I adore the warm, comfortable glow of a burning fireplace. I’ve never overcooked anyone there.
Category: Writing
Two-Sentence Horror Story #28
I didn’t understand why my brother looked so frightened of me. I had only escaped from the asylum because I wanted to reconnect, to understand, to avail myself of the rock-solid frame of mind he had been graced with, and that I so desperately craved.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #27
As I began to ascend the stairs, a bloodcurdling, high-pitched scream cut through the quiet from the floor above, sending a cold zip of fear down my spine. I knew the old house had been locked up tight, and no one else should have been in here.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #26
What is it doing here? I run in the dark, frantic to escape it, but too often it appears in the beam of my flashlight, tall, thin, clad in a suit, its blank white face telling me all I need to know about the inevitability of it eventually getting me.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #25
I heard the distinct sound of footsteps outside my bedroom door, even though I should have been home alone, but I was too scared to open the door. When my parents got home, they asked why the porcelain doll from the fireplace was sitting in the hallway, backed against my door.
*This is yet another story based upon a creepy encounter told to me by another person.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #24
The shadowy shape at the doorway to my room was blacker than the unlit darkness around us. I whimpered quietly and raised the covers over my head, not wanting to see it, but it made a shifting sound, and suddenly my covers were gone, and I could only stare at it.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #23
I’ve been able, through constant denial and rationalizations, to dismiss the quiet sounds and near whispers that come from under my bed at night as the result of an overactive imagination. But now, there’s a ‘thip! thip! thip! thip!’ of tiny footsteps accompanying them, and I can neither deny their existence nor bring myself to look underneath when the lights have gone out.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #22
“I’m sorry,” I heard the doctor say from over me, “we did everything we could.” I felt him slip the shroud over my face, and I wanted to move, to protest, to scream to my family that I was alive, but I was trapped in my own body, paralyzed with fear and desperation.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #21
I couldn’t see his face under the mask, but even with the sun overhead, his approach unnerved me here in the woods. I backed away from the old shack, trying to maintain both sight and distance without stumbling into a tree, but turned and broke into a run when I saw the gleam of his knife emerge from his hand.
Two-Sentence Horror Story #20
It was sunset in the cemetery, so I was already a little on edge when I saw him, waving to me from a distance among the gravestones. He held his dismembered head in the other arm, its teeth grit in a pained smile.
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