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Vanessa Spruell
Stories (2/0)
Red Wood
Grass swept above my calves, and it was so thick that it seemed to be begging me to stay. I grazed my fingers across the worn wood and felt the red paint chip off against my skin every so often. Memories flashed across my vision, and the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in finally fell from my lips. I pulled the large door, and let it swing harshly into itself with a loud thud. Though it was pitch black I could make out every detail succinctly. It all looked exactly the same as it did that night twenty years ago. It was almost like I had never left, and the mere thought of it made dread tear through me so deeply I felt as though I’d regressed back to childhood.
By Vanessa Spruell3 years ago in Horror
Sorrow of Morrow
The flicker of a headlamp is the only light in the dark tunnel. Tim Morrow gasps for air as he brushes dirt away from his face and clothes. The blast from overhead was loud enough to essentially break his ear drums, and he can only hear a loud ringing surrounding him. The opening from the tunnel where he had come in had collapsed, and panic settled upon his rugged features. One thought drives him to start digging, and the more it echoes in his mind the more furiously he tears at the rubble under the conveyor belt. Tears begin streaming down his face, but he doesn’t notice. His only thought is to dig until he can escape, or die trying.
By Vanessa Spruell3 years ago in Fiction