Original Horror

This competition is for the user/users that can produce the best original horror piece (either poem or short story) that does not include the generic story pivots (Zombies, guts, vampires). Get writing

If you want any further information, don't be afraid to message or comment here!

Me,Myself And a Couple of eyeballs



Twinkle Twinkle little eyeballs in a jar    
I admire my next victim from afar    
blue eyes that sparkle like the sea    
blue eyes that don't even see me    
 
I will follow him wherever he goes tonight    
I have some medicine, he wont put up a fight    
I will stab him in the neck with the syringe    
that's when the real fun begins    
 
I'll take him back to the garage    
I'll be nice and give him a heart massage    
with my bare hands I will feel it beat    
he is already dead meat    
 
before he passes away    
we are going to play    
organs that are still alive feel out of this world    
I will be the first to admit I am the psycho neighbor girl    
 
he slowly dies on the floor    
I sit on top of him like a whore    
I ready my four inch blade    
I whisper in his ear "don't be afraid"    
 
I trace the eyes with the tip of my knife    
Its Exhilarating taking ones life    
I want the eyes    
before he dies    
 
I collect the last thing they ever see    
in most cases its my knife or me    
his breathing slows down    
that makes me frown    
 
I make my first incision    
I cut each eyelid with precision    
I have one of his baby blues in my hand    
So excited I can barely stand    
 
I have a special jar for the blues    
holding it as it starts to ooze    
I wipe my hands on my pants    
he shares a jar with my aunt    
 
I straddle him, he still breaths    
I let out a sigh of relief    
I take the second eye slowly enjoying the moment    
this must be his day of atonement    
 
it pops out with that same awesome sound    
his lifeless body lays on the ground    
now I have four blue eyes in one jar    
I drag his dead body to my car    
 
I take him to the lake and watch him sink    
while he goes under I sit back and think    
there is still a color I need for my collection    
I have to get ready for my next selection    
 
I put the jar with four blue eyes next to my bed    
I cant get his image out of my head    
blue eyes that sparkle like the sea    
blue eyes the only thing they see is me

The story itself, told me about a young sadistic killer, possibly a girl, who would stop at nothing to feel the absolute thrill and border-orgasmic feel of murder. I can see she also has a thing for eyes, which I am assuming, is based on the terror, pain engorged and petrified look that her victims eyes give. The entire poem felt like a spook fest and reading it make me feel uneasy. I can honestly say I love it :D

:)Awesome!!! Thank you

The Uninvited Guest


The mind had a party.
Alone. Spoke in soft tones.
The low drone of a fly
buzzing idly to itself.

Sprawled on a clawfoot settee
the ghost in the shell stared
into a mirror.
Unlinked from reality and
disturbing the unlinkable.

The mind had a party.
Alone. I am irked, it thought.
Odd are the irksome. A migrating bird
swinging from the chandelier
caught mind’s eye like a tyrannical comma.

Mind spat a puree of words.
That idiot parrot squawks too much.
Shreds of speech exploded and
bird was transformed into a sky.

The ambulance moment passed.
Door and windows closed.
The uninvited guest
tried to make itself happy
at another’s expense.

The mind continued the party.
Alone. Smiling.


© Carlene Grimshaw 2013
February 24, 2013

I love the way the entire poem is set out and the way its read to the user. My only concern is that, is it yours? I am unable to access your profile and would feel really silly if that copyright is to yours. Unfortunately if it isn't your's I would be unable to accept it into the competition.

The Walking Dead

From East of the sun
And North of the Moon
Beneath the pale starlit night
They come again
To seek the boon
That once they were pledged
By gods of old
When crossed spires were unknown

The pledge for them
to walk the earth
Just one more time
To breathe the cool sweet air
To see their beloved
All warm and snug
Before their homey hearth
All comfort just remembered

Thus they walked with staggering steps
With limbs so long unused
Dragging their rotting rotted husk
They stumbled to their doors
And lo they saw the sorrow
Of widows and widowers
They did exist no more
Cosy in others arms they rested

The motley horde they did despair
For they had long been forgotten
Curse they did for cursed they were
For pledging their souls to ancient beings
To whom promises were un-sacred
For what they had was what they kept
No discount and no refund
The souls they kept for wicked deeds

The walking dead were dead indeed
In both their mortal coil and spirit
They wandered disconsolate
To wile the night away
Until dawn breaks when they would leave
For the portal of Gehenna
Never more to come again
To regain memories that had grown faint.

   
***Some blood and gore, but this is my idea of horror. My previous relationship actually inspired this. I'm gonna enter it just in case people like it!***



-The Organ Grinder-



He let her bleed
With each drop that exited her body
He fantasized about his future deeds
Dirty deeds they were
He is the Organ Grinder
 
Her body lay devoid of fluid
The fire behind her eyes used to burn bright
With each slice, that fire died
He plucked out her eyes
Leaving gaping holes where they once used to reside
 
He took her smile
Carefully carved at the lip line
Dropped it into a jar full of formaldehyde
With a splash, her smile was captured
Her lips forever fixed, a picture frame of horror
 
With a saw, her head came off
Rolling off the table finding a temporary home on the floor
Ironically, her head halted to a stop in perfect view
Empty holes watched him work
His eyes vibrant, his skin coated in gore.
 
 
His cuts became primal
Attacking each limb
He deftly removed them, his face painted with a crooked smile
 
Separating her skin from the flesh
Cutting precisely
He made sure to take the largest sections
Soon her skin was hanging high
Spaced apart wide, letting it dry
His mind ran wild, he gazed at what was now his prized hide
 
His work was almost done
He lurked over the skinned and limb free segment that was left
He stopped, savoring the moment
His true passion was abreast
He made no attempt to depress his excitement
 
A perfectly straight line created his entrance
This cut was now his door
With his bare hands he delved inside
He was no stranger, he knew his way around
Navigating through the entrails
He methodically removed each piece
 
He organized each organ in a neat line
He would start with the heart
It was his favorite to grind
Sweat gathered on his brow
One by one, slowly going down the row
 
Each piece that once gave her life
Would pass through the device
Becoming processed
He had taken everything from her
Even the soul she once possessed
It now lay in a chunky pile
 
As he cleaned up his mess, he reminisced
He collected the jar, his reminder
Her lips rested at the bottom, still an outline
His title now fulfilled
 
The Organ Grinder
 
 
©2013 Miss Morbid

TheGreatGrayWolf said:I love the way the entire poem is set out and the way its read to the user. My only concern is that, is it yours? I am unable to access your profile and would feel really silly if that copyright is to yours. Unfortunately if it isn't your's I would be unable to accept it into the competition.

It is her's, she is Carlene.

My dear, sweet, sweet child
Let me be the fear that settles
In your mind; like a leaf,
Falling off a tree in Autumn.
That one leaf that always
Turns brown and crumbley
Before all the others.

My leaf of fear will settle
And it will branch out into
Your small, foolish mind,
Touching all those empty nooks
And cobwebbed crannies
You tend to neglect.

Those roots of fear will drink
From the essence of your soul
Learn what scares you the most.

Maybe the cherry nosed clown
With a red painted on smile
Though sometimes also a frown

Maybe the crawling spider
With it's daunting eyes
And carnivorous habits.

But in the end you'll only really fear me,
For I am those darkest dreams
Those faces screaming, pale and bloody,
For you fear loosing yourself to madness,
Yet you've met me now, and I've settled
That one early fallen leaf,
Into your mind.

For I, I am insanity.

And you will never be able to be free of me.

Because I'm one dead leaf
You can't just crush.


(Ta da. This is my horror xD)

Hi Thomas - I just now saw your message. Yes, the copyright notice is on my poem. It is my original work. Thank you for your positive comments. This comp. is a great idea!

Carlene

TheGreatGrayWolf said:I love the way the entire poem is set out and the way its read to the user. My only concern is that, is it yours? I am unable to access your profile and would feel really silly if that copyright is to yours. Unfortunately if it isn't your's I would be unable to accept it into the competition.

Hi Thomas - I just now saw your message. Yes, the copyright notice is on my poem. It is my original work. Thank you for your positive comments. This comp. is a great idea!

Carlene

Lost_Angel said:[quote-179977-TheGreatGrayWolf]I love the way the entire poem is set out and the way its read to the user. My only concern is that, is it yours? I am unable to access your profile and would feel really silly if that copyright is to yours. Unfortunately if it isn't your's I would be unable to accept it into the competition.

It is her's, she is Carlene.[/quote]

Thank you, my friend. Much appreciated, Lost Angel..!
Carlene

TERROR
------

Along a broken limestone path
her fingernails have traced
a staggered line of blood and spit;
the tree bark now displaced.

A faltered step, a stammered gasp,
disturbs the sleeping birds
that jump away from soaking nests
at sounds of stifled words.

Her shaking body, peppered now
with shards and splints and stones,
decorates the darkened path
while trees begin to groan.

Upon the broken limestone path
where fingernails had traced
a drying pool of hair and grit;
her stillness now disgraced.

A POPULAR LITTLE BOY
--------------------

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.