#hannahwriteshorror

[hannahwriteshorror]

Death at Okobridge Cove - Ten Years later - By Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

Ten Years Later

Any typical human would see nothing but an unimaginative red brick building with large, darkened windows covered in those awful school-chic blinds. There was a white door with a key coded lock to enter, which deterred anyone that might try to open it, and a gravel path leading to the pavement where two ancient trees stood. Sometimes a homeless woman could be seen sleeping in the doorway of this building for a little safety and sometimes kids would fly past on their bicycles and throw rocks at the glass. It was quintessentially British.

If you were like me, as you got closer to this seemingly normal building, it would shift. The windows would fold in on themselves silently, imploding slowly as something new appeared in the building’s location. The first time I witnessed this I had the urge to throw up.

They say once you’re turned, it opens a whole new world. Perfect vision. The irony.

I paused at the end of the path, taking in a long deep breath even though I didn’t need to. Force of habit, I reminded myself, you’re dead.

I was playing with the ring on my finger, watching it turn and turn, my mind running at a hundred miles an hour.

Flashes of Poppy laughing in my ear. Her cold, lifeless body laid out in our first floor flat. Deep red blood pooling into my carefully picked out cream carpet. I was screaming, yet no sound was coming out. It reminded me of those old black and white silent movies my grandmother loved so much.

I lifted my eyes to look at the ominous building in front of me. I took a few steps and watched as it merged into the grand building I remembered from that very first night. I used to walk past here every day on my way home from work. It was always the same, boring old building. I just assumed it was an admin office for Fallmond College close by. But now I had my new eyes, it was a lot different. I wasn’t totally sure how The Hive had managed to conceal an entire building, and quite frankly the details confused me. I wasn’t ready to believe in magic quite yet.

Towering over me, where the boring office building stood a moment ago was a grand manor house. As I leaned my head back to look up at the now grey brickwork, I felt an uneasy sensation in my stomach. The building was sloping out of the darkness, beckoning me inside. The path lead up to a set of grey stone steps and was encased by two enormous square towers. There were no visible windows on the lower floor, but the floors above had grand circular stained-glass art works as far as the eye could see.

The rooms on the lowest floor were home to the “little demons.” A rather awful name engineered for the newly turned Strigoi, where they were tortured into having their first meal as a monster. My research into the creature I had become took me down some very disturbing paths. Their reasoning was simple, these rooms were the closest to the protection spells to the outside world, so there was no chance a passing postman could hear screaming younglings while on his morning rounds.

I took another false deep breath, hands resting on either side of my face as I tried to ground myself and began to trudge up the pathway and steps. Returning here was something I never intended on doing. I remember my first day so vividly.

Forcing myself to resist. A darkness taking over my mind. The steaming hot beast crawling up my throat. My own helplessness. The boy crying, screaming. I hate myself.

I rested my hand on the deep mahogany wood of the door, it felt warm to my fingertips. I found myself wishing my phone would buzz, someone telling me I’m needed. I pulled it from my pocket and checked the screen, nothing. Unwillingly and after fighting with myself for a moment, I pushed on the door, and it opened easily with an eerie creek.

There were no handles or locks, only those apart of the Faction of Fallmond could enter without an invitation. Unfortunately, I was technically one of them.

Once I was inside, the door closed itself behind me softly.

I entered into a long hallway with six doors on either side. There was no noise, but I knew what was happening behind them. The walls were made from dark wood and there were tables between each door with vases of red roses on, almost like The Hive were trying to cover up their murderous tendencies with pretty flowers.

There were two men at the bottom, sitting on large comfy looking chairs and chatting about some football game from the 80’s. I wondered if they were there to intervene if things started to get hairy with the Little Demons or if they were simply trying to avoid others. I know I would be. Neither of them looked up to see who had come in, but I doubt they cared. Or they knew I weas coming and were told not to acknowledge me. It had been ten years since I left.

It was a strange feeling, returning here. There was no attachment for me apart from the man who killed my girlfriend, The Hive’s Forebearer. Sabian. The one who I was escaping from. The one who had sent me a letter, describing a Faction Crisis, all hands-on deck situation…  And then there was Lucas, the one who helped me when I needed it.

Why did I even return? Did I want to see him again, Sabian? Remind myself of his face? Remind myself of what he has done? Or did I care enough about the Faction members I left behind to come running when I am beckoned…? I made a mental note to think more about this later.

 I straightened my black denim jacket, a present from my grandfather, with its makeshift studded detail that I had carefully sewn on at four am one morning and tried to walk down the corridor with some form of purpose. I should at least try and look like I belong here.

I rounded the corner into another long hallway, this one lined with paintings or photographs taken by members. They’d had some pretty famous faction members in the past, a portrait of Andy Warhol sat proudly above a table, teeth out like a growling wolf.

The old wooden floor of the entry way turned into a fluffy cherry red carpet as I made my way to the meeting room at the bottom. The paintings here depicted something horrific. Unhinged scenes of murder, of turning rituals and the historical “blood draining” from the 1600’s. I wonder If this is like The Hive’s equivalent to the crucifixion…

The mahogany double doors at the bottom of the hallway were propped open, and hushed voices were emitting from within. I paused just before I got to there. I could see Lucas from where I stood, tall and overbearing, chatting to a girl I didn’t recognise. There was the man who helped me make my first kill… but also the man who helped me leave without being seen.

I’d missed him.

[hannahwriteshorror]

It Took Me a Year - A Molologue by Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

It Took Me A Year

It took me a year to convince myself that I didn’t love you. When people asked me the question, people I am close to, I was able to answer without much thought. Answer honestly and tell them the truth. My mind knew that I didn’t love you, that you didn’t deserve to be loved by me, that I should have never loved you for as long as I did. It was my heart that needed convincing. My words were detached from my fears. The fear of being alone, the fear that no one would ever care again. The fear that your care, even though it is so minimal, is the best that I am ever going to get, because I am broken, because you broke me. The trauma I have suffered at your hands will be the worst I will put myself through, I have always known that I am worth more, and yet I let you ruin me, because you made me love you. You were perfect, charming, understanding. Then the mask comes off, the world spins, the sun sets, and you are a different person. You change, you’re angry, you scream, I cry. My tears make you feel like a bad person. Good, you are. I will never let go of you, I am as sure of that as I was the first time I told you that I love you, that night after you left her for me. But now the reasons are different. Now I know that it is not because you were my first love. It’s because you made me feel as though no one would care. You made me feel like I was not worth spending time with. You made me feel isolated with my own thoughts, that I could never say how I felt. I was always the horrible one when I was low and didn’t want to tell you what I was thinking, because I knew… you would then scream. It’s not my fault, it’s in the past, it won’t happen again, I did it because I knew you would be upset, I lied, I lied, I lied. You will always stay with me, the way an awkward memory does. Something I think about on my low days when my mind just wants to give me another little kick. When I think about stepping into the road and my life flashes before my eyes: You will be the villain in my story. It took me a year to come to terms with the way I felt about you, knowing that it was not right any more. It took me a year to realise that I am not being treated the way I should be. That it was routine. Habit. Co-dependence. Once I gained my strength. Once I found that I could do this alone. There was nothing left for you, with me. It took me a year.

[hannahwriteshorror]

Don't Cry - A Poem by Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

Don’t cry

Fluttering heart Rising warmth Tight chest a happy smile

Shivers down your spine Fingertips pressing down Eyelids closed for what feels like forever Is that a happy smile

One day, two days Movie Marathons Music days Don’t cry yet, you’re still smiling

trauma creeps in tight chest fluttering heart where did your smile go don’t cry darling

[hannahwriteshorror]

Borne Away by the Waves - A Short Story by Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.

Mary Shelley and her Frankenstein always eased my stress. Her words had comforted me through breakups, stressful exams and house moves. As I closed the wrinkled book, I ran my fingers over the ridged spine and thought about how I had carried this copy all over the world with me on my adventures. It was the only book I physically owned, too. But it was always me and Mary against the world.

 I turned to pack old Mary away in my backpack just as a small blue butterfly landed on my shoulder. I carefully took a selfie with it, as anyone would, and patiently waited for her to fly away before I continued to stand and make my way towards the door. Today was particularly quiet for the Glass Hills Park Butterfly House, there were no children trying to catch the more friendly butterflies, just me, my book and a young couple on their weekly walk. I see them from time to time, we sometimes say hello to each other. Though today they were deep in a conversation about the inner workings of their washing machine. Couple stuff, I thought.

The sun blared as the glass doors closed quietly behind me. I checked the date on my phone. It was mid-January. In the past, it was said that winter stretched from December to February. But Glass House Hills was the perfect city. It only rained at night when nearly everyone’s safe in their houses. The leaves turn orange in October, and it always snows at Christmas, the only cold weather we have in the year. Down the path from the Butterfly House stood a large white permanent gazebo, and inside a band were playing some form of new country song that I had never heard, a crowd had gathered so at least they were entertaining others. I smiled to myself and shoved my phone away in the pocket of my jeans to make my way over to my favourite coffee hut where my crush was working, making the most amazing coffee I had ever tasted.

I bought a cup, and after a little light flirting I continued my walk. The steam rose from the paper cup and teased my nose with hazelnut oat milk heaven scent. I walked to the entrance of the park to check the local events. I chose to take the next two days off work and enjoy some time away from the business, and a little music gig or a theatre trip would round things up nicely before I had to return.

[hannahwriteshorror]

Innocent Eyes (part 2) - By Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

The next morning you woke up on the sofa, aching and uncomfortable. Pancake was sniffing at your fingers and nudging your hand with her nose. You slowly opened your eyes and pushed your hair out of the way as it dangled over your eyes. You felt sluggish, stuffed and sick. Finally your eyes adjusted and you fumbled around for your phone to check the time, it was only 10am. You rubbed a hand over your forehead and eyes, you adjusted yourself and slowly sat upright. “Fuck sake,” you complained. Sleeping on the sofa never ended well. As you stood, five or six chocolate wrappers fell out of your lap, joining the McDonald’s wrappers already in place on the ground. You stepped over them, while grabbing the empty pasta bowl from the coffee table and walked towards the kitchen. You felt ridiculously nauseous. What a shit show, you thought. My life is a shit show. The kitchen sides were littered with wrappers, a couple of dirty pans and empty mugs scattered about, crumbs from the snacks you had stuffed into your mouth reminding you of the shame you felt. You sighed, just as your phone buzzed. The group chat you shared with JJ and Nick had come to life, several messages pinging up on your screen. You opened them:

Nicky P: guuuuys. Finally found a gift for Elle, good to go, don’t have to bail on tonight now Jayjay: awesome. I’m glad u sorted it, was sick of ur constant moaning. Fefe: you all bring your own beer, or my door’s staying closed. Jayjay: don’t be like that, I bought u pizza last time Nicky P: can you two flirt elsewhere, I’m busy working Jayjay: just because ur working today and we aren’t doesn’t mean u can be mean Fefe: <3

You locked your phone and dropped it into the pocket of your sweatpants, and after a long sigh, set too tidying up your house, freeing it from rubbish and dirty dishes. You turned up your music as loud as it would go and opened all the windows, letting fresh air circle around the house. Luckily, the gang were coming over to watch movies tonight, so you wouldn’t have to be alone with your thoughts for too long. You were overwhelmed. You absently wondered what films they were going to chose, it was usually between something with super hero vibes or a horror movie. Your stomach knotted as you thought about Jay and Nick ordering pizza, the amount of food you ate last night was enough for an average person to feel ill for a day. And you knew you wasn’t hungry again, but they were so concerned about you and you knew that if they asked what pizza topping you wanted, you’d devour the entire thing with no holding back, meat feast with stuffed crust. You checked the time once more, there were four hours before they were due to arrive. You glanced around the lounge and kitchen, it was mostly tidy. You could be impulsive, but only at the worst moments. You ragged off your clothes and changed into something appropriate for the gym, and then you jumped into your car and drove away. I need to earn it, you told yourself over and over again. Earn it and I can have as much pizza as I like. Work off last night, that’s the best way to feel like you deserve food. You messaged the group chat again:

Fefe: guys, im just going to the gym so don’t come around early, okay? Nick: okay mate!! Is everything ok??? Jayjay: …felix… You reacted to Jay Manetti’s message: <3

Jay was extremely concerned and you didn’t even need to hear his voice to know that, so you ignored his message and locked your phone, putting it on aeroplane mode. No calls in or out, focus, Felix.

When you finally stumbled out of the gym, limbs aching and your water bottle refilled for the fourth time since you had arrived, you felt like you had accomplished something. You hadn’t checked the time. Your legs felt like jelly, as you pushed open the metal door and stepped into the blistering sunlight, while you flicked your phone back to the normal mode, ignoring the missed calls from Jay and letting the notifications pile up on the screen. You stowed it away back into your pocket and downed some more water just as the blackness started to seep in around the edges of your eyes. It felt like two hands were squeezing in around your temples, static filling in your ear drums. You heard someone calling your name, though you tried to focus on walking, one step at a time as it seemed to be getting progressively more difficult as you took each step. Thankfully there was a bollard close for you to lean on. You rested there for a second, taking short, hard breaths, your eyes looking up to the sky as dark clouds rolled in, and then it was dark. You could feel the hot tarmac underneath your skin, and hear a familiar voice calling your name. Sound started to get monotonous, and then nothing.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you were staring at Jay who was hovering over you like a clingy mother. His brows were furrowed at first but seemed to ease when he saw you really look at him. “Erm, hello,” you said to him, confusion must have been plastered all over your face because Jay shook his head at you. You realised then that there was a searing pain in your head, and a white hot scrape on your elbow that you could feel with your other hand. “You worried the shit out of me,” Jay said, batting your hand away from the cut, his innocent eyes gazing down. “I’ve cleaned that, leave it alone.” His tone was stern, a sound that told you not to argue. “Sorry,” you said quietly, “is Nick here too?” Jay shook his head at you, his hair falling over his face a little as he helped you sit up against a pillow. “No, he left about an hour ago. He’s got to set up for Elle’s birthday in the morning.” You could tell Jay was angry with you, but addressing the subject seemed impossible when you knew how far you had gone, how bad it was. Jay was watching your face change and he sighed softly. You risked a glance at his expression, it was hollow and exactly the reason you didn’t want to look at him. His face made you melt. Your feelings for Jay had been agonising over the years, and seeing him so disturbed, shattered you. “I don’t know what to tell you, JJ,” you said, a hand rubbing against your forehead, wishing you could put exactly what you were feeling into words. He covered your mouth with his hand, annoyance playing across is features. “Shut up. You’re staying here tonight. We were going to take you home, but Nick saw what a bad night you had so he thought it would be best-” You froze, staring at Jay as he talked through what had happened after they scooped you up off the pavement. They had checked the bins in your house. Nick helped you through it the last time it was this bad, so he knew exactly where to look. Embarrassment overcame you, and your eyes filled up and overspilled instantly, sobs erupting from your throat. You felt trapped here on Jay’s sofa with him perched on the edge of the cushion beside you, you wanted to jump up, go out into the street and run home where you knew you would feel safe. You heard Jay curse, and then there was a heavy blanket being draped over your head, tucked behind your back and under your feet, creating a warm tent on the sofa. The tears stopped flowing slowly once you started to feel warmer, and you rubbed at your eyes, looking up just in time for Jay to pop his head under the blanket and rest a comforting hand on your knee as he leaned into you. The pressure of his body against yours helped you to calm down, your breathing slowed. He didn’t say anything, he just waited for you to stop crying and he wiped your face with his sleeve. “I know this is hard,” he told you in a whisper, so quiet that you could barely hear him over your own breathing. “But we can get through it, we have too.” You managed to force a small smile, your hands wrapping around Jay’s wrists. You pulled him towards you and nuzzled into his hair, and he laid there on your chest. You felt safe again.

[hannahwriteshorror]

Innocent Eyes (Part 1) - By Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

There’s no control. Not anymore. You’re addicted. You can’t stop. Isn’t it ironic. Isn’t ironic that one of the things you need most to survive, can also kill you. In more ways than one. People make their careers out of it, relationships are formed because we have the same tastes. Arguments on the internet cause massive fall outs between close friends. Over something so small and, for some, meaningless. But it’s the one thing that you know, will one day take your life. Yet you can’t stop.

You’ve been staring into the quiet space of your living room for at least five minutes, your thoughts going in circles around you like electric eels swimming around their prey, hungry and waiting. You glanced down at your phone screen, there were messages and notifications building up. Nick and JJ, concerned friends. The app store was open, food delivery apps sitting there, waiting. Almost calling your name, ghostly and with a touch of “just to cheer me up.” Never ending cycle, delete, re-download, gym, pizza, I hate myself. You checked the time. 9.20pm. If you could hold out until 10pm, your favourite go-to comfort food restaurant would close, and you would be safe for another night. You jumped up off the sofa and ran over to your computer, maybe throwing myself into a video game will distract my mind. By the time the computer had loaded up and you had typed in the password, your energy had deteriorated, and you felt weak. You slumped back in the computer chair, aimlessly scrolling Twitter. Watching helplessly as people screamed into the void with their own mental illnesses, leaving a little “you can do it <3” message occasionally. An obnoxious McDonalds add appears. You lock your phone and throw it onto the sofa beside you. You don’t feel safe, anymore. Not even in your own little corner of the internet that you had shaped for yourself, making sure certain words were banned from showing on your timelines. Even that was listening to your insecurities. Playing into them, goading you. You craved the warmth of your duvet, the protection your bed gave from the outside world was a comfort. Stop wallowing. The voices in your head grew louder as your eyes glassed over, hot tears streaming down your skin for the third time this week, dripping into the collar of your black jumper. You could feel the acid bile rising in your throat. Looking up at the computer screen, you glanced at the options in the start bar, pausing on the Spotify app. Music, yes. You opened up the app and picked something with heavy guitars and turned up the volume as high as it would go, putting headphones over your ears. This was usually the best way to go, you focused in on the lyrics with closed eyes and soaked up the music, letting it wash over you and take you to a new headspace. Eventually you felt tired enough to turn it off and retreat to bed for a long, and deep sleep, but not before you filled two glasses of water and downed them, hoping to stave off the hunger for another full nights sleep.

The next day was a busy one. You didn’t have time to consider the overwhelming thoughts from the night before, quite frankly, you were ignoring them, forcing them down. The busier the better. Time to mull over things could be dangerous. You didn’t feel like you could stop moving, even for one second. If you did, you would let go. Your mind wandered absently to the snack cupboard at home, how full it was, the enormous array of chocolate and snacks you had bought for security the day before, the urge to just let go screaming inside your head. “Just in case,” you would keep telling yourself. Just in case you needed them. It was a strange sense of security, knowing that the option to relapse was there, knowing that if you needed too, you could. “You need to allow yourself to have the good things, Felix, if you don’t, it makes the bad days harder,” the Eating Disorder therapists always tell you the same thing. You’d nod along. “I know.” Today you had a twelve hour shift at work including a stock take to do. The beauty of being busy. There, you were surrounded by gym goers, with their shakers full of pink sludge in the mornings, telling others how many reps they had done at the gym before their shift. The staff room was always supplied with cakes, coffee and ice creams in the freezer on hot days. Working in the admin building of a chain sporting centre in the middle of New York was never pleasant when it was over fifteen degrees. But you loved this job, you had a little family here. You adored everyone. The noise outside the windows comforted you sometimes, just knowing that there were others out there, maybe even suffering from the same thing. You were not alone. Though you had to unfollow most of them on your social media. It was always filled with Slimming World weight loss journeys and “what I packed for my kid’s healthy school lunch this week!” You found it hard to look at on a daily basis, you couldn’t help but compare yourself. They’re my age, and so much more successful. I eat the same things as him, why am I not as skinny? God, she’s so beautiful, I wish my stomach rolls looked as flattering on me. “You don’t have to explain yourself,” Nick told you during break time on your floor, puling you from the dark hole your mind was spiralling into. He was shaking his head as you pressed unfollow on another co-workers profile. “But I feel terrible about it,” you told him as you stared down at the uneaten food you had packed up in your airtight glass lunchbox. He scrunched his face up, you could tell he was worried about you. “It’s not Charlie’s fault, but I don’t want him to think I have some sort of aversion to him, he’s great. It’s just hard.” “He won’t,” replied JJ, patting your hand and giving you a soft smile, his blue eyes glistened behind his glasses. It’s not that often you see this side to him. He’s the more sarcastic one of your work group. He isn’t afraid to say it how it is, and sometimes you both needed that. You glanced up at him, the warm smile across his lips almost made you want to recover, just to see that look on his face again. You look away, back to your phone, your thoughts swimming, filling with regret. Fucking idiot. Your eyes wandered back to the lunch between your hands. A simple salad. This morning you planned ahead, assuming that by dinner time, you would still feel the appeal, you would be hungry, safe to eat, knowing that you had friends here to stop you if you lost control. Your eyes caught the smallest bead of moisture on the inside of the container, and that was enough for you to feel disgusted. You pushed it back into your bag. You checked the time and stood from the bench you were all sat around together in the building’s courtyard and ruffled Nick’s hair as you turned your back, not giving your lunch another thought. “Break’s over,” you told them, throwing your cig end onto the pavement. “Let’s go.”

The day went quicker than you wanted it to, you still hadn’t eaten anything. Nick had thrown you a few concerned comments, but he didn’t seem too overly worried. He was agonising over what to get his girlfriend for her birthday, it was her thirtieth. He wanted it to be special. You didn’t want people to worry about you, so it was better this way. The day staff started to trickle out of the building slowly at 6pm, on their way home to hot meals and screaming children. You swapped your staff badge for your night manager badge, and logged off your computer. Nick placed a hand on your shoulder and leant down, “I’ll see you Saturday man, don’t forget. And don’t worry… it will be okay.” You turned to look at him, and smiled, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement. He patted your arm and left, pulling his car keys out as he sauntered past the incoming night staff. You stood up from your chair, collected your things and went to the other side of the room where you would reside until you had to do a stock take of the supply cupboard. Your work went on long into the night, and by the time you were climbing into your car you were feeling dizzy and increadibly sleepy, heavy eyes. Driving was probably dangerous, but it was only ten minutes.

As you climbed into bed that night, you felt ready for a long, deep sleep. It was warm and comfortable. Safe. Your cat was curled up in one of the corners, wheezing away and dreaming, her little paws twitching. You quickly text JJ back:

Jayjay: Hey, did u get home ok? U haven’t replied in a while and I kw u had a bad day Fefe: I’m home, thanks for checking up on me :] Jayjay: good! Pat Pancake for me, see you tmoz xx Fefe: I will shes purring! Xx Jay Manetti reacted to your message: <3

You grinned, sitting up in bed and giving Pancake a well earned pat on the head, she chirped and blinked before kneading the duvet, and covering her head with her paws. “From Jay,” you told her. She began snoring again. And then your stomach rumbled. Fucking fuck. You hadn’t eaten all day, though it was only half intentional... Your mind wandered to the lunch you had packed for yourself this morning, nausea washing over you once again. You fumbled back out of bed and went down to where you had left your bag in the lounge, fishing out the air tight box with the salad in, and your coffee cup. You dumped the mug into the sink, and stared at the box. The condensation on the inside had gotten worse over time, the leaves inside wilting, it was natural, but it made you feel even more sick. Your stomach grumbled. You put your forehead to the box and closed your eyes, trying to find the willpower. After a minute, you let out an frustrated groan and turned, dumping the entire box into the bin and closing the lid on it. A bitter wave of release washed over you. Just make some pasta, your mind told you. It’ll take ten minutes. But you knew in the back of your mind, if you started to eat something now, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself again. Your eyes drifted to the closed snack cupboard. Even just reaching for the handle felt like a failure. You moved and stood in the doorway of your kitchen, surveying the damage created in the morning when you were preparing your food, just a bowl and a mug, with some cutlery. You pushed a hand through your deep brown hair, breath catching in your throat. You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the beat of your heart rapidly growing. You took one long deep breath and closed your eyes. You need to eat. You can’t keep on restricting like this. You need to do something. You need to chose life. Eat, come on. You crouched at the doorway, hand over your mouth, entering the room again felt impossible. You wanted to close the door, turn around, and run back to your bed. The danger is, you know you need to eat. If you don’t… it’s a whole new issue for your therapist to deal with. The restricting came hand in hand with your binging, but when restriction started to step over the mark, without the binging to balance it out, something had switched. Your mind ticked, what to do, what to do.... There was an invisible wall at the kitchen doorway, pushing you back, don’t go in there. You felt overwhelmed. Like your lungs were filling with water, and you were drowning. You wanted to come up for air, but the waves were to strong, fighting was exhausting.

[hannahwriteshorror]

Forgotten (Chapter 1 - Part 2) by Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

“Forgotten?” I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Were you high or does your memory suck or something?” The idea of forgetting everything was concerning, but was Steve just saying it or did everyone else have the same experience…? “Nico! Shut up.” Adam’s eyes were wide, I guess I shouldn’t have said that out loud. He then turned to face me properly for a second before he shrugged. I could tell he was consulting me, so I nodded in agreement, seeing no harm in what he was about to say and feeling like I owed Super Steve after my unintentional insult. “Well, we will be there tomorrow as you know… we could always meet up afterwards and see what we can pull together?” Steve’s eyes lit up, and that’s when Sid appeared next to him. They smiled softly. “Hi, I’m Sid, is my husband bothering you?” “My partner is usually just along for the ride… they’re not as into the weird as I am.” Sid patted Steve on the shoulder. “Do you want to give these people your number before we go? They want our table.” “Ah, yes.” We all exchanged numbers and created a group chat before they left. We were back in our hotel room an hour later; I was curled up at the foot of the bed using my hands as pillows. Adam was sat on the floor in front of me with his legs crossed, one camera in his hand and the other on the floor by his feet. “If I take the polaroid camera, we could make a cute photo album, you know. Ribbons, fancy silver pens, a keepsake…” he told me as he returned the camera back to the ugly brown carpet. “But if I take the DSLR… I could make us some money for the holiday fund.” I pointed at the expensive camera he mentioned, only one eye open and fixed on him. “If you take that, you’re going to need to take the tripod with you, and you will complain the entire time that it’s heavy and ask me to carry it after thirty minutes… take the polaroid. Let’s not work this weekend.” “Then why did I bring them both then?” “I don’t know, because you’re a crazy workaholic. Can I go to sleep now?”

I was forced from my slumber at six am the next morning by a very excitable Adam who was pulling on my arm repetedly. He was already dressed in an oversized black T-shirt with a picture of David from The Lost Boys on, a dark red flannel shirt and blue jeans. “I have barely slept,” he grinned at me, hands on both of his cheeks as he watched my eyes open. I could see the grey circles under his. “You do realise we don’t have to be there till six pm… How did I know this would happen?” “Because you know me, now get up, I need coffee and the biggest breakfast in the world.” I groaned as Adam ripped the blankets from me and pulled on my arms. After he realised I wasn’t moving, he danced across the room and thew open the curtains to reveal the sun and it’s hellbent revenge on my retinas. “Fuck. Fine, I’m moving.”

The later it got, the cooler it became. We both started out in denim jackets and scarves and ended up in our big poofy winter coats with the hoods drawn over our ears. My fingers were sore from the sudden warmth but damn, it was worth it. Adam’s coat had a grey fluffy trim around it, and I could see my hot breath in front of me. He had parked the car on the very edge of the field away from most of the others that had already arrived so it was easier to find later on, and we could be one of the first out. I was very glad that I had chosen to wear the boots Adam bought me for Christmas… my trainers would not have survived the muddy walk to the entrance of the carnival. “I hope it’s warm on the other side,” Adam told me as I wrapped my arm around his shoulders while we walked. “I imagine it will be… look at all these people.” I hadn’t seen this many people since I went to the Superbowl… the open area was surrounded by trees in the distance, but there were people as far as my eyes could stretch. Some were dressed like clowns or had intricate face or body paint which was now ruined by the mud that was being kicked up around them, others just looked frozen to the bone. The crowd filtered slowly, and as we drew nearer ghostly music started to fill our ears. “Creepy.” “Yeah, I’m stoked.” I placed a cold kiss on Adam’s temple, and we shuffled forwards, clinging to each other. The mess of people were now starting to form an orderly queue into the barriers of red and white ribbon. I used my height to my advantage; I could see over the heads of most of the people in front of us. There were four large floodlights pointing up into the sky above us, changing it from a dark navy to a haunting grey. The queue was filtering through the archway, half of which I had already seen in Super Steve’s photograph. Sure enough, a ten-foot tall, wired metal archway stood in the centre with orange tube lighting winding around it. There was a large flashing white and green sign attached that read LOST LANDS. And underneath it, a black banner with the same garish writing from the leaflet read: Don’t lose your way. My phone buzzed, but I ignored it. Two seconds later, Adam was wiggling his phone under my nose. I batted his hand away, I fucking hated when he did that. “Sid just texted the group chat,” he said. “They’re inside.” “Christ, they must have been here early.” “Steve said they were camping in the next field so they could get the jump on everyone.” I raised my eyebrows. “I think Steve and Sid are a bit weird, and not in the fun way.” “You can’t judge them, Nico, we don’t even know them.” I nodded, turning to face him, “Yeah, exactly, we don’t know them. I’ve just got a weird feeling, I don’t know.” “Maybe it was that bagel at lunch,” Adam suggested, I rolled my eyes as we tiptoed closer. The music was swelling, the unearthly theremin tunes were causing something in my chest to flutter. It was only a few minutes later that we were stood at the entrance, the man with the white painted face stood right in front of us, his expression was haunted, and the black paint around his eyes wasn’t helping the image. Adam retreated into my side yet had a grin like the Cheshire cat plastered across his lips. “Tickets,” the man said abruptly, rubbing his hand under his nose and making the most grotesque noise as he coughed. I shuddered and dug out the paper tickets from inside my coat. The man took them, counted them, and then screwed them up and threw them over his shoulder. There was an overflowing metal bin behind him, paper balls spilling out onto the dirt. He lurched forward then and grabbed Adam’s arm and pulled it from his coat pocket. “What the fuck do you-“ Someone behind me with a deep voice spoke up. “It’s fine man, it’s all apart of the act, look!” I glanced over my shoulder before turning back to the man covered in paint. He let Adam go, and he showed me his arm. A black wristband was tightly wound around his wrist with the name of the carnival in green writing.

[hannahwriteshorror]

Forgotten (Chapter 1 - part 1) - By Hannah Elizabeth Fisher

Chapter 1

“Your mother hates me.” “Nico, it’s been a fortnight nearly, would you shut up? She doesn’t hate you.” “She clearly does,” I didn’t say anything else though, we still had three hours left of our journey and starting a fight right now wouldn’t be the best idea I’d ever had. Adam sighed loudly and shook his head as he unlocked his phone to play a time passing game. Weekly Worrisome Tales, a true crime podcast we followed weekly played quietly through the car radio, which was connected to my phone. The velvety female voice was explaining the ins and outs of the murders committed by Ed Gein in the early 1950’s. It was three-hour drive to Maine, where the carnival was being held. We had snacks, drinks, and Spotify on hand in case we got tired of hearing about lamp shades made from human skin. I volunteered to drive there, hoping it would keep my mind off the party. But Adam’s mother and her passive aggressive comments during our Christmas soiree had been on my mind since that day: “Are you sure fitness is the way to go? Is that the right career for someone who is to be married to a future prolific art dealer?” “Mother, we aren’t even engaged.” Adam had tried to ward her off, it didn’t work. “What, he hasn’t asked you? Why haven’t you asked my Ads to marry you? Don’t you love him? It is a big commitment… maybe you’re not ready? If I were you, I’d be worried about the money, it’s a big day and you have a big family. And we obviously want you to get married in a church… can you do that, as a, what is it, a Buddhist?” “Mam, it’s time for you to help me dish up the vegetables.” Adam pulled her up from the chair she had perched on. He took her elbow and glared at me as he forced her into the kitchen. What had I done wrong now? She protested at him in Welsh. “Onid ydych chi'n meddwl bod hyn yn gachu? Adam had taught me certain words simply for moments like this. I knew she said something was “shitty.”

I focused my eyes back on the road as we pulled up to a red light. Pedestrians began to cross in front of my car. I watched each one of them as they went about their day, wondering if any of them had any deep dark secrets. “… jars of what is believe to be fingernails from several females…” Maybe she’s got a foot fetish… what about him? His expensive trainers probably mean he sells drugs on the weekend… my thoughts snapped back to the party quickly when Adam spoke. “She just wants the best for me, Nico...” “If it’s not my career it’s her casual racism. I genuinely think I’d rather come toe to toe with Ed Gein himself. She scares me.” “…they also found a chair that had been upholstered in human skin…” “You’re being dramatic. Let’s enjoy this weekend.” The light turned green and I turned the car around the corner as Adam changed the subject, a subpar attempt to take my mind away from the Christmas party. “I spent like, three hours the other night looking into Lost Lands carnival. All I could find was a blog from some guy called Steve… I chatted to him a little bit but I still don’t know much.” “Steve?” I raised my eyebrow as I pulled the car left, I could feel my stomach gurgling. “We need to eat once we’ve dropped off our bags at the hotel.” Adam ignored my complaining, clearly deep in thought. “Yeah, Steve. He writes a lot about how he and his partner have been to this carnival before. He’s only got like two pictures up on there though which I find so weird.” He thrust his phone into my face. “Why wouldn’t you take more pictures at something like this? Imagine if he had a DSLR, the artwork from this could be worth thousands. The lights, the colours… Nico, look at it.” With my free hand I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and pushed it away, my lips pressed together. “I’m driving.” “Christ, are you hungry or something?” “Shit, if only I had just said that two seconds ago and you heard me?” I could almost feel Adam burning a hole into the side of my head with his green eyes. “What do you want me to say to her, Nico? She’s my mother, “excuse me, mam, woman who gave me this existence, stop being a dick to my boyfriend”?” “…he also had the peeled faces of nine different women attached to his walls for decoration…” “I mean, yeah, that would be pretty damn great.” Adam let out a sigh and turned to face the window, I rolled my eyes. “You’re right. Come on… tell me more about Super Stan and his amazing blog.” “It’s Steve,” Adam corrected me. “Alright, Super Steeeeeve.” “We’re meeting him at the restaurant later on.”

My mood lifted once we were sat at a table in a restaurant close to the hotel, drinks in hand. My Apple watch flashed as my heart rate increased by the hour. We were both extremely excited to find out what the Lost Lands carnival had in store for us. The closer we got, the wider the smile on my face grew. We spent all night theorising over dinner: “I hope there’s like a really cool ring master or something, you know like in the movies?” “Is that not more of a circus thing?” I raised my eyebrow at Adam over my glass of vodka and diet cola, he smirked at me. “I guess so?” “You’ve watched too much American Horror Story. Listen, babe, I don’t think you’re well versed in carni-oligy. “ He kicked me under the table and pushed his half-finished plate of fresh cherry pie towards me. “You want some? It’s like crack, just saying.” It oozed blood red syrup across the white plate, cream marbled against the glistening cherries. I took it and started to dig into the crumbling pastry just as a hand with an oversized skull ring on the wedding finger tapped on the edge of our table. I looked up, mild annoyance must have overtaken my features as the man quickly apologised. “No, oh my god, I’m really sorry for disturbing you!” “Don’t mind him, it’s just his face. Are you Steve?” Adam kicked me again, this time a little harder. I glared at him and carefully placed the fork back down. The pie looked so good I found myself regretting the decision to stay away from the deserts menu and wishing this man would get a phone-call… or break out in boils. “Sorry, yeah, hi. This is my partner Sid,” he gestured to someone sitting at the table next to theirs, they had long blond hair and a he-does-this-all-the-damn-time expression. The person gave a small wave and went back to checking their phone, obviously done with the night. “I just- I know you want to talk about the carnival in town, Lost Lands? This is our second time after creating the blog… and the first time I’ve come across someone else attending and I-“ “I’ve been reading some of your stuff while we were chatting the other day. Your Creepy Carnivals around the States post was really interesting. I really need to ask you why you only posted two pictures of Lost Lands though…” Adam side eyed me, and I rolled my eyes while mouthing Super Steeeve. “Honestly?” At this point, Steve was pulling his chair across to sit down. Sid stayed in their place; they must have been used to this happening a lot. “There isn’t really much time once you get in there. Obviously there’s the picture of the guy at the entrance…” Steve produced his phone and tapped for a moment before showing the two of us the photo. Adam nodded, but I hadn’t seen it yet. “May I?” Steve nodded: “Of course!” He carried on chatting to Adam as I took the phone from him. I looked closer at the picture of the person standing in front of what looked like one half of an arch way with a lit up white sign that said LOST... The man was bald and covered in cracking white face paint, with black rings around his sunken, angry eyes, and green paint smudged across his lips. I glanced at Adam’s wallet that was sitting on the table, the leaflet we had gotten two weeks ago poking out of the top, still covered in white greasepaint. He had carried it everywhere since we had received it. I looked back at the picture and my eyes travelled to the man’s hand. He was reaching out as if he didn’t want to be captured, smears of white and pink paint over his fingers. I felt myself nodding, tuning back into the conversation as I handed Steve his phone back. “-and really, everything I’ve written in that blog is a mixture of the only things myself and Sid remember, it’s a total blur. We think we had this amazing experience, bits sometimes come back to us. Nothing major. But as soon as we slept on the Sunday evening… we had forgotten. So we were hoping we could fill in the blanks this time.”

[hannahwriteshorror]

Death at Okobridge Cove - One Year Later

My first venture alone outside The Hive was proving uneventful, which is exactly what I wanted.

I needed quiet. Simple. Getting into trouble would only prove to them that I couldn’t be alone, that I wasn’t ready to be independent from them. But I was, and I was determined to make sure they saw that in me. Nothing would stop me.

It was an unusually gloomy day, rain splattering against the grey pavement as the residents of Fallmond shuffled along the streets, returning home from their exhaustingly mundane day jobs. This was a small town, there was one local supermarket, one diner, one bar, and one post office. The kind of town where everyone knew and hated each other. I knew everything about these people, just from listening in on other Hive member’s conversations through my room’s door after their adventures. The people of Fallmond would be talking about this rainfall for weeks. Rain, in the height of summer? Very strange.

 I was perched on a low brick wall that ran the circumference of Okobridge Cove, the small town’s local stone covered beach. There was a delicate elderly man stationed at the entrance in a ramshackle wooden hut who took beach cleanliness very seriously, prepared to warn anyone attempting to enter that the tide would be coming in shortly and if they weren’t careful, there would be no way to rescue them from Lake Oko’s ruthless clutches. Someone is rescued from the water at least once a year. The lake was a particularly aggressive one, but no one ever seemed to question it.

Most of the busybodies rushing around hated this weather, they all appeared to be irritated. There was the odd couple enjoying it, kicking puddle water at each other or dancing, but it seemed fruitless when everyone else around them looked displeased.

Some of the town’s local gossiping old ladies believed that the rain was payback for a remarkably eventful Kiddies Paddle Play lesson last weekend. Kids will be kids, the town’s mothers said after many failed attempts to collect deflating rubber rings and floating half eaten biscuits.

The rain was heavier than the normal showers we got here once in a blue moon. I held a deep red curved umbrella above my head in a mild attempt to look normal. No one really took too much notice of me aside from a perplexed glance, which I was enjoying. My long dark hair cascaded over my shoulders, the jagged ends getting damp from the odd drip my umbrella missed. People watching was a newfound pastime of mine, my brand-new red eyes, darting from person to person as they passed by me, wet and appearing irritated by the strange weather. Any children passing were excited, they wore brand new wellington boots and yellow raincoats. I couldn’t help but smile a little.

I pulled my free hand from the pocket of my black trench coat to adjust the ring that sat perfectly on my index finger, a reminder of the reason I was here, of what I had become and who had done this too me... a painful memory I tried very hard to avoid. Yet always had to carry with me in case I started to forget. I could never forget her.

 I’d worn it for so many years, sometimes I forgot how I received it. There was one single, small red stone that sat in between two detailed silver carvings of hands. The ring was hand crafted and very old. The false feeling of warmth washed over me as I remembered like it was yesterday.

***

“Come on, you’ll love it! I promise.”

Poppy glared at me through her fake eyelashes, an achievement from her ongoing beauty course.

She hated gifts, “wasting” money on her was forbidden. Christmas was reserved for chocolates and fluffy socks, anything else and I would receive the cold shoulder all the way through dinner. But I had planned this out perfectly since the day my grandfather relinquished it to me six months ago. It was inexpensive, yet sentimental to me and my family, and something she would never be able to resist. She still wore a cheap plastic kids necklace I gave her on our first date, she had to accept this.

“We agreed on socks,” she informed me as she rose from the green armchair she was lounging in and came over to me begrudgingly, bottom lip sticking out in a sulk. Even without her signature heels on, Pop towered a few inches above me.

“Actually, we haven’t had a conversation about Christmas gifts this year. Don’t think about this being for Christmas.”

Poppy raised her eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the date, but the 25th of December usually means something,” she frowned. “If you’ve spent a lot of money here, there will be absolutely no Christmas pudding for you.”

I handed her the small velvet covered trinket box and put a finger to my lips.

“I stook to the sock plan,” she muttered.

“Shhhh,” I whispered, “open it, I promise I didn’t spend a penny. It was something my grandfather intended to give to his first love... before she was sadly murdered.” I paused and swallowed my pride. I hated being sentimental, but something told me this was the day, something in the back of my mind forced me to believe that this day was the day Poppy needed to know how much I loved her.

“He told me he’d never loved anyone like he loved her. He kept it all this time. They never found the whole body... I would like you to have it. Ignoring the murder stuff, it’s quite important to him. It was his mother’s.”

She looked at me again, her green eyes were crazily fascinating. They pierced into my brown ones as she slowly pulled open the box. After the longest second, she finally looked down and her eyes filled up with glittering tears. “Holy shit.”

I’m not sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a family heirloom.

“Do you like it? It’s a promise ring.” I told her, wringing my hands together.

Her tears spilled over gently as she nodded. I took the box from her and carefully placed the ring on her index finger, smoothing over her knuckles before I released her.

“Wow, it’s absolutely beautiful.” She looked at it closely, inspecting the detail before returning her eyes back to mine. “Once again, I’m basically speechless. What did I do to deserve you, Tabitha?”

I smirked and looked up to the ceiling, pretending to think before she smacked me on the shoulder and we both laughed before sharing a warm kiss. I figured the silent treatment might come later.

“Don’t cry too much, those lashes took you an hour,” I grinned.

A shaky voice came from the doorway, “Dinner is just about ready you two!”

“We’re coming, Grandad,” I replied.

***

“Excuse me miss; do you have the time?”

I was pulled from my daydream as a stranger questioned me. “No, sorry,” I replied.

The person furiously glanced at my watch that was poking out from under my sleeve and stormed off in a huff into the rain. My watch hadn’t worked for months, it was Grandad’s.

As I watched them walk away, my mind mulled over the last image of my Poppy. The next time I saw her, I could barely recognise her face. There was too much blood. Her apartment walls and her furniture were covered in deep red streaks. I always wondered if the history behind this ring on my finger was a bad omen, if the death attached to it had brought us bad luck. If I hadn’t gifted her this strange present, would The Hive leader have killed someone else, instead of my girlfriend? My incentive to not run away from them, as I was informed on that first night. It would be my grandfather next if I didn’t comply.

As I mulled this over, my phone began to vibrate.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Tabitha?”

“Yes, who is this?” Confused, I waited for an answer.

The woman on the other end of the call stuttered. “This is Nurse Jackson, from Fallmond Hospice? I’m calling to let you know… that your grandfather passed away in the night… his heart gave out. I’m so sorry, darling.”

She continued to reel off some phone numbers of funeral homes and grievance councillors.

I simply hung up the phone and stared at the screen where a picture of myself, Grandad and Poppy glowed. Christmas, one year ago. One of my best and last memories of Poppy.

That was when I decided I wouldn’t be returning to The Hive. They had nothing else to hold over me.