#horror short story

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Let Me In

Yandere Francis Mosses (Doppelgänger) x GN Reader

Swish. Swish.

You leaned back as your foot steadily rocked the cushioned seat of your desk chair from side to side. It was yet another boring day of being the doorman for this apartment complex. Yet you couldn’t help the shudder run down your spine from time to time since you constantly felt under surveillance. Then again, perhaps you were going slightly insane from working such long hours in such a narrow space? There was no way someone would stalk you of all people… right?

You let out a low chuckle at your thoughts. You recently felt as if your days melt together. It was the same routine every single day. Stop the doppelgängers from entering the apartment complex. Check their IDs and entry requests. Call their room. You were tired of this consistent repetitive pattern! You wanted some excitement for once-

“Hello.” You jumped to attention when a handsome man stood before you. Your eyes nearly shot out of your head at the blood that stained his face. Was it macabre of you to find that attractive. “I just got off work and I’d like to call it a day in my apartment.”

“Y-you have a little.” Your breath hitched when he wiped the blood off with his thumb and gave you the faintest of smiles.

“Ah. I hadn’t realized I made a mess earlier. Thank you.” The man then handed you his ID and entry request. Francis Mosses was it? He was indeed a looker and his ID checked out… but he wasn’t on today’s list.

“I’m sorry, Francis. You’re not on the list today-“ you scream when he slammed his hands on the window. His half-lidded eyes now wide open and bloodshot. This man no longer looked like an angel, but rather a demon. A demon that would no doubt rip you apart and swallow you whole.

“I’m not on the list? I’m sure you could let me in.” You quickly push the emergency button but his large hands grab the metal doors before you can shut them completely. You gulp when you spot the veins bulging from his gray hands. “Haven’t you been bored lately? You always look so lonely at your desk… I’m sure I could show you a good time.”

Well, Francis wasn’t wrong- no! You can’t endanger the residents! You dialed the D.D.D’s number with haste which made the doppelgänger sigh.

“Fine! Have it your way.” Francis casted you one last look. “But I will be back. And you will let me in. Remember, I’m always watching.”

You deflated like a ballon and sunk back into your chair. Your body felt as if your bones had completely melted from how scared you were… you’ve never encountered such an aggressive doppelgänger before…

“You have contacted the D.D.D. A group of agents has been sent to your building.” The garbled voice on the other end of the line brought you back down to reality.

You sighed and leaned forward to put your face in your palms. What on earth did Francis mean that he would always be watching?

[at-the-depths]

We are in her garden. She watches us.

She hides beneath the leaves.

Her eyes glazed over. She watches us.

She hides behind the trees.

She stares right past us. She watches us.

[yaniasogames]

the first chapter of my horror story is here! it’s called emma and hannah’s best party ever. it is pretty heavy so trigger warnings are in the works tags.

please let me know what you think and make sure to leave kudos ^_^

[redsheeppublishing]

This is a monthly magazine for collections of literature, art, comics and more that is focused on horror, strange beauty and all things odd or off

Follow for updates on first publication, theme polls and content teasers

Currently accepting submissions of all kinds and a post containing submission guidelines will be coming soon

Excited to see from you

[moo-moo-moon-writing]

Yandere? Monster x G/N Reader

A/N; Hello! This is my first published writing, I hope it is okay. If you would perhaps like a part two, more information about the character, or even just to chat in private, ask/dm me! This is just the tip of the iceberg... Btw, it isn't really romantic at all, it may turn into that but it is mainly platonic as of right now.

TW/CW; Scary (?) monster, not really any yandere yet, mentions of missing people, implied kidnapping, I did read over this over and over but there may be a spelling mistake...? I believe that is all. Perhaps teratophilia yet it is not really romantic as of this time.

Word Count; 815... I apologize, it is a bit short.

It was not the smartest idea for you to be walking alone at night.

Despite the fact that it was common sense, you and a few others did not get that. With the rise of missing person reports flooding your area, you thought it would have been an amazing idea to try such a thing. You had your reasons, walking and exercise in general has been shown to help calm people down, which was what you needed. You had a nightmare, yet you did not want to linger on it for too long, for it was well… Bad enough to make you want to go on a walk, in the dark, despite the nature of it. The concept of it was simple, you were alone in a simple, generic scary woods setting, being chased by… Something. You actually had no idea as to what it was, yet your instincts kicked in and caused you to run, unable to look behind you and check. To shake off the thoughts, you looked at the houses within your neighborhood, all of them looking the same. Two floors, gray inside, and perhaps a grayer inside. A little white porch with white fencing in the back, giving off the illusion of having privacy despite every house being built on top of each other… You did not mean it as an insult, your house looked exactly the same, and was. It was a rather nice place however, the best you could get for the price you could pay. 

Lost within your thoughts, you didn't notice how the sidewalk you were walking along became uneven until you ended up tripping over it, panic filling your head as you grabbed the nearest item, which was a street lamp. You planned to use it to stop your fall, to steady yourself, yet it became unsteady as soon as you put any pressure on it. A gasp escaped your lips as it started to fall to the ground with you, yet something seemed to catch you. Before you could turn your head to see what, or who, saved you, you were distracted by the sound of the glass breaking, the light slowly flickering out. You stared with wide eyes, feeling whatever had a hold of you let go, you stepped away to mentally prepare yourself to turn around. Despite the fact that you knew whoever, or again, whatever, did not want to hurt you, you couldn't help but feel fear… The recent missing person reports flashed in your mind, as well as the possibility they were nice enough to help you was only to gain your trust… Yet you turned, your eyes not getting a break from its widened state. 

You would not even call the thing in front of you a human per se. 

With long, lanky legs and arms that got wider the closer it got to the tips, to the oddly short torso the thing had, to its actual… Regular sized humans like the neck, as well as the head, yet its face was not human… Or lack thereof. There were indents along its facial structure as to where eyes and a mouth would be, yet it did not have any of those features. It had to be at least ten feet tall, at least, yet it was hard to tell because of their hunched over posture. It had no clothes on, yet you did know if it really needed any clothes… Or if any really would fit its body at all. It did not say a word as it moved rather… Fluidly, body twisting and turning in order to look you over. You probably should have screamed, yet you were frozen in fear. You did not even realize that your jaw had nearly dropped to the floor, but you did when it gently placed what could be its pointer finger under your chin, slowly pushing it up to close your mouth. 

“Hi! You do not scream from joy like the others, yet I can tell that you can barely contain yourself!” 

You were surprised by its chipper tone, their voice sounding mature, yet their childish tone making you do a double take. It pulled its finger away from you, clapping in delight, despite how… It’s words really were when you thought about them for even a moment. You went to open your mouth, your lips shaking like the rest of your body, yet its pointer finger came back down to you and pressed against your lips, head cocking around here and there as it leaned down to be face to face with you. A gentle laugh left their lips, or, what you believed would leave their lips if they had any, the glee from before still evident within them as they spoke once more, it being the last thing you'd hear for a while. 

“Oh, no no no, I like the silence.” 

[star-studded-whales]

Nomi J. Connors - Writeblr Intro

Hello everyone, I'm Nomi (all pronouns apply) and I am a romance and fantasy author. I have an interest in both clean and erotic romance novels and short stories. I have been known to dabble in horror short stories and in poetry.

My purpose for being on Writeblr is to share my work in a low pressure environment, and to read and support the work of others. I always respond to friendly DMs and I try to reply to asks in a timely manner.

My other interests include art (specifically printmaking and paper making, though I'm getting into digital art), Stardew Valley, Skyrim, MXTX's works, and writing and playing music (I play a lot of instruments and sing). Sometimes these intersect with my writing, and I will post about them from time to time.

Some boundaries: I will block minors on sight. My work is not for those under eighteen, please don't interact until you are of age. I also do not take unsolicited constructive criticism, especially on matters of taste.

Here are a couple of my WIPs and completed projects:

Lunar Lagoon: An erotic romance set in the modern Mediterranean. Lyria, a mermaid, and Amelia, the transfem captain of an antique sailing vessel, must navigate a budding relationship formed from mutual pleasure as it blossoms into something meaningful and deep, while avoiding the ire of Lyria’s overprotective father. Love should be smooth sailing… right?

Crossroads: An erotic romance set in the US. Hazel Abernathy is a struggling witch fighting a losing battle against her local HOA and the crumbling infrastructure of the house her mother left to her when she passed. She’s ready to get back out there and on Valentines Day, meets the sweet and charming Aleksander, and the bombastic and enigmatic Lillian. The two of them, powerful demons in their own right, have their own struggles with mysterious spiritual attacks on the nightclub they own.

I hope to have the second draft completed by the end of March.

Wear a Coat: A horror short story set in the Appalachian mountains, where I come from. What happens when you don’t follow your mama’s advice and go looking for berries without a coat? Maybe you’ll just get cold or maybe you’ll attract unwanted attention from something dwelling deep within the forest…

[lamplightstories]

Page 6 of Canaries in a Coal Mine

Page 5 << >> Page 7

(First Page Here)

[shorthorrorstories]

He went to open his drawer shortly after waking up at 3 AM. When he opened it, however, there was a huge, menacing tarantula that jumped out at him. As he went to bed, terrified, he forgot that his closet was open, the skeleton of the 34 year old man he killed in 1999 was seemingly invisible in the cover of the dangling clothes. It seemed as if it were always looking at him, menacingly, he felt shivers go up his spine when he saw the fear in the man’s eyes flash before his as he was recounting that night in November 1999.

[yvesdot]

TALLIES / 1k

Three sisters are playing hide and seek. None of them want to win.

A quick horror short story previously not posted here. This story, like Bride & Groom, World Got Smaller, and The Traveler Wife, was written for (and won!) the Reedsy short story contest; this was my second win and one of my earliest submissions. I look back on it very fondly as an early piece I'm still happy with; simple, clean horror. Please enjoy.

Support the author: all writing | book | ko-fi | Patreon

[hylianengineer]

Happy Evil Author Day, here's a horror ficlet I wrote after visiting the World's Largest Starbucks in Chicago like two years ago.

A Starbucks haunted by the stolen souls of tormented customer service workers. Unsettling smiles, voices just on the scary side of cheerful that makes you suspect they'd really like to murder you in a horrific and bloody fashion. And yet nothing keeps happening. You want to leave but your friend is oblivious and begging to please stay just a bit longer while she finishes her coffee. The place is mostly empty, and the hostess keeps looking at you and smiling- not even evil smiling, a perfectly normal smile, but that only makes the whole experience more unnerving.

You go to leave. The doors are locked. You look around in panic but nothing has changed. Your friend is calmly trying to 'unstick' the door. The hostess assures you it's just like that sometimes and won't you sit down and have another pastry, on the house as an apology for the inconvenience.

Too scared to argue, you sit and eat. What were you doing again? There was something you needed to do... but the memory slips away like water through a sieve. Surely it wasn't important. You'll just sit here and have another coffee, and maybe it'll come to you. As you approach the counter to order, you see another customer sitting in the corner.

You keep moving, and as you get closer something ominous begins to build in your stomach. You step past a pillar and their face comes into view - skeletal, with only skin and bones left- literally! Your heart skips a beat, and you run to your friend, dragging her towards the door- she's stammering a protest, but you ignore her. You throw yourself against the door with all your might - it's glass but doesn't break.

You keep banging as bland pop music plays in the background and your friend offers to buy you a nice, soothing cup of tea. Your screams are drowning in the cacophony of normalcy, the quietly persistent monotony that rings in your ears like a bell's chime hangs in the air.

[scionofthehellpriest]

MAJOR CONTENT WARNING: descriptions of an autistic sensory overload, a lot of sewerslides, sensitive material, and overall very graphic deaths.

The Masque of the Blue Death

Inspiration- “Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe

The Blue Death had long devastated the country…..according to many older and uneducated Americans during the 2000s.

In spite of the disorder they spoke of, Autism, not actually killing anyone, the Jovie Foundation, an up and coming autism nonprofit that began to grow in startling wealth and popularity since it was founded, popularized the notion of calling autism “the Blue Death” because of a couple of reasons.

More boys were diagnosed with it than girls so therefore it must be a “boy’s plague” (even though research was starting to prove otherwise, fear means money, and money talks)

According to the Foundation, even though autism doesn’t kill, it’s a death knell for marriages, financial stability, and mental health, and don’t you dare say this is dehumanizing to the child. We know what’s best

Since they were first founded in 2003, they gained a lot of support from parents of the “afflicted” but gained controversy from the “afflicted” themselves. On the internet and in person, many autistic people spoke up about how inherently stigmatizing and harmful the idea of autism being a disease was and how a cure for it wasn’t needed, for they are already normal in their own right. But now it seemed the joke was on them, because now after decades and decades of research, the Jovie Foundation found what could only be described as a cure for the Blue Death. The founder and co founder of the Foundation, Prospero and Susanna White, declared on their Twitter, that a formula they concocted, with the help of other nonprofits funding for an end to the spread of autism, a cure. And tonight, a massive party for the nonprofit and many other elite supporters would be held in honor of the future mass distribution of the cure, which was set to begin at midnight.

April 3, 2010. 8PM

The cure had only been found two days before, and the invites to the party had been sent out as hastily as Jovie White, the granddaughter of Susanna and Prospero whom they named the foundation after, was given the cure. Some couldn’t come but many did, and those few were billionaires with nothing better to do. Moments before, the couple quickly decorated the tall headquarters of the Jovie Foundation in the most extravagant manner yet, and arranged the house in many colors, but noticeably avoiding the color red. Red had been used by protestors in opposition to them using the color blue as a symbol of their disability. But one could only have so many blue decorations, and an untouched room in the midst of so many other lavishly decorated rooms would stick out like a sore thumb, so they put most of the red decorations they owned in a quiet and mainly unvisited room, where stood a grandfather clock, which had been ticking the hours of the living days of the White family for more than 100 years.

Even though they had the feeling that most of the guests would likely not step inside, better safe than sorry.

As the sky darkened, expensive cars pulled into the driveway of the Whites’ mansion. Then came the party guests, dressed to the nines in their finest clothes and wearing decadent masks for the party, as the theme for the party was “Masquerade Ball” Professional cooks were hard at work to give the partygoers only the best, and wealthy singers even hosted private concerts here. In the sea blue halls, revelers celebrated, dancing and drinking themselves half blind on the best wine. And as expected, few of them set foot inside the room decked in red, whether it be a reminder that even with the cure, there will always be people resisting, because it was too quiet and empty, or because of the clock. Whenever the clock chimed the hours leading up to midnight, a loud and booming sound echoed throughout the manor and until the noise ceased, everyone grew dead silent, but then not only cheered but went back to partying, for every hour that passed brought them closer to finally eradicating the Blue Death and those who had it.

However, even as the hours passed, a feeling of dread slowly passed over many figures at the party, starting with the parents of Jovie White, and then spreading to Susanna and Prospero, and slowly passing over everyone at the party as rumors began to spread of a strange figure in the Red Room, dressed all in red (when Susanna made specific rules to not come in red) and like a corpse ready for burial, wearing a mask that resembled someone who died in great agony. Susanna managed the guest list and when the rumor reached her ears, she immediately denied it, for there was no name to be given to the mysterious guest, and Ali agreed with her, “I saw everyone who came into the house” she said in response, “And I saw no one who came in looking like THAT. If I did, I would have kicked them out by now, so, no mystery guest here.”

And so, the party went slightly back to normal, in spite of the intensifying sense of doom that crept its way into the senses of the revelers as the great clock ticked.

When it neared midnight, Prospero gave a speech to the partygoers (or at least those who were sober enough to listen to him), thanking them for the donations they had given them and the unwavering moral support and perseverance. “Even though this epidemic will never fully go away”, he said “we will never forget your hard work to cull it and to bring back the minds taken by the darkness!” It was at that moment, when he was supposed to signal the trucks to carry the cure to pharmacies and doctors everywhere… that he saw the figure. It glided amidst the horrified crowd in its horrific glory, its elegant floor length dress looking oddly like a dress Jovie wore for her 6th birthday which was blue, but now was soaked completely in red dye, giving it a purplish hue, its red cloak flowing in nonexistent wind, and its mask resembling the face of a child who died in anguish. And upon closer inspection, as the noises of the crowd died down, there was no sound to its footsteps. It was as though the small red figure was hovering across the dance floor. Prospero turned to the figure, his mic still in hand and yelled “Who are you to insult us with this mockery of what we came here for?!” The figure only looked his way for a moment, giving him a good look at its mask, and then continued to glide away like a vampire squid in the ocean blue sea. Enraged, he chased after the figure, to try to get its mask off, in order to reveal the face of the intruder. Revelers parted like the Red Sea as they passed, and followed close behind Prospero, sharing in his desire to know who would come into a party like this wearing a costume like that. Theories spread amongst them that the figure was a protester, someone who came as a prank, a competitor, and so forth.

But things went from bad to worse as Prospero cornered the figure in the red room, only for him, by some defiance of the laws of physics, to be telekinetically lifted in the air, choking as though the air itself was holding him at the neck, and then flung out of the window, breaking it, and plummeting into the streets below. Terrified, Susanna ran to the figure, and pulled off its mask to try to see what matter of person could pull off such a terrifying feat. It was Jovie. Little, innocent Jovie White standing there with hatred in her tear stained eyes. But it shouldn’t be her, because she died what was now three nights ago.

Jovie’s diagnosis with autism was the reason for why Ali, Susanna, and Prospero fought and advocated so hard for a cure, for it shattered their world. And the exact day they found the cure, Ali called them, and rushed Prospero and Susanna to her house for a chance to cure her daughter. The good news was there was no more autism after it was administered. The bad news was that there was no more Jovie. 4 minutes later, her window was found open and her broken body lay 4 stories below. Even though she was primed to hate herself for her disorder, Jovie felt she lost what made her her when the syringe went into her skull like a lobotomy pick.

The Whites covered the death up of course. If they let the public know that the first plague afflicted child died because of the cure they would sell to the masses, no doctor would approve it. They had a quiet funeral for and sent out the party invites and spoke about the lavish festivities to come on social media to distract the people and truth seeking journalists from the suspicious delay in cure distribution. But now was acknowledged the truth of the matter, and the phantasm Jovie had risen again as, shot a dirty look at Susanna and the revelers, and as quickly as she arrived, the company suddenly became aware of an unnatural heightening of their senses. Some began to find that all of a sudden, their clothes felt oddly uncomfortable when they didn’t feel that way before, and it wasn’t just their shirt, or their dress, or even their masks. Certain fabrics and jewlery pieces gave them such maddening discomfort that people began to desperately tear off their clothing and accessories in hopes of alleviation. Their ears became oddly sensitive to the point that the tearing clothes, anguished cries, and even the sound of jewlery falling on the floor were too much, and their eyes became aware of how bright the lights in the building were, and they covered their eyes and ears and tried to leave the building, but Jovie had welded them shut.

The revelers had become filled with desperation and agony, and some even were filled with remorse, for these were not normal symptoms. These were the symptoms of the Blue Death. Jovie had been sharing her mind and her suffering with everyone there.

Overwhelmed by the suffering Jovie now shared with them, those who weren’t already killed by the ghost because of a personal vendetta began to take themselves out. Bodies joined the fallen Prospero on the streets of Baltimore and rained down on cars and near horrified pedestrians, and some stabbed themselves to death in fear that the spirit gave them the Blue Death. Ali and her husband were the only ones left standing when everyone else had died, but the alterations to her brain still remained, and she was filled with a late blooming remorse; She and her family believed that they were right to do what they did, but the only fruits that their works bore were that of suffering and pain, and even though they tried to ignore the fact that REAL plague was spread by them, even though it didn’t affect them then, it did now. Ali and her beau ran back to the red room and tried to call 911 to get help, only to find Jovie waiting.

They knew the only thing they could do now is to face their doom with the only dignity they had left

3:00 AM. April 4 2010. Easter Sunday

The cops searched high and low for any clue regarding who or what may have caused the massacre of the Jovie Foundation headquarters, and while they did take note of the brutal nature of the deaths, there was no evidence of any drug usage or foul play, and they went along with eyewitness accounts and confirmed the incident as a mass suicide and possible hysteria.

The closest things they could find to clues of the supernatural intervention was a line of exploded trucks leading to a ruined laboratory which held the cure, and an unsettling mask at the site of the incident.

And so the true Blue Death that had unfairly scapegoated autism was gone at last, and the people who suffered at the hands of the Jovie Foundation had one less problem.

@peachyfuck18

[headphones-ct-09978]

Siren

Here is an original story I wrote for class. My first ever original work!

Tags: @lifeofroos @marisolinspades @tigerkay93

I always felt drawn to the ocean. 

Perhaps it was because I was raised near the shore and used to spend my childhood days playing on the sand.

Every morning I would wake to the cries of seagulls, and every evening I would be lulled by the rolling waves. 

My mother would say that I was baptized by sea water and blessed by Poseidon himself, given how much I loved the sea so much.

I remember playing in the crystal clear waters, feeding the multitudes of colorful fish that swam among the vibrant coral. 

I never went too far or swam too deep, however. My mother, the protective woman that she was, would see the potential danger and sense my curiosity, and she’d snatch me up in her arms and carry me back to shore. She told me never to leave the shallows for dangers lurked beyond the familiar waters.

I had always assumed that she was talking about the usual dangers like riptides or strong currents, dangerous fish and what not.

But it never occurred to me that she was protecting me from something else.

The ocean always reminded me of her, even before her passing. Every time I looked out my window while drinking my morning tea, I remembered her. If I stared long enough at the beach, I could almost see her, standing there by the water, dressed in her favorite peach hued sundress, her long black hair blowing in the sea breeze. 

If I looked hard enough, I could picture her smile as she stood there, admiring what she loved so much.

There’s no doubt that my love for the sea came from my mother. She taught me everything I knew and made me appreciate what dwelled below the waves. 

I missed my mother, and not many daughters can say that, truthfully. 

Even after three years had passed, the house just didn’t feel the same. It felt cold, empty, devoid of life. 

In an attempt to bring back some semblance of the past, I spent most of the money left to me on aquariums. Every penny went into the finest equipment and supplies I could find. 

No corner of the home was spared.

(Except for the bathroom. Just didn’t feel right to keep lil lives in there.)

I spent my days working, studying, and caring for my new little “family”. 

Fish always made my mother smile, so having them around made me feel extra close to her.

However, nothing really came close to what I felt while walking along the sand, especially under the light of the moon.

The tranquility of it, of the sea at night, it gave my heart peace.

But that peace was short lived. 

That night, that one night, changed everything.

“Keys? Check. Phone? Check. Wallet? Secured. Sanity? Debatable.” 

It was nine at night and the sun had set a while ago, giving way to a beautiful full moon, the silvery moonbeams streamed in from the open windows behind my fish tanks in the livingroom.

Once I was satisfied that I had everything I needed, I snatched my water bottle from the table that held my keys. But in my haste, I knocked over a ceramic mermaid figurine. It fell to the floor with a *THUD* and a *DINK* as the fragile fins broke off.

“Shit.” I hissed in frustration. With an agitated sigh, I put my water bottle back down, crouched to the floor and picked up the broken mermaid. “Dang it,” I grumbled as I held the finless statue and stood back up.

With no small amount of disappointment, I gave the figurine a once over. 

The figurine had been a “sorry-for-your-loss” type gift from a friend of the family. For a six and a half inch tall statue, the details etched and painted on her were immaculate. She had sculpted long, flowing raven hair. The black ,graceful, locks gave her appearance a certain fluid grace, as if she was below the waves. 

Her posture suggested that she was mid swim, which, being a mermaid, isn’t all that surprising. Added to the hair, and to her seashell bra and tail, were lil diamonds and pearls, giving her an added sparkle.

The figure’s eyes were a stunning sapphire and her pouty lips were a beautiful deep wine red. 

Personally, my favorite detail would have to have been her tail. It mimicked the tail of a betta fish, with it’s fanned out fins and bright colors. The paint used for the tail was a shimmering metallic navy blue paired with a bright fuschia near the tips of the fins.

The fins which were broken in my hands. 

“Dammit, I actually liked you.” I mumbled as the disappointment ebbed. I looked around, thinking of a possible place to store her until I had time to maybe fix her.

That’s when it came to me. Out of the many tanks in my home, one large tank rested on an old table which has drawers. Drawers deep and secure enough to hold a fragile figure.

I quickly headed over towards the living room where the tank was situated. 

In the dark, the bright blue lights of the tank lit up the living room quite well. The sound of the bubbling and water filters filled the area, making it feel very tranquil. 

Behind the tank I was headed towards was a large open window. Outside the window was beautiful scenery, the ocean just a few feet away. In the sky, a large rose-hued moon rested above the darkened waves, reflecting its light off the water’s surface. 

The stars above added to the elegance of the scene, twinkling without a care in the damn universe.

Before I spaced out, I blinked and turned my attention to the tank in front of me. 

Every tank was filled and decorated differently, according to the various ecosystems that belonged below the waves.

The specific tank I was standing in front of was, by far, my favorite of the lot. Of all the fish I had to choose from, I chose a classic little guy. The entire *harem was pricey, but worth every penny. 

The clownfish group was a bright addition to the collection I had accumulated and as I watched them swim about the brightly lit tank, my heart was filled with some small amount of joy.

After a few moments of observing my little pets, I opened one of the drawers, carefully put the statue inside, and closed it just as carefully.

I raised a finger and pointed to the nearest fish. At the sight of my finger, a handful of them swam over eagerly, possibly thinking they were going to get fed. 

I chuckled. “Okay you lot, I need you to guard that little statue with your lives. You got that?”

The little bright orange and white striped fish bobbed up and down happily, trying to get at my finger through the glass no doubt. But I took the gestures as acknowledgment to my instructions, in a joking mindset that is, and turned to leave. 

“I should’ve brought my other hoodie.” I said as I tugged my sweater tight around my form. It wasn’t inherently freezing, but the chill in the breeze was enough to make me shiver occasionally.

But after walking for a few more minutes, I soon grew more comfortable with the temperature. 

I took a deep breath, just basking in the glow of the moon and stars, feeling the rumble of the waves as they crashed against the shore.

I lost myself to my thoughts, dwelling on whatever crossed my mind. In sync with the rhythm of the waves, memories flooded my consciousness, filling my heart with a twinge of grief once again.

I soon found myself praying for something, anything, to distract myself from remembering.

As I walked in the sand, shoes in my hand, I put my face up to the wind, feeling it play with my hair and caress my face. When I felt the moment was right, I paused. I dropped my shoes in the sand and cast my eyes upon the heavens, taking in the sight of the glimmering stars above.

I can’t recall how much time passed as I stood there, but something settled over everything, casting the night in an eerie stillness. 

Everything seemed to hold its breath, falling silent. Even the waves seemed to hush themselves, leaving me in the eerie darkness.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that was clawing its way up my spine.

That’s when I heard it. 

It was faint at first, but the sharpness of the sound carried on the wind. I froze and swiveled my head back towards the ocean, facing the direction the noise had come from. My line of sight didn’t reach far into the shadows that rested over the waters, so I spotted no explanation for what I heard.

I waited there in the dark, straining my ears to hear the sound more clearly, but it faded after a few moments.

Thinking it was probably noise from the town pier three miles away, I shrugged it off and started making my way back to my house.

But I had only taken a few steps when I heard it again, this time louder and as clear as day. 

The voice, if it was even a voice, made my blood run cold and I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.

It was singing, for lack of a better way to describe it. Whatever it was had this high keening pitch to it, the vocals kept repeating the same whistling note. It sounded more animalistic than human, as if something was mimicking a human voice.

And the singing wasn’t singing, per se. It was…comparable to a hypnotic shrieking, high and piercing.

I fumbled for my phone and turned on the flashlight. I scanned the night blackened waters, slowly starting to freak out. 

“Hello?! Who’s out there?!” I called out, knowing full well there was no one, especially at this time of night.

Off to my left I heard a splash somewhere in the water. I swiveled around and in my terror, I realized that I was up to my thighs in the water. 

“What the-”

I couldn’t remember even getting in the water, let alone registering the coldness of my soaked pants. 

The singing became louder and I covered my ears as it got higher in pitch, dropping my phone in the sea, plunging myself back into the pitch blackness of the night. 

There was another splash, off to my right this time. And then, there in the shadows, alone with no help for miles, I felt something grab my ankle. 

With a shriek of my own, I kicked furiously until whatever had grabbed me let go, and I ran. 

I ran like I had never ran before, kicking up sand as I sprinted for my house, not wanting to stick around any longer.

The whole way, I kept hearing that voice. That shrill, eerie whistling vocal, following me from the water. 

I don’t remember the rest of the night. But I know it wasn’t the last time I would have an encounter with that creature. 

-End-

Sirens:

Since the beginnings of civilization, man kind has always told stories of an aquatic being called a Siren. 

For the Greeks, she first appeared as a half bird, half woman type creature. Her kind would sit upon rocky shores or outcroppings and lure in foolish sailors. The hero Odysseus ran into them on his long journey home, and knowing the danger they possessed, he gave his crew instructions that would later save their lives.

But in other civilizations, Sirens are another race of Merfolk, possessing the beauty and charms of a young woman and the tail of a fish. 

Sightings of her kind have been documented in various legends, often choosing different forms of allure. In some tellings, she uses treasure and promises of love to ensnare her prey, other times she uses magic. But in most popular and well known stories, she uses her voice. Her song lures sailors and any foolish mortal to their deaths, calling out to them from the depths of the ocean. 

As various as her techniques and forms are, one thing remains certain: She only sees humanity as prey.

[silverskye13]

A creeper discovers an ancient city, and the festering presence that resides there. This is a place of danger, a place of sorrow, a place of lingering dead

and a place that crawls.

[redsheeppublishing]

All submissions are encouraged to fit our current theme, which will be coming soon - however personal interpretation of our theme is also highly encouraged to curate variety of expression.

Submissions must include the name, title and whatever social media handles you wish for us to include as credit to you for your work.

Work that does not adhere to our general guidelines is still allowed to be submitted and non-adherence to guidelines does not mean it will be rejected. Our guidelines are there to give a general idea of what we are looking for, but exceptions can be made for certain mediums or works. Work may be rejected under any grounds by the editors but if your work does make the current monthly curation, we may reach out again to include it in future issues, so we would love to see anything you wish to submit!

Looking forward to seeing from you

[the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite]

Inktober Day 12: Spicy

When I saw this prompt I was like, oh it's me. I love nothing more than a good book and a pumpkin spice latte. But I do *hate* writing about myself in any capacity, so I'm so lucky that my best friend let me steal her laptop and work on her HTTYD fan-fic while she worked on this for me. The following is her words, very lightly edited by me.

//

You take a sip from your pumpkin spice latte and blush violently as the next series of words appear on the page. 

Your heart pounds. You think to yourself: Oh dear God, in public? But you knew this was coming. 

The Book is particularly mischievous when you’re around other people. The dialogue it creates becomes increasingly suggestive and sometimes explicitly spicy, much to your enjoyment and utter humiliation. It knows you somehow. It creates scenarios particularly tailored to your preferences and interests — sometimes things you didn’t even know you would be excited by until reading them on the page.

Sometimes the Book talks directly to you. Those passages are particularly odd. It often feels like receiving a love letter or particularly steamy text from a partner. But other times you can only wonder how on earth the Book is not only able to write spontaneously, but able to write about you so specifically. You’d spend hours typing passages from the book into search engines, only to come up with nothing but failed searches or distantly similar writing. At some point, you had to admit: the Book was writing to you — creating stories for your eyes alone. Part of you finds it terrifying…but the terror only lasts for so long, at least until your curiosity overpowers your fear, as it often does. Whatever unsettling feelings make you want to burn the book or throw it away or tear out its pages always abate, and it’s only a matter of time before you open the Book again, eager to see what it has in store for you this time. 

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by @violet-moongem and editing by the weird sister.

[poppletonink]

Review: The Black Cat

★★★★★ - 5 stars

"For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief."

One of Poe's most sinister, yet amazing gothic masterpieces: The Black Cat is an introspective and twisted tale of animal cruelty, murder, and domestic violence. It tells the story of a man who grows to resent his pet cat through bitter self-hatred and remorse from his alcohol addiction and soon turns to dark means to rectify the annoyance of the cat's presence. Through the first-person narrative of a man with an addiction to alcohol that is just as strong as his life-long obsession with animals, Poe discusses the grim darkness of humanity caused by our bad habits. He forewarns his readers against drinking alcohol and raises questions of where the line between sanity and insanity lies. Though not extremely graphic, this short piece will have you on edge, disgusted by what you are reading, and simultaneously unable to put it down for a single second. A psychologically uncomfortable and eerie creation, The Black Cat is a perfect short story to curl up with as we check off the days until Halloween.