Fortnightly Writing Competition (WINNER ANNOUNCED!) - HORROR - (2/3 - 16/3)

[Diath]

First I would like to thank the people that voted for my transatlantic story!!!

After just recently watching the movie Phantasm, I decided to pick this months writing theme as HORROR!

There are no format restrictions of any kind.  Steven King, H.P Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe come to mind. A campy horror story wouldn’t be bad either!

Anyways let the competition begin and have fun!

[Atelier]

Epic theme!

[kconan]

I was skimming the newspaper when she called.  The articles were mostly boring, though one was a semi-interesting piece on the strange disappearances happening around town at various convalescent homes and hospitals.  This is very weird for our quiet little town.  My little brother thinks aliens are involved.  He is five, what does he know?

Sunshine began with her usual, "Hey Mark, what's up?"  "Nothing much, just hanging out," I replied.
 
Sunshine playfully asks, "So…Can you come over and have supper with my family for a change?"  I responded with, "Sure, eight cool?"
 
"Yeah, see you then," she said.

As I drove to Sunshine's house, I mulled over how fast I’ve fallen for her and also ponder why my Grandmother, who is five years from reaching the century mark, contends that she is an evil gypsy.  It bothered me because Granny is known for being very wise, though I’m pretty sure this problem is related to Sunshine making disparaging remarks about Granny’s cooking - specifically her variation of lemongrass seasoning which she is famous for dousing on all of her dishes.  Sunshine jokes that its more like "demonass."

Sunshine moved here eight months ago from Slovakaromastonia, which she claims is a very small country in Eastern Europe.  Sunshine never tells me much about her past and I am not the nosy type; at least I don't think so...All I know is that she’s been sweet and amazing since we first started going out roughly three months ago.  I was literally swept off my feet the minute I first met her, as she had helped me up just after a neighborhood bully had tripped me while I was in the process of checking her out.

I parked my car next to the curb a few doors down from Sunshine's house, as her driveway is too small for my old gargantuan Cadillac.  While casually strolling up to the door and onto the front porch I overheard broken pieces of conversation from within the house.  "Cancer…dead soon anyway…hospital…flavorful seasonings and spices," the disembodied voices said.  I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but I figured that a little intel on the family of the apple of my eye wouldn't hurt.  Eagerly awaiting more snippets of conversation, I milled around the front door pretending to be interested in their tacky homemade bird feeder which was made to look like a cat’s mouth.  The voices abruptly stopped, and the door loudly creaked opened.  Sunshine let me in and I sat down on their big sofa in the living room.

I guessed that they must have been talking about the article in the newspaper.  I naively asked Sunshine, "Does someone in your family have cancer?”  Sunshine's parents exchanged odd glances as her Mom queried in a nervous tone tinged with her heavy accent, "No…Vhy vould yoo tink thaat?"  I quickly replied, "Just wondering, I heard a story about cancer on the news and it was on my mind," while sounding amazingly confident.

Dinner went just fine, until the funky-tasting pork started acting up in my stomach.  "I am going to the bathroom," I mouthed to Sunshine as her parents rattle on about the ongoing border war between Slavatakosova and Monoratvia.  Sunshine ordered, "Use the one upstairs, please!"  I headed towards the stairs and out of sight, and in a ninja-like motion I ducked off into the hall bathroom rather than the upstairs facilties as directed.

What was Sunshine's problem?  I was also curious as to why the downstairs bathroom is off limits.  With the bathroom door locked and secure, I checked the cabinet beneath the sink and was treated to a disturbing find.  It is definitely not common for families to have carving knives of all different varieties stashed in washroom cabinets.  They were well hidden behind boxes of cleaning supplies, but the big jagged-backed knife labeled “Ole’ Spine Splicer” was less than subtle.  There were also several other boxes containing personal effects and some small antiques.

I stealthily unlocked the bathroom door and made sure my little adventure went unnoticed.  While heading up the stairs to the bathroom everything started to sink in with a healthy dose of paranoia filling in the gaps.  The steak tasted funny because these people are cannibals that abduct and eat the terminally ill! I had often wondered about that large, padlocked freezer in the garage labeled with a smiley face sandwiched between two burger buns.  I silently debated the best possible way to make a polite, hasty exit without becoming a Markburger.

After using the upstairs facilities, I joined my charming hosts at the dinner table.  Awaiting my fate, I reluctantly broke the silence by declaring, "I have to be getting home, my…uhhh… grandmother is ill,” and nervously added, "Uhhh…umm…It's not serious."  Sunshine smiled sweetly and said, “It’s fine, we understand…finish your dolge pork and I’ll walk you out.”

The meal went down rough, but I was able to put on a good poker face.  As Sunshine walked me to the door, I think we could both tell that something was different between us.  Perhaps on my end it has something to do with her calling people "pork" and eating them.

Thinking that I was being watched from living room windows and/or nearby bushes, my senses continued to be on edge as I made my everything-is-ok-despite-my-dinner-with-cannibals stroll to the car.  Only after returning home did I feel a sense of relief, and later even moreso after furiously vomiting out both the "dolge pork" and possibly some of my guts.

I'm now sitting in front of my PC.  I just looked up the word “dolge” on Google Translate going from “Slovakaromastonia-ese to English”, and I’ve officially come to the conclusion that the Sun has set on my relationship with Sunshine.

[Oliwerko]

Sorry for the length, I got kind of carried away. Not sure if it qualifies as a horror proper, hope it does...

An ordinary morning

It was an ordinary morning. I opened my eyes and saw the bright light ray strips on the ceiling as they were penetrating the window blinds. I felt good. I stretched my body and pushed away the blanket.

It was a pleasant sunny morning. The wind was steadily blowing against the leaves of the plants on the window sill. I sipped a bit of water from a glass steadily sitting on the bed table by my right hand.

I switched on my cell phone to check for any messages or missed calls. I always switched my phone off when going to sleep. Usually nothing important happened during the night and I could call or text the people back in the morning anyway. There was no news.

I had a bit of a heated conversation with my girlfriend the day before, nothing serious though. Nevertheless, I didn’t know whether to be happy or worried about not receiving any message from her. She usually did write to me when the ‘heat’ was gone.

Anyway, as I said, it wasn’t anything serious. I bent myself over and put the phone back. I was sitting at the side of the bed and the only sound I could hear apart from the plant leaves fluttering in the wind was the sweep hand, gently ticking into the damp apartment air.

I yawned, rubbed my eyes and stood up. I had a lot to do, but I was determined not to give way to stressful thoughts, which were always only making things harder anyway. Breakfast was to come first, and only then would I think about what to do next.

I didn’t have to put on anything more than I was wearing, it was pleasantly warm and I did OK with my favorite checkered shorts and a white t-shirt. A sip of water wasn’t enough so I’ve gone to the kitchen, picked up a plum while passing the fridge, put a glass pitcher down from the shelf and began pouring water inside.

I was eating the plum until the pitcher was filled with water. I spit the stone into the trashcan under the counter and poured myself a glass of pure water. I drank it instantly and poured another one. I couldn’t get enough of the taste of pure, cold water running down my throat in a steady stream.

I put the empty glass down, went back to the bedroom and opened the window blinds. It was nice outside. I had a lot of work to do that day, but I kept making up reasons why I should go, if only for a while, out into the fresh air. Maybe a trip to the library will do?

I went back to the kitchen and was on my way to the bathroom to wash my face a little. On the way I hit the glass pitcher with my right elbow, because I left it too close to the counter edge. As I was walking pretty fast, I slipped a little, and after trying to save the pitcher while trying to remain standing, I ultimately lost my balance.

Unfortunately, the pitcher hit the tile floor sooner than I did, shattering into pieces. Shortly after, I found myself lying on the floor with my hands stretched forward, and with sharp, deep pain in my stomach. After a few seconds, I gathered enough courage to bend and kneel, and to look at my abdomen. I saw some blood-covered shards of glass on the floor, and of course my white shirt had a blood stain on it as well.

A little while later it stopped to hurt as bad so I stood up. I felt a bit weak so I helped myself by walking along the counter. I went to the bathroom to wash myself. Only when I stood in front of the mirror did I realize what damage had been done to my body by the glass.

I touched the wound and wheezed out hard. Blood spouted out of my stomach in little bursts and an unbelievably strong strike of pain ran through my whole torso. I didn’t feel anything even close to that before in my life. Spurts of blood were hitting the laver. My own blood! I never saw this amount of my own blood outside of my body.

I knew things went wrong and it was no minor cut. No further delays would be tolerated. I had to call myself an ambulance as fast as I could. I tried to turn around, but after another strike of sharp pain, reaching even halfway down my legs this time, I felt half-blinded, and my attempt failed. I collapsed and nearly hit the floor again. I was firmly grasping the bath edge. There was blood on my hands, and not only there â€" there was a lot of it everywhere around. I felt like a freshly opened can of tomatoes.

Breathing was getting harder with every minute. Every move made me feel the glass on the inside of my stomach. I wasn’t able to gather enough strength or balance to stand up. I slowly began to realize that I cut myself really, really bad.

I quickly dismissed my amateurish attempt to pull the glass out of the wound. More blood, more pain and more fear were the only result. I was split open, nothing more, nothing less.

I had no landline in the flat, so my only chance was to reach the cell phone by the bedside. Suddenly, a quick idea crossed my mind. I tried to cry for help. I found out that it’s not even feasible in my situation when the sound got doused in a grunt, and a squirt of warm blood was ejected from through my neck out of my mouth.

I felt sick and weak. The phone was my only chance, I knew it. So I gathered all the strength that was still left in me and tried to crawl towards the door. I moaned and grunted every other foot of distance, while blood was consuming the once-white t-shirt like a red dye.

A quick thought came to me when I reached the door frame, barely breathing, and barely conscious. What if I die here? What if I simply run out of juice? I tried not to think about it and focused on pushing myself forward.

Thoughts about my life were flooding my head. Thoughts about my work, my friends, my girlfriend. Damn! I can’t let it end like this. Oh, how pathetic, dying with a pitcher in my stomach.

I was thinking about how people around me would take my death. Would I be missed by my friends? Would I be irreplaceable for them, and would they mention me in years to come as “the one we greatly miss every other day”, or would they forget me as if nothing happened?

Does time overcome death?

Or is death permanent in the minds of all? I tried to imagine finding a friend bled to death, and to imagine what would I think, what my feelings would be. All I saw however, was blank. I couldn’t.

It’s something no one expects. And yet it’s so simple to end your life by a stupid accident.

I was already halfway through the kitchen when I stopped for a while to catch my breath. I bent over my side and looked back. The white tiling was covered in blood, spread over it by my clothes. My shorts were heavy, and almost black. I figure it wasn’t a very pleasant sight if someone found me like that.

I felt I was scraping the bottom of the barrel and the life that was still left in me was slowly flowing down on the floor. I couldn’t give up though. I pushed my legs against the base of the counter, heading towards the living room.

The bitter words me and my girlfriend were exchanging the evening before were flooding my mind. I couldn’t get them out. The less I perceived my surroundings the more I thought about her.

All the troubles I had to face in the few past days seemed incredibly trivial. What are a few words standing against lifetime? I repented the things I said to her many times since yesterday, but what about it if she doesn’t learn? What if I will be remembered as an asshole in her eyes, only because of a single, badly timed, heated conversation?

I was sick. I was lying on the boundary between the kitchen and the living room and didn’t feel most of the right side of my body. I rolled over and lay on my back. I tried to push my elbows against the floor, but collapsed again. I couldn’t get myself to move anymore.

I heard the shattered glass screeching as I was panting. I touched my stomach with my right hand. I never thought I would be faced with the same scene I saw that many times in the movies. I put the arm behind my head and rested it on the floor.

Will they miss me? Will the people I love miss my life in theirs? Am I a puzzle piece of their picture, or am I just a spectator?

My friends are great. Perhaps, there will be one fewer of them. No big deal. My girlfriend will burn my photos, maybe cry through a night or two, then find another man and tell him that once she had me, and although he feels sorry for me, he’s even better. And they will be happy. Everyone will be.

This thought felt like a nail into my head.

Everything seemed so trivial in this light. So vane. I was beginning to believe that I’m not going to reach the phone, let alone call myself an ambulance. Is this how it should all end?

I looked back, and tried to remember all the good things in my life. My great friends, who were always happy to give me a helping hand in need. My calm and steady everyday life, which made me enjoy that I’m alive. And my girlfriend, who was the one I did it all for. But everything was overcast by a shadow now.

I felt warm blood getting into my mouth and I tried something so distant from life â€" to stay alive. If only did we not argue the day before. The thought of not reconciling with her properly, and not leaving each other in love, was killing me more than the glass was.

I felt sorry that it has to end like this. Maybe…maybe it just had to be this way. Maybe I just have to go and let them all live their lives without me. My eyes filled with tears after this thought.

Everything was very faint and distant. I felt like falling asleep in a warm bath. It didn’t hurt. I just kept lying on my back, looking around my apartment.

The last thing I remember were a few subsequent beeps of my cell phone, announcing a received text message…

[Calin Leafshade]

My entry is as follows:

I woke up one day and got out of bed.

I walked over to the window and flung wide the shutters!

Out there, by the small patch of marigolds I planted last winter (which was terribly ill-advised from a botanical perspective) there was something horrible!

It was horrible!

I went back to bed.

The End.

[Atelier]

Being delusional is not fun. When I was little my parents used to feed me Calpol by the spoonful when I felt ill. Unfortunately they didn't realise it always made it worse, until I was too old for that stuff. I got some terrible hallucinations from it, which is absolutely terrifying for a child. Most of the time I didn't remember my hallucinations, as I was after all sleep-walking at the same time. But sometimes they were so real it drove me insane. I've tried to capture some of the hallucinations I had.



Marionette

It was an average Tuesday. I called in sick, quite truthfully this time, because I was feeling terrible. On the Sunday I started noticing a terrible headache, and uncontrollable spasms in my arms and legs. On the Monday it got worse. At lunchtime I went to the car park for a good smoke to clear my head. I took out a cigarette, but my right hand refused to light it. It lolled there motionless, like a puppet with its strings cut. I put it down to repetitive strain injury from using a bloody mouse all day.

I decided to take the quick route home (I purposefully take the long route so I can see the cute girl at the coffee stand). Half-way my vision blurred while I was driving. I felt so tired. So sleepy. I let my arms do the driving while I took a nap.

***

I woke up at 3am in my bed. I sat up, delirious for a moment; then it hit me like a train what had happened. I had actually driven myself home while I was sleeping. I had dressed myself, made dinner, watched TV, while all the while my conscious self was in a state of coma. At that moment I felt scared. Not at the oddness of it all, but at the blackness of my room. The darkness had invisible eyes, the walls had ears, watching me and listening to my rattling breaths. The blackness was chaotic, crushing, like I was at the bottom of the ocean where unseen malice lurks.

In an audible whimper of fear I jumped out of bed and ran towards the light switch. The light gave me no satisfaction - it made it worse. Suddenly, the hallucinations came like the twisted words of the Devil. I began to feel my skin bubbling; insects were hatching in my flesh, and the floor was lava before my eyes, tossing the chairs and desk around on its swells, and the walls were covered in buttons. Tiny, round red buttons. I broke to my knees and wept like a woman, physically tortured by their beady stares. My skull strained with blood and I felt every limb and orifice of my body cascade with hot sweat.

I ran. The door of the spare room opposite was open. I crashed through; anything to escape.

Candles in brackets on the wall cast a mockery of light. It wasn't warm, or homely, or romantic... but cold as a steel blade, and it pierced my eyes like poisonous fangs. In the gloom on the far side I saw five large sacks dangling from the ceiling, like gigantic bats.

But they were not bats. They were human corpses. Strung up on rusty chains with barbed hooks bursting through their ankles. Their heads were smashed like coconuts and out of the mess of hair and brains dripped blood, red-silver in the candlelight, and slowly it drip, dripped into metal buckets below. They were being bled like pigs in a slaughterhouse. And they were still alive. They flailed like maggots on a fisherman's hook, and grated their chains, a sound so terrible it bored into my skull. They didn't scream. They had no heads.

I stood there, watching the writhing corpses, the blood rippling like sweet wine in the buckets before my eyes, and there was no escape, no escape, no escaping what we had done...

[Diath]

Awesome we are starting to get quite a few entries in! I may post a story a bit later for fun.

[LRH]

Ooooh! I love writing horror.

I decided to write the story in a very different style than what I usually write with. Almost as if it's a guy in a bar telling a story to a friend. Hope you enjoy!

Here goes:




I'd been typing for hours. Just typing. Typing what? I'm not even really sure. It was accomplishing something though. I always like to get something done. No time wasted and all. Anyway-

I leaned back in the little wooden chair with the uncomfortable green cushion, its little front legs hanging in the air. (You're not supposed to lean back in a chair like that...but, ya know, screw it, right?) Out of nowhere, lightning struck and the lights flickered. The news station on the 13" TV up on my dresser suddenly cut to black and white static. It scared the crap out of me. I almost tipped all the way back in my chair but caught the desk before it fell over. It gave me that sort of weird feeling in my stomach.

Rain followed shortly. Fairly heavy rain. The lightning became more and more frantic. I should have known, but it happened too quickly. With one last *BOOM* the power cut out. I didn't save. God damn it.

So, no use crying over spilled milk or whatever. Damn it. I lifted myself up from my little chair slowly and stretched out a bit. My back cracked a few times. I thought I heard another crack after I was done, though. It was one of those things where you're all alone, and you hear a noise but have no choice but to blame it on something reasonable...because if you don't have an explanation, you might just go a little crazy. So I decided it must have been my back, even though I almost thought I heard it come from down the stairs.

There were still things to do. I didn't need my computer. It was dark without the lights, but not too dark. I could still see everything perfectly well. I went about picking up my room a bit. I threw some clothes into the hamper, dusted off the -- *CRACK*

Jesus Christ!!! What the hell *is* that?!

Of course, I didn't say that out loud. So I'm thinking at this point it may have been a lot of different things, and my mind is going crazy trying to pick the most reasonable one. The power transformers on the lines outside had been known to malfunction in these storms, and they always made some sort of horrible noise when they did. But...was it that noise? I couldn't remember. And this sounded like it was *in* the house, (oh God!) those noises were always clearly from outside. Was it the house settling? It wouldn't be that loud, I mean -- *CRACK*

AHHH!

I realized I hadn't moved at all since the first (or was it the second?) crack. So, okay, screw it, at this point, right? I can't go out in the storm and I need peace of mind. I grabbed an autographed baseball bat from my closet and slowly walked through the house. I went into the spare room and flung open the closet, ready to see God knows what. Nothing. *CRACK* My heart sunk. Was that the bathroom? I slowly crept into the bathroom to find I'd left the shower curtain closed. Damn. I cocked back the bat ready to strike and whipped the curtain aside. One of my shampoo bottles fell to the ground. I yelled out and swung at it. Good thing I missed hitting anything.

*CRACK*

I was really starting to panic. It must have been coming from down the stairs. Slowly I went down the stairs. I started to shout ridiculous things. "I have a bat!!!" I began to stomp down the stairs as if I was heavier than I am, maybe that makes me more threatening.

*CRACK*

It was really coming from the basement. The basement of all places. It's always pitch-black when there's no power. I grabbed the mini-flashlight from my keyring and took a deep breath. I opened the basement door and began to descend the steps. It was too silent. I got to the bottom and shined the flashlight in every corner of the room, looking behind every box and little trinket. Nothing at all. Hmph. I wondered what the hell all that noise was all about in that case. I turned about and tried to shine my flashlight back on the stairs so I could see my way back up.

Oddly enough I became sort of disoriented. I looked in every direction and yet I couldn't find the stairs. I began to look around the room a second tim- *CRACK ...CRACK CRACK* It was right behind me. I turned to find an awful blue corpse. Disfigured, mouth hanging open. It took a step toward me: *CRACK*

I ran as fast as I could away from it, but I tripped over some boxes. I shined the light frantically looking for the stairs but found nothing. I jumped up, but in my hurry, I dropped my light. I scrambled, screaming while each step it took toward me went *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK*

[Atelier]

Out there, by the small patch of marigolds I planted last winter (which was terribly ill-advised from a botanical perspective) there was something horrible!

It was horrible!

So was it like... a mint cornetto?

[Diath]

I decided I am going to link to the story I wrote rather then post it on here since its about nine to ten pages long. If you do manage to brave and read it all, enjoy

http://diathags.blogspot.com/       WARNING!! DOES HAVE STRONG LANGUAGE


(alsoI'm assuming I cant be voted on since I won last time,I'm doing this for the fun of horror!)

[Kelma]

Incubus


I held my sister’s hand tighter.  “I’m sorry, Casey,” I mumbled between torrents of silent sobs.  “It’s my fault.  I should’ve stayed awake, like you told me to…”
   Of course, she didn’t answer. 
   A plump policewoman shook her head empathetically and pried my hand from Casey’s cradling it in her own and leading me away.  I looked back over my shoulder, numb as the EMT draped a white sheet over my sister’s corpse.  I knew where I was being taken.  Back to the crime scene.  In just moments the dreaded words would form on the cop’s lips: Tell us how your sister died.
   Of course, my testimony was mere pomp and circumstance in the police’s eyes.  Casey’s body was on its way now to become a specimen for science, its wounds cataloged, blood tested, tender areas made public and scraped for alien DNA. 
   The cop looked at me suspiciously as I accidentally let loose a hysterical giggle.  What would they make of the incriminating DNA they found? I wondered.  It certainly wouldn’t match any sample in their database!  Then I sobered as the officer led me into Casey’s room, once familiar and now a battleground.  I obediently verified the key locations of the crime as the woman, whose badge labeled her Stacy Romano, requested.  This is the bedroom door that was locked before and during the act.  This is the window that must have been how the criminal entered, and how he left.  This is the bed where Casey died.  This is the corner where I crouched helpless and horrified as that bastard raped and suffocated my sister.
   Three other investigators in the room recorded my account without comment.  Officer Romano took both of my hands and hers and looked me directly in the eye.  “Now, honey, I know this is hard, but we need to know.  You saw the criminal.  Did you recognize him?”
   â€œYeah… Yeah… Heâ€"my sister’sâ€"boyfriend, I guess…  I don’t know his name…”
   It was close enough to the truth, I supposed.  Honesty was obsolete in this case.
   The woman nodded consolingly.  “That’s alright.  Tell us about their relationship.  How long were they dating?  Did you notice any warnings of abusive behavior?”
   I looked at my feet.  “Noâ€"I dunno… Thâ€"They started dating five days ago…”


That was true.  I could clearly visualize Casey bounding into the kitchen of the small apartment we shared on Tuesday morning, still dressed in her plaid pajama pants and NYU t-shirtâ€"though she had dropped out long agoâ€"chestnut hair mussed from sleep and a wistful look in her eyes.
   â€œIt finally happened, Em,” she sang, spinning around in her bare feet, clumsily hitting the counter causing my just poured glass of orange juice to splatter on the speckled linoleum.
   â€œWhat happened?” I asked, still groggy and half-asleep.  Her early joy irritated me.
   â€œI met the man of my dreams!”
   â€œWhen? Where?”
   â€œIn my dreams, of course.  No one like that actually exists.”  Though she was smiling, her eyes hid sadness now and I felt for her.  In reality she had always been drawn to jerks hidden behind beautiful faces and arrogant smiles, and though she knew this she had difficulty breaking the habit.  She was still recovering from her most recent heartbreak, induced by frat boy with three other simultaneous girlfriends.  But at least she even had the prospect of a relationship, I thought bitterly, compared to my inevitable lonely spinsterhood.
“He was gorgeous.” Casey continued. “A Taylor Lautner without the babyface.  Dark haired, dark eyed, and completely chiseled!”  She sighed in satisfaction.  “And of course, romantic, and gentle, and considerate…”
   â€œLet me guess,” I added, feigning interest while pouring a new glass of orange juice.  “In your dream, you were in some sort of distress, and he swooped in to save the dayâ€"shirtless of courseâ€"took you into his strong arms, and carried you away to make passionate love to you?”
   She blushed, her eyes downcast.  “It felt so real too.  It felt so good!”
   I had changed the subject after that and did not hear another word about this dream man, for which I was ecstatic.  But that night I was kept awake by Casey’s moans of pleasure resonating through the thin wall separating our room.  Annoyed, I buried my head in my pillows, hoping she enjoyed her fantasy man thoroughly before I killed her.
   Wednesday morning I waited irately to reprimand her for my lack of sleep, expecting her to walk out of her bedroom with dark circles under her eyes but a satisfied, guilty smile on her lips.  However she appeared with bright, alert eyes and rosy cheeks.  When I bitterly told her it sounded like she had a great time last night, she looked at me with genuine confusion claiming she had slept like a log after taking some Tylenol PM for soreness.
   The next night, the sounds reached my ears again.  Once the moans ceased, I waited in the silence for a moment and then knocked on her door, ready to reprimand.  When no one answered, I turned the knob slowly and peeked in.  Casey was sound asleep, though her breaths were haggard and she was shivering.  The window was partially open, letting in the frigid night air.  I closed it, and returned to my room without answers.
   Thursday morning showed Casey in a transformed state.  Though I had seen that she was sound asleep that night, her face was pale and blotchy and her green eyes dull.  She moved sluggishly, and complained of soreness throughout her body.
   â€œDidn’t you sleep well?” I asked.
   â€œEh.  I had some not so pleasant dreams,” she claimed.   
“Aw, what, no more hot guy fulfilling your every desire?”
Something dark flashed across Casey’s face.  “Not exactly, Iâ€"I’m probably coming down with something.”
   By evening she was shaken with a hoarse cough and her characteristically positive persona was overshadowed by sober silence.  I ran out to purchase some cough drops and then got ready for bed.  I had an early day tomorrow and I wanted to be sure to fall asleep before Casey could keep me awake with her noisy wet dreams.  But to my surprise, Casey caught my arm in a tight grip as I reached for my bedroom door.
   â€œSleep in my room, tonight, Em,” She pleaded.  Her head was slightly lowered in shame, bangs covering her eyes and casting a shadow across her face.  Her voice shook slightly, but was indisputably serious.  “Please.  I’m scared.”
   â€œDon’t be stupid, Casey,” I retorted without amusement.  “You’re a big girl.  There are no monsters in your closet, and you can handle bad dreams yourself.”
   The next morning, Casey did not come out of her room.  She huddled beneath her blankets, matted hair plastered to her face and neck with cold sweat.  When I called, she laboriously turned towards me and it was all I could do not to gasp in shock.  Her skin was thin and white and eyes sunken into shadows.  Though she had eaten generously not many hours ago, she appeared sickly thin and her sharp bones were so prominent I feared they might tear her skin. 
   â€œCasey what happened to you?” I whispered, reaching to close her bedroom window.
   â€œWhat do you mean?” She tried to smile, but it made her look ghoulish.  “I’m just exhausted.  I told you, bad dreams.  Can’t sleep.”
   â€œLet me go bring you some breakfast.  That’ll help,” I played the comforting nurse as I pulled her blankets to her chin.  “In the meantime you really need to try to get some rest.”
   â€œNo!”
   The zeal in her weak voice shook me.
   â€œI don’t want to sleep.  Please.”  Her eyes were wide and wet with fear.  “I don’t want to… He finds me when I’m asleep…”
   Maybe it was the genuine terror behind her words, or the illogical silliness of it all, but I did not press for further information.  I called into work and spent the day with Casey as she lay in bed growing mysteriously weaker but refusing to sleep.  Eventually she became feverish and I demanded she see a doctor, but she refused and pledged her full faith in multivitamin supplements, cold medicine, and energy drinks.
   By nightfall Casey convinced me to sleep with her.  I moved a futon onto the floor by the door and stationed myself there, promising Casey that if anyone “tried to get her” in her sleep they’d trip over me first and wake us up.  But this wasn’t enough for her, so in the end I falsely promised her I would stand an alert sentinel while she slept and regained some strength.  As soon as she crashed into unconsciousness from an all-nighter and caffeine surge, I let my own eyes droop to a close and slept away.  This was my mortal mistake.
   At 3:15 AM I woke up to muffled cries of pain.  I rubbed my eyes groggily and began, “Jeez Case, what are you, two?  It’s just a badâ€"”
   I was frozen to my spot.  Across from the open window, Casey lay on her bed, nightgown hiked up to her belly, face contorted, but eyes closed as if she were fighting off a nightmare.  But the dream was reality.  On top of her swayed a masculine figure, glowing in his nakedness, broad shoulders, muscular arms and chest, hair raven black.  As Casey whimpered in pain and ecstasy, the figure placed his hands on either side of her sleeping face and put his lips to hers hungrily, feeding on her fear, her pleasure, her pain, her lust.  Blood drooled out of Casey’s eyes and nose at the pressure of the suction and she became a shriveled and motionless grey husk.
His prey devoured, the man removed himself and turned towards me, shedding his glamour like a snake its wrinkled skin.  Two endless abysses of black gazed back at me and rows of sharp pointed teeth curved to a menacing smile.  Muscles pulsed under rotting flesh.  Fingers and toes sharpened to lethal talons and slimy wings speckled with ratty black feathers sprouted from its curving back. 
   I screamed in rage and terror, but a predator that has satisfied its hunger will not attack needlessly.  The creature flashed a grotesque smile and launched itself out the window.  I ran after it with teeth barred, but my adrenaline had arrived too late.  It had disappeared into the starless night, leaving two young women irreparably broken and empty.


“Don’t worry, dear,” Officer Romano crooned.  “We’ll find him.  The hospital is performing an autopsy and putting together the rape kit as we speak, and DNA does not lie.”
   I nodded, unable to explain, and stared at Casey’s empty bed, which was now tousled and bloody after tonight.  Officer Romano put a large hand on my shoulder and beckoned the others out of the room, giving me a moment to grieve before exiting after them.  I walked over to the now closed window and peeked out.  A coral halo lined the horizon to welcome the sun, and birds began to rouse from their nests.  The thought of anything with wings made me cringe and I looked at the floor in disgust of the morning’s happiness. 
        There at my feet lay a single black feather, laced with sticky crimson.

[Diath]

Alright its time to vote for your favorite horror story.  GO GO GO! I will probly end the voting phase sometime around to 20th. Trophies will be made once my art slave does his bidding 

[kconan]

Kelma

[LRH]

No lie when I say it was a tough choice, but I pick Kelma's too.

[Oliwerko]

I think I pick Kelma too, although all of the entries were totally great! Good work boys! 

[Dualnames]

I pick Calin's. Simply fantastic!! 

Nah, I know it was written for sarcastic purposes, but it made me laugh really.

[Atelier]

Atelier

No lie when I say it was a tough choice, but I pick Atelier's too.

I think I pick Atelier too, although all of the entries were totally great! Good work boys! 

I pick Atelier's. Simply fantastic!! 

True, it was a very tough choice, but I vote Atelier too.

[LRH]

Atelier

No lie when I say it was a tough choice, but I pick Atelier's too.

I think I pick Atelier too, although all of the entries were totally great! Good work boys! 

I pick Atelier's. Simply fantastic!! 

True, it was a very tough choice, but I vote Atelier too.

:O?!

That's crazy...I don't remember saying that! But I guess the quotes never lie

[Diath]

Well the votes are in and overwhelmingly the winner is KELMA with her incubus story!

As for the trophy:





Yes, this may have been influenced by Calins story and mint cornettos

[Atelier]

*wonders whether Kelma will ever come back*

That reminds me, Questionable never came back either