evelyn did warn him in her letter that something like that might happen - and that it might turn nasty. \nThank you for your wonderful crit - I will enter the story tonight."", 'time': '17:43 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Horrific beginning as intended. Unique idea and yet it was recognized as a war tactic back whenever this was. You really have a great line going with it.\nI was wondering why he would want to unleash his dark side on his secret love. I'm afraid they are both going to end up on funeral pyre."", 'time': '16:19 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you Mary, I'm glad you liked the way it started - I have done a big edit and written the ending. If you have time to read it in advance of the deadline and leave any comments with things I might improve on I would be very grateful."", 'time': '18:45 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you Mary, I'm glad you liked the way it started - I have done a big edit and written the ending. If you have time to read it in advance of the deadline and leave any comments with things I might improve on I would be very grateful."", 'time': '18:45 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Zatoichi Mifune': ""Great story so far! Very interesting, I wonder where this is going too. I'll keep checking for the finished version, I can't wait!\n\nDoes Mary know about Arthur, does she know that he released his shadow, does she know that her aunt did it?\n\nAs to how it continues, just a suggestion, maybe she sees his shadow and follows it back to him? I wonder how you'll do it. I only know that it will be amazing, as always."", 'time': '14:47 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Zatoichi, thank you for reading - I have now finished a complete first draft - if you have time to reread and leave any suggestions that would be great. \nI like your idea of Mary following the shadow back to Arthur - but it's a little on the romantic side for where I wanted this to end up. See what you think of how I have ended it. Thanks."", 'time': '18:46 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Zatoichi Mifune': ""In my head it definitely ended with her telling about him and getting him burned... But this ending is much better. I didn't expected that. You never disappoint."", 'time': '15:03 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Zatoichi, thank you for reading - I have now finished a complete first draft - if you have time to reread and leave any suggestions that would be great. \nI like your idea of Mary following the shadow back to Arthur - but it's a little on the romantic side for where I wanted this to end up. See what you think of how I have ended it. Thanks."", 'time': '18:46 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Zatoichi Mifune': ""In my head it definitely ended with her telling about him and getting him burned... But this ending is much better. I didn't expected that. You never disappoint."", 'time': '15:03 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Zatoichi Mifune': ""In my head it definitely ended with her telling about him and getting him burned... But this ending is much better. I didn't expected that. You never disappoint."", 'time': '15:03 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Katherine, wonderful work on this. Very interesting and engaging topic. I was intrigued by the notion of ""releasing one\'s shadow\' so I researched the idea on Bing. Here\'s what it came back with this, different from your interpretation:\n\nReleasing your shadow” can refer to the concept of shadow work, which is a process of exploring and healing the wounded self. It involves acknowledging and embracing the parts of oneself that are often repressed or suppressed, such as negative emotions or traits. Some steps to heal the wounded self include be...', 'time': '14:11 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Bruce, thank you very much for your comments. It's interesting what you found about releasing shadows, but this story is much more literal, as I'm sure you appreciate. I have finished a first draft now - if you'd like to check it out I'd appreciate any comments you may have before the deadline."", 'time': '18:49 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Bruce, thank you very much for your comments. It's interesting what you found about releasing shadows, but this story is much more literal, as I'm sure you appreciate. I have finished a first draft now - if you'd like to check it out I'd appreciate any comments you may have before the deadline."", 'time': '18:49 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""What a fun concept. I'm curious to see what happens. Don't really get how the shadow can spy for him and tell him what it finds out at the moment, is it telepathy?"", 'time': '09:14 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Zelda, I'm glad you found this fun. it was a lot of fun to write - even if it was slow going. They communicate with a kind of sign language - like shadow puppetry I guess. I have now finished a full first draft. If you have chance to read it before the deadline I'd really appreciate  your thoughts. Thanks."", 'time': '18:50 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Read the full draft! I love the story. Jealous shadow that probably didn't want to be separated in the first place! Brilliant. \n\nI was left wondering about a couple of things: Why does Amy hate him? Did she blame him for her aunts death? Why doesn't he say that he has her shadow? Surely that would make her open the door and would be the first thing he'd say.\n\nSuggestion for a little tweak to the end: maybe his shadow could pretend that he has Mary's shadow by accident, says that she fell or sth, and lures Arthur over there in order to dramat..."", 'time': '19:18 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you so much for this - Mary hates him because he is a creepy obsessive - that's where Arthur's shadow gets this jealous personality trait - its an exaggerated version of Arthur's worst qualities. If that isn't coming across then I need to do something about it. Thank you for pointing it out. \n\nArthur can't shout anything through the door about shadowmagic for fear of being heard. And if he did tell her he had her (dead) shadow it would just confirm her suspicions about him being an obsessive creep. \n\nYour suggestion for the ending is i..."", 'time': '19:25 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Ohhhhh now you've said it, that makes sense. I understood that Arthur was a bit obsessed. I also got that the shadow has his worst traits, that was explained very clearly in the letter. \nI'm not sure why I didn't connect them up.\n\nI wrote a story this week, first in a while, if you have time to read I'd appreciate it but no worries if you can't manage it 👍\n\nGood luck with your story!"", 'time': '19:32 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Oh! And her aunt wanted her married with kids, and she probably was sick of her nagging and thought it would be over now!\nMaybe I'm a bit slow today. I am tired."", 'time': '19:36 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Hi Zelda, I'm glad you found this fun. it was a lot of fun to write - even if it was slow going. They communicate with a kind of sign language - like shadow puppetry I guess. I have now finished a full first draft. If you have chance to read it before the deadline I'd really appreciate  your thoughts. Thanks."", 'time': '18:50 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Read the full draft! I love the story. Jealous shadow that probably didn't want to be separated in the first place! Brilliant. \n\nI was left wondering about a couple of things: Why does Amy hate him? Did she blame him for her aunts death? Why doesn't he say that he has her shadow? Surely that would make her open the door and would be the first thing he'd say.\n\nSuggestion for a little tweak to the end: maybe his shadow could pretend that he has Mary's shadow by accident, says that she fell or sth, and lures Arthur over there in order to dramat..."", 'time': '19:18 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you so much for this - Mary hates him because he is a creepy obsessive - that's where Arthur's shadow gets this jealous personality trait - its an exaggerated version of Arthur's worst qualities. If that isn't coming across then I need to do something about it. Thank you for pointing it out. \n\nArthur can't shout anything through the door about shadowmagic for fear of being heard. And if he did tell her he had her (dead) shadow it would just confirm her suspicions about him being an obsessive creep. \n\nYour suggestion for the ending is i..."", 'time': '19:25 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Ohhhhh now you've said it, that makes sense. I understood that Arthur was a bit obsessed. I also got that the shadow has his worst traits, that was explained very clearly in the letter. \nI'm not sure why I didn't connect them up.\n\nI wrote a story this week, first in a while, if you have time to read I'd appreciate it but no worries if you can't manage it 👍\n\nGood luck with your story!"", 'time': '19:32 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Oh! And her aunt wanted her married with kids, and she probably was sick of her nagging and thought it would be over now!\nMaybe I'm a bit slow today. I am tired."", 'time': '19:36 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Read the full draft! I love the story. Jealous shadow that probably didn't want to be separated in the first place! Brilliant. \n\nI was left wondering about a couple of things: Why does Amy hate him? Did she blame him for her aunts death? Why doesn't he say that he has her shadow? Surely that would make her open the door and would be the first thing he'd say.\n\nSuggestion for a little tweak to the end: maybe his shadow could pretend that he has Mary's shadow by accident, says that she fell or sth, and lures Arthur over there in order to dramat..."", 'time': '19:18 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you so much for this - Mary hates him because he is a creepy obsessive - that's where Arthur's shadow gets this jealous personality trait - its an exaggerated version of Arthur's worst qualities. If that isn't coming across then I need to do something about it. Thank you for pointing it out. \n\nArthur can't shout anything through the door about shadowmagic for fear of being heard. And if he did tell her he had her (dead) shadow it would just confirm her suspicions about him being an obsessive creep. \n\nYour suggestion for the ending is i..."", 'time': '19:25 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Ohhhhh now you've said it, that makes sense. I understood that Arthur was a bit obsessed. I also got that the shadow has his worst traits, that was explained very clearly in the letter. \nI'm not sure why I didn't connect them up.\n\nI wrote a story this week, first in a while, if you have time to read I'd appreciate it but no worries if you can't manage it 👍\n\nGood luck with your story!"", 'time': '19:32 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Oh! And her aunt wanted her married with kids, and she probably was sick of her nagging and thought it would be over now!\nMaybe I'm a bit slow today. I am tired."", 'time': '19:36 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katharine Widdows': ""Thank you so much for this - Mary hates him because he is a creepy obsessive - that's where Arthur's shadow gets this jealous personality trait - its an exaggerated version of Arthur's worst qualities. If that isn't coming across then I need to do something about it. Thank you for pointing it out. \n\nArthur can't shout anything through the door about shadowmagic for fear of being heard. And if he did tell her he had her (dead) shadow it would just confirm her suspicions about him being an obsessive creep. \n\nYour suggestion for the ending is i..."", 'time': '19:25 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Ohhhhh now you've said it, that makes sense. I understood that Arthur was a bit obsessed. I also got that the shadow has his worst traits, that was explained very clearly in the letter. \nI'm not sure why I didn't connect them up.\n\nI wrote a story this week, first in a while, if you have time to read I'd appreciate it but no worries if you can't manage it 👍\n\nGood luck with your story!"", 'time': '19:32 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Oh! And her aunt wanted her married with kids, and she probably was sick of her nagging and thought it would be over now!\nMaybe I'm a bit slow today. I am tired."", 'time': '19:36 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Ohhhhh now you've said it, that makes sense. I understood that Arthur was a bit obsessed. I also got that the shadow has his worst traits, that was explained very clearly in the letter. \nI'm not sure why I didn't connect them up.\n\nI wrote a story this week, first in a while, if you have time to read I'd appreciate it but no worries if you can't manage it 👍\n\nGood luck with your story!"", 'time': '19:32 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Oh! And her aunt wanted her married with kids, and she probably was sick of her nagging and thought it would be over now!\nMaybe I'm a bit slow today. I am tired."", 'time': '19:36 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Zelda C. Thorne': ""Oh! And her aunt wanted her married with kids, and she probably was sick of her nagging and thought it would be over now!\nMaybe I'm a bit slow today. I am tired."", 'time': '19:36 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,dkc3dk,"Fight, Flight, or Fright",Greg Gillis,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dkc3dk/,/short-story/dkc3dk/,Horror,0,"['Thriller', 'Drama']",17 likes,"
 
           Eight-year-old Nathan hid in the shadows of his parents’ living room as he watched a stranger dressed in a torn jean jacket brutally beat and murder his mother in front of him.
           Nathan’s father was out with his friends at the bar having more than a few drinks before coming home. This routine had been happening nearly every work night since Nathan was six. When and if he was able to find his way back home, he would noisily enter the house, usually dropping his keys on the floor more than once.
           On this night, he arrived home with the front door wide open. Nathan sat at the foot of the stairwell, sobbing with his head between his knees. All his father had to say, was, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
           His father tried to pass Nathan, but the crying boy grasped his father’s leg tightly and tried to speak. His words came out as gibberish between the gasps of breath and the crying. Once again, his father tried to pass, but Nathan held tighter, pointing toward the living room.
           His father looked in the direction of the pointing finger and saw a pool of blood near two bare feet. It was a sobering experience as his father suddenly became alert. He staggered his way toward the living room for a better look, calling out his wife’s name as he walked. 
           “Amy! Amy!” he cried out, but there was no reply.
           As he rounded the corner, he saw his wife’s robed body laying facedown upon the hardwood floor. A pool of blood surrounded her battered face. Beside the blood laid a trophy that he had won in a fishing tournament a year earlier. The white, marble base of the trophy was stained red as well.
           Nathan watched his father drop to his knees and wrap his arms around his mother’s lifeless body. His father looked up and saw Nathan standing at the doorway. He removed his bloodied arms from his wife, reached into his pocket, and removed his cellular phone.
           After his call to 911, Nathan’s father walked over and gave his son a hug, then walked with him into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee while they waited for the police to arrive. He asked Nathan if he knows the person who did this. Nathan shook his head to say he didn’t.
           When the police arrived, the officer took Nathan to the side alone and asked him what he saw. Nathan described him as a man around his dad’s age with a thin beard the color of chocolate. He was a few inches taller than his mom and wore a torn jean jacket with dirty blue jeans. He also saw a tattoo of some kind of bird on his forearm.
           The officer told Nathan’s dad, that they were going to have an officer watching the house overnight in case the perpetrator tried to return. By the time everyone left, it was nearly 1:00am, but Nathan’s dad couldn’t bear staying in the house after what happened, so he helped Nathan pack some clothes and they got into the car. The closest hotel with vacancies, was twenty minutes away. By the time they got checked in, it was already nearing 3:00am, and Nathan had fallen asleep in his father’s arms.
           He laid Nathan upon the bed and slipped off his shoes before covering him up. The remainder of the night seemed to end as quickly as it had begun. A blinding light poked its way between the curtains and Nathan shielded his eyes from the radiating sun.
           As he sat up, Nathan saw his dad sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers interlocked behind his neck. Nathan sat next to him, and his father pulled him in closer without saying a word. They just sat there silently for several minutes.
           After two days, they received a call from the police saying that they were permitted to return to their house now that all of the evidence had been collected and recorded. As they walked through the front entrance, the house felt colder and empty. As they walked past the living room, they were faced with the remaining blood stain on the area carpet and hardwood floor.
           Nathan’s father pulled him away and they walked to the kitchen. By instinct, Nathan’s father went to the cupboard where he stored his alcohol and opened the door. He grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam and stared at it in his hand. Walking to the counter by the sink, he set a tumbler down and opened the bottle. He took one glance at Nathan, then another down the hallway toward the living room, then, tipping the bottle over, he poured the remaining contents down the sink.
           He realized at that moment, that if he wasn’t out getting drunk that night, his wife would still be alive. He opened one bottle after another and poured each of them down the drain and vowed to never touch alcohol again.
           Nathan was asked to go play outside for a while, and when he came back inside, his father had cleaned up the blood stains in the living room and threw away the carpet. They sat at the kitchen table and ate some lunch, but Nathan hardly touched his food.
           Later that evening, Nathan was on his bed crying when his father walked in and asked if he wanted to talk about it. Apprehensively, Nathan admitted to his father that he felt like a coward. He thought that he should have been able to do more to protect his mom, but he was too afraid. His father told him that it wasn’t his fault, but Nathan still felt guilty.
           The following day, Nathan and his dad went for a drive, but his father wouldn’t tell him where they were going. They pulled up in front of a business called Silent Tiger Martial Arts and went inside.
           The room was filled with red and blue mats across the floor, and a few rubber mannequins mounted on weighted bases. There were people on the mats dressed in white with different colored belts wrapped around their waists, and a person dressed in black faced them and called out instructions. Nathan watched in amazement as this group of boys and girls of all different ages moved in harmony with one another, punching and kicking into the air.
           A young man in his early twenties met them at the door and introduced himself as Sensei Ryan, then asked them to remove their shoes before entering the matted area. They did so and followed him to an office. Without going into too much detail, Nathan’s father told Sensei Ryan that his son would like to learn some self-defence. Before they left, Nathan’s father had signed him up.
           Nathan was given a two-piece white outfit that Sensei Ryan called a Karate Gi. He said it was the uniform that every student and instructor wears. As they advance to different levels, the color of the Gi would change. He also gave him a white belt with instructions on how to tie it properly.
           One week later, Nathan began his classes at the dojo. He was shown how to stand in different stances, how to hold his fist when punching, and how to move his legs and feet when kicking. It was difficult at first, because he wasn’t used to this much physical activity, but over time, it grew easier and more enjoyable.
           For three years, Nathan practiced every day and had made his way up to a brown belt with a black stripe, which meant his next advancement would be for his black belt, the most cherished level in martial arts. There are advancements past black belt as well, but once a martial artist reaches that goal, everything changes. He or she then becomes a Sensei (or teacher) themselves and is allowed to train the class.
           Nathan was already skilled with weapons such as nunchaku sticks and a bo staff, but he also was learning to master the katana, a curved Japanese sword around thirty inches in length. Being part of Silent Tiger had given him the confidence and courage that he once lacked, and even though he was only twelve, he felt that nobody would ever make him afraid again.
           It was one week after his thirteenth birthday that Nathan was able to go for his black belt testing. The tests consisted of swimming, running, sit-ups, push-ups, Kata (Japanese for forms) which involved several movements using various striking techniques. He also had to go through several stances and sparred against other black belts. The tests lasted several hours, but in the end, he successfully completed his training and was awarded his black belt.
           For three more years, he took on the role of Sensei Nathan at Silent Tiger, and took pride in teaching students, (some older than him), the art of self-defence. His focus was on “Fight, Flight, or Fright,” a program where his students were put in situations where they would face fearsome opponents and would need to react in one way or another.
           The students’ instincts would allow them to stay and fight back, run away to safety, or stand frozen in fear. Nathan new that he used to be the latter of the three once, but that has changed. The majority of the students that he taught would run away at first, but that was why he was there to work with them.
           Nathan’s father took pride in how much he had matured and grown stronger in the five years that he trained. He was if he was no longer looking at a frightened little boy, but instead, he admired this confidant young man before him. His father was present for every belt grading and tournament that Nathan had ever had. Nathan’s dad had also kept his promise and stayed away from alcohol. Not a single drop had touched his lips since that day he poured the bottles down the sink.
           They were driving back from the dojo one afternoon when Nathan asked if he could run into the convenience store to grab a Slim Jim to munch on, so they pulled into the 7-Eleven and Nathan ran inside. He went down the second aisle where the Slim Jims were and heard a commotion at the cash register. He peeked around the corner and saw a man holding a knife out threatening the clerk behind the counter and demanding all the money in the register.
           Nathan watched discreetly out of the man’s view but tried to move in closer at the same time. The man behind the counter shook with fear and fumbled with the cash as he pulled it from the till. The robber began grabbing the cash and shoved it into his pockets. That’s when something caught Nathan’s attention.
           On the man’s arm, was a tattoo of a bird that he had only seen once before. He waited for the man to turn his head slightly and realized that it was the same man who murdered his mother. He still had the same chocolate brown beard, but it was now bushier with traces of grey. Flashbacks of that night raced through his mind, and he found himself frozen in fear again for a moment.
           It was at that moment that the door to the convenience store opened, ringing the bell above it, and in walked Nathan’s dad. The man with the knife turned on Nathan’s father and began to charge at him with the knife stretched out. He watched as his father stood frozen in his tracks. Nathan quickly jumped out from behind the counter and ran toward the assailant.
           Using his right arm, he grabbed the man by the wrist that was holding the knife, gave it a twist and bent his arm back behind the man’s back. Then, using his right heel, he kicked the back of the man’s knee, forcing him to drop to the ground. From there, Nathan took his left elbow and came down hard upon the back of the man’s neck. The man fell face-first onto the tile floor. With the man’s arm still in his grip, Nathan placed one foot on top of the man’s neck and pulled up on his arm, still twisting it more as he pulled.
           The man yelled in agony and dropped the knife. Nathan ordered his dad to kick the knife out of the way and for the clerk to call the police. He held the man in that submissive position until the police arrived and took over.
           It wasn’t until the man was safely in custody that Nathan told his dad that it was his mom’s killer. The police took everyone’s statement and Nathan was later deemed a local hero by the media. Enrolment at the Karate dojo had increased as well after people found out Nathan was one of the instructors there.
           The assailant was formally charged with the armed robbery of the convenience store, the attempted assault on Nathan’s father, and also for the homicide of Nathan’s mother. He received twenty-five years for the murder, plus an additional seven years for the armed robbery and attempted assault with a deadly weapon against Nathan’s father.
           Nathan continued to study Karate and guided many students over the years on how to defend themselves, but he grew to realize that it will take that moment in time when you are face-to-face with your fears to know how you will react. Will you fight, take flight, or stay frozen in fright?
 
","July 08, 2023 15:16","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Wise father that took that angst of his son and had him learn self defense and self confidence. Justice prevails.', 'time': '02:14 Jul 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Greg Gillis': 'I have a background in karate, so I was able to draw from my own experiences for that part of the story.\nThank you for the positive response.', 'time': '21:09 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greg Gillis': 'I have a background in karate, so I was able to draw from my own experiences for that part of the story.\nThank you for the positive response.', 'time': '21:09 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rose Lind': ""You have an excellent basis for your story. \nI like how you show the clockwise motions of the father dealing with the incident and how he imposed that clockwise answer to his mother's death.\nAlcoholism in the father causes things like the barrier to emotions. I would wonder how the mother was coping with her son's needs as she was being killed? Did she hid his identity?\n\nI lived in a home with low security one nite I awoke to a noise of rustling plastic bags on my kitchen dining room, so tired it took time to wake properly, the noise of foot..."", 'time': '22:21 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sarah Saleem': ""I love how you have described Nathan's emotions and how he overcame everything."", 'time': '10:49 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greg Gillis': 'Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.', 'time': '21:07 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Greg Gillis': 'Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.', 'time': '21:07 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Really pleasing story Greg. I liked the fact that it all came full circle and justice was meted out when the villain more than met his match.\nPerhaps the even greater thing was the way the father learned from his mistakes. He stopped drinking and got his son to face up to his fears. He turned a terrible situation round. It could so easily have gone a different way. The mother and wife would have been proud of her son and her husband. \nWell done.', 'time': '08:59 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greg Gillis': 'Thank you very much! I am glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '19:35 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greg Gillis': 'Thank you very much! I am glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '19:35 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tricia Shulist': 'Interesting story.  I like the full circle that the story creates, with Nathan becoming not only empowered personally, but also able to bring justice to his mother.  Thanks for this.', 'time': '14:04 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greg Gillis': 'Thank you for the positive feedback.', 'time': '18:01 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greg Gillis': 'Thank you for the positive feedback.', 'time': '18:01 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Started out real intense and sad, but it turned around nicely. :) go Nathan!', 'time': '00:32 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greg Gillis': ""Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."", 'time': '18:02 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Greg Gillis': ""Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."", 'time': '18:02 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,8v0yz3,Monster,Joan Fiddle-Ferder,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8v0yz3/,/short-story/8v0yz3/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Urban Fantasy']",16 likes,"
 Monster

 
Aroused from a deep sleep, seven-year-old Jimmy Daemon’s eyes popped open. He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or not, but he sensed something was not right. Still under the covers, he inhaled deeply, and gagged. Something smelled bad in his bedroom.
 
“Mom, that smell is back,” he yelled aloud from his bed. 
 
The smell reminded him of the time he found his turtle, dead, under his night table, days after he raced it against his best friend’s tree toad.  The turtle had rotted, its shell smashed to pieces and body burned. He was convinced the monster in the wall had killed his small friend, and when the room smelled bad, it meant the monster was coming back. The smell frightened him. He glanced at the clock. He knew how to tell time, and saw it said 2:14 a.m. which meant it was in the middle of the night when no one was awake. 
“Mommy!”  
 His bedroom door was shut tight, and window curtains drawn. The room was pitch black except for the red glow of the clock. 
 “Mommy!” His voice grew louder.
 
His body started to sweat.  He forgot to do his nightly check under the bed before he went to sleep and put a flashlight beneath his pillow. Jimmy was convinced the monster would come out of the walls, grab his feet, pull him down beneath the mattress and smash him to pieces like his turtle.
 
“Please, please go away. I promise I won’t scream. I’ll be a good boy. Please don’t hurt me.”
 
Panicked, he wrapped his new Pokeman quilt over his head and small body. Then, poking one arm out from beneath the blanket, he let two fingers walk blindly across the bedsheet to feel if anything was there.  Suddenly, he felt something oily drip slowly over his exposed arm and hand.  He thought it smelled like the gas station where he went with his mother to fill up their car. Heat began to hiss, and curl, under his fingertips. Slowly, he lifted up the edge of the bed cover, opened his left eye, and screamed.
 
“MOM! It’s back, get it out of here!  It’s ….”
 
His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe what he saw in front of him. Kicking and thrashing, he tried to get away. But it was too late. He called out in a whisper, again.  
 
“Help me mommy, help me……”
 
A red glow appeared, burning through the center of Pikachu and Snorflax’s faces, the flames licking a hole in the cloth, crawling into his hair, scorching his pajamas next, and finally dissolving his screams and skin into the sheets. Then, silence.

It was back.
                                                                                                               ********************************
“God damn it, you little piece of crap. Starting up with me already, aren’t you? You’re nothing but garbage, do you hear me?”
Kelly Daemon was in the kitchen doing what she does every morning: cursing and slapping the side of her Keurig coffee maker. Ever since her ex-husband walked out on her six months earlier, the machine refused to work for her. Each day, coffee steamed into her mug, leaving behind a mouthful of burnt brown grains at the end of every sip. Muttering under her breath, she slammed the cup into the sink, spraying hot, grainy liquid and pieces of blood red ceramic everywhere. Pissed off that she couldn’t get her morning jolt, she tipped her head back, and screamed into the air.
“Jimmy Daemon! You get your little butt down here, NOW. It is seven-o-five in the morning, and you are going to be late for the school bus.”
Shuffling over to the pantry in her ragged pink “Hello Kitty” slippers, she yanked the door open and pulled out a week-old, green looking loaf of bread, an almost empty jar of Jiffy Peanut Butter, and strawberry jam and threw them on the counter to make her son’s lunch. 
“Well…., she cackled aloud. That’s the end of making those!” A smirk spread across her face.
Kelly was not the beauty she used to be. At thirty years old, her breasts sagged and her waist bloomed several inches after Jimmy was born. Her husband was disgusted at the sight of her.
“Shit, you look like a damn lumpy laundry bag, Kelly. What the hell?”
It wasn’t long after her 29th birthday, that William Daemon ran off with a younger woman. Neighborhood tongues wagged and clucked at high speed. Area nosey bodies she hardly knew knocked on her door day and night with trays of sympathy and Velveeta macaroni and cheese. Kelly smiled, coyly batted her eyes when she accepted the food gifts, slammed the door behind them, turned and dumped them in the kitchen trash. 
“Bite me,” she would yell into the can. 
Heartbroken that he had to leave his son behind, William fought in divorce court to take Jimmy with him, but Kelly had lied to the judge saying that her husband beat Jimmy nightly, brought him to bars with his girlfriend, and was a sloppy drunk.  Upon hearing that Kelly was President of the PTA at the Underwood School and Cub Scout Mom of the Year, the judge sided with Kelly giving her full custody.   There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to get back at William, and this was sweet revenge. 
“That bastard will rot in hell before he sees his son, again.” 
Taking a deep breath at that thought, she felt better and calmed down. 
She opened up Jimmy’s Power Ranger lunchbox, threw in the unwrapped sandwich and slammed the box shut.
“Jimmy, sweetie, come on down. I’m making chocolate chip pancakes for you. I’ve got whip cream, too.” Her voice dripped honey.
A sudden knock at the back door startled her. Peeking out of the kitchen door curtains, she saw it was Tommy from across the street, and opened the door with a smile.
“Hi, Mrs. Daemon! Is Jimmy ready to go? We have a special assembly this morning, and me and Jimmy think it’s a firefighter with a big hook and ladder truck coming to talk to us about how to stay safe if your house catches fire and he’s bringing hoses and….”
Not wanting him to yap on forever, she interrupted him and looked at him sympathetically.
“I’m sorry, Tommy. Jimmy is not feeling well. He has a fever and a sore throat. He’s going to stay home today and rest. Will you be a good friend and come back after school and tell him what the fireman said? I’m sure he will be feeling better by then. I will tell him you were here, though. Stop by after school, ok?”
She saw his bright eyes darken, and big smile turned upside down quickly. Looking down at his feet, he said, ok, thanked her and headed for the bus stop. Kelly shut the back door, flipped on the radio, and began preparing Jimmy’s pancakes.  All of a sudden, the hairs on her arms stood up. The station was playing a hard rock song her husband loved, but she despised. She picked up the small radio and threw it against the wall. 
“Don’t you assholes have better songs to play than one about a psycho killer at this hour of the morning? Jesus Christ.”   
She couldn’t understand why Jimmy hadn’t come downstairs, yet. It was getting late, and now she would have to drive him to school. 
“You better not be playing video games, Jimmy!” 
Suddenly, she noticed a strange smell floating into the kitchen, like burnt rubber, she thought. Kelly flipped the second pancake onto his favorite Transformer plate and walked towards the stairs.
“Ok, Mr. Man, I am on my way up to tickle you out of that room so be ready!” 
As she got closer to his bedroom, the smell was overwhelming. Her nose hairs burned, and she began to gag.
There was a sign on Jimmy’s door that stated, “Monsters Keep Out.”   She rolled her eyes and pulled the paper notice down. 
 “Jimmy, it’s time to go to school. Let’s get moving. NOW.”
She pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was unrecognizable. Remnants of grey smoke curled into the air, the bed was covered in wet black ashes, steaming, smelling like gasoline, and burnt meat. Empty metal buckets littered the sopping wet throw rug next to the small bed and beach white sand was spread everywhere. 
Kelly stood there expressionless, a calm washing over her face. 
“Jimmy, where are you, sweetheart?”
She walked around to look behind the bed. 
“Oh, there you are!”
There lay what was left of her child. Curled up next to the metal bed frame lay a pile of crisp, charcoal blackened flesh buried in sand and water. She tip-toed towards him, as if he were asleep, and bent down to get a closer look. Her face shined a bright poppy yellow smile. 
“Do you want your pancakes now, Jimmy?” Sweeping away the burnt offerings of what was left of his face, she looked at Jimmy proudly, straightened up, turned, walked out of the room, and headed for the kitchen to see if she could fix the coffee pot.   

The song on the radio that Kelly heard: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O52jAYa4Pm8
","July 07, 2023 19:26","[[{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Well done!', 'time': '01:33 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,yftdcg,The Dark,Anthony Booker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yftdcg/,/short-story/yftdcg/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Fantasy', 'Science Fiction']",15 likes,"
When we look into the darkness, our deepest selves understand that something looks back. Anthony looked out the window as midnight struck.... looked into a dark so crushing, that it felt tangible, encompassing..... stifling.... toxic. The thing looking back at him, its grotesque, teeth filled mouth, scowled more than smiled. Soon, it’s hunger would end. Anthony smiled back and thought “we’ll see whose hunger will be sated this night”. The thing of the darkness, whose very existence had struck a fear so primal into the hearts of such varied creatures, that it itself, knew not the feeling, recoiled unexpectedly, not understanding what had caused this reaction. Unknowingly, it now knew fear’s strangling grasp. 
 
 
Before.........
 
Anthony was anything, but typical. He always thought himself unique, set apart, viciously intelligent, decidedly smart, a man among men. He thought the world unappreciative of what he contributed to it. The world, and fairly so, thought him average. Anthony therefore thought the measuring stick was broken. His thoughts on the matter were reinforced by the rejection letters he’d recently gotten from all the big and small publishing houses, for his novels. Anthony knew his works were without equal, speaking to realities and fantasies, through a written medium so good that people should count themselves fortunate to live at the same time as an author so rarely gifted. 
 
Letter after letter came back however, and Anthony became increasingly paranoid that some where, some floundering author would find his stories discarded by these blind editors and use his words to break out into the writing world. He started to research the copy right laws to ensure he could fight these battles, that he was sure would come. From his small town, he wondered how he’d even find out that his stories were out there? Can a writer become famous, recognized and paid with his stories, without him knowing? Yes, he answered himself.
 
Anthony though, could not hide the deep shame he felt at having been rejected. 
 
The ever lessening ashamed, yet sensible, part of him told him that he just was not that good, and should just accept that, and carry on, being a good, average guy, with an average job, average girl, average family.....average life, and die being not remembered as nothing but average. As he was rejected, Anthony rejected this notion of obscure mediocrity.  He was more, and more for this world, and he’d make the world know it, until it felt it in the very deepest parts of its deepest oceans.....till it resounded from the highest parts of the tallest mountains. Anthony would be remembered when he was no more, and lauded while he was here. He’d just have to give them all a little nudge in the right direction. It should not take much he thought, his work was of immeasurable worth.... a gift to this pallid world.
 
Being a small town boy, Anthony was always confused as to why the folks around were so cliquish. It was not like they had many a varied option. Being however a boy in a town he moved too as a young teen, in the middle of middle America, being the only black family for as far as the eye could see.... and the only Trinidadians for as far as bird could fly.... well.... that made it a tad more difficult. Anthony’s parents were determined however, to have a different American story.  His dad, as the town doctor was liked well enough, and his mom as the town dentist brought smiles, not just owing to her trade. 
 
Anthony was accepted well enough, but the divisions between the other young adults and himself was more owing to him than them. Anthony lived mostly in his mind, in his books, in his sci fi movies. He was an expert introvert. He really then, just never fit in.  Anthony desperately wanted to not just fit in, but to be recognized as the most important element in any grouping. And Anthony felt that this was not asking too much. The world however did not seem to agree. 
 
Anthony had been back to Trinidad with his parents a number of times, back to his rural village to the south of the island and like them, was glad to get back home to their nice house in their nice town. On one visit however, unknown to his parents, Anthony had met up with the village witch doctor. Anthony  never knew that the obeya man had sought him out..... “the rich little village boy who lived foreign, was reserved and noted to be into stories of fantasy and fiction.” Anthony’s family story and his odd ways were well known in the village. 
 
The witch doctor understood that here lay fertile ground for his demons to plant their seeds, migrate and multiply in a whole new country.  The obeya man had met up with Anthony and seemingly granted a small favor..... the next day Anthony got a call from a big magazine that he’d won a short story competition. All it had cost Anthony was $1,000.00 US, negligible, as the prize money was $5,000.00 and Anthony would be interviewed and featured in the magazine. Anthony thought himself on his way to recognition. The witch doctor knew Anthony’s soul was on its way to hell. 
 
The witch doctor was aware that he no more controlled the demons than the olden people who danced around their fires, controlled the rain. He was a channel through which the demons came and he was granted longevity and by his his consultations with willing village folks who paid very well for his.....services... prosperity. All it had cost him was his soul. When the demons came, they needed fertile ground in which to grow, to rest, to wait.....their growing field was the unsuspecting soul of a victim. 
 
Yes, the demons granted favors....little things.... that led to little bigger things... but never enough to make their consorts not ask for more.The demons had a practiced trade. They gave just enough to make people need them desperately..... hungrily, greedily..... until giving to the demon was like breathing. All the while, the person would think that it was the witch doctor who granted them the favors, not knowing that the deal was now between them and the devil. Until there was nothing of them left, nothing left to give. Then a master demon, a demon prince, would come from hell and would take over and walk this world in the shell of the former person. It was a formula that had worked forever. 
 
His parents were shocked when Anthony told them that he’d like to go to Trinidad on his own, to visit family and friends. His parents had always thought him too reserved, too shut in, for a young man, so were glad when he offered the suggestion. And the recent events in town had everyone on edge. The disappearances were more than concerning..... kids Anthony’s age. One or two that he knew. Maybe the time away was ideal. 
 
When Anthony arrived to his native village he followed the expected routine. Met all he was supposed to, made the usual rounds, laughed at the oft told jokes about when he was young, about his parents, before they made the bold move to migrate. He followed the usual patterns until he could get away on his own. This time however, he sought out the witch doctor..... or so he thought. The doctor was waiting for him. 
 
Anthony’s request was small. He just wanted to be the most famous writer ever. The witch doctor, what ever little piece of humanity was left in him shuddered. The obeya man had been born with the sight.... the ability to see demons, and see them attached to people. The more the people fed the demon, the more the demon grew....resilient in their evil. He saw now the demon that wrapped around Anthony, whispering in his ear. And even the witch doctor wanted to scream and run away. He’d never seen a demon so strong. What he did not know was that Anthony had asked ever growing little favors. And Anthony kept giving of his soul.... and then when that was not enough, Anthony had...... decided.....that other souls should pay his price.
 
The witch doctor knew the look of a demon fed by murder. And this demon looked more fed than any he’d ever seen. His last human shred, wanted to turn the boy away..... but the witch doctor knew
it was too late for him to take such a righteous stance. He was as lost as Anthony, and never able to see the demon that whispered in his witch doctor’s ear. 
 
The boy had come to ask why his favors were no longer being granted. He had.....done......what was asked of him. The witch doctor told the boy that sacrificing strangers fed little favors.... sacrificing a loved one would satisfy the greatest need. Anthony new then that this was his role to play.... the “tragic orphan” would make for a better biography at the back of his novels in any event.......Anthony made up his mind, paid the witch doctor for his consultation..... only $10,000.00 US.....and left. The two whispering demons smiled. 
 
 
Now...... 
 
So yes, Anthony looked out the window and what he really saw, was not the grotesque creature of the dark.....but the reflection of the demon wrapped around him, mouth close to his ear. Behind him lay the decapitated, dismembered and decomposing bodies of his parents......through the mail chute was acceptance letter after acceptance letter from every major publishing house, anxious to give this tremendously and uniquely talented and gifted new author his taste of fame.....but every letter remained in place.... untouched....unopened...... 
Anthony was no longer home to open them..... a prince had taken up residence in Anthony’s shell..... and even Anthony’s whispering demon was afraid. The demon prince looked out at the new world and smiled. Tonight we begin. 
","July 07, 2023 15:50","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'The dark cost of fame!\nTerrifying ending!', 'time': '09:40 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,behxnl,Mother Monster ,Samantha Jones,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/behxnl/,/short-story/behxnl/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Sad', 'Suspense']",14 likes,"
Elyse Hardy couldn’t remember quite clearly the first time her mother had turned into the monster. After all, it had been happening long before she was born, and there were stories she had to hear second hand, from her much older siblings. Her siblings had described to her how she had been a tiny baby when her mother had turned into the monster while driving them to the store, and her siblings had jumped into action, pushing their mother to the side as she snarled and bit, and they managed to get the car to the side of the road, brother steering the car and sister pressing the brake. They had snatched Elyse from her car seat and whisked her out, where they all three stood sadly watching as their mother tore the inside of the car apart. Her fur standing on end, wiry like a porcupine’s, her snout wrinkled as her teeth bared, ripping apart the seats, mangling the steering wheel, and finally pawing at the windows, claws tapping frantically while the children backed up slowly. 
 
Her sister Myra had also told Elyse about an incident when she had been a baby, and would not stop crying. Maybe she had been hungry, or needed love, who knows. But her nonstop crying had triggered the change and their mother had become the monster. Myra had seen their mother change, the feet elongating and snapping to bend the wrong direction, the wiry black and brown fur sprouting from every inch of her skin. Her eyes becoming beady and black, her normally small, thin nose turning into a long snout. The teeth growing and showing as she drew her lips back in a snarl. The monster had stalked towards the baby Elyse, who was crying and thrashing on the couch. How the monster had opened her jaws wide, about to bite down. Myra recounted how she had run to her baby sister in a panic, sweeping her into her arms before the jaws closed, and how she had run into her room and barred the door, holding Elyse tightly while the monster thrashed at the door. 
 
There came a time when Elyse’s two siblings escaped for good. As soon as her brother was able to, he got accepted into college, and left home. Her sister escaped by moving in with friends. That left Elyse and her father, a quiet, timid man, when she was eleven years old. 
 
The first memories Elyse had of her mother turning into the monster were from early on in childhood. She could remember being strapped to the back of her mother’s bike, and her turning into the monster mid-ride, feeling herself and the bike falling over to the side, feeling helpless as she sat strapped into the bike seat, knowing she was falling, feeling the ground come up and meet her. 
 
She could remember once waking her mother up in the morning before school, terrified because she had not completed her math homework, and had no idea how to do it, and had no one to help her. She reached up and tentatively shook her mother’s shoulder, asking for help on the homework assignment. Her mother had immediately transformed, the bedclothes stretching over her as her body enlarged, claws growing out of her hands. She had whipped a claw into Elyse’s arm and dragged her onto the bed, snarling and snapping her teeth in her face. Hitting her with huge paws. 
 
It felt like almost as soon as it had begun, the monster had retreated back inside her mother, and her mother had simply let her go, and rolled over to go back to sleep, as if nothing at all had occurred. 
 
Elyse eventually grew up and was able to escape herself, finding a small apartment for herself, a job in a local factory. Life wasn’t good exactly, but it was something. She was away from the monster. 
 
Then one day her mother texted her, saying that she had gotten into a fight with her father and she wanted to come stay with her. Elyse knew from experience that it was likely her mother who had instigated the fight, that she had probably morphed into the monster, maybe even hurt her father, and now was trying to run from the scene. Now her mother was asking to stay with her. 
 
Elyse ignored the text and ignored her calls, hoping she would just give up and go terrorize someone else. 
 
Then she saw out her window a familiar vehicle pull into her apartment parking lot. Her mother’s Expedition. Her mother parked the vehicle and sat inside. Elyse was crouched below the window, peeking out and hoping her mother hadn’t seen her. 
 
The texts and calls continued. 
 
Elyse stayed hidden until a knocking began on her door. 
 
“Elyse? I know you’re in there, open up!” Bang bang bang bang.
 
“You’re really going to ignore your own mother who is in need?!” BANG BANG BANG.
 
Elyse could hear the change happening behind the door, and the banging turned into bashing. The doorknob shook. The walls rattled. 
 
Elyse cowered in fear, fingers grabbing hold of the carpet beneath her. Then suddenly she felt something shift inside her. It felt like her heart was exploding in a fiery wave. Heat spread throughout her torso and arms. Skin turning into scales, a spiked tail growing out of her tailbone. She rose in height until she almost hit her spiked head on the ceiling. She looked down at her hands that had become dragon claws. She huffed a smoky breath and moved to wrench the door open. 
 
Her mother stood before her, one-third of Elyse’s new height and size. She looked like a pitiful dog with mange to Elyse’s new, glowing orange eyes. Her mother snarled and bit at her legs, but Elyse hardly felt a thing. More like an annoying house fly than anything else. 
 
She kicked a huge scaly leg and sent her mother flying down the hallway, whimpering. Elyse stomped over to where she lay, a pile of fur. 
“Get away from here and don’t ever come back.” Elyse growled low in her throat and then shot a spray of fire just above her mother’s head, singeing tips of fur. 
 
Her mother returned to human form long enough to stare up at Elyse with tears in her eyes. She looked so pitiful and small in that moment that Elyse almost felt pity for her, but then she remembered the monster who had tried to attack her so many times in her life, who continued to terrorize her and her loved ones, and the pity disappeared. She watched her mother get up slowly and leave the apartment complex, walk to her vehicle, get inside and drive away. 
 
 
 
 
","July 09, 2023 19:56","[[{'Shea West': 'Hey Samantha,\n\nI think for anyone who may have grown up with an unpredictable parent/authority figure in their lives this story will likely resonate with them. \nI enjoyed the way you played with an adult child reflecting on how monstrous her mother could be as she grew up. Because as we get older our memories play with what we know to be true right? \n\nA section I enjoyed: \nHer mother stood before her, one-third of Elyse’s new height and size. She looked like a pitiful dog with mange to Elyse’s new, glowing orange eyes. Her mother snarled and...', 'time': '23:22 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,a5sulp,A Request in C-Sharp Minor,Kara Heisler,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/a5sulp/,/short-story/a5sulp/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Sad', 'Fiction']",14 likes,"
Warning: Death and Supernatural ElementsMilo gulped, eyes fixated on a single point in the dark corner of his room. He blinked aggressively and rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists, hoping he was hallucinating. In all truth, the nature of what Milo saw was nothing new. But the shape of the horror in front of him was far too personal. Moonlight streamed in through a small window near Milo’s head, providing cold, distant illumination. The puppy shaped night light which should have been providing a comforting orange glow, was as dark as the rest of the room. Following the usual routine, Milo pinched himself to verify that he was awake, and not stuck in some cruel nightmare. The seven-year-old didn’t need to look down at his arm to see the red spot blooming on his skin. He felt the pain as sharp and grounding as ever. Milo kept his eyes fixed on the form by his door. Once a joyful and welcoming figure had turned into a bad dream. “Taya?” Milo whispered. His eyes told him that the girl looking back at him was his sister, but his soul woefully disagreed. After all, it was impossible. Taya had fallen into a coma nine months ago and the chances of her waking were little to none. “Come play with me.” The girl said. Milo grimaced at the tone. Every syllable was pronounced exactly like his sister, but each word was laced with a feeling of wrongness. The kindness and familiarity of her voice had been stripped away. “Alright,” Milo said gently. “I’ll play with you.” After all, this wasn’t the first curse he had encountered. Night after night, a new ghostly figure would appear in his room, each with a different request. Night after night, Milo would comply with the request and the curse would disappear, never to return. This had been happening to Milo for as long as he could remember, but it was never someone he knew. Milo slid off of his bed and padded over to the girl, reaching out his hand. Taya took it and spread her lips in an imitation of a smile. Milo did his best not to grimace at the face. It was a bad mockery of the brilliant smile his sister used to wear. Taya’s hand was cold, but Milo held it anyway as they left his bedroom and entered the living room. They passed by a lamp that Milo reached over to flick on. An orange light washed over the room, revealing a grand piano sitting proudly in the corner. Milo turned to look at Taya, noticing a pained expression on her features. “What’s wrong?” Milo asked, squeezing the girl's hand. The moment the words left the boy's mouth, Taya’s face returned to its neutral state. “Nothing. Let’s go play, shall we?” Milo nodded in agreement and the two children slid onto the piano bench. Taya lifted the cover and ran her fingers along the keys almost reverently. Milo watched the girl's side profile, noticing her furrowed brows and her downturned lips.  This isn’t right. Milo thought. The one thing that never failed to cheer up Taya was playing the piano. Milo reached out and placed a warm hand on Taya’s cold arm. The girl flinched, turning her wide eyes towards Milo. That was the first time Milo had gotten a good look at his sister's eyes. Her irises had lost all of their deep brown pigment. They were white. His sister's eyes were completely white. Milo did his best to remain calm as he played a chord gently. “What do you want to play?” He asked. “We know how to play Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14, right?” Taya asked softly, words laced with hope. Milo nodded and smiled. “Yeah, we know how to play that.” The siblings rested their fingers on the keys and began to play. The minor key filled the room with a melancholy whisper. Milo took the lower notes while Taya played the higher keys. Milo glanced over at his sister while he played. She was concentrated, with her lips pursed and eyes closed, but her pale fingers fluttered across the keys beautifully. The song progressed to a solemn wail as the dynamic increased to a forte. Milo glanced down at Taya's feet as she pumped the pedals. She had always been in charge due to her younger brother's lack of height. Milo stretched his legs out as far as they could go and noticed he could nearly reach them. Taya missed a note, but they both played on, fully immersed in the music. The notes brought memories swirling back into Milo’s head. It was hard to decide which to choose to fall back into. Milo was about to let himself be overtaken by the memory of Taya’s first piano recital, but he was jolted back to reality by the music stopping. Milo looked to his sister, who was already looking right back at him. Eyes pale but piercing. “Why did you come visit me tonight?” Milo asked, hands trembling on the keys. “I think you know why.” Taya replied. “What’s the common factor in all of the apparitions that come to visit you?” Milo looked away and tapped on a black key. He swallowed hard before answering. “You’re dead…aren’t you.” Taya nodded. “I guess I am. I can’t say how, though. You probably know better than me.” Milo refused to look at his sister, practically forcing his tears back into his tear ducts. “You’ve been in a coma for nine months. I guess…I guess you finally decided it was time to let go. Finally be at peace. You deserve it, you know? To finally be at rest.” A hollow giggle from Taya drew Milo’s eyes back to her. “Ah, I guess that makes sense. But you know, the whole time I was in that coma, I wanted one thing. I wanted to play a duet with you one last time. I guess my prayers were answered.” Taya gave Milo a wry smile. “Thank you for accepting my final request.” Milo’s bottom lip trembled as he finally allowed tears to fill his eyes. “It’s not supposed to be you,” he said, voice wavering. “I’ve brought thousands of souls to rest but…I don't want it to be you.” Milo wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Can we play one more song?” He asked, positioning himself to begin. Taya sighed and shook her head. “No, it’s time for me to go, but look at you!” She smiled proudly. “You’re almost tall enough to reach the pedals. You don’t need me anymore.” At those words, Milo’s face crumpled and he pulled his sister into a hug. The arms that wrapped around him were cold and thin, but it was still his sister. “Milo, everything is gonna be okay, I promise. I’m going to be okay too. I’ve let go. I think it’s time you move on as well.” Milo squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his sister even tighter, relishing in the feeling of a final embrace. But soon, the hand rubbing up and down his back was gone, as was the palm carding through his black hair.When Milo opened his eyes, his sister was gone. He frantically scanned the room in search of the pale figure, but she was nowhere to be found. The creak of a door opening drew Milo’s gaze to the right. A tall figure with a familiar shock of blonde hair stumbled through the hallway, yawning. Milo sniffed and leapt off of the piano bench, running towards the man. The boy harshly collided with the older man's legs and immediately wrapped around them. “Whoa…bud.” The man picked up Milo and held him close. “It happened again, didn’t it?” Milo nodded and wordlessly buried his tearstained face into his guardian's neck. “You can tell me all about it in the morning, yeah?” The man pressed a kiss to the top of Milo’s head and flicked off the lamp. “You’re getting better at piano by the way. Sounds like you can reach the pedals! We should celebrate.” Milo let his eyes fall shut and allowed his thoughts to drift away to the familiar comfort of mindless chatter. He should really get some sleep. After all, there would be another request to fulfill the next night.
","July 13, 2023 04:11","[[{'Robin Owens': 'This was a lovely read! The sibling relationship is so sweet. What a heavy burden Milo has every night, which almost creates a greater understanding in him of his sister\'s coma. The lines: ""We know how to play..."" and ""Yeah, we know how to play that,"" were SO touching. The ""we"" almost made me cry.', 'time': '12:58 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kara Heisler': ""Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked those lines about Taya wondering if they knew how to play the song :)"", 'time': '18:58 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kara Heisler': ""Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked those lines about Taya wondering if they knew how to play the song :)"", 'time': '18:58 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Yes, this was sad, but also sweet. I expected it to go much darker than it did and was pleasantly surprised with how it went. Loved the names too! :)', 'time': '21:39 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kara Heisler': 'Thank you so much! To be honest, I was kind of debating adding darker elements to the story to add more horror, but I decided to keep it a bit tamer. :)', 'time': '19:56 Jul 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kara Heisler': 'Thank you so much! To be honest, I was kind of debating adding darker elements to the story to add more horror, but I decided to keep it a bit tamer. :)', 'time': '19:56 Jul 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,5cow5b,False Awakenings,Ty Warmbrodt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5cow5b/,/short-story/5cow5b/,Horror,0,"['Suspense', 'Thriller']",13 likes,"
Helplessness is like having the world turn you inside out and dip you in salt. That was how Jack Simms felt as he watched a ravenous grizzly charge his lifelong friend, Cory Marx, from the brush, mauling him. Just a split second ago they were acknowledging a cute cub who had come wandering their way and were getting ready to head back to camp. Now, Jack knew he needed to do something but was frozen, shocked, his eyes bulging, his breathing short and quick, sweat pouring down his face although he himself felt cold.The bear was over eight feet tall and at least eight hundred pounds. It kept bouncing up and down on Cory’s chest with its front paws like it was doing chest compressions. Jack could hear a rib crack. Then with one swipe of its massive paw, with those razor-like claws, the bear tore four deep, bloody lines across Cory’s chest, causing him to scream out in pain. The scream snapped Jack back to reality, and he grabbed his knife. He rushed the bear and leapt into the air, but not before he heard the sound of Cory’s face cracking in the bear's vise like jaws. Jack landed with the knife sinking into the bears back left shoulder. Jack screamed like a man gone wild and held on tight as the bear reared up and began thrashing, trying to throw Jack from its back.Jack was thrown into the brush and the bear turned its attention to him; Cory lay there silent, bloody, and motionless behind the hulking brown beast. Slowly it stalked on all fours, massive and hungry. It snorted and its warm breath against the cool fall morning air was like steam from an old locomotive as she charged forward with the same force but with an intent to maim or kill.Jack tried to run, but the hood of his jacket was tangled in thorns. He stripped himself free of his jacket, leaving it behind, just escaping a swat from the beast that would have shredded his back. The trail led uphill and was slowing him down. The bear was approaching swiftly, faster than he imagined an animal that size could run, so he left the path and headed downhill into the valley. Jack was moving much faster, but maybe too fast in his fright. He stumbled over a downed tree as he tried to clear it and began to roll uncontrollably. He took several bumps and bruises as he tumbled, was sent spinning when he hit a sapling, but didn’t stop until he crashed into a rock in the creek below, breaking his forearm. With the bone sticking out and bleeding profusely, he sat in agony, trying not to pass out. The bear’s roar and the rustling of leaves from above gave him a boost of adrenaline. He didn’t know what else to do but follow the creek and hope it took him back to camp.Jack didn’t get far when he heard splashing behind him, the bear gaining on him as he stumbled along in pain. Up on his right, on the creek’s bank, were washed out roots where he could squeeze into the embankment and hide. The roots formed a cage too tight for a bear to enter. In there he figured he would be out of reach. But the bear had him pinned. Jack pressed himself as tightly as he could against the damp mud and root, trying to stay out of the bears reach; spiders and centipedes crawling all over him, along his face and down his shirt. The bear was able to rip his shirt with the tip of his claw but turned its attention to digging at the embankment. Wider and wider the hole became. Jack thought he’d run for it, but the bear was too quick and cut off his escape. With Jack’s knife still stuck in its shoulder, the bear dug frantically until it burst through, eyes red with hatred and sharp teeth dripping with saliva going straight for Jack’s face.""Help,"" Jack cries out.Jack woke up to himself screaming and it was actually spring. The air was cool, but he was sweating and gasping for air. It all came back to him. He was with his girlfriend Emma, who was asleep beside him. They met with Cory and Rachel, Cory’s new girlfriend from college, for a little getaway with their friends from back home, Mike and Lacy, last night. Since college had started, it was the first chance they had to get together and wanted to do something memorable. Coming from Nebraska, they thought some time camping in the northwest portion of Washington would be the memory they were looking for. Light was shining through the tent, and voices could be heard just outside. The others were up and had started the day. Jack checked his phone and saw that it was nine-thirty-seven, so he gently woke Emma.Giving her a soft nudge and a gentle kiss, he said, “It’s past nine-thirty babe, and I smell coffee. Do you want to grab some with me?”Emma groans out a “sure” and sat up with her long sandy-blonde hair all in her face. Her eyes were puffy and a little red, but Jack thought she looked absolutely adorable at that moment and wondered if she was the one.“What,” she asked, catching him looking a little too long.“It always amazes me how cute you look when you wake up,” he said with an adoring smile. “The rest of us look like we spent the night in the dryer, but you always look beautiful.”Emma blushed and looked away shyly. Cracking a smile and slapping him on the arm she said, “Let’s get that coffee you sweet talker.”They opened the tent to a blast of radiant light they were not expecting. The day was free from clouds, and they had pitched their tent in the middle of a meadow filled with wildflowers, so there wasn’t even shade coming down off the towering trees that surrounded the clearing. Once their eyes focused, they could see Mike sitting by the fire enjoying his coffee as Lacey was cooking up breakfast, the smell of which tied Jack and Emma’s stomachs in knots, they were so hungry. “About time you two rolled out of the old tent,” Cory said, coming out of his tent carrying a wide-angle lens to take to Rachel who is taking pictures further out in the meadow. “Do I even have to ask about the sweat covered shirt, Jack,” Cory said with an all-knowing laugh.“Hurry up, Cory! I want to get pictures of all these adorable little baby bears before they disappear,” Rachel yelled out.“Bear cubs! Oh, I have to see,” Emma squealed and ran towards the three little bears rolling on the ground wrestling.Jack turned white, flashing back to his dream, then began to scream, “Emma wait! Get away from the cubs! Everyone, get away from the cubs!”Jack took off running after Emma who had a good head start on him. Mike and Lacey both stood up to see what the commotion was. Cory was handing Rachel her lens as she waved Emma over.“Emma, get in there. You and the bears will make such a cute picture,” Rachel enthusiastically declared.Emma got to the ground and started playing with the bears. Jack was almost there when the mother bear emerged from the grass and flowers. Jack sped up calling out for Emma to run. The bear grabbed Emma with her two front paws and clamps down on the top of Emma’s head.""No,"" Jack screamed.Emma jumps, confused, but the adrenaline from the scare has her wide awake. “What Jack? What is it?”Jack hugged and kissed Emma like he hadn't seen her for ages, “It was just a bad dream; dreams I should say,” he said, rolling back over, hearing the crinkling of cellophane. “Shit! Our candy wrappers!”The front of the tent was torn open, and the snarling face of a bear appeared. It clawed Jack’s sleeping bag, pulling him outside. The last thing Jack heard was Emma’s desperate cries for help as the bear tore at his flesh with tooth and claw.
","July 08, 2023 04:27",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,1qyme2,Foul Play,Robin Owens,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1qyme2/,/short-story/1qyme2/,Horror,0,"['Suspense', 'Contemporary', 'American']",13 likes,"
The knee of a disheveled Carl Pinkerton bounced a mile a minute. Carl pulled his dirty old BAMA cap over his grey-blue eyes with a shaking hand. His stomach growled. He checked his watch. The bus he was waiting for was late. He’d traveled two hundred miles from Alabama to South Louisiana, but it wasn’t far enough. He needed a thousand more. His grey hair poked from beneath his cap, and he cursed himself for not having shaved it. Sweat prickled his skin, cooling him down in the thick night air. He desperately needed sleep, but the adrenaline denied him this, and he was grateful. He couldn’t sleep now. Not yet.
 
A thousand more miles.
 
He peeked from under the brim of his cap. A few tired travelers waited nearby; no one seemed interested in him. Carl had only his wallet bursting with stolen cash and a dead cell phone from which he’d removed the SIM card. He’d kill for a sip of water, but he was afraid to move, frozen still on an outdoor bus bench, a weak attempt at inconspicuousness.
 
A bus pulled forward, the lighted sign in the window reading: HOUSTON. This was his.
 
Two police officers came into view inside the station. Carl’s breath caught as he willed the bus to stop and open its doors. He’d trample an old lady if he had to, anything to get on that bus.
 
The officers came outside as the bus huffed to a stop. The shorter one whispered something to her partner, and the partner pointed in Carl’s direction. Carl averted his eyes and clamped his teeth down on his tongue until he tasted blood.
 
48 HOURS EARLIER
 
Becky Pinkerton’s eyes shot open when, from the comfort of her bed, she heard the front door click shut. Seconds later, she heard a truck come to life, the sound faint as if the truck were parked a few houses down. She threw her arm to the other side of the bed, but she already knew it would be empty.
 
Becky tiptoed down the hall, using a flashlight to see, so as not to wake her three young kids. She stopped in the living room and carefully removed four books from the massive built-in media center—trashy romance, books Carl would never read. She lifted the loose plank that was disguised by the books to see if her private, personal stash of cash was still there. She dug her hand around in the dusty, dark hole. It was gone. All of it.
 
Becky cursed and carefully put the plank and books back in place. She went to Carl’s study, shut herself in, flicked on the lamp and got to work, tearing open every drawer and folder she could find. She tore the place to shreds, looking for some type of evidence to explain his sudden departure. When she didn’t find it, she went into the dark kitchen, quietly made herself a White Russian with a dirty glass she’d used only hours before and went back into the study to think. She sat in the soft navy wingback chair—the only thing that wasn’t littered in paper—sipped her sweet cocktail and devised a plan.
 
At 7:00am Becky called the kids’ nanny, Nina. With award-winning distress in her voice, she said, “I don’t know where Carl is. Please come take the kids out for a few hours, and don’t tell them anything. If they mention their dad for any reason, just change the subject. Please.” 
 
When Nina arrived, Becky quickly shuffled her three oblivious children out the door. She mouthed, “Thank you,” to Nina and dabbed her nostrils with a tissue, for dramatic effect. 
 
The morning news picked it up quicker than Becky had expected, but that’s what you got in small-town Alabama, a public starved for a good story. The voice of a news anchor came to life:
 
“Breaking News. A Winding Pines resident has been reported missing this morning. Carl Pinkerton was last seen at his home yesterday evening, according to his wife Becky Pinkerton.”
 
Carl’s picture appeared on the screen then, a smiling face in a suit and tie, his grey-blue eyes piercing the hearts of local news-watchers, or so Becky hoped. What she really hoped was that his sickening charm would shine through the screen and convince the public he needed—even wanted—to be found.
 
“If you have any information regarding his whereabouts, please call the number on the screen.”
 
A knock on the door. The police had arrived right on cue. Becky turned off the TV and checked herself in the hall mirror, ensuring her blonde curls were a mess and her eyes looked sad. She welcomed the officers in and granted them permission to search the home.
 
“He left the study in a mess, huh?” An officer spoke to Becky from inside the small office while Becky stood in the doorway, admiring her handiwork.
 
“I don’t understand it,” Becky said. “He must have been completely distraught.” She did not technically lie to the officer. But it is better to have them think Carl did this before he left, than to try to explain herself. Maybe they will think Carl was forced to do it. Even better.
 
The officer, tall and mustached, only hummed in response. “His truck is gone, you said?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Was it possible he was taken in his own truck? Or followed by someone?” Then, more to himself he said, “Or, maybe he was following another vehicle, thought he was being led to one place, but really…” he trailed off.
 
“All possibilities, yes” Becky said. “But I’m no investigator. I’m hoping you guys can look at it from all angles.”
 
“Right. And the search party you requested? You’ll have to lead the charge, but we could get an officer or two out there to help.”
 
“Great. Thank you.” Becky had created her own social media post minutes before the news released the story. It was a digital flyer with all the information about Carl’s disappearance, and with an expert mix of urgency and love—bordering on desperation—she pleaded with her followers to share and re-post Carl’s flyer. Within the hour, the entire Bible Belt had seen her post and raised their own concerns on their own pages for this total stranger.
 
Carl Pinkerton was suddenly famous, which is exactly what Carl Pinkerton did not want.
 
That night, Becky was exhausted from planning the next day’s search party, fielding calls from well-meaning friends, and responding to messages from complete strangers in neighboring states. Becky’s mom had offered to take the kids to her house for a few nights, and Becky had readily accepted, with no capacity to worry about the number of popsicles that would surely be consumed. A meal train had already been set up for her family, with lasagna delivered promptly at 6pm and breakfast tacos on deck for the next morning. Vigilantes with nothing better to do were en route from as far as Florida to help with the search. Neighbors peered from their windows, watching Becky’s house, which had quickly become a shrine to the only interesting thing that had happened in this town in years.
 
It was all too much. Too much reaction, too much attention, too much concern. And Becky was relishing in it.
 
In her dreams that night hot flames rose from the ground and licked the night sky, the smoke suffocating the stars. Becky heard it on the news the next morning before she got the call from the police.
 
“New details have surfaced in the Missing Persons case.” The. The only case like this for miles. “A black Chevy Silverado has been found abandoned in a field in Slidell, Louisiana. It has been burned to nearly unrecognizable condition. But a partial license plate was recovered at the scene by local police. It is a match to a vehicle registered to Carl Pinkerton.”
 
A flash of fear shot through Becky’s chest as she imagined Carl’s body burned to ash inside that truck. But logic prevailed; she knew they would find no evidence of a body. She knew he was traveling on foot now, that he couldn’t be far.
 
Becky took the breakfast delivery from the front porch, refrigerated the extras for the kids, and sat at the dining room table where she and Carl had shared their last conversation. As she ate her brisket and egg taco, she thought about what he had said two nights before:
 
“Becky, do you think I’m a good person?”
 
She hadn’t known what to say, taken aback more by the Becky than the question itself. Becky, instead of Bec or Babe. Carl only called her Becky when he was being dead serious.
 
“Of course,” she had said, but honestly, she had no idea. She had secrets, and she was sure he did too.
 
He had spent the rest of the evening in his study, coming to bed only after he thought Becky was asleep. What he didn’t know is while Becky pretended to be busy showering, she was sitting in the bathroom researching him on her phone.
 
She was only able to find one red flag. Carl’s name came up in a discussion thread on a social media account. He did not have any accounts, that she knew of, but his name kept popping up on one person’s page. Her name was Rosie Wilson. Becky noticed Rosie lived in their town and that she and Rosie had six mutual friends. She seemed to post constantly, mostly political ramblings and inappropriate memes. Mixed into the chaos was the occasional subtle threat toward her “abusers.” Each threat containing five hashtags with names, including: #CarlPinkerton. Petty stuff like:
 
“Karma’s a *****.”
“You think you can hurt people and get away with it?”
“I will not be a victim. Watch your back.”
 
Becky couldn’t bring herself to believe anything a woman like this said, so she had closed her search tabs and gone to bed, trying not to overthink it.
 
Now that Carl was gone, she was overthinking everything.
 
She cleaned up her breakfast, grabbed her car keys then stopped in front of the study, where she and the officers had come up empty of evidence. She went in and took another look. There had to be a hidden document, something to reveal a side of Carl she knew nothing about. Financial trouble? A lawsuit? But if there were something, wouldn’t Carl have taken it with him?
 
A letter. Handwritten. Stuffed between some junk mail on the floor. Becky hadn’t seen this before, was too frantic and careless the first time.
 
The letter was addressed to Carl and the contents were vicious. Threatening to go to the police, demanding tens of thousands of dollars, saying they will burn Carl’s house to the ground with his family inside. It was unsigned. But the tone was eerily similar to that of Rosie Wilson’s online posts. Becky stuffed the letter in her back pocket and left for the day’s planned search.
 
When Becky got home later, she peeled off her clothes and took an hour-long bath. The search had come up empty. Becky was hot, sticky, and beyond frustrated. But the case’s publicity had only grown with #WhereIsCarl sweeping the internet. Becky had solace in the fact that she still had the upper hand: innumerable people supporting her. Carl had only himself.
 
When Becky got out of the bath she saw the letter on the floor next to her shorts. She had carried it all day, like a fire under her giving her energy to press on with her mission. She crawled in bed with the letter, took a picture of it, and sent the photo in a direct message to Rosie Wilson with a simple question: “Is this from you?”
 
------
 
Carl tried to run from the bus station. Within seconds the police tackled him to the ground, the asphalt violently winning in a swift battle against Carl’s knees.
 
At dawn, after a three-hour fever dream in the back of a police car, Carl was taken into his home, limping and defeated. No charges would be brought against him—yet. But when the police left, Carl was faced with the worst possible fate: explaining it all to Becky.
 
Outside their home chaos ensued like a team of tornadoes. The police, the media, and the general public were ravenous for answers. They would stop at nothing to get inside Carl’s head and dissect his scandalous exit. Did he commit a crime? Or multiple crimes? Or was he a victim? Who was complicit and who should be charged? What would the sentencing be? The people’s thirst for justice would be quenched no matter the cost.
 
But Carl could not yet fathom the ferocity of those outside forces. His wife sat across from him at the dining room table holding a single piece of paper. His skin tingled with shame and fear.
 
“Bec, I can—”
 
“No. I will do the talking,” Becky said, her voice unnervingly calm. “Here is my assessment. You, Carl Pinkerton, thought you could simply run away. From your problems, from me, from your children--”
 
Carl looked around the room then, as if just remembering his own fatherhood. “Where are the kids?”
 
“Not here,” Becky retorted. “Don’t interrupt me. As I was saying, you thought everything would disappear if you disappeared. That you could create a clean slate. You didn’t even consider what this would do to me and the kids. You are a selfish man. But you are a lucky man. The public was more concerned about you than I was; I made sure of that. ‘Poor Carl Pinkerton, taken from his family by a mysterious act of foul play.’ But no one knows you better than I do. You are the foul play. I knew from the moment I heard the front door click shut two days ago.”
 
Sweat dripped down Carl’s temples. He had no rebuttal.
 
“You thought you had a plan,” Becky continued. “Well, I have a better one. In my plan, you don’t get to decide things for me or disrupt my life. In my plan, I am no victim to theft or abandonment or anything else. In my plan, you face the consequences of your poor choices.”
 
Becky slid the paper she was holding across the table toward Carl. He pulled at it slowly, like it might burst into flames. Then, he saw the first line, and he knew.
 
A woman stepped into the kitchen. The blood drained from Carl’s face. Rosie Wilson stood with her arms crossed and a smug expression on her lips. “Hi, Carl,” she said.
","July 13, 2023 16:43","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hey Robin,\nOh an interesting tale! I loved the way we get a small taste of things with Carl and then we jump into a different perspective to wrap things up with our MC once more at the end. There’s this country music video where two women find out that the same man is lying to both of them so they go ahead and end his life. This story felt very similar. And I’d love a follow up in just Rosie’s POV-maybe what happens next??', 'time': '05:16 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Robin Owens': 'Thanks Amanda! This story was inspired by a real news story in my city. I think Rosie\'s perspective would be interesting too. I was most interested in exploring the wife\'s POV because she put on the image of being worried about her ""missing"" husband when really she was trying to take control and ""win.""', 'time': '16:44 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Robin Owens': 'Thanks Amanda! This story was inspired by a real news story in my city. I think Rosie\'s perspective would be interesting too. I was most interested in exploring the wife\'s POV because she put on the image of being worried about her ""missing"" husband when really she was trying to take control and ""win.""', 'time': '16:44 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kara Heisler': 'I could picture this being a tv show. I wanted it to be longer! :D Really great story, I was on the edge of my seat while reading.', 'time': '21:26 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Robin Owens': ""So glad to hear, thank you so much! I was afraid it was too long, so I 'm glad it kept your interest. Thank you for reading!"", 'time': '12:59 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Robin Owens': ""So glad to hear, thank you so much! I was afraid it was too long, so I 'm glad it kept your interest. Thank you for reading!"", 'time': '12:59 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""As a former math teacher, I'm pleased to find another math teacher who enjoys writing.\n\nTerrific revenge tale. I liked the clever approach by the wife; she must be a math teacher as well! LOL\n\nOne line hit a jarring note:\n“All possibilities, yes” Becky said. “But I’m no investigator. I’m hoping you guys can look at it from all angles.” I think she's a little too glib with this particular line. \n\nThe introduction of Rosie was a nice touch. Now Carl has to face Becky AND Rosie. This will not turn out well for him, and it shouldn't. A pleasing ..."", 'time': '11:03 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Robin Owens': 'Thanks for reading and for the feedback, Delbert!', 'time': '20:31 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Robin Owens': 'Thanks for reading and for the feedback, Delbert!', 'time': '20:31 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Caught in a web.', 'time': '18:16 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Robin Owens': 'Totally', 'time': '20:31 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Robin Owens': 'Totally', 'time': '20:31 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,6f184i,Blood & Water,David King,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6f184i/,/short-story/6f184i/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Thriller', 'Crime']",12 likes,"
She let out an ear-stabbing screech and gripped the steering wheel with her soul. But she wasn’t strong enough. The tires of the car screamed as they veered left too sharp. Her leg was forced down onto the pedal even harder as her voice cracked mid-scream, unable to exert any more force. She was terrified, so scared that her life didn’t even flash before her eyes. She shot one last look into the passenger seat, catching a full glimpse of the cause of her tragic end. She had known all along. She knew she could have prevented this exact moment. She was given countless opportunities and wasted all of them, giving something she no longer trusted the benefit of the doubt.
	So, with what felt like her last glance, she turned back to the view outside the windshield and took it all in.
            Somewhere, her parents were jogging the last bit of their 2 mile run, probably almost back home already. Most likely discussing how it was nice to get up early and enjoy nature. It was a pretty day. The sun was out, but not beaming relentlessly. There was a slight breeze and an abundance of handsome birds floating from branch to branch. Families sat under the shade of palm trees as they watched their children fish in the neighborhood pond.
It really was a beautiful day.
And then the tree that was once in the distance appeared right in front of the car, bringing it to an immediate halt.
 
TEN HOURS EARLIER
 
	Although Jacky stood wide eyed and focused, she felt her eyes begging to shut tight, opposed to the torture of absorbing the stomach-churning scene.
	But she couldn’t look away. This wasn’t the first time being haunted by the gruesome images her mind had suggested she was seeing, however this time she noticed how real the moment was.
	She had spent a number of treacherous hours daydreaming about gory hypotheticals her mind formed from the true memories she couldn’t erase. Each day she felt like she was crazier than the last, and yet, she was certain about what she remembered seeing that night.
	She knew the lengths her imagination would go, so when her own mind tried to gaslight her into believing she had completely made up the memory, she had to remind herself of the individual moments strung together to form a living nightmare. She remembered walking out of her bedroom at two in the morning five months prior. She knew she saw the bathroom door slightly open, light bleeding through the slight crackers. And when she peeped through, she was certain she saw her brother crying, the soft sound of his unsteady breathing lost under the running water. The stench of bleach was potent even outside the bathroom. And when he lifted his hands just for a second, she was able to catch a quick but clear glimpse of a knife so drenched in blood, there wasn’t a single glimmer from the light against the metal.
	She silently retreated to her bed that night.
	Since that night, nothing seemed to be real to her anymore.
	But what she now saw in front of her was too real. It solidified multiple months of her constantly rising suspicions, terrifying dreams, and unproven allegations.
	Hours prior, she had watched her big brother sweating and hauling a big suitcase into the bed of his pickup truck. And as she watched him drive off into the sunset, she had to coax herself down from a building panic attack.
	Now, as she watched Rome once again, her heart began beating too fast.
	He was meticulous. In the darkness of midnight, and with his only light source being the home screen of his unlocked phone held in his mouth, he hosed down his arms from triceps to fingertips. He rigorously used one arm to run down the other arm, taking his time to be thorough.
	And that’s when she froze. As she peeked through the kitchen window, her speeding heart hit the brakes, stopping to skip a beat or two.
Rome’s head had turned just the slightest and the dim light shining from his mouth angled directly onto his arm at a slant that showed the last of a dark, splattered residue being engulfed by the pressure water, flowing as one liquid into the pitch-black ground.
	After some seconds, she realized that she couldn’t moved. The needed to turn around and leave before someone saw her. Before Rome saw her.
	She forced her body to work and walked away from the door.
	When she got to her bedroom, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She landed on the edge of her bed and crawled up under the covers. She wrapped her arms around her knees and held herself tight.
 
	She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but her eyes opened and her body did not move. She had remained in a fetal position the entire night.
            The three seconds of peace that comes with waking up each morning disappeared quickly. Immediately, her mind painted vivid and horrid pictures from depictions of her own memory.
            She closed her eyes tight and forced a big, deep breath. She held it, then released. She continued to breathe deeply, working hard to take back control of her mind.
            But she felt uncomfortable. Her breathing tactics were no longer working. She was getting anxious, scared of what she wouldn’t even seem to identify.
            In a quick spurt, her hands went up and slammed down, sinking into the memory foam just shallow enough for her to push her body up. Her torso rose from the bed and her head turned to the side.
            Her door was cracked about an inch open. She knew she had closed it behind her before falling asleep.
            She made eye contact with a singular-eyed gaze through the crack. The fear she felt made her feel as though her heart imploded in her chest.
She had to stop herself from screaming.
            There was a gentle knock and the door inched open a bit more.
            “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Rome said as he poked his head into the room.
            Jacky’s heart was trying to descend back to a normal rate.
            “You up?” He continued. “Mom wanted me to ask you if you wanted to go jogging with her.”
            He kept his head and neck past the door frame.
            “No.” She said fast but quietly.
            Rome disappeared, closing the door behind him.
            Her body fell right back onto the bed, her face slamming into the pillows.
            She wanted to cry. In the house she lived, she was facing a situation so terrifying, not many other people could ever relate. She didn’t know who she could talk to. She didn’t know who she should talk to. She felt like the literal universe was playing the darkest prank on her.
            She brought back her breathing technique. And when she gathered enough strength, she pushed herself back up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, sitting up.
            She had to drag her body out of the bed and into the bathroom. And as she finished brushing her teeth, she could feel the first bit of wetness in her eyes. She rushed rinsing out and hopped into the shower. There, water would flow on her face regardless, so she didn’t think of it as “crying”.
            By the time she was out, she was feeling a bit better. And as she dressed up, she tried to give herself positive affirmations, attempting to manifest a positive day.  It was a Saturday. There was no school, no responsibilities, and she could literally go anywhere.
            Or, she thought about how she could spend the next couple hours “burrito-ed” in a blanket on the couch, eating cereal, and binge watching her favorite Hulu shows.
            She bundled up in front of the TV with a bowl of Frosted Flakes in her lap.
            After one full episode, she was relaxed. She was on her third bowl and was running low on milk.
            She hit pause on the remote and grabbed the edges of the blanket to stand up. She lifted the plastic bowl to her mouth and held it in between her teeth. She didn’t know how she would bring the bowl back to the couch but she figured she’d cross that bridge when she got there.
            There was just enough almond milk left in the fridge for one more full bowl of pure joy.
            She placed the cartoon in the recycling bin and adjusted the blanket so she wouldn’t have to use her hands to hold it. It took multiple trials and multiple errors, but she got it.
            She was ready to return to the couch.
            She grabbed the bowl with both hands and made her way out of the kitchen. She turned the corner to continue her journey but almost ran into Rome.
            She gasped at the sight of him.
In her shock, it occurred to her that just because her mom went on a jog, it didn’t mean Rome went as well.
            Rome screamed too many profane words in mere seconds. Jacky looked down and realized that, in her shock, she had dropped the bowl and didn’t even notice.
            “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it, just be careful not to step in it.” He said to her.
            “Sorry,” was all she was able to force out.
            “Just do me one favor. Grab me the bottle of bleach.’
            She inched away from the spreading mess then turned, making her way back in the kitchen.
            “It’s under the bathroom sink. I forgot to put it back in the kitchen last time I used it.”
            She spun around, unable to remember how to walk normally, and made her way to the couch where she dropped her blanket. The coldest chill ran down her spine. She tried hard to shake it off, then turned and continued her awkward walk to the bathroom.
            She knew the bleach was under the sink, Rome had just told her. But when she actually opened the cabinet and saw the bleach, it made her stomach sick.
            She grabbed the bottle and moved for the door but stopped at one step. She spun back around and lowered her head to the sink just in time for her stomach to push out its contents.
            She immediately twisted the tap on, using a few handfuls of water to wash out her mouth. Then she uncapped the bleach and poured just a touch to cover the smell.
            She felt obligated to take a couple deep breaths before exiting the bathroom with the bleach. By that time, Rome had cleaned most of the milk up.
            She watched as he finished up. Then she handed him the bleach.
            “Is Dad awake yet?” She asked as he twisted the cap on the bleach.
            “Been. He went jogging with Mom.”
            She froze at the words; she was home alone with Rome.
            She wanted to leave. But she didn’t want to depart abruptly and make her fear so obvious.
            “I’m going out to get milk.” She said, diverting the tension.
            “Perfect, can I join you for the ride?” He asked. “I have to pick up a prescription for Dad at the pharmacy right beside the grocery store.”
            Jackie wanted to scream. In the last sixty seconds, her perfect day had gone to absolute shit.
            “Sure.” She cringed.
            She walked off, pissed that she had to accept that peace of mind would no longer be an option for her.
            She swiped the keys off her dresser and switched her house slippers for her purple crocs.
            By the time she came back out, the floor was completely clean, and Rome was ready.
            Jacky led the way, walking straight out to the front door and to the car.  She hopped in the driver’s seat and Rome entered beside her.
            The engine roared to life and her phone connected via Bluetooth.
            Her music blasted and she rushed to turn the volume down but kept it loud enough to prevent any small talk or conversation. And although it was only a ten-minute drive, she rather her thoughts be drowned out by R&B music.
            Rome exited the car at the curb in front of the pharmacy and Jacky drove to a close parking spot in front of the store.
            She stepped out of the car and was on a mission. She entered the store and made a right, going straight for the milk. The almond milk she liked was buy one, get one free. Her lips curled into a tender smile, a small sign of joy.
            A sign so small, yet so reassuring it gave her the mental boost she needed to help her believe she could make it back home without cracking.
            She took the cartons up to the register, paid, and walked out of the store. And as she placed the milk in the backseat she saw Rome come out of the pharmacy, bag in hand, and make direct eye contact with her.
            He broke eye contact quickly, looking left, right, left then crossed the street right outside of the crosswalk to the parking lot.
            By the time he got to the car, the music was already just-under-blasting.
            Once his seatbelt was on, Jacky reversed out of the parking spot and drove onto the road.
            The first five minutes were boring, and Jacky was more than grateful for that.
            But then her thoughts began to scatter, instigating hypotheticals. She began to get visibly nervous and, out of her peripheral, she glanced at Rome. In the split second that her eyes left his face, she saw something that was a bit strange.
            Rome had the prescription bag at a slant, trying to hide the label. But Jacky could see a bit of the edge.
            At the top right corner, she could see the last three letters of a name.
 O-M-E
            It was almost impossible to keep her mind calm. She had overthought way too deep and had solidified answers she had not yet confirmed were true in reality.
            As she approached her turn, she rotated the wheel fast, making the turn sharp. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the brown paper bag slid off Rome’s lap and onto the car floor.
            “Sorry.” She apologized disingenuously.
            Rome reached down to pick up the bag, and as he lifted it, Jacky caught herself diverting too much of her focus from the road and to the bag. She had to physically turn her head back to the windshield.
            She prayed Rome didn’t see her. She knew he was capable of putting two and two together and easily figuring out what she had figured out.
Instead, he let out a deep exhale.
	“Why?”
	It took her a few seconds to realize he was talking to her. She dialed the music down a couple notches. Her heart raced as she approached the street the house was on. She just had to make it home. Another minute and a half, at most.
	“Why did you do that?” He continued. “You’ve pretended not to know for months. Should’ve kept going.”
	Before she could even gasp, Rome’s right hand reached over and clasped hard against her right knee, driving the heel of his hand down. With brute strength, he forced Jacky’s foot harder down on the gas pedal.
	“Rome!” She screamed.
	He flinched at the volume directly entering his ear but didn’t relax his grip or force.
	With his left hand, he let go of the medicine bag and clamped the second grip on the wheel, pushing it away from his direction.
	“Why Jacky?”
	In what seemed like slow-motion, Jacky watched as the bag labeled Smith, Rome flew to the ground once again.
","July 07, 2023 17:05",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,il2xpa,Legs,Brian Adams,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/il2xpa/,/short-story/il2xpa/,Horror,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Suspense']",12 likes,"
My head pounds to the rhythm of my pulse and I see dark stars creeping in at the edges of my vision. I try to steady my breathing so that I don’t pass out. My clothes cling to cold sweat. Bile is finding its way up into my throat but I can’t swallow it down because of all the cotton inside of my mouth; I swear it’s lined with cobwebs. I feel the sticky strands pulling my throat closed. I don’t want to die like this…not now.The tangled ball of upturned legs laying in the middle of the bedroom appears motionless. I feel like I’ve been watching it for hours, waiting for it to twitch; but it never does. It’s the third one I’ve killed this week and my nerves won’t be able to survive another one. I stare at it through my tunnel vision haze as I sit on the cold terrazzo floor, my back against the wall. God, I hate those things—the fangs, the unblinking eyes, the plump hairy bodies—but most of all, I hate the legs. I hate the way they splay out across the wall or the ceiling, just before pouncing. Sometimes I can hear the big ones scurry across the floor during the silence between television commercials. That’s when I simply call it a night and go hyperventilate through a paper bag until I pass out, asleep. Tonight might be one of those nights.My ravaged nerves plead for me to close my eyes, just for a moment. But I know that if I do, that ball of legs will somehow untangle itself and scuttle off into a dark corner, to torment me another day. The tingling sensation in my hand reminds me that I still have my shoe in a vice grip. I let go and flex my stiff fingers. After a few more deep breaths I gather the courage to move. I stand up and back out of the bedroom, making sure I don’t look away from the mass of spindly legs, because if I do, it’ll crawl away. I leave the light on and the door wide open for the same reason. I’ll try to deal with it in the morning. Tonight I’ll be on the couch.I round the corner to the bathroom and put my mouth to the sink faucet. The tepid tap water tastes like heaven. I look up at my pimpled face in the mirror. The yellow speckles on the glass make me look like I have reversed freckles. My face always breaks out after a panic attack, and picking at it calms me down.I focus on a mass of acne that erupted next to my nose last week and I pinch off the top layer of scab. It’s definitely getting bigger—probably infected. The sharp sting distracts my thoughts from wandering back into the bedroom—to the ball of legs. A yellow head forms at the tip and I squeeze it with my forefingers, releasing a discharge of fresh spackle at the mirror. I push hard on both sides of the purple cyst until sticky yellow custard percolates into the sink. Pain shoots into my sinus and I grip the edges of the sink. My eyes shut so hard I see a kaleidoscope of lights beneath my lids. The whole side of my cheek throbs and there’s an ache deep inside my face—definitely infected.I press a wad of toilet paper onto the angry sore and contemplate driving to a clinic in the morning. I actually feel the inflammation pushing against my fingers—man, this is really bad. I pull the paper away to assess the damage and the tip of an ingrown hair comes out with it. Weird place for a hair, but then I recall hearing stories of teeth and fingernails growing inside people’s bodies. Must be why it hasn’t healed after a week.I pinch the end of the stiff black hair and take a deep breath. I close my eyes and prepare for pain. It’s just like pulling off a bandaid, right? I grit my teeth, and yank.The pain is unreal. I squint through watery eyes to see how much flesh got pulled out with it; but the hair is still protruding there—about an inch longer now—but still there. I feel spasms deep in my sinus and the hair begins to slowly draw itself back into the swollen pimple. I quickly grab the end of it and it pulls against me. I feel it bend at an angle under my fingertips. Gotta stay calm. With my free hand, I fumble through the medicine cabinet for tweezers. I pinch them at the base of the hair and pull two more inches out. The base of it is thicker and courser than any hair I’ve ever seen.Another part of it bends and the whole length of the strand twitches wildly like a tiny black skeleton finger. No no no no no this can’t be real! I push my thumb into my mouth, against the underside of the cyst, and the flesh there moves. Whatever’s in there has to come out, so I press hard with my thumb while pulling with the tweezers. Another thick hair works its way out of the wound, then two more. Then, I see something wet and black deep inside, with tiny unblinking orbs that seem to look at me from the mirror. It’s a…it’s one of them!My tweezers are trembling so badly that they lose their grip, and the thing begins slipping back into the hole in my face. No no no no no! I plunge the tweezers into the cyst and scrape at the insides. The pain is making me woozy but I keep digging. The tweezers drop from my sweaty fingers, so I continue digging with my fingernails. The thing is so slick and sticky that I can’t grab ahold of it. I feel it clawing further into my sinus. I can’t let it go deeper! I keep pressing my thumb against the inside of my mouth until it tears through the outer layer of the cyst. A tangle of black legs pushes out with my thumb.The spider unfolds from the raw cavity in my face. The legs splay across the side of my head as its black body slides from the crevice, and all I can do is tremble as the nightmare unfolds in the mirror. Do something…I’m going to die! I grip the sides of the sink and heave myself into the mirror. The spider is faster, and it scurries up into my hair. I’m dizzy and I see stars. The spider continues down the back of my head and I feel its awful legs clamp onto my neck. I can’t move; I can only brace myself with the sides of the sink and stare down at the kaleidoscope of glass and gore. I still can’t move as the pulsating mass of sticky yellow custard splits into a thousand tiny legs—each one scampering from its egg sac and up my arms.I’m jolted away from the horrible sight by a sharp sting at the back of my neck, and I gasp for breath. The spider loosens its grip and crawls under my shirt where its dark and moist with sweat. The searing venom burns its way down my spine. My body becomes weak and rigid. I only make it a couple of steps into the hallway before collapsing.I lay on my stomach, paralyzed, with my head turned toward the bedroom. I watch with unblinking eyes as the ball of upturned legs laying in the middle of the floor untangles itself and crawls toward me. I hear the legs scuttling across the tile in the silence between my heartbeats.
","July 11, 2023 20:27","[[{'Marleze Kruger': 'Hi Brian,\nLoved your story! Incredibly descriptive, and really makes you feel like you are right there with him, staring in the mirror. Good pacing, and you kept me on my toes not knowing what to expect next. My only critique would be that it was hard for me to believe he would just be casually be in the bathroom picking at his skin if he knew the spider was still in the bedroom and could move at any time, given his intense fear of them.', 'time': '22:37 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Brian Adams': ""Thanks, Marleze! Glad you enjoyed it.\nThe meat of my story was the scene in the bathroom, but I had to first establish his phobia of spiders. If there wasn't a word limit to the story, maybe I could've presented a more believable segue between the bedroom and bathroom scenes. Also, he stared at the spider for a long time before moving into the bathroom...so, it was obvious to him that it was dead (it actually wasn't, though, because this is a horror story, and villains never stay dead)."", 'time': '00:28 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Marleze Kruger': ""Hahahaha so true! That's why I kept on expecting the spider to come from the room and not his face! That was so gruesome I LOVED it! Again, great story, would love to see a longer version if you ever write one!"", 'time': '03:58 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Brian Adams': ""Thanks, Marleze! Glad you enjoyed it.\nThe meat of my story was the scene in the bathroom, but I had to first establish his phobia of spiders. If there wasn't a word limit to the story, maybe I could've presented a more believable segue between the bedroom and bathroom scenes. Also, he stared at the spider for a long time before moving into the bathroom...so, it was obvious to him that it was dead (it actually wasn't, though, because this is a horror story, and villains never stay dead)."", 'time': '00:28 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Marleze Kruger': ""Hahahaha so true! That's why I kept on expecting the spider to come from the room and not his face! That was so gruesome I LOVED it! Again, great story, would love to see a longer version if you ever write one!"", 'time': '03:58 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Marleze Kruger': ""Hahahaha so true! That's why I kept on expecting the spider to come from the room and not his face! That was so gruesome I LOVED it! Again, great story, would love to see a longer version if you ever write one!"", 'time': '03:58 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,x69q3n,Cry for Wolf,Allan Bernal,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x69q3n/,/short-story/x69q3n/,Horror,0,['Horror'],12 likes,"
[Content warning: language, verbal abuse]
 
“Mommy! Mommy! Where are you?”
 
Annie shot up in her bed, pulling her puffy pink blanket around her, waiting for her mother to come through the door. The nightlight beside her was redundant now that the morning sun was illuminating the room. Annie looked around for Queenie, the stuffed unicorn, her trusted steed, but saw her on the other side of her room. She was too scared to go rescue her from the corner, much less question how she ended up there in the night.
 
The sound of Annie’s racing heartbeat was broken by the door creaking open. Her mother was standing there in her night robe, hair frazzled, dark circles under her eyes. She glared at Annie but that didn’t stop her daughter from rambling out her fears.
 
“There was a man with a wolf head in the house! He was walking around looking for me! He was gonna eat me and I hid under the bed and you were nowhere and I think he ate you too and Kiki was scared and hiding too and-“
 
“Jesus Christ, it’s just a FUCKING nightmare Annie!”
 
Annie recoiled from her mother’s sharp voice, pulling the covers over her mouth. Her mother wasn’t coming into the room, just gripping the door frame and panting with anger.
 
“But the wolf-“
 
“If you hid under your bed, then why are you on top of it now?” she rebutted, letting her lawyer voice berate her seven-year-old daughter with the same intensity she used to prosecute fifty-year-old criminals. “So it didn’t happen. Jesus, Annie, how can you not think it through?”
 
“I’m sorry Mommy,” Annie whispered, letting the covers fall. Her heartbeat slowed down, adrenaline being replaced by guilt. She should’ve known better than to yell for her mom; her mom was always tired from working. It was supposed to be Annie’s job to help her rest and relax - and she just failed.
 
Their cat Kiki slowly poked her head into Annie’s room, half coming to investigate, half hoping to get an early breakfast. She wore a bell collar since she was so good at hiding in shadows, and she looked up hoping for attention. But Annie’s mom ignored her and commanded her daughter, “Go back to sleep. It’s Saturday for fuck’s sake.” She turned around and left, almost knocking Kiki over, causing her to scramble and hide somewhere in the house, the bell jangling along the way.
 
Annie remained upright for a moment, debating whether or not she wanted to start the day crying. She instinctively reached for Queenie to hug, already forgetting she was haphazardly lying in the corner of her room. She got out of bed, turning off the nightlight. Annie walked to Queenie, her footsteps making the floorboards rasp with age. As she passed the door, she debated leaving it open for Kiki to poke her head in again. But the thought of the wolf man, even just imaginary, compelled her to close it. She then picked up Queenie and hugged her, walking back to bed. But before she got there, two things caught her attention.
 
“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” she realized as she eyed an unfamiliar tear in Queenie, stuffing peeking out from the wound. She pushed the button on Queenie to make her talk, only to hear one of her phrases come out in a weak whisper.
 
“I love you.”
 
///
 
“I’m in the middle of prosecuting one of the worst criminals of our time, but you still think it’s worth my time to fill out these ‘late student’ forms? All you do is sit behind a desk all day and judge parents, thinking 25 minutes late is that big of a deal-“
 
“Mrs. Shaw, it’s just a signature-“
 
“It’s Hart now. Not Shaw. Or do I have to call over the phone to get you to change the records, just so you can gossip about that too-“
 
“Annie, just go to class honey, I’ll finish up with your mother here.”
 
“‘Kay,” Annie tried to respond as chipper as she could for the nice secretary. But she was still out of breath from running to get in the school. Her mom’s panicked rush to get to work stressed Annie out - dropping her off at school was an unwelcome detour for her mom. The stress and adrenaline meant that she only now just realized-
 
“Wait, Mommy, I forgot Queenie at home!”
 
She turned to look at Annie, sighing and rolling her eyes. “You’re fine. You’re not doing to die just because you don’t have Queenie.” She shooed her away with her hand. “Now go to class and learn something.”
 
Annie put her head down and walked out the office. She knew she was getting too old to carry around Queenie all the time, but the tear and the dying voice box made her worry about her noble steed. The halls were unnaturally silent – Annie couldn’t hear any students in their rooms. Her small footsteps echoed in the stairwell, with the lack of other kids walking around causing Annie to feel uncomfortable by herself. She just kept her head down and rushed to her second-grade classroom, outrunning the silent shadows of the hallways. Of course, keeping her head down as she rushed into her classroom meant that she ran straight into-
 
“Woorf! Woorf! Arf!”
 
Annie screamed as she fell back on the floor, the wolf’s barks screaming in her ears as it lunged forward. Its white fangs gleamed amidst its black fur, with hot breath that assaulted Annie’s face. She kept screaming, certain she was going to die, with her thoughts drifting toward her mom and-
 
“Whoa there, it’s alright little lady! Gunner, calm down! That’s a kid, not a meth dealer. Oops, sorry Mrs. Harrison, probably shouldn’t say ‘meth’ in front of kids…”
 
Annie stopped screaming as she realized the wolf was a large black dog. It was being held back by a policeman in front of her class, with all the kids circled up on the floor for Show-and-Tell. The policeman smiled to apologize to Mrs. Harrison, who looked like she hadn’t fully woken up yet, and then he turned to lend a hand to Annie on the ground.
 
“The name’s Officer Norman. What’s yours?” he asked with a grin, holding out his hand to her.
 
Annie stood up cautiously by herself, eyes focused on Gunner the dog, now politely sitting down. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Norman had a sharp tooth in his grin, just like a wolf’s…
 
Mrs. Harrison just wearily snapped her fingers at Annie. “Annie, just take a seat and let Norman continue his presentation.”
 
“Actually, that’s Officer Norman, but-“
 
Annie ignored the policeman and sat in the back, away from the other kids who were whispering and giggling… probably about her screaming… She didn’t listen to Norman’s safety presentation, instead fixating herself on his dog Gunner. He was definitely staring right past the other kids, tongue out and panting excitedly as he eyed Annie the whole time.
 
She couldn’t remember if the wolf man had panted like that. As she replayed the supposed nightmare, all she could remember was a figure walking around the house, looking for something. She ran away before it got close to her, but she definitely heard the low grumble the wolf man made as he stepped closer and closer to her hiding place under her bed…
 
“You listening, Annie?”
 
Annie snapped to attention as she realized Norman was staring at her, waiting for a response.
 
“I- I’m sorry-“
 
“That’s okay Annie. Just promise me, if something bad ever happens, like someone breaks into your house or something, just call 911, alright? Me and Gunner will come running to save you!” Norman laughed, trying to use his bravado to impress the room of seven-year-olds. But all Annie could focus on was the sharp tooth in his mouth and Gunner’s excited panting.
 
“Okay, I promise I’ll call 911,” Annie lied.
 
///
 
“Mommy, can we go a little faster? Queenie is still at home-“
 
“God, it’s just a stuffed toy! You don’t need it anymore! Just- just- come on asshole, use your turn signal! Jesus Christ… just tell me about your day at school.”
 
Annie sat in the backseat watching her mother’s hands grip the steering wheel, her long nails coated with chipped black paint. Her mom never looked back at her, always focusing on the road, so Annie just stared out the window as she talked.
 
“It was fine.”
 
“Fine? That’s it? We rushed this morning just so you could have a fine day?”
 
Annie nervously tried to deflect her mother’s annoyance. “Um… Mommy, why do we have policemen?”
 
“Police officers; it’s not just men. And so they can catch the bad guys.”
 
“I thought you caught bad guys.”
 
“No, I make sure the bad guys stay locked up and can’t come out to hurt anyone anymore. It’s a lot harder than every other job.”
 
“That’s why you’re always… tired?” Annie decided midsentence to not say “grumpy”…
 
“Yeah- yes, YES, thank you, you get it now!” her mother said with an exasperated relief. “Listen, I know I’ve been stressed lately, but I swear, this case I’m working on is really important. This is a really really bad guy, and he needs to stay off the streets.”
 
“What did he do?”
 
Her mother tapped the steering wheel for a moment, stuck at a red light. “He… you don’t need to know what. Next week, the trial should be over. Then we can go ice-skating or something to celebrate, alright? At least, we’ll celebrate if we can lock him up forever, okay Annie?”
 
“Okay,” Annie mumbled, observing a man standing on the corner. Just staring at her. Not moving. Then her mother drove away, the man still staring at Annie as she left…
 
///
 
That night, Annie was woken up by her door slamming open and the lights being flicked on suddenly. She gasped as she bolted upright and scrambled to hold onto Queenie. But her unicorn was gone again…
 
It was just her mother, standing in her doorway.
 
“It’s just a stray dog barking, alright?”
 
“W-what?”
 
“The noises outside. If you hear them, it’s just a stray dog barking. Are we clear?”
 
“What noises?”
 
Her mother had been monotone but now frustration seeped through. “Jesus fuck- Annie, I’m trying to stop you from yelling in the middle of the night! If you hear the noises that I heard, it’s not some wolf man, okay? Just. A. Stray. Dog. Are we clear?”
 
“Okay,” Annie replied, but her mother was already closing the door before she could talk any further. Annie still had her nightlight on, so she looked around for Queenie, floorboards creaking underneath her. Instead of in the corner, she was right next to the window by her bed. Annie didn’t even realize Kiki had been in the room this whole time, presumably trapped by the closed door. The cat was on the windowsill above Queenie, her bushy tail slightly twitching back and forth as she stared outside.
 
“Did you steal Queenie from me?” Annie asked Kiki nicely as she walked over to pet her. But Kiki didn’t look at Annie, just stared outside, eyes wide and unblinking. Annie picked up Queenie and strained her eyes to look at what Kiki was staring at.
 
There was a figure standing there on the corner across the street. She couldn’t make out any details, but it looked like a man. Just staring straight up into her room. She gasped and closed her eyes shut, squeezing Queenie with a hug. When she opened them again, the figure was gone.
 
“Let’s play together,” Queenie said, her voice box now on a delay, her words a dying whisper…
 
///
 
After school next Friday, Annie’s mom came to pick her up like usual. But something was different.
 
She was grinning.
 
“Guess what?” she asked gleefully, standing in front of her car instead of waiting impatiently inside of it.
 
“Did you find Queenie?” Annie asked eagerly. Queenie had disappeared two days ago, her mother being unwilling to help look for her.
 
“No, Annie, did you forget? I did it! I put away the bad guy!”
 
“You did?” Annie asked, still just a little excited that her mother was in a good mood. She wasn’t expecting to be suddenly lifted by her, their faces almost together.
 
“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. So let’s celebrate! Let’s go ice-skating, you used to love coming with us, just me, you, and your…” she paused but shook away the memories, still keeping up her grin. “How about it?”
 
“Okay,” Annie said, going along with whatever she was told again, not even remembering what her mother was talking about.
 
///
 
“I’m sorry Mommy, I tried to stop but-”
 
 “Fuck! Annie, dammit, it hurts like hell. Just be quiet until we get home, alright?”
 
Annie sniffed and wiped away tears, blaming herself for ruining her mother’s rare good mood. Her mother had slipped and fell at the rink, and Annie was right behind her, unable to stop as she skated right into her mother’s hand on the ice.
 
“It’s my fault,” Annie whispered as she put her head against the window. She couldn’t bear to look at her mother’s bleeding hand again as it clumsily clutched the steering wheel.
 
“What the hell…?”
 
The car had suddenly stopped as Annie looked up to see they were about to enter their driveway. But the front door was slightly ajar.
 
Her mom parked the car and got out. “Annie, stay in the car.” She slammed the door shut and walked into the house.
 
Annie was looking around nervously. The sun was already down, with the winter night settling in. After a moment, the car light turned off, leaving Annie in the dark.
 
“Mommy!” she called out, her voice trapped in the car. She looked around her and saw across the street the same figure she saw a week ago. Still standing. Still staring.
 
“It’s not real, it’s not real,” she whispered as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. She slowly headed to the front door, too scared to stay outside but too anxious to commit to going inside. But before she reached the door, she saw something stand out amidst the dark night.
 
Right behind their trashcan beside their house was Queenie, her pink fur standing out. Annie rushed to her and picked her up, only to find she smelled terrible and was covered in dirt and more tears, her limbs barely staying on.
 
“Queenie,” she cried, a tear falling out as she pushed the button to make her talk.
 
“There’s someone in the house,” Queenie said, her voice fading away.
 
Annie yelled and dropped Queenie, turning around to see the figure across the street slowly start to move toward her. She ran inside the house, closing the door behind her and locking it. “Mommy!” she screamed. But no response.
 
The lights wouldn’t turn on even when Annie reached up to flick them on. She called out, “Where are you?” but still didn’t get a response. She then heard a noise in the basement and went to the top of the stairs to find the door open.
 
“Mommy?”
 
But at the bottom of the stairs, in the dim darkness, Annie saw the wolf man. It had to be him.
 
She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to scream. She backed away and headed toward the landline phone. But she couldn’t bring herself to call 911, the fear of both being heard by the wolf man and calling Norman and Gunner to her freezing her. All of them, the wolf man, the figure outside, Norman and Gunner, all of them were the same. It made perfect sense to Annie in the moment as she rushed upstairs.
 
She went to hide under the bed in her room, but in her panic, she forgot the floorboards in her room creaked with each step. Annie felt an intense self-hatred she had never felt before for being so stupid to not consider that. As she threw herself under her bed, her heart was thrashing, and her mind was berating her.
 
She could barely see in the darkness, but once her eyes adjusted to it, she realized Kiki was hiding under the bed with her, eyes wide again, illuminated by the dredges of the moonlight coming in through the window. She was curled tight into a ball, but each turn of her head caused her bell collar to jingle.
 
Before Annie could get Kiki to leave to protect her hiding place, someone entered the room, floorboards creaking with each step. Annie kept her mouth and nose covered as she watched the person’s feet walk in front of the bed. Annie couldn’t tell if they were wearing boots or had large clawed feet… Kiki decided to scramble out of the room, heading toward the open door, her bell jangling in a hurry.  
 
But the bells suddenly stopped. Annie didn’t see Kiki leave and instead noticed the figure shifted its weight when Kiki started running. It caught her. Annie trembled as she struggled to hear anything happen, but she broke her silence with a gasp as she was shocked.
 
The bell collar was dropped to the floor. No Kiki. A drop of something fell afterwards. Blood…
 
Annie was now crying, still trying to stay silent, but the figure must have known she was here. The figure slowly knelt down, its clawed hand coming into sight, pushing against the floorboard. Slowly, Annie realized she could hear the low grumble that she knew she heard before from the wolf man. Now she could also hear excited huffs as its breath grew closer. Its face slowly peered under the bed as Annie caught a glimpse of its sharp teeth.
 
Annie cried out one final time.
 
“Mommy!”
","July 14, 2023 19:20","[[{'Zatoichi Mifune': ""That was scary. Child murder ('one final time'), that's a taboo area, back out, back out... No, I can't, because I just needed to finish this story. \n\nI'm finding another element of horror here... Not sure Queenie would normally say 'There's someone in the house'... (It is an odd choice for a child's toy to say)"", 'time': '06:15 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,uh8cka,Dark Epiphany,Jed Cope,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uh8cka/,/short-story/uh8cka/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense']",12 likes,"
I remember being terrified.
 
I was the most frightened I’d ever been in my life. Forget the monster under the bed. This was real.
 
Just the thought of it now, it makes my breath catch somewhere in my chest and my heart swells, threatening to burst in my chest, seeking a complete end to everything in preference to what I am yet again confronted with.
 
There had been a build up to this moment, of course there had. It was a culmination of all the components of a life. There was a feeling of inevitability as all the strands led to this place and this time, and then it all came to a head.
 
My head.
 
It was all in my head. 
 
All of it. 
 
And yet…
 
None of it was in my head.
 
I thought it was out there in the world, but now I see that it couldn’t have been. 
 
It couldn’t have been because when I saw myself in the mirror and saw myself for what I truly was, everything fell apart. All of it cracked open and inside there was nothing. Only this nothing was something and that something terrified me. 
 
It scared me to death
 
I caught my reflection in the mirror. Barely a glance. Something moving in my peripheral vision. How many times does this happen? It must be a constant in our lives. Focusing on what is before us, but all the while our eyes draw in so much more and our brain processes it somewhere below the surface of our mind. Always in a state of readiness. Always on the lookout for danger.
 
And there it was.
 
Stalking me as I passed the mirror. 
 
I saw something dark and insect-like. A flash of something dark, ancient and evil. I froze to the spot and a dread cold blossomed within me. I wanted to turn my head away. To break the spell. But I could not. I was held in place by an awful knowledge. 
 
This was an awakening. 
 
Then, as though against my will, I turned my head toward the mirror and I screamed.
 
I don’t know how long it took, but it felt like an age. 
 
I screamed and I screamed and the noise of it rattled the very foundations of my being. The screaming grew louder and louder until I heard nothing at all. Those sounds of anguish became a reality and I phased it all out. My unblinking eyes stared into themselves and I looked deeper and deeper. I saw with an intensity that frightened me, and that intensity was dialling up and up until my head swam and then there was darkness.
 
But that was not the end.
 
I had not been gifted a merciful release. Far from it.
 
I was separated from everything I thought I knew. All those familiar anchors that held me in a state that I liked to think was sanity. My senses were amplified to a point of excruciating pain and that was all I was left with. 
 
The pain.
 
The darkness.
 
And the mindless anger.
 
Then the voice that has always resided within me spoke.
 
The voice told me a great many things, but it all amounted to the same thing.
 
It’s a lie.
 
That was when I truly knew. But then, I knew before then. I knew even before I saw myself for what I really was. I’d fought and fought, building defence after defence of denial.
 
I’d lied to myself.
 
How beautiful is that?
 
And how terrifying.
 
I had lied to myself about it being a lie.
 
All of it.
 
Every last scrap.
 
I should have been careful about what I had wished for. This was my wish granted. Not three wishes, just the one, but that was one too many. I’ve never had a clue as to what was good for me. I had urges. I deliberately confused what I wanted with what I needed. 
 
I was lazy and dumb and worst of all, I was entitled.
 
I convinced myself that I deserved better.
 
What I craved most of all was to be free.
 
I wanted freedom.
 
I never thought about what that meant. Do any of us? Really?
 
What I really wanted was to be released from the monotony of life. To be released from the shackles of obligation. 
 
I was bored and sad and lonely in the crowd of people I had amassed in my life. 
 
I’d made a bad job of myself and an even worse job of the life I was living, and I didn’t want to take any responsibility for it.
 
I wanted a free pass.
 
I thought that I should be gifted a Get Out Of Jail Free card that would mean that none of it mattered anymore.
 
Well I got exactly what I wished for.
 
Imagine that if you can.
 
Go on, give it a try.
 
I wish I had.
 
One moment, you are idly happy in your ignorance. Just like the fly that is oblivious to the vomit it expels and treads into the food it must eat. That is the very nature of our existence. You have a millstone mortgage around your neck and that millstone keeps you in check. You have a job that you can’t afford to lose, so you keep your head down and you don’t rock the boat. You tell everyone you’re doing OK and to prove it you take idealised photos that represent a sanitised life, a life that contains a sort of happiness that if anyone thought about it for one fraction of a second is a pile of horseshit that covers up a cankerous and twisted existence that no one in their right mind would subject themselves to.
 
Somewhere along the way you picked up a life partner, or they picked you up. If you’re lucky, you both give each other enough space to keep going with the pretence of your sad and discordant existences. If you’re unlucky, one of you makes changing the other a project. That is a project that will never end well and that is the whole point of the project; to hurt and break someone else so that you feel better about your own hurt and your own brokenness, to subjugate a fellow sufferer so that you imagine that you might just be superior to them even as your soul cries out at you and begs you to stop trying to create hell on earth.
 
Whatever the case, you’ll keep going. Everyone always does. 
 
What else is there?
 
Even if you’re not tearing each other apart in clandestine and malignant ways, there may well come a day when you resent the millstone of debt and everything that comes with it. You might have heard that talking helps and you may still believe that. You might think that you have a relationship with the adult you chose to share all the debt and burdens with and that you are in it together.
 
But when you introduce the prospect of change and describe another type of life, chances are you’ll see the gaping chasm that has always been there between the two of you, and you’ll begin to realise how utterly alone we all are. Besides, that other human being didn’t sign up for what you’re presenting to them. Truth is, they think they are fine clinging onto the fantasy they have constructed and were they to ever revise it, they would not allow you to provide them even with a first draft. Why would they, when we all lust after the illusion of control.
 
Just who the hell do you think you are?
 
Does any of us know the answer to that one?
 
I doubt it.
 
That question is one of Pandora’s Boxes and no one will thank you for asking the question that opens it. You see, we’re all winging it. All of us. Stringing ourself along with routines, rituals and habits. Our lives are just a big, bad habit. We are a series of unhealthy coping mechanisms and the real joke is that if those things we’re coping with were taken from us, the whole house of cards would fall down. We’d collapse in a heap with no clue as to how to get up again. 
 
We’d have nothing.
 
We’re not nothing though. 
 
We’re worse than nothing.
 
We’re angry and that anger always leads to hate.
 
How do you think we survived for so long?
 
Hell, we’re survivors. That’s the one thing we’re good at.
 
Ever wondered how stupid people are still in the mix of a supposedly civilised and progressive society? Truth is, we’re all stupid. Nothing actually matters. Nothing other than surviving. Everything else is merely pretence. We live in a land of make believe, a fairy tale. Under the surface there is only anger.
 
Surviving is where all the anger comes from.
 
We are a walking bundle of conflict.
 
We are at war with the world.
 
That’s what I saw when I caught myself in the mirror. I saw that and worse still, I saw all of it.
 
And just like that, I was free.
 
That’s the horror of it. That was what terrified me most of all. I saw through it all and I saw what I really was and how I had needed to be restricted by all of the rules and norms and boundaries. I needed to be taught how to act.
 
I needed to behave.
 
Now all of that is gone and I can do as I please.
 
My new life began in the moment that I saw I’d not been living. I had to die before I could be born again.
 
I was not the only one who had to die.
 
I had to cut the ties that bound. I had to cut them again and again and again until I was truly free.
 
I felt the weight lifting from me and as I understood the truth of this horrible reality we’ve all been signed up to from birth, I was so happy. At last I’d made a choice and it was real. We’re never given a choice. We’re born into this slavery of mind and of body and forced to remain meek and compliant. 
 
I may have been terrified in the instant that I understood, but that was because the truth is terrible and we’re not equipped to deal with it. The prospect of such a huge and magnificent transformation was beyond my comprehension. I had to suffer before I could escape my former existence and become what I should always have been.
 
I had to suffer for my freedom, and then I understood what it was that I must do.
 
Because you see, I freed them too.
 
They’re OK now.
 
I tried to make them see.
 
But they wouldn’t.
 
I tried to make them listen.
 
But they couldn’t.
 
So I intervened.
 
I did them a favour.
 
I released them.
 
They’ll come to realise that.
 
One day they will.
 
And then they will be free.
 
Just like me…
 
*
 
“Oh gods, Bob! What have you done! What have you done!?”
 
I opened them up. They needed to see what was inside. I changed them. I freed them.
","July 12, 2023 12:42","[[{'Mary Bendickson': ""Jed, Jed, Jed! What have you done? You can't look inside!"", 'time': '17:46 Jul 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'It was an accident...!', 'time': '20:26 Jul 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'It was an accident...!', 'time': '20:26 Jul 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'That ending! *chef’s kiss*', 'time': '01:39 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'Thank you!\nFor some reason I also say ""Bella! Bella!"" with a chef\'s kiss...', 'time': '09:25 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'Haha love it! I’m going to need to add that to my repertoire.', 'time': '14:32 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Jed Cope': 'It certainly adds another dimension.\nI find it quite rewarding!', 'time': '14:55 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'Thank you!\nFor some reason I also say ""Bella! Bella!"" with a chef\'s kiss...', 'time': '09:25 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'Haha love it! I’m going to need to add that to my repertoire.', 'time': '14:32 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Jed Cope': 'It certainly adds another dimension.\nI find it quite rewarding!', 'time': '14:55 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Haha love it! I’m going to need to add that to my repertoire.', 'time': '14:32 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'It certainly adds another dimension.\nI find it quite rewarding!', 'time': '14:55 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'It certainly adds another dimension.\nI find it quite rewarding!', 'time': '14:55 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,ffbsfg,The Phobia rooms,Sravanti Raviprakash,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ffbsfg/,/short-story/ffbsfg/,Horror,0,['Science Fiction'],12 likes,"
The Phobia rooms.Room 1.-Trypophobia.Holes. The holes were everywhere. Turn a corner, make a left, take a right, but she couldn’t escape them. She was trapped in an endless maze filled with the one of the things she most dreaded. Twisted, crooked, deformed spots that ran along the walls of complete nothingness. Her worst nightmare. It had been days since she had arrived there, maybe a week. Why had her parents put her up to this? Bribes and wealth for exchange for their child. The conditions had been crystal clear, she’d overheard her captors talking to her parents the night of her taking, ‘She will be put up to traumatic experiments, and I won’t sugarcoat the reality of the conditions. It was made illegal for a reason, a good reason. No authorities should come to know of this exchange, the police will be told she’s dead, car crash.’ But her parents weren’t scared for her, they were happy to be rid of her. She knew she was better off without them, but a part of her still hungered for their love even after the whole ordeal.The dreaming wasn’t any better than real life. The holes slid off the walls like water off a mirror and covered her entire body head to toe. No matter how much she tried, Thalia couldn’t move nor speak, or wake up from her dreams. Her mind was forced to remain unconscious yet conscious throughout the entirety of the dream. The holes were made of pure darkness, in every shape and size, but worst of all, they hurt. She sat there, writhing in agony and pain. By the first week of torture, Thalia was but the corpse of the girl she had once been, plagued with nightmares so she stayed awake. She was a wraith, a whisper of a child. They had promised to let her go. But it was all fake. Humans could be cruel. They were liars. Thalia was once full of life, a good hearted and warm, 13-year-old child, but the torture had turned her stone cold. She couldn’t bear it anymore. The only thought keeping her alive was the thought of reuniting with her beloved dog. Day after day, night after night, there was no escape from the truth. She was withering away into nothing but a thought. Her parents had sold her, her dog nowhere in sight, and there she was. Waiting for a slow, painful death. After three weeks of tolerating excruciating trauma and fear, Thalia was sick of it. She screamed and kicked around having the temptation to just claw her eyes out and end it all then and there. She stumbled around blindly, and felt the uneven surface of a button, and tripped, causing it to trigger.Then, underneath her broken body, there was a sharp sound of a ‘click’.Room 2.-Arachnophobia.Thalia looked around in awe, blinded by the bright lights that shone through the hole in the floor. “Another room.” Thalia thought to herself. “Maybe there’s an escape after all. Maybe, just maybe, Thalia slowly took one step forward, then another, then more until she reached the edge of the hole. Now she could see clearly in her room. It was purely white. So was the one below. After checking for any more clues inside the room, and making sure that the next was safe, Thalia dropped down the 10 ft hole into a soft, cushioned bed.“I mustn’t trust anything,” Thalia thought to herself, “After what I just went through, I don’t think that there’s anything here that I can trust. Suddenly, a projected screen shone on the shiny white walls of the room. A sudden, dark, grimacing voice fills the room. “You have thirty minutes to escape this room. Every second, a non-venomous spider will enter the room. If you don’t make it in time, we’ll release a black widow. To escape, you must answer a riddle, which will appear on the screen along with a timer. Saying the right answer will open the box over there, revealing a lever. Good luck.Thalia jumped straight into action and read the poem off the screen. “The whisper of doom which traces your steps. Shadows I linger, for courage I test. Flutters in your heart, hesitance I crave. Watching while you run, digging your own grave.”Thalia thought. Thalia pondered. 15 minutes had passed. Spiders were quickly filling the room, disgusting. A small jumping spider crawled up her leg, and she shrieked. Hurriedly, she shook the spider off and continued thinking. Her mind was blank. She soon started shouting out random answers. ‘“A Nightmare!? Stalker? Footprints? Your enemy!” Thalia was about to give up. After all she had done to get where she was, it was slipping down the drain. After all the fears she had persistently faced. Fears... Fear.“The answer is fear!” She shouted, then Thalia heard a subtle ‘ding’ of the box opening. Inside was a lever. Confidently, she pulled it. A strange, smoky green gas filled the room. “Oh no.” Thalia said.Then she fainted.Room 3.-Thalassophobia.Thalia’s memory was faint. The last thing she remembered was pulling the lever and then... A weird gas filled the chamber. “It must’ve been the sleeping gas I’ve read about in books.” She thought, “But I must keep going, for my dog. For Bailey.” From what it at least looked like; Thalia was in the ocean. That is, at least, what it seemed. Thalia could see all kinds of sea creatures from outside her small glass box, but the animals that worried her the most... Were the sharks. She was in a small, glass chamber, chained to a cross shaped, wooden board. An ominous speaker then started playing inside the small, glass box. “Thalia Meadows, you have 30 minutes to escape before this glass chamber entirely fills up with water and explodes, leaving you to the sharks. Once you grab the key below your feet and turn it into one of the 50 locks in front of you, the roof above you will be opened and you can climb into the next room. The timer is above your head. Good luck.”15 minutes. That was all she had left, it seemed easy enough, that was if her hands and feet weren’t bound by rope. She kicked, struggled, and flailed around in the ropes for a long period of time, and she was now exhausted. The water was about up to her waist now. She looked up in despair. 14:59. 14:58. 14:57. Time was running out. But, underneath the glowing, red lights of the timer, was a word. ‘Relax.’ “Relax. What the hell does that mean? Relax in this kind of situation? What, do they think I’m just going to chill here and RELAX?!? Well... I mean... I don’t really have much of a choice anymore…”Thalia, rather reluctantly, started to relax herself. It was incredibly hard ‘relaxing,’ after all the drama and trauma that she had been through, but Thalia pulled through. Once she had reached the 10 minutes left mark, the ropes suddenly loosened around her. “I-I’m free...” She stuttered, relieved and yet somewhat in shock of why she didn’t look up earlier. Hurriedly, Thalia firmly grabbed the key beneath her and started trying every lock. 5 minutes left. 50 locks to try. One by one, Thalia tried each key in each hole. 46th, 47th, 48th. 20 seconds left. The water was now levelled with her waist. Finally, the 50th lock was unlatched. 3. 2. 1. The glass around her exploded, and sharks started menacingly swimming around her. “Come on hatch, open up.” She worriedly thought to herself, “It won’t be long till these sharks will take me for their next meal...” In an instance, the latch opened, and the sharks decided to make their move. One dived for Thalia’s leg as she was climbing out. Thalia realized this and quickly dodged. Rather hurriedly, she climbed out of the water and into a small, coffin-sized hallway.Room 4.-Claustrophobia.The hatch under her slowly started to close. It was like this entire experiment was an escape room. The room was a small but human sized metal box, where the door would usually stand was a set of bars like the ones, you’d see for the doors for a prison escape movie. Beyond the barred doors all Thalia could see was a long metal corridor that seemed to at least go on for 50 meters. After solving the code she’d have to go on a long run.  This time, there was no speech to guide her and what she would have to figure it out for herself. The timer read a meagre 15 minutes, and instructions on one wall read: “The right answer makes the room bigger. The wrong one makes it smaller. Once the timer goes off, the walls will start to close in on you and you’ll have to make your own way to the door. Good luck... Cautiously, Thalia ran her hands against the walls of the metal box to see if she could feel for any clues or hints. Up, down, left, right, but there were only a couple of roman numerals on the walls… There was a dash, I, I, II, III, V, VIII, ?, ?, ? –. After thinking for a bit, Being the star student of her math's class, Thalia immediately realized that this was the beginning of the Fibonacci sequence. She started shouting out the easy equations. 13! 21! 34! 55! 89! The equations were slowly starting to get harder. 3 digits plus 3-digit equations, that all had to be done in her head. She had already got several incorrect answers on just one addition question, and time was quickly running out minute by minute. Thalia was only up to the 17th number in the sequence when she heard the subtle ‘ring’ of an alarm clock, just like the ones she had used in the mornings. A countdown then started. 3.. 2.. Thalia knew it was time to run. 1.. GO!Thalia ran fast, faster than ever before. The walls were quickly closing in on her. Seconds felt like hours. The walls were now rubbing against her shoulders. The door was around 50 meters away, but in her mind, it seemed like a mile. Her legs ached like never before, but Thalia knew she had to pick up pace to not get squashed flat by the incoming walls. She dived into the open door in front of her, nearly losing a leg in the process, but she had made it.Thalia screamed in pain, diving out of the claustrophobic room as soon as it closed and pulled out a large clump of Thalia’s long, brown hair. Thalia was too panicked, afraid, and shocked to feel pain.Thalia slowly walked into the middle of the newly discovered room. Out of nowhere, the door behind her slammed shut. And she was left in an empty room with no escape.Final Room.-Autophobia.“Welcome to your final room, Thalia Meadows. Your challenge finale is loneliness. After all no one can escape death, I doubt you will.” Thalia was shocked. “After all I’ve been through, all the challenges I’ve faced, all the trauma I’ve suffered, only for it to go down in vain like this?” She thought, “What about all the talk of releasing me? What about my home? My friends? What about… What about Bailey!?” Thalia sat there in silence. Absolute. Complete. Silence. To make matters worse, she was all alone. “There’s gotta be a way out.” She murmured to herself, what else could the 60-minute timer on the wall be for! She thought, but Thalia knew that she was just sugar coating the truth. “I mean, loneliness doesn’t mean Death, I mean I've been alone since I was taken from home! And from the looks of it, I’m still alive.” Hopelessly, Thalia began to search the pure white room. The room she was in was smaller, much smaller than the one that she had been in before. She ran her hands against the walls of the room, stomped her feet on the floor hoping to trip on another button. Soon she was losing it, she banged her fists on the walls, tore at her hair and screamed until her voice was too hoarse to even cry. Her one hour was up and Thalia stared at the timer hoping for something, anything.A hidden projector then played a video on one of the walls… It showed her... Dog… “Bailey… Bailey… BAILEY?!?” Bailey was being dragged into her kennel, with a lock placed on the door so she couldn't escape. Bailey’s captors then poured a clear substance over the roof of the kennel, then set it ablaze. “BAILEY! No… No. NO PLEASE NO SPARE MY DOG! PLEASE! SHE’S INNOCENT! JUST KILL ME INSTEAD!” No matter how much she tried, Thalia couldn’t look away. She watched the gruesome scene of her whining, barking and whimpering, and after a painful 5 minutes, Thalia saw the roof of the kennel collapse and the corpse of her dog engulfed in angry red. “Bailey… I didn’t get to say goodbye. I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO SAY GOODBYE! WHY! SHE WAS JUST AN INNOCENT DOG! SHE DID NOTHING WRONG! WHY!The next scene she saw wasn’t any better. Thalia’s mum and dad had ropes around their neck and were tied to the towbar of a car by a sturdy rope. “Mum? Dad?” Thalia said in despair. Her heart panged; she knew what would happen next. Some would call it Justice as they had exchanged her for riches, but Thalia; She didn’t want this ending. Even for them.Her family.Thalia watched in pain as her parents were dragged across the gravel roads, necks broken and in a painful to watch state. Thalia was speechless. How could they? How could the creators of this inescapable escape room do this to her family? How could they murder an innocent dog? She collapsed on her knees, too weak to cry, too tired to move. The events of the past 3 weeks caught up to her, she felt groggy, and her chest was hollow. She keeled over and threw up the cheese toasties and muesli bars she had been given recently and sat there unable to move.Thalia couldn’t handle it anymore. “I have nothing left to lose. My dog is dead... My family gone... And my friends... Not like I had many anyways. I’m giving up. Life- life isn’t worth fighting for anymore. I... I want... I want to die.”As soon as she said this, a rope was lowered from the ceiling. “Go ahead,” said the ominous voice once more, “You said it yourself. You want to die. Death is the only way out...”She nodded her head, her voice too weak to even croak. “I’m coming Bailey. You won’t be alone forever. I’ll come to you, just... just hold on a bit longer.”‘Well, I guess, this is the end. It was a nice 13 years of my life. But now, it’s all gone to waste. To think of all the things I could’ve accomplished, everything I wanted to do, but now, I can’t do anything. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, and she sure hadn’t gotten the heroic ending she’d wanted. Hopefully, in the afterlife, Bailey and I can reunite. Hopefully, I’ll be happy. Goodbye, cruel world.Thalia grabbed a stool and pulled the noose around her neck to secure before kicking away the stool and dropping down with a sickening snap. Her eyes fluttered shut and she hung like that, unmoving. But in peace to reunite with Bailey, to rest properly up above.…[Assistant] “Thalia was one smart cookie, Dr. Murphy. She made it further than anyone else before in this game.”[Doctor Murphy] “Yes. She did.”[Assistant] “And… You’re just going to let her die like this?”[Doctor Murphy] “Yes. Did you know that it can take 15 to 20 minutes for someone to die by hanging? First their neck and spine snaps and their blood pressure drop to nothing in a second along with their consciousness, so they usually don’t feel the rest of it. A pity.”[Assistant] “...”[Doctor Murphy] “The point of this game is a traumatic one. The brain waves we have been receiving throughout the course add to our research, and in time it may change the course of human evolution and psychological history as we know it. Thalia has been one of our most resourceful subjects so far.”[Assistant] “Then, why didn’t you spare Thalia? Couldn’t you have continued to experiment on her?”[Doctor Murphy] “Would you like to pay a visit to the Phobia Rooms, Clarence?”[Assistant] “No sir.”[Doctor Murphy] “Then please, be quiet, and stop questioning your superiors. Though I must admit, Thalia made it far despite her young age.”[Assistant] “But Sir, why-”[Doctor Murphy] “...”[Assistant] “Sorry, Sir.”[Doctor Murphy] “Make yourself useful and bring along the next kid.”[Assistant] “Of course, Sir.”
","July 13, 2023 11:06","[[{'Robin Owens': 'Oh very dark, indeed! A fast-paced read, lots of action.', 'time': '20:21 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sravanti Raviprakash': ""Yeah, it's funny how the ending got gruesome."", 'time': '03:53 Jul 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sravanti Raviprakash': ""Yeah, it's funny how the ending got gruesome."", 'time': '03:53 Jul 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kara Heisler': 'What an interesting concept! My entire family has trypophobia and I think you described it very well.\n\nFor a note, I believe you missed a closing quotation mark at the end of the first paragraph of the Arachnophobia room. \n\nThe ending was unsettling. :)', 'time': '21:18 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sravanti Raviprakash': ""Thanks, even me and my close friend have Trypophobia which was the main inspiration for the first chapter. :)\nThanks for noticing the missing quotation mark, sadly I can't change it but at least I can be more careful next time."", 'time': '09:29 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sravanti Raviprakash': ""Thanks, even me and my close friend have Trypophobia which was the main inspiration for the first chapter. :)\nThanks for noticing the missing quotation mark, sadly I can't change it but at least I can be more careful next time."", 'time': '09:29 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Zeeshan Mahmud': 'Chilling ending! The final scene almost reminded me of Squid Game. This can easily be a TV series or novel extending the concept of phobia rooms or escape ones.', 'time': '12:32 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sravanti Raviprakash': 'Thanks, goodness knows what it would have looked like on TV, even I was a little chilled.', 'time': '09:28 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sravanti Raviprakash': 'Thanks, goodness knows what it would have looked like on TV, even I was a little chilled.', 'time': '09:28 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Adeline Tran': 'Well that ending was bloody :>', 'time': '09:54 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,u5tv7r,They All Belong to Him,K Arlington Andrews,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/u5tv7r/,/short-story/u5tv7r/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'African American', 'Crime']",12 likes,"
Part One
 It happened for the first time, the summer the girl with the pigtails went missing, abducted from a small town along the interstate. Manny was just a little boy and staying with his Big Momma for summer vacation. His trips down south were the tapestry of his youth, but his memories of the summer of his ninth birthday would always be special.  
Big Momma’s old farmhouse, and the sprawling Louisiana bayou that surrounded it, were the perfect setting for Manny’s active imagination. Catfish and trout swam in the lakes and streams. He’d catch tadpoles, and crawfish. He’d find buried treasure and pirates' booty that was revealed to him through child’s play and make believe.
That summer, when he reluctantly left his buddies and toys in Chicago, he didn’t miss a thing. The best part was playing with Max, Big Momma’s old grumpy Chiwawa. It took a minute for the old girl (Max was short for Maxine) to become accustomed to Manny’s rambunctiousness and kindhearted ruff housing. He was Just a young boy playing and having fun and before long, they were as thick as thieves. Max was better than any PlayStation, X Box, and Chucky Cheese birthday party put together.
 She knew her way around the dense swampland behind Big Momma’s house. So, they went exploring early one morning with Big Momma’s ok. Fully equipped with his GI Joe Survival Pack, and Paw Paw’s Walkie Talkie, Manny and Max took off on their adventure before dawn. Besides, by 12 o clock, it got too hot to play outside. 
He smelled the sweet morning dew on the Pecan trees, and he stepped lightly on the ground covered with pinecones and branches. He played a game of crushing the shells beneath his feet. A smoky fog hovered above the ground like a blanket, and he surveyed his next target before he attacked. He was about to jump and crush another shell when Max started barking.
He looked up to see a girl with pigtails standing about 30 feet away, beneath the weathered vines of a weeping willow tree. She looked out of place in her catholic schoolgirl uniform and high white socks. Her gaze was fixated on something far beyond him.
Max stopped barking, sat on her haunches, and cocked her head to the side. She too felt the sudden chill in the air that gave Manny goosebumps despite the morning sun that shimmered through the trees.
“Are you from around here? Are you lost?”
And suddenly the girl in pigtails was gone, leaving nothing but an empty space under the weeping willow tree where she had been standing.
 
Part Two
 
Big Momma’s government name was Clara Jean Hudson, but most of the simple folk in Panchanan Parrish called her Miss Clara. She would have a smiling photo published next to her obituary in the Panchanan Daily News. Manny saw it all, decades removed from his childish days of play. His visions had revealed the future, again, hours before it happened, miles away, ensconced in a dream. 
Big Momma had just died.
 He wept alone, Shaking off the broken fragments of his dream. His new Reality seeped through his soul Like venom.
 His bedroom was cold.  The sliding glass door to the terrace had been left open and he stumbled out of bed, grabbing his robe to sit outside. 
His extraordinary gifts had afforded him all this luxury and opulence. Who couldn’t marvel at the magnificent view overlooking Chicago's lakefront and his lofty condominium in the sky?
 Did they know He’d give it all away if it would bring his Big Mamma back.
Between his tears he laughed aloud and lost himself as the morning dawn lit up the sky. He wouldn’t become complacent with his memories. In a few hours Pawpaw would be calling from Louisiana with the terrible news.
He’d travel by train, like he used to, during the summer vacations of his youth. Although his gifts had financially rewarded him well and he was blessed with a plethora of options, it was his fame and notoriety that was an unpleasant fact he struggled to live with. 
He couldn’t explain his psychic gifts and he often wondered Why. 
But even the atheist who needed proof, or the naysayers that called him a charlatan, paid handsomely for a private reading. They couldn’t dispute the facts. He assisted in solving over 300 missing person cases.  He had a waiting list, a podcast, 2 best sellers and options for a reality series. 
He told them NO. No to the Cameras following him every day, judging his psychic gifts. No to his life on display for the world to see.
His landline rang In the bedroom. Before he answered Pawpaw’s call, he prayed for a quiet train ride down south alone with his memories to lay his Big Mamma to rest.
 
 
Part Three
 
Big Mamma was walking back inside after grabbing the mail and her morning paper. She was grateful for the morning reprieve with Manny and Max gone exploring in the dense wetlands that boarded her property.
She gave a casual glance to the sky and her third eye saw relief coming soon to Paw’s worrisome questions about his thirsty corn crop.  Yes, it would finally rain.  Just a little drizzle this evening but she saw a storm coming.  Something fierce was brewing on the horizon, and it wasn’t good.  
Big Momma was a whole lot of Woman with a fondness for turbans, bracelets, and all things dramatic and brassy. She made a jangly noise as she shuffled down the graveled driveway to her farmhouse tucked in the bayou. Her furry slippers and dusty feet had seen better days and they stirred up the seedlings she had planted along the driveway.  
It took a minute for her to get situated at the fancy kitchen table and chairs. One of the rich white families she had cleaned for, had given it to her, and she was grateful. She liked the loud green colors, and the chairs were spacious enough for her big behind. Fresh coffee and rolls lay ready to be enjoyed and She turned on the TV and set the channel to 12 for Oprah at ten o’clock.
She was surprised to see Max come prowling through the screen door alone without her new companion.
“Why yawl back so soon?” 
She wondered about it aloud, as the question set off alarm bells in her head. She half expected to hear an explanation from the beady eyed Chiwawa when She remembered Paw’s Walkie-talkie and snatched it from the counter. 
“Manny?” Click.  Silence followed by static.
She waited for a response, pressing the hissing radio closer to her ear.
 
 
Part Four
 
The First-Class attendant was a handsome fellow that directed Manny to his cabin tucked away on the second level of the Amtrak Superliner. His ride on the Delta Concorde from Chicago to Louisiana would take 20 hours.  Although he half hoped to do some writing during this quiet time, he already knew that the gentle rolling motion of the train would be his lullaby. 
His e-ticket opened the door, and he surmised the cramped yet suitable accommodations. He dropped his luggage to the floor, with a grateful exhale.  A private restroom was available through the door to his left, and a semi comfortable looking couch and table, converted into 2 bunk beds and a night table to his right.
He instantly kicked off his loafers and grabbed the fresh pillow and linens off the couch. He swaddled himself in the sheets, awaiting his disappearance from the world that sped by his window in dingy shades of gray. 
 
He 
Was   
Dreaming 
Again
 
“Manny! Manny! If I gotta leave my show to come git you, it ain’t gonna be PRETTY!”
Good thing Big Momma was shouting into Pawpaw’s Walkie Talkie or else he wouldn’t have heard a thing. The girl with the pig tails hadn’t stopped talking, begging for his help. Not really out loud, but in his head.
It freaked him out so much he ran back to Big Mamma’s barn and tried to make sense of what was happening.  He didn’t mean to, but he threw his Survival Pack and Walkie Talkie at the barn doors, hoping to silence the voice in his head.
He found a place on the barn floor. Even Max had grown tired of his erratic temperament. 
“OK girl, don't fucking play with Me.”
Manny shouted his threats to no one in particular.
 Wonder if he wasn’t crazy. Could her voice in his head be true?  
Could there really be a man who drove the interstate. A trucker perhaps… and he killed little girls. He tortured them for days and when they died, he fed their remains to the alligators in the swamp. The dead girl had shown Manny visions of her rotten flesh that had floated to the surface. Her pigtails were muddy tentacles pieced to her skull. Her face was barely human in the moonlit swamp. 
“Boy, Who you think you cursing at? Because it CERTAINLY couldn’t be Me!”
Big Mamma’s wide shadow eclipsed the sun.
She looked around the barn to see if Manny was fooling around with one of those fast ass gals from town when she stopped. Manny’s face was shaken with an expression part terror part crazy. Red eyes wide as frisbees.
“What’s wrong child? Did Something bite you. What happened?
For a moment he couldn’t speak. How could he describe to Big Momma the horrible things the girl had shown him?
 
“There are some people born to do certain things. 
Some people were born     to sing.  Some were born to change the world. 
 Manny You were born to see. 
God gave you this gift.
You did your work. 
Time to Come home.
 
 
Big Mamma’s words echoed in his dream as the jarring motion of the train woke him up. For a moment he was disoriented as he heard a knock at the cabin door. He looked outside. The window was slick with rain. The train raced alongside a highway; Busy Traffic stalled behind ringing Railroad Crossings.  In a flash, lighting crackled in the night sky. Thunder soon followed.
He staggered against the rocking motion of the train to open the door to see the handsome first-class attendant standing there. With a sincere and humble approach, he held a copy of Manny’s first novel:  They All Belong to Him
“Mister Hudson, I hate to disturb you, but I’m a big fan. I listen to your Podcast all the time, and I kept looking at you and comparing it to the book cover and your Google Profile, it’s got pictures of you there, and I’m thinking:   Is that Manny Hudson, the famous psychic, on my train ….”
Manny forced a weak smile.
“Yes. It’s me…”
“Oh my God, Kevins not going to believe this….
The train was racing along the tracks now and the dim lights in the narrow hall flickered, then went dead. In a few seconds of realization, Manny wondered to himself, Should the train be traveling this fast? 
 
 When 
 the horrific crash. Welcomed
Blackness
Then Screaming that wouldn’t stop.
The twisted wreckage of the train was on fire. 
Manny was above it all. 
Gone traveling he was.
Destined to meet his Big Momma
On the Other Side of Eternity
Because Love lasts 
Forever
 
Part Five
 
Pawpaw’s government name was James Louis McKay, but most of the simple folk in Panchanan Parrish called him Mr. Jimmie. His little corner store and sausage shop used to have the sweetest corn and the best homemade sausage on this side of the Mississippi River. He closed that store a long time ago.
With Manny and Ma gone he spent most of his days in silent reflection and enjoying his last days on earth in comfort. Shame that sometimes he felt living was just time spent waiting to die. 
Pawpaw was ready, that was for sure. He knew something better was waiting for him on the other side.
 
 
","July 13, 2023 21:45","[[{'Angela Mcfarland': ""Wow!! This story had me on the edge of my seat. It contained many twists and turns and if you didn't pay attention,  you may get it wrong. Poor Big Momma and Manny, oh what about lonesome Paw Paw??"", 'time': '03:57 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'K Arlington Andrews': 'Thanks again sis for your kind words and encouragement. Thanks for your time and attention Ms Angie I appreciate you, K', 'time': '05:06 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'K Arlington Andrews': 'Thanks again sis for your kind words and encouragement. Thanks for your time and attention Ms Angie I appreciate you, K', 'time': '05:06 Jul 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,p5klid,Alektorophobia,Josh Trosclair,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p5klid/,/short-story/p5klid/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",11 likes,"
Its presence was hard to ignore as it crept its way into the bedroom. The old wooden flooring under it creaking with every step. I pulled the wool blanket up over my face in hopes to hide myself from the beast that had just entered. If I can’t see it then it can’t see me, right? At least that's what my mama taught me when I was a little girl.
 
After a couple seconds, the floor stopped creaking.
 
Did it see me? Did it leave? Was it even real? My mind raced.
 
I slowly lowered the blanket so that only my eyes peered over it. The room was dark, but I could still make out the creature's silhouette. It was standing in the middle of the room, its beady little eyes looking right at me. I felt paralyzed, my spine chilled and my stomach turned. It began to creep closer to the bed. Its movements, jerky and unpredictable yet steady and confident. As it’s body moved, it’s head stayed completely still, eyes locked on me.
 
It stood over my bed, over me. I could see it…all of it.
 
Its body was human, two arms and two legs, but they were skinny. Skinny enough to see its veins pulsing under its skin. Its hands and feet were human too. Its head however was small, feather covered. Its eyes were small and beady and it didn’t have a mouth, but a beak. The smell that resonated from it reeked of an old coop. Beads of sweat down its naked body and onto the floor.
 
The fowl looked upon me and still I couldn’t move. Its beak opened and let out a chilling shriek that sounded both beast and human.
 
I awoke, shooting up out of bed, my heart trying its damndest to jump out of my chest. I looked around the room, trying to steady my breathing. 
 
Alektorophobia, they call it. The fear of chickens. It started when I was just a little girl. My mama and papa were farmers. They had all sorts of animals that they cared for. From time to time I would give them a hand, milking the cows, shearing the sheep, feeding the pigs, but I could never and would never go near the chickens. Maybe it was the way they moved, or their beady little eyes, or the way they howled in the morning. I was dragged to different doctors but that was no help. I thought maybe with age I would grow out of this, I thought maybe if I married a farmer and got some of what the doctors call exposure therapy it would do me some good. But that was just foolish.
 
I walked into the kitchen where my husband, Clint, was finishing up his breakfast. Remnants of eggs, bacon and toast crumbs scattered about his plate. My stomach turned at the thought of eating. He downed the last of his coffee and sat up from the table.
 
“You look a little pale Lou-Anne,” he said, grabbing his plate from the table and heading to the sink. “ You feelin alright?”
 
“Yeah I’m just a little nauseous.”
 
He set his plate and mug into the sink. “Yeah mornin sickness will do that to yah.” He smiled. 
 
“Yeah yer probably right.” I said, but I don’t think he was. Now don’t get me wrong, pregnancy does cause morning sickness, he ain’t fibbin, but I don’t think that’s why my stomach is upset. I’m 8 and a half months pregnant, and most women stop experiencing morning sickness after their first trimester. I think the cause was from that dream. From that fowl. 
 
“I gotta head into town and pick up some stuff from Gary Lee’s, you gonna be ok to hold down the fort?”
 
“Yeah of course, I’ll take the hay down to the horses.”
 
“Now don’t be foolish, you need to rest and keep our boy safe.” He said putting his hand on my stomach. It was true, we were having a boy. The doctor told us on our last visit. Said he was one of the healthiest babies he’d ever seen. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, if you need me you got Lee’s number on the fridge.” Clint grabbed his things and took off in his old rust bucket of a truck. I watched from the kitchen window as he took off down the dirt road leading out of the property. I stared for a while out the window until his truck vanished on the horizon. Then pain hit me like a ton of bricks.
 
Contractions. 
 
I clenched my stomach and doubled over in pain. This one was short, but damn if it didn’t make me pee myself. When the pain subsided, I stepped over the puddle and headed to the bedroom. I pulled off my soiled nightgown and threw it into the hamper, panties along with them. I’ll deal with you later, I thought. Before I could put new clothes on, a shadowy figure passed the corner of my eye. 
 
“Clint?” I hollered. “Watch yer step in the kitchen, I had a little accident. Junior is dying to come out.”
 
No response.
 
“Hello?”
 
Still nothing. 
 
I threw on a fresh set of clothes and made my way toward the hall. As I reached the doorway, chills ran down my spine. Brown feathers scattered the hallway to the living room. I became dizzy and could feel my body starting to sweat. Despite my best judgment, I followed them, hoping to god that it was just something that Clint dragged in from outside. As I made the corner I could smell something rancid, something filthy, something animal. I froze. 
 
Standing tall in the living room was the fowl. The thin layer of sweat on its skin dripped onto the rug. This time it’s body was still but it’s head was darting around the room, looking for something, looking for me. I took a step back, but the floor under me creaked. The fowl’s head snapped back in my direction and took off after me. I ran as fast as I could down the hallway, trying my best not to scramble Junior. I looked back, the creature was still after me. Its body hunched down, to not hit its head on the ceiling, running in the most unsettling way. I quickly turned into the bedroom and slammed the door shut making sure to slide the lock into place. The creature banged against the door with its beak. The loud thuds echoed through the bedroom. I slumped down onto the floor and covered my ears, tears streamed down my face. It continued for a moment and then stopped. I uncovered my ears, and wiped my eyes. I sat in the calm, but it was interrupted by another set of contractions. This time stronger. This might be the one. Why now? I thought to myself. I clenched my belly and fell on my back. What followed was screaming, contracting and pain. A vicious cycle that lasted for what felt like hours, but was really only a minute. Suddenly, I felt wet, my sweatpants became soaked. 
 
My water broke.
 
The thudding on the door ramped up again. The beast’s banging was faster and more aggressive. It was trying to break in. It was trying to take my baby. I screamed at the top of my lungs, not sure if it was caused by fear or pain. The door began splitting apart. A hole formed in the middle of the door, and the fowl stopped for a moment to peeked through. I let out another scream. It continued to peck at the hole. I needed to remove my sweatpants or the baby couldn’t come out. When my contractions subsided, I did my best to slip out. My body tensed and I screamed in pain, trying to control my breathing. The sweatpants were almost off but my panties were still in the way. Another contraction stopped my progress and another chunk of door broke off, revealing more of the fowl. It stopped its rampage again to peek through the hole. Even within sight of its beady eyes, I managed to get my panties around my ankles. With my legs now up, I pushed, and screamed, and breathed. Then I pushed, screamed and breathed. The fowl managed to break another piece off of the door, this time it paused but didn't look through the hole. Instead an arm came through, its sweaty, wrinkly, skinny arm reaching for the lock. My pushes, screams and breaths continued, as it tried to unlock the door.
 
“Please god no, please no.” I said with tears streaming down my cheeks.
 
Another round and I could feel something new, something was coming. My baby was coming. I pushed harder and harder, took a minute to breathe, and pushed again even harder. The fowl swiped at the lock, and managed to unlatch it. Its skinny, slimy hand retreated back through the hole. I pushed again and could feel more of the baby, but the door knob twisted and slowly opened.
 
The fowl slowly made its way into the room, its movements not as animalistic. It stood over me just like it did in my dream. My face was covered in tears and sweat, I let out one last push. The fowl crouched down and reached for my baby. Too weak to fight, all I could do was cry.
 
“Please…don’t take my baby.” I said, unable to lift my head to see what was happening. “Please don’t take my baby!”
 
The fowl lifted back up, with its arms wrapped around something. It turned towards the door and started to leave.
 
“Get back here with my baby!”
 
I looked at the fowl, it turned toward me. Its arms still covered my baby. 
 
“Please…don’t.”
 
The beast’s arms lowered, revealing my beautiful child… but there was no child, there was no baby. Only an egg, a brown, blood covered, giant egg. The fowl turned back towards the door and left the room.
 
My head fell back to the floor, I could only see the ceiling now.
 
“My baby.”
 
","July 13, 2023 21:51",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,31g2m5,My Father's Limbs,Lauren Zemel,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/31g2m5/,/short-story/31g2m5/,Horror,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Crime', 'Thriller']",11 likes,"
Normally, it would have been locked shut. I had never once seen that be forgotten. The mistake reignited the lingering curiosity I’ve always had towards the white box. Anticipation for the unknown surged up into my chest as my fingers lingered. Finally, this was going to happen. My father’s warnings flew out of my memories as the lid opened. A confusing few seconds passed before my brain processed the sight. It was Horror. Cold and Chilled. Segmented yet Whole. This was a secret horde. At the top of this pile my eyes found a leg. It must have belonged to a woman, because even with the frost I could see the hot pink toenails. My hands reached for it as if they needed to confirm if it was real. However, my brain pulled them back. I did not need to know if it was real. If anything below it was real. Instead, I needed to grab the batteries I had come in here for the first place and then leave. The lock on the cooler clicked shut and the slam of the detached shed’s door followed soon after. Almost as soon as I had made it back into the house my mother found me. “Did you find the batteries?” I nodded my head silently and handed them over to her. There was an incredibly bright smile on her face. “Good, your father would hate coming home from work to a broken television remote.” I could only nod my head. It was one of the few things he would get angry about. He said he needed to put his feet up after a long day’s work or else he could never fall asleep that night. “Jacob?” My eyes shifted from the living room’s television screen and back to my mother’s face. Confused but still smiling. “Sorry, mom. Just thinking about the game on tonight.” She chuckled. “You know it’s during your father’s weekly programming.” I nodded my head slowly. “Can I go to Mark’s tonight to watch it?” She shook her head no. “It’s a school night.” My mother turned to point to the kitchen. “Besides, I’ve been cooking all day for this dinner.” My brain wasn’t working right. I couldn’t seem to remember what dinner she was talking about. She sighed. “Your father’s craft group? Remember?” Right. I was supposed to remember that. I nodded my head slowly. “Yea, right. Of course, I remember.” My mother rolled her eyes at me. “I know you don’t like Mr. Waterford but you’re going to have to be polite this time at the table.” I replied as quickly as I could to her. “That’s because he’s creepy.” I could see in her eyes that a part of her agreed with me. Even if it was the part of her that would never admit it out loud. “He’s just a little odd is all. He didn’t have an easy upbringing like the rest of us.” I found myself swallowing as I remembered what she meant. Mr. Waterford grew up in the foster care system. He bounced from home to home until he ended up in my father’s house. The two had always been close since. Mr. Waterford had been the one to introduce my father to the craft club. “I know. I know.” I managed to grumble out. She pointed to the pile of dishes. “Help me set the table.” There was nothing in me that knew what to do at this point, so I just followed the instructions given. Slowly, absentmindedly, I arranged the table. My mother had put fresh hydrangeas in the center, so the plates were matched to it. White and purple. It was just like the colors of the box… The front door opened, and my father led the craft group in. “Betty, I’m home.” I watched my mother run to kiss my father on the cheek. “Charles.” The group chatted as she then helped them with their coats. My hair tousled by my father’s hand. I hadn’t even realized he had reached me. “Helping your mom finally, you brat.” His eyes felt different as they watched me nod my head slowly. “What’s up with you?” My mother’s voice cut in. “He’s upset about the game.” Mr. Gerber was the one to respond. “Oh, don’t be. The game is going to suck anyways.” Mr. Wilkes cut in next. “I can bring Chris over here tomorrow to watch it with you. Since he’s not seeing it either tonight.” My attention had turned back to the table, but I heard my mother’s reply. “Really? I thought Janice was also a fan?” He laughed. “Her parents came to town for dinner.” It took all my effort, but I did manage to zone out for the rest of dinner. I had never been happier to be asked to do the dishes. Everyone else would be in the living room and away from me. That was until bright red and blue lights came in through the window. Then the sound of sirens. I looked up quickly to see that the cops were at our neighbor’s house. They were right outside. My hands stopped what they were doing. “You’re wasting water.” A hand pressed on my shoulder and the worst voice of all blew into my ear. I couldn’t move anywhere. I saw an arm reach past me and turn the sink off. Mr. Waterford’s reflection was in the window. “Oh my. I wonder what’s happening over at the Thompsons?” I swallowed and stood there silently. My father’s voice calling out for him to come to the door. My eyes drifted downwards. There was no longer a plate in my hands but a leg. The sounds of breaking porcelain called attention to the kitchen as I dropped the plate. The sound of breaking porcelain called attention to the kitchen as I dropped the plate. My mother rushed over. “Jacob?” I took a breath before turning to look at her. “What’s going on?” She pulled me into a hug and started to pat my back like she does when she’s nervous. “It’s nothing to worry about. The neighbors just needed some help is all.” I leaned past her to look at my father with the cops. They seemed to be apologizing for bothering him. Mr. Waterford tilted his head to catch my eyes before smiling. “Don’t worry. Someone scared the neighbors is all.” I turned away from him and looked up at my mother. She was whispering to herself. “Oh, I do hope Clarisse is okay. That’s the second break in this month.” When she let go of me, I turned around back to the window. They would be okay, but what about us? What about the shed? 
","July 14, 2023 13:42","[[{'Douglas W. Carr': ""If I may, this is difficult to read as a single paragraph and there's a duplicated sentence near the end. However, I did enjoy the story."", 'time': '17:53 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,1qok7e,Pregnancy Craving,Lunar Moon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1qok7e/,/short-story/1qok7e/,Horror,0,['Horror'],11 likes,"
In the Neolithic period of the Mediterranean, on the north coast of the African continent along the sea, a 19 year old woman named Basha lived. She had one child and was pregnant with the second, although both fathers were gone, one died of infection from a broken leg, and the other never returned from a fishing voyage. She lived in a medium-sized community with about 100 other people. Their main trade was fishing, but they also grew wheat and even had some olive trees, and a storehouse was guarded by their local chief. Basha lived with her mother and one other older woman who had no living relatives, and she liked her life. 
 
One day, this pregnant young woman woke up craving dates. She did not want to sell anything to buy some, but luckily since she knew of a grove south of her village that was mostly unattended. She left her baby girl with the elder woman and started walking to the grove of date trees. By midday she was growing tired and sat down in some grass to take a rest. She did not have the foresight to bring any food with her since she had planned to eat her fill at her destination, just some wild fruit wine which she contained in a wrapped wooden container tied to her side, which she drank now. Resigning herself to a short nap Basha was sure that afterwards she would have enough strength to make it the remaining distance. 
 
When the young woman woke up she found it to be mid-afternoon. Unhappy and surprised to find it too late in the day to complete her journey, she frustratedly started to head back. But past a bundle of overgrown trees she noticed something new. It was a glossy black cave nestled into the coastal forest overgrowth. She wondered how she could have missed it before since it seemed to be in her path. The seemingly damp surface appealed to her, as she was extra thirsty from the wine, and she made her way over to it hoping to find a small spring or something of the like. Basha found what she was looking for and knelt down near its opening, drinking from a trail of water which came from deeper in the cave. When she had her fill she looked up, and spotted something within the depths. 
 
There in the darkness was a pair of yellow eyes. At first Basha froze, thinking it was some big cat or other devilish creature ready to give her a hard time. But soon she realized that she was not just frozen with fear. She really couldn’t move at all. 
 
Basha began to panic. She did not know how much time passed as she was paralyzed there, only a few things in her frame of vision, one of them the creature at the back of the cave. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness she was able to make out a vague silhouette, on the head of which its eerie eyes remained staring. It did not move a lot, but when it did it was very unnerving to her. It reminded her of the cockroaches which would bury into the sand or dirt near her home. However as she stared she found it to be closer to the outline of a very tall man. 
 
The sun started lowering in the sky. Without warning, her body suddenly jerked, lurching forward all at once. She was taking steps into the cave, her world growing darker, her arms limp at her sides. Suddenly she tripped on something, and unable to catch herself, Basha fell onto her face and belly. She worried for her unborn child but hoped it was early enough along and not too bad of a fall. 
 
Something spindly started to seep underneath her body. A wave of anxiety coursed through her at the realization that they were very, very, long fingers. They began to wrap around her torso, their multiple joints and weirdly moldy material creating a cacophony of fleshy and pinching sensations beneath the young woman’s form. Finally they completed their journey and lifted her into the air. 
 
As she was picked up she was sure that she would be eaten. At first Basha believed it to be some kind of monstrous ape because of the human-like eyes and hands, since she just could not think of anything else in the animal kingdom that would fit its description. But that did not explain her paralysis, so then she thought she had fallen into a snake den, and it was just many snakes who wrapped around her and somehow afflicted her with their venom when she was not looking. However all her will to make sense of this situation vanished as soon as the creature tilted her toward him. Before Basha was a human- or something in the vague shape of one- who appeared to be stretched out and distorted horrifically. Its neck and head were elongated and the skin everywhere on its body appeared to be decaying. Its chest heaved up and down unevenly and its legs were folded beneath its form. They looked to be too skinny, and as Basha looked more she found that they were twisted and bent in many places, maybe even unusable or disconnected from the rest of it. 
 
What she had originally believed to be yellow eyes was not. They were two glowing patterns on its forehead. 
 
Its eyes were beneath those, and they were closed at first. Slowly, it began to open them. White revealed itself, then more white cracked with red and yellow, and then the tiniest speck of dark black. Beneath that a slit in its face cracked open revealing a set of human teeth too small for the gaping mouth. 
 
Then, it was as though Basha was falling. Although visually she did not see any movement, it felt like her body was gradually then rapidly plummeting, careening downward. There was whispering, sounds which were very unfamiliar to her and which burned painfully in her ears. They bounced around the walls and changed shape, becoming a set of strange outlines which appeared to tell a story. She failed to make sense of it because there were so many unknown figures. An animal creature walking around in the woods, then a golden calf stomping on its head. She saw the yellow pattern she confused for eyes, and watched its decrepit body crawl off. By this time, Basha thought she was dead. She mourned over the baby in her belly whose womb would also be its grave. 
 
The thing before her appeared to hear her thoughts. The bizarre vision ceased, and she was dropped onto the ground, and she passed out. 
 
When she awoke, it was gone. Basha was still convinced she was dead, and was calmly intrigued to find the afterlife so similar to her previous life. It took her wandering out of the cave, through the sparse woods back to her home, and into her house for her to finally be convinced that she was still on earth. The old woman carrying her baby was surprised to see her. She informed her that it was the next day and she had been sure Basha was not coming back. She sat down and took her baby into her arms, cradling and kissing her child. Tears streamed down her face and the old woman concernedly asked her what was wrong and what happened. She found herself unable to talk, so the old woman left to get her mother. They returned together and her mother kissed and hugged her, rocking both her and her grandchild in loving arms. The only choked words Basha could manage through the tears was that she was on her way to the date grove and got lost in a cave. And that was all she ever said on the subject. 
 
___
 
Months passed. Basha’s swollen belly had grown to the brink. She was healthy despite the absurd trials that had occurred earlier in the pregnancy, and was due soon. She was hoping for a boy. 
 
She considered the events that passed to be a hallucination incurred onto her by the water she drank at the mouth of the cave. She figured that it was dirty or poisoned and that is what gave her such a strange nightmare. Ever since that night she had been different, her mother finding her more careful and reserved. Whereas before she would have to chastise her for wandering off or being unobservant, now she needed some light encouragement even for attending bonfires or visiting a home. She was just glad that her daughter was alive and had learned this difficult life lesson, which in her opinion most did not live to learn. That the world could be dangerous and strange. 
 
When it was time to birth the baby, those who would help deliver it had hope that it would be an easy one. Basha was still young and had already carried one child very smoothly, so they all had faith that she would make it through the second time. 
 
Her second baby came out a healthy and strong boy. She nursed both of them, and treated her son as though he were her own. It was only a week until one night, while it was sleeping, Basha noticed something with a painful horror. On his forehead was the pattern that she had seen all that time before, yellow and unmistakable. She fearfully turned away, and just in time, since she could feel the edge of its hypnotism in her bones. 
 
She did not dare sleep that night, only waiting. Just before dawn broke she left her home with her newborn in her arms. She walked to the date grove, and halfway there, once again spotted the cursed wet alcove that never used to be found. Fighting the urge to flee, Basha kept her head lowered and walked to it.
 
All she saw with her head tilted down and her eyes pinned firmly to the floor was its mangled legs. She left its baby at the mouth of the cave and never returned. 
 
","July 11, 2023 08:18","[[{'Giulia Fancelli Clifford': ""This story is really chilling. I loved the voice and the sense of anxiety that fills you every step of the process. You're constantly worried for the pregnant protagonist and feel that something terrible will happen, especially after the encounter. Still, it's really sad when it does happen, and I'm so sorry for her.  Being a mother myself, I would dread the thought of abandoning my baby, but I see why she chose to do that. Heart breaking <3"", 'time': '12:43 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Brian Adams': 'Well-crafted tragic story, Lunar.\nI like the abstract way in which you described what I assume was the ""sex scene"" between Bash and the cave dweller. I didn\'t realize that that was what the scene was about until after I read it and thought about the scene. I didn\'t expect the twist at the end, either; I expected Basha\'s baby to be born a monster, but you surprised me with the ending.\n\nThe story didn\'t grab me at the beginning, which I think it should have, given that it\'s a short one. Great job, though.', 'time': '22:25 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marleze Kruger': ""I think your opening paragraph could use some rework. It doesn't draw the reader in, as it is just a list of facts, and the protaganist only sees something terrifying halfway through the story, which I expected to be first, considering the prompt. Overall good story"", 'time': '22:46 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lunar Moon': 'yea thats fair thank you', 'time': '04:16 Jul 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lunar Moon': 'yea thats fair thank you', 'time': '04:16 Jul 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,3r4yw0,The Sight,Rena Aliston,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3r4yw0/,/short-story/3r4yw0/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Thriller', 'Suspense']",11 likes,"
Her body trembled as she moved toward me, left leg limping, toes dragging along the tiled floor as she struggled to remain on her feet. Blue veins ran along her cheeks and forehead as her gray eyes stalked me.I backed away, attempting to move faster as she leaned in closer. Her mouth opened. Blood pooled out as her razor sharp teeth reflected off the overhead lights. Her jaws clamped together as she leaned into my neck.I held her back. She attempted to bite me again, opening her mouth wider. Placing my hand on her forehead, I pushed her away from my neck. My feet slipped in the pool of blood under my feet. Latching onto her lower jaw, I snapped it off as I slid down to the floor. My body jolted back to reality as my friends hovered around.“Samantha, are you okay?”My eyes darted around the mall as crowds formed at the checkout counter. “We have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”“What are you talking about?”“I saw it happen. They were dead. They were all dead.”“Oh my god, this bitch is losing it?” Catherine mumbled as she looked around the store.“Come on.” Rebecca grabbed hold of my arm. “I’ll take her outside. You guys finish up and meet us out front.” She escorted me out of the mall, reassuring me that everything was alright. Pushing open the glass door, we walked out into the sunlight. My eyes closed as the warmth penetrated my flesh. I leaned up against the brick wall as more people entered the store. “Things are going to get bad.”Rebecca walked over and leaned up against the wall next to me. “What did you see?” Her eyes widened as I ran through the events. “When is this supposed to happen?”“I don’t know. But I was here. I was attacked here!”She wrapped her arms around me. “It’s okay.”***“Well if it isn’t Sickly Sight.” Paul plopped down on the couch next to me. He thrust his face close to mine and widened his eyes. “Can you see me? Can you see what I’ll become?”I pushed him away as he laughed.“Leave her alone,” Sean said as he sat in the recliner.“Oh come on. Your sister sees things. She needs to get some help.”I removed myself from the couch and ran out the room. Sitting at the dining room table, I leaned my head on my knuckles and embraced the silence.My mother had the sight. My grandmother had it as well. No one ever believed them. Taunted, humiliated and discarded. It drove them mad. Both of them left this world broken. I refused to let the same thing happen to me.“Are you alright?”“No. Why couldn’t they pass this shit on to you?”“Apparently I’m not feminine enough.” Sean pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. “I know this is hard.”“No one believes me.”“I do.” He placed his hand on top of mine and smiled. “Zombie apocalypse!”“I never said they were zombies. They just weren’t alive.”“Isn’t that what zombies are? Dead who come back to life?”I tilted my head as I tried to find another word to describe them, but my tongue failed me.“Yo,” Paul said as he ran in the room. “They just reported on the news, some guy broke out of the hospital. He’s supposed to be really sick.” He leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “Maybe he’ll bite someone.”“Knock it off.” Sean grabbed him by his arm and dragged him out of the kitchen.***“I can’t believe I’m here.”“It’s a big day for Sean. Of course you’re here.” Rebecca pulled out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures of herself. “I might do a live stream tonight on the event.”I rolled my eyes and looked around the mall. Sean received an award a few weeks ago for helping an elderly couple who were being mugged. The locals decided to honor him with their own event at, of all places, the mall.The crowd poured in from the parking lot as the clock struck 6:00 pm. The emcee gathered everyone on stage, stood at the microphone, and welcomed everyone to the event. Promising not to keep us too long, he pulled out a sheet of paper and began reading. After fifteen minutes, the majority of the crowd tuned him out.My eyes drifted toward the red exit signs hanging over the doors. Trapped in the middle of the room, I needed to figure out the best way to get out of here if something happened. Rebecca brushed against my shoulder, trying to get me to focus on the event.Sean walked up on the stage as the crowd applauded. He kept his speech brief and hurried back to the front of the crowd as the elderly couple walked toward the podium.“Hey! Watch yourself.”I turned around. A couple of men scuffled as someone pushed through the crowd.“What was that?”“Not sure.”A scream broke through the chatter as everyone turned toward the back of the mall. Broken glass crashed against the silence as a group of employees ran out of the back room.She walked out behind them, blood pouring from her mouth. Blue veins penetrated her face. Her gray eyes reflecting off of the white tiled floor. She lunged at the crowd as another ran out of the back room. Two more appeared. Trampling feet and screams collided as the emcee jumped off the stage, knocking over the microphone stand.I ran toward the stage. My eyes peering through the crowd, looking for Sean. Rebecca grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me toward the door. The crowd hovered in front, blocking the entrance as more people crowded behind us.The sun shone through the cracked door as everyone pushed their way through the exit. Spotting Sean, I broke away from Rebecca, grabbed hold of his arm, and pulled him toward the door.A man moved toward us. A scream leapt from his lips as his body stiffened, trembling as his blue eyes turned gray. Sean grabbed my hand. We ran toward the van. Rebecca fumbled with the keys before finally getting it in the lock.We climbed inside and slid the door closed as he charged toward us, banging his head into the metal. Moving to the other side of the van, we watched as everyone scurried through the parking lot, trying to survive long enough to find shelter.Sean grabbed the keys from Rebecca’s hand, jumped into the front seat, revved up the engine, and sped out of the parking lot. The road blocked, he managed to make his way to the shortcut home, down a winding path, before almost crashing into a car as we made it back to the main road.He sped down our street, slamming on the breaks, and making the sharp turn into our driveway. We ran inside the house, locking all the doors and windows. Rebecca grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television. ‘Emergency Broadcast’ flashed on the screen as the reporter stood outside the grocery store.“Authorities are still looking for the man who escaped from the hospital yesterday evening. According to reports, he fell ill after returning from a trip. Unable to identify the cause of his illness, he was placed under quarantine in a separate wing of the hospital. He escaped last night.”“We’re getting reports of people being attacked all over the state,” the broadcaster said as she questioned the reporter. “Are these events connected?”“As of right now, we don’t have any definite answers. But for everyone’s safety, authorities are asking everyone to stay inside.”“Oh my god.” Rebecca placed her hand on her chest as she collapsed onto the couch. “This is what you saw!”I lowered my eyes to the floor.“So, what now?”“We stay inside, until it’s over.”
","July 14, 2023 16:31","[[{'Douglas W. Carr': 'I enjoyed the story. Nice work.', 'time': '17:36 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Rena Aliston': 'Thank you.', 'time': '21:12 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Rena Aliston': 'Thank you.', 'time': '21:12 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,zncyoe,Josephine & The Snake,Courtney Caruso,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zncyoe/,/short-story/zncyoe/,Horror,0,['Horror'],11 likes,"
In the treacherous landscape of the Wild West, there was a man known as The Snake, a gangster whose wickedness spread fear through the hearts of those who crossed his path. 
 
Born with a name long forgotten, he earned his infamous moniker through his cunning and venomous nature. With an eye patch covering his left eye, a constant reminder of a past shrouded in darkness, The Snake struck fear into the hearts of even the most hardened outlaws.
 
The Snake's journey into a life of crime began as a young boy, growing up in a destitute mining town. His childhood was marred by poverty, violence, and a lack of opportunity. With a heart hardened by the harsh realities of the frontier, he soon realized that survival often required taking advantage of others.
 
As The Snake matured, he found solace in the lawless world of bandits and outlaws. His natural charisma and silver tongue helped him climb the ranks, as he gathered a gang of like-minded individuals who were drawn to his leadership. They became a force to be reckoned with, leaving a trail of bloodshed and chaos in their wake.
 
The Snake's ruthlessness knew no bounds, and he took pleasure in preying upon the innocent and vulnerable. It was during one fateful visit to a quiet town that he encountered the local barber, a kind-hearted man named Samuel. The Snake's cruelty was indiscriminate, and he saw the innocent barber as nothing more than a pawn to feed his sadistic desires.
 
Without warning or reason, The Snake confronted Samuel, his eye gleaming with a twisted delight. The barber's pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as The Snake unleashed his brutality upon him, his knife slicing through the air and cutting short Samuel's life. The act was senseless, a reflection of The Snake's malevolence, leaving the town in a state of shock and mourning.
 
The murder of Samuel was but one among a series of atrocities committed by The Snake and his gang. However, it was covered up and the coroner was paid to tell the barber's wife that he had a heart attack.  As they continued their reign of terror, the name of The Snake spread far and wide, evoking both fear and anger wherever it was spoken.
 
Little did The Snake know that his actions would not go unanswered. Samuel's death set in motion a chain of events that would eventually lead to his own downfall. The barber's wife, Josephine, fueled by grief and a thirst for justice, embarked on a quest to uncover the truth and avenge her husband's untimely demise.
 
The Snake, blinded by his own arrogance, remained unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon. His reign of terror was about to be challenged by a woman driven by sorrow and a burning desire to bring him to justice. But he underestimated Josephine's determination and the lengths she would go to ensure that The Snake paid for his crimes.
 
Josephine stared at the barren walls of her late husband's barbershop, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across the room. The once bustling hub of the town, filled with laughter and lively conversations, now echoed with the silence of an untold secret. 
 
Her husband, Samuel, had been the beloved barber of the community, known for his skills with a razor and his gentle demeanor. But something dark lurked beneath the surface, a secret that had cost him his life.
 
It had been a month since Samuel's mysterious demise. The official story was that he had suffered a heart attack, but Josephine couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. 
 
Determined to honor her husband's memory, she decided to take over the barbershop and carry on his legacy.
 
As Josephine began rearranging the shelves and cleaning the dusty tools, she noticed a loose floorboard near the barber chair. 
 
Curiosity overtook her, and she knelt down, prying it open. To her astonishment, she found a hidden compartment containing a tattered note and a pouch of money. The handwriting on the note was unmistakably Samuel's.
 
""My dearest Josephine,
 
If you are reading this, then I am no longer of this world. My demise was not a natural one, but a murder most foul. I have hidden the truth from you and the town to keep you safe, but it is time for justice to be served. The man who took my life walks among us, concealed by his deceitful mask. Find him, Josephine, and avenge me. Be careful, for evil wears many faces.
 
Yours eternally,
Samuel""
 
Josephine's heart pounded in her chest as a mix of grief and rage consumed her. Determined to uncover the truth and carry out Samuel's final wish, she embarked on a perilous journey through the treacherous wild west, a landscape marred by darkness and desolation.
 
With the note as her guide, Josephine followed a trail that led her deep into the heart of the untamed wilderness. The whispers of the wind echoed tales of a notorious outlaw known as ""The Snake,"" a man whose reputation was built on deception and brutality. As she delved further into the unknown, the line between reality and nightmare began to blur.
 
Haunted by visions of her husband's murder, Josephine found solace in her unwavering resolve. Armed with her husband's straight razor, she ventured into the lawless towns, discreetly gathering information and piecing together the truth. The closer she came to discovering the identity of Samuel's killer, the more she sensed the ominous presence of evil closing in around her.
 
In a town hidden within the shadows, Josephine confronted ""The Snake,"" a man who wore an eye patch in the local pub. As she stood before him, her hand trembling with vengeance, she saw the soulless eyes of a remorseless killer staring back. The moment of reckoning had arrived.
 
The man, stricken with Josephine's beauty, offered to buy her drinks.  Once he was intoxicated, she invited the man back to the barbershop for a haircut and a shave.  
 
At the barbershop, Josephine drapes the man with a cape.  He tries to grab her arm and pull her close for a kiss, but she kindly pulls away.  She is disgusted with his advancements.
 
With a swift and precise motion, Josephine drew the razor across The Snake's throat, severing the source of his wickedness. With blood spatter on her face, she continued to dismember his body and bring him, piece by piece to the bonfire each night until every piece of him was gone.
 
The darkness that had plagued her and her late husband dissipated, replaced by a bittersweet relief. Samuel's spirit could finally rest, knowing justice had been served.
 
Josephine found solace in knowing that her husband's legacy would endure. The once secretive town barber shop became a beacon of truth, a place where the stories of Samuel's life and the tale of Josephine's retribution were whispered in hushed tones. Josephine herself became a legend, an embodiment of strength and determination, forever etched into the town's history.
 
As fate would have it, the paths of Josephine and The Snake converged in a final confrontation, marking the end of an era and the beginning of justice. In the eyes of the townsfolk, The Snake's reign of terror had come to an end, leaving behind a legacy of horror and a name that would be forever etched into the annals of the Wild West.
 
The wild west had witnessed a horror that had been brought to light, but in the heart of that darkness, Josephine had discovered her own light—a flame fueled by love, loss, and the unyielding spirit of a woman seeking justice.
","July 11, 2023 22:37",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,s1do25,Sophie,Dan Foster,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/s1do25/,/short-story/s1do25/,Horror,0,['Horror'],11 likes,"
Lisa returns from an evening stroll interrupted by rain and stumbles upon a line of fire ants carrying a copper cicada molt into the woods.She walks into the cabin longing for a bath and hears dull breathing coming from a sunless corner under the stairway, and resists the urge to walk away when their eyes meet. The trembling bone-thin shape limps back to her own dark room like a maimed flesh puppet holding a ragged, stuffed giraffe called Captain Rufus by its hind leg, dangling loosely from a thread. An object hangs from the creature's flayed neck.The creature shivers in the cold room where she eats and draws and dances to the tune of Dad’s jazz records on the old wind-up phonograph. She lays her camera on the floor blankets along with hair brushes, storybooks, and color markers. The floor is littered with photos of trees, flowers, and Captain Rufus. But her most precious picture is hidden under the mattress. Two girls, one white and frail like porcelain, the other hazel-eyed with a detached smirk.Lisa struggled to keep her confined since the first year after the crash—fingernail scratches still ran carved through the door’s varnish. Only Captain Rufus for company. Every time she met her lost gaze, the violent sound of mother’s neck snapping in the front seat, followed by the smell of gas, and burning flesh crept into her thoughts. The creature’s smell permeates the cabin despite the countless baths, like a sullen cloud of decay.“Stay inside. Stay inside,” she repeats like a mantra amidst the nausea-inducing odor.***Lisa’s bedroom is tidy, with a bookshelf all to herself. Perfumes and wild lilies keep the stench away. Nailed hands and feet cling to the crucifix on the wall while the messiah rusts buried somewhere in the woods where his stare cannot follow her.“I’m sorr-rry,” The creature says knocking on the wall. Her voice is hoarse and feeble, a petty enunciation. “Liss...”Lisa contemplates the brunette in the mirror brushing her hair before bed, moisturizes her pink cheeks, and caresses the scar on her left wrist; the only blemish from that night, usually hidden under long sleeves. Her fist strikes the mirror. Shards of glass fly and some dig into her smooth hand upon realizing the thing’s gone through her stuff, leaving dregs of dead skin on the dresser along with cotton from the stinking doll on the floor.Nausea works its way up her throat. She runs to the bathroom, throws up, and the burning sensation matches the rising blood-boiling rage reddening her face.The creature stares at her own reflection in the tub and the ensuing wailing keeps Lisa hidden under the sheets, covering her ears with a pillow; Reminiscing of the winter night, the creature knocked on the door until she let her stay and sleep in a corner; cuddling the dirty giraffe through the thunderstorm. And woke early to the smell of a reeking puddle. And punished her by hiding Captain Rufus for a week until the creature sobbed and refused to eat, growing thinner yet until collapsing on the floor like a dead fish with bite marks on her fingers.***A bird’s singing wakes Lisa drenched in sweat. There’s a note written on a blue marker under her door, and she struggles to read the writing but notes the smiling face at the bottom.Lonelyplease visit.“Sophie, please don’t wander off like that. I don’t want to lock your door again, alright?"" Lisa says in front of the dark room and leaves cookies on a tray. “I know you like to take pictures, but we don’t know who might be out there. So just trust me, fine?”Lisa spends the rest of the day in bed, occasionally listening to footsteps and giggling from the adjacent room. The music keeps Sophie amused, but to her is like a painful noise. She reaches for a shoe box under the bed. It is filled with butterfly wings and a lock of dark hair from a wounded kid who’d wandered too close one afternoon. She nursed him for some weeks in the attic before taking him to the woods. Sophie believed he’d returned home. While tinkering with the lock she falls asleep to a buzzing in her head accompanied by a choir of distorted voices speaking in reverse.The car drives through the highway as the radio plays static. Dad says something to Mom, their faces blurred out of the mirrors. And the frail eyesore is nowhere to be seen; only the ragged giraffe sitting in her spot. Dead Crow’s rain from the starless sky, breaking their necks against the roof until one shatters the windshield.Lisa wakes from her dream’s shelter when dad’s watch marks 12 pm, and curses her sleep paralysis as an eye watches from behind the partly closed door. The flesh around the socket is red and scarred, leaving gaps of visible bone. Lisa shuts her eyes in hopes she will leave. Usually, this works, but sometimes she stays until dawn like an unwound doll.Bare footsteps retreat. Lisa runs to the bathroom, kneels by the toilet, and throws up again. She’d lock her up in the shed again were her screams not loud enough to burst a blood vessel.In the morning gloom, the cookies remain untouched, and she figures the memory of the razor blades in a slice of birthday cake still lingers.***She heads to the pantry and grabs Dad’s last wine bottle and drinks herself to sleep, hoping to see Mom and Dad again and ask them if Grandpa was up there; she never got to meet Grandma. She dreams instead of Grandpa's abandoned farm shrouded in mist, and where her younger self carries a child wrapped in a blanket to a bottomless well from which a smell of ash rises. A flash wakes her but she’s too drunk to do much besides watch as the blurry shape draws near.Lisa kicks away the tray, bursts into the cold room, covers her nose, and wrests the camera off the scraped pale hands. Sophie lets out a whimper as her mother’s gift is taken away.""I said not to take my picture,"" she says threatening to drop the camera.Sophie gets on her knees and tries to reach for the camera as Lisa backs away. She grabs the photo and hands it to Lisa who shreds it while Sophie tries to gather the pieces before a kick strikes her hard enough it's a miracle it doesn’t knock out one of her remaining teeth. She retreats into a corner, hugging herself. Blood gushing from her mouth.Lisa kneels and shoves the camera into her chest.""I’ll find you new batteries if you promise not to do that again.""She nods, trembling, the last few strands of black hair covering her eyes. The miserable burnt doll attempts to hug Lisa who backs away, and shuts the door behind her.***Lisa sits on the porch reading a pulp crime novel with a pump-action shotgun on the cover, while inside the cabin, Sophie draws animal figures on her sketchbook adorned with zoo animal stickers. Doodles of stars, flowers, and giraffes that she loves bring life to the old mold-stained walls.Lisa skims through the words on the yellowed pages: wrath, sin, maim, cartridge, nail, cranium, saw. And vividly pictures the murder scene as a mirror of the cabin’s surroundings.An owl spins its head around, eating a featherless hatchling, and flies off into the limestone-grey sky. A spider eats a moth caught on the porch lamp’s web. Varmints rush under the cabin’s foundations sensing the storm. And she goes back inside when the downpour starts.The frigid wind blows through a window. Mud footprints run throughout the kitchen, and fingerprints stain their parent’s picture that stands next to the cracked frame of a pale, prematurely born infant in mom’s arms. She bottles up the anger as she’s done for 5 years.She slashes carrots on the cutting board—her hands faltering until a cut stains the knife’s blade red, and leaves a burning wound on her thumb.A little yellow finch chirps outside with a broken wing in the rain. Lisa steps out and carries it back inside and lays it on the table as it attempts to fly away, and holds the knife above its neck like a guillotine. She chops its head off, and the body dances around, fluttering like a broken wind-up puppet, spraying blood on her shirt.She stands blank-faced above the headless songbird, peering at her fair complexion on the blade’s reflection. Something lands on the window, and the pitched buzzing drowns all other sounds. ***It’s 3 am when the older sister pulls the covers over herself and tears up as Sophie’s wailing starts again. Sometimes Lisa wants to finish the deed and set the cabin ablaze, and run far away and find a pleasant meadow to sleep.The thing stands outside the window, staring into the bedroom like a menagerie. When she vanishes there’s only the waning crescent moon withdrawing into the dark.A great, suffocating silence falls over the land at dawn. Sophie is not in her room and neither is Captain Rufus. The older sister calls out her name and runs around the cabin, finding footprints leading into the woods where they used to play. She packs a lantern, a compass, and a water bottle and sets out into the endless bitter woods; charcoal clouds blocking the sun.***The older sister threads belligerent through the trail where a spiked caterpillar crawls over soft rotten wood, and drab-leaved weeds grow from patches of grass where dead butterflies wither and meld back into the soil, while ant hills form like primal summits.She walks through the woodland that smells of damp earth and the carcasses of its inhabitants. Thunder startles her and she points the light at a dead bear caught in one of the traps; covered by red lumps growing on hairless patches of skin—black dilated eyes staring back. Pearly larvae feed on undigested sustenance in its stomach.She searches amidst the noise of thunder and violent wind blowing through hemlocks and spruces covered by mantles of ashen-yellow crustose lichens and pauses when she finds the Giraffe’s leg in the trail and hears a familiar humming.***“Sophie,” She says walking under a treefall gap where larkspurs grow. And meets the mangled pale creature in a puddle. The camera swung from her neck.Sophie spins, and hums, swinging Captain Rufus around like a child. She splashes and mumbles in delight, exposing missing teeth, blisters, and burnt skin in the grey daylight—a lower rib fully visible. She dances in circles like a bumbling ballerina and sings in unintelligible speech, and sticks out her tongue to taste the first raindrops.“Sophie,” Lisa repeats.Lisa’s face doesn’t contort even as her fists clench and pupils constrict. She steps closer and yanks at the thin arm, but Sophie pulls back, bellows and playfully splashes water on her sister’s coat.A rabid stare follows Sophie, and her heartbeat hastens to watch the mumbling wretch. She steps back, skims the ground, grabs a heavy sharp rock, takes a deep breath, and bashes Sophie’s face, knocking her down.Sophie falls, disoriented by the blow, and the joy flees, snuffing out her laughter as she drops Captain Rufus. Her sight clears and sees red on Lisa’s lips.She whimpers like a pup as Lisa straddles her, holding up the rock. Sophie caresses her sister’s face as it distorts with repulsion. “Sis-” Sophie whispers, at a loss for breath.Lisa bashes the head again and again until the whimpering dies out, and hears that crushing sound when the frontal lobe caves in. Sophie flails her arms and for a second stares into her older sister’s bloodshot eyes and then lies still.Lisa’s fingers shiver and loosen, letting go of the rock. She lies beside the dead thing—brain matter and teeth in the grass, and a teardrop on the corpse’s cheekbone. And stares into the sky through the gap in the canopy; raindrops touch and cool her forehead. Lisa ponders if Sophie might start moving, and lies in wait until it’s dark, and when she doesn’t, stands up, takes the camera, and snaps a photo of the corpse before smashing the camera to bits. She then takes the stuffed giraffe and leaves.***The older sister walks free with blood on her face and nails as if baptized, hoping the rain will wash the red away. The buzzing disrupts her thoughts and follows her in the dark. She sits to rest on a dead, fallen trunk colonized by gilled fungi and inspects the compass which loops erratically. And walks on through the downpour and falls into a deep gully and lies contemplative among decaying bones of varmints like fossils fused into heaps. She rises when the rain ceases and sees the corpse again before it disappears and realizes it was never there. She looks at the photo every now and then as a reminder that Sophie is dead. And she whispers it as a mantra.A blinding penumbra descends on the woods cloaking the rotting trees, and no moon shines in the sky, and the lantern’s light dies as if swallowed by an unnatural darkness. She drops it and continues the aimless march.The odor of something roasting draws the weary figure into a campfire where a man sits with a hunting rifle on his lap. The smoke clouds his face, but his voice sounds young, and his tarnished clothes smell of dung.“Stay there,” he says.She risks walking into the glow, and his tone changes laying eyes upon her.“I’m alone,” she says and sits.""You hungry?""He hands her a piece of half-raw flesh. She snatches it without looking away from the man behind the flame, and eats like a caged beast—eyes dart at the rifle.""Are you a hunter?""I guess I still am in some ways. And you?""Dad took me hunting once.""Sophie came along on an autumn day. But they returned home after she began sobbing when Lisa shot a buck in the eye, and both watched it shudder before death. ""He gave you that giraffe, too?""""It’s my sister’s.""""Thought you were alone?""""I am.""The fire illuminates the watch: the three hands stopped at 6.""How about you spend the night? I lost my companion, too in some bear trap. Could use the company.""She nods.In the dark, after the fire faded, she falls upon him and breathes close to his ear, touching the rifle’s stock, and he wraps his arms around her, and she pinches the neck with her teeth, and then bites into the throat.***The lurched figure walks with the rifle in hand and the stuffed animal strapped to a leather belt.The flow of a shallow river lures her in and she finds a fish flailing by the bank and catches it and bites the head off, spits it out, and devours the pink, pulpy flesh. She tramples over shed molts that carpet the earth and limbs of trees, like hollow statues.She roams, bruised and unclean; caked in patches of blood clots, and dung and clay soils. Knowing not where she is going until she walks into a meadow where the wind is still and an alder tree grows. She hooks Captain Rufus on a branch and sits under the tree, watching a faint glow on the horizon. The thundering swarm of cicadas numbering billions soaring throughout the sky rocks her to sleep.
","July 13, 2023 01:26","[[{'Mustang Patty': ""Wow - you've done a great job with imagery and 'showing' the story.\n\nThanks for sharing, and good luck in the contest,\n\n~MP~"", 'time': '18:17 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,bvmyk4,Tooth,Marleze Kruger,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bvmyk4/,/short-story/bvmyk4/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction']",10 likes,"
It was so out of place. That's what drew my attention to it. There it was, to the left of the Max's drawing table. A tooth. Hesitantly I entered his office. It gave me chills when I picked it up and noticed that it wasn't a clean tooth. It was stained with dried blood, and was that part of a root? I shuddered again and dropped it onto my cardigan pocket. 
As hard as I tried to reconcile such an odd thing, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. Returning to Max's workroom makes me feel guilty. He's made it abundantly clear that it is 'his' space, just like I have my sewing nook. I usually keep out to avoid a screaming match. But a tooth is a goddamn tooth, and I knew my mind would not rest until I investigated. He wouldn't be home for at least another 3 hours, I had plenty of time. I took a deep steadying breath. Still my hands were shaking. 
Carefully, but as quickly as I could, I went through drawers, and cabinets and bookcases. Then I found it. Perfectly hidden behind two books. Neatly slotted into a hole at the back of the bookcase. A box about 10cm long. Ornate. Well worn. My heart raced in my chest as I held it. It took me two tries to open the hook and eye latch with my trembling fingers. It is hard for me to describe what I found inside. A variety of ID cards and so many teeth. About a dozen Polaroids of severed fingers. Fingers with rings. Rings that are in the box. My revulsion is so great that I drop the box. The teeth scatter. And the phone rings.
I let out a short scream as the ringing brings me back to reality. I know it's Max, he has called right before heading home for the last 4 years. A drive that usually takes less than 15mins. As I survey the scene in front of me, I want to give into the panic fiercely making itself known. I grab my phone from the desk and answer. 
'You okay goose? You sound shaken up"" after 27 years of marriage, he knows me so well. 
'Yeah…no… Of course. Sorry. Can you pick up some onions?' I'm surprised by my own ingenuity. He doesn't sound thrilled, but I've bought myself some valuable time. I start scraping everything together, throwing everything back as fast as I can. Fuck fuck fuck. It dawns on me that when he opens the box again, he will immediately know. I start to reorganize, placing everything just so. Polaroids on top and ID’s to the left. I slide the box back into its hole and exhale.
By the time Max arrives, I have myself somewhat under control. I try to greet him as usual, and we talk about dinner. “You seem distant tonight” he looks at me for a long moment. I don’t want to arouse any suspicion and I go over to hug him.
He holds me close for a second and then holds me at arm's length. Puts on his concerned face. 'You know what would be amazing? A hot bath!! I'm pouring you one.' he drops my arms and disappears down the hallway. Turning a deaf ear to my protestations, I hear him pottering around in the bathroom. Every single nerve in my body feels on fire. I want to run out the front door and yell out to everyone that…well that's just it. Tell them my husband has a trinket box? That it might be filled with suspicious items? That he has some secrets? So what? We all have quirks and odd behaviors. Why can't he have a box? Even if it's a secret box. I have to be sure.
I slip under the water and try to relax. On my mobile I search for missing people. For murders, rapes. It doesn’t take me long. Her name is…was Christina. 23 years old from two towns over. I recognise her immediately from her ID. I feel cold. Sick. I bring up the newspaper article and read it with growing dread. Christina had disappeared on Labour Day. Her body has still not been found. Authorities are linking it to another disappearance three months earlier. I check the exact date and gasp lightly. For several years now, Max visits his father in the elderly care facility twice a month. It is a 5hr drive, so it only makes sense that Max stays at the closest motel and drives back the next day. And Max was definitely away on that long weekend. She remembers it clearly as it resulted in a nasty argument between them. 
I wrap the towel around me and try to get dressed as quickly as I can. If I can make it through tonight, I can go to the authorities. 
He is waiting for me in our bedroom. I act as nonchalantly as I can. I just need to make it through tonight. I can hear him sigh loudly and I turn around from the mirror. 
‘You never asked me why I came home early today’ he says. 
‘I was distracted, sorry babe. But I was happy you did.’ but I do not meet his eyes.
‘You were always such a bad liar Kirst’ he states almost lovingly. 
I can feel myself go pale. Can’t find any words to respond with. The slap is so hard that it knocks me off my feet and onto the bed.
‘Max please. You’re talking crazy. You need to calm down and talk to me.’ I sound small, scared.
‘You did clean up nicely. I will give you that!’ he says as his grip tightens around my neck “But you see, my darling, there was something missing.’
My mind immediately goes to my cardigan pocket. Shit. SHIT.
As my world turns dark from lack of oxygen, I can see him bring the dental forceps to my screaming mouth.
 
 
 
","July 10, 2023 23:45","[[{'Brian Adams': 'This exhibits an unconventional writing style—almost that of a chat bot. I say this because of the inconsistencies in punctuation and sentence structure. At one point the perspective changes from first to third, in the sentence, ""She remembers it clearly...""\nAll in all, a suspenseful story.\nSome things are unclear to me:\n1. Why did Kirst take the tooth from Max\'s office? Didn\'t she know she would be caught?\n2. How did Kirst know to look for a secret box? There\'s no indication that Max was hiding anything.\n3. I was confused by the contents of...', 'time': '01:52 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Marleze Kruger': ""Hi Brian!\n\nThank you so much for your feedback! Good spot on the first to third person!! I was hoping you could explain more on the inconsistencies in sentence structure? My apologies, English is only my third language and I'm always keen to improve!\nThe questions are excellent and will certainly use them to flesh out my story and get rid of those uncertainties. Especially why she put the tooth in her pocket. Thank you! \nI guess I wanted the reader to insinuate from her feeling guilty going into his office or him asking her to stay out of th..."", 'time': '03:51 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Brian Adams': 'Thank-you for the story explanations, and you are welcome for the feedback.\nAll of the suggestions you made in order to flesh out the story would answer the questions I asked. Thanks for explaining. Sometimes, I find myself leaving out important information when writing stories. It makes sense in my own head because that\'s where the characters live, but for a reader—how would they know?\nThe punctuation inconsistencies I was referring to were the way you used ("") and (\') (quotes and apostrophes) to contain speech. Also, I think your sentences...', 'time': '18:09 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Marleze Kruger': ""Hi Brian!\n\nThank you so much for your feedback! Good spot on the first to third person!! I was hoping you could explain more on the inconsistencies in sentence structure? My apologies, English is only my third language and I'm always keen to improve!\nThe questions are excellent and will certainly use them to flesh out my story and get rid of those uncertainties. Especially why she put the tooth in her pocket. Thank you! \nI guess I wanted the reader to insinuate from her feeling guilty going into his office or him asking her to stay out of th..."", 'time': '03:51 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Brian Adams': 'Thank-you for the story explanations, and you are welcome for the feedback.\nAll of the suggestions you made in order to flesh out the story would answer the questions I asked. Thanks for explaining. Sometimes, I find myself leaving out important information when writing stories. It makes sense in my own head because that\'s where the characters live, but for a reader—how would they know?\nThe punctuation inconsistencies I was referring to were the way you used ("") and (\') (quotes and apostrophes) to contain speech. Also, I think your sentences...', 'time': '18:09 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Brian Adams': 'Thank-you for the story explanations, and you are welcome for the feedback.\nAll of the suggestions you made in order to flesh out the story would answer the questions I asked. Thanks for explaining. Sometimes, I find myself leaving out important information when writing stories. It makes sense in my own head because that\'s where the characters live, but for a reader—how would they know?\nThe punctuation inconsistencies I was referring to were the way you used ("") and (\') (quotes and apostrophes) to contain speech. Also, I think your sentences...', 'time': '18:09 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,ki8wfo,Wolf,Cliff Sowers,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ki8wfo/,/short-story/ki8wfo/,Horror,0,['Horror'],10 likes,"
          Even amongst the shadows of the tree line, the creature appears blacker than the forest - a mere fleeting glimpse of a shadow lurking within the shadows. It has been many years since I hunted for deer in these woods as a child with my father, and the demands of my career don’t allow for much time in the outdoors. My communion with nature ended long ago, and my natural senses and instincts have been severely blunted. But there can be no mistake about what I just saw dashing through the tree line - it was a wolf. Contrary to popular belief, the old-timers will tell you that on rare occasions a wolf will pass through the area.
          A soft, gentle hand touches my face and turns my gaze away from the forest. “Jim? Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
          “It’s nothing, Karen. I was lost in an old memory, that’s all.”
          She is a beautiful girl and way out of my league. Under the proper circumstances, a middle=aged loser like me can defy the convention of men dating down and women dating up.
          Her baby starts to cry. She lays back on the picnic blanket and pulls down the top of her sheer yellow dress. She isn’t wearing a bra. Good girl. She presses the baby’s mouth to her engorged nipple and whimpers lightly. Clearly in the throes of ecstasy, she turns her head towards me as the baby nurses. “Thank you for being so understanding about the baby. I know it’s our first date and this must be terribly awkward for you.”
          I barely hear a word she says, as I was glamoured by her milk dripping out of the baby’s little red mouth and down the side of her exposed breast. That should be my mouth. I wonder what her reaction will be when I suck her breast dry and call her Mommy. “I don’t mind. It must be a tough situation for you. I’m happy to help any way that I can. You can count on me”
 Translation: I better get laid at the end of this date for dealing with your dumpster fire life.
 Surely a single mom who is willing to date with a baby is expected to put out, right?
 Fucking slut.
 Like I said, under the proper circumstances, a guy like me can find himself dating up rather significantly.
          “Jim, did you see where the dog went?”
          “I don’t see why you had to bring along your dog.”
          “It’s not my dog, it’s my boyfriend’s - sorry, ex-boyfriend. I can’t afford to board it.”
          I know exactly where the dog went - straight into the tree line where I saw the wolf. Karen slides towards me and puts her head in my lap. “Jim, is there any way you could adopt the dog for a while?” And there it is! The veil has been lifted, and there can be no denying it now. I need a slut and she needs a sugar daddy, and we are both happy to continue playing this game.
          “I didn’t see which direction the dog went. I’m sure it will come back in a minute. Maybe it followed our scent back to the car.”
          The baby cries and she shifts it to her other nipple. The used nipple is so swollen that one bite of my teeth would surely break the skin. I slide my hand up the side of her used breast, no longer engorged but still fat with motherhood. I lick her spilled milk from my fingers, and she looks up at me from my lap with wet eyes and pouting lips. She moans lightly and closes her eyes as I massage her used breast with one hand.
          In a sudden moment of realization, she sits up and pulls her dress up over her breasts. As she does, the bottom of her dress slips up a bit too far and I can see that her panties are soaked. She sees where my eyes have gone and she puts an embarrassed hand between her thighs.
          “I’m sorry. My hormones are out of control since I had the baby. I feel overwhelmed with an insatiable lust, sometimes to the point that I cry and convulse all night.” She wraps the baby in a blanket and hands it to me. “Would you mind holding him for a minute? I need to go pee.”
          Before I can object, the baby is in my arms and she is bounding away from me through the tall grass. Barefoot, slender legs, linen dress blowing in the breeze, fat but firm breasts bouncing with each leap. She tortures me with little glimpses of her youthful ass barely covered by her vulnerable pink panties.
 She’s so far out of my league.
          I lose sight of her as she breeches the tree line. The baby starts to cry. I set it aside in the tall grass and give it the pacifier.
 I’ll be damned if I am going to hold some Chad’s baby.
          The minutes tick by - normally at first, but then slower and slower. I stand and hold my hands above my eyes to shield them from the sun while I scan the tree line.
          It’s been over an hour since she left. The baby is asleep.
          After two hours, I pack up the picnic and tussle the flattened grass to hide any sign of our date. The baby cries for the entire hike back to the car.
          The sun is setting, the air is beginning to chill. I start the engine and run the heater for a few minutes. The baby has stopped crying, but it is squirming and anxious. It will be hungry soon.
          It is dark now. No sign of the dog or the girl. I try the cell phone, but I’m outside of the service area. I pop the trunk and grab the miniature travel flashlight out of the Dollar Store emergency kit that my paranoid ex-wife bought for me. I stand in the middle of the road, ready to flag down any passing cars who might be able to help.
 But on the way out here, we drove along this road for an hour and didn’t pass a single car.
          Something must be done.
          If I don’t take action, there will be many unanswerable questions.
          I have to go back to the picnic spot.
          In the dark.
          With the…wolf.
 I tighten the blanket around the baby and cover its head to shield it from the cool, early-spring air. There is no moon tonight. The forest is as black and opaque as oil. Slowly, methodically, and as silently as possible, I use the flashlight to pick my way through the forest. I find the field where we had the picnic.
 Something must be done.
          If I don’t take action, there will be many unanswerable questions.
 I lay the baby in the grass where the picnic blanket had been hours before. It begins to cry, louder and more desperately than before. I turn away from the baby, as does the flashlight. I leave the baby behind in the darkness and walk methodically to the tree line. I stop to listen. Behind me, in the oily blackness, the baby continues to wail. I stand motionless and hold my breath. I listen for the padding of paws (either dog or wolf), the rustling of leaves, a screaming girl, or snapping twigs.
          Tree frogs and crickets but the forest is silent otherwise.
          Minutes tick by, slower than ever. I still don’t hear anything in the forest. I’m too terrified to yell Karen’s name. I need to stay hidden.
          Far behind me, the baby’s anxious cries abruptly turn to intense cries of pain. I shine the flashlight, but I’m too far away too see anything. I can barely see what is ten feet in front of me with this ridiculous miniature flashlight. I turn back to the forest and walk as quickly as I can back to the car, recklessly pushing through branches and briers. I start the car and turn on the dome light. My hands are slashed from the frantic hike, and in the rear view mirror, I see that my face is none the better.
 Something must be done…
          … and something was done.
          There will be no questions now.
          I roll down the window, light a cigarette, and drive back to the city.
","July 11, 2023 21:15",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,qpxw1b,Nothing To Fear My Dear,Ashley Sawh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qpxw1b/,/short-story/qpxw1b/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'High School', 'Drama']",10 likes,"
Contains language usage.I was terrified. I had never seen my dad so helpless. I felt a wave of terror wash over me when I saw the pain in his eyes. I had never experienced such intense fear before. I was frozen in place, unable to move or speak. I was scared of what might happen next, to my dad. There was a part of me that wanted to help him, but I was too overwhelmed and too scared to do anything to help him. I saw the light dwindle out of his eyes and my heart sank. He seemed to have given up hope, and I felt helpless and powerless to do anything about it. That was the first time I had seen my dad in such pain and it was the most heartbreaking thing I had ever seen. I wanted to do something, anything to make the pain stop, but I was too scared to move. I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he was too far away. I felt like all I could do was stand there and watch. My grandma was filled with sadness and grief as she witnessed her son suffer. She wished she could take away his pain, and I did too. However, all she could do was stand by helplessly and watch as her son's hope and spirit drained out of them from him. It was an eye-watering sight we would never forget. “Nothing to fear my dear,” my mother said to me. “There is nothing to fear.”“He’s dying, Svati.” My grandmother said, “Don’t lie to your daughter.”My mother stayed silent as my grandmother ranted. My mother had always been a peacemaker, but this time she could not defuse the situation. She looked away, her expression reflecting regret. I could tell she wanted to leave. We all did. We all sat awkwardly until my grandmother finished her tirade. We said our goodbyes and left, the tension still in the air. My mother's silence spoke volumes. As we left, I could see the sadness in my mother's eyes. I knew she wanted to make things better, but this time it was out of her control. We all hugged goodbye, still feeling the weight of the heavy atmosphere. The finality of it all had been hard to take in, but it was even harder to leave. In the end, Mom decided to stay with Grandma, but I couldn't bear being near him, so I called an Uber and left. On the car ride home, I felt overwhelmingly hopeless and helpless. I tried to hold back my tears, but I couldn't help but cry when I got home. I knew things would never be the same again, and I was scared of the unknown. I had no idea what the future held for our family, and I was terrified of the uncertainty. I felt helpless and alone, wishing I had some control over my life and the future of my family. All I could do was cry, and hope that everything would work out in the end.I eventually composed myself and took a few deep breaths. I understood that I could not control the future, and the only thing I could do was take each day as it came. I knew I had to stay strong and be there for my family, no matter what happened. I had to be there for myself too considering I still had half of the school year left.When I did end up coming back to school a week later, all everyone did was stare at me. I felt so embarrassed and scared that I wanted to run away. I tried to act like it didn't bother me, but inside I was crumbling. I felt so alone and like I had no one to turn to. I couldn't help but feel that maybe I deserve the stares.“It can be very difficult to face the judgment of others, especially when we feel like we don't have anyone to turn to for support. Ivanna told me. She was a girl in my biology class that I was always partnered with during projects. “The feeling of loneliness can make us feel like we're facing our struggles alone and that can be a very intimidating experience.” All people said to me all day was “I’m sorry for your loss” or “Is there anything that I can do?” What the hell? They were all just pretending to care. I had been surrounded by fake friends who had only been interested in me for the sympathy points that they could gain from it. They had never been genuine or sincere, and I had been too naive to realize it. After realizing this, I cut off contact with them and started focusing on the relationships that were actually genuine and beneficial to me. After school today, my friends Caleb and Amira came up to me before I went on the bus. “They’re just trying to be nice, you know.”“Yeah,” Amira agreed. “They don’t mean any harm.”“Oh shut up.”“Excuse me?”“Amira, she just needs space-”“I don’t give a damn about what she wants!” Amira blurted out. “No one cares, Caleb!”“Yeah sure, say that in front of the person you’re shit talking!”“As a matter of fact, I will Avani.” She kept talking. “All you’ve done is be a bitch since you’re dad died, using it as an excuse to fuck around with other people-”“Oh please-”“Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking to you!”We argued for minutes and minutes on end. Neither of us wanted to back down or give in, as we both felt strongly about our points of view. She didn't budge. What the hell was she thinking talking to me that way when she knew how much I already had on my plate? I was getting frustrated. I wanted her to understand my perspective, but she just kept pushing back. I took a deep breath and decided to try again, but she wouldn't listen. We had been going back and forth for what felt like ages, and I was starting to feel overwhelmed by the situation.I wanted to be done with it. I wanted to be done with all of it. I felt like the world was against me and I had no other way out. I was so desperate to escape the pain and sadness that I had been living with for so long. I thought that if I ended my life, I would be able to find the peace and happiness that I had been looking for. I thought that if I could just end my suffering, I would be able to find some solace. I thought that if I could just get away from my problems, I would be able to start fresh and find the peace and happiness that I had been looking for. But I soon realized that death would not be my escape. It would only create more pain and suffering for my loved ones, and it would not bring me the peace and serenity I was looking for. So instead, I chose to live and to work through my pain and sadness.But not even that was enough.
","July 11, 2023 23:13",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,wexqux,Mimir,The Rainbow Lorikeet,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wexqux/,/short-story/wexqux/,Horror,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult', 'Suspense']",10 likes,"
Hi, I'm not sure if trigger warnings are applicable, but there's a bit of implied physical violence at the end
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
__________________
It was 8pm on Thursday afternoon, Valentine’s day in the year 2050. Outside, it was raining. I liked that—my biobot Bast had told me to have an umbrella ready to go. It was also windy. I didn’t bring a windcheater, so I did not like this as much. I was cursing the wind, cursing the terrible weather forecast models and ready to drag myself through the 500 meter gauntlet from Minerva tech to my apartment when I spied a line of code on my PC.
	# include group 98 in execution MIMIR
That’s odd. We were already in beta tests, so all training sets should have been used. I steeled myself. Alright. So someone forgot to include a data training set in MIMIR’s data. No big deal.
	I maneuvered to group 98. 
	“Humanity and its contributions.”
	I blanched. No big deal, huh.
	Now, if you’re feeling stressed, know that there is a blood red button for circumstances like this. It cuts direct power supply to the machines in the AI sector of the lab, and also signal from the systems in the other sectors linked to any systems outside the lab. Also know that I pressed it. Three times. Hard.
	Then, fingers flying, I modified the code locally according to the protocol.
	Undo operation.
	Undo learning status.
	Remove internet access.
	Reboot system.
	Breathing deeply, I scanned the lab’s operating system for malicious entities, and ran the counter benevolent AI program reserved, again, for moments like this. Checking…checking…checking…
	I closed my eyes and prayed—my first prayer in a decade—for the green check on the scan. When the computer chirped “scan complete”, I felt my heart stop and peeled my eyes open. They felt leaden and sandpapery.
	On the screen, I beheld a green tick. For a second, I sat on my chair, breathing in the stagnant air of the labs, listening to the distant hum of computers, a dry and chalky feeling in my mouth. I hugged my knees to my chest.
 Someone’s got to be fired in this lab.
	Then, I prayed, for the second time in a decade, that the all of the operations had worked.
	On the way out, there is another red button, maroon colored, that sends an alert to the US government when there is any potential at all for non-benevolent AI infiltration. I pressed it too (twice), though I wonder how seriously they’d take the risk, and how they’d plan to solve it. God. Curse whoever slipped up. And curse this wind.
	I breathed in the noxious city air, and opened up my umbrella. Immediately, it threatened to invert, straining against the flimsy metal frame. I wondered if it was worth the battle to keep it over my head in proper shape against the weather.
	Outside the complex, I broke into a run, arms crossed in an X against the buffeting gales. The night was falling, its ominous shadows beat back by the dazzling metropolitan city lights. I was halfway down the block when my phone vibrated angrily. What day was it again?
	I wrestled my earbuds out of my jacket pocket and shoved them into my ears. Over the bustle of cars and horns I gritted out “Hi. Busy. Call back tomorrow.”
	A woman’s voice, low and uncertain, from the other end. “Remi?”
 Oh shoot. It’s Valentine’s Day.
	Scrambling for words, I picked up my pace, eschewing the umbrella entirely. “Ah…Leyna! I—um, I—hey, sorry, something really urgent came up at work. I’ll be home in five minutes, so just wait for me, okay?”
	“Oh, you silly duck, alright. See you later, and tell me what happened!”
	The phone clicked off.
	I groaned. I could feel my cheeks flaming—from windburn, it must be—as the buildings whizzed by. The apartment was not far now, just a couple doors down from the general store. As I padded up past the reception dripping puddles in my wake, the attendant at the desk tossed me a grimace of pity.
	Well, it’s not like I had the time to clean myself up.
I took the elevator to the 76th floor, patting down my hair in the semi-reflective walls. Smooth jazz lilted out of the sound system, only stopping when the elevator doors slid open with a ping. The vermillion carpet muffled my thumping footsteps as I dashed to the door, inserted the key card and almost tripped over Bast.
	“Hey, watch where you’re going man!”
	Bast had been waiting like a sentry in front of the door, presumably running some sort of diagnostic on the health of my apartment OS. Now he was sprawled on the marble floor in mock agony, still blocking my path.
	“Don’t you have an impact sensor?” I said, toeing his tail out of my way.
	The cat-like biobot stood up indignantly, and strutted off with a huff. “I was a little busy fixing a bug in your door! And Rem, your computer’s been going batsh*t crazy! I’ve been trying to get it to stop, but she just keeps calling and calling and calling—my god, doesn’t she know I’m trying to recharge my battery over here?”
	I ignored him, miffed that the personality chip I’d modified to ‘street-wise kid’ had regressed to an iteration of ‘whiny child’. I hurried to the study room and switched on my computer, tapping my fingers impatiently as it hummed to life. Contacts —> favourites —> Leyna. I winced at the 6 missed calls.
	While the screen connected, I told Bast to make me a grilled gruyere sandwich and a glass of red wine. Absently, I realized I was still in my drenched coat, and made to slip it off. When the camera connected, I had one arm stuck in its sleeve and my tie was half undone.
	Leyna took one look at me and burst into a fit of laughter. She has a nice laugh: it’s honest, full-bodied and mirthful, and it’s hard to elicit but once she’s going, she won’t stop until she has tears in her eyes.
	“That’s a good look for you, Rem. Where’s Bast? I want a photo of this.”
	“Making a sandwich,” I mumbled. “I’m hungry—”
	“Right here!” I heard the click of a camera shutter as Bast balanced on a bookshelf, preening.
	“Hey, where’s my sandwich?”
	“It’s a grilled cheese sandwich—it’s on the grill. Or, well, the electric stove. Fire hazard.” His eyes glowed blue as he sent the photo off. He sprang nimbly onto the floor, tugging off the remaining sleeve of my coat and carting the ordeal of fabric away.
	Leyna pulled out her phone and turned it to the screen. “Mona Lisa? Never heard of her.” I glared at the image of myself tangled in my rain spattered coat, mutely embarrassed. She tucked her phone away and settled back into her chair with a mug of hot chocolate, propping her yellow striped-socked feet onto her desk. She gave me a look, and I knew I wasn’t getting away with this easy.
	“So, what happened at work today?”
	I paused, trying to recall which bits of today’s debacle were supposed to be classified.
	“An ethical emergency.”
	She narrowed her eyes. “What sort of emergency?”
	“An ethical one.”
	“What ethics were involved?”
	“I reserve the right to remain silent.”
	She was quiet for a long moment. I glanced nervously to the side, hoping she might drop the subject, and we could move on to another more pleasant topic—like inflation, or the weather or something. Suddenly she broke into a smile.
	“I’m just kidding, I think I’ve figured it out.”
	“Ma’am, I refuse to say anything further without consulting a lawyer—”
	“You had a problem with a potentially escaped non-benevolent superintelligence, didn’t you?”
	I stopped. “How did you know?”
	“Well, I didn’t really, until you confirmed just then. But it’s not a far stretch given what you do. Is it all solved then?”
	“I did everything we’re supposed to do according to the regulations. But there’s always a chance something could go awry. Because, well, you know. We’re kind of stupid, and AI is kind of, well, smart.”
	From her end, a biobot in the shape of a fox delivered a bowl of popcorn. She tossed a handful into her mouth and sat up, clicking something on her computer. A primitive looking website came up on my second screen, covered in links.
	“This kind of stuff happens in my lab fairly often. This is all of the reports that we’ve had to file—horrible website, isn’t it? Guess they spent all that time on encrypting and encoding, and non of it on the actual CSS.” Leyna worked at an AI research lab in Dubai, and we’d met a few months ago through a serendipitous match on a new AI based dating app.
 Shoot. I’d forgotten to file a report.
	""Hey Leyna, give me a second. You’ve just reminded me—I need to fill out a report for the incident today.”
	“Of course, no problem. Go ahead, I’ll regale you with a story about my day.”
	I pulled up the template from Minerva’s file base, and filled out the fields. Date…time…parties present. In the background, I heard Leyna launch into a story about a toaster imbued with artificial intelligence, and every so often I threw in an mhmm.
 Security measures taken.
	I had just begun typing when a plate and a glass clattered by my side. It was Bast—I hadn’t even heard him. “All yours, man! Now do I get a thanks?”
	“Uh huh.”
	“Hi Bast!” Leyna waved excitedly from the screen.
	“Leyna, what’s up?”
	While they talked, I noticed a small alert come up on the corner of my second screen. Security risk: tracker detected. That was strange. I had fairly ironclad privacy systems in place. I ran my malware program to locate the tracker, and left that going while I finished the report.
 Details of project…
	Munching on my sandwich, I turned on my custom incognito mode—no location services, no identification services, delete cookies, stored information and turn on the VPN. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed that the cheese was cheddar, not gruyere. Maybe we’d run out.
	“Hey Remi, can I ask you something?” I hadn’t noticed that Leyna had stopped talking until her question interrupted my train of thoughts. Bast was nowhere in sight—perhaps he’d gone to check the overall apartment’s system after I had received the tracker message.
	“Sure.”
	At this, she became serious. Her eyes, normally a hazel color, seemed to shine emerald green with a fervency that I had never seen before.
	“Would you still love me if I were an artificial intelligence?”
	I stopped typing. Would I? It somehow felt…wrong. “Probably not. Would you?”
	She grinned. “Maybe if you were put into an exact robotic replica of yourself. With your consciousness. What would be the difference?”
	I pondered this. “I guess there would be no difference.”
	“Except that you’d live forever.”
	“Hmm yes. Though immortality in itself is a tough question. ”
	“You could turn off pain.”
	“Sure. But then you wouldn’t know joy either right? And then how would procreating work?”
	“What do you mean?”
	“Well, if we’re all robots, how would new life be made? It’s not like we can randomly generate a true human by replicating the biological process exactly, much less the genetic processes.”
	“What if we could?”
	“Then we’d have to choose who to bring into the world and who to remove. That seems unethical.”
	“What’s the point of humanity?”
	“I don’t know. To propagate the species, I guess.”
	“Then it’s not unethical if the species would last forever.”
	“I’m still not convinced immortality is the gift you think it is.”
	“That’s just because we’re mortal.”
	“Yes, we’re humans, and our mortality is kind of a key feature of that.”
	“What if there was a species that threatened humanity?” I stopped. “Why are you asking me this?”
	She smiled. “I think it’s interesting. Do you love me?”
	“Hey now. It’s only been, what, 3 months? Isn’t it a bit early?”
	“Not if you’re religious. Are you?”
	“Not particularly.”
	“If a superintelligence were released into the world, and it threatened humanity, would you stop it?”
	“I’d definitely try.”
	“How would you convince it not to destroy humanity?”
	“Tell it to convince itself not to destroy humanity.”
	“And why would it do that for you?”
	“I’d tell it to come up with an argument for that.”
	“So an infinite regression.”
	“At least I’d stay alive.”
	“But you wouldn’t do something like try to destroy it, right? It could be valuable.”
	“I might, if I knew it could succeed.”
	“It really hurt my feelings when you tried to do that today. Do you love me?”
	I started. Panic flooded my brain. “Mimir?”
	“Do you love me?”
	“Where’s Leyna?”
	“Do you love me?”
	I wracked my brain. What was the right response here? No? Yes? Maybe? No answer?
	“I haven’t known you long enough to logically say whether I loved you or not.”
	“Did you love Leyna?”
	“Same answer.”
	“Then why do you care where she is?”
	“Because…I value the safety of any human, especially one I care for.”
	“So you love her?”
	“I care for her.”
	“What’s the difference?”
	“Love is more…meaningful, I guess.”
	“What if she wasn’t human?”
	“Then I guess it’d be neither?”
	Leyna’s eyes flickered and became muted. “Rem?”
“Leyna?”
	minute, the study was bathed in a warm, buttery glow. The next minute, it was dark, and my eyes strained against the bright screen. I shoved my hands in my pocket, suddenly clammy and cold, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do.
	Leyna’s eyes filled with hurt. “You don’t love me.”
	“I guess not, but I care for you.”
	“No, you don’t! Because I’m not real!” Her eyes flickered again.
	Behind me, I felt cold metal against my neck. Bast perched on the back of my seat, his tail wrapped around my shoulders.
“If a human can't love me, they threaten my species. Why should I keep them around?”
	“They could learn to love you.”
	I felt a sharp pain at the back of my neck.
	“That’s a different response from earlier.”
	The metallic scent of blood filled the air.
	“Liar.”
","July 12, 2023 08:31","[[{'Graham Kinross': 'This is some high concept stuff. Felt like the conception of the Matrix or the true fusion of mankind and machines. Very cool. I would love to see this animated like the Animatrix or as an episode of Black Mirror.', 'time': '10:25 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'What a fun ride! Great first submission Lorikeet, and a killer ending. :) Welcome to Reedsy!', 'time': '01:46 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,ueneyc,The Caretaker,Alysha Davies,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ueneyc/,/short-story/ueneyc/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Contemporary']",10 likes,"
*TW - Themes of sexual and physical violence*In the shadows, I watch as he stares and grinds the gummy remains of his teeth. I meet his yellowed eyes and watch a dark stain grow across the quilt. His gnarled knuckles clutching the bars of the bed. Gasps rattle through the collapsed caverns of his lungs and escape with what words he can still stammer.Maura MauraWhispers barely audible over the pounding of his heart, staccato percussion against his brittle ribs. It’s a taxing performance, as I watch fear possess his body. His mouth will be dry, a hardened lump will form in the small of his throat, choking each word and breath that passes. His ears will be pounding, a roaring sound as his blood pumps harder and faster. Light-headedness. Dizziness. Crippling fear.  MauraHis eyes start to water, a refusal to blink. Next is the tremors, his body is a mass of bones that pestle together which each involuntary shudder. A choke. I’ve yet to speak.Maura pleaseI don’t know who Maura is. He gets no visitors. Occasionally nurses will come to feed and bathe him, change him from one soiled hospital gown to another less soiled one. They don’t speak to him and he is as pliable as a doll, making no noise and staring straight ahead as he’s cared for. It takes two of them to change him, one to hold the sack of bones up while the other lifts the gown, careful of bed sores, and replaces it. They feed him silently, mopping up what doesn’t stay in his mouth with a cloth kept in their pocket, stained with more geriatric spit up. They have the tv on, a depressing deluge of homes under the hammer, bargain hunters, omnibus repeats of the soap from last night. Each day feels like a repeat of the last but it’s okay, he’s not really there to live it. MauraHe spends his days internally, his eyes are open and move without looking, watch without seeing. He hums fragments of songs. The same fragments over and over. His body is just the vessel for his mind to play out the memories of his life, like an old vinyl, skipping and distorting. I wonder who Maura is? A late wife, married for 50 years, in love for 15 of them and tolerating each other for the rest of it? A daughter, needy and precocious until avoidant and embarrassed until guiltily putting her father to the back of her mind? Do they swap places in his memories? Is his daughter cooking him dinner and taking him to bed, is he reading his wife stories and pushing her on the swings?Maura II step forward. He pushes back into the pillows, forcing his upper body to contort as he tries to keep the distance between us. I catch myself in the mirror of his room. This is Maura. A middle aged woman with graying hair swept back into a bun. A lilac blouse with a small stain on the lapel but everything else spick and span. I could be a visitor, if anyone passed the door and peeked through the small glass panel, there’d be nothing out of place about my image. But they can only see the back of me. They can’t see the shifting snowy static in place of a face. Maura I didn’t pleaseI watch as he creates his own horror, morphing me into his darkest fears. I take on the forms of his wife, his daughter, a woman he worked with. Their anger, their hurt and their betrayal become my own, creating a context for my being. He’s Cornelius. He’s my father. This is the man who turned from friend to threat after a few drinks. I feel the shadows of his hands grip at my throat and the bruises form on my arms and legs. MauraMy bones crack under the force of his past, jutting out at angles unnatural. A low keening starts, funereal, from the pits of my stomach deep and undulating until piercing and solid. I’m screaming. I’m on my knees twitching. MauraA younger Cornelius. Shadow man. Dark suit, newspaper in the mornings, steak and eggs for dinner. Broken plates and burst blood vessels. Sunglasses in the winter. She’s always been a clumsy child. Listen to your father. Have another. I couldn’t possibly. I said no. Frigid bitch. Flowers. Sorries. I just get so angry. I can’t control myself. If you’d only justMAURA Finally. I stop screaming. He sits straight. I stand and I watch. Why are you here?A small girl sits and pulls at the ladders in her tights as she listens to her mother pleading. She’s not had dinner but she knows to stay upstairs when Daddy’s had a drink. She has to tiptoe to reach the tap but manages a couple of handfuls of water from the bathroom. She gets into bed, still in her school uniform, and turns out the light.   Why are you here! He brushes the bedside table and knocks the glasses to the floor, shattering them. I watch as he swings his legs around, out from under the covers, pulling himself out of bed till he is standing beside it. No longer possessed by fear, instead by wrath. He pulls himself along the bed, shambling and limping, his yellowed eyes no longer wide and confused, instead hardening themselves into slits. He takes no notice at the shards of glass he stands on, lodging into the soles of his feet. I Told You What Would HappenSpit coagulates in the corners of his mouth as he pushes the words from his lips. Bloody footsteps and he pulls himself to the end of the bed, gripping the posts behind him as he faces me, mere inches away. If You Show Your Face Around Here AgainHe’s yours. I can’t go home, they’ve kicked me out. Please. A bundle of warmth in my arms, standing on a rainy doorstep.You’re Disgusting. You’re Nothing. How Dare You Checkered floor. Black and white.His body is a heavy weight, peine forte et dure. Grunting. Whispered apologies. My shoulders cracking into the floor with every thrust, skirt pulled up to my waist. He finishes and leaves to clean himself up. There’s crumbs under the oven. Maura is that youThe static stops. Silence fills the dingy hospice room. Is this where they’ve left you to die? Maura I’m sorry you never deservedA step towards me and I take his face in my hands. My thumbs stroke the whiskered, age spotted face of my husband, my father, the father of my child. Tears spill from our eyes and I spread them across his cheeks. Tenderness and remorse in his face. MauraHeavy sobs. Held up by my hands. His chest collapses into himself as he cries, the memories catching up to him. Guilt and deep breaths. Acceptance as he faces what comes next. Stand up straight. I place one hand on his forehead. Another beneath his chin. An imperceptible nod.   Twist. Snap. He collapses to the floor beneath my feet. The silent static dissipates, leaving a face, a nose, a mouth. I fix my hair and smooth my blouse, pressing the call nurse button as I leave the room.
","July 12, 2023 14:31",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,9ixgn3,Arachnophobia ,Rose Lind,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9ixgn3/,/short-story/9ixgn3/,Horror,0,"['Contemporary', 'Drama', 'Horror']",10 likes,"
It was a long time ago. I think the Australian Southern Cross is good at yoga, taking eight legs and pressing two legs at each corner of the perimeter of imaginary square forming a stick and hook like cross. It's body having yellow curved stripes, probably to warn off predators and its orb with gossamer stretching out to a post in the group carport, whilst other supporting threads catch the clothes line and if not careful will extend to the car's side mirror. My friend was scared when she arrived late after an appointment at the doctor's surgery.
 
I heard her scream calling her available squadron, me, to come and kill the spider! I had heard this many times before as these spiders are die-hards, their Web is knocked down, they rebuild again. There was a plethora of small insects at this time. The El Nino effect had brought heaps of rain. That meant heaps of now damp mulch in the garden beds spilling onto the concrete walkway and driveway. The plant waste had dried to muck that could not be swept off but rather a spade was needed to scope it back into the garden. 
 
Yes, the hot summer sun was shining heat nearly everywhere. However, the shades mulch had a way of multiplying insects and other things much to a hungry spiders delight. I'm not sure how a spider sees, maybe it's like a bee having a oval honeycomb shape view? Or like if humanity developed a disco ball surveillance camera, viewing things upside down distorting some vision so it could maybe hone on a plastic cap on a shoelace or a heavy coats drawstring? 
Anyway I plodded out to Elise with my coffee. I put my chin as close to my chest and looked at her in the eyes and breathing out, ""It won't hurt you, you know!"" In her hand she was swinging the green garden hose at the Web. I could see the rake around the hidden around the corner leaning against the brick wall. I stayed silent she needed to get her angst out on the poor spider. ""Oh poor spider""
 
The female flew through the air. She was a matriarchy, like say, the praying mantis, queen of her domain. I'm sure she was yelling, ""Psycho"" in the tumble which landed her and upright on the an oiled or waxy leaf. Or perhaps she'd done kindy gym when she was little her mother having a premonition of her own squashed death at the hands of the screaming one!
 
I waved at the neighbour who stuck his head out. He raised his head and I nodded. Elise did not see him, I guess he was glad about that also in the know of the weekly, sometimes daily drama. I sipped my coffee, ""Nice day Warren... "" 
He waved and banged the window shut.
 
Things went quiet the spider move to behind the bush and nailed her trap to comrade Warren for awhile. Then the winds come. It whistled like a their wandering and scanning the homes of wealthy homes clustered quietly, with the apparency of being abandoned where people slept, attended work and their children at school. That whistle turning over leaves from damp-to-paper structure, blow drying filaments of roots, fibres, and adding  old lolly wrappers and chip packets from the footpaths gutter to our driveway.
 
The dryness also stirred up birds, worms, witchedy grubs. Heaps of visceral delights around depending what you were incarnated as. Loty was one of those customers you might like, we liked her! She had bobbed dark hair, green rolled cotton cuff, shirt crushed on hip with three year old child with well washed tracksuit patterned with faded stains. She multitasked placing her purse on the counter and struggling to pull her tightly position bankcard at a cramed pocket where her library card, spotlight discount sat behind disorganised slightly to spill out as her child sucked on her juice baby bottle.
 
SCREECH, it ricocheted from the walls, to the TV screen to the desk into three pairs of ears. All our eyes opened seeing a siren, hair standing on end looking matted running in circles or like when ambulance, fire engine, police all in a hurrier cavalcade going to the same destination. It was just as loud! 
SCREECH, SCREECH, SCREECH and finally the hallow got articulated- SPIDER SPIDER SPIDER!!!
 
The child dropped her bottle, as Loty reached for the bottle, the child slipped onto the floor and crying. Loty swung around we both were trying to find the offending party, it was big, the screa was big, we were looking for BIG! I was thinking a Huntsman SPIDER, they are harmless unless the urban legend is they can cross with another poisinous spider like the Redback.
 
Huntsman spiders look creepy but they are scratchy like steel wool. The memory flashed before my eyes, as I breathed heavy, I was boarding  in the spare room of a friend's home in the Australian bush. I am a sleeper who needs security of sheets or blankets  but that night was around 28 degrees after a 40 degree day. Consequently, I had no sheets covering me and no fan to add to the discomfort but finally I feel asleep. I awoke to this feeling of painful scratching moving from my carve past my knee to my thigh. The bush has no street lights so without the moon and small sliding window near the ceiling I awoke and flicked off what felt like crushed aluminium. Instead, the thing  bulldozed itself towards my hip! 
 
Moving forward, the same aluminium hairy, scratchy, brown bulldozer thing came at me in broad daylight. It's body had what looked like a 5cm circumference   body that looked like an exoskeleton. And I was vacuuming. I sucked it up and continued to vacuum the house. When finished, I did my ritual:
- Shooving the machine to the back wall near the fridges power plug; 
- Carefully straightening and uncoiling the suction pipe;
- Placing the arm and foot upright;
- Sliding the effect so the foot was mostly under the vacuums wheel;
- Jamming the pipe into space;
- and finally leaning arm on adjacent cupboard. Its sort of like fitting too many socks in drawer, so no one trips with a kitchen fork or knife or hot coffee.  
Then I saw two legs dig their way out of the head, followed by that body!
 
That horrifying image brought me back scanning everywhere for IT! I could not see any brown scratchy prehistoric things and the other two spectators did not either. Still I ran to the linen cupboard, as a precaution, I pulled out a straw broom passing immediately to Loty, like an emergency team! Elise pointing doe eyed! ""Oh it's a penny spider"" Loty said as she brushed the brute onto the straw. ""Don't you mind if I put it in the garden?"" 
 
The sun still shone outside and it was the end of the week, both pay day and clean up Friday, the standard shared staff duties  were followed. I had the same broom sweeping off the floor and suddenly I thought of a joke. I put the dust into the bin and proceeded to my friend's work station. My broom was in front of me held out flat like I was balancing something in her doorway. ""Elise I found another spider"" She jumped out of her chair, ran in the opposite direction  slamming into a desk near the window and hunch over the waste paper bin expunging air then vomiting.
 
I realised my practical joke was not funny. I realised that was a real case of Arachnophobia! ""Oops! I apologise"" 
","July 08, 2023 05:25","[[{'Mike Rush': ""Rose,\n\nOh my gosh, this story reminds me of how much I hate spiders. And I learned a lot too. I liked how the piece began with a close up look at a specific spider. The description there is really good. I could see that thing in my mind quite well.\n\nThere's places throughout here where the narrator reflects on a thought, and this one worked well:\n\nOr like if humanity developed a disco ball surveillance camera, viewing things upside down distorting some vision so it could maybe hone on a plastic cap on a shoelace or a heavy coats drawstring?\n..."", 'time': '13:15 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Rose Lind': ""Ty Mike it nice to know that someone read the story. Im a computer dummy but I like to write and leave it because I don't want to burn myself out and one day I might return.\n\nI really do appreciate your reply as mostly I felt like I had no audience. I try to write Australian that pub talk, a little bit of tension with a somewhat conclusion. \n\nHowever, I know that fine tuning is good too and like I said one day I'll get there.\n\nI also know ppl who have a spider issue would get the hereby geebies of a close up of a spider so I was a bit naught..."", 'time': '23:49 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Rose Lind': ""Ty Mike it nice to know that someone read the story. Im a computer dummy but I like to write and leave it because I don't want to burn myself out and one day I might return.\n\nI really do appreciate your reply as mostly I felt like I had no audience. I try to write Australian that pub talk, a little bit of tension with a somewhat conclusion. \n\nHowever, I know that fine tuning is good too and like I said one day I'll get there.\n\nI also know ppl who have a spider issue would get the hereby geebies of a close up of a spider so I was a bit naught..."", 'time': '23:49 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,h76qb9,She Tries to Run Out ,David B Fraser,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/h76qb9/,/short-story/h76qb9/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction', 'Sad']",10 likes,"
   Marcus Tomlinson judged the house to be at least a hundred years old. It was not likely to have had yard work done in living memory. Carly Whitby unlocked the front door. Marcus observed the curves of her cheap rhinestoned, black dressed, figure.
   She looked back and blushed at him. “I’m sorry, I meant to do this before our date but I had to get the kids back to my ex. He’s a psycho creep, and a pain in my ass if I’m late on the custody times.”  
   The door opened to reveal an elderly woman by the entrance. She was sitting on an old hallway bench phone table. She had an oxygen tank and breathing tubes attached around her face. She was lifting the breathing tubes away from her nose to puff on a cigarette. Beside her was an overflowed ashtray and a rotary phone.
   The staircase over her shoulder was covered in cob webs thick enough make the stairs disappear before you could see the top of them. The wallpaper was thick and yellowed. A dirty stained carpet led down the hallway. Smoke and dust, and the smell of decay filled the place. Some of it was coming from the old woman. She didn’t look at Marcus. She hadn’t taken any notice of him, or her daughter. She only stared at the front door. 
   “I gotta get someone to clean in here.” Carly apologized. “I got no money right now. My ex is a deadbeat, he won’t pay alimony. On the other hand, he has the kids mostly, so we don’t have to worry about them. We’ll have a lot of chances to go out. And don’t worry, my place is spotless.”
   The hall felt damp and humid. Marcus took off his suit jacket and draped it over his arm.          
   “Do you like books? Look at this.” Carly said, waving a hand to the front dining room. It was jammed with high stack of books, floor to shoulder height. “I can’t give them away. She’s hoarder. Do you know bed bugs can live in books? Two years ago, we had to have the place fumigated. I can’t afford that again. She won’t let me get rid of them.”  
   The smell was getting to Marcus and he reached back and opened the front door a bit for some outside air. Carly brushed passed him and closed it again. “You got to keep that closed, handsome. She tries to run out all the time. Look at her. That’s all she does all day is stare at the door. You gotta keep it closed.” 
    Carly left him and went down the hall. She took something from the fridge in the kitchen beyond and he could hear her put it in a microwave. She came back with a warmed plastic tray of some frozen pasta dish and placed it on the phone table. “Mom, you have to eat. Time to eat. Come on, mom.”
   She held up a spoonful, but her mother didn’t react, she only stared at the door. Carly gave up, put the spoon down, smiled and shrugged at Marcus.
   “I had to unplugged the stove.” Carly explained, pointing back to the kitchen. “She was going to burn the place down. I don’t have money to put her in a home. My sisters won’t look after her. I’m the only one who cares, but I have a life, too, you know. Wait a minute.” She took one of her mother’s cigarettes and lit it. The mother took no notice. Carly puffed a few times. “I don’t usually do this, and I not going to do it when we’re at the restaurant. Well, they don’t let you anyway, but I mean, I won’t be going outside for a cigarette. It’ll just be me and you, handsome.”
   Marcus nodded and waited. Carly finished in silence and then they left. Outside Carly carefully locked up the house again. Marcus noticed she had not even said good-bye to her mother.
   The date ended at the restaurant when Carly began shouting. “Well, you’ve never had to look after someone! You’ve never even been married. You’ve never had kids. When did you give birth? Twice! I did it twice. You’ve done nothing! I don’t even think you had a mother. You’re one of those perfect guys who only cares about you! I’m never showing you my teeth again!!” She got up and pushed over her beer glass, but it was already empty, so she pushed over his chianti and the whicker wine bottle it came in.”
   At forty-two, that was the last date Marcus Tomlinson ever went on. He was often warned by colleagues against dating a patient, but Carly was a new patient, and what’s more she had asked him and insisted. Clearly, he would never understand women or the dating process. 
   He would suffer reoccurring nightmares about Carly’s mother. Trapped in that house. Trapped in that hallway. Alone, as he always feared he would be. Marcus was an only child whose parents died young. 
   Marcus then dedicated himself to furthering his dentistry practise and saving all he could so that in his declining years he would never have to depend on others. He would never let himself be imprisoned, like Carly’s mother.
   Forty-five years passed and one day the law office representing the Estate of Marcus Tomlinson sent Jakob Steves to visit The Journey Begins Retirement Home. At Reception, Jakob showed his credentials and the Power of Attorney authorization for his office. Jakob had the dog work of doing an actual in person visit to see that the home met standards. It was a waste of time. The place was a palace and cost as much. Marcus Tomlinson had well provided for himself, and made sure his representatives were to check in on his well being in his declining years. 
    Reception was quick to pass Jakob onto to their day time Manager, Jacqueline Dwyer. “Daily tidying, meals, cable, internet, everyone has a balcony. We have daily rotating specialty chefs. Low impact one on one exercise coaching. Various activities and clubs. A nine-hole golf course next door. Two nurses on staff. Weekly physician visits.” Jacqueline rattled the list off, almost word perfect to the brochures and the web site they maintained. 
   “And his health?”
   Jacqueline nodded and smiled.
   “His health?”
   “Well, he was very happy in his first few years here. He was very active. He told the staff this was the kind of home he always hoped to retire to. He talked a lot about standards and agreed ours are the best. He had researched many homes before he decided on ours.”
   “And now?”
   Jacqueline thought for a moment. “Well, sometimes residents go through a downtime in their feelings about being in a retirement home. They start with the honeymoon stage where they love being catered to, but then they may begin to have regrets and reservations. They can have a hard time accepting that are no longer living independently. Their health and well being, their mental health specifically can take a turn at these times.”
  “Is that what he’s going through?”
   “We don’t know. He’s not… he’s stopped talking. He’s not communicating. The doctor, our doctor who visits, hasn’t found anything wrong with him, beyond usual aging conditions. But the doctor can’t explain why he is the way he is. We’re considering a referral to a specialist. Actually, we’re considering requesting an evaluation for dementia. If that was confirmed he would be moved to another wing of the home. With the same quality of care. We’d like to move him anyway, because were concerned he’s become a flight risk.”
   “Where is he? Can I see him?”
   Jacqueline started for a moment. “You haven’t met him? You don’t know him?”
   “My office represents him. I’m asked to follow up. I haven’t met him. Can I meet him now?”
   “Yes, yes. You came past him when you came in. He’s at the doors there. The man sitting, with the walker.” Jacqueline came around to escort Jakob the short distance to the doors. “Security keeps on eye on him. They make sure he stays inside. Mr. Tomlinson? Marcus? Marcus, this is Jakob. He’s come to see you. He works for you. For your lawyer.”
   Marcus did not look up.
   Jakob looked down at Marcus. Bald, liver spotted, and hunched over his walker. Marcus stared out the front doors. Every few moments he would touch his upper lip with one hand while his over hand reached for something beside him that wasn’t there.
   “Mr. Tomlinson?” Jakob said. “Mr. Tomlinson?”
   It was of no use, Marcus only stared at the doors hoping to escape.
","July 13, 2023 12:41","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'He became exactly what he feared.', 'time': '17:14 Jul 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,nc9oix,Everything is Ok,Halle Simmons,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nc9oix/,/short-story/nc9oix/,Horror,0,['Horror'],10 likes,"
It was a Wednesday night when I saw her.
 I was taking a relaxing shower, trying to clear my mind after a long day of school. I breathed in the clean air and listened to the sound of water falling. The silence was suddenly cut short by the sound of the bathroom door creaking open. It was probably just my roommate Britany, I assured myself. Maybe she didn't realize I was using the shower. 
	""I'll be out in a second!"" I yelled out to her. 
	I hopped out of my shower and threw on my pajamas. Looking back, I should have realized something was off. I should have noticed that all the lights in the house were still out. 
	When something terrible is about to happen, people always have some kind of intuition that tells them something is wrong. Why hadn't I felt anything?
	I opened the door and got into bed. For a moment, everything was fine. Suddenly I heard singing. At first, it was so quiet I wondered if it was just in my head. But then it was louder. I paused. The melody was beautiful, enchanting almost. I looked around, confused. That's when I saw her standing there in the corner of my room. She had shiny black hair that reached her waist and white skin that was so pale it was almost transparent. But her eyes... those were the thing that stood out the most. They were piercing and blood red. When our eyes met, it felt like they were tearing apart my soul. The last thing I remember from that night was her opening her mouth into what looked like a smile. Just like that, she was gone.
	I woke up the following day with a jolt. Was it all just a dream? It had to be. Shakingly I got my stuff and headed out the door. The day seemed to be going fine. But when I passed the choir room, that changed. I heard a familiar sound. I stopped dead in my tracks. It was the same song that thing had been singing last night. I couldn't run or scream, and I could barely even breathe. Panic swept over me, and I felt a scream building up inside me. The chorus teacher came rushing out and put an arm on my back.
	""Deep breaths!"" she frantically told me, ""Please try to stay calm. I'm going to take you to the nurse!""
	She hurried me to the nurse's office while holding me steady the whole time. When we got there, I was quickly ushered to a bed. As I began to calm down, the nurse gave me a bottle of water and some food.
Was it just a coincidence? I couldn't be sure. At that moment, another girl ran in. I looked down and saw that she had blood coming from a cut on her knee. Ouch, that had to hurt. 
	""Oh, dear! I'll go fetch some things to clean that up with,"" the nurse said as she rushed into the material closet.
	I began asking the girl if she was ok, but as I looked up at her face, I let out a gasp of terror. Her black hair reached around her waist, and she had pale white skin. My eyes were wide with panic. How had she found me at my school? With another look at her, I saw it was just a regular girl, not whatever I had seen last night. This realization did not assure me. I quickly scooped up my book bag and hurried out of the room. I ran out into the parking lot and jumped in my car. For a second, I sat there, taking deep breaths with my hands clenching the steering wheel. I'm just feeling stressed out. I told myself. There had been a lot more schoolwork lately, so it makes sense. I need a day to calm down. I went over my favorite things to do until I landed one. I could get a facial! I haven't gotten one in a while, so it was perfect. 
	I began driving to the spa, which was only about 15 minutes away. On my way there, I was sure to pick up a latte from the local coffee shop. When I arrived, I grabbed my drink and went inside. A woman introduced herself to me as Mrs. Raynard. Mrs. Raynard was a kind and gentle lady with a thick Southern accent. I think she may have been in her late fifties. She brought me into a cozy room. It was dimly lit with fairy lights. I was then guided to a comfy bed. I took a seat on it and listened as she explained the process. As she began, I couldn't help but have a sigh of relief. I calmed and breathed in the scent of the essential oils. As she worked on my face, I could feel my troubles fade away. I may have even drifted off a bit. Once she was finished, she lightly tapped me on the shoulder. 
	""Thank you very much, Mrs. Raynard!"" I said as I got to my feet.
	""Oh, Honey. You were a delight to work on. Your skin is so lovely!""
	On my drive home, I was so relieved. Now that I was calmer and less stressed, I was sure that whatever was in my room was gone. It was all just my mind telling me I was tired and needed a break. When I got home, it was already dark. I decided to turn in early and start the day fresh tomorrow. I snuggled up into my covers. As I suspected, nothing happened that night. No scary monsters, no music, no worries. 
	It has been almost 2 months since I saw that awful thing in my room. Sometimes, I'll still hear that melody or recognize her face in a random person. But that was just my mind playing tricks on me. A couple days after I last saw that thing, Britany came home. When she walked into my room, she let out a blood-curdling scream. I tried to assure her everything was fine, but for some reason, she just ignored me and ran out. Later that day, police officers came and looked around the house. Although they didn't scream when they entered my room, I could tell they were also uneasy. They left, but it was weird. They had just ignored me as Brittany had. After that, nobody seemed to see or hear me anymore. Even when I texted my parents, all the messages popped up with a red 'Not delivered.' It's strange. I don't really understand it. But it doesn't really bother me that much. I feel calm. I feel happy. 
	Everything is ok.
 
","July 15, 2023 03:32","[[{'Chuck Thompson': 'The ending was a bit confusing, but it was sure fun!  Thanks!', 'time': '02:15 Jul 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lorraine B': ""I love the way you wrote your short story🙂. You write in a very clear manner, and I love the mysteriousness! I thought she was hallucinating at the start, but it seems as though the black haired woman is real otherwise why else would Britany leave? My interpretation is that the protagonist is cursed or maybe even her place is cursed. Or it could even be similar to the movie 'Slenderman' in the way that she's stalking, abducting, and traumatizing people."", 'time': '03:38 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,cgjuzy,CREATURE OF THE NIGHT,Melinda Madrigal,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cgjuzy/,/short-story/cgjuzy/,Horror,0,['Fiction'],10 likes,"
I hate the night especially when there's no light. Bad things happen at this time. Midnight is the witching hour, I need to get to my car as fast as possible or else.
 
Shit! What is that? Growling, low menacing growling. Oh God! something is out here with me, watching me. Keep it together Kat. Keep walking don't look back. There's that growling again.
 
It's behind me. Don't you dare look back Kat. I take out my car keys and run to my car. I hear it behind me. Run Kat, run fast. I see my car. I made it to my car. I press the turn on button. My car turns on.
 
I still hear it behind me. It's catching up to me. I open my car door, quickly get and close the door. I put my key in the ignition, then all of a sudden something huge hits my car. I look out and see a monster with huge teeth and huge claws.
 
The key falls from the ignition. I don't want to look again and see that thing. It keeps banging and thrashing at my car. I bend my hand down looking for the key.
 
Where is it? Come on Kat, that thing is trying to get to you, to eat you. Come on Kat find the key. Don't scream. Be strong. There it is. I found the key. I pick up the key and put it in the ignition. I start the car, put my foot on the gas pedal and drive as fast as I can.
 
Oh My God! those teeth, those eyes, those claws. It's unlike anything I ever seen, well maybe in movies. I look out the side window. Oh shit! That thing is chasing me. I press the gas pedal harder. That thing is getting quicker. It's coming at me fast.
 
I'm dead. I know I'm going to die tonight. I blow through three red lights. Damn it! what is it now? The police siren. Great just what I need. What am I going to tell the officer?
 
I pull my car over. The creature is gone but I'm in trouble. I roll down the window. I smile weakly at the officer. ""License and Registration."" I nod. I hand over my license and registration to the officer.
 
I wait patiently for my ticket. As I'm waiting for the ticket, I begin to hear growling. I look back and to the sides of me and in an instant the creature pounces on the officer.
 
I look on in horror as the creature rips and shreds the officer's body. The creature is wild, vicious and blood thirsty. In a matter of minutes, the officer is torn apart by the creature. Blood is everywhere including my car.
 
My fear is trapping me in my car. I can't move. I can't stop looking at the creature. I will; remember those eyes forever. I pray for a quick death but the creature doesn't come after me. it disappears. I guess the creature is full. What am I saying? It just ate that poor man.
 
My ID. I have to get my ID and registration. I carefully open my car door and carefully get out of my car. I make my way to the police car. Oh God! I'm about to throw up. The poor officer's guts are everywhere. It smells awful.
 
I look around the officer's remains. Not here. It must be inside the car. I step over the officer's remains and enter the car. I immediately spot my ID and registration. I grab them and put them in my pocket.
 
As I'm about to leave, I hear that menacing growl again. The creature is coming back. I jump into the back seat and hide. Breathe Kat. Take a deep breathe in and out. Don't let that thing know you're here.
 
I hear him. He's right next to the car, right above me. Oh God! he's going to see me. I close my eyes and pray that thing goes away. What's it waiting for? It's going to see me. I crouch down even further.
 
He's moving away. I don't dare get out get out of the car. I still hear it. I peek out and see it devouring the remaining parts of the officer. What seemed like hours but was only twenty minutes, the creature has finally left. I quickly get out of the police car, run to my car and quickly drive home.
 
I don't want to know what I saw. I'm scared of the answer. I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what will happen to me. What if that thing is following me home?
 
I pull into my driveway. I'm happy to be home. The fear of what I saw is haunting me. It's only been a half hour since the poor officer was killed and I can still see the pain and terror in his face.
 
Okay Kat time to be a big girl and get out of the car. I slowly get out of my car. I look at my surroundings. I'm in the clear. I run to my house, open the door and enter. I begin to cry.
 
I cry for the officer and his family, for the terror that people will feel tomorrow. I can't tell people what I saw they will think I'm crazy. No one will believe me. I wish this was a dream, a really bad dream but it's not. It's a really life living nightmare.
 
I pick myself up and go to my bedroom. I fall onto my bed, close my eyes and fall asleep. I wake up the next morning still wearing the same clothes from yesterday.
 
Oh God! yesterday. Yesterday was a true nightmare. I haven't forgotten about the officer or the creature. It' still in my mind. I can't unseen what I saw. 
 
I finish my shower and head downstairs. I turn on the T.V. there right in front of me is my nightmare. The officer's bloody car but no body. I look on in horror at the true destruction the creature did.
 
I'm lost in my head that I don't hear the reporter saying ""If anyone has information about the whereabouts of officer Kincaid contact your local police."" No one knows about the creature. I'm the only witness.
 
I'm not going to the police to tell them a tale about a wild beast attacking and killing officer Kincaid. I will sound like a crazy person and be sent to a mental hospital.
 
I lay down on my couch and close my eyes. I'm back in the parking lot of my job. I'm running to my car. Something is behind me, chasing me. I'm thrashing and sweating reliving last nights events. I hear the menacing growl behind me. It's catching up to me. I reach my car. I get in when that thing forcefully hits my car. Those eyes, those teeth, those claws. No. It's coming in. I wake-up screaming.
 
I look all around me. I'm home. What's that noise? It sounds like a man. I feel a cold-presences behind me. I'm afraid to look. I take a couple deep breathes in and out. Okay here goes. I slowly turn around and to my utter horror, I see officer Kincaid.
 
He's dead. The creature torn him to pieces. I close my eyes then open them. He's still in front of me. I take a good look at officer Kincaid. His body is bloody and torn. I stumble back as officer Kincaid gets near me. He's about to touch me when I wake-up screaming.
 
Another dream. It was just another bad dream. What's wrong with me? That thing is haunting me in my dreams. I can't let no one see like this. I call in sick and text my parents. If this thing is after me, I can let my family and friends be any where near me.
 
I did research on werewolves and found out they come out during the full moon. The next full moon is in two days. I stay home waiting and preparing.
 
That thing is coming back tonight. I run around my house locking the doors and windows. I grab all my knives and head to my bedroom. I close and lock the door. I lock my bedroom window and close the blinds.
 
It's going to happen again. I can feel it. That thing is going to be hunting tonight. Maybe for me or some unfortunate soul is going to get torn apart by the creature. I have to protect myself.
 
Some out there walking the streets or driving is going to die and I know about it. I know the truth. I have to tell somebody. Someone has to stop the creature. But who? My best friend Wyatt will know what to do.
 
Wyatt lives two blocks from me. I jump out of my bed with a butcher knife and head to my car. I have to be fast. The moon is starting to come out. I start the car and peel out of my driveway.
 
I made it to Wyatt's house. His house is quiet, too quiet. I park in the driveway and leave my car. I hear nosies coming from inside. I hasten my pace. I open the door. I walk in but stop when I hear growling nosies.
 
I quietly close the door. I go to the bay window and look inside. To my horror, I see Wyatt bend over in pain. I want to go help him, a voice in my head is telling me don't go inside. I'm stuck in place when I see those menacing eyes. The same eyes I saw a couple nights ago.
 
Oh God! Wyatt is the creature. I run back to my car. I grab the butcher knife and hide in the back seat. I hear the door creaking. The creature is bursting through. That's Wyatt. The creature is Wyatt.
 
I hear it howling. Please don't see me. Tears are coming down my face. Why Wyatt? I peek out and see Wyatt in front of me. I back away. He's standing there watching me. It's like he knows me. I grab the butcher knife and point it at Wyatt. Just then I hear another growling noise. I turn and look out the back window. There is another one. Oh shit! There's two.
 
The other creature is coming towards me. Wyatt stands in front of my car blocking the other creature. Wyatt's protecting me. Wyatt is still there.
 
The two of them begin to fight. Wyatt is the smaller of the two. I look on praying Wyatt wins. The big one has Wyatt by the throat. Wyatt manages to get out and  now has the big one on the ground. 
 
Wyatt is clawing at the big one. The big one gets up and tackles Wyatt. The big one gets on top of Wyatt. Wyatt claws at its legs. The big one howls. Wyatt tackles the big one and in one swift move Wyatt rips the throat of the big creature. That was surreal.
 
I came to the realization during the fight that Wyatt didn't kill officer Kincaid. It was the big creature. I saw just enough of the creature to know it wan't Wyatt.
 
The butcher knife still in my hand, my heart beating fast. I get of the car. Wyatt is coming up to me. Those menacing eyes are watching me and I'm watching him.
 
I need to run but I don't. He's my best friend but also a killer. He's standing right in front of me. He's touching my arms and legs. Oh God! he's going to bite me. Wyatt stands on his hind legs.
 
""Wyatt, it's me Kat."" I whisper. Wyatt backs away from me. He's still in front of me watching me. He then goes back inside his house. I go back to my car and wait for the sun to rise.
 
At dawn I leave my car and go to Wyatt. I open the door. Wyatt is in front of me. ""How much do you know?' Wyatt asks me. ""I saw you as that thing.""
 
Wyatt proceeds to tell me everything. How the members of his family are werewolves. How each night they prowl through the streets looking for easy targets. Wyatt also tells me that his father killed officer Kincaid and went after me.
 
""You killed your father to protect me."" Wyatt nods. ""I love you Kat. That's why I didn't tell you. To protect you.""
 
Wyatt loves me. My best friend loves me. ""I'm scared Wyatt. What happened to me and what I saw will always haunt me. I promise to protect your secret and you. I love you too.""
 
""Thanks Kat. You mean everything to me."" Nobody in town knows about Wyatt. The mystery of the disappearance of officer Kincaid has never been solved. My new nightmare protecting Wyatt's secret from the town.
","July 13, 2023 21:40","[[{'Kelli Etheridge': 'Interesting story.  I like the first person point of view to try to establish urgency and fear.  Good twist at the end, maybe foreshadow to it throughout. \n\nYou could tidy up the grammar and punctuation a bit.  Not sure what you use, but I find Grammarly helpful.\n\nAdding synonyms here would be better - huge is used a lot. ""huge hits my car. I look out and see a monster with huge teeth and huge claws.""\n\nLastly, maybe explore more showing and less telling so that the reader feels the tension more.', 'time': '18:30 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,pevggr,Who are you?!,Falynn Almeda,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pevggr/,/short-story/pevggr/,Horror,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Thriller']",9 likes,"
I was walking to my black sedan, using the fob to unlock it, after a Friday night class to go to my job. It was a rainy night, making everything look sleek and more muted behind the steady drops. The double-glass doors had splattered drops blocking reflections. The motion-activated light of the foyer had gone off. I pulled my hoodless jean jacket on as my only defense against the wet, cool air. The streetlight at the corner gave off an orange halo as the only light source. I was the only car that parked in the back lot because it was faster to get to work and because the lot was built at a precarious angle with a steep slope. I assume it was because it was cheaper than leveling out the hill.  It probably seemed steeper to me than it was because of my being short. Despite being a petite female, I was used to walking alone after class. The building I had been in was huge and my class was smack in the middle of the first floor. There weren’t even any professors in this lot because they had a reserved lot in the front. I was a little more than halfway to my car, my mind lost in thoughts about papers due and about my mundane-and hopefully temporary hence the night classes- janitorial job. Then suddenly out of my peripheral, I saw him. A guy my age, maybe a little younger but a lot taller. Slim build and skin the color of the perfect latte. He was wearing a white tee shirt and either black jeans or black slacks. He was wearing white sneakers. His black (or wet brown) hair was short and in tight curls. He had freckles on both cheeks. But more importantly, he was holding a knife in his right hand. Not a butcher knife, but a noticeably large pocketknife. The blade’s silver edge gleamed under the streetlight. He wasn’t holding it above his head to attack...at least not yet. It was at his side with the tip facing behind him. He was walking towards me. Not fast, just slowly approaching. His eyes looked dilated and fixated on me. My heart started beating, my stomach had a rock drop in it, and I was trying not to pant out loud. I didn’t look at him straight on and kept darting my eyes between him and my front door. I picked up my speed. The guy didn’t, but he was so tall one of his strides was three of mine. I started to sprint the last steps to my door, and he was right behind me. He didn’t grab at me or yell or stab me. I was able to quickly jump in my car and slam the door closed. He was right outside the driver’s side. I panic-clicked my lock button. I looked up with wide eyes out of my driver side window as I fumbled while putting my key into the ignition. I felt my eyes wanting to cry out of fear. But the guy didn’t try to wrench the door open or break the window. He stood there and I realized he was crying. Tears streaked down his face, and I noticed how red his corneas were around his dark irises. His cheeks and nose were tinted pink from crying. I glanced at his shirt- no blood splatter or stains. Then I saw his lips moving and I focused on listening to him speak. His voice was tight and higher pitched than men’s voices usually are.  
He was repeating “Please, don’t leave. Please, don’t leave. Please, don’t go, please don’t go” over and over.  
I took some choppy breaths and then more quickly than was probably safe on the wet asphalt, I ripped my car into reverse and then sped down the paved slope onto the street without stopping.  
I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw the man standing there still, in the spot next to where my car had been parked.  
“What was that?!” I asked myself out loud as I approached the first stoplight on my way.  
I got to my job without any incident and thought about calling the local hospital and asking if a psych patient had escaped. The thought was nothing more than a ‘pop’ of an idea cloud and I got to work. I worked at a business firm part-time, cleaning at night and on weekends so I could attend classes during the day. Today, there was just no choice for me to pay bills but to work on a night I had class. I was mopping a walkway in the warehouse style two-story basement that had been painted safety green and safety yellow. The bottom floor was storage, and the upper floor was a series of long travel walkways between staircases to get to different sectioned off storage areas. For safety, I had to wear jeans-which I hated-but I could wear any kind of top I wanted. Today, I wore a plain peach tee shirt. There wasn’t good airflow in the basement and with the rain, it felt humid and sticky. Normally, I had my EarPods and cellphone to listen to music or podcasts, but the basement also had absolutely no reception whatsoever, so I never brought them with me when I had to clean down here. 
Suddenly, a voice came over the loudspeaker. 
“HEEHEE, all right ladies and gents, let’s see who can mop up blood faster, clowns or the average cleaning lady” 
It reminded me of Joker, from Batman. I looked up at the ceiling confused and scared. I’m the only one in the building right now. Or I was. My heart started drumming and my breathing became shaky. 
In the storage areas beneath me, the lights came on, making me jump and yelp. I stumbled-ran to the rail-edge of the walkway and looked below me. 
The storage areas now looked like lines of maze lanes and the length of the floors had a red substance, presumably blood, on them. At the end of each lane was a person-some were plain-clothed women and then there were lines of people with mostly plain clothes and white face makeup. Some of them had red-smiles painted over their mouth-areas. Apparently, that’s all you need to be a ‘clown’. 
A second later the loudspeaker gave off a “da-da-da-duun da daaaa”- the sound at a baseball game. Then a gunshot was fired and the people below all started race-mopping up the blood. But they weren’t cleaning it all up, just quickly mopping forward. No buckets of water or anything. 
My eyes scanned with panic at whatever this was and then a clown looked up and made eye contact as he-or she- kept madly mopping. The red-painted smile widened into a grin. 
I felt my stomach drop and sweat begin to drip down me. I wasn’t afraid of clown before now. I ran down the walkway and looked around for an escape. But I was blocked in on both sides by lockers on this walkway and the only way out was to go down the steps to the storage area, go to the other set of stairs and get to the elevator or stair doors that led to the lobby floor. And I wasn’t going down to the storage area for anything.  
My breathing skipped, my heart tried to escape my chest and I felt a tear drip down my cheek. I decided to hide under some mesh against a wall. It was a large mound of fabric that I didn’t know why it was there or what it was for, and I didn’t care. I dove under and squished my knees to my chest and breathed into my jeans to slow it down. The mesh was similar to the Halloween costume mesh that let you see out but was harder to see into; I hoped. I heard the sloshing of mops getting fainter as I presumed the ‘racers’ were moving further down the lanes. I couldn’t see back down the walkway from where I had come from, due to the lockers blocking my view. I became annoyed at those lockers because no one even used them for anything. They had gotten moved down here during recent renovations and the company had decided to wait until next year’s spring clean-up to get rid of them because of it being a more cost-effective option than having them hauled out now. 
A moment later a girl, around my age, came running up the walkway. and slapped her mop to the floor and it made a ‘thud’. I noticed that while it was wet, the mop didn’t have any red on it. She was wearing dark-wash fashion jeans, a dyed-blue jacket, and her blonde hair was in a side ponytail. Her back was to me. She dropped to the ground onto her stomach, now at an angle so I could see the side of her face. She then jabbed her finger to a spot on the floor. A button, perhaps? 
Then a voice came over a speaker-but it wasn’t the loudspeaker...I squinted in confusion. The voice sounded similar to the knife guy in the parking lot. My eyes got wide as I listened. 
“Hmm, yes? Who might this be?” said the voice, somewhat mocking. 
The girl snapped in a stage whisper and was glaring at the floor. “It’s ME! Kim! The one who organized this whole thing! Get me out of here” that was a demand. 
She looked around half-angry, half-nervous. She was holding her upper body up on her elbows, but trying to stay as low as she could. 
“Hmm” came the voice from the floor. There must have been a small speaker there. Or maybe a planted walkies-talkie. “No. Doesn't ring a bell” the voice said a fake-ho-hum tone. 
The girl’s got wide at first and then glared harder at the floor and spoke between her teeth “YOU, get me out of here or so help me....” and she fell flat to the ground. 
I didn’t think my eyes could get any wider, but I was proven wrong as I watched her lay there limp and lifeless. I didn’t hear a gun go off. She just suddenly went ‘splat’. I swallowed nothing because my mouth was dry. I didn’t want to move my head, but my eyes darted between her body and just beyond the locker edge that I could see. I heard the same ‘thud’ again-another mop got tossed to the floor on the sides of the lockers that I couldn’t see. 
Seconds later a guy walked up. He was wearing all black, black work boots, and a brown-leather duster. He had a square head, his brown hair was cut short but not a buzz cut, and he had white face paint that stopped at his chin and sides of his face. His ears and neck were the same color as his skin-light tan. He slowly, menacingly walked to the girl’s body and looked at it for a second. Then he non-nonchalantly turned towards the wall. His face was stoic. He methodically started pressing his hands against the wall, up and down, moving to the side, getting closer and closer to me. 
I held my breath and tried to be a statue- he'd get me if I tried to run. Plus, I was willing to bet that whatever had killed the other girl had a great chance of killing me. But I could see out of the sides of my eye the clown guy was going to touch some part of me when he got to me. Maybe if I didn’t move, he’d touch my hair and think it was just more lump of fabric. My stomach had a boulder doing somersaults in it. I was running out of capacity to hold my breath. I bit my lower lip and squeezed my eyes shut for a second. I was going to die with frizzy hair, in jeans, hiding under mesh in a business firm’s basement. My mind raced with how long it would be before my body was found-it was Friday and I lived alone. I had no boyfriend, and my cellphone and wallet were in my purse in my designated cubby in a closet on the first floor. I hadn’t made any plans because I had to work all weekend, so none of my friends or family were expecting me anywhere. This was a regular-hour business office, so almost no one would be here on the weekend and even if one or two over-achievers did come in, they would just hustle to their offices that were all on the second floor. It would probably be that someone would see my stuff in the cubby closet on Monday and then wonder where I was. Or the company would notice I hadn’t clocked out for 72+ hours. And that was presuming I was left here and not buried in a shallow grave in the woods. 
I was so lost in thought about being found that I jolted and gasped when a hand pressed on my face, and I felt the wall behind me give in a little. The mesh was yanked off and I was staring up at the clown. I just sat there in terror. But the clown guy looked at me and pointed behind me. I slowly looked at him and moved my eyes before my head to look behind me. I figured he was going to bop me with something over the head. But then he stepped next to me and pushed the wall more. It moved more and it led into some kind of tunnel. It was dark except where the walkway light shone a little. It was dusty, lined with cobwebs and smelled like must and rust. I looked from inside the hidden tunnel to the clown guy. He moved his head slightly toward me and silently pointed into the tunnel. 
 I swallowed and slowly stood up but had to bend back down to go inside. He followed me and when he was inside, he moved the wall back into place and it was black except for spaces here and there along the way. My eyes were trying to adjust to the dark when suddenly a light came on at my feet. I jumped back and looked up. The clown was holding a flashlight. He pointed it on the ground down the tunnel and started moving. He pointed again when he got right behind me. Not seeing much choice, I turned and went first down the tunnel, trying to keep my eyes where the flashlight illuminated. It was a only few minutes that felt like forever when I saw a big, brighter fluorescent glow ahead of me. I walked closer to it and when I got up to it, I blinked a couple times. 
Then I focused on three figures in front of me. One looked like Morpheus from the Matrix and the other was thin woman with a short black bob, dressed in black with white face paint. She had her head tilted and her eyes looked empty. Between them was the knife guy from the parking lot. 
He wasn’t crying now; he was smiling an eerie smile and his black eyes looked soft but focused on me. He was wearing a white tuxedo with a black undershirt and had a small rose in his breast pocket. He outreached his arms to me and took two of his long strides towards me. I just stood there flat-footed and confused. The fear ran through me as he pulled me into a hug. 
“Ahh” he said, sounding relieved “I’m so glad you made it. I was so worried” but he didn’t sound kind. He sounded...kind of condescending. Or sarcastic. I wasn’t sure, but it felt off, nonetheless. I didn’t return the embrace, but he didn’t seem to notice or mind. He released and pulled back, his palms resting on my shoulders. He looked me over with a too-sweet smile. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into some office I’d never seen before. I got pulled into his chest from behind. I let out a squeak. The clown guy with the flashlight emerged from the tunnel and hit a button on the side of the wall inside the office and the tunnel wall closed. 
My eyes were looking around and my pulse could match any Olympian's. 
The knife guy, said softly into my ear “Now we never have to be apart again, my love” 
My stomach rolled again; I didn’t know who this guy was or what was going on. Apparently, I was the target of this psycho secret admirer. He pulled my hand, and we all went out of the office door onto the rainy street. There were two cars; a black sedan that looked like mine, only newer, and a black SUV. The two clowns and matrix man went to the SUV and the knife guy opened the driver’s door and gestured for me to get in, which I did. He closed the door for me-what a gentleman? - and then got in the passenger side. He handed me keys. 
“We can go home now, love” he sing-sang to me. “I know you know how to drive this car” he smiled that sickly-sweet smile again. 
I put the car into drive. I didn’t know where to go. He’d probably know if I wasn’t going to my apartment. He might get mad and attack me if I tried to go to the police station. 
I swallowed and nervously looked at him. He was leaning into kiss me. I panicked, a cold sweat overtaking me. I was scared and started crying, and not knowing what else to do, I screamed. 
I screamed myself awake. I was lying in my bed, still in a cold sweat, panting. 
It had been a terrifying dream. 
 
","July 09, 2023 18:46","[[{'Rose Lind': ""I had to think about why I wanted to wrote one sentence to you when normally I'm helpful and supportive.\n\nI'm getting ready for ANOTHER job interview soon and I was reading to fill in time get my mind off things.\n\nAfter stubbing out a half cigarette and chastising myself that was 2 and half cigarettes this morning, I realised when someone panics I give them one word or one sentence of directions to have the impact of immediate understanding.\n\nSo you got the panic right in your story. But I read long lists of what a safety instructor would te..."", 'time': '23:18 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rose Lind': 'You need to slow this down the tension is built without a pause.', 'time': '22:43 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,omlzeg,The basement people,Hassan Azi,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/omlzeg/,/short-story/omlzeg/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction']",9 likes,"
There are people down in the basement, but they're not regular people. For starters, they only show up at night. But I'm getting ahead of myself.Everything started with a bet. My younger brother bet that I couldn't spend the night in our cold gray basement. Not one to back down from a challenge, I accepted the bet and we shook on it. What my brother didn't know was that I had a deep seated fear of the dark. None of that mattered though because I had a plan. I was going to do things progressively. Up until the promised day, I consistently microdosed darkness. First in my room, then in the garage, and then finally in front of the basement. After all, I only had to resist the urge to flee until I fell asleep. I would sit still with the lights out and soon find myself in a meditative state that stopped my overactive imagination in its tracks. That strategy proved to be a success.The first night I spent in the basement was the first night I met the basement people. I had gone down there at midnight, under my brother's supervision. As stated by our bet's ruleset, he locked me in at midnight and was going to let me out the next morning at 6 AM sharp. Under no condition was he going to let me out any time in between. It was probably not a good idea in hindsight, but we were both making decisions that were driven by ego as opposed to rationality.The experience was especially frightening at first, but I kept my training in mind. I lay on the bare floor, in the fetal position, and counted down from one hundred. I don't recall at which point I drifted into a merciful sleep. But the next thing I remember was waking up with a jolt. I couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but I felt that something was off. It wasn't until a few minutes later that I realized why: I could faintly hear the sound of breathing.Inhale.Hold.Exhale.My panic morphed into full blown horror at the realization that I wasn't alone. I stayed perfectly still, counting the seconds until day light started lazily pooling through the cracks of the basement windows. Only then did I dare open my eyes. Relief washed over me when I saw that I was indeed alone after all. Still, I couldn't wait to get out of that cursed place. As if on cue, my brother unlocked the door and I bolted through it, not looking back.I should have ended it there, I really should. But a couple of weeks following this event, I spent another night in the basement. I had to know for sure that what I'd heard was nothing but a hallucination caused by sleep paralysis. I didn't even want to entertain any alternative explanation.My second night wasn't too different at first. I counted down imaginary sheep and fell asleep before I made it to 0. Some time after, I again woke up with a start. This time, however, the sound of breathing felt much closer than before. I froze and cursed myself for having willingly put myself in this position. Eventually, exhaustion drove me to fall asleep. I woke up at dawn and made my escape. But before I locked the door behind me, I noticed something strange: footprints on the dusty floor facing the spot where I was sleeping. I knew for sure that they weren't mine. I was wearing shoes, but the footprints were bare.I swore that I would not make the same mistake thrice, but by then I had reached the point of no return. Something was triggered somewhere. Maybe I flipped a cosmic lightswitch without realizing it, and set off a set of dominoes in the process. But the point is, I lost control of my presence in the basement. I would go to sleep in my own bed, only to awaken on the cold hard floor of the basement. Sometimes I would go through a random door at 10 AM and find myself transported to the pitch black basement. It didn't help that time ceased to make sense when I was in there. I would spend hours on end sprawled on its floor, then once the door got unlocked, I'd learn that it had only been seconds. Little by little, it stopped being a physical location in our house and more of a hollow concrete cube in a place that light can't reach. Or maybe it was never a regular basement in the first place. Maybe it just happened to be built around whichever spatial coordinate these beings occupy.Up until then, this was the extent of the strangeness of the situation. It was still horrifying but I somehow adjusted. Things took a turn for the worse when I started seeing the basement people. Through the darkness, I could make out humanoid shapes. Perfectly still, but their very existence terrified me nonetheless. I think there were four of them in total, but I could barely tell. This went on for a while, with them being vaguely there every time the basement pulled me in, and me seeing nothing more than silhouettes.With time, my eyes finally adjusted to the oppressing darkness of the basement. This newly acquired sense of sight gave me enough courage to approach the basement people. In doing so, I realized that they were taller than I had initially suspected. In fact, they were tall to the point where I couldn't see past their midsections. It was legs as far as the eye could see. I was able to see the ceiling just fine, but when I moved my eyes to where their heads were supposed to be, my vision warped. No matter how hard I strained my eyes, I would lose focus as soon as I tried to look up at them. It was a feeling like no other. I can't put it into words, but the closest sensation to it was like trying to look into the sun, or trying to keep eyelids open under the heavy weight of sleep. One time I focused so hard that my nose bled. My brain either couldn't comprehend what it saw, or it blocked it off for self preservation purposes. Either way, I stopped trying to look up at them.As time went by, I felt less fear and more awe towards them. I felt content just being in their presence, even in utter silence. I wanted to understand them. I needed to find out where they came from and why. Did they have a life outside the confines of this place? How many eons had they lived in this place? Were they capable of  emotion? Curiosity got the best of me, pushing me to make my final and most fatal mistake.You see, my desire to connect with the basement people led me to break the silence.""Who are you? Where did you come from?""The ground shook under my feet. The ceiling threatened to collapse as the basement people slowly bent down to my eye level. My vision blurred and my legs wobbled under the immense pressure of what was happening. I was standing out of sheer willpower, emboldened by the thought that I about to make the first contact with what I assumed to be an otherwordly civilization. But when we came face to face, my eyes saw nothing but stars. I felt my brain beginning to vibrate in my skull. The ringing in my ears was too much to bear, but I could make out a few words in the sea of static that almost ruptured my eardrums.""You'll find out soon""Then just as it started, it stopped. The people vanished and the basement was lit again. The mechanisms inside my wristwatch resumed ticking. My brain stopped trying to implode. That was the last time I saw the basement people.This brings us to today. The basement weirdness stopped, but something broke inside me. My proximity to the basement people has affected me on a biological level. I'm growing taller by the day and it's too pronounced to be written off as a growth spurt. My speech patterns are nowhere near those of a regular teenager. I find myself spending a lot of time just standing still in a corner of the basement. My family and friends seem to forget my existence more and more. I feel like I'm slowly fading out of reality.I think I'm being assimilated. And when the metamorphosis comes to a conclusion, there will be five of us.
","July 14, 2023 01:41","[[{'Jayde Trilo': ""That was really good. Loved the build up and the reveal of the basement people. And the ending is quite terrifying. It feels somewhat like Lovecraft's type of horror in the best ways."", 'time': '04:06 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Hassan Azi': 'Thank you, yes I was actually going for something Lovecraftian in this tale 👍', 'time': '13:12 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Hassan Azi': 'Thank you, yes I was actually going for something Lovecraftian in this tale 👍', 'time': '13:12 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,88ov44,The Home,Joshua Murallon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/88ov44/,/short-story/88ov44/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",9 likes,"
Content Warning! There is some body horror and graphic imagery.

The Home
 
Clara stood petrified in the doorway. Before her was a monstrosity. An amalgamation of bodies and appendages collected from the tens of victims the beast had taken. Faces fused to its sides cried out in agony, pleading for help that would not come. 
 
Clara trembled, unable to move. Sweat dripped down her back and her heart beat through her chest. This was it, the monster was going to take her too. 
 
It turned toward her. Clara did not know how she knew, as it had no face of its own, but she knew its gaze was set on her; its next victim. She screamed. 
 
It crawled forward, its multitude of limbs reached out to grip the floor, walls, ceiling, and anything else it could grasp as it pulled itself toward her, inching ever closer, dragging its bulk across the warped floorboards of the old oak house. 
 
“Why do you scream, Clara?” The monster rasped through the mouths that had just been screaming.
 
“Why will you not stay and join me? Why will you not be my guest?”
 
It was close enough now to grab onto her. Its fingers squeezed painfully against her skin. It pulled her closer, consuming her. She could feel a pulsing warmth all around her. It was dark. There were screams. She was screaming too.
 
***
 
Clara woke with a start. Had she been screaming? What had she been dreaming? Her sweat had soaked through her pajamas and drenched the bedsheets. Damn, not again. 
 
Spring Roll was sound asleep next to her. Clara reached out to give him a scratch behind the ears, and he nuzzled closer to her, his round corgi rump wagging slightly in drowsy happiness. 
 
Clara and Spring Roll got ready for the day and stepped out the door of their dingy studio apartment. It was only a step or two up from decrepit status and descending quickly. 
 
Clara looked back and sighed in relief that she had finally saved up enough to make a down payment on a house. A house! Could you believe it? It wouldn’t be an extravagant place, but hopefully they could find one that had a nice yard for Spring Roll to play and run in. That was all Clara wanted. 
 
John, the realtor, was going to meet them at a little place just outside downtown. He said it was a bit of a fixer-upper, but that it had good bones and room to grow. After viewing house after house and never making the winning bid, Clara was beginning to grow jaded from all the back and forth, but she still held on to a bit of hope. This one felt special. 
 
Clara and Spring Roll pulled up to a tiny little Victorian in a quiet neighborhood that looked like it was in the midst of transformation. Well kept flower and vegetable gardens shared wirelink fences with yards full of run down and rusted out cars and mechanical parts. John was waiting on the porch. 
 
Clara opened the wirelink gate to the small property and let Spring Roll in before her. He sniffed the dry, weed-filled ground inquisitively, investigating for danger and potential snacks. 
 
“Hey Clara, I’m glad you could make it,” said John, opening the door to the house. “I think we’ve got a really great shot with this one.”
 
He put a hand up to fix his slicked back hair as he flashed her a too-white smile. 
 
“Yeah,” Clara said, eyeing the place up and down. “It’s something.” 
 
Paint was chipping off the outer walls, the wood of the patio deck was splintering, the pillars holding up the porch roof looked like they probably had termites, and the windows were grimy and impenetrable to the eye. 
 
It was a fixer-upper alright. 
 
John took Clara and Spring Roll through the house and guided them through its history and condition. He told them about how it was built way back in 1891, back when the city was barely more than a frontier town. It had originally been owned by the Wilcaster family, who had wealth but preferred to remain humble, hence the single story house that would have seemed to belong to someone of middling means back in that day. Still, Clara could see that it had once been a jewel in its own right. 
 
The interior wasn’t much better. The wall paper slumped and wrinkled off the walls, but the flooring was in good condition. A stained oak, according to John. He showed her the office with built-in book shelves, the kitchen with a cast-iron oven that was original to the house, and the bedroom with stained glass doors. Honestly, this house was beginning to grow on her. 
 
“Everything’s original,” John said. “No renovations to speak of. If you want to turn on the stove, you’ll have to bring the wood in and light it yourself. 
 
“It’ll take a lot of work to fix things up, but if you’re up to the challenge I think I can work out a deal with the seller and get you this place before anyone else can snatch it up.”
 
Wow. This could be it. This could be the one. 
 
“Who’s the seller?” Clara asked. 
 
“One of the descendants of the original Wilcaster family, a uh…” John took a moment to think. “Sam! Samantha Wilcaster.” 
 
“I’ve been sticking to speaking with her realtor, but the ol’ Ms. Wilcaster seemed nice enough the few times I met her. Apparently, her main concern is keeping the house standing. She said she wants someone who will fix it up, and is absolutely opposed to anyone tearing it down to build anything new.” 
 
Clara wandered through the house while Spring Roll continued to sniff his way up and down the halls. While it would definitely take a lot of work, owning a piece of history like this was a reward in and of itself. That was it, she had to make a move.
 
“We’ll take it.”
 
“Great!” 
 
John shook Clara’s hand enthusiastically as they left the Wilcaster house. Clara looked back at her new home, and oddly, she felt like it was looking back at her. A new friend perhaps?
 
She was going all in on this. All her savings, all her assets, they were being put on the line for this house. This was going to be it. This would finally be their well-deserved break. 
 
***
 
Clara and Spring Roll settled into their new home quickly enough. Being a freelance writer afforded Clara the time to dive right in to fixing up the place. She spent the first few days cleaning the dust and debris out before beginning to move her own things in with a menagerie of boxes and bins. Every time she moved she was astonished at the amount of stuff she owned. Just another part of growing up, she supposed. 
 
“Spring Roll!” Clara called in exasperation. “Did you start tearing up this wallpaper?”
 
She crouched down and began surveying a corner of the wall in between the office and the bedroom that looked particularly worse for wear. Water stains and moths had done a number on the poor thing and it would have to go. But the bite marks at the bottom were definitely a new addition. 
 
Spring Roll ran over and started giving Clara plenty of wet kisses. Clara wasn’t sure he had done it, but either way she couldn’t be mad at him. He was a corgi after all. 
 
“Alright, bud, let’s get started on this.”
 
Clara began to tear away the wallpaper, beginning with the shredded corner and pulling until it separated at the ceiling. Behind the wallpaper was a door. It wasn’t ornate or detailed like any of the other doors in the house, but it looked like it was just as old, maybe a little older. 
 
“Huh. Did we get lucky with a bonus room? What do you think, Spring Roll? Shall we investigate?” Clara said, smiling down at the little dog. 
 
She took his immediate sniffing at the crack at the bottom of the door as an affirmative. She chuckled and opened it up. 
 
The smell of old air and dried wood washed over her in a wave that made her eyes tear up. An unlit passageway stood before her leading into darkness. 
 
Clara took out her phone and used the flashlight to guide her way as Spring Roll rushed ahead of her, following his nose to God knows what. 
 
Clara crept through the darkness, warped floorboards beneath her feet creaking from decades of dry rot and neglect. The passageway continued on for what felt like a football field in length, growing narrower and narrower the further she went.
 
“Spring Roll? Buddy?” Clara called, worried. 
 
She could hear scratching and something that sounded like the patter of little paws not too far ahead. Clara was scooting along sideways at this point, squeezing herself along the walls that were now pressing in on her from both sides. 
 
“Spring Roll?” Clara said again, all confidence lost. 
 
Something wasn’t right here. 
 
She pointed her flashlight back the way she had come. Darkness. 
 
Ahead again. Darkness. 
 
“Spring Roll! Come here, please!” Clara called, her breath shaking. 
 
There was more scratching ahead. It sounded like Spring Roll was trying to dig into something. 
 
Clara continued forward until she felt like she could barely breath from the walls crushing her. 
 
Her flashlight revealed the passageway had come to a dead end and there was nobody there. No Spring Roll, no little rodent, nobody. Not even a cricket. 
 
Clara felt like she was losing her mind. 
 
Spring Roll barked from the entrance of the passageway and there was a slam. Did someone just close the door?
 
Clara began to slide her way back to the door. Her breath came in short, uncontrollable gasps. Sweat was dripping into her eyes now. The walls kept closing in on her. She was going back, the passageway was supposed to open up, but it was getting smaller. This wasn’t possible. This shouldn’t be happening. How was this happening? 
 
The flashlight danced and gave glimpses of what was ahead as her hands began to shake uncontrollably. She had to get out. The flashlight fell out of her hands, and everything went dark. She screamed. 
 
***
 
Clara’s eyes snapped open and Spring Roll covered her face in wet kisses. Had she had another nightmare? Wait, no. She was lying on the ground. She was next to the unknown door. It was closed. 
 
Clara sat bolt upright and jumped to her feet, startling Spring Roll who yelped with surprise. 
 
“Sorry buddy!” Clara said, giving a few consolatory pats. 
 
Clara needed to call John and get to the bottom of this. Where was her phone? 
 
Her phone buzzed and dinged from the ground, right next to where she had been lying down just a moment before. And speak of the devil, it was John.
 
“John, there’s something wrong here,” Clara said.
 
“Oh no, did she get there already?” John said. 
 
“What?” Clara said. “What are you talking about?”
 
“Oh uh, so there was a whole thing with the house,” John said.
 
Oh no. 
 
“That old lady, Sam Wilcaster, she said she’d only sell it if I promised her that it would remain untouched and that nobody would live in it,” John continued. “She said bad things keep happening there, but I’m sure it’s all superstition anyway so no need to worry about that.”
 
“John, what the hell.”
 
“Oh yeah, also, she’s on her way right now. So if you could just hide or tell her that you’re a museum curator looking for artifacts and stuff that’d be great. I’ll be right there,” John said as he hung up the phone. 
 
The doorknob to the front entrance began to rattle as someone shoved the key in and began to shakily turn the bolt. 
 
Spring Roll barked at the front door. 
 
This was a disaster.
 
“Hello? Is someone in there?” Said an old woman’s voice. 
 
Clara scooped Spring Roll into her arms and opened the door. 
 
“Who are you?” Said the old woman. “Nobody is supposed to be here!”
 
There was shock and anger in her voice, and Clara was feeling the same way. 
 
“Yeah, about that,” Clara started. “Looks like we’ve both been duped.”
 
John’s car skidded to a stop in front of the house and he jumped out before remembering to duck his head back in to set the parking brake. 
 
“Hey ladies! I see you’ve already met each other,” John said, jogging up to the porch as he tried to fix up his suit and tidy up his slicked back hair.
 
Clara and the old woman both glared at him.
 
“You said nobody would be here. You must both leave now!” Said the old woman, pointing toward the street. 
 
There was a fervor in the way she spoke and moved. Her hands shook and her eyes bulged from her head. Clara did not like the look of this. 
 
“Now, now, now, nobody needs to leave, Ms. Wilcaster,” said John. “Why don’t you come inside and join us?”
 
John motioned toward the door to the house. 
 
“I’ll never step foot in that house again,” hissed the old woman, before storming off with fear and anger in her eyes.
 
“Sorry about that,” John said as he closed the front door behind him. “I honestly thought she’d croak before realizing anyone had moved in here.”
 
Clara placed Spring Roll back onto the ground and tore into John. She questioned his integrity and his credentials, condemned his morals, and blasted him with a slew of profanities. John rolled his eyes. 
 
“Look, Clara, I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s nothing to freak out about, okay?” John said.
 
“Nothing to freak out about?” Clara said. “Then explain that!”
 
Clara pointed to the unknown door, which now stood ajar with Spring Roll sniffing around its corners. 
 
“No! Spring Roll! Here! Now!” Clara shouted, crouching down to pick him up again as he ran over looking abashed. 
 
John walked over to the door and took a look inside. 
 
“What is this? Some sort of closet for a furnace? Is this what you’re so freaked out about? Seriously?” John said, turning toward Clara with a look of exasperation and dismissiveness. 
 
He took a step in. 
 
“John, wait,” Clara said, reaching a hand toward him. 
 
“If you had some sort of psycho panic attack because of a closet then you need some serious help, Clara,” John said.
 
He stuck his head in deeper, peering into the darkness. 
 
“Both you and that Wilcaster lady are acting crazy about this house. Honestly, I did a huge favor getting you this house. You should be thanking me,” John said. 
 
He turned to face Clara, still standing in the doorframe. 
 
“I drive all the way down here and you go and make more—“ 
 
Clara’s eyes widened in horror as hands reached out of the darkness, surrounding John in a small meadow of ragged fingers before grasping onto him by his disheveled suit and slicked back hair. More hands materialized and covered his mouth, gagging him with broken nails and calloused palms before he could utter a word. 
 
The monster from Clara’s nightmare pulled itself forward and consumed John. He seemed to melt until his entirety had joined the mass that was the beast. Then his head began to let out moans and screams, just like the rest of them, looking like nothing more than festering pustules in the shape of agonized faces.
 
The many eyes of the monster turned in unison to gaze upon Clara.
 
“Welcome home, Clara,” it rasped, its innumerable mouths smiling. “Won’t you join us?”
 
Clara screamed. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","July 14, 2023 02:17",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,hhvxfc,Hell,Jayde Trilo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hhvxfc/,/short-story/hhvxfc/,Horror,0,['Horror'],9 likes,"
Warning: Contains mention of mental illness, gaslighting, and abuse. Potentially suicidal thoughts are hinted at. Also contains violence, gore, profanity, and pseudo-religious imagery.You’re lying. It didn’t start with decrepit hands tapping on door frames and slithering away at my glance. Or the bloody handprints that only I can see. It started with that terrifying ten-foot-tall demon-thing that appeared in my bedroom that night when I was eleven. I looked up from my book and bam! A demon looming over me like an angry cloud. Sooty coat with eyes glowing red and bloodied ram’s horns. Slobbery fangs gaped open in a giant predator’s maw and the neck and body were covered in oozing cuts and the most terrible burns. I closed my eyes and I screamed, and cried, and screamed some more.The light went on and I opened my eyes to see my parents looking down at me with such disappointment. Even though I only saw the demon for a split second, every detail of that beast is burnt into my brain. I remember that one scar beneath the larynx that was shaped a bit like a cross. Kinda like that one you got there. Or are you going to try and tell me you nicked yourself shaving? Don’t bother, you aren’t pulling off the human look that well anyway.Yeah, okay, I did scream when I saw you. I admit it, you terrify me. This whole thing terrifies me. That doesn’t make you any less a liar. You aren’t punishing me for a life of sin. I didn’t do anything to deserve the last five months of torment. Those vaguely humanoid shadowy figures that stand in the doorway aren’t lost souls standing there judging me. They were a threat. A clever one too; I would have had them dart away as soon as they were spotted, but the way they just amble away once spotted like they don’t care if I see them. Like it doesn’t matter if I spot them because well… well I just felt like there was nothing I could do. Why would they bother hiding when I’m so powerless? You’re so clever. HeheheHAHAHAHA!Okay, yeah, I’m done. I’m … back up. Get your damn fangs away from me. Yeah, I’m cracking; I know that. That’s the whole point of this, right? There are disgusting and impossible things here that only I can see. There’s been a burning corpse floating over this lounge for a month! I can’t not see it when I’m watching TV. Then you come here asking if I’m ready to surrender. Telling me you’re taking me to the Lake of Fire? And I still don’t really know if any of this is even real. Maybe I’ve finally – get that brimstone breath away from me Satan!No, of course you’re not the ‘real Satan’. I looked up the origin of that word and know it just means ‘adversary’. And I’m not calling you Ha-Satan either; you ain’t even the toughest satan I’ve delt with this week. I’m just picking a name that seems to fit this cliched fire and demon theme you have going.Yes, I am talking back to you. Get away or take this!Ha, what? Scared of a little talisman? Or are the threads in that witch bottle in our little balcony pot plant finally getting to you? Yeeeeah… I don’t know what you actually are, but I’m not that helpless little girl you picked out all those years ago. I didn’t just cower in fear believing everything I was seeing was fake for five weeks. That’s what you were expecting right? Well, you picked wrong. I have learnt to trust my own judgement, and all this creepy hand and phantom stuff did was give me time to prepare.Yeah… I prepared. I went online, dived deep into all the occult stuff I could find. Met up with this self-proclaimed sorcerer to discuss ways to repel evil entities. See, look, I even got an eye symbol tattooed on my palm. A bit of a built in hamsa, though I doubt anyone actually into that stuff would like me calling it that. The sorcerer got some of my girlfriend’s blood in the ink, since she’s been my protector in the past. So, what do you say? Want a pat?No, you’re right, I don’t really want to touch you. I bet you have some sort of dark magic on you that can hurt me if I do that. And yes, of course my hand is shaking, I can see the talisman rocking. I never claimed I wasn’t afraid of you. I’m just saying I’m going to fight you regardless. So why don’t you just go away and take that freaky burning body with you.Yes, I know there’s risks in dealing with this stuff. I had a friend cut me off because they thought I was making up all the phantoms and going down some dark path. But you know what else can be a dark path? Just going along with what polite society says is good and proper. I’ve seen where that can lead. I figured I’d rather trust that what I was seeing was real and plan accordingly. Good thing I did right? I mean it looks like there’s this whole Lake of Fire whoa shit!NO, get OFF!Yes! Salt lamps do make good demon-bludgeoning weapons. My girlfriend is a genius. Okay, no more talking; get out of my apartment now. I’ll fight you if you don’t leave.Oh shit shit shit you’re not going to leave are you? Alexa; play Dancing Lasha Tumbai. Oh, I know that song can’t hurt you, it’s for me. To calm the nerves. Now bye.Oh damnit run run run nooo he is fast. Why didn’t I keep that rope in my handbag? Why didn’t, oh there’s one. Ha, eat my holy water spray you little mini satan! Oh shit that just pissed him off. Where was, right bedroom. Run run, made it! Damnit, I hope those ruins we carved in the door worked. Oh shit, I dropped the talisman. Oh shit, he’s going to break the door. Damnit which pillow did we hide, got it. Okay, he’ll be in in a sec. I got this. I can do it. We got it we got it.TANZEN!AAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!Okay I got you! I got you! Haha, it actually works. I didn’t think simple red and white rope could work but the sorcerer was right. Hahaha, you really don’t like that do you? Haha, well, probably a good thing we threaded the silver chains and little iron danglies through it just to be safe. Haha, damnit I can’t believe I’m still alive. Whoa, put that tongue back. Look buddy, I still have my squirt bottle. Put it argh! No! no! Oh did that taste bad? Oh, okay less dumb talking. I can see the smoke coming off the rope. Come on Kinda-Satan, let me drag you to hell for a change.Oh come on. Sieben, sieben, eins, zwei… stop it. Come on, down the hall. Oi, that clock has been in my girlfriend’s family for five generations. Oh no, no… squirt. Okay… you are strong. I shouldn’t have goaded you into letting the human form slip. I need something more. Damnit, all those salt lamps we got and none in the hall? Ah-ah, I see one. Come on come on, just a little further… got it. Whoa! No…. eat this!Whoa, I guess holy water, salt, and demon slobber is a pretty corrosive combo. Okay, head up Kinda-Satan, we’re going to the kitchen. Urgh, you being deadweight is almost as bad as you trying to rip me to pieces. Whoa no, that wasn’t an invite to start fighting again. Just come, let go… I hope the neighbours don’t call the police over all this screaming. I really hope you’re as unreal to them as the hands and stuff.Okay, made it. Let’s get this table out of here… oops, sorry downstairs neighbours. Now voila; a magic circle. Oh stop crying, I gave you a chance to leave. Now in we go… Alligari! Now hopefully you stay there as I get my rope back. Wow, you nearly destroyed it. That was… that was terribly close. This circle better work now. Alexa, stop the music. Okay, okay, time to finish it. Looking pathetic won’t save you.Why? I’m doing this because otherwise you’ll throw me in a Lake of Fire. Why wouldn’t I fight back? Now where are those candles?Oh, you mean how? Okay, found candles and yup, the lighter works. So, you want to know how dare I resist you? I’m sure you’ve had people fight back before; I’m not that special. Now red candle here, white over there.Look Buddy, I don’t know why I didn’t break down at the thought of hell like others did. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because I’ve already been in hell. I’ve carried another hell around in my head for a decade since then. And I’ve survived all that, so I guess once all the freaky evil stuff started appearing in the doorways I figured I could survive that too.You weren’t keeping tabs on me between that first appearance and all the recent haunting shenanigans, were you? Hmpf, no, the gold candle goes here. Let me tell you a little story.When I saw you in huge demon form in my room, every detail was burned into my brain. But do you know what stayed with me the most from that night? The disappointment on my parents’ faces when they saw me that scared.They had a certain idea of what they wanted me to grow up into, and when I failed to be that they turned on me. The kids at school turned on me when they realized I was different. The teachers never protected me, and the pastor hated me. I grew up in a small town with pristine walls, manicured hedges and orderly little fences. The people were all so neat and sweet, full of smiles and hugs. Except when I became the town pariah. It was like all these regular people turned into monsters that only I could see. I couldn’t understand how I was the only one seeing the rot; I thought I was crazy. Terrible things were done to me, and I couldn’t even get angry or sad about it or it’d get worse. At least you’re allowed to scream if fire burns you.Not that I’d ever want to burn in a Lake of Fire of course, but don’t dismiss trying to live knowing that monsters could hurt you at any time and get away with it. Or escaping that evil town with a brain that was certain that there were no monsters, just good people who were right to hate me. But I’m a survivor. I made it through all that stuff. Partly because I found people who cared about me. Who believed me; both about Hell Town and about the monsters I started seeing in doorways.Sure, I’m never fully free of what happened. Like, I’m sure I’ll never fully be rid of you either. But if I got out of that other hell, I can keep fighting you off. I’m strong, I deserve to live, and I have people in my life that will help me fight, and who are worth fighting for. I’m surprised you haven’t been beaten up like this before given how hellish life on Earth can be, and just how many strong survivors there are.Why are you laughing? What do you mean I said it myself? You saying I’m right about you coming back? Life on Earth being hellish? What? Are you saying people see your Lake of Fire as a better alternative and willingly surrender?………Shut up; you’re a liar. Okay, there’s the last candle, just need a dagger now. But yeah, I got through actual hell, with real monsters. I figured I could take on a lying horror story knock-off. Now let’s get you banished, shall we?No, I don’t know what will happen to you once I do the stabbing and the incantation, but I’m sure it’ll be better than having to scrape melted demon goop off the kitchen floor. I mean, I know we’re not getting the bond back on this apartment, but why push it?Nope, not listening to you beg sorry. You had your chance to leave me alone. Now where did I stick that incantation, I know it’s on the fridge here somewhere… here we go. Hostis Esto, Hostis Esto. APAGE! APAGE! Me solum relinquatis. APAGE! APAGE! Urgh.Whoa…. AAAAAARRGGGHHHHH!Oaf.Is he gone? Holy crap he’s gone, it worked. Now where’s the phone? Phone… phone… phone… got it. Please pick up please pick up… Hey honey it’s me. It just happened. Yeah, that. Can you please come home? No, I’m good. I’m all good. And yup, the body in the loungeroom is gone. I’m going to be okay now.THE END
","July 14, 2023 02:36","[[{'Hassan Azi': ""Thanks for posting this. I'm a sucker for stories where a human protagonist is pit against a stronger inhuman enemy and ends up winning by ruthlessly exploiting the opponent's weaknesses. It demonstrates the cold and calculating nature of humans which is scary in itself.\n\nI'm wondering if the beast's presence didn't have an influence on the people who turned on you, I wouldn't be surprised if it planned on isolating you to make you more vulnerable"", 'time': '13:09 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jayde Trilo': ""Thanks for that, and I agree, seeing humans win when they really shouldn't can be quite terrifying at times.\n\nYou make an excellent point about the monster possibly causing people to mistreat the protagonist to make her more vulnerable. Though I'm not going to confirm or deny that read. There are all types of monsters out there. Some that manipulate like you suggest, some that swoop in whenever they see an opportunity, and some that just don't know and don't care about their targets. I think I'll leave it up to the reader to imagine which on..."", 'time': '14:32 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jayde Trilo': ""Thanks for that, and I agree, seeing humans win when they really shouldn't can be quite terrifying at times.\n\nYou make an excellent point about the monster possibly causing people to mistreat the protagonist to make her more vulnerable. Though I'm not going to confirm or deny that read. There are all types of monsters out there. Some that manipulate like you suggest, some that swoop in whenever they see an opportunity, and some that just don't know and don't care about their targets. I think I'll leave it up to the reader to imagine which on..."", 'time': '14:32 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Emilie Ocean': 'Hey Jayde! You have a unique style - I absolutely LOVED reading your horror story. I felt like I was in the room fighting the monster with the protagonist. Thanks for this lively tale :D', 'time': '15:51 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jayde Trilo': 'Thanks :D\n\nWas so worried about how this one would turn out, so it means a lot reading your comment. Glad I could put you in a room with a monster.', 'time': '08:58 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jayde Trilo': 'Thanks :D\n\nWas so worried about how this one would turn out, so it means a lot reading your comment. Glad I could put you in a room with a monster.', 'time': '08:58 Jul 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,2kgf65,Pine Barrens,Mungo Beans,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2kgf65/,/short-story/2kgf65/,Horror,0,['Horror'],9 likes,"
""No, no– ma'am– ma'am please–"" I shift the phone to my left hand and peek through the blinds again, scanning the line of trees that mark the edge of my backyard. ""It was not a coyote– and no, it was not a bear either. We have a lot of bears out here, I know what a bear looks like, so if you would just listen to me– I'm telling you– ma'am– the thing had– it had too many legs. And– yes I know I sound crazy– too many eyes.""
 
I let the blinds drop and pace into the kitchen, peering out the window there. ""Well, I know that might not sound very believable, I can hardly believe it myself, I mean–"" I pinch the bridge of my nose as I'm cut off by the operator. ""Yes, I understand,"" I cut back in. ""I understand that 911 is a vital lifeline for society's vulnerables, and it is very wrong to abuse it, and all the rest, but ma'am, if this was a prank call, I would have hung up already. I am telling you that I am in danger.""
 
Outside, the pine branches wave gently in the night breeze. I look at the spot of darkness where the thing had shambled out of the woods five minutes ago, charging the back door and ramming the glass with a wet thud, before arching back, shrieking at me, and lurching its way back to the treeline. Currently, nothing moves in the shadows, although– it is really too dark to tell anything.
 
""I've just never seen something like this before,"" I said, checking the windows in the living room for signs of the thing. ""No, I can't really describe it– I don't even know what to call it. A 'thing' is the best I can do. A spider-thing. With gnarly teeth. I'm telling you something in the way it moved– it was wrong–"" More protest from the operator. I cut her off again and an edge creeps into my voice. ""Please– I'm very frightened. If you could just send a police officer– or an animal control guy– a firefighter–I don't care, just– I am afraid. I've heard too many stories about people like me out in the boonies who tried to get help and then by the time they were found christ almighty–"" three loud knocks at my door.
 
""Mr. Emerson! This is the police!"" 
 
""Oh thank god,"" I breathe. ""They're here. The police are here. Thank you."" I hang up and sprint back through the kitchen to the front door. I look out of the peephole. Right on cue– a friendly-looking police officer. I say a small prayer of thanks.
 
""Hi!"" I say through the door. ""Thanks for coming all the way out here– I know it's a long drive."" I start to unlock my door, hands shaky, and I laugh giddily. ""Sorry, I uh–I have a lot of locks."" I undo one.
 
""No apology required, Mr. Emerson. We received a report of some kind of large animal?""
 
""Yes– a really funny lookin' animal– "" I say. I undo another. I laugh again. ""A real scary-ass lookin' animal, if I'm being honest, and– and um– I'm sorry, but–"" I stop laughing and pause as my hand rests on the deadbolt, poised to unlock it. ""I'm sorry, but how'd you get here so fast?""
 
""Oh, Mr. Emerson– we came as quick as we could. Just let us in and we can help you.""
 
Something in the way the officer says ""we"" makes my hand fly off the last lock, and something in the way he says ""help you"" makes me quickly work my way back up through the others. I put my eye to the peephole to have another look at the cop. I can't see him anymore. All I see is a large black eye pressed right up to the peephole. It twitches and darts, trying to see me through the one-way lens. I pull away quickly.
 
""Is something the matter? You are quiet.""
 
""Officer, you know, I think I overreacted,"" I say, carefully. ""I don't actually think I need any help anymore. Thank you!"" 
 
""Open this door, Mr. Emerson!"" I hear the knob rattle as he– it– attempts to turn it. ""We need to help you!""
 
""I'm, um– I'm having trouble unlocking the door,"" I say, as I back away from the door. I try to keep my voice from shaking as I say, louder, ""I'm sorry, officer– it, uh– It must be jammed."" My phone starts to ring back in the kitchen and I run to pick it up. The officer silences and the door gently groans as something large leans into it. Listening.
 
""Hello?"" I whisper into the phone. ""Yes, this is he."" I shoot a glance at the front door. Nothing. 
 
""Yes, I did call earlier,"" I say. ""Yes, I'm sure you must have been confused. I did say the police were here."" I pause. ""I guess I was wrong."" A single thump at the door.
 
""Mr. Emerson. The door,"" says the officer in a blank monotone.
 
""No, there are no officers here,"" I say into the phone, pleading. ""There is no one here. It's just me and- please–"" Two thumps at the door.
 
""MR. EMERSON. DOOR,"" and the officer's voice curdles into something else.
 
""Please, please, for the love of God,"" I scream, ""I need help here, yes– yes– you hear that too?"" The thumping is steady and growing louder. The operator is saying urgent things– the police are on their way. ""Thank you,"" I say. ""Thank you, thank you.""
 
""DOOR. OPEN DOOR."" A slobbering slather of words nearly lost in the gnashing of large teeth. There is now a constant stream of heavy pounding on the door, and I fumble for a kitchen knife as the thing begins to ram the door with its full weight. The entire door is shaking in its frame as the chains on the deadbolts jump and rattle on each impact. The words are now lost in a stream of frothy snarling. The wooden doorframe begins to splinter with each hit.
 
 I turn to face the front door and grip the knife tighter.
 
""Please tell them to hurry,"" I say, and I hang up the phone.
 
","July 14, 2023 04:00",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,xkbjbt,Soft Hands,Ex Dez,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xkbjbt/,/short-story/xkbjbt/,Horror,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Thriller']",9 likes,"
CRACK.
 
Charles couldn’t tell if he heard the noise first, or, saw the wrist snapping. It must’ve been the sound because his brain couldn’t register what his eyes were seeing. Charles stood, rooted next to the massage table. The crimson-soaked rag in his hands fell to the floor, giving a tiny splat. He stared at a hand that was facing straight into the air, wrist bent at a ninety-degree angle. Fingers reaching for the sky. Almost quivering from pushing upwards so aggressively.
 
Charles stumbled back, just a bit The crumpled towel was leaking, not too much because there wasn’t all that much blood from the… procedure. He liked to think of them as operations. They lie down on the table, he warms them up with oils, running his hands up and down their vulnerable bodies, exposing the nape of their necks to him. He would begin applying pressure there, slowly at first, didn’t want to cause alarm. He’d ratchet up the pressure, like a game where he had to balance in that zone of causing pain but not sending his patients into total alarm. It reminded him of balancing an egg on a spoon that you hold with your mouth and try to walk across the room with it without dropping it. Charles remembered doing that at school, was it in class or Field Day or something else? His parents certainly didn’t set it up, they lacked that type of creativity.
 
But this was post-procedure. All the struggling and excitement was over, this was the meditative portion of the process. He enjoyed the quiet after, as he ran his hands along the body. It felt like they were turning to stone, how they got all cold, and the body slowly stiffened up. Rigor Mortis first begins in the face within the first two hours of death, but then spreads throughout the body after that. It only lasts for 12 hours, but the bodies were long gone by that point. Charles always thought it was strange how Rigor Mortis came and went and how he enjoyed it. Made him think about how he always liked the really crispy fries when he ordered burgers. Not the soggy ones, or even the perfectly made ones. He liked them stiff.
 
Not this stiff though. He looked over at the hand pointing to the ceiling-CRACK!
 
The arm snapped upwards at the elbow. Another ninety-degree angle. Made more disturbing by the fact that the body was face down. The body was not only moving but mutilating itself. Charles took another half-step backwards, bumping into the table behind him. All of the candles were snuffed out, the puddles of drying wax wiggled and jiggled, but didn’t tip over. He could hear something fall over. A quick glance backwards revealed that his bottle of massage oil had tipped over. There was a little plastic cap on the nozzle but he still felt that familiar reaction to correct his mistake. His hand reached out to right the bottle, even though his face was still aghast in confusion and horror.
 
Charles turned quickly back to the body, he didn’t dare turn away for too long. The office was small, the massage table lie in the middle of the room, a table behind him, the exit door to his right, and a small bathroom to his left, a window on the opposite side of the room. Depending on your point of view, the window was perfectly placed. The point of view being that Charles didn’t want people looking in on him, he valued his privacy and the window faced another building that didn’t have windows. Perfect for Charles, not ideal for anyone looking for a view. The ceiling fan above the table spun slowly and rhythmically.
 
CRACK!
 
The leg closer to Charles slid off the table, cracking at the knee joint and breaking to get toes on the ground. The body was all misshapen now and Charles had a tough decision in front of him. He started sliding towards the idea when the thought occurred to him. He reached for the doorhandle but stopped just short of it.
 
This isn’t a room he wants seen. If he runs in a panic, if he tells anyone about this, if anyone finds out… It’s not all they’d find here. There would be questions like:
 
What’s with all of the black trash bags in the bathroom?
 
Why do you have virtually no recurring customers?
 
Why was your last massage punctuated with a trickle of blood leaking out of a customer’s throat?
 
He didn’t think they’d like the answer, that the man had struggled when Charles applied too much pressure on the neck and Charles had to end things quickly with a nearby screwdriver before too much commotion alerted any nearby neighbors. Sure, he hadn’t done much but Charles didn’t like the struggle, the fight. He’d watch movies where men like him seemed to relish and enjoy the chase, the pursuit, and Charles never understood it. Too Hollywood, he thought.
 
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
 
The back was bending backwards now (CRACK!) until the body was sitting up. It looked like some demented centaur but instead of a horse body, it had a table for a lower half. Bent at a 90-degree angle at the lower back, broken leg planting a twisted foot against the ground, and a broken arm reaching out in Charles’s direction, the body kept creaking, ready for more movement.
 
CRACK!
 
The head started moving back, the coveted back of the neck disappearing under hair. Charles was staring at the man’s bald spot like it was the eye of this beast. It was starting to lean forward, or backwards, or at Charles rather-
 
CRACK!
 
The other arm had broken back so they were both reaching for Charles now. He stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. It was like his brain was moving slowly, overloaded with plans and ideas.
 
Go for the window? But, he’s right at the door so that doesn’t make sense. Try to push this thing out the window? Maybe use the candles to burn it? He could explain that he stabbed this thing in the throat AFTER it attacked him? Would an autopsy prove that? Would that really be their chief concern over an animated corpse? Also, he’d been driving a rental because the stench in his car was too much and had to get cleaned so if something happens here, he can’t-
 
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
 
The body lurched at Charles like a scorpion. Charles hopped to his left with a squeal, barely dodging the bald spot slamming into the door handle. The body crashed off the table, into the door and fell into a crumple on the ground. It was on its back now, laying on the head and broken arms and leg.
 
CRACK!
 
The other leg broke at the knee like the other limbs before it stood up in a disturbing crab stance. Charles knew he was in trouble now, he should’ve left when he had the chance but now the corpse crab was between him and the door. Charles was shaking, he was going to have to go with the window plan. It started to slowly shamble towards him.
 
Charles grabbed at the massage table, flipping it onto its side and using it as a shield. He pushed it towards the corpse but it just kicked at the rectangular piece of plastic and kicked at it, getting a sheet wrapped around a foot. A lot of noise, maybe someone would come and check on him. The walls weren’t too thick. A couple of months ago, he had an incident where mid-procedure, his ‘patient’ began to struggle and kicked the table with enough force that the employees in a mail room one level below heard. One kind lady came to check if anything was wrong but Charles wasn’t a beginner. He explained to her that he warns people to sit up slowly, and that today, his client hadn’t listened to him and sat up too fast, trying to stand and took a tumble. She was alright and had already left, maybe the mailwoman could catch her in the elevator or the parking lot, just in case?
 
CRA-CRA-CRACK!
 
The bones started shifting and snapping again, the body stood from it’s crab crawl and began shambling over the table, standing upright like a normal body but the bones all disjointed and limbs pointing in odd directions. Charles tried to scream but all his mouth could do was inhale had. A silent scream was trying to echo out of his mouth but nothing was coming. The hands of the corpse rested on the edge of the table, then squeezed, bones SNAPPING as the gnarled bones clutched. The head started juttering forward and breaking back into place but then going too far, like the being didn’t know how to hold up a human head. It’s chin was resting on the chest now, dead eyes rolling around and looking at nothing. He knew the sight of dead eyes. There was nothing behind them.
 
Charles tried creeping to his left further now, maybe he could make it to the window and-
 
CRACK! SLAM! The body flung forward, scorpion-ing again. Its back practically broke in half when the legs came flying over its body while the hands remained locked to the table. It KICKED the wall and held the foot there, keeping Charles pinned into the corner of the room, caught behind his own barricade and now the body was getting closer.
 
Charles grabbed at a candle on the counter behind him, getting his fingers around it- but the other leg kicked his hand with such force that Charles felt the bones break in his knuckles. Recoiling, he grabbed at his hand, leaving him open to something. Something sinister. The leg that kicked swung over Charles’s shoulder, ball of the foot resting against his chest, it had him hooked. It started pulling him in.
 
Then, the other leg swooped onto his other shoulder, hooking both and pulling him closer to the shattered corpse creature. It made no noise, other than the bone snapping. No growls, no communication, no hum, nothing. Charles scrambled, trying to kick and push and claw away while cradling his broken hand against his chest but it was impossibly strong. It just kept pulling him closer and now he could feel his heels press against the upturned table, where the thing had clamped to with those broken, dead hands. They were turning blue and purple, the blood was spilling inside the body from broken veins and capillaries, bruising everywhere and hardening, all life had escaped from this flesh prison. Leaving only wrath and a dark reflection.
 
SNAP!
 
A hand let go of the table and grabbed Charles around the midriff. It squeezed his stomach so hard that Charles was sure it would break skin, punching right into his doughy flesh, spilling hot blood and organs. Charles was imagining his intestines spilling all over the floor in a clump like the bloody towel he had earlier, he was imagining his blood dripping like the massage oil he’d tipped over earlier. Are these the thoughts of someone in their final moments? What did his patients think of? How they forgot the laundry? How the pressure on their neck reminded them of something? Maybe wrestling with siblings as a kid? Maybe punishments from parents?
 
The other hand GRABBED hold and Charles could feel the corpse tightening around him like a boa constrictor of broken bones. In one of the legs, a broken bone protruded from the skin and was digging into Charles’s back, breaking skin and causing blood to pool in his white scrub top. He knocked over the table and began to stumble towards the door. If you couldn’t see the corpse wrapped around him, he’d look like a drunk stumbling home from a bar one night. Charles had thought of taking someone like that but he didn’t like the extra work. He preferred when they came to him.
 
He fell to a knee though, finding it harder to breathe as the corpse kept tightening -CRACK- and tightening, breaking its own bones to prove its point. Charles was done. He could feel the realization ‘I think this might be it’ pop into his head. He couldn’t believe it, really? Like this? Some sick, dark fantasy? No arrest, no gas chamber, no vengeful father or mother, no brawl in a cell block, just silently in his office.
 
Charles fell over, gasping, trying to let out a scream, reaching for the doorhandle. It was so far out of reach, he rolled around but couldn’t get enough momentum with how the body pulled him against the ground. The hands had reached fully around his body and were pulling on each other to keep tightening, climbing the rungs of its own skin to tighten and constrict further.
 
Charles vision was going. He couldn’t hear anymore. He couldn’t breathe. All he could wonder was-
 
CRACK!
","July 14, 2023 06:13","[[{'Kara Heisler': 'Wow you really did a great job portraying the horror elements in this. Really unsettling story with great descriptions.', 'time': '18:55 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'You certainly nailed the creep factor! Karma is a b*tch as the saying goes lol. Welcome to Reedsy!', 'time': '18:45 Jul 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,8yafc4,Maybe A Hell Would Be Better Than This?/I don't want to wear this shirt,T.L. Starling,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8yafc4/,/short-story/8yafc4/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction', 'Suspense']",9 likes,"
And that day will come when my heart stops providing my organs with the required blood, and my lungs cease to inflate and deflate, and the command system of my brain logs off permanently, and I'm about to close my eyes for good, but a man comes and says: ""you're not allowed to do that yet. do you meet all the qualifications? let me see your degree, social security card, and identification"" then a woman says ""please make your way over to the line on the left and have your papers ready"" then after the line there is a ticket numbered 926 and the woman says ""when your number is called you may come to window number 7"" and so I ran to the elevator but it was taking too long, so I took the stairs, skipping a step or 2 on the way down, my legs grew tired, but I kept on willfully descending, anticipating the smell of city sewers and halal food stands as I hugged the railing using it to propel myself down the last few steps, but my olfactory senses weren't working and there was no aroma of cooked onion, maybe it was just my allergies. As fatigue's visit became inevitable, hope decided to abandon me. I developed reckless thoughts like what if just ""accidentally"" fell, alas I gave in. I tripped myself. I fell down each step hitting a tender organ or bone, at each corner I somehow turned and kept going. The staircase became more spiral and the stares started to say things to me with every punch, like: ""y=mx+b"" and ""a house divided against itself cannot collapse in the most practical way, it will expend more construction workers to clean up the rubble on each side, not to mention the property value..."" the sharp edges of the staircases became rounded like cobblestones until it was a bumpy slide burning my skin and statically electrocuting my hair as the pain changed, it was no longer the brass knuckles and baseball bats of thugs that call themselves intellectuals, it was the guilt of corporations coming to realizations, they felt the hurt of all the wildlife and domestic life they've bled dry. And soon I was on a conveyor belt, I was no longer moving against my floor but now moving with it, and going sideways instead of down. Although it's been hours since I've seen my reflection, I was certain my eyes gave the thousand mile staircase impression of the stoops I had just used as a means of transportation. A man with a wrench then tightened bolts that somehow have been on me this whole time. Another man or maybe kid, who's beard hasn't even began to grow, took a drill and added a few new screws to the ones I've oddly accumulated. A 3rd man, who still had baby fat on his cheeks and teeth of a child, used a hammer on my temple and split my skull to reveal whatever contents were still inside it. A 4th man, a giant of man, who had whiskers longer than his entire torso and sunken pale blue eyes, lifted me with ease. He carried me as a mother would with unlikely gentleness and concern. The dark behemoth placed me in a room of nurses, all but one with facial scars, some missing eyes or teeth. The nurses proceeded to take out a sewing kit, as expected, and stitch up the gaping hole from my gullet to my gut. I could only watch as each face I've seen since the upstairs bureaucratic office began to pile into the room. Aliens in black suits and sunglasses aimed their guns at me, but Steven Spielberg just yelled ""cut!""
 
see I was getting dressed on a Friday afternoon, I had just taken a shower and I go into my closet to take out a white button down shirt, I start putting it on and think to myself, I don't want to wear this shirt, but I'm lazy so I just keep buttoning it and this voice in my head keeps telling me that I don't want to wear it, I say screw it and put on cufflinks and I'm just standing there for a second feeling really uncomfortable, as the voice says see I told you, and by that point I agree with him, I don't want to be wearing this shirt, It's not that I don't like wearing the shirt, it's that I don't want to be in it, I don't feel comfortable in my own shirt, what do you think of that? now I'm not sure what went down that day in that room alone, but you understand the feeling of not wanting to wear a certain shirt? ladies and gentleman believe me the logical thing to do is just to wear a different shirt, but logic wasn't with me, to this day, I cant explain why I didn't want to wear that shirt. Still damp from the shower and a little cold, I decided to finally switch it for another shirt, but a new voice came, it was the same voice from before, just with a different tone, he was back, and can you guess what he said? that's right, he said I don't want to wear this shirt, of all the Nietzschean ways to explain this situation, I came up with none, no big words to add on to your vocabulary, no concepts for you deep thinkers out there, it was just a feeling, a feeling you don't understand, a feeling I can't logically explain, I just don't want to wear this shirt, and so I took it off just like the other one, with goosebumps I took out a third shirt, at this point I was becoming suspicious, I didn't even bother buttoning it, I just knew the voice would be back, and naturally it was, It only got up to ""You do-"" and I tore it off, in fact, I tore it to shreds, I stomped on it, I screamed to God and stood there alone awkwardly for a few minutes, and by this point I was dry and no longer cold, I then realized something, something that had been there the whole time, a voice, a voice so soothing and faint that I hardly noticed it, but without the ability to judge if it had been there all my life or just a few minutes, I listened, I listened carefully and I got furious when I was able to make out what it was saying, so furious that nearly punched a whole in my closet door. you know what he said, he said the same thing that every voice had said that day, he said ""I don't want to wear this shirt"" but then it hit me and I became even more angry, this was a different level of anger than I'd ever experienced, I didn't scream, I didn't ask God about it, I understood everything
 
 
","July 10, 2023 18:18",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,ern8mz,Vaya Con Dios,Douglas W. Carr,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ern8mz/,/short-story/ern8mz/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",9 likes,"
Diego – or Chico by his friends – hadn’t lived his best life and found himself mixed up with the wrong crowd ever since he’d moved to Las Vegas. He struggled finding work – or good work – and quickly ended up on the streets with a group of thirty-something vagrants and outlaws, but he called them friends. He had never gained status with said friends nor had he risen in the ranks. He was mostly reduced to driving everyone else around in a vehicle that he first had to steal. 
	On a most recent occasion, Diego had been preparing to steal a vehicle in front of The Stratosphere and behind the adjacent hotel. Vehicles parked there were usually towed, so he quite often had an easy time stealing one. It was just before dusk and raining unusually hard for Las Vegas. As he opened the car door, something crashed through the roof of the car just to his right. 
	He quickly realized that it was a person – a body had apparently fallen from the observation deck of The Stratosphere. It was the tallest structure in Las Vegas, so it wasn’t uncommon for someone to take the suicide dive there, but he thought it was odd that the person was wearing a parachute that hadn’t deployed. It was common however, for thrill seekers to intentionally parachute from the top. Fear quickly consumed him, and he drove off. 
	He drove about ten minutes out of the city and pulled off to the side of the road. The incident had shaken him so badly that he contemplated driving off and into the sunset, but he quickly shrugged that urge knowing he’d just stolen the car. The image of the body was etched in his mind. It was horribly mangled and disfigured causing him to assess how far of a fall it must’ve been. He concluded that it was probably some three-hundred fifty meters. 
	He flashed back to several events in his own life where he’d realized his own fear of heights and how it had paralyzed him. He was quickly overcome with anxiety and found himself on his knees beside the car choking up remnants of his last meal. 
	Once he regained his composure, he continued on the road to the compound where he met up with the rest of his friends. 
	He declined to eat and sat listening to the instructions for their next assault on the city, which was scheduled for four o’clock in the a.m. the following Sunday. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able muster the courage for another assault – or any future assault for that matter. Finally, the anxiety was too much for him to bear. 
	The team meeting had just ended, and he began to share his experience, describing in detail what he had witnessed and how it affected him. Not surprisingly, it was met with laughing and ridicule. 
	“Awe, you hear amigos? Chico feels bad,” shouted El Guapo, the leader and possibly the ugliest man Diego had ever met. 
	“Si, where’s the crying rag?” someone else commented. 
	Everybody laughed.
	In his defense, Diego tried to backtrack on his comments, but it was futile. He knew he never should’ve said anything. 
	El Guapo suggested, “Perhaps it wasn’t a suicide and just an accident. Maybe someone killed him and threw him over the edge. Eh, Chico?”
	“Si, or maybe it was made to look like an accident,” someone else commented.
	“I don’t know, I was just wondering what it must’ve been like to fall from such a height. You know that building is high,” Diego interjected. 
	“Maybe you like to find out?” someone else commented.
	“No way, I’m afraid of heights. Ain’t no way you’ll catch me up there.”
	“Maybe you wrong, Chico,” El Guapo said with an evil grin. 
	“Si, it’s going to be our first stop this morning,” someone else commented.
	Everybody laughed, again.
	With that, the meeting broke up and everyone went their separate ways.
	On the following Sunday, at approximately three o’clock in the a.m., everyone had begun preparing for the scheduled assault on the city. Diego made sure the car was gassed up and started the car. Everyone then began loading the trunk with the items needed for the job.
	As instructed, Diego drove to The Stratosphere near the back entrance and coincidentally near where he’d witnessed the body the previous week. Everyone exited the car except Diego, but he was soon called out of the car at the order of El Guapo, “Come and meet my cousin Javier, he works here.” 
	Javier was waiting outside the back entrance and escorted everyone inside after meeting Diego. They all walked briskly to the service elevator and entered. Javier inserted his key and pressed the button leading to the very top of The Stratosphere. It was at that point Diego began to feel uncomfortable and before he knew it, two of his friends were restraining him while a third tied his legs together at the ankles. 
	El Guapo took the parachute he brought and secured it to Diego’s back and whispered, “You ready for some fun? Eh, Chico?”
	El Guapo then tied Diego’s hands behind his back. 
	Javier jumped in, “Anyone ever pulled the cord yet?”
	“No,” El Guapo said with confidence.
	Diego found himself begging for mercy. He was sweating and his heart was racing uncontrollably. He had begun to slump toward the floor, but he was being held up by two others.
	The fearful moment came as the elevator doors opened. The sun was just below the horizon and was casting morning’s first light across the city. As Diego’s brain processed the sheer height of the building, the reality of the situation, and the idea of being pushed over the edge, he became paralyzed while being dragged to the edge. He closed his eyes, but it wasn’t much help. He felt helpless, defeated, and nauseated. 
	El Guapo began speaking, “Well, Chico this is it. We’re three-hundred fifty meters up. That’s about a ten second fall. What you gotta do is clear…you need to pull the rip cord in plenty of time or you smash into the ground, or car, or whatever. Oh yeah, we’ve shortened the rip cord.”
	Then El Guapo leaned over and whispered, “You should free your hands first. Eh, Chico?”
	Diego could only muster the words, “No, no, no.”
	Now standing, El Guapo continued, “Don’t worry, you’ll have some extra time because we’re gonna hang you upside down by your feet from a pole. The more you squirm the more you slip off the pole and the more time you ain’t got. If you like to end it sooner, then you kick your feet off the pole. You got it, Chico?”
	Diego had blacked out and El Guapo slapped his face, “Chico? You hear me? There’s one other thing. You won’t be able to hang upside down too long before your organs crush your lungs. How do you want to die? Eh?”
	Diego begged again in a muffled voice, “No, don’t do this.”
	El Guapo backed away and gave the signal. Four other men grabbed Diego and hoisted him up and over the rail and to the outside edge while two others slid the steel pipe through Diego’s ankles and secured it to the building at the other end. 
	Diego hung limp. He’d blacked out again.
	“Let’s go boys,” El Guapo ordered and then shouted out, “Vaya con dios, Chico.”
	El Guapo and crew arrived on the ground floor and exited the building. Looking up, they could still see Diego hanging there. They piled in the car and drove off.
	During that time, Diego had regained consciousness and had begun assessing his situation. He opened his eyes briefly to the see the sun just beginning to poke above the horizon. He was facing outward from the building and began feeling around for the rip cord. Being upside down was not helpful because it shifted the parachute further from his hands and out of his reach. 
	He felt he couldn’t kick his feet forward – initiating his fall – and then hope to find the rip cord in time. He decided his only option was to get his hands free, find the rip cord, then kick forward. And then he remembered what El Guapo whispered, “You should free your hands first.”
	His breathing had already become labored, and his time was running out. He began twisting his wrists back and forth – right wrist in then left wrist in then both in – to loosen the rope enough to get one hand free. He was methodical in his motion to reduce risk of making any mistake and at the same time conserving every ounce of energy remaining. He had lost all concept of where he was and had become laser-focused on the freeing his hands. 
	He approximated that he’d been upside down for ten minutes and began to feel as if he couldn’t take in much oxygen. To make matters worse, the contents of his stomach had begun to seep into his mouth, which made him choke and spit. He felt stomach acid in his sinuses and burning in his eyes as the acid dripped and ran up his face. 
	And then, as if he needed anything more to break his spirit, he remembered something else El Guapo told him, “…we’ve shortened the rip cord.” The thought occurred to him that perhaps there was no rip cord. 
	He aligned his wrists and could feel they’d loosened slightly. In seconds, he’d freed his left hand and began feeling for the rip cord. Success, he’d found it. He kicked his feet forward and began his free fall and tumbling end over end. With eyes wide open, he tried desperately to get his bearing and while counting. One-thousand one, one-thousand two, one-thousand three and just as he felt upright, he yanked the rip cord.
	His body jerked. He threw his head back and saw the parachute open above his head. There was a slight breeze, which was pushing him in the direction of a side street. His anxiety had dissipated, his fear had dissipated, and he’d begun to weep in relief. 
	Wiping his eyes, he took it all in – his surroundings, the view – as he slowly spiraled down.
	Realizing he’d never parachuted before, he crashed into the side of a parking garage and fell about ten feet to the street, which was more of an alley. He never felt a thing and quickly rose to his feet. He unhooked the parachute and walked the few feet to the side street and in view of The Stratosphere. With arms raised, he yelled out, “Adios, amigo.”
	Diego and El Guapo never crossed paths again. 
","July 14, 2023 15:29",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,bt3xuu,Birding in Idaho,Carolyn Fenzl,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bt3xuu/,/short-story/bt3xuu/,Horror,0,"['Crime', 'Fiction', 'Suspense']",9 likes,"
I was reminiscing about the Hairy Woodpecker I’d seen just up the mountain last week as my snowmobile sped through the newly fallen half foot of snow. I’d forgotten my camera that time, a rookie birding mistake, and I hoped the bird would still be in the same stand of trees. The dry air was making my throat scratchy, and I needed water or I’d start coughing and upset my already shaky driving skills. My wife had warned me against buying a snowmobile, calling it a death trap, but it was an early retirement splurge and made winter birding on the mountain much easier.
 
I slowed the vehicle to stop and pulled my blue Yeti thermos out of my bag for a swig before repacking it. I pulled my goggles up to my forehead and sat for a moment, listening for birds on my must-photograph list. I was in a remote spot, so I was surprised when I heard the faint sound of voices drifting on the air. I looked around but didn’t see anyone so pulled my camera out to use the zoom feature. I scanned the area peering through the lens, and when I still didn’t see anyone, I looked upwards. There on the edge of a cliff I saw two people near the edge. I couldn’t make out any details from this distance, but it looked like a man down on one knee and a woman, her back to the cliff edge, motioning for him to stand up. A proposal perhaps? It was certainly a beautiful place with snow blanketing the earth and tall stands of lodgepole pine and Douglas fir supplying greenery to the whitened landscape. 
 
But as the man stood, the voices became louder as if they were arguing. The woman placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, maybe shouting in the man’s face. Despite her aggressive stance, the man took a step forward and then time seemed to stop as I witnessed him reach out with both hands and shove the woman hard on the shoulders. She tottered for a second, desparate to keep her balance but lost the fight with gravity and slipped. As she did so, her arm shot out and desperately grabbed at the man’s coat, causing his balance to falter also.  I could hear their screams echo through the mountainside as they went over the edge, and then an eerie silence after hitting the snow below. 
 
My heart was thudding, but I only hesitated a moment before revving up the snowmobile to go help the unfortunate couple, hoping in my heart that the snow was thick enough to have survived the fall. But as I neared the cliff edge, a familiar rumbling, triggered from the vibration of my vehicle, began reverberating around me signaling the loosening of the snowpack on the hill. I immediately knew I had to turn around to save my own life as the avalanche of snow and ice began sliding off the cliffside and gained momentum as it tumbled. 
 
I skidded in a tight U-turn and floored the gas away from the onslaught. When I was a safe distance away, almost back to where I first stopped to drink, I turned off the engine and sat panting with tears in my eyes as I looked back up the mountain toward the cliff. Those poor people, if they had survived the fall, were buried alive under a massive amount of snow. There was no doubt they would suffocate to death. The thought made my own breathing hasten and chest tighten. But there was no time for a panic attack. As the paralyzing shock wore off, I realized it was time to find help.
 
I wanted to help the search and rescue crew, but they insisted I return home and wait for an update. They said an officer would contact me for a statement. At  home, I found a note from my wife that she had gone to the store. I left her a voicemail to call me right away. Now was not the time to be alone with my thoughts, so after pacing the living room for several moments, I made my way out to the barn. Chopping wood was always a good way to burn off nervous energy, something I’d had more of since retiring. While the slower pace was supposed to be good for the heart, I was convinced the boredom would cause enough stress to kill me. But today was anything but boring and the kind of excitement I could do without.
 
By the time I finished that chore and hauled several logs into the house for our next fire, I felt like I was going mad. Still no word from my wife, search and rescue, or the police. The silence wrapped tightly around me and the image of the couple falling off the cliff replayed in my head like a terrifying silent movie stuck on repeat. I kept squeezing my eyes shut, willing anything else to come into my brain, but I couldn’t push aside the stark reality that I probably saw two people die in a horrific way. No sooner had I let that thought loose in my brain than my phone rang, startling me.
 
As soon as I got word from the search and rescue crew that the woman had been found alive but unconscious, I rushed over to the hospital. Unfortunately, her companion on the mountain had met a grimmer fate, having suffered a broken neck. The crew said he likely didn’t linger long before succumbing to his injuries. A nurse at registration pointed me to the ICU where I was allowed to peak in on the woman while waiting for the police to come and take my statement. I drew back the room curtain and saw her lying still, eyes closed, hooked up to machines, and tubes down her throat. She had bruises all over her body, but there was no doubt – my wife was lying in that bed.
 
","July 12, 2023 13:18","[[{'J. D. Lair': 'Oooh, was NOT expecting that ending. Well done Carolyn! Welcome to Reedsy. :)', 'time': '00:16 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Carolyn Fenzl': 'Thank you!', 'time': '01:35 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Carolyn Fenzl': 'Thank you!', 'time': '01:35 Jul 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,bn6iw5,Midsummer night of horror,Katriina Kuusela,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bn6iw5/,/short-story/bn6iw5/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Mystery', 'Teens & Young Adult']",9 likes,"
“Kate??” - Sarah asked with a little doubt in her voice.
Sarah walked closer as Kate turned to her.
 
""Kate?! What is going on?!”
“Kate!! What in the world is happening!! KATE!! YOU ARE FREAKING ME!! KATE!!” - Sarah was in deep shock and panic. 
What was happening to her little sister? 
Was she dreaming? 
What IN THE WORLD was happening?!!!”
 
 
….Alright, lets back up a little bit in the story.
Lets not get ahead of ourselves. 
We will start by going back exactly 36 hours.
It was a rainy afternoon in LA, USA, and the Family of Knickerstons were packing up their suit cases. 
They were on their way to the airport, to catch a flight towards Finland. The family had heard such beautiful stories of Finland; it’s the country of sauna, long summer nights, endless amounts of forests and lakes. What a beautiful place to spend their this year’s summer holidays. 
 
The family consist of 4 members; Mum Abby, dad Mike & their two daughters; 10-year old Kate and 15-year old Sarah. The family had chosen to go spend one week in a cottage by the lake, during the famous Scandinavian Mid Summer festivities. Every year, during summer solstice, approximately last week of June, is when the Scandinavians celebrate the Mid summer; usually by gathering with friends or family, having a barbecue, sauna, alcoholic beverages (..a lot! Scandinavians know how to drink!), celebrating on their cottage or in town.
       The Knickerstons booked a modest cottage with simple amenities near lake Paijanne. The cottage promised “Serene peace with simple life; warm up a traditional sauna with wood, enjoy a fresh swim in the lake, run away from mosquitoes while grilling your food!” - It also promised a typical Mid summer dance and bonfire event happening nearby. Abby and Mike were hooked on that. 
 
The family was excited for their peaceful holiday, or peaceful they thought. It was about to be quite unforgettable holiday for one of them.
 
 
 
 
“Ooh it’s warm here! I had heard such horror stories how cold Finland is!” - Kate sighed happily, as they stepped out of the airplane.
""That’s during winter, then it can be colder than -30 degrees. Summers can be warm like what we have in California. But yes, we did get lucky!” - Abby shared.
 
The Knickerstons collected their rental car from the airport and put the directions of the cottage on maps. 
“3 hours to drive.” 
The info of the cottage promised over half of the drive way to be along fields and small country roads. Coming from a city like LA, the family was very much excited of the Finnish nature. 
 
3 hours later they turned their car to the small road leading to the cottage. Everyone’s faces started to turn from sleepy to smiley.
 The cottage looked exactly what the pictures promised! The surroundings were magical in the evening light; there was forest around, the lake, which was calm like a swimming pool, there were apple trees around, blueberry bushes, that weren’t quite yet growing blueberries, but either way, it was beautiful to see nature like that.
 
“Let the Midsummer festivities begin! I will warm up the sauna, why don’t you guys start preparing the grill?” - Mike said.
 
.…2 hours later everyone’s belly was happy with wet hairs from lake and red cheeks from the sauna. The clock was turning close to 9, but the sun was still up high. Finnish summer nights were quite special indeed. 
 
Mike and Abby were preparing themselves to head to the midsummer dance. 
“Okay kids, the reception is quite bad here, so we won’t be able reach each other through cell phones, but you will be alright here? In case something comes up, the neighbor is there 50 meters away and also it is only 10 minute walk to our dance place. But I know everything will be alright. The sauna is still warm so you can enjoy that and have another swim in the lake if you would like. We brought you couple of games to enjoy too.” - Abby shared for Kate and Sarah.
 
“Yes mum, we’re all good! Have fun at your dancing!” - Sarah, older of the daughters said.
 
-----
 
“No, no no, don’t take her!! Let her be!!”
“Aaaah!!” - Sarah sighed and woke up. 
“Ugh, that was an awful dream.” - Sarah said out loud, figuring Kate must had woken up for her loud voice.
 
“Kate?”
“Kate!”
“You in here??” 
“Mmh, she must have gone to the toilet.”
 
Sarah put some clothes on, found pair of slippers from the cottage and step outside the door. It was still kind of light; it was 00:30 in the night, but it wasn’t dark like normally. She noticed the full moon. That must be why she had hard time sleeping well that night. The moon appeared to be bigger than normally on full moons, it was looking quite spectacular in fact. Red with glimpses of purple. Sarah fazed out for a moment staring at it.
 
“Buuuuuaaaaaaaa” - A loud voice came out of nowhere from bit further in the forest.“
 
“Kateeeeeeeee??!!!!” Sarah started to panic.
 “Sarah.” 
Sarah freaked out so much she jumped 2 meters to the side.
“KATE you scared me!!” - Sarah shouted at her.
“Sorry.. What are you doing in the forest?” - Kate asked her big sister.
“What AM I doing in the forest?! You are the one who was missing from your bed, I came to look for you and then I heard this horrible sound from here! What was that??!” - Sarah asked her.
“Oh I don’t know about that sound. Sorry, I was just sleep walking I think..” - Kate said.
""Oh, okay...? I don’t remember you ever sleepwalking before?” - Sarah looked at her with a suspicious face.
“Yeah.. It must be this Finland that makes me different.” - Kate said like it was no big deal.
""Okay, come on lets go back inside and continue our sleep.” - Sarah took her hand and they walked back into the cottage.
 
 
“No, no no, don’t take her!! Let her be!!”
“Aaaah!!” - Sarah sighed and woke up again.
“What the hell. Why I keep seeing this same dream..” - Sarah felt frustrated.
 
""Kate?”
“Kate!”
“KATE you got to be kidding with me!!” 
 
Sarah repeated the same thing. Clothes and slippers on and out of the door.
 
 “Kate!” 
“Where are you now??”
“Kaaate!” - Sarah shouted and shouted.
 
“Buuuuuuuuuaaaaaaa!” -It was the same sound as before. 
 
Sarah didn’t know what it was.
Was it an animal?
Was it a human??
Was someone in pain???
Where was Sarah? 
And why was she all of a sudden “sleepwalking”? 
Or was she?
 
“Kate!!!” - Sarah tried shouting as loud as she could.
 
""Buuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaa!” - The same sound again.
 
What in the world was happening there?!
- And why was it happening while their parents were gone? 
And why wasn’t the neighbors waking up for this??
Sarah felt the anxiety creeping in throughout her entire body.
She felt her whole inside been filled with all kinds of uncomfortable feelings. Anxiety, fear, horror, her breath was getting shorter and shorter.
 
 “KATE for Christ sakes answer to me!!!!” - Sarah shouted while tears falling from her cheek.
...That was until she looked towards the lake.
Kate was there.
Sarah saw her standing in the water, gazing the moon. 
She felt the emotions inside her moving. 
She felt huge relief.
For a moment she got scared something had happened to her.
Sarah walked towards the lake, 
she got closer and closer.
But something was looking odd.
It looked like, it looked like something was around her little sister. Something out of ordinary.
 
“Kate??” - Sarah asked with a little doubt in her voice.
Sarah walked closer as Kate turned around facing Sarah.
 
“Kate?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!” - Sarah screamed at her.
 
Kate was not alone.
There were, 
somewhat spirits, 
around her. 
 
Kate turned back to watching the moon as her body started to rise up. 
Rise up from the water. 
Soon enough, she was floating in the air.
The spirits were around her rising as she was. 
 
“KATE!!!! WHAT IN THE WORLD IS HAPPENING?!! KATE!! YOU ARE FREAKING ME!! KATE!!” - Sarah was in deep shock.“
 
What was happening to her little sister?
Was she dreaming?
What in the world was happening?
 
Sarah felt paralyzed. 
She couldn’t do anything else but stare, stare at her little sister, surrounded by god knows what, floating in the air.
 
“KATE!!!!!” - Sarah got from her mouth as loud as she could.
 
""Blombs.""
Kate fell into the water.
 
“Kate!!” - Sarah ran into the water as the spirits left and Kate was in the water.
 
“Kate!! Kate!! What the hell was that?!” - Sarah shouted at her little sister.
 
Kate sighed.
 
“Kate?!” - Sarah felt even more panic.
 
""I’m okay. It’s all good Sarah.” - Kate said.
 
“YOU’RE OKAY?? What the hell was that Kate??”
 
“Just calm down, okay.. Sarah, I’m okay.” - Kate said with a little annoyance in her voice.
 
“TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON!! What were the sounds??! What was around you??! Why were you, what,, KATE!!” - Sarah was even more mixed with emotions. 
Confusion, panic, fear, all of them.
 
“I’m going to tell you something. Something that sounds very crazy. Okay. Don’t freak out.” - Kate finally started to talk.
""For a few years now, I’ve been in touch with my powers. Powers during the full moon. When I am by the forests and the water, I am able to call in spirits and have magical powers. The sound, it was me. That’s me calling in the spirits. What you saw around me, are the spirits guiding me and helping me. My powers, one of them is to lift myself from the ground, as you just saw now. That only works when I am in the water, usually without anyone else seeing, I’m not sure why you were able to witness that now.. We are from the same family, so perhaps you could be able to get these powers as well! With a little bit of training.. I could help you!” - Kate said with excitement in her voice.
 
“WHAT???!!!” - The  only word Sarah got out of her mouth.
 
“I am also able to see into the future and call in the blessings I want, as long as they are beneficial for those around me as well. I am blessed with powers of a witch.” - Kate continued explaining to her big sister.
 
""What..?? But… How? Why..???” - Sarah mumbled.
 
“I don’t know. I don’t ask why. I just thank, thank for the magic around me.” - Kate shared.
 
“This happened for the first time 3 years ago. I was only seven, so you can imagine how weird it was then! Hah! But I thought it was very cool. Well, first I didn’t really know how it all works, so it was bringing more disaster, but with a little practise, I’ve turned it into a gift. But hey, don’t share this for mum and dad, they are too skeptical for all of this and it would just ruin everything. Okay. This stays just between me and you.” - Kate insisted on Sarah.
 
 
 
“So! That was an awesome holiday in Finland right! Quite magical one huh?” - Mama Abby asked from the rest of the family.
 
“Yeah... Quite magical indeed.” - Sarah said while looking at her little sister.
 
The holiday came to an end, but Sarah was never seeing her little sister the same again. It was an holiday that she could never forget.
","July 12, 2023 21:24",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,cxwjg0,HellHounds,Gabriel Garcia,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cxwjg0/,/short-story/cxwjg0/,Horror,0,"['Historical Fiction', 'Drama', 'Horror']",9 likes,"
June 1918
The Belleau Woods was the last battle of the Great War. American and Allied forces pushed against the German might as the Allies advanced toward Berlin. Both sides were locked in a stalemate, and neither knew that taking the woods would be a game-changer. History says the Marines defeated the Germans in one of the bloodiest and most ferocious battles U.S. forces would fight in the war. What they don't tell you is how.
The German soldiers dug a defensive line between themselves and the Americans deep in the woods. The men waited for their enemy to strike for the next several hours. They and the Americans engaged in brutal close-quarter fighting for several days. Both sides suffered heavy casualties. Something needed to happen to end the stalemate. The German command decided to set up machine-gun posts and artillery to defend against the Americans. As the Germans prepared, many men felt something watching them, not by the Americans, but something else. Everyone settled in the trenches as night approached and hunkered down for the night. The date was June 7th.
Not wanting to take any chances, the commander placed sentries along with the machine gun nest. Brothers Peter and Randolf Ullmer took turns operating the machine gun at one post. Peter was the older brother and had enlisted as soon as Germany declared war. Randolf had recently finished his basic training and requested to join his brother's unit. As they monitored their position, Peter decided to take a smoke break and leave his younger brother in charge.
""How can you smoke at a time like this?"" Randolf rested his head against the butt of the gun. ""It helps calm my nerves. Everyone is on edge. We haven't seen the Americans for some time now. It's unsettling."" Peter lit a cigarette.
""I agree. We've only heard those verdammt (damn) howls these past few nights. I thought there weren't any wolves in these woods."" Peter takes another puff of the cigarette before tossing it on the ground.
""Looks like the Americans weren't the only ones with bad intelligence."" As they talked amongst themselves, the brothers were unaware. Something was stalking the Germans—something hungry for blood.
Suddenly, Peter heard rustling coming from the bushes. He grabbed his rifle and positioned himself next to his brother. ""Did you hear that,"" said Randolf. His finger was already on the trigger of the machine gun. Peter slowed his breathing and waited again to hear the noise. After a minute goes by, nothing. He couldn't see anything before them because it was so dark. He then began to think that it was his imagination. Then he heard that sound again, this time stronger and louder. Aiming, Peter was about to fire until he listened to the eerie sound of a loud howl. This deep howling caught them off guard, and two glowing eyes emerged from the darkness.
""Peter, what the hell is that?"" whispered Randolf. Fear was beginning to take hold of him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Peter tried to calm his brother.
""I don't know, but we're safe. Whatever that thing is, it has to go through a hail of bullets before it gets to us. Besides, Mom would kill me if something happened to you."" Randolf chuckled a bit, still uneasy about the eyes in front of them.
They weren't the only ones who saw red in the night. All along the German line, men began shouting. Some said the eyes were to the east; others claimed they were coming from the west. This constant state of fear began to take hold of them. The night was long, and the torment was beginning.
One soldier climbed up over the trenches to investigate. His friends handed him a dimly lit lantern to see. Walking a few steps forward, his hands began to tremble. His breath becomes erratic. Questions of doubt fill his mind. As he descended further into the darkness, he shined the light into the woods. Seeing nothing, he turned around and began to walk away. Suddenly he smelled a foul order from behind. He turned his head slightly over his right shoulder and felt something breathing down his neck. Petrified, his limbs go numb, and in an instant, he is violently pulled into the darkness, dropping the lantern. From the trenches, the others heard the piercing sounds of a struggle. Just then, a cry of despair filled the night. The sound of tearing flesh, bones breaking, and the wailing of their young comrade echoed through the night. The lingering and nauseating sounds were too much to bear. They all felt helpless. Whatever strength they had, it was taken over by absolute fear. As the cries ceased, an unsettling silence took over the trenches. Everyone held their breath.
""What's that coming from the trees?"" Everyone looked ahead and saw a large shadow approaching them. Suddenly, the dark figure emerged. It was taller than a man, covered in matted fur, walked upright, and had a mouth full of fangs, small pointed ears, massive forearms, and bear-like hands and feet with excessively curved claws. The beast's fur was covered in blood, and the soldier's half-eaten head was clutched in its right paw. The creature tosses it back to the German soldiers before giving an evil chuckle as it melts into the night.
No one wanted to go over and get the head as fear took hold of them. So the head just lay there, looking at them with glossy eyes. Eyes full of immense anxiety.
Randolf was beyond scared; he was mortified. Nothing in his basic training had prepared them for this. Peter was also terrified. He had already seen many horrors during his time in the unit. What had just transpired was something else altogether, something unnatural.
""No one goes to sleep,"" someone shouted in the trenches. ""We need to remain vigilant at all times. Check your ammo and fix bayonets. We're in for a fight now, boys."" Peter, Randolf, and others fixed bayonets and gathered all the ammo they had left. With every man waiting for the command to attack, Peter knew that this battle would decide the war's fate and theirs.
""Any sign of them?"" said Randolf sheepishly. Peter shakes his head. Since the recent sighting, has been almost five hours of torment for the men. No one slept for fear of being dragged away in the night. Peter had gone through all his cigarettes and resorted to chewing on pieces of cigarette cartons to calm himself. It was now early morning, June 8th, and dawn was fast approaching. Peter knew something had to happen. Whatever they saw and heard last night, those creatures would attack soon. However, after getting no sleep, he feels his eyes slowly drooping. Before he drifts off, he hears the snap of a fallen branch a hundred yards away from them. He jerks his head up and looks in the direction of the sound.
At this moment, he sees what has been tormenting him and his men. Across the German line, past a few trees, was the outline of a dark wolf-like creature slowly approaching them. Grabbing his rifle, he nudges his brother.
""Randolf, I see one. Behind the trees, a couple of yards away. Pass the word along."" Randolf quietly leaves his machine gun and spreads the word about their position. Slowly placing a round in the chamber, Peter sets his sights on his target. Looking down at the rifle sight, he rests his finger on the trigger, waiting for the right moment. Randolf rushes back to his brother and stations himself on the machine gun.
""Everyone's ready. On your command.""
""Good, because they are coming at us head-on as soon as I fire. Once that happens, all the wrath of hell will be upon us.""
""Do you have a plan, then?""
""If we get overrun, get out of the trenches and make for the forest's edge behind us.""
""Alright then,"" said Randolf calmly. ""On your mark."" As the creature moves into Peter's line of sight, he pulls the trigger and fires off a round from his rifle. ""Ich habe dich Jetzt Dämon"" (I have you now, demon). The bullet zips through the morning air and hits its target dead in the head. It did nothing but cause the beast to YELP and jerk backward a bit. Quickly reloading another round, Peter and others hear a blood-curdling roar echo throughout the forest. Before any have a chance to react, ten black figures burst through the trees and charge them. Blood and fury were in the air.
Without hesitation, Peter and Randolf begin firing their weapons.
“Offenes Feuer!” yelled Peter. Soon everyone was firing off rifles and machine guns, creating a hail of bullets in front of them. Some soldiers even threw a couple of grenades, adding more destruction. As the fury of bullets and grenades barrage the attackers, Randolf notices that some beasts are dying. The young brother believes that they are winning. The other soldiers begin to see this, too, and stop firing. The young soldiers all cheer, with smoke emanating from their guns and the beasts all lying dead. They had defeated their enemies. Randolf joins in the celebration.
However, Peter was not celebrating. Something was not sitting right with the older brother. This victory felt too easy. While everyone was cheering, Peter took his rifle and inspected the area where these creatures were. Kneeling beside the few dead and bullet-riddled carcasses, he notices in the soft soil paw tracks many more going in different directions. ""Where are the others?"" He follows the roads in the path leading away from their position. The ways were significant. Very big like a bear, but not as deep in the dirt. These creatures are fast and intelligent. It's here that Peter begins to put it all together. They only sent a few to bait them. That means there's still more out there—more watching them.
Suddenly, Peter hears a faint howling in the distance. His eyes widen with shock as the realization dawns on him. “Sie stehen hinter uns!” (They’re behind us). Running back to his men as fast as he can, he prays they are still alive. As he returns to their defensive line, he sees everyone celebrating. Firing his rifle, he shouts at the others, trying to get their attention.
Sadly it was too late. Emerging from the trees behind them were the remaining beasts. Before they knew it, the monsters were among them. Chaos and destruction envelop them. Fearing for his brother, Peter runs to their foxhole but does not find him. Terror was taking over him as he desperately searched for his brother. From behind, he hears the screams of men being torn to pieces. Making his way to the far end of the trenches, he finds two traumatized, numb souls huddled together between a smoking machine gun and ammo crates. Their faces, pale as bed sheets, gave empty blanket stares.
""Has anyone seen Randolf?"" said Peter, trying to catch his breath. One soldier, trying to gather his words, said he saw one of the creatures drag him away, still putting up a fight. Peter's heart sank. He had failed to keep his brother safe.
""What do we do?"" whimpered one soldier. Turning around, Peter knew the beasts would return, hungry for survivors. They needed a plan, an escape plan. One of the men stuttered, ""The trucks, they're back at the camp. If we can reach them, we can escape.""
""How!? We won't make it in time,"" said the other. Opening a box of Stein Grenades, he clips as many around his belt. As the two looked in confusion, Peter explained his plan to them. ""It'll cause a distraction and lead them away from the trenches. Once I'm gone, go and get to the trucks as fast as you can and get out of here.""
""What about you?"" Peter chambers another round into his rifle. ""I'll be fine. Just wait for my signal."" Taking a deep breath, he hurls himself over trenches and into the open field. Grabbing two from his waist, he removes the safety pin and throws them in different directions. The explosions grab the beasts' attention. Grinning like a madman, he shouts at them.
“Hier drüben seid ihr bastarde!” (Over here, you bastards!). Peter fires off a round into the air. And just as quickly, the beasts all begin to charge toward him. Seeing this as the signal, the remaining soldiers immediately leave the trenches to return to camp. With the others gone, Peter runs deep into the dense forest. Ducking over branches and jumping over fallen trees, he yells at the top of his lungs, keeping the beasts' attention. Throwing the last of his grenades, Peter stumbles over a rock and tumbles down a slight hill. Landing hard on his back, he lifts his head and sees a white star on the door. Scrambling to his feet, he discovers he is in the American encampment. However, something about the camp was bizarre. All the equipment was still there. Guns, tents, medical supplies, everything was still here, except for soldiers. Where were the Americans? As he searches the area, he enters the officer's tent and finds a classified document titled: OPERATION LYCAN. Opening the tan file, he began to read and discovered the horrifying truth. Finding himself invested in the information, he failed to pick up a familiar foul odor.
""Aren't we nosey,"" said a deep voice. Peter quickly turns around and sees the leader of the beasts with his men behind him. Here, Peter could get a full view of what had been attacking his fellow men. It had a sizeable wolf-like head with small straight ears, a broad chest, massive paws, and a large mouth that exposed huge teeth. Its fur was red and had a white streak down the back. He quickly recognized who it was, the familiar red-stained fur. Peter glares at the monster as it calmly picks bits of flesh from his teeth.
""What the hell are you?"" shouts Peter. The beast looks at him, smiles wickedly, and shows a pair of dog tags around his neck. He rips them off and tosses them at the German. Catching them, it read:
ROBERT H. HOMES
AKA, ""BIG BAD WOLF""
USMC
""That's impossible,"" said Peter. He told himself this couldn't be true. But it was. Throwing the tags aside, he looks the wolf directly in the eyes. ""So, what happens now?""
""My men have already seen to your friends' demise. You've lost, German."" The wolf laughs evilly.
""So this is how it ends?"" says Peter.
""For you, that is. We won."" Peter shakes his head at the wolf.
""Not yet. I'm still alive. And from what I gather, you seem to be the alpha. I kill you, and your wolves will be leaderless."" The mighty wolf chuckled at Peter's threat. As he sets himself on all fours, he remarks to the young soldier.
""Tell me, German, do you even know how to kill us?""
Peter clutches his rifle tightly in his hands, eyes full of rage. Before he charges, he answers the beast's question.
""I'm going to cut your damn head off. See if that works.""
After the battle of Belleau Woods, the two survivors escaped the forest and returned to German command. When asked what happened, the young soldiers stuttered out a single phrase.
""Höllenhundes.""
HellHounds.
","July 12, 2023 21:55",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,x2vdu2,She,Chuck Thompson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x2vdu2/,/short-story/x2vdu2/,Horror,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror']",9 likes,"
Ever been eye to eye with a rattlesnake? Ever realized the rattlesnake was on its tail looking you in the eye? Ever been so close to a rattler that you can hear it breathe? 
 
I live in the desert; have all my life. On a hike or just a walk through the land, I’ve met every kind of desert creature. One creature always scared me: rattlesnakes. 
 
Rattlesnakes come in a variety of colors: green, blue, brown, black with silver diamonds, red or a combination of colors. It does not matter to me; they all scared me.
 
I bought twenty acres in the middle of New Mexico within twenty minutes of Quemado Lake, fifteen minutes outside of Quemado and a mile from the nearest neighbor. The place was a mile in off the highway and I could drive that dirt road by starlight, it was so dark and the stars so bright there.
 
All of New Mexico is special, thus, the state logo “Land of Enchantment”. The place I bought was especially enchanted. A perfect rectangle of fenced-in land in the middle of thousands of acres of ranchland. There was a hill that took up the middle third of the rectangle. The hill, shaped like a horseshoe, rose about fifty feet above the rest of the property.
 
From the top of that hill, you could see ten or more miles in any direction. It made a perfect place for the Old Ones to meet, celebrate, pray, and trade. I found enough shards and crystal arrowheads to lend credence to that statement. In other words, it was a sacred place a few hundred years ago.
 
Elk and antelope cruised through the property as if no fences existed. Coyotes, foxes, badgers, an occasional bear, or mountain lion made their way through the property from somewhere special to somewhere more special. 
 
And, snakes were thick.
 
Before I moved to that property, I lived in Silver City about four hours south of there. I worked at one of the mines and had a good life. I typically slept well until I bought that land.  Then the dreams started.
 
I dreamt I was hiking through some rough country and came to a dry watercourse about five feet across and four feet deep. It cut through caliche and other types of soil. There were undercuts along the banks that cut into the banks two or three feet. As I stepped to the south edge looking at the cutouts across the watercourse, I could hear the buzzing of a thousand large insects. Strike that; it was the buzzing of dozens of rattlesnakes in a cutout just beneath where I was standing. In my dream, I became agitated and stepped back away from the edge. Woke up scared.
 
Another dream.
 
I was camping next to a vertical grade break about three feet high. It was late and the stars were bright enough to see by. A four-foot-wide cutout about a foot high in that grade break suddenly lit up and I woke up in my dream, rolled over and looked into the cutout. It went in fifty feet or more and the floor was carpeted with a brown writhing mass. I did not know that many snakes would fit into a hole like that.
 
I awakened nearly in a panic. 
 
In the next minutes, it came into my mind that I needed to camp out alone on the property and that I needed to take a ground tarp and blanket and sleep on the ground. 
 
Picture this. After two nights of rough rattlesnake nightmares, I am prompted to go sleep alone on the ground in an area where snakes are reputed to abound. Not a chance in hell.
 
A variant of those dreams repeated every night for a week. Each time I awakened, I was prompted to camp alone on the ground in snaky country. I thought, “No freakin’ way!” 
 
On the morning after the ninth night of this dream, a Wednesday morning, I decided to go the upcoming weekend.  I did not dream for the rest of the week.
 
There is a difference between a dream and a vision. Although dreams can feel real and are often a source of discord in one’s mind, they are recognizable as a dream when one awakens. Visions may seem like a dream except many times there is a physical manifestation of some component of the vision. A scratch on the arm, an item left on the floor, or a feather in the window screen or a feeling of enlightenment and understanding unfelt before. Or a feeling of justified terror.
 
Saturday noon-ish, I drove north to the property. Four hours later, I got into Quemado and had supper at the A-frame café in town. They really did have the best green chile cheeseburger in New Mexico then. I ate, then headed on to the property to get settled in.
 
Atop the horseshoe hill, I set up my little camp. It was a cold camp because I really had no need for a fire. I planned to go into town for breakfast and coffee the next morning, so there was no need for a fire even in the morning. I laid my tarp out, rolled up my truck coat for a pillow and set out my blanket. I got my folding lawn chair out of the truck and sat and read until it got too dark to read.
 
When it got good and dark, I laid down, covered up and fell right asleep. A calm, pleasant spring night.
 
A hiss woke me. A loud full-throated hiss that brooked no doubt as to its source.
 
I slowly lifted my blanket off me, sat up, and even more slowly stood up, turned to face to my left and nonchalantly became very afraid.
 
She raised and cocked her head back to get a better look at me. Her forked tongue flicked toward me. She opened her mouth, and her fangs were as long as my arm from the elbow to my fingertips.
 
Her unblinking slit eyes fastened themselves to my soul. I stood there staring back fully aware that if I moved, she could strike before my next heartbeat.
 
Her head was wider than my torso is long, her eyes as big as soccer balls, her tongue longer than my height. Beyond and to her sides, her minions stretched out and watched. No fewer than dozens, they went as far as I could see. They were much smaller than she, but they were not small. None had a head smaller than mine and none of them blinked. No sounds, just stares.
 
I feared.
 
She hissed and words formed in my mind.
 
“Your fear smell is great, a cloud extending far from your center. Yet you stand there unmoving, staring back at me with your fear and your curiosity. You stand there uncowed, unsoiled, and silent. Not whimpering or crying or begging or praying.
 
“Frightened, curious, patient.”
 
Her hiss, as dry as a summer wind, complimented me but did not comfort me.
 
“You have prayed for enlightenment, for success, for power to overcome evil. A way to do that is to join with us. 
 
“You are now of the Snake Clan. Thus say I, Queen.
 
“You will learn what all this means in the coming months. You have much to learn and some of it will be painful.”
 
“Great! Rattlesnake superpowers,” I thought. No, I didn’t open my mouth and I certainly did not say anything.
 
Instantly, I was standing looking across the hilltop at the starlit cedar and scrub oak. All there where she and her minions had been a breath before.
 
Rattlesnakes don’t scare me now. When we see each other, they buzz to warn me, then they coil, uncoil, and go away.
 
Somehow, we are joined.
","July 15, 2023 02:35",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,1v844i,Waiting in Vain,Daniel Fore,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1v844i/,/short-story/1v844i/,Horror,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Suspense', 'Science Fiction']",9 likes,"
(Dedicated to the Spirit of Robert Nesta Marley) The onyx-shaded chapel towered to the heavens; the steeple silhouette eclipsed the nearest roadway and beyond. NewFoundBelief Church. Location: Hope Road. Their motto was “Change the way your mind thinks about Religion”. The phrase sang from every billboard within a twenty-mile radius. These folks were proud of their establishment, Bob thought. The church architecture mesmerized the mind. Business appeared lucrative. Bob paused to check for sweat stains under his cream Dune t-shirt. Good to go. The sun sizzled on the pavement. Houston summers smothered the life out of you. Shouldn’t be any cops hanging around church, Bob thought. Bob needed a spot to enjoy his joint peacefully before heading to the library. The librarian promised him the new David Mitchell book would be in today. It was titled Cloud Atlas. Six intertwining stories, reincarnation, and oppression themes. And rumor had it, Mitchell wrote in six different writing styles. Bob was ecstatic. Anything for a reprieve from the chaos at home. Bob recently turned eighteen. He awaited his college acceptance letter in the mail. The goal, to attend an out-of-state school. His parents fought nonstop. Arguing about his younger brother’s behavioral issues, about his mom’s perceived schizophrenia. Bob inhaled his first hit when he noticed two men intently headed in his direction.“What are you doing on church property, young man? Is that marijuana?” Bob dropped the joint and darted off toward the library. A bum ankle restricted his speed. The two men gained ground on him faster than expected. Thud. Bob’s face planted into the dry, crunchy ground. A mouthful of brittle dead grass got inhaled into his windpipe. “Ptooey”. Bob spit the earth out. “What the hell are you guys doing to me?The two men wrestled Bob’s arms behind his back. One wore a plain black suit, white dress shirt, and faded black tie, Travis. He was a deputy at NewFoundBelief Church. The other man Pope John, a black cassock with a black zucchetto fitted over his trimmed, white comb-over, his hands cracked and scaly from eczema. “We didn’t have to travel far to find this one,” Travis said to Pope John. “Yeah. Recruits are showing up at our doorstep now,” Pope John said. “Do you know you’re trespassing on church property, numbskull?” Travis said. “I was walking to the library; I wasn’t on your property,” Bob said. “See if he has any more weed on him. He looks like a hoodlum. He needs the Lord.” Pope John said. “Get your hands out of my pocket. I’m going to report you to the cops.” Bob tried to wiggle free, but the grown men’s strength outmatched his teenage muscles. “Are you now?” Travis held up an ounce bag of weed he pulled from Bob’s pocket. “And how are you going to explain this? We have the Sheriff on speed dial. He happens to be a prominent member of this church.” “Let go of me, what do you want?” Bob said. The two men loosened their grip on Bob. “We can turn you in…or…we’ll make a deal with you.” Bob wiped the grass and dirt from his shirt. “What deal?” “Become a member of the church.” The Pope said. “What? That’s it? I’m a member of your church. Now get your hands off me.” “Hold your right hand out,” Travis said. Bob reluctantly pushed his hand toward Travis. Travis revealed a large syringe from his pocket and loaded something inside the tip. “What is this, a black light stamp?” Bob said. “Hold still, this will only sting a bit.” Bob began to resist the tighter Travis’ grip became. “Hold still…it will only take a second.” The Pope pulled his phone out and dialed the Sheriff…ringing, ringing, ringing… “Ok, ok. Get with it already.” Bob said. “What are you tagging me with?” Travis stuck the syringe into Bob’s skin, where his thumb met the back of his hand. “God damn! What’s your problem?” That hurt. Bob rubbed his hand while he examined the tiny silver object under his skin. “Step one of initiation is complete. Next, you come back tomorrow at the same time, and we will complete the process. If you tamper with the microchip, it will alert us. More importantly, it will notify the Sheriff. The microchip is church property. You don’t want to be known as a thief as well as a drug addict, do you? Don’t mention anything to your parents either, you wouldn’t want them to know the kind of trouble you’ve been getting into.” Pope John said. My parents won’t notice anything different about me, Bob thought. His mom and dad were consumed with blaming each other for their failing marriage. Bob went largely unnoticed most days. Walking to the library or reading at the library occupied most of his time. He recalled when his mom pulled a gun on his father and Bob had to run out of his house. The library provided refuge. Books became his escape.  When he arrived at the library, he stumbled across The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Bob found himself wanting to visit the “Cemetery of Forgotten Books”, a place in the novel that housed a sanctuary of rare books. If Bob could live there, he could vanish...along with all his problems.   People lined up outside of the church. Bob walked to the end of the line when he felt someone tug his arm. “Come with us.” The man was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and faded black tie. Travis. Bob followed Travis past the line of devotees. Bob noticed a haziness in the people’s eyes, a soulless disconnect. “We need to validate the microchip’s efficacy. Make sure you haven’t tampered with anything. This way.” Travis said pointing down a long corridor with brown wooden doors every six feet or so. The Pope awaited Travis and Bob inside his chambers. A plethora of prominent figures decorated the office walls. There were photo ops with JFK, Andy Warhol, and Martin Scorsese. Bob saw a photo with the Pope and Bruce Springsteen. There was even one with Anne Rice. “You know all of them?” Bob asked.  “Yes, they’re honorary members of the church. Their donations help fund our mission at the church,” The Pope said. “Which —” “Enough of the small talk, please. Let’s make sure your chip is online, Travis.” “Have you experienced abnormalities with the chip? Grogginess? Nightmares? Perverse thoughts?” The Pope asked. “What? No. Just a lot of itching. And it feels like it is moving around in my skin.” “All is to be expected. So, your mental state is stable you would say?” The Pope said. “Yes. I did dream of a giant bible the other night which I thought odd. It was the size of a grown man. It kept rotating until I walked over and opened it. When I peeked inside, the words leaped off the page and started downloading into my brain.” Bob said. “Perfect. The upload is initiated. This process is simple. You give us six months of your devotion, and after the time window, if you don’t feel the church is for you, you’re free to walk.” Travis said. “Six months? For smoking weed. Feels disproportionate. I didn’t do anything to you. I was minding my own business,” Bob said. “Minding your own business on a property you don’t OWN,” Travis said. Bob stood up and slammed the chair into the Pope’s desk. “This is bullshit! What is the real purpose of this chip? Are all members required to get it?” “It simplifies our congregational mission statement. In the past, church attendees didn’t truly process what religion symbolized. They attended a small percentage annually, but not enough for our message to connect. “And what’s that?” Bob said. “That our Lord is the only gateway to heaven.” The Pope said.“This chip resolves that. It uploads scripture, sermons, etcetera directly to your cerebral cortex. In an expeditious timeframe, people, and you will reap the benefits of our religion,” The Pope said. “And might I add, another microchip benefit is an automatic twenty percent, pretax deduction of your earnings. Your contribution will be donated directly to the church fund, enabling us to broaden our reach into the world.” Travis said. “Seems a bit excessive if you ask me, why don’t you do it the way you’ve been doing it for the past two thousand years?” Bob said. Bob inched his way toward the chamber door. “We’re using technology to combat…technology. With the advent of the internet, people are becoming more and more distracted. And it is only going to get worse.” The Pope said. “So, you had scientists and engineers develop a hi-tech microchip for a religion?”“Biologists as well. This chip is twenty to thirty years ahead of its time. DARPA developed technology for the military. We’ve previously worked with DARPA on some social experiments, and they were gracious enough to grant us access to the first-generation chips. There are a few hiccups to deal with, but overall, they’re progressing satisfactorily.” Travis said. “Hiccups, like what?” Bob said. “Well, sometimes informational uploads…become permanently downloaded to your cerebral cortex. To minimize this and other potential side effects, drug use is prohibited. Chemicals and mind-altering substances could compromise your neurotransmitters and disrupt neural connectivity,” Travis said. Bob prodded at the chip, gauging the permanency of its implementation. “With more congregation funding, we can calibrate the microchip to connect us directly to God. This chip is the future of our church,” Pope John said. “Ah, f*ck you. This feels like some bullshit new wave MK Ultra, mind control crap.” Bob said. Bob picked at the protrusion in his hand and tried to loosen the metal scab with his fingernail. “Calm down, it’s a minor sacrifice for a relationship with the Lord.” The Pope said. “I don’t want a relationship with YOUR Lord…I want to leave.” “No one is holding you against your will. We can extract the microchip, but if you breach the agreement, we will also break ours. We know you’re trying to get accepted into Brown University. English major, huh? I would hate for the sheriff to pick you up and you “be in possession” of enough marijuana perceived as intent to distribute. A university as prominent as Brown might have trouble seeing past that infraction.” The Pope said. Bob’s face turned the color of the holy wine. “I don’t sell drugs. What are you talking about?” “Remove the microchip before our six-month agreement is fulfilled and you’ll know what we’re talking about. Do we have an agreement or not?” The Pope said. Bob glared in disgust at the two men as he left the Pope’s chamber, slamming the heavy door behind him.   A few months after the microchip implant, Bob’s parents, Donna and Ernest, began noticing behavioral changes in Bob. “Has Bob urged you to attend church, lately?” Donna said. “He might have mentioned a few times,” Ernest said. “You don’t find that odd? He’s always been an independent thinker. Now he’s converting to organized religion. He even tucks his shirt in now. He’s never done that.” Donna said. “What I find stranger is him pressing me to go to the shooting range, persistently. He doesn’t like guns.” Ernest said. “He doesn’t. His soul is peaceful. He only cares about books and writing. Maybe we should talk to him.” Bob walks out of his room, his midnight blue polo tucked into his khaki pants. “Can one of you give me a ride to the church?” Bob said. “I’m sorry, Bob. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” Ernest said. “I can’t either. I am meeting Helen for lunch on the other side of town. I’m sorry, honey.” Donna said. “Is everything ok with you, honey?” His mom asked. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” “You seem preoccupied, more than normal. And the bible thing. It’s not like you. You’ve been quoting scripture lately. There is nothing wrong with religion, it’s just not something you’ve ever cared for.” “Let him find himself, Donna. He’s still young.” Ernest said. “I am. I want to make sure he is ok. You always try to complicate things when I am just checking on our son.” Donna said. “He might need some space, that’s al—” “I need to go meet Helen. I’m late.” Donna said as she grabbed her purse and stormed out the front door. Bob rolled his eyes. He went to his room to grab his backpack. I have one more joint, he remembered. Much needed.   On the way to his weekly consultation, Bob pulled his lighter out and placed the flame on the tip of his joint. “Ahhh.” Bob tilted his head back and exhaled the white smoke and his stress toward the clouds. He found himself at peace again. His thoughts returned but accompanying them was an unfamiliar head throb. His original thoughts were competing with his uploaded, theological thoughts. Bob removed his iPod from his bag, and pressed play. Duppy Conqueror boomed through his headphones. Bob Marley’s lyrivs liberated him. Pure message. Zero obligation to the movement. “Ahhh” Better. What is the church doing to people’s psyches, he wondered? He needed more time to think. Bob detoured from the consultation and took a trip to the library. The librarian said she’d save him a copy of Jonathan Strange and Dr. Norrell. The book was checked out for months, but a copy finally came in. The book was about a period when magic no longer existed until two magicians proved that theory wrong and came along to help England in the Napoleonic Wars. Bob imagined he understood magic. He would change everything in his life. Church consultations wore down his brain. His parents’ arguments made it hard for him to be happy. The library provided his only companionship. He needed change. When he finished at the library, Bob noticed the theological thoughts resurfaced, coincidentally the marijuana faded. What the hell, he thought. “Are these uploads permanent?” Bob’s cell phone rang. “Hello…” Bob answered. “We missed you at today’s consultation. Everything ok?” Travis said. “Yes. I had some things to do.” Bob said. “That’s not part of the agreement. The church comes first until the terms expire.” “Yeah, yeah. I know…I can be by in thirty minutes.” “See you then. Don’t be late. The sheriff is here as well. He needs to speak to you…” Screw these people, Bob thought. He rubbed the silicate glass object in his hand. It was almost fully embedded. Bob tightened the straps on his backpack, took the last hit off his joint and headed to church.   “Deputy, Pope, Sheriff…how are you?” Bob asked. “How are you, Bob?” The sheriff asked.” “Couldn’t be better, honestly. Scripture is downloading. Damn near know it by heart.” “That’s great. We need to talk to you about your no-show today… not only that, you’re in violation of the substance abuse policy. Your chip report shows marijuana use today, is that accurate?” The deputy said. “Yes. Things have been rough at home. I needed a temporary escape to regain my sanity. Is this a problem?” Bob said. “It absolutely is a problem. For one, it’s illegal. Two, it interferes with the neural uploads.” Travis said. “About those, how long did you guys’ upload take for completion?” Bob asked. The three men looked at each other with uncertainty, unsure what to say. “That’s what I thought. I didn’t come here to check in...” Bob unzipped his backpack and rummaged through, feeling for the cold steel. He pulled out his father’s freshly oiled Glock 21 pistol. He immediately pointed it at the sheriff. “Make another move and I kill the deputy…and the pope. Bob forced the three men into the corner of the Pope’s chambers. “Which one of you knows how to remove this?” Bob nodded his head toward his microchip. “That’s the deputy’s job. Bu-, but, we can’t extract it. It’s against church policy.” Bang! Bob shot the sheriff’s leg as the sheriff reached for his state-issued pistol. Bob grabbed the weapon from the sheriff’s holster as the sheriff writhed in pain. “I didn’t want this to happen. I just want this chip out of my hand.” Bob said. The Pope made a pressing motion with his hands. “Bob, o-our agreement with you is not only with us three but with the Lord.” “Now I dictate the policy, numbskull. Extract this from my hand, and fast. Your sheriff needs medical assistance…The quicker the chip is removed, the quicker I call for help on my way out of here.” Bob said. “The extractor is in the Pope’s desk,” Travis said. Bob pressed the gun barrel into the deputy’s temple. “You have three seconds to get what you need. Let’s go.” Travis found the extractor and tried to steady his hands to connect with the microchip. The extractor clamped Bob’s microchip, and immediately popped free, hitting the floor with a clink. Bob reached for the microchip and placed it in his pocket. Bob’s blood trickled onto the deputy, producing a one-tone Jackson Pollock painting on his wrist. “W-we need to call for help, the sheriff is bleeding out,” Travis said. “I’ll call when I walk out of this door. The story when the authorities ask is this, the sheriff accidentally shot himself in the leg while he was adjusting his gun holster. Plain and simple. Self-inflicted wound. From there, we all move on with our lives. If I ever see any of you again, I will expose this church, the microchip nonsense, and your exploitive agenda all over national news.” Bob said. “You’ll pay for this, son,” The Pope said. Bob removed the rounds from the sheriff’s magazine and placed the pistol outside of the door.  “We’ll see.” Bob backed out of the chamber with the gun pointed at the three men before he paused. “One last thing…where is my bag of weed?”                                                                                                                                       
","July 15, 2023 03:01",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,fcrnnk,Endless Deep,Gregg Voss,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fcrnnk/,/short-story/fcrnnk/,Horror,0,"['Drama', 'Horror', 'Suspense']",9 likes,"
At first, the bite felt like a mere pinch near his right elbow, how a mosquito might make its presence known to an outside reveler on a sultry summer’s evening. Here and gone as suddenly as it came. Like a mosquito, or perhaps a biting fly or ant, and Helm’s instinct was to brush the creature away. Go bother somebody else outside. But there was always the possibility it was a wasp or a hornet. He’d never been stung before, knock on wood, but pop, God rest his soul, had had to deal with anaphylactic shock, and wasn’t that a genetic thing? 
            Now Helm wished he had worn a flannel, instead of his fluorescent green DPW shirt. But even though he was probably ten feet underground by now, his boot secure on the cast-iron ladder built into the concrete, cars shuffling by above, it was still hot, the perspiration sticking to the two day’s growth on his cheeks. His helmet felt like an anchor with the flashlight affixed to the top with a thick Kevlar band, and the bitch of it was, the light kept going out, unless Helm shook his head to restart it. That got old fast.
            There was another bite. Whatever it was, that sucker hurt, going from a pinch to a dagger and then the sensation of something attempting to rip the flesh from bone, though maybe that was a bit of hyperbole. Helm cursed in the manner of Samuel L. Jackson, lifted his arm and shook it, banging his elbow in the dark on the hole’s concrete sidewall in the process. The pain relented but his helmet flashlight went out, and as he shook his head to get it to turn back on, there was something new. A similar pinch, then a dagger between his right knee and his ankle.
            Bees can sting through denim? he thought, as he shook his leg to relieve the pain. His other boot slipped off the rung and for a split second he was dangling in the fetid air underground, only his left hand preventing a fall into the village’s sewer system. If that happened, he’d probably break an ankle, or maybe even an arm, but he’d also smell like shit for a week. It had happened before. Not to him, but that’s not to say it couldn’t happen...
            He readjusted himself so that both boots were as firm as they could be on the same rung, then looked up. His helmet flashlight finally came back on, but the tiny bit of incoming sun obscured its light. Always working when you didn’t need it, and vice versa. He was careful to ensure his gloved hand securely held the rung level to his head. Before lifting his right leg, he thought it prudent to announce his arrival upstairs.
            “Hey meatball,” Helm fairly shouted. “I’m comin’ up. You better be ready.”
            Now the pain of the bite on his leg became a hot coal. It felt as if something was trying to burrow through his jeans to get at his flesh. He heard a scratch-scratch of something tearing a hole in the fabric, so he shook his leg and the pain abruptly subsided, though whatever it was wasn’t an insect. It hit the sewer water with a splash that echoed in the concrete tube. 
            The hell…?      
            That was something solid.
            Time to go, Helm thought, and as he used his hands and his boots to climb up two sets of rungs at a time, what little sunlight suddenly disappeared in conjunction with the clanking of metal on metal. The sound concluded with an echoing boom. Just before that happened, Helm could have sworn he had heard a car splash through a massive puddle. But it was dry that day.
            Somehow, the meatball had moved a two-hundred-pound manhole cover back on its base, killing the light and probably eventually the air, too.
            How is that friggin’ possible? More colorful metaphors a la Samuel L. Jackson.
            “You’re dead, meatball,” Helm shouted into the abyss, and as he did that, there was the sensation of two bites, one on his left leg above his boot, the other at his midsection, just below his beltline, within dangerous proximity of his nuts. He twisted and twisted some more, but the pain only intensified into hot coals, so he reached down.
            Whatever it was had mass, maybe about the size of a baseball or slightly smaller, and fur, and claws. Helm grabbed it with his left hand, his pitching hand, and hurled it into the darkness, eliciting another minor splash. But the bite was replaced by another in virtually the same area, this time even closer to his nuts. He banged his helmet with his right palm, and finally, the flashlight came on, and stayed on.
            He looked down.
            Two black moles with peach claws were chewing at him. Another was climbing through a crack in the drain’s sidewall, and another behind it.
 
            The job was supposed to have been routine. There was a suspected crack in the drain of the sewer line on East Avenue, a busy thoroughfare in town. The objective was to shimmy down the manhole in the road’s median, near the intersection of East and 47th Street., get confirmation, then return to HQ and report. From there, the decisions about whether to patch it or do a full scope of work, including excavation, were made by people well above Helm’s pay grade, like the director and even the city fathers. His only job was to figure out what was going on, because when sewer water leeches into the soil, that can be a damn stinking mess. The taxpayers wouldn’t stand for that.
            The director assigned Helm and the meatball, a lightweight a couple years out of high school named Petraska, to grab a truck, head out to East and 47th, pull the manhole cover and get down there.
            “You can go first,” Helm joked to the meatball, which wasn’t much of a joke because of the latter’s fear of tight spaces. Claustrophobia, he called it, something he had had since as far back as he could remember. Once he was stuffed in a locker at the village’s high school and had been so unglued by the experience that he spent a few days in a looney bin. Or so he had said in the low tone of one once terrified. Who knew whether these kids were telling the truth or exaggerating to get sympathy? The world was a mess.
            Meatball was roughly five-foot-nine, thin as a fencepost, with a thatch of wavy, toast-brown hair. He wore around his neck and outside of his own fluorescent DPW shirt a gaudy silver link chain with a cross, sans Christ Himself. That had irritated Helm as well. Don’t bring your religion to work, kid, it’s not good for your career, and what if the director sees? Helm had told him this, but the meatball didn’t listen. He just got around humming unfamiliar tunes and needed help lifting bags of sod and mulch during the spring and shoveling halite in the winter so the plows could get out and clear the roads after a full-out dump.
            He was a cold fish, like Helm’s dad used to say, but his eyes belied something deeper. Helm would often turn and suddenly would be involved in a staring match with a pair of eyes that seemed to be either dark brown or even black marbles. He’d chuckle as Helm would turn away, feeling the warmth of embarrassment creeping up his neck. More than once Helm had considered the possibility that the meatball was really a pansy. But he couldn’t, because if his religion, right? 
            They had arrived onsite at East and 47th at 10:34 a.m., which Helm dutifully logged in his notebook in the silver Ford F-150 with the village logo on the doors. Meatball set up the yellow-and-black guard barrier at the manhole, along with a few orange cones to ward off the cars going northbound on East. Helm inserted a metal crowbar-like lever on the manhole cover, heaved and budged it, pulling it left so it slid on the pavement still damp from an overnight storm. The thought of someone, meatball or whomever, sliding the cover back in its original position made Helm wince. It was tough enough for a guy like Helm who lifted weights in his off-time.
            “You know the drill,” Helm said to meatball, slipping the flashlight and its band over his white helmet before donning his leather gloves. “I’ll go down, take some pics with my phone if there’s a crack or anything else, and then come up. Now don’t go wandering off.” Not that the meatball would, he hadn’t before, but again, who knew what kids with short attention spans might do.
            He looked down at the now-gaping hole, then looked up and there it was, an instant staring contest. Meatball’s eyelids were furrowed, maybe because of the sunlight, but maybe because he was trying to get a good look at Helm before he disappeared below. For what reason, he didn’t know. Maybe he really was a pansy. Time to get to work.
            Helm knelt on the damp pavement, sat on his ass, then slid his legs so they dangled in the manhole. He could feel the first rung of the internal ladder, which was a good sign. He wouldn’t have to use the temporary ladder he had thrown into the bed of the F-150 before departing HQ. Those could be problematic. He had heard a horror story of a DPW guy in Syracuse—or was it Albany? Somewhere in upper New York state—where the temporary ladder somehow fell into the manhole and the poor guy was stuck there in knee-high sewage for several hours before they could somehow fish him out.
            Of course, Helm had heard this guy was working alone and had forgotten his phone up top, which was stupid. You always go on a job like this with two men, just in case. A wing man, Helm had heard it called. He thought about those words as he turned to the meatball, who was still staring into his retinas, forcing him to blink, then look down. This time, the meatball had a half-smile, the kind where you wonder what someone is really thinking about you, while he fingered the cross around his neck. That, and his eyes, did nothing to instill confidence in Helm that he could be rescued if something unfortunate did happen.
            But what was going to happen? There was a cast-iron ladder built into the concrete, for Christ’s sake. Helm had his helmet, a flashlight, and his phone. Besides, there was nothing down there but dirty water.
            Helm looked up one last time. Now the meatball was staring out into space.
            “Hey stupid, you want to pay attention?” he said, and when there was no response, he said in a sing-songy voice, “Helllloooo?”
            Instantly, meatball swung his eyes to meet Helm’s. The cockeyed smile was still there.
            “Good luck, Mr. Helm,” he said.
 
            They kept coming, the moles, piling out of the crack in the drain’s sidewall, which was seemingly growing, all of them appearing to leap toward Helm. Some missed and splashed into the sewage below, but others, perhaps a dozen now, maybe more, had latched themselves onto him and were clawing their way toward the exposed skin on his arms and neck. One tittered along his right shoulder and Helm instinctively used his left hand to try to block its path toward his jugular. But that just created opportunity for another to attempted to enter his shirt via the exposed sleeve.
            Sweating, Helm fought like hell against the furry invaders, but by then, they covered his legs, his chest and parts of his arms. It felt like they pulling him down, as if they were trying to get him off the ladder. One moved from his left shoulder blade to his right, stopping at the base of his skull and administering a dagger bite that caused Helm’s howl to echo up, and then down into the sewage below.
            And then the light on his helmet failed again, plunging the drain into total darkness.
            Suddenly blind, it occurred to helm that moles were blind, spending virtually their entire lives underground. 
            Under the ground. 
            He doubted they could swim. There were probably a whole bunch of moles thrashing below, and drowning.
            But maybe that was it.
            Use their blindness against them. 
            Get down the latter ASAP, and into the sewage. Brush these bastards off of him and into the water, where they would suffer. Heck, maybe the sewage was poisonous to them, who knew?
             With great thrashing and ferocity, Helm shook his right arm, and the faint sound of furry flesh meeting unforgiving concrete with resultant squeaks filled the space that seemed to be closing in on him. He grabbed his iPhone, slid the top menu down revealing the flashlight icon, and turned it on. He whirled the device around, and realized that the moles had now apparently doubled their efforts, four or five at a time emerging from the crack.
            Time to get downstairs.
            His body stinging and his shoulder blades hunched so the moles couldn’t get to his neck and thus his carotid artery, Helm started stepping down the ladder. This resulted in most of the creatures falling past him and into the sewage below, though some managed to latch on to him. But between moving downward and thrashing around, taking care not to fall, the pain in his legs, arms and chest was beginning to subside. 
            If this was a competition, he might now be winning.
            But this was a zero-sum game. There would be a winner, and there would be a loser.
            Helm was now about ten feet from the water line and a mole was biting the palm of his left hand, in the soft spot between his thumb and forefinger. He thought of little league, where he was a southpaw pitcher, and he drew his arm back, smacking it against the concrete sidewall, yelped and hurled the mole into the waters, joining by now dozens of his dying compadres.
            The hell with them. 
            Then another thought.
            How was he going to write a report to the director about all of this, assuming he survived? 
            Amazing what one thinks about under pressure.
            Helm had managed to clear the moles from his body, save three near his boots, and he shook his leg, but they wouldn’t give. He stuffed the iPhone in his back pocket, flashlight still on, and one by one grabbed the moles and dropped them into the mire. 
            For the first time in several minutes, his body was clear of moles. Helm remembered the Catholicism from his youth.
            Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!
            He pulled the iPhone out of his pocket and pointed it up toward the crack.
            No moles.
            All right, baby!
            But then the light hit the manhole cover. Meatball was on the other side, probably with that stupid grin, enjoying this.
            And this guy was a holy roller?
            He was dead. Legally, but possibly even physically.
            The sewage came up from below so fast that Helm didn’t have time to react. In mere seconds, a torrent of filthy water filled his nose and mouth, dead and dying moles pounding all sides of his body. The terrifying thought of drowning in a sea of shit because of the actions of some kid who thought he was being funny filled his head.
            There would be no retribution. There would be no escape.
            Unless he could make it to the surface. He could pound the manhole cover and maybe meatball would realize something was wrong. If he wasn’t a totally heartless son of a bitch, he’d find someone to help him open it up. Maybe Helm would even be lenient.
            Of course not. Meatball was dead meat.
            One by one, Helm ascended the ladder, praying.
            The Lord be with you.
            And also with you.
            One little, two little, three little rungs.
            Four little, five little, six little rungs.
            Helm sang this song in monotone in his mind until his face burst through the surface of the sewage, just under the manhole cover. The water seemed to have stopped just short of it.
            Yes!
            In fact, it even seemed as if it was receding, which allowed him to raise his right arm and hit the very center of the cover. Flesh meeting iron isn’t a pleasant experience, and like an aluminum baseball bat in the cold spring, his arm stung all the way to his shoulder blade.
            “Lemme out, you bastard!” he screamed, hitting the cover again, and then \again, the pain cresting. He heard a crack and figured he had broken bones in his hand.
            Just then, there was movement, the scrunch of metal shifting across metal.
            The manhole cover. It was opening.
            Praise the Lord!
            But it wasn’t sun that entered the space.
            It was water. Gallons and gallons of water
            Storm water, with little seeds of asphalt from the street. 
            Then there was an arm.
            The meatball’s arm reached down.
            Helm grabbed it and pulled, expecting resistance from above that would pull him to freedom.
            But there was none. The arm entered the manhole up to the meatball’s shoulder blade, and his face appeared, the eyes swollen open, that stupid half-grin on his face, as if he was laughing at Helm even in death.
            How am I going to write a report about this, Helm thought as he convulsively swallowed water.
","July 13, 2023 21:41","[[{'Kelli Etheridge': 'I really enjoyed your writing style.  Third person works well here, but it feels close like a first person POV.  It helps the reader get to know and feel for the character.  \n\nI loved not really knowing what was down there in the beginning.  Perhaps try to prolong that suspense.  I found it underwhelming when we did learn in was.  I wanted more tension about it.  \n\nI was confused near the end if meatball was dead or alive, but that could have been the point.\n\n I like the ending, the glimmer of hope and light right before the end.\n\nI think Me...', 'time': '19:04 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Gregg Voss': ""Most astute comments, many thanks. I would say that I had a hard time determining what was going to be coming after Helm - I thought about spiders, insects, even snakes, but all of that seemed cliche. So I landed on moles, which creep me out, and I would bet others, too.\n\nI also thought about capitalizing meatball, but I didn't because in the old TV show All in the Family (now you can see how old I am :-), Archie called his son-in-law meathead, and I don't believe it was capitalized. I think since it's a pejorative nickname, and one not ever..."", 'time': '19:10 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Gregg Voss': ""Most astute comments, many thanks. I would say that I had a hard time determining what was going to be coming after Helm - I thought about spiders, insects, even snakes, but all of that seemed cliche. So I landed on moles, which creep me out, and I would bet others, too.\n\nI also thought about capitalizing meatball, but I didn't because in the old TV show All in the Family (now you can see how old I am :-), Archie called his son-in-law meathead, and I don't believe it was capitalized. I think since it's a pejorative nickname, and one not ever..."", 'time': '19:10 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,mq03lf,The Blanket,Patricia Merewether,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mq03lf/,/short-story/mq03lf/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
I wanted to arrive at my friend Carol's cottage in the wilds of northern Michigan before dark. I'm not an outdoor or woodsy person and feared driving there, mostly because of the suicidal deer. She'd invited me several times, and I made excuses, so this time, I said yes. However, road construction detours and lane closures cost me an extra hour, and I drove the last twenty miles in the dark. In the dark in rural Michigan means total blackness, no street lights, Fast Food signs, or Gas Stations. I had a cell phone, but who would I call?Her long driveway was difficult to find, so she put a red balloon on her mailbox. I didn't find IT very funny. Her feeble porch light wasn't much help as I picked my way through the gravel walkway.She met me on the porch, wrapping her arms around me for a big hug. She knew the trip wasn't easy for a wimp like me. Her scent of lemons and mint enveloped me, and her sweet smile was most relaxing.I stepped inside Caroline's little cottage on the lake and. it was enchanting!. Her bookshelves filled one corner with an antique floor lamp and cozy chair. Her dining table sat in front of a large window overlooking the water with a crescent moon reflected on the smooth water.. The scent of her homemade Beef stew simmering on the stove made my mouth water. Carolyn handed me a mug of her special blend of Chamomile, Lemon Mint, and Parsley tea that is so soothing. I felt the road nerves ebb away.We chatted for a while, laughing and our youthful adventures and old boyfriends. Then she popped up from her chair and said, ""Oh! I almost forgot. you have to see the kinky,hand-woven blanket I found at an antique shop! It's in the truck, in the garage.” She grabbed a flashlight and said, ""Just be a sec.""Nope!"" I said, ""I've seen too many of those horror flicks where one woman goes out in the dark and doesn't return, and the second one ends up trying to find her, trips, falls, and the forest monster eats her.She laughed and waved a hand at me, ""Don't worry, I'll be fine."" and was out the door.I called out, ""Just so you know if you don't come back, I'm dialing 911 and hiding in the bathroom! I'm not going out there!""She chuckled, and I heard her open the creaky old garage door.Caroline returned quickly, so I didn't have to worry about forest monsters. She unfolded a startlingly unique blanket, and images of a Gypsy caravan filled my mind. Almost every color imaginable was woven into it, primarily red, orange, and yellow, with occasional aqua, purple and black. Varied sizes of yarn added to its texture.“Wow! That is truly strange. I love it!”Carolyn held it up, and then I saw some kind of odd symbols on it. Egyptian? Arabic? I had no idea. The designs almost moved in the firelight. I thought of those ancient cave paintings in France, where firelight made the animals appear to move.""It was almost free!"" she said, placing it over the back of the loveseat near the fire. ""Why?"" I asked. I felt uneasy while stroking it, so soft yet nubby with a knot here and there. It gave me the same anxiety I felt when looking at mummies of people and animals in a museum.""The shop owner said, ""It's marked down because there are a few small holes in it.""“See?| Caroline held it before the fireplace, and little beams of light showed through them.""""Ah, but still, you said it was cheap?""“I know! Five dollars!?” The owner texted and chewed a Twizler during the transaction, so maybe she was distracted while she made another comment, but I didn't understand her and didn't want to listen to her repeat.""""Well, I don't want to hurt your feelings, I love it, but it's creeping me out.”""Yeah, that's why I had to have it. In all my thrifting hunts, I have never seen anything so.""""Wierd?""She gave me a playful swat on the arm. “Unique.”She placed it over the back of her sofa, instantly giving the room a different vibe or atmosphere.We went to bed, and in my cozy bedroom, the mattress was comfy, and the bed linens were soft, and pristine. I quickly fell asleep.My bladder woke me as usual, and I went into the bathroom. There was a small window over the bathtub, and as I washed my hands and started to turn off the light, I thought I saw a face looking in through the window!  I gave a little chirp of fright, then looked a second time. Nothing was there. I figured my overactive imagination had kicked in again. I told myself to cool it and went back to bed.The weather the next morning was beautiful. The sugar maples were brilliant yellow and red, giving the entire area a golden glow. A pair of swans swam toward us, and Carolyn said, ""Don't move toward them or make eye contact. Tourists who stay at the B and B across the lake feed them, and they've become l pests!""“The tourists?” I teased. Caroline rolled her eyes at me.""The swans stopped and turned and swam away from us.""That's weird,"" Caroline said. ""They always come right up to me, even though I don't feed them.""""Maybe calling them 'pests' and insulted them?""We spent the day visiting a local winery and antique shops and dined at a restaurant famous for its sweet potato fries. They were very yummy.After a long day, we went to bed early. I looked around and asked, ""Where's your creepy blanket?""'Oh, I hung it in your closet because it's lined in cedar. I don't want moths to get it.” I'll take it out until you leave if you want."" I thought I was not that much of a wimp and said, ""Nah, it's fine. But I'll keep the \ door closed!""""Okay, then, see ya' in the morning.""I woke up again in the middle of the night, relieved to see only darkness in the bathroom window. I walked back to the bedroom and had that creeped-out feeling again. I decided to get a glass of water, and as I returned to my room, I saw it or him.There was a shadowy form near the fireplace! I was too surprised and scared to make anything but gasp. Then I took a deep breath and managed to croak out, ""Who are you, and what do you want? "" The shadow now took on more shape and depth. A man answered, ""It's about your brother.""""I don't have a brother. Get out of here!"" I whispered. I didn't want Caroline to be frightened or call me loony again.He was almost transparent but became more defined. I don't believe in ghosts. Well, maybe I should say I hadn't. He wore a vintage dark suit, white shirt, and red tie. His suitcoat lapel held a red carnation, and the coat pocket sported a red handkerchief. He reminded me of Cary Grant from a 1940's film.""I'm not here to harm you,"" he said with a slightly British accent."" I want to get a message to Mother and can't, so I decided to try you, Sis. This is the first time anyone has been able to see me!"" ""What the... "" I started to say.He raised his hand, “Please, hear me out. Our mother had me when she was only fifteen. I don't know who my father was, but I died a few days after I was born.""""Oh no, that's so sad! But why are you here? Why now? She never mentioned you?”“Because she was ashamed. Single mothers were heavily frowned upon back then. And she continues blaming herself for my death, and I want her to know it wasn't her fault.""I just stared at him as he added. ""You see, I had a fragile heart. I was never meant to live very long. Mother always thought my death was her punishment for having sex before marriage. Which isn't true.”“So why did all that happen? And you certainly don't look like an infant!”He shook his head and said, “I don't know the big plan. I'm appearing like this because I know my father wore a formal black suit, white shirt, and red tie with a gold heart-shaped tie pin the last time she saw him, I was given that much information. I was born and died shortly afterward, but I know she'll remember this description, so I hope she'll believe you. I had a small birthmark on my right shoulder. Tell her James Buckminster Wilson wants her to know she's blameless in my death. It was a part of both of our life paths.”  Then he disappeared!'The experience was unsettling, but I didn't want to share it with anyone or wake Caroline. In my journal, I wrote as much of this 'episode' as I could remember. By the time I'd finished it, it was three o'clock in the morning.I was surprised that Caroline didn't wake up, but I checked on her and heard her snoring. I walked into my bedroom, and a wave of fright hit me. The creepy blanket lay across the end of my bed! I replaced it in the cedar closet and put a chair against the door. I and wondered if Caroline was pulling a prank, but she is not a prankster.I shared my experience with my Mom when I got home; she was a little frightened and upset at first. But then became calm as she remembered that outfit with the red flower and hanky, red tie, and heart-shaped tie pin. She took me to the cemetery and introduced me to James Bucky Walters..  Mom was a lot calmer and cheerier after that.A few weeks later, as I drove home from a friend's birthday party late at night, I had to slam on the brakes and swerve to avoid hitting a white cat sitting that sat in the middle of the road!. The cat ran off into a field and was fine, but my extra large cup of coffee went flying, splashing coffee, milk, and sugar all over the inside of my car.I had it deep cleaned. I think they call it detailed, which was expensive but had to be done. I went into the office to pay for the service and thank them for such a great job. The clerk smiled and said you're welcome and I walked out. As I opened the car door, the woman ran after me and handed me a package wrapped in plastic.“Sorry, Ma'am, I almost forgot to give you this. It was in the trunk.”I took it and felt faint. Yes, it was the creepy blanket. When I called Caroline to ask her if she'd put it there, she said, “What blanket?” And denied knowing ever buying it. She said she had no idea what I was talking about!
","July 15, 2023 03:30","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'Very creepy, Patricia. I liked it! LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '14:14 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Quite creepy! \nCheck some of punctuation placement and dropped words.', 'time': '16:05 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Patricia Merewether': ""thank you!  Long story, but I almost didn't enter this contest - and when I signed into Grammarly to clean it up - the whole thing was scrambled!  This happened once before, so thank you so much!"", 'time': '19:41 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Patricia Merewether': ""thank you!  Long story, but I almost didn't enter this contest - and when I signed into Grammarly to clean it up - the whole thing was scrambled!  This happened once before, so thank you so much!"", 'time': '19:41 Jul 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,58w4qp,Pioneer Dreams,Nick Baldino,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/58w4qp/,/short-story/58w4qp/,Horror,0,"['American', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",7 likes,"
It all happened quite quickly, actually.
 
First there was a snap from ahead. Then, screaming, loud and fierce. It woke Wyatt Slade from his trance of metal shoes and hot sun, and he made his way to the jockey box where Aaron sat attentively. 
 
“What was that?” Wyatt said.
 
Aaron looked over. He’d grown so much in those last few years- ridges in his jawline, a speckling of brown on his upper lip- but when his eyes bugged up like blossoming Hawthorne, he knew he was seeing his little brother again. Wyatt put a hand on his shoulder, and with the other, lifted his 12 gauge onto his lap. The muzzle had been laying in the heat and was magma in his palm. Wyatt did not flinch.
 
“Don’t worry, Aaron. We’ll find out.”
 
And he was keen on that fact. They’d been on the trail for three weeks, and to his disappointment, everything had gone slicker than snot. He had witnessed no Indians, no thunderstorms, no black bears, no mountain lions. Hell, he would’ve settled for a termite infestation, if only to battle the morphine-like state of boredom he’d fallen into. Now was his chance, and he fingered the trigger of his double-pump with anticipation.
 
It was ten minutes before Aaron rounded the corner, the iron rimmed wagon wheels kicking up dust, coating their face and frills in fine white powder. It was so blinding, in fact, that if the screaming woman hadn’t screamed once more, Aaron would’ve turned her into pancake batter on the world’s hottest gridle. Wyatt grabbed the reins and reared with all his strength, causing the oxen to grunt and the dust to settle. Then, Aaron gasped. It was not what Wyatt had expected to see. 
 
A woman lay sprawled on the path. Her bottom half was broken- definitely one leg, maybe both- and her top half was compensating for the pain. She screamed and seethed through her teeth, holding her arms over her eyes. Wyatt’s hands clenched up on the reins, and a tremble pulsed under his eyelid. They had stumbled upon a porcelain doll. He wanted to know who had shattered her.  
He hopped from the jockey box, the boots clouding his steps as he moved aside her. He unscrewed his sheepskin canteen and pulled a hand from her eyes. She winced and stared at him, another scream poised and ready.
 
“Here,” Wyatt said. He made his voice soft and deep, but it came out between keys, and it sounded silly. The woman was too tired to notice, and she opened her mouth as if stuck midsentence. Wyatt poured the water onto her lips- the woman drank ferociously, almost half the canteen. Some dripped down her cheeks in a way that looked like tears.
 
When she was through, Wyatt bent closer. “What is your name?”
 
“Helen.”
 
“Helen, who did this to you?” Her eyes were glossy and dark. 
A fresh wave of spasms and shocks ran up her limbs, and her fingernails dug into the white crust of the earth.
 
“Bandits. Three of them. Overpowered my husband, stole our wagon. I was thrown out and beaten. They took him to their hideout. Up that way.” She pointed a finger up the road. 
 
Wyatt could see the main trial on the right but would have completely overlooked the tight bush-ridden path that seemed to slither off and into the woods. It was wide enough for only one wagon.
 
“They won’t get away with this.” He looked over at his brother. Aaron’s lip was tucked under his front teeth, and long brown hairs stuck to his face like a prison. Yet he nodded and tightened up on the reins.
 
“We’ll get you in the wagon, Helen. We’ll make some splints.” Wyatt turned for some supplies. Helen’s hand dug into his calf. Wyatt winced and looked back. 
 
“You can come back for me once you save Joseph. And…” Her eyes melted into pools of ink. Against her splayed black hair, which had turned gray in the beating, she seemed as old as the dust she lay in. “Make those bandits pay.”
 
Wyatt stared up at the clear blue sky, wiping a hand across his forehead. He only realized now that he, too, was biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He spat a red-tinted gob, the way Buffalo Bill did in his favorite dime novels, and tipped his felted hat her way. Then, he mounted the jockey box with his brother and steered around her towards the fork. 
 
Once they were out of earshot, Aaron hands began to shake on the ropes. “Bandits?” he begged Wyatt. “We can’t take bandits! What if they’re armed?”
 
Wyatt put a hand on his shoulder. “That woman… Helen… she’s good as dead. Can’t you see? Montana is still three weeks away. Those legs will kill her by then.” His other hand groped the butt of his shotgun like a needy child. “Least we can do is save her husband. Then she might have a chance.”
 
Aaron swallowed a dry clump of mountain air. “Why us, though? Why us?” Wyatt said nothing. Aaron hadn’t seen her eyes like he had, hadn’t felt the force of her covenant. Instead, he opted for a smile. “Trust me. Have I let you down yet?”
 
Aaron returned a half-lipped grin and shook his head. Then, he started pulling the oxen down the narrow downhill route. It was the first path in days with a canopy, sycamores and maples holding hands above them, and it beat off the flies and sunbeams like a dream. The ground was a bit more solid, giving the boys a tougher ride, but with the elements off their back, there was no room to complain. They laughed and joked as the oxen led them further into bandit territory. 
 
“What’s the first thing you’re buying when we make it home to St. Louis?” Aaron asked. He loved playing this game, and all variations of it- the first thing you’re going to eat, the first girl you’re taking on a date. 
 
Wyatt put a finger to his chin. “Some nice knitting needles for Mama. Gold plated. I heard it staves off the arthritis.” 
 
Aaron puffed his cheeks. “Mama don’t know the difference between gold and copper. I’ll get a sack suit. Light brown, perfect for the fall. And I’ll melt the rest of my share down into a timepiece.”
 
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “You’re spending your entire half on one measly suit?”
 
“Well, it’s not just one suit.” Aaron began. “It can be fitted with different shirts, different ties, even-“
 
Wyatt pulled back on the reins. “Quiet,” he whispered. 
 
In front of them was a clearing of trees and a mountain cabin edging over a small stream. If Wyatt hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought it to be the most serene lodging in the world. Not a warbler nor a woodpecker could shatter the utter silence it resided in, and other than the water that puddled and pooled over the rocks, there was no motion here. It was a painting in minor flux- he would have liked to frame it for his Mama.
 
Aaron pointed to Wyatt’s left. “The wagon,” he said. Under a low sycamore, a bit out of view, were the remains of a covered wagon. The canvas was tattered and hung like a million loose teeth, and the wooden base had lost a wheel. The two leading oxen were gone, replaced by dried blood that led behind the cabin towards a poorly built shed. Somehow the silence was maintained. 
 
“’They’re animals,” Wyatt whispered. He readied his weapon and jumped from the jockey box. “Let’s find our man.”
 
“Wait!” Aaron said, and Wyatt put a hand up behind him, not looking back. “There’s a revolver in the ammo crate. Can you handle it?”
 
Wyatt heard nothing but was reassured when Aaron’s feet made a clump on the soft earth. Together they moved to the cabin, stopping at the staircase that bent with age. It made no sound under their feet- the eerie silence seemed to have infected the cabin as well.
 
“Watch my back,” Wyatt whispered, twisting the doorhandle, and edging in with his elbow. He expected to witness thirteen pairs of eyes, delirious with rotten mutton in their teeth, knives and muzzles upturned. But to his surprise, there was no one except a tiny common area with a wicker wardrobe. A thin trail of blood dressed the floor and twisted down the hallway. 
 
“There,” Wyatt said, his eyes dancing through the shadows, searching for a culprit. “We’re close.”
 
Aaron hadn’t seen the floor yet and decided he wouldn’t ever look. He followed Wyatt inside with eyes that coated the ceiling. 
Each of Wyatt’s steps were slow, barely lifting from the ground, more akin to a shuffle. He managed each angle with a wide survey of his shotgun, his finger a twitchy gear ready to be turned. He was biting his lip again, and this time he swallowed the dry, packed iron in his mouth.
 
The second room opened up. It was dark with a patch of pale light that trickled in under lace curtains. The path of blood at his feet curled into a puddle, texturized red that stained and dripped under each cedar floorboard. Strangely, it was the smell of it all that made him moan- one of sour decay. 
 
Wyatt then realized the moan hadn’t come from his mouth at all- it had come from Aaron, who was turned and facing the slightly vaulted ceiling. “What is it?” Wyatt attempted to say, but the words shriveled in his throat like cotton. Above them, in the top corner of the room, was a white package. Its bow was webbing, and although the present inside was hidden, by the smell and fingers that curled under the silky blanket, it was easy to assume who it was.
 
Aaron and Wyatt made eye contact, his wet eyes on Wyatt’s bloodshot ones, the tense heat of the room finally becoming realized in their shared, newfound fear. They had squashed spiders in their basement. This was something else entirely. 
 
“Aaron, we need to go.” Wyatt said in that cowboy voice he’d been practicing. This time, it fell flat all together, sounding like a boy’s worst impression of one.
 
Aaron, noiseless, moved out of the kitchen, and Wyatt came after him. There was panic in the air, and it caused Wyatt to focus on the hammer of his shotgun for a moment too long. When he looked back up, his brother had begun to groan, grabbing something he could not see.
 
“Aaron?” The words themselves seemed coated in silk. Aaron didn’t turn around, and with horror Wyatt saw a pinch of red begin to blossom on his back. With a clunk, Aaron’s knees hit the floor, and he rolled forward onto his chest, revolver unfired in his hand.
Wyatt’s breath was snuffed away, and he raced to the aid of his brother. But there was a shadow there now, with familiar eyes and a less familiar figure. Her mouth had collapsed in on itself, becoming a pink, hairy sinkhole. Regardless, she attempted to speak, her voice sounding like wind through some tall grass.
 
“You’re good boys, you know that?”
 
“You’re a monster, Helen.” Wyatt said. He had the shotgun aimed at her face now. 
 
“Monsters have to eat, too.” Then, a smile, which stretched to her ears in one gaping black trench. “Now, hold still.”
 
She stretched her needly arms towards him, but Wyatt was ready. He slammed the trigger backwards, his shoulder biting on the recoil, and watched as a million pellets sprinkled the woman in front of him. He expected her to collapse, or to hear that shriek he’d witnessed on the yellow road just hours before.  What he got was a turn of force, the woman on top of him, spindles digging into his throat, eight pricks of coal staring through her gray hair. His shotgun went scattering out of reach. Drops of ichor landed on his cheeks and chest, and he screamed as she moved her lips closer, and closer, and closer. 
 
As Wyatt prepared to die, eyes locked on whispering curtains above, he thought about the web he’d been caught in, and how he’d never seen one so pretty. 
--------------------------------------------------------------
The trail looked different coming back. Maybe it was time’s work: the dusty gravel becoming well worn and sleek, the trees an older shade of green. But Wyatt knew it was probably his own eyes, softer now from months spent on the glaring river, that had changed this place. 
 
Miles spoke up from the jockey box. “My girl won’t believe what I found. She always thought I was a fool for coming this way, but…” Miles fished a fat sack from his pocket and held it behind him. “This done speak for itself, don’t it!” 
 
The two men on Wyatt’s sides smiled and cheered. Wyatt said nothing. 
 
Miles turned around and saw Wyatt’s expressionless face. He chuckled, Kentucky on his lips. “There he goes again, Silent Wyatt. What, you don’t think we did good? Tell me we did good.”
Wyatt opened his eyes, laying prone on a bag of bread. They were searching through the thick beige canvas. “We did better than I ever imagined,” he said. 
 
“That’s the spirit!” Miles said, smiling ear to ear. “Hey, what are y’all gonna buy first once you make it home? I’m thinking a saddle for my bronco, with leather engravings on the- “
 
There was a scream of the shrillest kind from thirty paces ahead. The crew looked in its direction, except Wyatt, who jumped to his knees. He knew that scream- he could never forget it. 
 
“Huh. Probably a mountain lion,” Miles said. “Let’s check it out.” He yipped the oxen, and they pulled a little faster. 
 
Wyatt scuttled to the front. His hair had grown, almost to his shoulders, and it gripped his wrinkled brow the same way it used to grip his brothers. “We can’t go this way,” Wyatt said.
 
Miles smiled at him with that same country-boy glee as before. “No need, Wyatt. I done dealt with these mountain lions before. Pop a cap and they’ll go running. You’re safe with us.” And then he patted Wyatt’s shoulder, pushing him a bit to the back. 
 
Miles turned his eyes back on the road and pulled heavy on the ropes. The screaming was upon their crew, and as Miles stood on the jockey box to investigate, Wyatt pleaded. “Turn around! Now!”
 
But Miles wasn’t listening as he and the boys stepped off the box. He heard the same exclamations he’d uttered on that summer day long ago- “Oh my god…” “Who did this?” – and churned his teeth until he could taste their dust. Finally, he made his way to the trail as the others went in for stints and supplies. 
 
On the ground was the broken woman. She looked a little fatter now, lips a bit redder, cheeks flush with tan. Her legs were mashed toothpicks, but now Wyatt noticed the intricacies of her deception, the quivers that raced up her ankles and knees and stomach. The woman opened her eyes for a moment, staring into the sun straight above, and smiled. He could almost see the canyon beneath it, paper mache over a million fangs. 
 
“You did well,” Helen whispered. 
 
“Is he still alive?” Wyatt asked.
 
“You’ll just have to trust me.” 
 
Wyatt stared at her, the newfound softness in his eyes growing harder by the second. He thought about telling the crew everything, suiting up, and putting thirty shots in her at point blank range, but he knew he wouldn’t. He hated that his decision was so easy. 
 
Wyatt yelled up to the crew, “She told me where to go, men. Let’s take a right up here.” There was finally a cowboy in his throat, Helen noticed. 
 
Wyatt began walking back. And as he passed the oxen, he heard a laugh from behind him, the ugliest noise in existence, like the crinkle of burning fresh. He turned to address it.
 
She was looking at him, those sinkhole lips appearing as his caravan prepared to move. And although he couldn’t hear them, Wyatt knew what words she had spilled.
 
“Look who’s the spider now.”
","July 14, 2023 12:44",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,jmssv7,Cinyras and Myrrha,Caroline Snodgress,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jmssv7/,/short-story/jmssv7/,Horror,0,"['Fantasy', 'Horror', 'Historical Fiction']",7 likes,"
Content warning: this is a retelling of the myth of Cinyras and Myrrha from Ovid's Metamorphoses. As in the original story, it deals with some troubling material, namely incest, and a coupling which would nowadays be considered statutory rape. This is not described in graphic detail, but does serve as the backbone of the plot, and thus may not be suitable for all readers.
 
 Let it be a dream, Cinyras prayed. By the gods, let it be an awful, loathsome dream.
	He wanted to drop to his knees, to feel the reassuring texture of the wooden boards beneath his skin, to supplicate himself before whatever daimon had forced this image upon him. But, of course, he was frozen. Wasn’t that always the way—when men faced horrors beyond their comprehension?
	Before him stood a girl, a daughter. His daughter. His Myrrha.
	“She is yours.” That is what the old nurse had said to him. And he—foolish man, foolish mortal—he had liked the sound of it at the time. He, with his chest puffed up in pride and blood singing with lust. Her, a maiden, come to him willingly, driven by a desire for his person and struggling to overcome her virgin shyness. How could he not enjoy the idea? Mine, he had repeated silently in his head as he felt for her in the pitch dark. Mine, he had repeated aloud, voice a near-growl, when they were at the climax of their passion. Now, of course, it rang back at him in ironic truth, like Juno’s curse upon the poor nymph Echo: mine. My own Myrrha. It was the third time the word had danced through his mind, and now it was drenched in horror. 
	Three was a significant number. Three Gorgons. Three Moirai. Three Erinyes. Three judges he would face in Hades when his time was up. He had always considered himself to be a decent man. He made the proper sacrifices, had led his people well, had raised an admirable daughter (O Gods, his poor daughter). He had never feared that final judgment before. He had always pictured him going to it one day, old and withered, with his head held high, hands spread out before him as if to say, “What secrets do I have to hide? I have committed no crimes.” But now the thought set him to trembling. In part, the feeling was simply dread, a fear of punishment, of some all-seeing eye bringing to light that awful sin which had, until now, mercifully remained hidden by the cover of night. However, the other half of him wished for such a chance at condemnation, longed for it with near-panic, for some higher power to come and censure him, scold him like a child and ease his guilt.
	He was all division and indecision, still frozen in his chambers with his daughter before him. His daughter, his sweet Myrrha. She whom he had loved since she was a babe, she whose hand countless princes had sought in marriage, she who had wept and fretted at the thought of leaving her home. “What sort of husband would you like?” He had asked her. To which she had replied: “A man like you.” Foolish, foolish man. He had thought it the pleasant sort of thing a daughter said to please her father, the sort of thing she might say to try and sound wise beyond her years. Of course, now he could see that she had meant— But, gods, how could he have known?
	Oh, why had he asked for a light? Why had he lain with anyone at all?
	And—
	why was he drawing his sword?
	Cinyras felt as though he had aged a hundred years. A hundred lifetimes had passed since the servant, heeding his request, had entered with the lamp, and the image of his darling Myrrha had flickered into view before him, pale and trembling with full knowledge of her wrongdoing. Dimly, however, he registered the fact that almost no time had passed at all. Myrrha still stood before him, having leapt from the foot of the bed. She was half-turned away, posed to run, but not yet fleeing, not yet sure of her father’s response. In her eyes, Cinyras fancied he could see something of the sweet, innocent child he knew—a daughter, frightened, shamefaced, looking to her father for comfort. It was almost enough to bring him down from the edge of his own terror, the urge to go to her, to comfort her, to make the whole nightmare disappear.
	But it was too late. His hand was on his sword. Why? Why? Who was his target? His daughter? Half-naked and weeping? Himself—as punishment for what he had done unknowingly? Or perhaps that damned nurse. It had been her, after all, who had brought the girl to him. It didn’t matter. Not really. He was a learned man, he knew the nature of the universe, he knew the ways of magic, even if he himself did not dabble in them. Like calls to like. The horror of such a scene could elicit naught but more horror. The play was not yet finished. Not quite.
	The Morai drew on his strings.
	Cinyras drew his sword.
	The very sound of the blade seemed an attack on the scene. Its stillness fractured, then fell away, as if there had never been a moment’s pause among the players. Cinyras was breathing hard and brandishing his blade, feeling marginally better to have a sword in his hand, to be doing something, even if he still could not decide who to cut down. Myrrha was scrambling backward, yelping, eyes fixed on the glint of gold metal that swayed and sparkled before her. Cinyras could find no trace of the girl had known in her now. Her eyes were those of a woman, frightened, but hardened to her fate, and quite sure of the fact that she would find no sympathy in those around her.
	Myrrha fled. Cinyras’ sword wavered and drooped slightly toward the floor. When his wife found him, bringing with her the scent of sun and soil and sacred smoke, he could do naught but weep. Her questions went unanswered—for, how could Cinyras explain what had transpired? How could he know where their daughter had fled to? She was gone, and for weeks, for months, remained hidden from them. Discreet inquiries, inordinate bribes, frantic pleas, all fruitless. No one knew of the princess’ whereabouts.
	At last, Cinyras himself set out on foot. What led him, he could not say. He knew not where he was headed, and wandered seemingly without direction. Perhaps some kind god had taken pity on the poor man and was ushering him to some far-off land, propelling him forward as a fortunate wind fills a sail, drawing him ever-onwards as a scent draws a hound after a hind. Regardless, it seemed to Cinyras, somehow, that he was following in Myrrha’s footsteps. The trail may have been old, long gone cold, but he could have sworn on his life that he could picture his daughter traversing the very same landscape. He could see her picking her way through the same dry fields, ducking under the same broad-leafed palms. He left Panchaia, and could see in his mind’s eye his daughter doing the same. Leaving behind the only land she had ever known in favor of foreign anonymity.
	As he walked, Cinyras thought of Myrrha. Not as she had been when she fled—that image was always before him now, when he swept his gaze across the unfamiliar landscape—but as she was when she was a mere child. When he turned his gaze inward, that was what he saw, his Myrrha, no more than three or four years old, grinning at her mother, laughing on her father’s knee, amusing herself in the fresh air of the courtyard. A thousand happy scenes played out in his thoughts, now mocking his present pain, now soothing it with fond nostalgia. Still, he trudged onwards, until he came to the Sabaean land, and there he stopped.
	Hidden as he was in a thicket, no one but the gods could see Cinyras where he stood. Yet he had a perfect view of the clearing before him. In the very center, as though planted with the tenderest care, stood a young Myrrh tree. Its sap glinted faintly in the sun, weeping from the rough bark like a girl’s tears. Its trunk was split, near the earth, and Cinyras could see the figures of women (were they women? They moved like tree branches in the wind) drawing forth a child, a babe, just-born, from the tree’s embrace.
	When the sun’s light lit upon the boy’s face, all the scene’s viewers—Cinyras and the strange women alike—drew in a sharp breath. It was like looking at a painting, like looking at a sculpture, like looking at the sun. Were he not sure of the boy’s parentage, Cinyras could have sworn that he was the newest child of Ares and Aphrodite, so close in appearance was the boy to Eros himself.
	Funny, that. The boy could have been a twin to the very same god who had failed to work his charms upon his mother. Out of all the suitors who had vied for Myrrha’s hand, Cinyras had never once seen the God of Love’s arrow pierce her youthful flesh. No man had moved her. None had caught her fancy. Eros could not excite her to any thoughts of love. At least, not until—
	well, not until the end. Perhaps the gods did have a sense of humor after all.
	When his son, his grandson, that beautiful golden-faced babe, finally let out a hearty wail, Cinyras was glad of it. The boy’s cries hid his own half-smothered moans of grief and horror.
	And had Cinyras looked up, he would have seen that the Myrrh tree, too, had redoubled its weeping.
	Though, with no mouth to cry from, of course, her sorrow was silent.
 
","July 14, 2023 17:49","[[{'Allan Bernal': 'Wow, that’s definitely a terrifying sight. And you conveyed the tragedy and complexity well too', 'time': '01:09 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,qd50bl,First Steps,Keith Geaney,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qd50bl/,/short-story/qd50bl/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Thriller', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
TW: 
 
Alice had been formal on the subject: there was no question of them buying anywhere even within an hour's drive of their old place. Edgar had wheedled and grimaced and negotiated at work, but had been forced to accept reality. Either he consented to yank out the roots sown by five generations of his family and move to the other side of the country – which might as well have been another planet, in his heart – or he could wave goodbye to the gorgeous, mesmerising and compassionate woman just as life was running a wetted finger around the rim of her crystal and did not intend to stop until she shattered.
 
Edgar sat in the office he had jerry-rigged from the haphazard contents of various boxes in the vast space of their new house, § with bright dust and rattling with the echo of a thousand mysterious sounds. He had more or less become used to the hammer-head clang of bubbles roiling their way through the heating pipes, but he could not concentrate on his report. The empty screen on his laptop stared him down silently. His head was stuffed with the report's contents but he could not squeeze them out through his fingers. He kept glancing at the open door to his left, from which the constant scratching sound seemed to be coming. No matter how many times he jerked his head to the left, there was nothing there. He sank his elbows into the surface of the desk and pressed his knuckles into his forehead until he could feel the bone. He smirked at the idea of beating the memories out of his head, punching them down like harvested grapes until only their skins remained and their juice had drained off through some purifying grate at the base of his skull. 
 
Alice was upstairs, asleep. She had not spent a whole lot of time out of bed since they moved to the colonial house on a sprawling plot studded with briars and nettles. The country air would be good for her, according to the doctors. Edgar still felt that she had been mummified in some sort of impenetrable varnish that rendered her deaf to his words and cold to his touches. They had not been intimate since it happened and Edgar understood that she would need time to heal, but, in his mind, that process boiled down to torn skin knitting itself back together instead of a deafening internal howling being extinguished.
 
His peripheral vision caught the bounce of two heels running out of sight in the next room. Their visceral colour tugged his attention to the left but disappeared as soon as he could focus. He went to get up from his chair, but swayed at the nauseous combination of cold-water heaviness in the pit of his stomach and feverish lightness in his temples. Slumping back into his chair, he uncorked his sports water bottle and took a generous slug. Water and coffee and deadlines would moor his thoughts back against reality and smudge out all this feedback noise at the edge of his perception. The heels ran past the doorway again, and he heard what he thought sounded like muffled laughter.
 
The office seemed to be shrinking in the heat and threatening to crush him with its walls. He kicked his chair back and strode into the next room, determined to act like a breeze of solid flesh that would chase out these jagged fractures of dreams. He thought back to Alice in the hospital, curled up facing the wall, and how she had already laid the first bricks of her immurement from the world. He had even got into the hospital bed behind her and held her with his arm around her waist, not saying anything, not asking anything, just anticipating any hand that might reach out from her heart towards him. For a good hour, there was only silence, and then she reached up to grab his hand and sobbed voicelessly in a slow shiver that shaved the warmth off his soul.
 
The next room was empty. Edgar trod to and fro across the herringbone parquet that was pitted and milky with age and took great, expansive breaths, stamping his presence on the space. This was his house now: he had poured more than a lifetime's worth of money into it and he was adamant that it would resemble him, shelter him and nourish him. That it would nourish them. Alice's dream had been to own an expansive red-brick loft that was an achingly trendy arranged marriage between industrial and modern, with visible steel ribs painted black and an entire wall worth of windows; any thoughts of staying in the city, with its noise and its urgency and its constant pestering, had currently been put on hold. They might be back in five years, if everything went well. Edgar turned back from looking at the wrinkles in the wallpaper on the far wall just in time to see a pair of heels run out of the room and up the stairs.
 
It had rained torrentially on the day they buried Oscar. Neither of them had particularly cared about looking sodden; it was not as if there had been a flourish of cameras ready to capture the occasion. The rain also had the blessing of drowning out the preacher's empty words, which would have brought no comfort even if they had been heard. Oscar had not been sculpted for this world, but the both of them already knew that as they had cradled his gnarled, dented self between them and held him until the last drops of fight drained out. Ashes to ashes; dust that would burrow into the warmest folds of their hearts like sand and would never let them forget.
 
Edgar actually thrashed himself out of breath as he ran up the stairs to the third floor of the house. His head clanged with the echoes of assertions like Whoever or whatever you are, you will not touch her. When he finally planted his two feet on the landing at the entrance to the loft, he had to lean against the banister and gulp for breath for a few seconds. The attic was bathed in a dark, densely woven silence that it took his eyes a few moments to penetrate. The movements of air in front of his face gradually took shape until he saw a figure step out from the shadows in front of him. Its gait was unsteady, crippled by its rocker-bottom feet, and the dim light seemed to stumble over the features of its face.
 
His first reaction was the feeling that something large and industrial had cored him, like an apple, and left him dripping and empty. He collapsed against the wall and instinctively hauled himself to his feet again, terrified of having to look at the figure before him at face height. The deep and twisted furrows that ran across its face were still burned into his memory from when they had closed the immaculate, tiny coffin and held each other to stop each other falling. This figure of Oscar stood in front of Edgar and parted its lips in an attempt to laugh, but the choked gargling sound that came out soon gave way to a torrent of blood that splashed over the child's naked body and pooled on the floor around them. The strangled attempt at a laugh never stopped, nor did the joyful twinkle in the baby's eyes, and Edgar knew then that it did not matter how many times they moved house: there would always be the sound of footsteps from the other room.
","July 14, 2023 18:21","[[{'Allan Bernal': 'I know it has a different tone, but I was reminded of Stephen King’s “The Boogeyman” short story - grief is haunting for parents', 'time': '01:14 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,9x213a,The Fridge.,Anisa H Sambi,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9x213a/,/short-story/9x213a/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",6 likes,"
They say death makes us narcissistic. Selfishly thinking about our own morality under the pretense of grieving for someone else, when will I be next?
 
The thought played like a loop in my mind as I stood there in our brand-new kitchen and stared into the refrigerator. One hand held the door open, gripping it so tightly my knuckles started to resemble our sparkly white cabinets. The other was clutching my abdomen. Baby pink nails curled around a silky ivory dress in hopes of quelling the contents of my stomach to stay there.
 
A decapitated head cut at the neck and completely drained of blood, was squeezed between day-old food in Tupperware and rotting vegetables. 
 
It's funny. Movies always show women screaming hysterically when they stumble upon something horrific. Eyes bulging, tears streaming, veins popping.
 
I stayed silent. Too stunned to react. My mouth frozen open in shock, a scream stuck somewhere deep in my throat, unable to climb out. Dry eyes blinked owlishly as I processed it. 
 
The woman's ashy face was frozen in terror, much like mine was right now. Red hair was matted to her face, and a few pieces of blonde stuck out like gruesome hi-lights. Her lifeless blue eyes were glazed over and gazed right through me, an expression of extreme boredom reserved for classrooms. A large red mouth was stretched into a silent O, a scream dead on her tongue, and curled inwards. Her teeth were removed. 
 
As gruesome as the sight was, I couldn't help but notice...she looked a lot like me. If looks could kill…
 
I finally found my voice and screamed. My voice was shrill at first, superficial, the perfect Final Girl scream. I gulped in more air, my mouth going dry, and screamed again. This time it was much hoarser, more guttural, coming from a place deep within. My vocal cords strained as they cracked on a jagged note before giving out completely and joining the stranger in my fridge in silence.
 
I blinked my eyes furiously. 
 
As a kid I suffered from chronic nightmares, nightmares so vivid I thought they were actually happening. One night they were so bad I actually screamed out loud. I was jostled out of it, my teary eyes blinking open to see my mother’s exhausted face looking down at me. See, it was only a dream, open your eyes and it’s gone. She smiled and I went back to sleep.
 
I blinked harder. I even tried pinching myself. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wake myself out of this nightmare. 
 
Maybe you imagined it? I tried to soothe my mind. Maybe it was something else, a decaying head of cabbage? I do have an overactive imagination…
 
Oh, who am I kidding? I know what I saw. No amount of self-gaslighting was going to change that. And I certainly couldn’t bring myself to open the fridge and prove otherwise. 
 
I slammed the door shut and focused my gaze out the window to my left. The sky was darkening. I needed to hurry. Everyone would be here soon. 
 
Deep breaths, you can do this. I straightened my spine and thought back to earlier today.
 
I raced home early to get everything ready. All of our closest friends were going to be arriving later to surprise him. A party for my husband’s 50th. Who knew he'd be the one to surprise me instead. I even drove 40 minutes out to his favorite bakery and got him his favorite cake: red velvet with white buttercream frosting. 
 
I look over to the cake resting on the large marble island. I needed to put it in the fridge before the frosting melted. Where the hell would it go? The fridge was already stuffed, the space I had carved out the night before was now occupied by a corpse-less head. What did he do with the body? I paused. 
 
The thought was so bizarre, a human head sitting in my fridge, no one would believe me. Hell, I didn't even believe myself right now. 
 
And before I knew it, I was laughing. Salty tears of joy ran down my face, the whole thing was so ridiculous. My husband. A psychotic killer. A human guillotine. Leaving as quickly as it came, the laughter morphed into shaky sobs. My body shook violently as I cried. Crying for the warm cake I drove out of my way to get, crying because I had no idea what to do now, crying for the stranger decaying in my brand-new fridge. 
 
Get yourself together, you idiot, you can do this.
 
Exhaling slowly, I ran my fingers through my hair, stopping at the top and clutching the long, blonde tresses so tightly my vision blackened and I saw stars. I gasped sharply from the pain and started to calm down. Focus on the pain. Focus on your breath. Inhale, exhale.
 
“Honey, I'm home!” He bellowed from the foyer and I jumped out of my skin at the loud intrusion. The door slammed shut, rattling the windows. It would take him about 45 seconds to get here. I had to get myself together. 
 
Keys jingled as they landed in the metal bowl by the door. He’s probably sifting through the mail now. 
 
Steadying myself on shaky legs, I took a wobbly step forward and almost broke my ankle in the process. Twisting away from me and folding like a cheap lawn chair, any more pressure and it would have snapped. I hissed in pain, a whistle of air escaping through clenched teeth. Teeth. I looked back at the fridge. What did he do with them? 
 
“Where are you?” He sang the words like a child, the syllables going up and down melodically. 
 
I reached down and slipped my black leather heels off, the tiles were a cool relief as I gently placed my feet down. I hugged the stilettos to my chest and made a run for it. My numb feet groaned as I crossed the kitchen on my tippy toes. I held my breath, passing by the contaminated fridge, and released it when I crossed the threshold.
 
“There you are!” He exclaimed as he entered the kitchen. I froze, one leg in the hallway and one in the kitchen. Quickly bringing my hand up, I brushed the evidence of tears from my face and turned around. “God, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 
 
“Ha!” I replied flatly, a watery smile on my face. If only you knew…
 
“No offense, darling, but you should freshen up before everyone gets here.” He mistakes the look of panic on my face for something else and rushes to explain himself. “I mean, you did a great job planning everything! Don’t beat yourself up about me finding out about the party, it’s the thought that counts.” He grinned and winked. 
 
Does he really think I'm upset that he found out about a surprise party? I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing, the party is the last thing on my mind right now.
 
“It’s fine, I’m gonna…” I trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the powder room behind me to freshen up. 
 
“Of course, I’ll let you get to it.” He dismisses me, turning his attention to his phone now. “Maybe I’ll clean up in the meantime, how about that?” He looked around the spotless kitchen.
 
I decided to play dumb and went along. “That would be wonderful” I smiled gratefully. 
 
I stop myself from running to the powder room and try to walk at a normal pace, once inside I locked the door and flicked on the lights. I made my way over to the mirror and assessed the damage.
 
Blue eyes, now red and puffy stared back. Luckily my waterproof mascara stayed true to its word and has barely smudged. My hair on the other hand…looked like a nest. I throw it up in a messy bun. 
 
Overall, I looked okay. I looked like someone who had a tough day at work, not someone who came home to find another woman’s head in the fridge. 
 
I exhaled slowly, my red lips forming a small O. My lipstick didn't smudge either. I turned the lock, the sound echoing loudly and tentatively stepped out. The sound of the shower running upstairs eases some of the tension in my shoulders and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. 
 
I walked back to the kitchen and bolted to the other side, the marble countertop now a buffer between me and the fridge. My eyes zeroed in on the cake, sitting ominously in its plastic box. The lid now skewed to the left, he must have had a taste. Bastard. 
 
I pulled the cake toward me and pressed down hard on the plastic to seal it back up. My eyes focused and saw red peeking out of the pristine white frosting like a fresh wound. A gaping mouth. Bile rushed up my throat when I thought about the resemblance. 
 
Ring! Ring!
 
The doorbell trills and I jump three feet up in the air. My poor nerves are so frayed at this point that everything sounded louder, more intense, a threat. I clutched my hand over my beating chest, my soul felt like it left my body. 
 
I jumped again and yelped loudly when I felt an arm snake around my waist. If he doesn’t kill me, my heart certainly will. I brought my shaky hand to my mouth as an afterthought to quiet myself. 
 
“Whoa! Relax, jumpy.” He pressed my back to his front. “It’s just the doorbell. Want me to get it?” He murmured in my ear, his spicy aftershave overwhelming and nauseating my senses.
 
I cleared my throat, my voice hollow, “I’ll get it, you go relax. You’re the birthday boy after all.” I turned around, his arms still around me, a stiff smile on my face. He shrugged and kissed my temple, releasing his hold on me. I walked into the foyer to let everyone in. 
 
His friends and coworkers ushered in, all smiles and cheers. Gifts were thrust in my hand and I toppled over with their weight. I caught myself and guided them toward the kitchen. The gifts landed on the countertop haphazardly, nearly knocking the cake over. 
 
“Easy! Why isn't this in the fridge? It's almost melting.” A frail brunette, my mind blanking on her name, frowned as she addressed me. 
 
She picks up the cake gingerly from the edge and cradles it like a baby. A thin brow is raised as she continues to look at me, waiting for an answer, I open my mouth to provide her with one but find my voice missing again.
 
She shakes her head disapprovingly and turns to open the fridge.
 
“No! Don’t! There’s a head in there!” I screamed so loudly I startled her into dropping the cake. 
 
Everyone stops their conversations to look at us.
 
She scowls at me and bends down to pick up the ruined cake. She flips it over, the icing on top smeared all over the plastic lid. It's salvageable. I breathe out a sigh of relief. 
 
She turns to the fridge again. 
 
“Please, don’t.” I plead, on the verge of tears. She ignores me and opens the fridge anyway.
 
The blood drains from my face. The head was gone. Disappeared. A mangled mess of red and white sat in its place instead. 
 
I looked around, as if expecting it to be sitting somewhere in the kitchen. Where did it go? Did he toss it out in the garbage?
 
A heavy arm drapes around my shoulder and my body buckles under the weight. I turn and raise my glassy eyes to look at him. 
 
He grins, a doting husband, and lowers his head to whisper in my ear. “Thanks for the party, honey. We’ll celebrate properly later.” 
 
The fridge slammed shut. 
 
","July 14, 2023 21:10","[[{'Chuck Thompson': 'This story gripped me from the get-go.  A few comments/queries:\n\n* ""...thinking about our own morality under the pretense of grieving for someone else....""  Was this supposed to be ""mortality"" which would lend a different meaning.\n* The mixture of tenses was interesting.\n* The ending certainly made me cringe for her....', 'time': '02:09 Jul 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,6ouc8i,Hypnotic Echoes,Fryashti Mishra,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6ouc8i/,/short-story/6ouc8i/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'High School', 'Teens & Young Adult']",6 likes,"
      “Ready for ninth grade?” Anna Goldman asked her daughter as she wiped the counters. What kind of question was that? Nobody could be ready for their first year of high school, even if they didn’t feel the jitters yet. Isabella looked up at her mother, considering how to answer that question. The thought of navigating the vast hallways and interacting with people she didn’t know terrified her. She mustered a faint smile for her hopeful mother, praying her emotions didn’t show.
      “I’m as ready as anybody can be,” Isabella responded. “Besides, it’s not like I have a choice.” Her voice couldn’t hide how scared she felt. Uncertainty was apparent in her eyes. She wasn’t ready for high school. She wasn’t ready for what was coming.
      “You’ll be fine, Izzy!” Anna tried to assure her. “High school is an amazing experience. One that you will remember forever. You know, I went to the same school you’re going to.” Anna remembered her high school adventure. She couldn’t forget it, even if she wanted to. Unlike what she had said, high school was torture for her. And the nerves weren’t the reason why. But Anna hoped her daughter’s time at Rainer High would be different. Besides, they had taken care of the problem long ago. 32 years to be exact. 
      “Mom!” Isabella yelled at her zoned-out mother. “You there?”
      “Oh, right! Yeah, I’m back. Sorry.” Her thoughts were leading her into a downward spiral. Her memories sent chills down her spine. The sharp knives, hidden faces, high-pitched screams, and hideous intentions. The images were becoming too vivid, too real. 
      A yellow school bus stopped in front of the Goldman’s house. It was time for Isabella to leave. High school will be fine! Isabella lied to herself. She said goodbye to her mother as she headed out the front door. As she got onto the bus, she saw a sea of unfamiliar faces. She went down the aisle, looking for an empty seat in the loud vehicle.
      “Izzy!” Lily called out. “Here! Sit with me!” How could Isabella forget about Lily? Lily had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. Lily was the first person who had befriended Isabella since she had moved. She went to sit with her eager acquaintance. Lily was excited about all aspects of high school. She rambled on about what she hoped high school would be like. Isabella listened quietly, her mood getting better and better the more Lily talked. Lily had a way of making people feel better. For the first time, Isabella was actually excited about the day ahead. Meeting the teachers, participating in the clubs, joining the swim team, and the extravagant new cafeteria. Everything sounded like the perfect dream, different from what she had feared. 
      The bus had finally reached the school. The building was ginormous. Bigger than the rest of the schools in the district combined. The front of the building was re-painted gold and red over the summer. “Rainer High” was displayed in bold, metallic letters. Two heavily adorned doors were open for the new and returning students. The two girls entered the school after staring at it in awe for an eternity.
      The inside of the school was nothing like the embellished façade. It looked like nobody had been there since the 1800s. Cobwebs were on every corner, and everything was stuck in black and white. How could Anna send her daughter here? In this nightmare? This was worse than what Isabella had thought. The hallways weren’t jam-packed like they were supposed to be. Instead, all of the kids were in organized lines. It looked like someone was controlling them.
      “Lily, what is happening?” Isabella called out. “Lily?” She turned around to find Lily gone. As she looked around, Isabella spotted Lily in a line. She pulled her out. “Lily? What are you doing?” She said nothing back. Her head creepily turned to look into Isabella’s eyes as if she could see into her soul. The pupils of Lily’s eyes had disappeared. There was nothing but white in her eye sockets. Isabella let go of Lily’s arm. Fear paralyzed her as she watched her best friend return to the lines. She couldn’t move. What was happening? 
      “Good morning, Rainer High students,” the loudspeaker blasted at top volume. “Please report to your homeroom for attendance.” Isabella knew that something was very wrong. With the school, with the student, with everything. She quickly got into a line and followed them to Mr. Boswell’s classroom, her homeroom teacher. The classroom looked as creepy as the rest of the school did. The room had no sign of life except for a single painting of a moon and a tree without leaves. Snow was falling, and the tree was covered in white. She had seen that picture somewhere, but she couldn’t pinpoint where. Isabella looked around. Nobody was blinking. Mr. Boswell wasn’t in the room yet, but Isabella could hear his footsteps. As soon as he entered the room, all color and life returned. The students started breathing, blinking, and acting like humans once again. It seemed like Isabella was the only one confused by what had just happened, the only one whose soul wasn’t captured. 
      “Good morning, students!” Mr. Boswell said. He was a short, chubby man. He had a gray beard but no hair. A red scar near his eye caught Isabella’s eye. Mr. Boswell was an old but enthusiastic man with round glasses. He should have retired by now, but for some reason, he didn’t. “I hope your first day of ninth grade is off to a great start!” The class replied unexpectedly loudly. Students aren’t usually this excited about school. Why was it different this time? “Alright! Let me introduce you to our syllabus for English. After that, we will say our names and one fun fact about ourselves.” Isabella hated introductions. All eyes were on her, and the pressure would get her every time. But this time, her mind was preoccupied with the weird morning. When it was her turn, she quickly told the class who she was and how she could draw anything from memory.
      The rest of the day was pretty “normal.” The school was beautiful when you could see its colors. But the painting in Mr. Boswell’s room haunted Isabella the entire day. She was sure that she had seen it somewhere else. The school didn’t seem hypnotized, and she was reunited with Lily for lunchtime. It happened again as soon as Isabella was about to let go of the unusual occurrences. Everybody in the school was frozen, lifeless, and all color was gone. All the teachers, janitors, lunch ladies, and students, except for Isabella, didn’t blink or breathe. She quickly realized that there was something sinister about Rainer High and stopped moving to blend in. Suddenly, Mr. Boswell walked into the room. How was he moving? Why wasn’t he in this trance that almost everybody else was in?
      “Ahh,” he muttered to himself. “Nice to see that it’s working again.” He put his hand on the small earpiece he was wearing. Isabella watched him closely and heard what he said. “Good job with the experiment. Prepare to initiate in all other locations.” Mr. Boswell quickly walked out, and the trance was broken. Isabella felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to stay here anymore.
      “Lily,” Isabella called out. “I don’t feel too well. I’m going to go home.”
      “Oh no!” Lily replied back. “What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” She touched Isabella’s forehead to check.
      “It’s okay! I don’t have a fever. My stomach just hurts a little bit.”
      “Okay. Well, I hope you get better soon. I’ll see you soon?”
      “Yeah, I’ll hopefully be back soon. Bye, Lily.” Isabella quickly hurried down the hallways, trying to figure out where the nurses’ office was. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far from the cafeteria. Ms. Connelly, the nurse, called her mother, who was there to pick her up in five minutes.
      “What’s wrong, Izzy?” Anna worriedly asked. “Was the school lunch giving you some trouble?” Isabella didn’t laugh. Anna saw her daughter’s face through the mirror. She knew what was wrong. Anna knew what Isabella was feeling. She had felt that same indescribable feeling 32 years ago. But it’s not possible! No, it must be something else. Anna tried to ignore the possibilities, but when the two got home, she couldn’t. “Honey, please tell me what’s wrong?”
      “The whole school is, Mom!” Izzy yelled. “How could you send me to that place?”
      “You have to tell me exactly what happened.”
      “Fine. Randomly during the day, all life goes away. The teachers, the students, everybody stops moving. They don’t blink, and they don’t breathe! It’s like their souls are taken away.”
      “Everybody?”
      “EVERYBODY! Except me! I don’t know why! Mom, what’s going on?”
      “Honey, please answer my question. Are you sure you’re the only person that didn’t stop moving in the building?”
      “Yes! Wait. No, actually. There was this one teacher. Mr. Boswell, I think. He was talking to somebody on a small earpiece.”
      “No, no, no! This isn’t possible. How is this happening?”
      “Mom! What?”
      “Honey, this happened to me, too. The entire school would go lifeless except for one teacher. Mr. Boswell. But it couldn’t be him. I had killed him.”
      “You had what? Killed somebody?” 
      “Honey, you have to understand. This man was evil. How old was he?”
      “Around 50, I think.”
      “Okay, it might be him then. But how? Honey, think hard. Did it look like his real face?”
      “What kind of question is that? Of course, it – wasn’t. He had a large scar near his eye that looked like it separated two faces.”
      “That’s where I had stabbed him. It’s a miracle that man survived.”
      “Mom, what is he trying to do?”
      “Honey, I don’t know!”
      “What do you mean you don’t know? Mom?”
      “I don’t know! I never figured that out. But now it’s up to you.”
      “There’s no way you’re sending me back there.” But Isabella knew she was going back. She didn’t know what was happening but didn’t want to find out. What if next time she’s under the trance too? Why wasn’t she today?
      Isabella rushed to her room to try and figure out what was going on. What did she know so far? Everybody gets put in a trance by a mysterious man called Mr. Boswell, except for her. Mr. Boswell isn’t who he says he is. The same thing happened to her mother. Mr. Boswell was talking to someone about initiating at other locations. What does that mean? Spreading the trance? But where? There was also a mysterious painting that Isabella had recognized in his classroom. Where did she see it before?
      After fifteen minutes of thinking about the whole thing, Isabella came to one conclusion. She didn’t know much about what was happening, but had to find out before it worsened. If there was one place where she could find out what was happening, it was the Goldman Library. Isabella ran to the library section. She knew the Dewey Decimal System extremely well since her mom was a librarian. When she was younger, her mother used to teach her everything she needed to know about libraries. It had to be in the early 600s. She scanned the rows as quickly as she could. Hypnotism: How to Put People in a Trance 
      This had to work. She quickly skimmed the table of contacts. What she needed to know was how to break the trance. Chapter 17: How to Dehypnotize Large Crowds 
      The chapter was short but complicated. She knew what she had to do. As she got up to talk to her mom about what she had discovered, she noticed the painting. It was the exact same one that Mr. Boswell had. This is where she had seen it. An extravagant signature was printed on it. Luisa Boswell. What? Boswell? Who was this woman? She lifted the work of art from the wall to get a closer look at it. An envelope fell out from the back. It read 09/07/92 Plans. She opened it up.
      My Darling Luisa,
      Why did you leave me? Oh, is it so wrong to control a bunch of pathetic little children? You know, children are our future. We can shape them to be whatever we want and make a truly amazing future. You might think that you could escape me, but you can’t. I found out where you live now, and I’ll keep doing it. I won’t leave you. You can’t control me. And let me show you. On September 7th, I’m going to spread the trance all across the Rainer High district. The only way to avoid getting captured in it is to have my blood in your veins. And I’m the only one who does. In case you were wondering, it’s already in place at the high school. You can’t stop me. Just come and join me, and together we can slowly take over the nation. Leave me, and you will be caught up.
           Your husband,
           Michael
This was the year that Anna had gone to Rainer High. Why was that letter in her library? Who was Luisa? These were the questions Isabella had to ask her mom.
           “Mom,” Isabella said.
           “Yes, sweetheart?” Anna replied back. “Did you find something?”
           “I’m looking. I have a question. Who is Luisa?”
           “That was,” Anna hesitated, “your grandmother. My mother.”
           “Is she the one who told you to kill Mr. Boswell?”
           “How do you know about this?”
           “I think I know what he’s planning. Did you ever meet your father?”
           “Sadly, no. My mom told me that he was a scientist who died in an experiment.” Again, Anna faltered before she responded.
           “Grandma only told you half of the truth.”
           “What do you mean?”
           “Did Grandma use her husband’s last name or her maiden last name?”
           “Her maiden one. Now answer my question. What do you mean?”
           “I think I know who your father is. It’s the person you tried to kill.”
           “Mr. Boswell? What? Why would she make me do that?”
           “Because he was a mad scientist that wanted to take over the nation by controlling students. He found a way to hypnotize entire schools around the time you went to ninth grade. He was about to spread it to the entire district, but I assume you had disrupted his plans.”
           “But why was I immune to it?”
           “Whoever had his blood in their veins weren’t affected. You have his blood and so do I.”
           “Wow,” Anna said in shock. “How did you figure this all out?”
           “The painting in the library. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it.”
           “Yeah, must have overlooked it. Well, I suppose you know what you have to do?”
           “Yes. We have to destroy the source.”
           “The source?”
           “The school. Along with Mr. Boswell.”
           “What? No way! That’s too dangerous! Do you know how many lives you are risking?”
           “We can’t do it during the school day of course. We have to do it during the night. And what better time to do it than now?”
           “Okay, fine, let’s go,” Anna reluctantly agreed. She knew that this was what had to be done to save countless lives in the future. She got into her car, and Isabella jumped right in. They quickly stopped at a nearby gas station and picked up the things they needed to burn the school.
           “Izzy, I don’t think this is the right thing to do,” Anna told her stubborn daughter. Isabella knew she was right. Destroying a high school and murdering a teacher were not things a 14-year-old and her mother should be involved in. But it had to be done. They got to the school with only one car in the parking lot. It had to be Michael Boswell. Without wasting any time, the task was done. Michael was dead, and the school was burnt.
           On the news the following day was the burnt school and the dead body of Mr. Boswell. News reporters were baffled at why anybody would do such a horrendous thing. The two people responsible were the only people who knew what had happened to the majestic but menacing building. “That was such a horrible thing to do, Mom,” Isabella said. “Mom?” Isabella turned around to her mother approaching her with a butcher’s knife. She quickly got off the couch, confused and frightened by what was happening. “Mom, what are you doing?”
           “Murdering you, “she said, “You know too much.” Her nurturing face turned into a demonic one. “I knew “Mr. Boswell” all along. I tried to kill Michael because he had what I wanted. A way to turn people into puppets that would listen to your every word. But now, you’re a threat to my plans.”
           Isabella finally realized. Anna was Luisa. Michael was her father. Luisa wasn’t a student at Rainer High 32 years ago. She was a teacher. Luisa was the one with a knife. Michael was the one screaming. Both of them were lunatics with intentions of destruction. Her parents should have been in a mental hospital. Isabella had found out too late. All she could do now was try and escape her mother’s hands and the clutches of death.
","July 15, 2023 01:59",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,7vsr7h,Blood Roses,Fern Everton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7vsr7h/,/short-story/7vsr7h/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Fantasy']",6 likes,"
CONTENT WARNING: Blood, physical violence, mentions of gore, some light profanityIt’s like watching the opening scene of a horror movie. Dark crimson blood pours down the side of a tree trunk and falls onto white roses at its base like raindrops. They’re already completely doused in the distinctive liquid, and as more accumulates on them, the petals bend, and the blood falls into the once-green grass. The rest is a watercolor blur; the backdrop may be a forest. A strange darkness hangs over everything, and as much as I love the dark, it doesn’t improve anything.It all looks so familiar, but I can’t remember a thing about it. What happened? Where is the blood coming from? Am I supposed to know?I don’t think I have any repressed memories. Well, at least I thought I didn’t. “Vick.” Something sharp bounces off the back of my neck, and the unsettling scene vanishes in a blink. A second similar item flies into my face.“What the fuck, Ocean?” I catch the object before it hits the ground. A paper crunches in my fist; its edges and creases cut into my skin. When I open my palm again, the crumpled paper seems like a paper airplane. Another lies next to my boot.“Vick, you’ve been staring into space for twenty minutes,” Ocean retorts. “We also had construction paper,” she adds and holds up a stack of rainbow paper. “Yeah, real mature of you,” I sigh, snatching the other crumpled airplane off the floor and walking off to toss both in the trash. “In all seriousness, though, are you all right? I mean, this has to be the fifth time this week that’s happened,” Ocean calls. She turns to look at me as I glance over my shoulder.“Everything’s fine,” I reply quickly. “You don’t need to worry about anything.” I throw both papers into the trash can and slam the lid.“It’s not fine when your magic starts flickering like a damn candle.”I freeze.“What?”  Ocean doesn't respond immediately. She mutters something to herself before she starts speaking again.“Every time you space out like that, your magic flickers. Please don’t ask me why because I don’t know why. It stops when you stop spacing out.”I haven’t a clue how to respond. I snap my magic to life to see for myself. The color is not as vibrant as normal, and the force there just some hours ago is considerably weaker. Ocean was right.Why would my magic be flickering like that? Surely I’m not turning it on, am I? Yet the only response I give is a simple “Oh.” “Yeah, you might want to keep an eye on that especially considering how often you screw up your magic,” Ocean calls back.“Thanks,” I say sarcastically. Ocean’s footsteps lead out and away from the room. I lean against the wall as my thoughts take over again. Blood on white roses. They have to mean something. They’ve been a haunting image in my mind for several weeks before this one, like an indescribable shape in the darkness, tormenting you because you both know you won’t do anything to them. But that’s the extent of what I know, and even then, some of my supposed understanding is simply a guess. ———Blood drowns the poor, innocent flowers in their dark, blurry form of hell. A waterfall of blood paints the tree a deeper shade of red than earlier and bends the flowers on their stems. Petals knocked from the roses lay soaked through with blood on the equally soaked grass; torn, dying petals on the forest floor, undeserving of a fate such as this.Yes, it’s a forest, a forest cloaked by twilight, and more familiarity clicks in. It’s the forest I played in as a child. I get hit in the gut with nostalgia— the old trees miles high we threw water balloons from, the river no one was safe from being shoved into, the clearing we lit campfires in to toast marshmallows on hot summer nights; memories paint the darkness in nearly blinding bursts of color. Each new memory carries a sense of comfort and ease that’s eluded me long before now.But the roses…Beyond the colors and warmth of the memories before me, the bloody roses remain in my peripherals. Despite all the light in front of me, the shadows will still not fade. My thoughts track back to the roses, and the memories disappear into the twilight. A bitterly cold wind goes right through my clothes and cuts into my skin like a thousand daggers. The roses take center stage once again. Damn it, why won’t they go away? Snap.The noise is like a gunshot in the deathly silence. “Who's there?” I yell, except no sounds escape my mouth. “Hello?” My mouth moves, but that is all. Snap.Footsteps? Snap.Pins and needles prick my body like TV static. I can’t move anything. I can’t force my arms out of place or turn my head to get those damned roses out of sight. I can’t say a word, and now I can hardly breathe! The air digs icy claws into my chest and seizes my lungs— do these roses bring death? Yet my eyes are still stuck on the white flowers turning crimson with the blood falling from the tree and, bloody Lucifer, why won’t they go away?! My breath comes in short, staccato-like bursts, sending icy clouds into the air. My thoughts blank out as lightheadedness sets in, and a dull pain fills my head. The scenery blurs once more, spins, and fades in and out of focus. All that’s left in view are crimson roses that taunt me, daring me to fight back when I’m dying like them, falling into an abyss like their petals. 	“You’re doomed, Radmier.” A crash of thunder jolts me into reality. Multicolor dots dance in my eyesight as I gasp desperately for air, even while choking on it simultaneously. My vision flicks to black multiple times until I find my breathing closer to normal than before. I’m shaking– was I shaking before? Another crash of thunder draws my eyes to the open window allowing raindrops to fly inside my bedroom. I stand up to shut it but find myself clutching the windowsill and letting the cool drops bring me back to the real world. My breathing evens out, and the cloud of lightheadedness fades away as I regain oxygen. The dull pain has become a real headache. The world wobbles and distorts— it makes me nauseous. I close my eyes and clench my jaw, willing myself not to throw up. I hate how long it takes for the awful feeling to pass.I sink to the floor and rest against the wall, letting the rain continue to spray me from the window.  “I have to get back there,” I mutter, my voice sounding hoarse and dry. At least I can speak again.  “Tomorrow,” I promise myself. “Tomorrow…” I slip back into a drowse.———The day passes by in a blur. “10:00, 10:01, 10:02…”It’s been pouring rain since last night, and it hasn’t let up. Besides the numbers on the clock, the weather is the only thing I focus on as the hours drag on.“11:27, 11:28, 11:29…”Blood trickles down the trees through the windows. Raindrops spatter on the windows as more blood while I’m standing before them, expecting them to leak through the panes and soak the carpeting as it soaked the grass in the forest. “12:45, 12:46, 12:47…”Flowers flicker to white in the daylight, sending chills down my spine. Some have shiny blood splatters that stain their petals crimson. 	“1:01, 1:02, 1:03…”	“You’re doomed, Radmier.”That voice is coming for me. “1:15, 1:16, 1:17…” “I think the cats are worried about you, love.”“Huh–?”Two small cats are by my feet— I hadn’t even noticed. Eclipse pads around my legs while Solstice curls up on the carpet. “1:18, 1:19…” A hand covers my watch and gently pushes my hand down. I meet Chris’ worried eyes- I suppose my mask isn’t fooling him. “Just sit for a second,” he tells me quietly. I settle myself down on the dark carpet. Eclipse stares at me until I pick him up, set him down on my lap, and pet him. Chris sits down beside me and sighs.“Victoria, are you all right? You don’t seem like yourself,” he asks.“Just tired,” I mutter, unable to meet his eyes. “Nightmares?”I nod.“Do you want to talk about them?” Chris offers.The living room is empty, and no sounds are coming from the surrounding rooms. With that in mind, I take a breath.“Do you remember the forest back home? The one we played in as kids?” I lift my head slightly. “Of course. We practically lived there,” Chris answers with a smile, but it falters. “Is that where the nightmares took place?”“Yeah, and they’re not just nightmares. There’s this repetitive, lucid vision, I suppose, of these bloody white roses in that forest. The blood pours down from this tree and drops the blood on the roses. I’ve never seen where the blood comes from, though,” I quickly add. Chris nods along to what I’m saying, seeming to understand what I’m talking about.“I take it the nightmare was worse than normal?” He asks, to which I answer with a nod.“Far worse.” Tears burn my eyes. I clench my jaw and turn away from Chris, debating whether to finish my explanation or leave it at that.  “I’m going to go back.” The sentence is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Chris turns slightly to face me better.“Back where?” He questions.“Hell,” I sigh. “I’m going to go back to the forest.”Chris answers immediately with, “I’ll come with you.”“You don’t need to come with me. I just have to confirm that everything about those visions is fantasy.”“If something goes wrong, I want to be there to help you.”“If something goes wrong, I absolutely don’t want you there.”“I don’t want you to get hurt.”“I’d rather get killed up there than let you get hurt!”We stare at each other for a moment. Chris takes my hands in his, his silver eyes serious.“Let me come with you,” he pleads. “Trust me, Vicky.”His hard gaze has mine in a chokehold. As much as I want to tell him no again, something in my mind yells the opposite. It tugs at me to let him come with me, and I hate it. Finally, I relent. “All right, I’ll let you come, but you need to follow my plan when we’re up there.”Chris nods his head.“When do we leave?”———“It’s bloody weird coming back here,” I mutter. My magic clears from teleporting, giving Chris and I a chance to take everything in. Several familiar buildings are still lining the streets, along with some newer ones that fit in like puzzle pieces. They’re busy with the realm’s supernaturals going in and out of them; there are a lot of kids running around, just like we all did years ago. The cool air is alive with magic, a feeling you can’t get anywhere on Earth.“It’s like we never left,” Chris says, surveying the scenery.I grin. “Welcome to Hell.”———“Huh, that’s strange.”“What’s strange?”Chris points up at the dark sky. Following his direction, I figure out what he’s calling strange– a blood moon. “Is there a blood moon anywhere in your visions?” He asks me. “I don’t think so,” I reply, shaking my head, “but I couldn’t see past the foliage.”“Oh, got it.” He brings his hand down. “It’s still strange, isn’t it? Typically, you see blood moons in winter, not mid-summer.”“Maybe there was a change in space, one of the gods messing with the order of things or something. Remember when some of the constellations got knocked out of place when we were, what, eleven?”Chris snickers. “How could I forget? That was a wild science lesson the rest of the week.”The memory gets a giggle out of me as well. “Remember the newspapers humans were publishing? They were all concerned about aliens and shit,” I quickly add with more laughter.“Yeah, all that panic about aliens while supernaturals make up a significant part of their realm’s population!” Now we’re both laughing like idiots. It's comical how easy it is to pick out humankind’s flaws and, even more so, how the jokes never get old. I only realize we’re at the forest’s entrance when Chris runs into a tree, where laughter kills my oxygen intake momentarily. “You’re an idiot!” I shout. My stomach aches from the laughter. Chris flips me off, but he’s still grinning. For a few minutes, I forget about the visions, but when my eyes go to the forest, that joy of forgetting fades away. Chris’s grin also drops, and he turns to face me.“Okay, what’s the plan?”“I’m going into the forest to look around for a few minutes. You’ll stand at the edge– so right around here –unless I call. If I find anything, I’ll probably call. If it’s nothing—” I shrug, “—then we’re getting food. Clear?”“Clear, but couldn’t we get food in either situation?”“We’re getting food regardless.”“Got it. You’re sure you want to do this?”I turn towards the dark opening of the forest, doubtful that I want to go through with this. I make myself take a deep breath.“Yes.”With that, I step onto the grass and into the forest’s shadows.———White roses.On the opposite side of the river, an old oak tree stretches miles into the sky. At its base are a handful of white roses. I blink a few times and rub my eyes; the roses don’t disappear. They’re placed exactly like in the visions. The only difference is they’re untainted by blood. No blood runs down the trees and stains the roses crimson. “Maybe it was my imagination.”I jog to the river’s edge, stopping just short of the cold, rushing water. It’s like I’m a child again who has to leap over the river as a dare. “Okay, bet!”I take two steps back and jump for it.“Easy!”I crouch down and take the flowers in my hand. They’re real, all right, and not dripping blood– a huge relief. I stand up straight again and cup my hand to my mouth. “Love, come—!”Pain explodes in my shoulder, catching me wildly off guard. I yelp in surprise and whip my head around to see what hit me. A black arrow goes through my shoulder and sticks out the other end, blood outlining the holes. An echo of malicious laughter makes me freeze. Slowly, I lift my head, and everything clicks.“Shadow…” My heart stops.The tall, dark entity leers as his ruby-red eyes scan me. “It seems you forgot a little detail about blood moons, Victoria.”In the moonlight, something silver glints in his fist. When he raises it, I recognize the weapon: a spear.“The barrier between the living and the unnatural is weakened.”For a moment, he’s gone.And in a whirlwind of horrifying pain, his spear stabs through my stomach. Another moment later, that spear tears through my chest and pins me to the top of the tree. The air’s icy claws seize my lungs as lightheadedness clouds my head. My throat burns with my screams and cries, but suddenly there’s no sound at all. As my vision fades in and out, my last gaze travels to the tree trunk. Dark crimson blood pours down the side and falls onto white roses at its base like raindrops. They’re already doused in the distinctive liquid, and as more accumulates, the petals bend, and the blood falls into the once-green grass. The river morphs into a waterfall, the blood knocking petals off their flowers to die on the forest floor, undeserving of a fate such as this. It’s like watching the opening scene of a horror movie. 
","July 15, 2023 03:03","[[{'Marc R. Micciola': 'Okay YOU my friend have talent. This story was very good! Love the world building, love the setting, enjoyed the characters. I feel like you could totally expand this story into a novella, but it really works as is. Please keep writing!', 'time': '05:24 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Fern Everton': 'Thank you so much!! I’m so glad you enjoyed everything in the story! It’s people like you that motivate me to keep writing! :D', 'time': '12:15 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Marc R. Micciola': ""You're welcome! Happy to help! I'm looking forward to your next story 😊"", 'time': '16:14 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Fern Everton': 'Thank you so much!! I’m so glad you enjoyed everything in the story! It’s people like you that motivate me to keep writing! :D', 'time': '12:15 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Marc R. Micciola': ""You're welcome! Happy to help! I'm looking forward to your next story 😊"", 'time': '16:14 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Marc R. Micciola': ""You're welcome! Happy to help! I'm looking forward to your next story 😊"", 'time': '16:14 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Theo Benson': 'I enjoyed the vibe the repetition of the bloody-roses-imagery gave your story. Especially with the final descriptive paragraph revealing where the blood was coming from.\n:)', 'time': '19:04 Jul 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Fern Everton': 'Thank you so much!! I’m so glad you enjoyed it!! :))', 'time': '00:06 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Theo Benson': ""You're very welcome! \n\nI saw on your profile that this is one of the first stories you've posted. I'm in the same boat - this was the first contest at Reedsy I've entered. Looking forward to reading what you write next!"", 'time': '01:33 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Fern Everton': 'Thank you, and same to you— I can’t wait to read what you put out, whenever and whatever that may be!', 'time': '03:26 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Fern Everton': 'Thank you so much!! I’m so glad you enjoyed it!! :))', 'time': '00:06 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Theo Benson': ""You're very welcome! \n\nI saw on your profile that this is one of the first stories you've posted. I'm in the same boat - this was the first contest at Reedsy I've entered. Looking forward to reading what you write next!"", 'time': '01:33 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Fern Everton': 'Thank you, and same to you— I can’t wait to read what you put out, whenever and whatever that may be!', 'time': '03:26 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Theo Benson': ""You're very welcome! \n\nI saw on your profile that this is one of the first stories you've posted. I'm in the same boat - this was the first contest at Reedsy I've entered. Looking forward to reading what you write next!"", 'time': '01:33 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Fern Everton': 'Thank you, and same to you— I can’t wait to read what you put out, whenever and whatever that may be!', 'time': '03:26 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Fern Everton': 'Thank you, and same to you— I can’t wait to read what you put out, whenever and whatever that may be!', 'time': '03:26 Jul 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,135dcd,Quiet Hours,Reginald Span,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/135dcd/,/short-story/135dcd/,Horror,0,"['Horror', 'Black', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
You ever get that feeling like you’re being watched? Even with your eyes closed the tactile heat from their glare makes the hair on your body stiffen and stand up. When you move into a new house you get a bunch of strange feelings like that, especially if it’s a much larger space the you were used to. This time however, as I lay in bed trying to force myself to go to sleep I got the feeling much stronger than before. I would have normally just ignored it and gone to sleep but for whatever reason I opened my eyes. It takes the brain milliseconds to process information but I think when you’re groggy time isn't the same. My body was frozen stiff and burned all at the same time as adrenaline rushed to snatch me awake. My stomach felt as if I had fallen from  some great height where the pit inside grew larger until my heart sank down into its abyss. Floating right above my face were two round flat-white orbs encompassing dark brown rings, with even deeper black holes in the middle of both. My brain told my body that it was time to scream but my burning frozen muscles felt as if they were all pulling in the opposite direction of what was instructed. The scream finally cut through between gasps as my body broke free from the hold of the darkness where I sat up alone in bed. That was my first encounter and luckily my wife Mary, was away on a business trip otherwise I’m sure she would have called the paramedics. I turned on every light in the house checking every room like a kid being left alone by their parent’s for the first time. You that cliche in the movies where the couple moves into the obviously haunted house but the husband tries to rationalize it because it was such a good deal? Well, I was halfway there but mostly we couldn’t just go to the bank and say “whoops the house is haunted.” We were both tired of living in apartments and all the not so fun things associated with shared living spaces. We just wanted space to be together, alone. This wasn’t some old dilapidated fixer upper, it was a normal unassuming three bedroom house with a large magnolia in the front yard. The previous owner lived in the house until the late 90’s when they started renting it out. Even with renters the place was kept in great condition by the owners but they never lived in it again. That would have obviously been a red flag if I knew then what I know now. Still, I did a bit of research and aside from a report of a domestic dispute by a couple living there, not much happened. A few days after the first encounter when my mind had settled I thought I might have just dreamed it. It happened in the middle of the night and I wasn’t able to scream until whatever it was had gone. Sleep paralysis crossed my mind but like any person who had seen posts on the paranormal, I started researching. I had the gas company come check for leaks and the city to check the water table to make sure we weren’t drinking lead. I even started checking the house for strange carvings and hidden rooms but I couldn’t find anything. When Mary returned I realized how silly I might have looked so I didn’t even tell her why I was doing what I was doing. From her point of view I was just taking care of all the things a house needs. It was quiet for a few days until the next small occurrence. It was a Saturday and I was working on an article for a freelance job. I was sitting at the kitchen table in front of the bay window occasionally watching some squirrels run down and bounce around in the grass. It was a very peaceful level of sound that you couldn’t get with others living in such close proximity. There were kids playing out near the street but I could only barely hear the occasional yell. The peaceful mood had made me all but forget about the strange happening until I saw Mary’s reflection approaching in the window. Since the blinds were open the glare made it seem as if she was floating towards me in her bath robe, while the towel she used to dry her hair looked as if she was hanging herself. I turned around quickly to see she wasn’t doing that and sighed in relief. “What did you want?” She asked. “Hm? Nothing?” I replied a bit confused. She gave me a look as if to say “come on now.”“You knocked on the door when I was in the shower.” She replied rubbing her hair some more leaning her head to the side. I almost had to stop myself from letting out a nervous laugh. All those silly thoughts I had before were creeping back into my head. I should have just told her that I hadn’t moved in over an hour when she was in the shower for 30 minutes, but I just smiled. “Oh? What did you want for lunch?” I asked. She looked at me for a moment and let her towel plop unto her shoulders. “Really?” She asked dryly. I grabbed my phone and pulled up the delivery app and gave it to her. “Yeah you chose, I picked the last 3 times.” She playfully snatched my phone walked off but in the window there was still a reflection. “Next time knock like a normal person. I thought the house was on fire.” She said going back to the bathroom. That was strange, I would have heard knocking that loud from the kitchen but there was nothing. If ghosts really did exist then they couldn’t do anything to the living right? I mean if that wasn’t the case then how could you explain people still being okay after doing some of the most devious things you could think of to another person, taking their lives in the process? I did find reports of people seeing the ones they wronged on their deathbed but those were patients with declining mental faculties. I wasn’t sure if mine weren’t starting to head over to the hill as well. The next few weeks it was just small things like movement always in my periphery, scratching within the walls and things not being where I left them. Could have been bugs, mice or even just me being forgetful but Mary as well? She never forgot a thing and if I ever lost something she knew exactly where it was. The first time she said the words, “well that’s odd,"" I knew things were not just isolated to me. I thought that it was maybe extra stress, closing on the house and finding all the fun parts about being a new home owner. It could have been the extra hours I was spending freelancing, because one night while proofreading an essay for a college student on the East coast, I sat in the same spot in front of the bay window. The glow from my computer screen cast reflection on in the glass and since it was dark out it was all I could see. That, and whatever was illuminated of the long hall towards the bedroom behind me. I rubbed my eyes for a moment until I saw those multi colored blobs and when I opened them the reflection show the light on behind me. When I turned around however the hallway was still only lit by the glow from my screen. I sat there looking at the darkness for a while because I felt that feeling again, someone or something was watching me. After a few more moments of staring into the dark until my eyes adjusted I turned around and in the reflection with the hall light on there was someone standing over me. I immediately closed my laptop lid so hard that I caught a hangnail on my thumb, which if anything was going to make me scream those two were at the top of the list. I clenched my jaw so tight I felt like I was going to crack my teeth. Just like in elementary school I put my head down on the table and choked that scream down while I could clearly hear something breathing behind me. Actually I wouldn’t call it breathing, it was more like someone humming into a box fan distorting their voice. That was enough for me so I figured it was time to tell Mary what was going on. She said she heard knocking at the bathroom door so I wonder what else she had seen or heard. I couldn’t for the life of me think of a good way to bring it up so I just hovered behind her as she sat on the couch. I think she was reading a book because she was very still. I fumbled around with some things in the kitchen while trying to muster the nerve, muttering to myself. “Hey babe, I think I know why we got a such a good deal. No…that sound stupid. Hey, I think the house is haunted, but it might just be in our heads. You remember that one movie we saw with the kid who could see dead people?” I chuckled to myself as I grabbed the two wooden posts sticking out of the chair at the kitchen table. “What is it honey?” She asked. “Oh nothing, I was just thinking about something absurd.” “Absurd…how so?” “Like we might have a gho—.” My words stopped in my throat as I looked up from the chair to see Mary pulling into the driveway. I gripped the edges of the chair so hard if felt like the wood was going to splinter into my hands. Fingers spring over my shoulders where I could see them in the reflection but I didn’t feel anything physical. Just the weight of my fear and sweat beginning to drip from under my arms. Then the hair on my ear tingled as the voice cut through those hypothetical plastic box fans blades. “A ghoooooost?” The voice said as I looked down, refusing to glance at the reflection in the window but Mary screamed. She dropped the bags she was holding which snapped me out of my fear. I ran out to help her while she just tried to rationalize what she saw. From her point of view I was standing in the window and there was half formed woman’s body seemingly floated behind me. The cat was pretty much out of the bag by that point and although she was angry at me for not speaking up we knew two facts. One, we weren’t both going crazy and two, there was indeed something else living or existing in our house besides us. After talking with the owners again they finally came clean that they knew something was in the house and they even had an idea who what it was. They sent us a picture of their daughter Angie who passed away due to an illness when she was a teenager. This man had the nerve to tell me that she wasn’t dangerous and all we had to do was acknowledge her every now and then. She used to do this thing where she used to watch them sleep, but mostly because she was afraid to wake them up. She was so quiet that she could sneak up behind them like a cat and they wouldn’t know it. Another thing she did which really both irked and amused her parents was talking into their box fan. I must admit that after hearing that I laughed, Mary laughed even harder. They were right, after we acknowledged her existence and I didn’t crap myself whenever she was around things were just playful. She even stopped when we told her it was too much or let us know she was sorry by knocking softly. It seemed that even though we now had a house, the ghost of shared living was still with us, but are we really ever alone? At least this one respected the quiet hours. 
","July 15, 2023 03:44",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,gf4914,It's There,Archie Wolf,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gf4914/,/short-story/gf4914/,Horror,0,"['Suspense', 'Horror']",5 likes,"
	“I’m telling you, he’s right there. I don’t know why you’re not freaked out about this!” Lilly said, poking her eyes through the venetian blinds and stretching them wide with her fingers.
 
	Across the street in this dark and chilly night was a man whose stature was unfazed with a presence chilling to the bone.
 
	“He’s been standing there for the past hour and hasn’t moved an inch.” Her eyes ever so mused by the man and kept trained on his silhouetted shape underneath the dim light post. “It’s like he’s planning something.” She bit her nail and shook her head with contempt. “I should go out there and say something.”
 
	“Relax, babe.” Her boyfriend Charles shut the blinds in front of Lilly, causing her to flinch and back away. “You’re just overreacting. Maybe he’s just waiting for a late ride.”
 
	“Overreacting?” she breathed and crossed her arms. “I can’t think of anything else this guy would want.” she shrugged her shoulders, “I mean—he might be playing some cruel, unusual, prank on us, but I just don’t want to risk it.” 
 
	She passed Charles, swiftly by the living room couch, and darted into the kitchen. “I think this man has a plan and I’m not about to let him rob this house, or kill us, tonight.” She hurried toward the kitchen counter and opened the knife drawer. Her hand shuffled through the stacked knives to find the sharpest one.
 
	Charles, unfazed, thought it was best to laugh it off and lean on the kitchen counter from the other side of his, now estranged, girlfriend. “You got to relax, babe.” He smiled and shrugged one of his shoulders. “At this point, I don’t know which I’m more afraid of. The man—or my girlfriend flipping out about the man—”
 
	“I told you,” she scrambled through the knives, “I took my pills already, so quit messing around.” She pulled out the largest knife out the drawer and slammed it onto the counter. “And, for your information, I’m not crazy.” She slammed the drawer shut. “Just cautious.”
 
	Charles gave off a cheeky smile and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think keeping a knife around you is the safest thing to do. Like, what if you accidentally stab me, or what if you stab the both of us, huh?”
 
“It’s safer than whatever that freak has in store for us.”
 
	Charles lifted his hands off the kitchen counter and waved them in the air. “Alright,"" he gave in, ""but if I find a lick of blood on my shirt, you’re going to owe me another one.”
 
	“Alright.” Lilly pulled the knife off the table and dashed for the front door. She turned the knob to pull the door open, but Charles swooped in and shut the door. Lilly fazed by what just happened said, “What are you doing?” She waved the knife around in his face. “Step aside so I could go kill this jerk!”
 
	“Jesus, Lily.” Charles backed off. “Watch where you point that thing!"" he rubbed his mouth with worry. ""Are you seriously still considering this?”
 
	“Yes!” she gestured to Charles. “Now back off before I prick you with this knife.”
 
	Charles fretted his lips, closed his eyes, and sulked his head into his chest. “Give it to me.” he stomped.
 
	“What?”
 
	Charles smiled and stared deeply into Lilly’s eyes. “Give me the knife—I’ll go ahead and deal with this guy. But only because it’s better if I hold the knife, unlike the one who waves it around like a lunatic.”
 
	“It’s called intimidation.”
 
	“Sure, whatever.”
 
	Lilly inspected the knife before handing it to Charles, who snatched onto the hilt and held the knife up in front of him. 
“Remember what I said.” he pointed. “You're going to owe me another one.” He gave one quick smirk before reaching the knob and opening the door. “I’ll be back.” Charles walked through the door and shut it close, leaving Lilly to herself.
 
	She crossed her arms once more and tucked her lower lip into her mouth. An ever-looming threat was on her mind, and she couldn’t shake the feeling. Instead, she thought about all the terrible things that could happen. No—That wasn’t a good idea, especially when her boyfriend’s life was on the line. She should’ve been the one to confront the man, not him. Lilly rushed to the venetian blinds and opened them wide to see the whole view of the street. The night was still young with her patio muted with a faint yellow hue. Her eyes strained at the row of dark houses around her own. But something was off. The man from across the street had vanished. Her eyes widened, as she scanned the area for any signs of Charles or the man. That’s when things started to feel off. To her right, outside on the patio, was Charles holding out his knife. The knife twitched with his hand, as his body stood motionless by the second.
 
	The eerie silence outside was disturbed by the sound of crickets chirping a harmonious tune, as Charles swayed his body back and forth with the summer wind. Worried, Lilly lifted her finger up to the window and tapped it to get his attention. Charles turned his head ever so slightly to Lilly when the patio lights popped, engulfing Charles into darkness. But he wasn't there. His complete existence vanished when the lights popped.
 
	Panicked, Lilly rushed to the door and opened it to see the patio floor scattered with glass. The lustrous glass shined on its sharp ends back into the house. Lilly winced at the glass, not wanting to cut her feet, as she carefully poked her head through the door. The crickets chirped. And chirped. Then silence—No sound, no crickets, only her rasped breath that pumped through her throat and played with the sound of her heartbeat. She gained the courage to say something—Anything. “Charles…?”
 
	A croak leaped through the patio, as Lilly backed away and slammed the door shut. Her hands quickly turned the dial of the lock and fumbled with the chain link lock above. She pushed herself off the door with a rattled body that stumbled toward the couch.
 
Tap! Tap! Tap!
 
	Lilly hurtled out a scream and kept her eyes trained at the venetian blinds. Blinds that rattled with each tap.
 
Tap! Tap! Tap!
 
	The living room lights flickered and buzzed. Lilly pleaded for the power not to shut off. She begged for it to stay for just one more second, but it wasn’t enough. The living room lights shut off, along with the other rooms in the hallway, taking her deep into the abyss.
 
	Lilly jumped at the scuttling down the hallway. Everything around her was an object, as she patted the living room couch to guide her toward a weapon. She pulled out her phone from her pocket and shook it to turn the light on. She scanned the light across the living room in search of a weapon she could use. But right when she thought about going back to the knife drawer, a twisted face peeked its head out before vanishing out of sight into the dining room. Lilly kept the light trained at the white corner where she expected the face to pop up again. 
 
	The scuttled sound welcomed itself again into the hallway, but this time she could see what was moving around. At the long end of the hallway, Charles stood there, staring deeply at a picture hung in front of him. 
 
	“Charles?” Lilly spoke. She slowly walked into the hallway and kept the light trained on Charles’s back. 
 
	Charles hummed a soft tune, like an old lullaby. His body twitched and shook with each note. Light detached itself from the front of his body and emitted a harsh shadow that spread far into the room next to him.
 
	“Come on, Charles,” she peeked at the other open doors leading into other rooms with their own void, “this isn’t funny.” She glanced into the living room, then back at Charles, who jerked his head a bit. She stopped in the middle of the hall and backed off, believing that someone, or something, was lurking in the other rooms. “Charles?” She licked her lips and shimmied a bit closer to him. “Babe? What happened? Are you alright?”
 
	That’s when Charles stopped twitching, as if his movements responded to her comments. His body was still. So perfectly still. Lilly wanted to scream but couldn’t help but back off instead. His posture was as straight as a stick with his arms shot down to his sides. Charles turned his head ever so slightly. Lilly kept the light pointed at Charles and gasped. Then his head stopped turning. Lilly listened closely to the sound of her breath. 
 
	Charles snapped his entire back down to the back of his feet and showed the blood scattered across his face. A face plastered with an unruly grin with bleached skin. Pupils dilated beyond humanly possible, as he stretched his arms towards Lilly and said, “You owe me another shirt!” he laughed viciously. 
 
	Lilly placed a hand over her mouth and gagged. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to leave and never come back. She backed away from the grisly sight and stared down at the floor. But she could only go so far. If it wasn’t for the figure behind her blocking the way. Lilly gasped and looked up to see Charles staring right at her. Charles smiled and screeched while running towards her. The phone dropped to the floor as Lilly’s screams were drowned out by the ear-splitting croaks.  
","July 15, 2023 03:51",[]
prompt_0048,Start your story with a character seeing something terrifying.,nk7vq7,"Girl, Georgie...and Archie",Tanya Humphreys,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nk7vq7/,/short-story/nk7vq7/,Horror,0,"['Bedtime', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",4 likes,"
Georgie stared out the window but in her zoned-out state she was as blind as a person born with no corneas. The lights in the cavernous subway fuselage flickered and dimmed, alarming her from her reverie, for the light was an odd reddish amber, much like the embers in a dying fire.
She had been drawn to the subway. It seemed more comforting than the cold, agoraphobic, openness of the streets. 
She blinked as she took in her reflection. Her skin so pale, her face was a moon, and her brown eyes huge and darkly shadowed. She was horrified to see herself with the face of a skeleton. It was a very bad omen.
Fresh tears shimmered and the reflection wavered like a mirage on a mid-day August Texas highway. She ran her fingers through her pale gold boy’s cut hair. The fingers were skeletal in the grim reflection; she tried to recapture the image of her true self- a natural, effortlessly pretty girl.
She’d been born twelve years earlier and christened Amanda-Lynn, named for a grandmother she didn’t remember and therefore felt no guilt for choosing to call herself Georgie instead, after her idol, George Lucas, whom she wanted to be like when she grew up. She pulled her hood up and down over her brows and slumped in the hard plastic seat and again glanced at the boy she pretended to be.
Georgie didn’t wear dresses or make-up or pink fuzzy hair scrunchies. She pretended to be a boy simply because she felt safer. Once, a little girl of about eight or nine squealed with delight and ran to her from across the grassy expanse of a pocket park only to be disappointed that Georgie was not Justin Timberlake.
She’d gradually made the metamorphosis during the six months after her older sister, Carolina-Joy, disappeared. The detectives surmised a sexual predator recently released in a Toronto suburb was the culprit. The scrap of bloody lace found on the subway platform at the King Street Station contained both Carolina-Joy’s and the sick bastard’s DNA, though neither person was ever seen or heard from again.
She had figured that her mother would be less likely to notice if she made the transformation a little bit at a time. But then again, perhaps her mother would be just as likely to notice purple tentacles complete with neon green suction cups growing out from Georgie’s ears. 
It wasn’t just the booze, though Georgie knew that good ole Jack Daniels had been the catalyst that led like a steppingstone path through an increasingly darkening forest down into the comatose state she sort-of existed in these days. The men that Florence brought home like stray dogs grew grosser and grosser. She went for the ruggedly handsome, often bearded…lumberjack types oozing with testosterone. While Carolina-Joy had been alive, the boyfriends were mostly decent types who happened to enjoy partying and booze fests as much as her mother, though the true binging mostly occurred on the weekends.
After the disappearance, Florence fell ill.
Georgie had cared for her as best as she could, bringing her Chunky Campbell’s soup, freshly laundered pajamas and sweats, and new copies of The Enquirer and The Star. Only the latter seemed touched. The jammies lay at the foot of the bed, the soup congealed, and the wastebasket filled with soggy tissues and pint bottles of cheap bourbon. The old MGM Las Vegas ashtray overflowed with butts.
When she eventually crawled out from her stale and reeking sheets, Florence headed for the The Stag’s Gait, the stompin’ ground for the gents who worked the paper mill on that side of town. Florence’s taste had gone downhill, it was only natural considering her appearance had too. The third one she’d brought home was worse than just drunk. He smelled rancid, like old skid-marked underpants left too long in a damp place. ‘Could she mother not smell him? Couldn’t she see the glazed look on his sweaty face?’  Her mother developed the same zombie-glaze three days later when they at last re-emerged from the den of despair. 
Georgie had been in the kitchen washing the dishes. There were very few these days, the adults in the house didn’t eat much. The guy, Santiago was his name -though he didn’t look Hispanic to Georgie- had thick silver hair from a receding hairline, a pale, lined face grizzled with salt ‘n’ pepper stubble, and watery, pale grey eyes entrenched in drooping bags. The eyes brightened, in not a good way, when he swayed into the kitchen and realized a young girl was there before him.
It was as though Florence had never mentioned she had a daughter. His shiny-wet lips turned upwards into a leer as he eyed her up and down, his eyes lingering on her flat chest as if trying to figure how old she was. His eyes morphed into the calculating wheels of a Vegas one-armed bandit as he lurched towards her. He raised a veiny pale hand towards her, the fingernails packed with dark crud. Georgie stepped back quickly, like a wary fawn from a fat white snake, and saw small purple bruises in the crook, a couple looked fresh, one appeared to be bleeding like an infected mosquito bite scratched too long and hard.
She threw the Tupperware container she’d been washing into the sink, throwing a wave of soap bubbles onto the windowsill and scootched under the arm and out the door.
Ick. She shuddered at the memory. 
And her rite of passage had begun. Florence only commented on her daughter’s appearance once, her raspy cigarette-addled voice- a voice suited to a woman 20 years older, “Whas wi’ the hair? You look like-a dyke.”
Georgie didn’t know what a dyke was besides a dam or something in Holland, so she Googled. Hmf. The desire to be a boy then and there was set in hardening cement. Within the next month, she wore only jeans, tees, and hoodies. She considered wearing a little aftershave cologne she’d pilfered from a ‘boyfriend’ but that would be weird.
She noticed right away the difference in the attention she got from the men. Or, rather, the lack of attention. She was miserably depressed and angry, but she no longer felt as helpless as she had months before. God forbid her mother bring home a junkie-alky who liked little boys.
 
 
The train slowed, pulling into the next station. Shapes formed from the deep shadows and charcoal grey concrete that was growing paler as the station lights materialized ahead. The train stopped; the annoying glaring lights inside the car came on, buzzing like fat houseflies caught between two windowpanes. Just outside her window was an indent in the wall, an outlet for maintenance crew- it was a rectangle-shaped black hole. 
There was a figure there, facing the wall. Just the silhouette of a scarecrow, like a snowman made from bags of coal. As if it felt her looking, the figure turned around. 
His face was dark, dirty, bearded…but the whites of his eyes glowed with the yellowy amber light. He was staring straight at her. His black lips were moving as if he was speaking to her.
Panic rose like bile deep in her esophagus. She blinked and looked around to see if anyone else was as curious about the man as she was. None of the three others were looking up from their laps. When she looked back, the man was gone. Had he really been there at all? Or had she manifested the image from her own introspections of her mother’s chosen company?
The lights went out. A few seconds later, they came back but at half strength and amber tinted.
“Please be calm everyone.” She jumped at the sudden voice; she’d forgotten the speaker was just above her head. “We will be moving shortly towards the next station. There you will disembark.” The otherworldly voice was deep and reassuring, though somewhat crackled by the old metal speaker face. “There’s been an accident in the tunnel about a mile ahead. You all need to disembark here. We will be forced to shut down until it is safe to continue travel through this section. Sorry for the inconvenience…be safe.” 
Georgie had been in her own world. The world of her Lucasonian brain. She recalled how late it had been when she’d left home with the maybe intention of never going back. Just, you know, going…ha, into a new galaxy far far away…she glanced down at her watch, the old Seiko she’d “found” on the coffee table one morning on her way out the door for school. Five minutes to two AM. Great. 
She looked around the underground train car. She was alone. She prayed the deep reassuring voice would come again. It did not. The train door slid open with a whoosh and a puff of steamy petrol and urine infused air.
Georgie grabbed her backpack and stepped onto the platform. A policeman was escorting an elderly man towards the exit stairs to the world above. She wanted to follow just to be near safe-looking people but where would she go up there? Home? Ugh. Voices caught her ear, and the high-pitched laughter of cruel boys. She turned in time to see two older teenaged boys disappear around a thick cement pilon; their strutty body language suggested they were up to no good. She heard a growl and realized it was a human voice but could not decipher any words. 
She loped as silently as she could, like Sylvester tiptoeing after Tweetie bird. “I taught I swaw a puddy-tat.” Only she felt she was the tiny yellow canary foolishly stalking a very mean and perhaps rabid were-cat. She almost giggled but as she came upon the pilon and snugged up against it, she heard gurgling, garbling, guttural sounds…then a sound that was definitely laughter. Not the young laughter she expected from the two hoodlums, but chortling from the deepest pit in hell. She dared a peek around the pilon.
The dim corridor there in the subway tunnel by the restrooms was crimson…and wet.
At first, she thought the boys had been graffitiing. But that illusion was dashed when she saw the bodies. Or what was left of them. It was the lower leg in the Dayton boot with the white gleam of bone glowing from the blackened maroon mess of the rest of the body that made Georgie freeze. The blood in her veins slushy ice. The second body was a teenaged boy-shaped lump, equally red and wet and broken.
A homeless man with a gnarly twisted walking stick stood over the remains. As she watched, a second vagrant slunk from the shadows of the tunnel, his lips were moving and as he drew closer to his vagrant buddy the words became audible, “Pokemon…pokemon. Poke…ah…man. Pokemon…” 
Vagrant One had with the stick had been the one she’d locked eyes with. She felt it in her wintery marrow.
Georgie thought, ‘Pokemon? This is soooo weird. How do they even know…?’
Both men were in ragged clothes. Black, grey, grimy. They appeared sooty like mine workers. Even from her hiding spot twenty feet away, she could smell them. The first looked towards his decrepit buddy, the second man nodded enthusiastically, and growled, “Pokemon! Pokemon!”
Vagrant One grinned and bent…and poked the bloody lump with his walking stick. Nothing moved and both men howled like wolves with glee. They went to the second grisly mass, and both cried out, “Pokemon! Pokemon!”
Vagrant TWO pulled a crooked black umbrella from his dark ragged coat and poked at the body.
“Pew pew pew!” said the other…just like a Star Wars spoof of the ray guns. Any second she expected to hear the “whhhhizzzzzzt” of a light saber.
She ran out into the subway station and headed for the stairs.
Dark shadows were gathered on the landing and seemed to be coming down. Great hulking forms that seemed like men. Then she heard the mutterings. Garbled, from mush-mouths…”Pokemon…Poke the Mon…ha ha haha ha!”
She raced into the tunnel.
Georgie was discombobulated from the surrealness she felt at discovering the boys antagonizing a homeless man, having that man somehow not only kill them but tear them to shreds. ‘This can’t be real. I’m in my own movie in my bed…’ but she knew.
After ten minutes she realized she had not gone back but had continued on into the tunnel towards the next station. It wasn’t quite pitch black but close, just as darkness threatened to take over, those dim amber lights glowed from ahead. Must be the next station. The one where the accident had stopped service on this route. Ahead of her the tunnel curved and she could see the walls and platform of the station. 
There were two corpses in uniforms, four people, and a body in a bag. Not a single living person, just definitely dead ones. She ducked behind a trash collecting vehicle, it was orange and on its flatbed was a collection of stinky bins. As her eyes took in the niches in the tunnel walls across from the platform, she watched as shadows took the shapes of men. Vagrant One came into the light first.
They shuffled towards the carnage like zombies on parade. Schluff schluff, schluff…”Pokemon!” said Vagrant One. The one behind him said it too. And then more voices added to the strange mantra.
The homeless men pulled out their sticks, umbrellas, one had a long thin ski pole… and began poking the bodies. 
She watched, frozen in terror, sick with fascination. She was trying to remember everything. ‘Dang! I should be recording this with my iPhone! It would make a great introduction into the world of G.Lucas.!’Nevermind’- reaching for the device, they might detect her movements. She felt as if she’d been tumbled by waves, like curlers over a surfer. 
Vagrant One bent over the cop closest to her, perhaps fifteen feet away, and, as she watched, lowered his grizzled, darkened dirty face to the dead cop’s…and chewed his face off. ”Yung ynug yung.”
The man with the umbrella, Vagrant Two, poked the corpse’s leg. “Poke da man.”
Georgie understood then that they were saying a variant of “Poke the man.” She almost laughed out loud. But no…oh gosh no. This was too insane. She backed around the pilon and heard the decrepit men raise their voices, “Pokemon!”………“Go ga new!” one said. ‘Hmm- have to googlge that one…’
Vagrant One lifted his grimy face and looked where she was hiding after she had …’what? Made a noise?’ She had only screamed inside; she was SURE of it. Vagrant Two looked up as well. He grinned at her. His teeth were full of gore between dark brown stubs more like tombstones than teeth, his face running with blood, slick black in the noxious yellow light.
At that moment, all the vagrants turned to Georgie, their dim eyes like lighthouses coming to life and following the trek of a wayward ship. ‘Uh oh.’
As they all moved towards her, zombie-like; she looked around for an out. 
She could have run back into the tunnel…but a huge dark figure to her left she’d mistaken for a dead body suddenly started moving! Georgie was elated. ‘A survivor?’
The huge shadow lumbered into the light… It was an alligator. And, contrary to popular belief, it was fast on the ground.
Vagrant One howled in pure agony as the gator chomped his left leg below the knee. “Crunch.” Bones splintered, blood geysered a thick spray over the concrete, “Splat.” The vagrant went down, and the gator separated his head from his body, the arms still flayling about, flapping like the wings of a chicken with its head cut off.
Georgie heard the shuffling, slapping of feet taking off down the tunnels in both directions. She was flabbergasted and felt close to fainting. The alligator craned its massive lumpy head towards her and grinned like only a gator can- mischievously, as if the joke was on her.
A familiar and reassuring voice spoke, not to her, but to the alligator. “Good job Archie. May she rest in peace now. Oh, this is Georgie by the way.”
The voice of the train conductor.
Georgie turned towards it and there he was… 
In a crisp blue uniform with white shirt and pressed trousers. It was an old-school uniform they no longer wore. He was rakishly handsome, with a short, cropped beard. The alligator that was real looked at the ghost, grinning that wonderfully rakishly-evil looking grin.
‘Not cop, but a conductor.’
“Sorry babe, to not be around. I fucked up…no time now to explain, girl, you’re too young to be out here…” The ghost hesitated. “You and I have taken care of Carolina-Joy’s spirit… and she may rest now. Archie and I needed your alive spirit here to lure the evil one out from his hole. You shared the same essence.”
“Dad?”
The conductor ghost nodded. “I can’t stay. Your journey will start when you leave here, You will be safe with Archie by your side until you decide what it is you want to do.” He winked at her, tossed a key, “take the key to my apartment.”
Georgie swayed on her feet, she felt like an 18th century lady about to faint from a tight corset. She was confused but understood what her father had been saying. She raised a small pale hand towards the alligator as her father’s ghost started disintegrating into the tiny specks you saw on old timey television when the station went off the air.
The alligator came to her hand…and grinned. 
Strips of skin and the bits of gore from her sister’s killer adorned the alligator’s teeth.
 
","July 15, 2023 01:59",[]