monster
Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.
The Reminiscences of a Gone Melody
A house that had been abandoned by time stood on the edge of the woods in a small town between hills. The old mansion was falling apart, with boarded-up windows and ivy growing on its stone walls. The music was the only thing that everyone in the town was certain of, even though no one remembered who had lived there or why it had been abandoned. The woods were filled with the faint sound of a piano playing each night as the clock struck midnight. It wasn't loud, but it was clear enough to sound like the delicate notes of an old melody being played by a person who had long since disappeared. When young Amelia first arrived in the town, she had heard rumors about the music. She was warned not to go near the mansion by the locals, who spoke of it with a mixture of reverence and fear. They stated, "It's cursed." "Do not investigate." But Amelia was a curious individual who was always looking for stories. She had recently left the chaos of the city and moved to the town to start over. She could not resist the pull of the mystery and the music's concept. Amelia heard it one evening after a particularly long day of unpacking and settling in. The piano's faint, mesmerizing notes. She was unable to continue ignoring the call at just after midnight. She put on her boots, grabbed a flashlight, and headed for the woods. The overgrown and narrow path leading to the mansion was blocked by trees that extended out like skeletal arms in an effort to obstruct her path. The music got louder as she got closer to it. Despite being unlike any other song she had ever heard, it nonetheless felt familiar. She felt a deep sense of loss and longing as a result of it.
By Shuvodip Biswas about a year ago in Horror
The Final Room
As Emily made her way up the winding road to Black Hollow Inn, the rain poured down like a curse on the windshield. The last gas station she passed looked like it belonged in a museum of forgotten places, and the GPS had stopped working twenty minutes ago. She was cold, tired, and a little anxious. However, the prospect of spending a peaceful weekend in the mountains was too appealing to resist. On the travel blog she followed, Black Hollow Inn was described as a "hidden gem." The post said it was "cozy, historic, and full of charm." But the inn looked more like a haunted dollhouse than a mountain retreat as she drove up the gravel driveway. The wooden siding had its paint peel off, and the windows were looking at her like dark eyes.
By Dr Sazidul about a year ago in Horror
The Church That Eats People
“It baptizes in blood, not water.”Start writing...The Church That Eats People n when the church appeared, only that it hadn’t been there the day before. A structure of soot-black stone and towering iron crosses now squatted at the edge of Graven Hollow, where only tangled woods used to be. It bore no name, no sign, and no history—yet its doors were wide open, inviting anyone foolish or lost enough to step inside. Most people in town ignored it. But Mara did not. She was sixteen, curious, and angry with the world. Her mother called it a phase. The kids at school called it weird. Mara just wanted silence. So, when she passed the church on a rain-heavy afternoon and heard the low toll of a bell—one long, slow note that shook her ribs—she felt something shift in her. A pull. She walked through the gate. The air inside was cold and dense, as if she’d stepped underwater. No wind, no smell, no sound beyond the slow drip drip drip of something unseen. The walls were lined with tarnished icons—paintings of saints with bleeding eyes and twisted mouths. The pews were cracked and warped, but freshly used. Someone had sat here recently. Or something. A single voice broke the silence. “You came for absolution.” Mara turned to see a figure in black robes, face hidden in a deep cowl. The voice was neither male nor female—soft and sharp, like a whisper through broken glass. “I didn’t come for anything,” she said, backing away. “But you stayed. That is enough.” The figure gestured, and the floor beneath Mara shifted. She stumbled, falling to her knees as the carpet peeled back like skin, revealing a baptismal font carved from bone. The liquid inside was dark, viscous. It steamed in the cold air. “Baptism cleanses the soul,” the figure intoned. “But this church does not cleanse with water.” “I’m not part of your cult,” Mara spat, trying to stand. The figure raised a pale, veined hand. “You are already part of it. Your name was etched in the stone the moment you walked through our doors. The church does not choose poorly.” The ground trembled. From beneath the altar came a sound—wet and rhythmic, like the breathing of a sleeping beast. The candles flickered wildly, throwing shadows that danced with claws and teeth. Mara turned to run, but the doors behind her had vanished. In their place: a wall of solid stone, pulsing like muscle. She screamed, but no one heard. --- One Week Later Officer Deacon stared at the building, frowning. “You sure this wasn’t here before?” The old man beside him nodded, eyes glassy. “Place comes and goes. Always when it's fed. Girl went missin’, didn’t she?” “Yeah. Teenager. Mara Cole.” The church stood silent, but it seemed to watch them. Something about the windows—the stained glass didn’t depict saints. It showed a girl, thin and pale, sinking into a vat of crimson, her mouth open in a silent scream. Deacon walked the perimeter. No footprints. No tire tracks. But inside, the floor was damp. He saw something glinting at the base of the altar. A phone. He picked it up. The wallpaper was a picture of Mara. The screen flickered, and a video began to play automatically. Shaky footage. Screams. Shadows reaching. The font bubbling like it boiled from hell. Mara’s voice: “Please—please don’t—” followed by a sound no human throat should make. The video cut to black. Deacon dropped the phone and backed away. The church doors slammed shut on their own. --- That Night They burned it. Poured gasoline over every beam, every shingle, every pew. The flames reached high into the sky—but the structure didn’t burn. It absorbed the fire. And then, as if satisfied, it folded into itself like paper—and was gone. Only ashes remained. And Mara’s phone. Still recording. --- One Month Later Four towns over, a pastor discovered a new chapel on the edge of his graveyard. It wasn’t there before. He didn’t remember building it. But the doors were open, and inside, the air smelled of copper and rot. At the altar, a voice whispered to him. “Come closer, child of faith. You already believe. Let us show you what true baptism means.” And beneath the floorboards, something hungry stirred.“It baptizes in blood, not water.One Month Later Four towns over, a pastor discovered a new chapel on the edge of his graveyard. It wasn’t there before. He didn’t remember building it. But the doors were open, and inside, the air smelled of copper and rot. At the altar, a voice whispered to him. “Come closer, child of faith. You already believe. Let us show you what true baptism means.” And beneath the floorboards, something hungry stirred. --- Two Weeks Later The pastor’s congregation dwindled quickly. Those who entered the strange chapel didn’t return the same. Some stopped speaking altogether, eyes glazed and mouths always slightly open, as though they were still gasping. Others claimed to hear voices in their sleep—chants in Latin, names they never knew speaking from their walls. One woman, Ellen Mays, slit her wrists in her tub after drawing a strange symbol in blood on the mirror. She wrote a single sentence beneath it: “The font must be fed.” A week after that, a child went missing. Then two. Police searched the new chapel but found nothing—just an empty room, an altar, and a baptismal basin filled with what they assumed was rust-colored water. But when Officer Reddick dipped a test strip into it, the paper turned black and dissolved. They tried to drain the basin. It refilled itself overnight. --- Present Day Now, those who live near the chapel don’t speak of it. No one parks near it. No one touches it. But they hear it. Every Sunday at midnight, the bells ring out. Twelve slow, wet gongs. And if you walk by at just the right moment… you can still hear Mara screaming from beneath the floor. Because the church does not forgive. The church does not forget. And the church— Is always hungry.
By Top stories about a year ago in Horror
The Whispering House
An old, decaying house stood at the edge of Blackwood Forest. It had been forgotten by time. Under years of rain and neglect, its roof sagged, and its windows were cracked like glass webs. Millersfield, a nearby town, was afraid to approach it. Inside, children talked about ghosts, and adults told them not to get too close. It was dubbed "The Whispering House" by them. The house was alive, not haunted, according to the legend. You could also hear it whispering every night if you stood near the overgrown gate at night. Some said it called your name. Some claimed it pleaded for assistance. You were allegedly threatened by others with a fate worse than death. As part of a dare, four Millersfield High classmates decided to spend the night inside in spite of warnings. On Halloween's eve, October 30, it was the ideal time for something terrifying. Sam, Jordan, Emily, and Max were their names. They climbed over the rusted fence and made their way toward the front door, armed with flashlights, snacks, and bravado. Emily pressed her ear to the door and said, "I don't hear anything." Max chuckled, "Probably just stories to scare kids." He opened the door with a push. It groaned on its hinges, sounding like something had fallen asleep for a long time. The air inside was cold and thick. Under their feet, the wooden floorboards creaked. Strange symbols carved into the plaster below were exposed as the worn wallpaper on the walls began to peel off. Broken furniture and long-forgotten artifacts were danced across by their flashlight beams. The door slammed shut behind them suddenly. Like a gunshot, the sound reverberated throughout the empty house. It remained stationary as Sam attempted to open it. Okay, that's not funny! Jordan whirled around as he yelled. The whispers then began. They were initially faint, like wind passing through cracks. However, they increased in volume and surrounded them from all directions. "Leave... get out... before it's too late..." Who spoke that? With a pale face, Emily spoke in a whisper. Sam said, wildly directing his light, "I don't know." Let's just find a way out, shall we? But as they moved, the house seemed to change. Brick walls were behind doors. Back into the same room, hallways twisted. It was like going deeper into a maze with each step. They were followed by whispers, which became more audible with each passing minute. After that, Max vanished. He was walking alongside Jordan for a while before disappearing. There was no scream or sound—it just vanished. “Max?!” Jordan yelled while spinning around. Sam's arm was grabbed by Emily. "We must leave immediately!" The house was no longer understandable after they retraced their steps. The walls appeared to be breathing. The whispers became voices that called their names. They were plunged into near-darkness when Emily's flashlight flickered and died. Jordan then vanished. Clasping Sam's hand, Emily screamed. "We cannot remain here!" A door suddenly appeared in front of them. Before, it wasn't there. It shone with light from underneath. Sam yanked it open in a desperate attempt and discovered Max inside, with his back to them. “Max!” Emily wept. Max, however, did not turn around. His face was upside down as he slowly and unnaturally tilted his head back, staring at them with hollow eyes. "Why did you abandon me?" He spoke in a whisper that was not his own. The door closed violently. Emily hit it hard. “Sam! We need to—" Sam, on the other hand, was gone when she turned around. She was by herself. Screaming, laughing, and chanting broke out of the whispers. With her ears covered, Emily sank to her knees. The voices then stopped abruptly as they had come. A broken window let in the morning light. The door opened by itself, creaking. Emily was found staring blankly into the forest at sunrise by a search party sitting on the porch. She was silent. Never again, not that day. Some say that the house released her. Some say that she never completely disappeared. They also claim that at midnight, if you stand near The Whispering House, the voices can still be heard calling out the names of those who entered but never left.
By MD Rakibul hasanabout a year ago in Horror
The Last Pyre of the Cremation Ground
🕯️ Prologue Overy Youtrogous On the quiet corner of South 2 Parganas, embedded next to thick bamboo, the story drapes a dark beonacharan onto a skewer. Even with sunlight, a strange cold stayed in the air, as if to remember something or someone else in the soil.
By Funny Jokesabout a year ago in Horror
The Girl in the Mirror
In the outskirts of a quiet town, hidden between dense woods and forgotten roads, stood an old house with peeling walls and broken windows. Everyone in the town whispered about it—they called it The Mirror House. No one had lived there for decades, not since the Malik family disappeared one stormy night. But the stories never stopped.
By muqaddas shuraabout a year ago in Horror
When Fear Takes Control. Content Warning.
Fear: The word Fear, the first thing for which Bang! If creatures that are moving did not experience the sensation of fear, especially not humans, we don't know what we should do with them. We experience an incredibly diverse array of feelings as vertebrate primates with complex brains. And in certain situations, our brains lose some of the checks and balances over certain emotions. A phobia is what it is when fear becomes overstretched and out of our control.
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Horror
The Traveling Cobbler
The planet was inundated with meteors of varying sizes, rocking the small blue dot in this young solar system. Nearly half of the entire population was wiped out in the initial disaster, the lucky ones. Almost seventy percent of the remaining humans died off in the following years through suffocation and starvation. While only a quarter of the planet sustained massive impacts the whole thing was now flooded. In between shores, the majority of the barren land was just as dangerous as the ocean. This left the world in shambles. You now had to adapt or die and Neile McGrath had evolved. The coastal city was the best this area had to offer. There were smaller villages and outposts along the coast, but Neile, dressed in his lucky green jacket, needed to do some selling. He was a cobbler by trade and had a few pairs of shoes. The bigger the population the easier it was to unload his fine wares. After clearing the checkpoint and entering the town Neile found his way to the square. He quickly located the first person selling stuff out in the open and stopped. “How are you doing today?” “Pretty good. What can I help you with? I have bottled water but no food. Shotgun shells, nine millimeters, and a few machetes left. I also have this random stuff.” The merchant motioned to the shelf and table. “I take gold, silver, food, water, and weapons.” “I have a few of those things, but I am really looking to offload some shoes I made.” “I can take a look, but no promises.” Out of his main backpack came a sturdy pair of leather work boots. They were practical and boring, but they were hard to come by. This piqued the merchant's interest and he placed six bottles of water next to the shoes. After taking a look at his customer's face the man pulled out a drawer, looked over two watches, grabbed the silver one … “Hey, what about the gold one?” Neile pointed at the still open little box. “This silver one is the better of the two. All of the diamonds are real, even the bigger ones around the face.” “The gold one is more my style, actually.” The merchant thought about the switch, a struggle appeared on his face before he swapped the watches and closed the drawer. “It was my father's.” “He had exquisite taste. I will treat it like the treasure it is.” “It's comforting to know it is going to someone who will appreciate it. Can I get you anything else?” “Just some information, if you can?” “Will certainly try, my good sir.” “Do you know where I can get some produce, and maybe sell another pair of shoes?” “If it's a similar pair I can offer you more!” The merchant said excitedly. “No,” Neile dashed the man's hope, “no, it's a pair for a girl, size 5, and a pair of fancy men's shoes, unless you would be interested.” “What size?” “They are tens, like the boots. I have them right here.” Neile grabbed them from a bag on his hip and placed them on the counter. The heels, thick with rubber, appeared first and immediately started the lavish feel of the shoes. A gray and delicate material came into view that covered the whole pair. From heel to tip the footwear was a light gray and had embroidery out of silver down both sides and around each end. The laces were a similar gray with silver eyelets and the tongue was almost like silk with how soft the material felt. Neile put them on the table and smiled. “I can't afford those.” The merchant's grin disappeared, “You’re looking for either Myrtle, who is in this shop behind us, or Virgil, he stays in the shop across the square. She mainly does clothes and baked goods. Best damn cookies I ever had. And he has produce, some meat, clothes, and ammunition.” “I might have to stop by both. Meat and baked goods sound great. Thanks for the heads up.” Neile McGrath grabbed his shoes, turned around, put them in his bag, and walked towards Virgil's shack. He passed another vendor with a head bow and smile before rounding the dilapidated fence. The small structure was in the same state as the fence and the front door, and windows, were wide open. There was a sign propped up outside the door made of wood and blaring ‘ENTER’ out into the square. Neile followed the instructions and walked inside. Virgil kept a clean shack. Neile immediately noticed the older gentleman rocking in a chair. “Welcome to my shop. I have a bit of everything. Meat and produce for the body; clothes and weapons to protect that body.” “What kind of meat and produce do you have?” “Always chicken, but have some pig left. Chard, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, and watermelon.” The man answered as he rocked in a brown cowboy hat, overalls, a blanket failing to hide the shotgun underneath it, and mud caked boots. “Do you accept trade?” “Depends on the item.” “I have these.” Neile pulled out the gray shoes with the velvety feel and placed them on the man's lap as he neared the chair. “Well I'll be! Those are some fine shoes. I am not sure I know anyone that would want them, though.” “That's fine.” Neile reached for the shoes. “I hope Myrtle is interested.” “That good for nothing woman wouldn't know a good deal if it walked in her hole.” The older man went for the shoes again, missing the smile on Neile’s face. “I am interested in some pork, beans, corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, and some ammo for a .45.” “You wantin’ a pound of each?” Virgil asked incredulously. “No … no, of course not. Just a cup of each, if possible.” “You looking to make up the rest in ammo?” “Yes, sir.” “I can offer you two boxes of one hundred for the shoes. Not a bullet more.” “That will definitely work, thank you, sir.” “Give me about ten minutes to get everything.” Virgil got up and placed the weapon on the chair before turning to look at Neile. “Is the deal done? I would like to put the shoes up.” “Yes, of course.” Neile stood still, offering only a smile. Virgil disappeared into the back room and shut the door. Now, Neile could freely look at the knick knacks around the store, hoping to find another piece to feed his addiction. The medium sized room was packed with racks of clothes on one side, belts, gloves, and hats piled on top of them while the opposite wall had an aisle of weapons at the front with each subsequent aisle being random. In the back right corner were two glass cases full of jewelry and random gilded items of worth. Neile perused the random aisles and found nothing of interest. He walked towards the cases in the corner and his eyes fell on something made of wood, buried under a plethora of boxes. “You still here?” “Over here.” Neile answered as he stepped into view. Virgil walked over to a table hidden by the cases and placed the three bags on it. “Find something you like?” “Maybe. Depends on the overall quality of the piece. I can show you which I mean.” “Fine, fine, but no more shoes. I have every other kind of shoe, but that pair you sold me is different indeed.” “Thank you. Did I mention I made them myself?” “I don't believe you did, but that is fantastic. You are a master at your craft, sir.” “I only use the best of materials.” “I noticed.” Virgil ended with a chuckle then started opening the bags. “Here we got the ammo. In this one you got the pig butt, tomatoes, cucumbers, and I threw in some sausage I made myself.” “Thank you, sir.” “And lastly we have the beans and corn. What did you have your eye on?” “In this glass case there is something possibly intriguing buried under boxes of varying materials.” “If you are talking about the cherry wood jewelry box, I know you are going to love it.” The duo, led by Virgil, walked around the corner, less than six feet, and arrived at the crowded glass case. Virgil put his finger on the glass and pointed towards the piece of wood Neile had his eye on. “A jewelry box, you say?” “Yes, yes, and very old. It still works.” “Works?” “Oh yes. There is a ballerina and a tune.” “Oh my, that sounds fantastic.” Virgil retrieved a key chain from his pocket and unlocked the case. After moving quite a few things the six by six by six inch box, made of cherry wood appeared. It was completely void of decoration, just a beautiful finish, and there appeared to be no seam. Virgil grabbed the tiny cube and opened it in front of Neile, who smiled with glee. The ballerina slowly rose inside the shadows sitting under the lid, but once completely open the light lit the small figurine made of solid ivory and she began to dance. A melodic stream of metallic strings washed over the gentlemen and caused them both to smile. “That is a nice piece.” “If it was any of the boxes I moved I would have just given it to you, but this is a special item. And should have been in the back.” “What about ten silver coins?” “Sold!” Virgil exclaimed then began to chuckle. “Perfect.” Neile said as he opened a different bag and pulled out the required coins, much to Virgil's delight, and grabbed the box and put it in his backpack. “You sure are loaded down. Are you going to be okay?” “Yes sir!” Neile replied as he stood his scraggly frame to its six foot five height. “Thanks for this,” he started grabbing the bags of his purchase, “but I have another pair of shoes to move.” “Well, have fun in Myrtle's hole. Tell her I said to die.” And with that Virgil disappeared behind a mountain of stuff. Neile walked back out into the heat, now missing the small but breezy store, and headed back across the square. Hanging in the window of the building on the corner of the square was a sign that read ‘Myrtle's Hole in the Wall’. It was the largest building on this side of the square and even had a second story. Neile continued his stroll inside and was immediately greeted. “Welcome to ‘Myrtle's’. I am Myrtle. How can I help you today?” A rotund woman with scraggly hair appeared and almost sang her welcome. “Hello, Myrtle. I am Neile McGrath and I am looking to sell a cute pair of girl's shoes.” “Shoes? Girl shoes?” Myrtle asked with a quizzical look before straightening up and adding, “I would love to take a look.” Then she led him to the counter in the middle of a room that was more than five times the size of Virgil's. It had shelves that stood over six feet tall and everything seemed to have a place. In one corner there were racks of clothes like at Virgil's, but it was organized and clean. She had a lot of stuff, but knew how to stage it. At the table Neile grabbed his backpack once again and pulled out a pair of royal blue shoes. These shoes had a large butterfly covering the tips and the top of the shoe, leaving the eyelets exposed, which were silver. The butterfly was outlined by shiny pearls as well as the sole. He placed them on the wooden surface and Myrtle danced in place as she gazed over the small things. “Yes.” Myrtle tried to keep back a laugh, but failed and exploded into a fit of the giggles. “If you know my name, you know about my baking, right?” “Yes ma'am. Although, Virgil didn't have a nice word to say about you … never mind the baking.” “Oooh, that man has been mad at me for the past forty seven years. I bet he told me to die, didn't he?” “Yes ma'am.” “You know, he is mad that I broke up with him and moved away with my family.” “Really? That is intriguing.” “Sorry to bore you with ancient history, dear.” Myrtle put a hand on the shoes. “I can trade for this. What would you like?” “You have fresh blueberries?” “I don't have blue, but I do have blackberries.” “You have a blackberry pie?” “I have that and an apple pie.” “Sounds good. You mind if I look around?” “Not at all.” “Thanks.” Neile said before turning to his left towards a line of glass cases originally hidden by the racks. He slowly walked up to the case, which held very random items, and closed his eyes. When he opened them he was staring at a cup made of red and white plastic. Sticking out of the top were random sized and colored coins. He knew there was the perfect coin in there for him, but he needed access. Like a silent bell rang Myrtle was there. “Find something you like?” The plump woman dug in her pockets, found her key, and opened the case. Neile smiled and nodded a thank you as he reached forward, grabbed the flimsy cup, and poured the coins into his open hand. He thumbed through them for a few long seconds and finally stopped on a smooth edged coin that didn't feel similar to the others. He pushed one side of the coins over and exposed the face of the different coin. A faded caricature of a rat head came into view and when it was moved to show the back it just said ‘GAME OVER’. After picking the unique coin out he dropped the rest back into the cup. He looked at the coin in the artificial light coming from above and smiled his biggest grin. “How about this?” “A blackberry pie and a coin for the shoes? That seems …” “No, no, my dear Myrtle. I merely wish to add it, if I may.” “Sure,” She reached out her hand and replied after Neile placed the coin in her open palm, “I will place it next to the shoes.” With the case still open he went back to looking around. Nothing really looked appetizing to the man, but he knew he needed to find something. That's when his eyes fell on a very decorative knife. It was propped up in its own glass case and appeared to be made with an abundance of gold. There were also jewels of different sizes and colors lined intricately on either side of the sheath and handle. It wasn't as nice as the coin, but there was more there. He picked up the fragile case and walked it over to the table. Myrtle smiled as he approached. “That's a beautiful piece, isn't it.” “I am inclined to agree. What do you think?” “Straight trade? I don't know about that.” “How about one pure silver coin?” “Pure? How big?” Instead of verbally responding, Neile went into his side pack and pulled out a coin with no imprint or engraving on either side. He handed one to Myrtle, who started looking it over, even pulling a mineral tester out. When it came back a solid silver Myrtle set down the tester and her face changed to one of determination with a squared jaw and focused eyes. “Five.” “Two.” “Four.” “Two.” “Three.” “Two.” “How about we go two?” Neile pulled out one more coin and placed it on the table. Myrtle immediately snatched it up and hurried away without a word. She quickly returned with a cardboard box which she showed contained the pie. She placed the package on the table and slid it to him. He put the coin in his front breast pocket, the ornate knife and case in a side bag, and picked up the pie with his hands. “This was a pleasure, Myrtle.” “Likewise, Mr. McGrath.” Back out into the heat of the day Neile walked around the city for a few hours. When the sun began to set he found himself on the outskirts of the small town. The houses were far apart and separated by thick woods. A few houses passed by before Neile found the right one. He walked up the trail that led to the front door and started counting rocks. The ninth one seemed out of place and ended up containing the key. Once inside the newly locked door he started removing bags and packs, being careful the pie was undisturbed. With the stuff finally off he found one bag in particular and pulled it to him. As he sat on the stool and dumped the items of the bag onto the counter a cooking pot came barreling out with a thud and then a strange jingle. “How did gold get in there?” Neile asked as he poured the nuggets onto the table and grabbed for a hefty, but small bag still on his hip. A quick deposit later and Neile started dinner. As he cut the vegetables and meat up a metallic click echoed through the house. “Right on time.” “Who's there? Who is in my house?” A disgruntled voice bounced into the kitchen. “I mean you no harm. And I am in the kitchen.” “Who are you?” “My name is Neile McGrath. Are you Oscar Weber?” “Yes Neile, I am … why are you in my house?” “I needed a safe place to eat my dinner.” “The lodge has rooms available.” “I require a quieter setting.” “Get out of my house!” Oscar screamed as he came into view wielding a knife. Neile calmly put down the large wooden spoon and grabbed something on his other hip. The silver plated Colt revolver slowly emerged from the shadows. The man stopped his advancing abruptly and almost fell, catching himself on the counter. “While I mean you no harm I will protect myself. Now please sit at the table.” Oscar dropped the knife and walked to the table. As he sat down Neile holstered his weapon and picked up a rope that stuck out of a bag. After approaching the man, Neile began wrapping the rope around the hostage. “I have a meal to finish, so if you don't mind, I will go back to cooking. Feel free to talk, I enjoy a good conversation.” “Why are you doing this?” “I already told you.” Neile politely said as he continued to cook. Oscar didn't say another word, despite Neile trying to make small talk. A few minutes passed and Neile came back into the Oscar's view. He wore a warm smile and carried a full plate in one hand and his backpack in the other. He placed the dish in front of the man, unwrapped the rope over his arms, and took a seat opposite of him. “Feel free to dig in.” Neile said as he pulled the watch out of the bag. Oscar refused to eat until Neile placed the revolver on the table. “Everything was bought fresh in town today. I do hope you enjoy.” Oscar reluctantly picked up the fork from the plate and started eating. The food was exceptional and he started shoveling the side dishes and sausage into his mouth. Neile held a smile as he watched the man consume his meal with gusto. Then Neile decided it was his turn to eat, so he looked at the watch in his hands. He examined it as closely as he could before placing it on the table in front of him. Putting his hands on either side of the watch he closed his eyes and started muttering something under his breath. After whispering the last syllable Neile’s eyes immediately started to emit a pale green light. The watch began to glow and was lifted off the table by some kind of magic. Neile’s body jerked around before he slumped into his chair. Oscar stared at his captor as he hunched over in the chair. He noticed something peculiar happening to the watch. It was slowly dissolving in the air, leaving no trace of its existence. When the watch was gone Neile’s eyes stopped glowing and he was able to sit back up. “What was that?” The man screamed. “Don't worry. I was merely eating.” Neile replied as he retrieved the simple but elegant jewelry box and placed it in front of him. “You … you eat metal and wood?” Oscar asked. “Of course not. I consume the memory attached to the item and that destroys it.” “The memory? What are you talking about?” “Some items retain special moments. The watch, for example, had a strong lingering memory of a time and place before the meteors hit. It was a bittersweet memory of a father gifting his son a watch over dinner. The father was dying and wanted to share a family heirloom with his son. They were both proud of the other, for different reasons of course, but the relationship had been rocky for a few years. A sadness hung in the air that was palpable, but neither addressed it. Then they said their goodbyes and the memory ended. “What are you?” “A different breed. Now finish your meal as I do the same.” Oscar did as he was told while Neile started to mutter under his breath again. The pristine wooden box started to rise once the pale green color returned to his eyes. The entire process was over in seconds and Neile was back to his proper posture. He pulled out the coin next and placed it on the table. “That memory was delicious. Not bittersweet like the first. It was a Christmas morning before the end. A cute little girl, named Amelia, grabbed the wrapped jewelry box and tore it open. The look on her sweet face was priceless. Would you like some pie?” Neile asked as he got up from the table. Neile moved behind the man still tied to the chair and began cutting the pie. He made three cuts, put one slice on a plate at a time, and then walked back into his hostage's view. He placed one plate in front of the owner of the house and sat down with the other. He eyed his captive pushing it around on his plate. With a shrug he moved his plate out of the way and focused on the coin. Neile’s eating process took effect again and for a few long moments he was incapacitated. Oscar took this time to use the metal fork and a free hand to reach the knot and untie it. As he got to his feet the putrid green glow to Neile’s eyes faded and they opened. Oscar dove at his captor, but all Neile did was raise his hand and the man remained suspended in the air. “That was foolish.” Neile lowered his hand an inch and the man's feet touched the ground. Then Neile pushed his hand forward and his hostage floated backwards. Next he moved his hand to the right and the gentleman returned to his spot in front of the table. After Neile made a fist his captive fell into the seat. “Do I need to tie you up again?” “...” “That's not rhetorical.” “Nn, no. You don't have to tie me up.” “Great. Now get comfortable because here comes the show.” Neile immediately began to mutter under his breath again. This time his eyes started to glow a deep red. Oscar started to float up and his limbs stretched out, imitating the vitruvian man by Da Vinci. The arms and legs then moved in a way that was not conducive to Oscar as his arms rotated out of their sockets and his legs did the same. Snapping and cracking sounds echoed through the small house as the limbs started folding in on themselves. His fingers rolled into a fist, then the fist folded down onto the forearm, breaking the wrist. That then rolled over again, breaking the forearm. This continued until the mangled arms sat inside the armpits. The legs followed suit and rolled up, breaking each bone as it went, until they were sitting against the man's pelvis. His cries had started loud, but after his limbs had cracked and broke halfway up their respective appendages the man passed out. Blood had erupted from the man's body as it folded in on itself, but instead of painting the walls, floor, and ceiling in a fine mist of the crimson liquid it hovered around the man as if making a perimeter. Soon that barrier of blood was a dark red as all of it had now seeped out of his body. The man was dead. “The magic will change you, like it does everyone.” Neile said as he watched in delight. “Whether it's into what you are, or into what you wish to be. Everyone is … different, but beautiful.” Oscar's head fell forward, his arms folded in towards his chest, his pelvis broke in half as it was forced to fold up into his stomach. Each end of the now folded man continued to crack and break as it was forced into itself. Once each side made it to the center of the man and there was nothing left to break, all sides somehow started to fold inwards. Then the tumescent skin and blood pulled into a single point, not much bigger than one of Neile’s silver coins. A few seconds passed as the single point emitted a bright light that filled the room and then a pair of brand new work boots popped into existence. They then fell onto the chair. “Splendid! Those will sell quickly.” Neile walked to the counter and pulled an old leather bound journal out of one of his bags. He opened it, grabbed the pen that was keeping his place, and swiped a line through the name Oscar Weber, which was followed by more names. He collected his things, put the new boots in a bag, and headed for the door. “Off to find the next pair.” Neile said as he closed the door and disappeared into the night.
By Colt Hendersonabout a year ago in Horror
Unearthed Battle
Shackled men of different ethnicities walked slowly towards a massive structure. It was flanked by men wearing sunbaked leather armor carrying a gladius on their hips. All but one of the chained prisoners were walking upright despite being exhausted from the trek. The last was slumped over and keeping the pace slowly at the end of the line, sweating more than the cool weather warranted. As they approached the building, men came to greet them. A discussion was had about the shackled men, and each individual was inspected and released. When they reached the last man who was slumped over, sweating, and just thrown up blood, the men from the building protested his worthiness. After a few minutes of talking, the men decided to take the sick one. The guards removed his bonds, and he was escorted into the structure. Once inside, the men were lined up and given a speech of what would take place in the coming weeks. After, the doctor came to evaluate the new recruits for gladiator training. Each was poked and prodded by the Medici until he reached the last man. He was immediately deemed too sick for training, but with no room in the infirmary, he was left in the barracks. The other men, now locked in a large cell, did their best to avoid the sick individual constantly spewing blood from his mouth. They, like the Medici, were under the impression that he would not survive the night. The sun set and the newly acquired recruits settled in for the night, avoiding the sick man who hadn't moved for several hours. They believed he was dead and all attempts to get the guard's attention went unanswered. The space was large, easily allowing the body a wide berth. The cool night air found its way into the lower level and lulled everyone into a deep sleep. All but the body in the corner. With a low cough and slow movements, the body began to stir. Blood had poured out of every orifice and was dried all over the reanimated corpse. His eyes, once a brilliant azure, were blood-filled and unfocused. The scrawny body, sandy and blood-ridden, made it to its feet and stretched before turning away from the dirt wall. Its eyes moved over the surroundings until a snore caught its attention. A man a few feet away shifted, and the cadaverous man's eyes focused on him. With uncoordinated movements, the animate body closed in on the sleeping captive. The body fell back to its knees, its hands slowly caressed the sleeping man's stomach. As he turned to see what disturbed his slumber, the dead man's mouth plunged his exposed skin. A scream rang out through the lower level of the ludus and caused many other men to stir. Torches still lit gave off an eerie ambiance as the newly awakened men discovered what was happening. A few of the huddled hurried to help the one being eaten as he tried his best to push off the hungry deceased. The dead man proved stronger than his lanky form would suggest, and it took the power of three men to pull him off. While the men dragged him back, he tried to bite. His fresh blood-soaked mouth landed on a forearm allowing his teeth to sink in, causing its grip to let go. Another bite to another forearm on the opposite set him free to move back toward his original meal. The three grabbed the ghoulish man again and slammed him on his back. They pummeled the reanimated body until it ceased its movements. With the problem alleviated, yelling died down and the men returned to their bedrolls. Less than an hour passed before gurgling sounds echoed in the chamber awaking a few of the slaves. When they focused their eyes in the dimly lit cages, they noticed the sickly, dead man beaten to a pulp was moving once again. Whispers resounded throughout the room as captives were awakened for a group discussion. The corpse, despite bleeding out, was on his feet and searching for the sounds bouncing around the room. When his eyes fell upon the huddled men that still argued for a solution, he took an unbalanced step forward. The next step was more deliberate, and with his new-found balance, the corpse launched itself at the living. Quickly flying through the air, the dead man collided with the group, his teeth catching flesh. Screams filled the air as the corpse locked its jaw deeper into flesh. The victim yelled for the guards, but no one showed. A few of the fellow slaves fought to pull the aggressor off only to receive bites in return. More men jumped in to help finally battling the diseased body to the ground. They frantically beat the soulless man until he no longer moved. The first bitten were now showing similar symptoms of the deceased. Their wounds were producing pus. Sickly lines ran up their arms from the bites and they were sweating profusely, shivering as they started to spew blood. The sick were forced to the corner of the cage as the rest of the slaves fearfully watched. As the night progressed, the first bit succumbed to their fevers, and the second group of three were now experiencing the same symptoms as the first. It didn't take long for the dead to reanimate. With a gained sixth sense, they avoided the sick and turned their sights on the sleeping men in the opposite corner. Like toddlers, they stumbled to their feet for the first time in their new life, quickly finding the rhythm to run at the living. Their fast footfalls roused a few other prisoners, but as they started to scream the cadavers dove at them. With the fight for survival set off, the rest of the slaves jumped to their feet and ran to the center of the room. They tried to gain the attention of the guards in futility, their summons neglected. It was decided to send four of the group of eleven to pull the dead off the living. The four scared men slowly approached the corpses feeding on the innards of the fallen prisoners, working in unison to pull one away from its meal. They succeeded, but when the dead man snapped its jaw at them, they let go. Instead of turning back to the splayed body, the corpse advanced on the four. Another continued to eat until one of the men screamed before retreating. Two of the infected walked towards the final three as they stood their ground. The dead moved mechanically, still not used to their rigor mortis set bodies. Their mouths were the only things moving freely without tension. One chewed a piece of organ meat, blood dripping down its chin, and the other chomped at the living. When the sick got within six feet of the group, they dove. The living yelled and ran while the cadavers fell to the ground. They quickly found their footing and were back on the attack in seconds. The prisoners, terrified of the walking dead, backed up towards the corner where the sick were relegated to, the thought of the diseased masked by the impending threat. Yells erupted from their throats as the corpses continued to encroach. Soon, the slaves were stumbling over the bodies on the ground. One man fell over the legs of another and landed face to face with an infected. Suddenly, the bloodshot eyes popped open and focused on the meal in front of him. With the commotion and yelling, the last three to get bit started moving. Screams of pain reverberated off the walls of the dungeon as the resurrected bit into supple flesh while the other infected closed in on the pile of men from the opposite side. Within minutes, everyone was bitten. A few were gutted, but all were infected. Soon, the dungeon was mostly quiet. The only sound coming from the cage was smacking noises and slurping as the dead ate. The sun peeked over the horizon and the guards went down into the dungeon to wake up the prisoners. The guards were surprised to see all of the men up and ready for the day, but in the dim lights of the underground cells, they missed important signs. First, all of the men were covered in large amounts of dried blood. Second, some of the men had bite marks and open cavities on their bodies. Lastly, their eyes were devoid of life, and their mouths were snapping at the guards as they approached the cell. The guard with the key spoke words completely lost on the soulless cadavers. He put the key in the lock and turned it, unlocking the mass of bodies. The click from the lock stirred the dead, and without waiting for the guard to open the door, they stormed out, knocking him to the ground. Infected immediately jumped on the guard and started tearing flesh off his body with their teeth and hands. The second guard turned and ran, but the rest of the ghoulish men were right behind him. He was able to shut the door at the top of the stairs, but the small horde hit the obstacle with enough force to catapult the man across the room. His cries alerted a few more sentries, sending them rushing into the room. The watchmen scrambled to the door in an attempt to stop the slaves from escaping, but with arms already through the gap, it was pointless. The dead surged again, and the door was sprung open, sending a guard flying. More guards had similar trajectories, landing on top of him. Some of the horde was soon on them, tearing at their flesh, while the rest ran through the door into the main lobby of the ludus. The loud screams of men being torn apart alerted more of the sentries. As they neared the open door, the horde of blood-soaked cadavers started pouring out. Their footfalls echoed through the large open area, intimidating the handful of guards. One quickly disappeared into the city as he was dispatched to find the army unit stationed in town. Gripping their gladius’, they prepared for the coming onslaught as the mass of bodies ran towards them. With only five guards against over a dozen empty-eyed infected men, their chances of survival seemed bleak. The guards’ faces set in grim determination, their hands tightening around their weapons. Once the dead reached the living, the guards started swinging their swords with precision, but they only slashed at the cavity-riddled torsos and arms. The cadavers felt nothing and walked through the slashes, reaching out for their next meal. A few hands and forearms were sliced off, but it didn't faze the soulless bodies. When one of the diseased halted after having a limb struck with sharp steel, the ones behind it would surge forward, pushing the mutilated closer to the guards. The one-sided battle that felt like an eternity for the watchmen, lasted only several minutes. Soon the horde of a snarling, chomping mass, enveloped the five men, descending into a puddle of fresh blood. Seconds after the five men fell, the reinforcements arrived. It was the smallest unit in the Roman army, the Contubernium, consisting of eight highly trained soldiers. They pulled out their swords and ran straight for the dead, fear had no hold on them. The soldiers took no time in slashing, kicking, and stabbing their way through the outside line of cadavers, but unlike the guards, they quickly found those actions had no effect. As they discussed their findings, the air filled with the sound of carnage. The infected were snarling, snapping their teeth, and gurgling while the army unit added the sounds of skin being slit open and limbs slapping the concrete as they fell. The men continued to fight the horde, but one mistake led to being bum-rushed or bitten. Soon, each of the Contubernium was down, but being covered in leather armor, the horde quickly lost interest and went in search of new meals. A lone survivor—a single nervous guard—watched as the doorway to the ludus darkened, and blood-soaked cadavers started filing out. He turned to run as he witnessed a corpse, with hardly any torso walk into the sunlight, exposing its ravaged body. One of the first-bitten noticed, and quickly overtook him, jumping on his back and sinking teeth into his neck. He fell with a thud and was immediately consumed by the infected that caught up. As the dead roamed the town, screams erupted in the early morning light, shattering the silence. Sounds from the cadavers bounced off the stone and fired-brick homes as they shuffled through the streets releasing grunts, moans, and groans. Citizens were rushing down the streets in an attempt to flee the sight of blood-caked, half-eaten bodies attacking their friends and family. The people of the town were quickly added to the infected, causing the horde to grow exponentially. As the days passed by, Rome suspected a slave uprising and sent an army unit to quell it. After marching for several days, the unit finally approached the outskirts of town. Instead of a bustling market just outside the city gates, the unit found it burnt to the ground. With empty eye sockets, melted cartilage, and charred skin, several bodies remained animated: twitching and roaming with stuttered movements. The wind changed direction, and the smell of the carnage reached the army unit, causing several to involuntarily lose their previous meal. Orders were given to put the poor souls out of their misery and the unit pushed forward. Despite having no eyes, the fire-purged bodies heard the footfalls of the soldiers and turned towards them. The sudden sight of burnt-off lips, noses, and a few cases of open body cavities sent chills down the front line, a few stepping back and clutching their weapons. The air was saturated with the smell of charred flesh and smoke, intensifying the terror that now gripped the soldiers' hearts. But with the orders of their commander, they steeled themselves for the fight ahead and marched forward. Reaching the first burning stall, an unseen abomination leaped through the flames. It latched on and bit down on the neck of one of the soldiers, allowing blood to gush into its mouth, onto its face, and freely fall down his neck and chest. The soldier's scream broke the silence while those around him took a step back. A few gripped their swords, knuckles turning white, but none dared to swing on the fire-licked body. The few infected in front of the unit were now close enough for the soldiers to hear their gnashing teeth and crackling burnt flesh. The dead made the first move and swung their blackened fingers at the front line. Some of the soldiers struck true, slicing through the blackened arms, while others used the flat of their blades to deflect the grasping limbs, slapping them away with a mix of fear and desperation. With only a few of the dead to deal with, the soldiers made quick work of their arms and cut off their heads that continued to bite until smashed or sliced through. The one soldier who was attacked was on the ground having succumbed to his wounds. He was pushed to the side and the man behind him took his place at the front. The unit's next order was to find and kill every reanimated corpse while looking out for survivors. The unit moved as one, their footsteps in unison, which rebounded off the walls of the town. Unbeknownst to them their presence had alerted the rest of the infected. The wide-open gate was only a few meters across which would effectively bottleneck the arriving army unit. The first few through the opening saw the Contubernium, weapons drawn, approach from the ludus. Relieved to see the highly trained unit still active in the town, the front lines lowered their weapons in anticipation of an update on the situation. As they neared, a few of the front line felt a gripping unease they couldn't quantify, spreading over them. As the Contubernium drew closer the men's relief turned to horror. The elite fighting force was ravaged by bite marks, their necks now bearing gruesome bites and missing flesh. A man screamed and the infected fighting force attacked. The undead, eyes cold and unyielding, charged the front line with swords at the ready. Unlike the previous corpses, they didn't flail; instead, they pressed their attack with calculated ferocity. The terrified front line hesitated against the Contubernium's expert defense, while the elite unit deftly deflected and countered each blow. With ruthless precision, the dead soldiers struck back, targeting exposed necks and arms with their swords, and sometimes, their teeth. Man after man fell to the muscle memory of the elite unit. The eight well-trained revenants were able to push the army unit back to the bottleneck and hold them there long enough for the horde to reform behind them. The horde, consisting of townspeople, gladiators, and ludus guards who weren't trained slammed into the backs of the Contubernium causing them to lose their balance. Two fell immediately while the others caught their footing and continued to fight the living. A hole emerged between them and the rest of the corpses surged towards the army. Becoming overwhelmed by the unwavering attack of the horde, the commander yelled for retreat and the men in front did their best to disengage. When they stepped back the cadavers stepped forward, and in a few cases leaped ahead, clashing with the blood and viscera-ladened swords. As the horde surged towards the army, the front line occasionally stumbled and fell, only to be trampled by the blood-soaked corpses behind it. The continuous march from the dead pulverized the fallen into a bloody sludge. The sounds of bones breaking caused a few of the living soldiers to flee, giving another foothold to the dead. Some of the cadavers managed to crawl away from the unrelenting feet, their lower body severed from their torso, organs sliding out and adding to the carnage. These dead became crawlers who moved forward with their stumps for arms and jerky, mechanical movements, adding to the horror of the horde. Soon the soldiers were divided between those being slaughtered by the frenzied fiends and those retreating. It didn't take long for the former to be completely depleted of living men while the latter ran towards the nearest town, Pompei. After having their fill of flesh and fresh organs the army of dead rushed after the army of the living. Needing no reprieve from the trek, the cadaverous group quickly caught up to the resting soldiers. The army broke apart again, leaving half of the remaining men to be cannibalized by the horde, and the other half running for their lives. During their retreat, a thunderous sound clapped the sky; a huge plume of smoke and debris erupted into the atmosphere. Those trying to outrun the dead barely heard the noise over their beating hearts in their throats, and the sight of the cloud forming before them did nothing to detract them from their path to Pompei. The fastest among the soldiers made it to town in a flash to find the army unit stationed there and warn them of the impending doom. The Contubernium of this town was too busy trying to evacuate the townspeople from the incoming fiery flow of magma descending the mountain. As the last of the army reached Pompei, they realized they were between a molten rock wall on one side and an undead army on the other. They turned to fight but were quickly overtaken by the flowing glow of magmatic stone. The cadavers, unfazed by the sight of their meals being enveloped by the boiling boulders ran straight at the red wall of lava. Later … The lead archeologist went through the updated file containing numerous reports, pictures, and one video of his dig site. The excavation had yielded more than he had ever seen from his other digs put together. The flap to his tent lifted and one of his research students rushed inside. “Professor … we need you!” When he turned to look, they were gone. He pushed the flap out and stepped into the beating sun. The several minute walk gave him time to wonder what he was needed for; a new discovery, an old one, or perhaps someone messed something up. When he finally arrived, he stared down, astonished by the scene in the freshly dug earth. He was confused at the numerous bodies lying everywhere, covered in dirt and some mud. Some were whole, others in different degrees of decay. There were many full skeletons clad in legionary armor, while the others, mostly full skeletons, some with outstretched stumps, were clad in gladiator garb. The newest two figures uncovered were mid-fight, frozen in time. One had died with his hands raised in defense, while the other was charging mouth first with teeth bared. It appeared the second was going for the throat. The lead archeologist shook his head as he walked around the two figures, “Romans … sick buggers the lot of them.”
By Colt Hendersonabout a year ago in Horror
