Content Warning : Do you want to continue?
This forum post contains content which some readers may find disturbing.
It is unsuitable for children or anyone who is easily offended.
This forum post contains content which some readers may find disturbing.
It is unsuitable for children or anyone who is easily offended.
YES
I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this forum post.
I am over 18 years old, I have been warned and I still want to read this forum post.
NO
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.
I don't want to read this type of content, take me back to the previous page.
Poetry competition CLOSED 3rd October 2017 8:24am
WINNER
Phoenix_Risen
Phoenix_Risen
RUNNERS-UP:
OxyMoronicMe
and MisanthropicShynes
Page:
The Haunted
Poetry Contest Description
Horror story fit for King
Lets pretend that this is a competition to get published in Stephen King's next compilation of horror/mystery book.
1. Prose
2. less then 1500 words
3. no collaboration
4. title your story
1. Prose
2. less then 1500 words
3. no collaboration
4. title your story
The Little Green House
There was a house in my village, set at the side of a hillock. It was very pretty but small, painted in various hues of green. There was a big tree growing besides it, its branches drooping as if to protect the house.
The owner never stayed in it and it had been rented out very often, but the tenants never stayed more than three months. One even left all his furniture there and never returned.
We as children heard that it was haunted but we never believed such nonsense. It was just a little house solitary against a slopey hill with an orchard behind it and the big tree as company.
One day during a festival when the adults were at the village community hall for the celebrations, a group of us, five in all, decided to see whether there was really a ghost in that house.
So giggling and whispering, we walked into the house, pushing each other as we went. We were holding our flashlights like it was Darth Vader's Sword. We pushed the door, and to our delight found it was not locked. We were pushing each other in and then we all stood still gaping at what we saw before us.
It was the most beautiful living room we have ever seen in our life. There were rugs on the floor, a coffee table with flowers, the pictures on the wall were all Chinese...with dragons and deities. There were beautiful huge fan like bamboo plants on one corner and on a side table were food...bread and cakes, fruits and cute little finger food. Soft music Chinese in origin played. Through the window we saw beautiful mountains with the sun just setting. Boggled the mind though as we went there at night, must have been 10pm or so. We walked in slowly with amazement, all of us looking at the closed doors to other rooms, we presumed.
It was then that one of my friend, went to the side table and picked up a piece of bread and was about to put it into her mouth. I shouted at her to put it down as it was not meant for us, my voice broke the atmosphere. She was startled and dropped the bread. Another of my friend was startled too and stumbled over a beautifully carved stool. Suddenly everything went dark, and we screamed in unison. Pointing our flashlight everywhere, we found out that we were standing in an empty room that was strewn with leaves, the windows were broken and the wind was blowing in the debris. There were no furniture at all except for an old broken bench and a wooden side table. The walls were bare except for cobwebs. The worst was that a dead dog, rotting away was on the floor, sending forth an awful smell.
Needless to say we ran screaming into the night.
All five of us were not able to agree on anything we saw the scene for only a minute if not less. We all agreed however that we were in a furnished room in an evening.
Later we heard that the house's first tenant was a beautiful Chinese woman from the Mainland. It seemed she was raped and murdered by people unknown. She died in that house among her beautiful furniture, and was only found in her sad situation a few days later by some passers by who were curious about the smell coming from the house.
The house always seemed to smell, we were told, as something dead would always be there...if it was not a dog, it would be a cat or a rat. It was as if the woman's spirit still want to be found for the smell would make some people peep in. Surprisingly we did not smell anything foul when we first entered the house. Maybe as children, we were only shown the nice side of the story.
The house is no longer there, the land had been leveled and a housing developer had 'grown' townhouses there. But it is said that the terrace house where the little house used to be, sometimes grow very cold even during midday and soft old Chinese music could be heard during quiet nights.-ends
-Not an entry-
There was a house in my village, set at the side of a hillock. It was very pretty but small, painted in various hues of green. There was a big tree growing besides it, its branches drooping as if to protect the house.
The owner never stayed in it and it had been rented out very often, but the tenants never stayed more than three months. One even left all his furniture there and never returned.
We as children heard that it was haunted but we never believed such nonsense. It was just a little house solitary against a slopey hill with an orchard behind it and the big tree as company.
One day during a festival when the adults were at the village community hall for the celebrations, a group of us, five in all, decided to see whether there was really a ghost in that house.
So giggling and whispering, we walked into the house, pushing each other as we went. We were holding our flashlights like it was Darth Vader's Sword. We pushed the door, and to our delight found it was not locked. We were pushing each other in and then we all stood still gaping at what we saw before us.
It was the most beautiful living room we have ever seen in our life. There were rugs on the floor, a coffee table with flowers, the pictures on the wall were all Chinese...with dragons and deities. There were beautiful huge fan like bamboo plants on one corner and on a side table were food...bread and cakes, fruits and cute little finger food. Soft music Chinese in origin played. Through the window we saw beautiful mountains with the sun just setting. Boggled the mind though as we went there at night, must have been 10pm or so. We walked in slowly with amazement, all of us looking at the closed doors to other rooms, we presumed.
It was then that one of my friend, went to the side table and picked up a piece of bread and was about to put it into her mouth. I shouted at her to put it down as it was not meant for us, my voice broke the atmosphere. She was startled and dropped the bread. Another of my friend was startled too and stumbled over a beautifully carved stool. Suddenly everything went dark, and we screamed in unison. Pointing our flashlight everywhere, we found out that we were standing in an empty room that was strewn with leaves, the windows were broken and the wind was blowing in the debris. There were no furniture at all except for an old broken bench and a wooden side table. The walls were bare except for cobwebs. The worst was that a dead dog, rotting away was on the floor, sending forth an awful smell.
Needless to say we ran screaming into the night.
All five of us were not able to agree on anything we saw the scene for only a minute if not less. We all agreed however that we were in a furnished room in an evening.
Later we heard that the house's first tenant was a beautiful Chinese woman from the Mainland. It seemed she was raped and murdered by people unknown. She died in that house among her beautiful furniture, and was only found in her sad situation a few days later by some passers by who were curious about the smell coming from the house.
The house always seemed to smell, we were told, as something dead would always be there...if it was not a dog, it would be a cat or a rat. It was as if the woman's spirit still want to be found for the smell would make some people peep in. Surprisingly we did not smell anything foul when we first entered the house. Maybe as children, we were only shown the nice side of the story.
The house is no longer there, the land had been leveled and a housing developer had 'grown' townhouses there. But it is said that the terrace house where the little house used to be, sometimes grow very cold even during midday and soft old Chinese music could be heard during quiet nights.-ends
-Not an entry-
The Master
The stale scent of used clothes and of puffed cigars did nothing to deter the arousal of that man and woman; their sweating body glistening, their sigh of pleasure echoes and the silence of the eve gawks as it reached its crescent and rippling orgasm blinded both beyond the darkness of the moonless night.
Only the man was far from sated. Inexplicable hunger eats him from deep within and a familiar itch started rising from his gut, traveling its way to his two gloved hands. And with blank stares, in a trance, his grip tightened; watching life getting drained from his prey, lights dimming from the windows of the soul within.
“There, there, there!”
Resistance met his efforts and he found it comforting and exhilarating even - seeing her squirm, trying to free herself, scratching his arm, grasping for her dear life - breathtakingly beautiful!
“Let go... Let go... Let go.”
His caressing voice mimics that of a father convincing his daughter that a root canal is a necessary evil.
And when all is calm and serene, a smile of satisfaction adorns his face. Elation filled his hollow core. Thinking, at last he found his needle in the haystack.
"Good girl."
So good, he felt so good. For the first time, he feels complete. This is what he's been looking for all his life. The sexual gratification of inflicting terror and the power height from the fear in her eyes gives him a sensation that is beyond explaining.
His sole purpose of existence is all for these – receive gratification, cause pain, inflicting terror, relishing the pain as much as the sex.
As orange flecks paint the endless canvass above, the shovel digs a hole in the ground; hiding his trophy below the cold earth's embrace, planting daisies to adorn its resting place. Once done, he knew, he'll visit again to award her a playmate, soon.
Another day has broken and roosters are singing. With the monster within him lay asleep with the crickets, the man whistles a tune he loves but forgot that he does, until now.
Macabre visits his conscious thoughts and sings a chorus that only he could hear as loudly as a scream.
Hummming…
I like to torture and I do it quite well
kidnapped in my house
you'll think you're in hell
Your new home's a pit
in my basement floor
act up and I'll shock you
with an electrical chord
Morbid minister
he's quite sinister
in his pit you're restrained
all your life he will drain
While you're chained to my pit
you'll wish you were saved
but you can not escape me
you are my sex slave
Inside of a blender
is your gourmet meal
consisting of dog food
and women I killed.
An inspiration worth thinking.
Soon…
©Oxy2016DUP
Only the man was far from sated. Inexplicable hunger eats him from deep within and a familiar itch started rising from his gut, traveling its way to his two gloved hands. And with blank stares, in a trance, his grip tightened; watching life getting drained from his prey, lights dimming from the windows of the soul within.
“There, there, there!”
Resistance met his efforts and he found it comforting and exhilarating even - seeing her squirm, trying to free herself, scratching his arm, grasping for her dear life - breathtakingly beautiful!
“Let go... Let go... Let go.”
His caressing voice mimics that of a father convincing his daughter that a root canal is a necessary evil.
And when all is calm and serene, a smile of satisfaction adorns his face. Elation filled his hollow core. Thinking, at last he found his needle in the haystack.
"Good girl."
So good, he felt so good. For the first time, he feels complete. This is what he's been looking for all his life. The sexual gratification of inflicting terror and the power height from the fear in her eyes gives him a sensation that is beyond explaining.
His sole purpose of existence is all for these – receive gratification, cause pain, inflicting terror, relishing the pain as much as the sex.
As orange flecks paint the endless canvass above, the shovel digs a hole in the ground; hiding his trophy below the cold earth's embrace, planting daisies to adorn its resting place. Once done, he knew, he'll visit again to award her a playmate, soon.
Another day has broken and roosters are singing. With the monster within him lay asleep with the crickets, the man whistles a tune he loves but forgot that he does, until now.
Macabre visits his conscious thoughts and sings a chorus that only he could hear as loudly as a scream.
Hummming…
I like to torture and I do it quite well
kidnapped in my house
you'll think you're in hell
Your new home's a pit
in my basement floor
act up and I'll shock you
with an electrical chord
Morbid minister
he's quite sinister
in his pit you're restrained
all your life he will drain
While you're chained to my pit
you'll wish you were saved
but you can not escape me
you are my sex slave
Inside of a blender
is your gourmet meal
consisting of dog food
and women I killed.
An inspiration worth thinking.
Soon…
©Oxy2016DUP
Written by OxyMoronicMe
(G.L.)
Go To Page
"Betrayal"
I returned home in darkness, my long journey behind me.
Home at last cold and dusty from the road. I found my home
dark, void of the love I longed for.
A cold welcome upon my early arrival, yet a light burned
in my loves window.
Silently I ascended to the abode of my darling, reveling in our meeting,
our love soon to be enjoined.
In the dark passage before our door I could hear the sounds of passion.
A moaning that burned through me, darkness fell upon me in that moment.
Bursting through the door at last I saw him entangled in the throes of passion
my loves eyes filled with fire.
My heart fell into darkness in that moment, my hands took flight of their own accord.
Seeking to undo this madness before me I found the knife upon my dresser.
Lunging forward with no mind, only blind vengeance drove me on.
I struck with all my strength blinded by tears and rage.
Plunging the knife deep I struck blindly again and again, the screams did not
move me only lust for blood drove me on.
As the hearth fire burned so did my rage, my heart knew no mercy
my hand held no quarter, only a black tide rising within.
My loves tears flowed freely, as her cries filled the night I looked upon her with regret.
Her sorrow broke me, even through her sin I saw the truth in her, the everlasting love.
And so I showed her mercy.
I set the blade upon her breast and I cut slowly, lovingly. As I cut through I broke the ribs
revealing her sweet heart, still beating with love it was.
I cut it from her releasing her to God's mercy and I began to feast upon it.
May it fill me with her love! Let her life flow through me, burning through my sorrow, healing my pain.
After a time I relented, wet with the blood of my love, covered in the gore of her lover.
As the darkness took me at last I fell to my knees before the fire and I slept, a dreamless sleep as of the dead.
I awoke to the first light of dawn my body aching, my mind reeling. What had I done, was it a dream?
It was no dream, the scene was unbearable. The flies had already come the body of my love desecrated
I fell upon my face as my tears became a flood. The betrayal of my love cut into my depths.
As I wept I began to fear what had I done. What darkness had taken me? The blade still lay beside me.
This can never be known I must cover the sins of my love. She fell in weakness and so I released her from this life.
I am her salvation, I am the death angel, and so I have become the hand of God.
I took the bodies down the stairs, deep into my own cellar. With my sharpest knife I began to dismember them.
The body of my love I buried beneath the old stones in the house of my father and his father before him.
The remains of her lover I fed to the pigs and after they ate him I slaughtered and burned them.
May his soul rot in hell! May the soul of my love live forever in eternal light God forgive her.
And so now I dwell here alone, forever in this darkness. Let sorrow take me at last
as my love whispers eternally.
I returned home in darkness, my long journey behind me.
Home at last cold and dusty from the road. I found my home
dark, void of the love I longed for.
A cold welcome upon my early arrival, yet a light burned
in my loves window.
Silently I ascended to the abode of my darling, reveling in our meeting,
our love soon to be enjoined.
In the dark passage before our door I could hear the sounds of passion.
A moaning that burned through me, darkness fell upon me in that moment.
Bursting through the door at last I saw him entangled in the throes of passion
my loves eyes filled with fire.
My heart fell into darkness in that moment, my hands took flight of their own accord.
Seeking to undo this madness before me I found the knife upon my dresser.
Lunging forward with no mind, only blind vengeance drove me on.
I struck with all my strength blinded by tears and rage.
Plunging the knife deep I struck blindly again and again, the screams did not
move me only lust for blood drove me on.
As the hearth fire burned so did my rage, my heart knew no mercy
my hand held no quarter, only a black tide rising within.
My loves tears flowed freely, as her cries filled the night I looked upon her with regret.
Her sorrow broke me, even through her sin I saw the truth in her, the everlasting love.
And so I showed her mercy.
I set the blade upon her breast and I cut slowly, lovingly. As I cut through I broke the ribs
revealing her sweet heart, still beating with love it was.
I cut it from her releasing her to God's mercy and I began to feast upon it.
May it fill me with her love! Let her life flow through me, burning through my sorrow, healing my pain.
After a time I relented, wet with the blood of my love, covered in the gore of her lover.
As the darkness took me at last I fell to my knees before the fire and I slept, a dreamless sleep as of the dead.
I awoke to the first light of dawn my body aching, my mind reeling. What had I done, was it a dream?
It was no dream, the scene was unbearable. The flies had already come the body of my love desecrated
I fell upon my face as my tears became a flood. The betrayal of my love cut into my depths.
As I wept I began to fear what had I done. What darkness had taken me? The blade still lay beside me.
This can never be known I must cover the sins of my love. She fell in weakness and so I released her from this life.
I am her salvation, I am the death angel, and so I have become the hand of God.
I took the bodies down the stairs, deep into my own cellar. With my sharpest knife I began to dismember them.
The body of my love I buried beneath the old stones in the house of my father and his father before him.
The remains of her lover I fed to the pigs and after they ate him I slaughtered and burned them.
May his soul rot in hell! May the soul of my love live forever in eternal light God forgive her.
And so now I dwell here alone, forever in this darkness. Let sorrow take me at last
as my love whispers eternally.
Bring Me Home
The sun was about to set, its brilliant dying rays shone through the canopy of leaves above me. The trees around me started their restless rustlings. I wondered why it made that noise, especially when dusk approached. The constant noise sounded eerily like whisperings and sighing of entities unseen. The night descended and I was still on that beaten track walking home. Home was a couple of kilometres away from the bus stop where the big bellied bus spat me out.
I turned my thoughts away from nature’s norm and about my trip home. I have not been back for the last five years. I wondered how everything was. I had left in a huff those many years ago, due to some family quarrel that seemed so petty now. I recalled that it was about our father’s land where my sister and her husband wanted to sell and I wanted to keep. My mother was for my sister and that irked me as it seemed to slander our father’s memory.
We ended up in court and it was decided that we divided it instead. I still have the land, yet I never went to look at it. My sister sold her share and had since left to live in the city.
I was going home though, as my mother was gravely ill and her second husband had called me and told me that she wanted to see me. I felt guilty for not being there for her those many years, but then again her husband Michael loved her so much, and always took good care of her. They have been married for almost 20 years, five years after my father died. I was about ten at that time when Mother remarried, so Michael was more real to me than my own father, whom I mostly remembered through photographs.
My thoughts jolted back when I felt somebody walking behind me. I turned back to look and saw a young man, maybe in his late teens walking behind me.
He had this lovely smile and when I said Hi, he answered with a hi too, his eyes sparkling with inner joy. I asked him where he was going to and he said he was going to fetch his mother and bring her back to his home. I said hey, that’s a coincident I am going home to see my mother.
He said hey imagine that, and I nodded. He started talking about his mother and father, how they loved each other. He talked about how his father would kiss his mother’s hand and bring her wild flowers from the woods. How he would chance upon them kissing under the apple tree, or chasing each other around the pond, trying to push the other in.
I listened mostly, holding my jacket closer and hitching my heavy rucksack on my back. The night seemed to grow colder and I shivered a little.
On a crossroad, or actually a cross junction of the jungle path, the young man went to the left turning, waving. I called out, hey I don’t know your name…and he said ‘Steven…’ and I said I am Shirley and he answered ‘I know…’ I stood there puzzled for a while, and then I realised my rucksack had an identification tag with my name on it.
The nocturnal sounds of the woods receded as I walked into the space my parents called a farm. It was actually just a pretty little valley with their house on it, a barn on one end where no livestock lived, a field of corn and huge tracks of woods. It was accessible by transportation actually, just that I took the bus. I needed the walk.
Michael was at the veranda to greet me. He wrapped me in his huge arms and once again I remembered loving this man like a father when I was a child. His huge frame was a comfort. He whispered welcome home and ushered me into the house. I went right to their bedroom to look at my mother. What I saw killed me. She looked like a small child on the bed, her long glossy hair spread out; which showed that what little of it was brushed well.
Michael was weeping silently as I sobbed into my hands. How can I have left and never came back to see this woman who gave me life, I thought. I remembered how this petite woman loved us. I remembered her sorrow when she miscarried her baby with Michael after carrying it for three months. I remembered how Michael held her and loved her through her sorrow.
My mother stirred and Michael came and held her hands. Shirley is here, he said and Mom opened her eyes and looked at me. For a moment there she did not look sick, she had brilliant eyes that seemed to sparkle with inner joy. She smiled at me brilliantly, oh you are so beautiful, such a fine young woman, my baby, she said softly. She turned her eyes to Michael who was silently weeping, his face flooding. She said thank you for my life with you My darling. I will be alright, Steven is coming for me. Michael gasped out his sobs so hard that it sounded painful. My mother then looked away and her breath rattled in her throat. Steven…she breathed out and never breath in again.
I looked at Michael and he nodded, still crying.…gasped out Our unborn child, Steven…memorial stone under the Apple Tree.
Dumbfounded I looked towards the window, and for a brief moment I thought I saw silhouettes of two people walking away hand in hand. -
-not an entry-
The sun was about to set, its brilliant dying rays shone through the canopy of leaves above me. The trees around me started their restless rustlings. I wondered why it made that noise, especially when dusk approached. The constant noise sounded eerily like whisperings and sighing of entities unseen. The night descended and I was still on that beaten track walking home. Home was a couple of kilometres away from the bus stop where the big bellied bus spat me out.
I turned my thoughts away from nature’s norm and about my trip home. I have not been back for the last five years. I wondered how everything was. I had left in a huff those many years ago, due to some family quarrel that seemed so petty now. I recalled that it was about our father’s land where my sister and her husband wanted to sell and I wanted to keep. My mother was for my sister and that irked me as it seemed to slander our father’s memory.
We ended up in court and it was decided that we divided it instead. I still have the land, yet I never went to look at it. My sister sold her share and had since left to live in the city.
I was going home though, as my mother was gravely ill and her second husband had called me and told me that she wanted to see me. I felt guilty for not being there for her those many years, but then again her husband Michael loved her so much, and always took good care of her. They have been married for almost 20 years, five years after my father died. I was about ten at that time when Mother remarried, so Michael was more real to me than my own father, whom I mostly remembered through photographs.
My thoughts jolted back when I felt somebody walking behind me. I turned back to look and saw a young man, maybe in his late teens walking behind me.
He had this lovely smile and when I said Hi, he answered with a hi too, his eyes sparkling with inner joy. I asked him where he was going to and he said he was going to fetch his mother and bring her back to his home. I said hey, that’s a coincident I am going home to see my mother.
He said hey imagine that, and I nodded. He started talking about his mother and father, how they loved each other. He talked about how his father would kiss his mother’s hand and bring her wild flowers from the woods. How he would chance upon them kissing under the apple tree, or chasing each other around the pond, trying to push the other in.
I listened mostly, holding my jacket closer and hitching my heavy rucksack on my back. The night seemed to grow colder and I shivered a little.
On a crossroad, or actually a cross junction of the jungle path, the young man went to the left turning, waving. I called out, hey I don’t know your name…and he said ‘Steven…’ and I said I am Shirley and he answered ‘I know…’ I stood there puzzled for a while, and then I realised my rucksack had an identification tag with my name on it.
The nocturnal sounds of the woods receded as I walked into the space my parents called a farm. It was actually just a pretty little valley with their house on it, a barn on one end where no livestock lived, a field of corn and huge tracks of woods. It was accessible by transportation actually, just that I took the bus. I needed the walk.
Michael was at the veranda to greet me. He wrapped me in his huge arms and once again I remembered loving this man like a father when I was a child. His huge frame was a comfort. He whispered welcome home and ushered me into the house. I went right to their bedroom to look at my mother. What I saw killed me. She looked like a small child on the bed, her long glossy hair spread out; which showed that what little of it was brushed well.
Michael was weeping silently as I sobbed into my hands. How can I have left and never came back to see this woman who gave me life, I thought. I remembered how this petite woman loved us. I remembered her sorrow when she miscarried her baby with Michael after carrying it for three months. I remembered how Michael held her and loved her through her sorrow.
My mother stirred and Michael came and held her hands. Shirley is here, he said and Mom opened her eyes and looked at me. For a moment there she did not look sick, she had brilliant eyes that seemed to sparkle with inner joy. She smiled at me brilliantly, oh you are so beautiful, such a fine young woman, my baby, she said softly. She turned her eyes to Michael who was silently weeping, his face flooding. She said thank you for my life with you My darling. I will be alright, Steven is coming for me. Michael gasped out his sobs so hard that it sounded painful. My mother then looked away and her breath rattled in her throat. Steven…she breathed out and never breath in again.
I looked at Michael and he nodded, still crying.…gasped out Our unborn child, Steven…memorial stone under the Apple Tree.
Dumbfounded I looked towards the window, and for a brief moment I thought I saw silhouettes of two people walking away hand in hand. -
-not an entry-
Undead Friend
Molly was a quiet eleven year old girl living in a dismal council estate. She was being raised in a home with parents who lived on welfare. However her parents would frequently pretend to be successful business executives with plenty of wealth. Wearing cheap suits from charity shops they would frequently go round pretending to any wealthy people who were daft enough to listen to them. They would also force Molly to go round her school on her own boasting about having spoken to executives to other children. Being left alone with no friends, Molly would frequently end up in situations where other children would get jealous and beat her up in an attempt to get money out of her. When she didn't have anything, her parents were very pretentious after all, this was cause her to be bullied even more. Then when she couldn't bring home any wealthy children, of which there weren't any on the council estates anyway, her parents would beat her and thrash her badly. Molly would then sit in her room crying every night. However, one event changed all of this.
Molly's parents had began to tell their usual lies to a bearded old man in a suit with a walking stick. He seemed to believe them and offered to be their friend. He then invited Molly and her parents into his car to take them to an elegant banquet. This was an offer that her parents couldn't refuse. Molly, dressed in a cheap second hand dress that smelled of dust and old shoes, was taken with them. "My name is Beast" said the old gentleman. "Nice to meet you. I'll drive you all there." They were driven into a rural estate deep in the forest full of old places of worship. They were taken into a mansion with gothic looking windows and turrets. Beast seemed very unemotional and serious all the time. "Please wait here" he said, leading them into the main hall in his mansion. A butler will come to serve you. "Let's look around here" said Molly's dad. "See what we can steal."
Looking around the mansion they noticed it was full of cupboards. They tried the doors but they were all locked. The handles creaked loudly as they were turned. "These door are so old and rotton I bet we can prize them open with something" said Molly's dad. They began looking around the room. "Look!" said Molly's mum. "There's a samurai sword up there. We can use that. I bet he's stashed lots of treasure behind it." At that moment a butler came in and offered to lead them to a table. Molly's parents decided to wait for a better chance. They were lead to a banquet where they ate well. There were plenty of luxury meats with exotic sauces and dressings. In the meantime Molly's mum whispered to her to go prize open a cupboard with the samurai sword. She muttered and excuse and slid Molly away from the table where she was sent on her own to the hall. Molly went into the hall and, climbing up onto a chest of draws, took down the samurai sword. She then began to hack at the door handle with it and it broke off.
Inside the cupboard it was very dusty and dark. Molly then noticed a coffin inside it. Curiously she went and slid the lid off the coffin. Inside was a girl of about Molly's age wearing a slightly torn lacy dress and barefoot. She was seemingly asleep but suddenly she opened her eyes. "You brought me here from hell" she said. "My name is Xanthe. What's yours?" "Molly" said Molly. "I'm sorry to have woken you." "That's all right" said Xanthe. "I just haven't seen another human in over two hundred years. My soul lives with demons you see." "Can we be friends?" asked Molly. "Sure" said Xanthe. "You call me in your mind and I'll come to you." Molly was excited because she's never had a friend before, even if her friend was an undead girl who befriended demons. "Do you have any treasure?" Asked Molly, knowing her parents would beat her if she didn't find any. "No, sorry" said Xanthe, "but if you're ever in danger I can help you. You can call on me in your mind."
Molly went back to the meal as her parents were being offered a bed for the night. That night Molly began to have visions of Xanthe being subjected to painful procedures including having sharp metal objects stuck into her and being offered up to strange creatures. She began to wonder if Xanthe was spilling her sorrows out to her. The next day at school what happened had somehow got around and Molly was being subjected to numerous beatings pff bullies. After school a girl jumped on her and began scratching her and pulling her hair. "Xanthe, help!" thought Molly. At that moment Xanthe appeared and pulled the girl off her. Xanthe then tore into the bully's chest and ripped out her heart and ate it. The other bullies fled in terror. Molly was so thankful. No one had ever stood up for her before.
That night Molly began talking to Xanthe in her head. Xanthe would respond by giving her visions of her life in the eighteenth century. She mentioned how she was executed at age eleven for her parents' behavior, offering her to dark beasts and that Beast had bought her body and kept it. The next day word had got around school about Xanthe and children were ganging up on her heavily. Event he teachers ganged up on her as they knew that there was a death and they had Molly arrested. In the cell Molly realized there was only one thing to do and that was to call on Xanthe to take her away. "Very well" said Xanthe. "I can do that for you. You can come to my home in hell with me but you will never be able to return to this life." "That's fine" said Molly. "Take me with you. I have nothing to live for anyway." Xanthe agreed and at that moment Molly's body burst into flames. She was burned to death in seconds. When Molly's body was found in the cell there were just ashed left. But other people would never know that Molly had been freed from her misery to live with her new friend where she would have no more suffering.
Molly's parents had began to tell their usual lies to a bearded old man in a suit with a walking stick. He seemed to believe them and offered to be their friend. He then invited Molly and her parents into his car to take them to an elegant banquet. This was an offer that her parents couldn't refuse. Molly, dressed in a cheap second hand dress that smelled of dust and old shoes, was taken with them. "My name is Beast" said the old gentleman. "Nice to meet you. I'll drive you all there." They were driven into a rural estate deep in the forest full of old places of worship. They were taken into a mansion with gothic looking windows and turrets. Beast seemed very unemotional and serious all the time. "Please wait here" he said, leading them into the main hall in his mansion. A butler will come to serve you. "Let's look around here" said Molly's dad. "See what we can steal."
Looking around the mansion they noticed it was full of cupboards. They tried the doors but they were all locked. The handles creaked loudly as they were turned. "These door are so old and rotton I bet we can prize them open with something" said Molly's dad. They began looking around the room. "Look!" said Molly's mum. "There's a samurai sword up there. We can use that. I bet he's stashed lots of treasure behind it." At that moment a butler came in and offered to lead them to a table. Molly's parents decided to wait for a better chance. They were lead to a banquet where they ate well. There were plenty of luxury meats with exotic sauces and dressings. In the meantime Molly's mum whispered to her to go prize open a cupboard with the samurai sword. She muttered and excuse and slid Molly away from the table where she was sent on her own to the hall. Molly went into the hall and, climbing up onto a chest of draws, took down the samurai sword. She then began to hack at the door handle with it and it broke off.
Inside the cupboard it was very dusty and dark. Molly then noticed a coffin inside it. Curiously she went and slid the lid off the coffin. Inside was a girl of about Molly's age wearing a slightly torn lacy dress and barefoot. She was seemingly asleep but suddenly she opened her eyes. "You brought me here from hell" she said. "My name is Xanthe. What's yours?" "Molly" said Molly. "I'm sorry to have woken you." "That's all right" said Xanthe. "I just haven't seen another human in over two hundred years. My soul lives with demons you see." "Can we be friends?" asked Molly. "Sure" said Xanthe. "You call me in your mind and I'll come to you." Molly was excited because she's never had a friend before, even if her friend was an undead girl who befriended demons. "Do you have any treasure?" Asked Molly, knowing her parents would beat her if she didn't find any. "No, sorry" said Xanthe, "but if you're ever in danger I can help you. You can call on me in your mind."
Molly went back to the meal as her parents were being offered a bed for the night. That night Molly began to have visions of Xanthe being subjected to painful procedures including having sharp metal objects stuck into her and being offered up to strange creatures. She began to wonder if Xanthe was spilling her sorrows out to her. The next day at school what happened had somehow got around and Molly was being subjected to numerous beatings pff bullies. After school a girl jumped on her and began scratching her and pulling her hair. "Xanthe, help!" thought Molly. At that moment Xanthe appeared and pulled the girl off her. Xanthe then tore into the bully's chest and ripped out her heart and ate it. The other bullies fled in terror. Molly was so thankful. No one had ever stood up for her before.
That night Molly began talking to Xanthe in her head. Xanthe would respond by giving her visions of her life in the eighteenth century. She mentioned how she was executed at age eleven for her parents' behavior, offering her to dark beasts and that Beast had bought her body and kept it. The next day word had got around school about Xanthe and children were ganging up on her heavily. Event he teachers ganged up on her as they knew that there was a death and they had Molly arrested. In the cell Molly realized there was only one thing to do and that was to call on Xanthe to take her away. "Very well" said Xanthe. "I can do that for you. You can come to my home in hell with me but you will never be able to return to this life." "That's fine" said Molly. "Take me with you. I have nothing to live for anyway." Xanthe agreed and at that moment Molly's body burst into flames. She was burned to death in seconds. When Molly's body was found in the cell there were just ashed left. But other people would never know that Molly had been freed from her misery to live with her new friend where she would have no more suffering.
Written by MisanthropicShynes
(MisanthropicShyness)
Go To Page
The girl
Nobody knew who she was, but they would often see her walking pass their homes; which were lined up on the slope with Jacaranda trees growing in a row in front facing the road. The houses were quite aged but well maintained homes of the mid-higher income group. The residents kept mostly to themselves, but almost everyone had a small patio where a couple of chairs were placed and inhabited either by dogs, children or couples with drinks on their hands. Mostly.
Those lounging on the veranda would watch the girl pass by and wondered about her.
The girl was always dressed in bouffant knee length dress and knee length socks, and Mary Jane black shoes. Her dress would at times be checked gingham and at times of soft peach skin cloth. But always she would be in a pretty dress with neat spotless shoes and socks. She never looked around her, much less spoke to anybody. She just walked leisurely by. She would pass by everyday at the same time, at 5 o'clock in the evening.
One day, a new family moved into the neighbourhood, they had two children, the older child a boy of 10 and the younger child a girl aged eight.
The excitement of moving in and furnishing the house must have been the reason why the children did not see the girl during the first few days.
It was a week after that the children saw the girl passed by and tried calling out to her but she never turned around or acknowledged them.
Understandably, the two children were surprised and a little peeved that the girl who looked to be about ten did not even turn around.
The next day the children saw her again and this time they ran out of the gate to meet the girl. The siblings planted themselves in front of the girl, grinning.
"Hey...I am Mike...this is my sister Mila,' the boy said.
The girl stopped short and looked at them. They stared back curiously.
She seemed shocked and a little scared.
"You can see me?" she asked.
"Yes!" the siblings chorused merrily, thinking that it was a game, a bit silly, but a game nonetheless.
The girl stared at them with her violet eyes, which went well with her black hair and at that moment, her dress of blue with tiny white flowers.
She then proceeded to walk around the siblings and went on down the sidewalk. A gust of wind blew over the treetops, and Jacaranda flowers started to fall, lending an almost otherworldly look on the atmosphere. The siblings shivered as cold air washed over them briefly.
From that day onward no one ever saw the girl again. The siblings waited outside everyday for a week for the girl to pass by but she never appeared again.
They never knew who she was but it was believed that she was the ghost of a girl who died in a hit and run incident along that strip of road when the housing estate was first constructed. That was about 30 years before which could account for the way she dressed.
-not an entry-
Nobody knew who she was, but they would often see her walking pass their homes; which were lined up on the slope with Jacaranda trees growing in a row in front facing the road. The houses were quite aged but well maintained homes of the mid-higher income group. The residents kept mostly to themselves, but almost everyone had a small patio where a couple of chairs were placed and inhabited either by dogs, children or couples with drinks on their hands. Mostly.
Those lounging on the veranda would watch the girl pass by and wondered about her.
The girl was always dressed in bouffant knee length dress and knee length socks, and Mary Jane black shoes. Her dress would at times be checked gingham and at times of soft peach skin cloth. But always she would be in a pretty dress with neat spotless shoes and socks. She never looked around her, much less spoke to anybody. She just walked leisurely by. She would pass by everyday at the same time, at 5 o'clock in the evening.
One day, a new family moved into the neighbourhood, they had two children, the older child a boy of 10 and the younger child a girl aged eight.
The excitement of moving in and furnishing the house must have been the reason why the children did not see the girl during the first few days.
It was a week after that the children saw the girl passed by and tried calling out to her but she never turned around or acknowledged them.
Understandably, the two children were surprised and a little peeved that the girl who looked to be about ten did not even turn around.
The next day the children saw her again and this time they ran out of the gate to meet the girl. The siblings planted themselves in front of the girl, grinning.
"Hey...I am Mike...this is my sister Mila,' the boy said.
The girl stopped short and looked at them. They stared back curiously.
She seemed shocked and a little scared.
"You can see me?" she asked.
"Yes!" the siblings chorused merrily, thinking that it was a game, a bit silly, but a game nonetheless.
The girl stared at them with her violet eyes, which went well with her black hair and at that moment, her dress of blue with tiny white flowers.
She then proceeded to walk around the siblings and went on down the sidewalk. A gust of wind blew over the treetops, and Jacaranda flowers started to fall, lending an almost otherworldly look on the atmosphere. The siblings shivered as cold air washed over them briefly.
From that day onward no one ever saw the girl again. The siblings waited outside everyday for a week for the girl to pass by but she never appeared again.
They never knew who she was but it was believed that she was the ghost of a girl who died in a hit and run incident along that strip of road when the housing estate was first constructed. That was about 30 years before which could account for the way she dressed.
-not an entry-
I loved all three entries. I wished I give you all each a trophy. Anyway, with a little tweak and pull here and there, these three stories can be fleshed out into a novella at least, in my opinion.Congratulations, Phoenix, Oxy and MisanthropicShynes. Thank you so much for participating. Do join me again in my next competition.
