Writer, reader, game crafter, screen writer, comedian, playwright, aging hipster, and writer of fine horror.
Tiktok and Instagram- Doctorplaguesworld
Why I left the Woods
Scratch "Yeah, it's just me here tonight," I say as I washed the few dishes that remained in the sink. The darkness outside seems held at bay by the big floodlight on the pole outside. The forest surrounding our little cabin looked like a green wave that's preparing to swallow our circle of humanity up forever if it wasn't for that 120-watt bulb. I had the phone pressed against my ear with my shoulder, and I laughed as my boyfriend said something funny. The phone slipped towards the soapy water, and I caught it just in time as something scratched at the door again.
Twick or Tweat
I heard the doorbell ring and reached for the bowl of candy on the side table. Opening the door, I found a small boy dressed in a bedsheet. His eye holes were cut out in the big, unmatched way that often precedes a homemade costume, and the edges of his glasses poked through the holes at the edges. He held his pillowcase out to me and shook it. I chuckled a little and looked down at the small ghost that stood begging on my front porch.
I Didn't Touch Her!
I don't understand how it's come to this. I've been expelled from school, I've lost the few friends I had, my own parents won't even look at me now, and all because of her. Her...even now I can't find it in me to hate her. I love her, despite what she's done to me, and I think I always will. For so many years, she's been my reason to get up in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to bed.
I don't know if anyone will read this, I don't even know if anyone will care, but I have to tell someone. It's too much to process right now, and maybe if I get some of it off my chest, it will make it easier to handle. I'm getting ready to go off into the unknown, and I feel like someone needs to know why. Someone needs to know how it came to all this and how I came to be a potential murderer/ avenging angel.
I ran into the house and slammed the door behind me. Looking around frantically, I called for my parents. At that moment, I became about four years old in the blink of an eye. My fear congealed in my guts when I realized they weren't home. They were gone, out of town, and wouldn't be back until tomorrow night. That's why I'd been staying at Billy's in the first place. That's why Billy was…
The Mind of an Artist
Oh, good, you're awake. Don't struggle too much. I know what this must look like, but I promise that I'm not going to kill you. Are your ropes too tight? I can loosen them a little. Sadly, the gag has to stay in. You see, I can't have you interrupting me while I create my masterpiece or while I tell you how it came to be.
"Good afternoon, Beautiful." Paul had rushed home from work just like he had every day for the past two weeks. Ragan and Frank had said something about drinks after shift, but he'd barely heard them. He had only one thing on his mind. The same thing he'd had for the past two weeks.
Many of you reading this will think this is a story about the paranormal. You'll expect me to talk about rituals gone wrong or haunted houses, but this isn't a story about possession or summons. This is a story about a demon I've struggled with since I was very young. This is a story about a demon that I'm afraid will be the death of me.
It was a night just like this. Six campers were out with their Scoutmaster on an overnight camping trip. They were just settling in after a long day of hiking when suddenly they heard it, a wailing coming from the forest that chilling them to the bone. They had all heard of the Woods Witch, of course, everyone around here had, and they all knew how she lured all those children into the forest so long ago. They knew about how the search party had heard screams echoing through the woods that night as they searched in vain. And, of course, they all knew about how they found Chimney Cave full of the bones and half-eaten bodies of the missing children she'd taken.