Short Horror Stories - A Halloween Playlist

Short Horror Stories - A Halloween Playlist

Entered Into Vocal's Graveyard Smash Challenge: Create the soundtrack for the ultimate Halloween party.

All good stories deserve embellishment - Gandalf

Let's play two truths and one lie...

Except, it's two truths, two lies, and two dramatic retellings.

The following short stories are depictions of tales true and false, embellished and otherwise. They explore the simple and subtle horrors that we experience in our day-to-day lives, and while some stories are more ominous than others, the sweeter of the lot will encourage you to poke fun at our own insecurities and fleeting moments of weakness.

You won't find any boogeymen in this playlist... only a sense of impending dread or a pricking at your neck... Unless of course your fear is the same as mine... the horrifying, the spooky...

Unsolicited Visitor

*Shudder*

I encourage you to try to guess which stories are true, false, and embellished - I'll leave a little note at the bottom for those who get a taste of it. Now, onto the Horror Stories...

The Unsolicited Visitor

Perspective: You're a busy person. A very busy person. You're also an introvert, and it's your first day off in over two weeks. It's the middle of summer, so you lock-up the house, take off your pants and crank up the aircon. Pull out a bag of Doritos and switch on Netflix, and then...

Knock knock knock

Your pulse quickens; you freeze. Brushing the cheese dust from your fingers, you pull back the curtain just an inch to peek outside. It doesn't matter if you know the visitor - they're unsolicited all the same. You watch them, and quickly close the curtains as they senses your presence. Heart-pounding, you stand still, as if your lack of shadows will erase the image of you peaking through the window. They frown, and knock again.

The Angry House Wife

Perspective: You live in rural Tennessee. Your wife and yourself have lived a clean and traditional life, but lately she's been feeling distant. When you ask her what she's watching she shoots her laptop closed, and insisted it's 'nothing'. As she heads to the bathroom you peak the laptop open; The Handmaid's Tale. You've never heard of it.

You used to have game night without a squeak from her. The perfect Betty Draper; she'd prepare the wings and beer and chime in with a giggle at Old Bobby's insinuations. You never asked him to stop. Tonight is game night, but there are no wings, and no beer. You look over at your wife in exasperation, and she's propped herself like a mannequin with a book titled 'The Bell Jar' in her hand.

As you hop into the car - muttering under your breath - you hear a strange tune trickle through the rafters, and the hair on your arms stands on end.

Coming of Age

Perspective: You are heralded alternative punk star turned comic book writer, Gerard Way. My Chemical Romance has disbanded (again) and you've settled down to start a family.

You are thrilled at the arrival of your new born son who you unironically wish to name 'Party Poison' after your mid-life persona from album era Danger Days. Your wife tells you no, so you settle on 'James'. As James's thirteenth birthday rolls closer and closer, you can't place the strange feeling of unease tugging at your stomach. The night before his birthday, you flashback to images of your own youth...

While laying awake staring at the roof you feel your wife's gentle touch on your shoulder. She smiles at you, "It's his birthday tomorrow" she says. "He's just like you, you know?" And your eyes remain plastered on the ceiling as she yawns, and falls back into an easy sleep. You don't sleep that night.

Prying Eyes

Perspective: You are eight years old and your parents have brought home a new CD, 'The Number of the Beast' by Iron Maiden. You listen as the music drifts under your door, and you find yourself bobbing your head to rifts. The CD player pauses, as it switches over to the next 'side' of the CD, and the title song begins to play...

The night was black, was no use holding back

'Cause I just had to see, was someone watching me?

In the mist, dark figures move and twist

Was all this for real or just some kind of hell?

"Cause I had to see... was someone watching me?" You glance over your shoulder, then through the crack in your door. No prying eyes, of that you are sure, but you can't scratch the thought that you're being watched. You hide under your blankets until the song ends.

The next time you hear the CD being played you are prepared. As the opening tracks pass one by one you build an impenetrable forte using sheets and pillows. Pleased at your handmanship, you prop yourself safely in the centre, and enjoy the song in the safety of your solitude.

The Deep Sea

Perspective: You are walking through the city with your best friend and the two of you are discussing fun things to do as a double date with your partners. You walk past the theatre, and then past the museum.

"Oh, I'd love to go to the museum!" Exclaims your friend. There's an interesting exhibit showing at the moment; The Deep Sea. Taxidermy sea-creatures, and real size replicas of Whale Sharks. You joke about buying a replica angler fish lamp for her boyfriend - which, to you seems quite comical, but you pause as you notice her skin turning pale.

"Oh... we can't go," she intones, voice suddenly solemn.

"Why not?" You ask.

"My partner is deathly afraid of The Deep Sea..."

There's no hint of irony on her face, yet you can't help yourself from laughing. "But... It's just an exhibit, it's not real."

"Doesn't matter" she says, shaking her head. "We simply can't go."

You wonder what horrors your friends partner must have faced for him to be *deathly* afraid of The Deep Sea, so much so that he can't even be in the presence of a far-off representation that poses no threat. Unable to conjure a sensical explanation, a particular song comes to mind;

The Self-Proclaimed Weirdo

Perspective: You've always felt yourself a little odd, a little... eccentric. In fact, you'd call yourself a bohemian, maybe even a ... revolutionary... but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

You don't fit in, no matter where you go. You're always the smartest person in the room, which means people don't like you. Not only that, but people can't fathom the bizarre things you do, like your penchant for watching True-Crime documentaries, or the fact that you can recall most any pointless fun-fact as if you're drawing it from a hat. People love when you do that.

Unable to find solstice in the people around you, or someone who can entertain you for longer than a moment, you find comfort in the one person who seems to understand how you feel...

You said it Jimmy, people are strange.

But I can say with certainty that I'm not as strange as the fellow who was too afraid to go to a museum when they were showcasing The Deep Sea. That's a true story. My irrational fear is of unsolicited visitors, although I did embellish the account just a little.

In terms of the false stories, I hope those were apparent. I don't follow the personal life of Gerard Way, so I hope he's not living in fear of a son breaching his teen years, and I also pray for the safety of the Angry House Wife and her unassuming (although negligent) husband. The other embellishment was the story of the Self-Proclaimed Weirdo. The story wasn't false, it was more so a mash-up of the people I know who claim to be so 'weird' it's scary.... Mhmm.

Which leaves one last story to be true; Prying Eyes.

When my eldest brother was just a boy he used to sit under a blanket fort as he listened to Iron Maiden. The songs scared him to death, but he loved them too much to stay away from the music. Hearing his story made me laugh uncontrollably at first when I thought about the absurdity of literally fearing a song, but then it reminded me of a song that I used to listen to even though it gave me the heebee-jeebees; Shadowboxer by The Angels.

It spooked me to my core, and I used to check outside the windows whenever it came on, but I'm pleased to say I never had the uh... 'sense' to build a blanket fort for protection.