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| What is your favorite thing about halloween |
| Candy! |
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4% |
[ 1 ] |
| Costumes! |
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18% |
[ 4 ] |
| Trick-or-Treating! |
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0% |
[ 0 ] |
| Staying up all night! |
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0% |
[ 0 ] |
| Parties! |
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4% |
[ 1 ] |
| Scary stories! |
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4% |
[ 1 ] |
| Decorating/Decorations! |
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4% |
[ 1 ] |
| Atmosphere! |
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4% |
[ 1 ] |
| Getting the s#$%^ scared outta ya! |
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0% |
[ 0 ] |
| All the above! |
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59% |
[ 13 ] |
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| Total Votes : 22 |
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 Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2012 10:19 am
Halloween is quickly approaching!!
So, to celebrate we will have a month long contest!
Contest is:
Everyone loves getting the socks scared off their feet, even if its a secret. Your test, is to write a scary short story. The story must be 100% fictitious. Use real stories and movies as inspiration. It can take place anywhere, anytime, any location. Spain, mid 1900, in a warehouse. Or Japan, 3098, old school. Use your imagination and go wild.
Contest will officially begin October 1st and will end midnight October 31st. Any entries after midnight October 31st will be disqualified.
Prizes will be handed out no later than November 20. Unless Gaia decides to prolong the reveal of the October Chance Item.
To increase the prize amounts, please donate to The Writer Hermes.
First Prize: 200k + October Chance Item + Two October Monthly Collectibles
Second Prize: 125k + Two Monthly Collectibles
Third Prize: 75k + One Monthly Collectible
Extra Prizes: For those who do not win First, Second, or Third.
Best Story to incorporate Humor: 50k
Best Romatic Sence: 30k
Scariest Scene: 30k
Funniest Scene: 30k
Most Creative Twist (do not use "Then __ woke up.") 50k
Best Dialogue Flow: 20k
Best Descriptive Scene: 50k
Best Description of a Character: 30k
More may be added shortly.
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Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2012 12:45 pm
Length requirements? ^o.o And for the record: I refuse to admit your claim, that I enjoy getting scared outta my wits! I won't say it!
(No really. I won't.)
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Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2012 1:11 pm
B C Yanto Length requirements? ^o.o And for the record: I refuse to admit your claim, that I enjoy getting scared outta my wits! I won't say it! (No really. I won't.) Nope, just keep in mind, the longer it is the scary you can make it! lol i HATE being scared, but i LOVE the adrenaline rush it gives me
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Posted: Tue Sep 25, 2012 7:23 pm
Does the story have to be about Halloween, or just about something scary?
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Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2012 1:49 pm
AJKline Does the story have to be about Halloween, or just about something scary? Just scary
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Posted: Mon Oct 01, 2012 8:05 am
Ahhh...I haven't been this motivated in a long while... rofl rofl 4laugh
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Posted: Mon Oct 01, 2012 1:13 pm
I'm not sure whether I should give it a try or not.
I AM motivated to write right now.
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Posted: Tue Oct 02, 2012 6:27 pm
I'll try, but I've never written horror before! *Time to resort to watching/reading Stephen King.*
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the little madeleine girl
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Posted: Thu Oct 04, 2012 6:35 am
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Posted: Thu Oct 04, 2012 1:21 pm
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Posted: Fri Oct 05, 2012 7:26 pm
How violent can these be? Is there limit to it? Not that I think mine will be overly violent but I would like to know what is a possibility and such.
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Posted: Mon Oct 08, 2012 8:50 pm
Trigger warnings: body horror.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honor and a privilege to present to you my entry...
The Nightmare Maze
~~~
You find yourself in a room. You are lying down, watching sunlight creep onto the ceiling. Another night without nightmares? Or a nightmare just about to begin?
You push yourself up and notice a small creature in the corner. It is a worm, the size of a small child, Curious, you tap it on the shoulder. It turns around, looking straight through you with bloodshot eyes, the pupils the exact color of a dying ember. They are the only source of color or light in the room, illuminating your greying skin. "Be back by sundown," it tells you. You kiss it on the cheek, and tell it, "I'll come back with the shells."
"If you love me, you won't look at me," it says. The worm ushers you out the door with a skinless tail, and you squeeze your eyes shut as it slams the door behind you. Instead of the harsh sound of wood against wood, you hear the sound of cannonfire, and open your eyes again.
You find yourself at war. The enemy, a flock of black-winged birds letting out voluminous soprano shrieks, is charging right at you. All around you, people are shouting, running every which way, but none are running away. You pick up a gun that a fallen soldier has dropped at your feet. Kicking the poor soldier onto his side, you kneel and take aim at a random bird, and fire.
A colony of fleas pours from the muzzle of your rifle, each tiny bug shedding a shotgun shell as it multiplies into innumerable black dots, spackling the battlefield with carapaces that crunch unpleasantly beneath your naked feet. The parasites do nothing to scare off the advancing birds, instead crawling their way across the army of men. You can feel them skittering up your bare ankles, biting and tearing into the flesh of your arms and legs. You panic and drop the gun, running away from the war. "COWARD!" come the cries. "BACKSTABBER! RUN TO YOUR LAKE!" You trip and fall to your knees, shotgun shells and fleas stabbing and biting at your legs. You shove a handful of shells into your pocket and flee.
You backpedal hopelessly into a city, swatting away fleas and trying to stem the pain from the thousands of pinprick bites they left you with. Your blood runs black, staining your uniform from beneath the colorless fabric. Passersby stop and stare, shouting at your retreating back. Before you have a chance to turn around, you plummet off the edge of the sidewalk and find yourself in a dry lake.
You swim through the dust, gazing around. One side of the lake is coated in flames, the other in disorganized blobs of water. The shells float out of your pocket, flattening into discs. The shiny, newly minted sand dollars begin to fall towards the bottom of the lake. You scramble quickly to catch a few and stuff them back in your pocket. Watching the rest of the sand dollars fade into the distance, you swim towards the bonfire, blazing in front of your eyes. As you make your way there, a pair of blackbirds descend upon your shoulders. "What do you want?" they ask you. "What can we give you to turn around?" You whisper your reply; they deem it unsatisfactory. The fire goes out as the birds begin to beat their wings around your head. Their feathers are coarse bristles against your face, scrubbing away your skin until you are left with nothing but bones.
The birds beat and peck at you, taking away the carrion of your flesh and leaving you a disassembled pile of bones, floating in the lake of dust. One of the birds has taken away your eyes, snapping them away from your skull with a sickening crack. You watch your bones sink to the bottom of the dust bowl, trying desperately to close your eyes. The bird swallows them.
You wake with a start to find yourself in a room. You are lying down, a harsh bright light assaulting your eyes. You try to raise your arms, legs, anything, to check if your eyes have returned to their normal place, if your body has congealed back together, but find you cannot. Are you less your muscles now?
A gentleman comes in with shiny, empty eyes, carrying a hollow knife. You realize you are weighed down, and cannot escape. The man takes your blood with his knife, conversing in a tongue you cannot understand. More like him enter the room, poking and prodding mercilessly at you. More hollow knives take more blood, a few replace your blood with something new. You struggle for a while, listening to the shells jingling in your pocket and watching the room swim before you, before the medicine kicks in.
"Nightmare disorder," one of them says to his companions, the room coming into focus. The doctor's goggles reflect the syringe he has just injected you with. "Post-traumatic from the war, too. Poor thing, looks terrified. Got the x-rays back?"
Your bones clatter together and shine under the fluorescent lights, your skin stripped from the image. "Not often we get patients who cause so much damage in their sleep." You look down. You are being held together by a collection of tight-fitting casts. Even without your bones, it seems they can corral you this way.
"You'll be all right," one of the doctors assures you. "Just don't fall asleep." She stabs you with another needle.
You recoil in pain, scrunching your eyes shut as the world goes quiet. You wake to find yourself in a room, a skinless mass of blood and muscle. You will your body to somehow come together without its bones, the better for maneuvering a dark place. It is deathly chill, despite the sunlight streaming in like melted butter from a window above the railing. You push yourself off a pile of hay, which begins to move. You realize that you have been lying atop a pile of worms, their eyes little fireflies in the darkness. Digging into your pocket, you produce the handful of sand dollars, and deliver them to the worms. Wordless, you continue watching as they writhe their way out of the cracks in the brick. You are consumed with the all-important mission to reclaim your bones, to reclaim yourself, and strain to climb to the window at the top of the room as the floor falls out beneath you. The bottom of the room is cinched together as if with a drawstring, elongating and narrowing until you can barely move.
The sunlight melts upon your skin as you try to hoist yourself higher and higher. The light bends around your body, examining you from every inch. "Coward," says the wind as it drives the sunlight away. The room becomes uncomfortably hot as it vanishes. You lose your grip on the brick wall, and start to fly, carried by the heat and the wind to the tiny window. Once the hot air escapes from the confines of the blackbird's stomach, it continues to rise. You, however, start to fall.
The pain of hitting the ground jars you awake. You find yourself lying in a room, sunlight flooding the room. Sunlight is flooding the room. Beside you lies someone familiar, someone special. Seeing another peaceful figure, sleeping beneath the sheets gives you peace. The sweat soaking through your pillow gives you cause for alarm. You reach out to greet your companion with a gentle touch of the shoulder. The skin that greets you back is cold. The body falls onto its back, and you see a massive cavity where the chest should be. You look down. You are holding a knife, your nightshirt covered in red stains. You taste something metallic and organic leaking from between your lips. There is something soft in your mouth; it feels like skin or a muscle.
Another night without nightmares? Or a nightmare just about to begin?
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Posted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 8:43 am
Night Kunoichi How violent can these be? Is there limit to it? Not that I think mine will be overly violent but I would like to know what is a possibility and such. As long as it does not violate the Gaia TOS and Rules, make it however you want.
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Posted: Thu Oct 18, 2012 12:34 am
before you start reading, I would like to introduce you to my main character. He is a young man named Charlie whom you will soon get to know more of.
.......................................................................................................................
Somewhere Street
Reality is stranger than fiction.
I found that hard to believe at first, for I am a big fan of books, the type who’d spend hours going through a maze of bookshelves in libraries, the kind who’d rummage through old, worn-out books with pleasure. In short, I’m a bookworm. I’ve read countless world-famous fictions, but I’ve never seen flying brooms or vampires in my whole life so that saying was ludicrous to me, that was, until four days ago.
You see, I’ve recently gotten myself a job in a well-known newspaper publishing firm. I was one of those anticipated freshly-graduated, new writers, or ‘young blood’ as they call it, and I delivered well enough to their expectations. I did my job enthusiastically, often researching thoroughly and working up to the early hours of the morning. I didn’t mind the truck loads of work. In fact, I love my job. It was my dream to become a writer for years and now I was living THE dream. And more than that, I was being paid to live the dream. Who could complain? When I first got published, I sat on my seat in the office, a copy of the Daily Tribune in hand, and I thought, “I’m officially a writer”. And it felt surreal. It felt like heaven. Little did I know that that dream of mine would soon lead me into a nightmare.
The day it happened, it was like any usual day with work. You wake up, get dressed, probably eat breakfast, and then head out to the office. That’s what I did. As the day progressed, I finished writing or looking into this and that. So I tackled my next project: a report on the legendary glass-making family, the Segusos, who lately resurfaced with new designs and it carried me away like a boat off to the ocean. Time flew with me and when I finally called it quits, I was all alone in the office. It was almost three in the morning. I grabbed my coat, bag, and umbrella and went out into the chill, night air of October. Of course, by then, people had gone to bed, but not all, I found out. The office wasn’t so far from my apartment so I decided to walk there. Out in my city, crime rates were low so there weren’t any robbers or murderers to be scared of. The lights of a 24-hour 7 Eleven illuminated my path when, suddenly, I saw her, a girl of fourteen, maybe sixteen years. She was standing on the edge of a small, narrow side street. If I hadn’t turned my head, I would never have seen her – she was that well concealed by the shadows.
She didn’t have any coat on. I thought it was weird. Who’d go out without a coat on these cold days? She had her back to me so I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was sobbing from her shaking shoulders. Her hands were covering her face. My news writer instincts came out. Sensing the opportunity, I approached her all the while aware she could just be one of those drunks. My footsteps tapped on the pavement. She must’ve sensed it because she began to move away and deeper into the narrow street. Now, it wasn’t because I was nosy or something, but I hadn’t had enough time to think and before I knew it, I was running after her.
It surprised me how fast a girl could move. She seemed to gliding. When I reached the end of the street, I had already lost of sight of her. I also had no idea where I was. I looked around. The area I stumbled upon had all shops closed. Not a soul in sight, either. It was like a ghost town, really, and you’d know what I mean later on. Only the streetlights accompanied me. By that time, I’d given up on the girl and just concentrated on getting home. I was alone, lost, and tired. I took a turn here, took a turn there, but I returned to where I was before. It puzzled me how that could’ve happened.
Tap. Tap. Tap. I heard slow footsteps. I turned around. Tap. Tap. Tap. It continued. Out of the shadows and into the light of a streetlamp, a foot clothed in a red sandal appeared. Then, a leg, until there was a final tap and it formed into the girl I saw earlier. “Might as well ask her for directions” I thought. Then it struck me: She was missing a face. I couldn’t believe it. I even doubted myself, my own eyesight so I blinked and looked again, but she was still there, still faceless. There was no mouth, no nose. No eyebrow, no lips. No eyes, but a sunken appearance instead where her eyes should have been. There was only skin, as if her whole face was swallowed by skin. Even until now it still disturbs me how that eye-less face stared blankly down at me. I didn’t know what to do. Questions were plaguing my mind. What is she? Should I scream? Should I run? Would she come after me if I did that? Could she harm me? When I couldn’t answer these questions, I began to reject them.
It took me a lot of courage to pretend I hadn’t seen anything, but I turned and walked to the opposite direction, praying she wouldn’t follow me. No matter how hard I tried though, I could not stop shaking neither could I stop the hair on the back of my neck stand. I wanted to make a break into a run, but I couldn’t. Who knows how that girl -- or thing will react if I run? So, I crossed that option out and began telling myself lies, lies of having seen nothing, while I didn’t dare look over my shoulder because then I’d know I’d lied to myself. “Charlie, you saw nothing” or “Charlie, you’ve read way too many horror novels”, I’d tell myself, but not even lies could’ve prepared me for my next encounter.
I’d just reached the river when I finally began to calm down. For years, I’d come by the river whenever I had a lot in my mind and I’d just lie down on the descending slope of grass and let my thoughts drift away with the clouds. I stopped to look over my shoulder. No one there. Good. No words can express how relieved I was that she didn’t follow me.
The cool breeze tempted me to lie down on the grass by the river, its waters blackened by the darkness of the night, but I continued on my way. I was tired and weary. My heart has yet to return to its normal pace. I took out my watch hand. 5:03 Am. My lone footsteps sounded against the concrete pavement when – bump. I kicked something. I glanced down. Oh, God. It was just terrible.
I looked away immediately, but it was too late. The image had already crept down into my mind, where I could not take it out anymore. A corpse was laying there, a very, very disarrayed one. I don’t know how, but he was just everywhere. His arm was thrown there; his leg was here – a complete mess. Parts of him were opened up. Some of his skin flapped loose like fabric with some flesh from his face, back, and leg. I could see his eyeballs, his spine, and his veins that once carried life within him. His meat and bones that once kept him together were now sticking out everywhere, the ones on his elbows, knees, and his chest. Some huge chucks of flesh were ripped totally apart from him, like a lion had bit it away viciously. Blood was furiously flowing out of his – everywhere.
It flowed endlessly like a river and it soon covered the floor around him. Then it reached my shoe, painting it in dark red. I ran to the river hand on my mouth and crouched down. I was trembling. The calm dark waters flashed my face to me and a bruised and sliced up one like the corpse’s immediately took its place in my mind. I quickly gazed elsewhere than the water to erase that horrid picture of me. “I can’t take it anymore”, I said surrendering. Then I began running. I didn’t know what was happening anymore. I didn’t even know whether everything was real or just a really bad dream. In my haste, I left my bag by the river, but who cares? What good will it do me now, anyway? Sweat was trickling down my forehead.
What else will I next see? I closed my eyes, but I only saw the faceless girl and the corpse in my mind whenever I did. Then, I felt it— a sudden, sharp pain on my thigh. I didn’t know what hit me nor did I want to find out, but the continuously increasing pain forced me to. I once again glanced down and gave out a loud scream filled with pain and agony. To my horror, a knife was stabbing me right through my thigh. Blood was dripping. I dropped to the ground clutching my leg. My face kissed the pavement. Tears were sprinkling down. I was a mess. The ripping of my flesh, muscles, and veins to give way to its sharp edges was so much to bear. I cried and screamed for help, but no one came to save me.
Blood was rushing out fast and I began to panic. I was steadily losing my consciousness. Everything went swirling. I could feel the blood seeping away from my head and the sudden coldness of my now white lips. Then a small laughter of a girl erupted. It woke me back into reality.
Frantic, I turned my head to see where it came from, but I couldn’t see anyone. The laughter grew louder. I knew I had to get out of there or it wouldn’t only be my leg that was stabbed. Slowly, I began to crawl, a streak of blood behind me. My chest began to tighten and I gasped for air as I tried to escape someone or something I was uncertain of. My arms became weaker with every pull.
I hadn’t gone very far when the night sky began to transform into the dawn. Dark purple and light blue covered the sky beautifully like a painting. Unfortunately, fear, panic, and anxiety had greeted my day. The laughter was continuous and it shifted between a young child’s to a grown man’s; from a young boy to an adult woman’s. It pushed me to still move forward, now limping as I walked as fast as I could – which wasn't fast at all.
Above me, the sky turned from purple to orange with the sun now showing its face. The laughter became softer. The pain lessening, I began to walk faster. When the sun was fully up and showered blinding light, it was then that I noticed the voices and the knife were gone.
But the fear I had experienced still clung to me. The feeling of having the possibility of losing your life lingered within me. As if a wild beast might pounce on me and sink its teeth into my arm at any second. It left me restless and sleepless ever since. I couldn't go to work anymore let alone leave the house. I couldn't say anything to anyone; no one would've believed me. Whenever I closed my eyes, I would be back there, screaming in agony. Even when I had my them open, I would see things and be frightened at the slightest things. It’s like the nightmare never ended. I can still remember it too vividly -- the cold yet sorrow-filled gaze of the faceless girl; the sliced and opened human corpse; the butt of the knife sticking out of my thigh; the cruel voices that chuckled to my pain. That’s why I’ve come here, to a hypnotherapist, to get help.
She wore a black lace veil that draped down her face, reminding me of the typical fortune teller that held glass balls. We sat facing each other in the dimly candle lit room. She gulped down a glass of water before our session began. It started with her asking personal questions and I answered. “Charlie Bowen”; “24 years old”; “Yes”; “Just started working at a newspaper firm”. Then she asked me what I want evicted out of my memory, to tell exactly what happened. And that feeling quickly entered me once again. My heart was pounding. I looked straight into the eyes that were buried underneath the veil. Her ash gray eyes staring back waiting for me to give a very detailed recount. I took a deep breath, “Reality is stranger than fiction...”.
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Thank you for reading my entry! Anyways, Happy Halloween everyone!!! c:
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the little madeleine girl
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