Poetry competition CLOSED 15th November 2012 10:55am
WINNER
MrAlptraum (Mr A)
MrAlptraum (Mr A)
RUNNER-UP:
NotTheProtagonist
Micro Horror Story
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
Write a very small piece of prose in the horror genre.
Write a horror story (prose, not poetry) using a maximum of 150 words. Try to make the story scary/creepy, rather than all-out gore or splatter fiction. Think speculative fiction (ghosts, spirits etc) or something to do with murder, madness, the uncanny etc.
Competition rules:
150 word limit.
Original work only.
No collaborations.
As many entries as you like.
Competition rules:
150 word limit.
Original work only.
No collaborations.
As many entries as you like.
Anonymous
.bump.
Anonymous
I'm thinking. I might have something for you, if I can pull it together 
Anonymous
"Unlocked Doors"
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m04e4eWtIa1qd4vugo1_500.jpg
I felt sure when I had left her that night, the door was locked behind me. It was a habit she had taught me. Still, she told me she didn’t mind being home alone. Obviously, she did not check. On the night she died, they had entered in through the front door. Strange, no footprints, no fingerprints, no video image was found at the crime scene. Whoever or whatever it was that came in had acted fast. The coroner said her heart was ripped out clean, she had collapsed instantly. The dark spot is still over there, next to the window. She had said they would come for her someday, that it would be practitioners of black magic, a secret wolf sect. Lying here alone, I get the creepiest feeling I’m not. I feel sure I locked the front door before I retired tonight. Is that creaking on the floorboards? Hey, whose there!!!
(150 Words)
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m04e4eWtIa1qd4vugo1_500.jpg
I felt sure when I had left her that night, the door was locked behind me. It was a habit she had taught me. Still, she told me she didn’t mind being home alone. Obviously, she did not check. On the night she died, they had entered in through the front door. Strange, no footprints, no fingerprints, no video image was found at the crime scene. Whoever or whatever it was that came in had acted fast. The coroner said her heart was ripped out clean, she had collapsed instantly. The dark spot is still over there, next to the window. She had said they would come for her someday, that it would be practitioners of black magic, a secret wolf sect. Lying here alone, I get the creepiest feeling I’m not. I feel sure I locked the front door before I retired tonight. Is that creaking on the floorboards? Hey, whose there!!!
(150 Words)
Sterno boils acorn soup,
it`s peculiar odor leads to the
day I first cooked for myself...
School sucked, but better than bein` home with Ted`s prick in my ass. To ma ... the abuse was as invisible as "love" she professed for me.
But yeah...It was last day in a traditional classroom.
I was maybe 12 - 13 .... age now meaningless to me.
The kids LOVED Snoofy....that rat-bastard
hamster, gentle to everyone...but me.
The fucking rodent bit me drawing blood.
I was obsessed with the paper cutter in Room 114.
It was a heavy-duty vestige from the 50`s....
it had a medieval aura to it.
THAT day.. when my anus was enflamed
from Ted`s rape, the kids gave me shit `bout the way I limped .
I changed..
I dragged sore butt to Snoofy`s cage. I grabbed that furry shit. He squealed like a bitch.
I made chafing way to the paper cutter...
"EVERYONE, look!!!!"
I raised rusty blade high, went down full-force
into Snoofy`s soft under-belly. The cut was pretty damn clean!!!
I threw Snoofy`s Head-half at Julie Rubinstein. It hit her slightly developed chest, smearing white blouse with critter fluids.
Ass-half was hurled at Mrs. Birster, and
that shitty ham-hole touched some of her inner mouth.
As losers were shrieking and puking, I grabbed back pack, smashed window with chopping device,
jumped through the jags and tore into the deep woods where
I, The Cutter, live to this day....
That evening, I found a crusty pan in the garbage dump
where souless wretches defile the forest.
Using stream water, I cooked Acorn Soup, gently pinching
Snoofy`s juices off the blade, added for flavor...
...alas, tonight, the hunger wont subside.
Acorn Soup alone wont sate bodies cry for protein.
Squirrels too fast but Ted`s fat ass might just hit the spot....
Anonymous
[font=Verdana]She saw him daily now, standing on their porch or somewhere in the garden, where he'd played by himself. He was serene, a pallid and empty reflection of life who showed no joy or pain. He spoke, but it was like a dictaphone in a knight's helmet. The face had no expression, but passionate words escaped from it. Sometimes they were just vulgar platitudes, said as he dawdled on long winter evenings. Back then she knew she was imagining him. He emerged from her rage at the unfairness of his death. 'Those fucking bitches', she'd thought three months ago, and then heard his voice repeating that thought aloud. She'd looked outside and there he stood. The daycare workers had never been punished for letting a child wander into an empty room and out an open window. She wanted to hear them scream the way she was sure he'd screamed.
Anonymous
One day left on this contest. Thanks to all for the entries so far, but unfortunately the competition rules stipulate that it must be prose. So far, Jack Heslop's entry is the only one that adheres to the instructions of the contest.
Any last minutes entries very welcome. Here's a piece I wrote before I started this competition:
----
Kevin was such a popular little boy that even despite the howling rain and wind on the day of his funeral, nearly everyone in the town showed up to pay their respects. Everyone's eyes were on the tiny wooden coffin.
The schoolteacher sobbed as she wondered how the tragedy would affect his siblings. The vicar prayed as he wondered how the tragedy would affect his parents. The butcher scowled as he wondered what exactly was in the coffin, when he knew Kevin's body was already sliced apart and for sale in his window.
Any last minutes entries very welcome. Here's a piece I wrote before I started this competition:
----
Kevin was such a popular little boy that even despite the howling rain and wind on the day of his funeral, nearly everyone in the town showed up to pay their respects. Everyone's eyes were on the tiny wooden coffin.
The schoolteacher sobbed as she wondered how the tragedy would affect his siblings. The vicar prayed as he wondered how the tragedy would affect his parents. The butcher scowled as he wondered what exactly was in the coffin, when he knew Kevin's body was already sliced apart and for sale in his window.
Anonymous
Entries after the closing date are still welcome here!
"The Pillagers"
They came at night in the coldest winter to memory, while I was sleeping. They slowly appeared from the wall, faces looming around my body, staring through grey, eyeless skin. Their flaccid fingers felt across the air above me and the terror squeezed every organ, releasing their contents onto the bed-sheets. They talked in noises: clicking and popping like some ancient African language. Then a scentless white smoke circled its way out the pores of my tautened skin to be absorbed by the faceless heads above me. As I sucked in a full lung of air I lost consciousness. Gutted the whole house the next day to find nothing. Since that night, I can't smile, or cry. I've become distant, stoic, almost as if I'm worlds away.
They came at night in the coldest winter to memory, while I was sleeping. They slowly appeared from the wall, faces looming around my body, staring through grey, eyeless skin. Their flaccid fingers felt across the air above me and the terror squeezed every organ, releasing their contents onto the bed-sheets. They talked in noises: clicking and popping like some ancient African language. Then a scentless white smoke circled its way out the pores of my tautened skin to be absorbed by the faceless heads above me. As I sucked in a full lung of air I lost consciousness. Gutted the whole house the next day to find nothing. Since that night, I can't smile, or cry. I've become distant, stoic, almost as if I'm worlds away.
Anonymous
[font=Verdana]The barn stood beside a vacant, sagging farmhouse. The nearest village was ten miles way, and Father Jessop knew this as the rope chafed his wrists. Deep down in his soul he'd never been a zealot; he knew there was a god somewhere, but one who stood outside human affairs. Mr. Jacobs, his white shirt damp with sweat, hastily drew a pentagram on the floor with chalk. Jessop wasn't sure how many girls the farmer had killed, but he guessed that Mary, his maid, was among them. She'd been a virgin like the others. Satan was here in this barn, invisibly watching Jacobs' progress. Jessop pictured the barn engulfed by flames, slowly sinking into hell like a body into quicksand, one hand stretched towards the moon. Jacobs suddenly leaned over him. "Want to ask forgiveness, Father?" he sneered. Jessop closed his eyes, reflected a moment, then spat in his face.
Minted air gushes from her kissable mouth as she uttered words. Flashed her fringy nails overdone with silver streaks on a rather strange maroonish enamour, as she took small sips of gleaming red wine on her luscious lips. Her overflown gown swept like a musical strip over red and white chequered mosaic in sinister whispers unheard to anyone..even to her. Crimson trails ...otherwise not obvious if for the whitish squares touching red tiles, now merged with titbit sheds of bloodied flesh...marked her way. Constant glance of a distant young man caught a delicate limp on her calculated catwalks, as something eclipsed her in increments of a burn from her thigh’s mashed up succulence, a fully clogged throat of lump-sum meaty hairballs piercing her tender swan neck inner with needled nail bits. As the clock struck twelve, she needs a voracious sleep, for in that she had long been eating....herself
Anonymous
“Powdered Faces”
http://www.alphaonline1.com/old_site/css_portfolio/ANTHRAX_files/anthrax.jpg
I always felt it was karma that paid people back. Whenever anything bad happened to somebody, it was the divine power wielding out testimonies. My superiors at worked fired me last week. They said my ideas were over the top for a government scientist. But, I hatched a plan to fix them. Just wait till they get their mail, postmarked, "No Return Address." I wish I could see their powdered faces. It will be payback for all the years of public ridicule. Whoops, the time has gotten away from me. I have a job interview in an hour. Christ, what’s this talcum on my face, stings a bit.
(108 Words)
http://www.alphaonline1.com/old_site/css_portfolio/ANTHRAX_files/anthrax.jpg
I always felt it was karma that paid people back. Whenever anything bad happened to somebody, it was the divine power wielding out testimonies. My superiors at worked fired me last week. They said my ideas were over the top for a government scientist. But, I hatched a plan to fix them. Just wait till they get their mail, postmarked, "No Return Address." I wish I could see their powdered faces. It will be payback for all the years of public ridicule. Whoops, the time has gotten away from me. I have a job interview in an hour. Christ, what’s this talcum on my face, stings a bit.
(108 Words)
