monster
Monsters and horror go hand in hand; explore horrific creatures, beasts and hairy scaries like Freddy Krueger, Frankenstein and far beyond.
Unidentified Creatures Montauk Monster
When the Montauk Monster was said to have been discovered on a beach in Montauk, New York in late July 2008, the public's infatuation with it reached a new level. This mysterious discovered animal had created great interest, being noticed by as many who began to enter discussions and speculations about the origin of the creature, its identity, how supernatural phenomena looked.
By Nazmul Hossain2 years ago in Horror
Shadowlisted. Content Warning.
It’s a late evening for Assi. She’s writing a newspaper article on the computer, tapping the keys lightly. She’s about to end her shift on the office for today. Soon enough, the clock hits nine. “Finally, time to get away from this place!” Assi thinks while she sorts some papers and puts them in a folder. She stands up and picks up her bag on the desk. Then, the jacket hanging on the clothes hanger. She puts the chair in place and then rushes out. On her way she sees Derek still sitting at his desk, a fellow colleague. “Bye, Derek!” She says to Derek while waving. Derek looks up from the monitor and catches her gesture. “Oh, bye Assi!” He starts scrambling together his stuff very quickly. Assi grabs the umbrella in the umbrella stand and then walks out the door.
By Nardalis (Narda)2 years ago in Horror
The Last Train to Nowhere (Part 8)
Julia Parker stood at the ragged lip of the railway platform, the weight of her relentless search tightening like a coil around her chest. Everything she had uncovered, every whisper and shadow, had led her here, to the end. The phantom train still loomed in her mind—a thing unresolved, neither dream nor memory, but an ache suspended in time. Above, the sky churned, thick with clouds heavy as unspoken secrets. The dim, silver light they cast was smothering, pressing down on the station like the breath of a world long dead. The platform was a place of crumbling stone and rusted rails—unforgiving in its silence. Julia’s flashlight stabbed at the darkness, but even the light seemed uncertain, flickering weakly in the grip of the gathering fog. Tonight, she would find the truth—or what passed for it in a place like this. She stepped to the edge of the platform, where the tracks stretched out like veins into the unknown, disappearing into a murky haze that swallowed everything. Somewhere out there was the end of the line. Somewhere out there was the answer. Her heart pounded in sync with her footsteps as she moved along the tracks, her breath ragged in the cold, damp air. The world had fallen silent, a stillness so profound it felt as though time itself had fractured. The fog crept in closer, curling around her legs like a predator, gnawing at her senses. The weight of the unknown pressed down harder, an invisible hand clutching at her throat. Each step was slower than the last. At the terminus of the tracks, the world simply ceased to exist. There was no horizon. No boundary. The tracks just... stopped, swallowed by an endless void that stretched beyond sight. The fog had become a living thing, thickening to the point where even the ground at her feet seemed to waver, lost in an infinite sea of gray. Julia set up her equipment, her hands shaking more from the anticipation than the cold. The air was dense with expectation, the very atmosphere buzzing with the presence of something other. She could feel it now, more than ever—the sensation of being watched, as if the eyes of the forgotten dead were pinned to her every move. Then, from within the fog, it began. A train whistle. Not the sound of any whistle Julia had heard before, but a cry—haunted, hollow, piercing through the stillness like a blade through flesh. The sound twisted her stomach into knots, the kind of dread that claws at your insides. And beneath the whistle came the sound of wheels grinding over tracks—rhythmic, steady, and so wrong. She spun toward the noise, heart hammering as her flashlight cut through the fog. Nothing. The mist was thick, impenetrable. But the sound—growing louder, more urgent, undeniable—vibrated through the ground beneath her feet. A pulse. The pulse of a dead thing still walking. And then, the fog shifted. Out of the swirling gray emerged a hulking silhouette—the phantom train. Its form wavered between substance and shadow, a thing only half-present in this world. It moved with an eerie, dreamlike slowness, gliding along the tracks with a silence that belied the clanking of its wheels. Julia stood rooted in place, her mind warring with itself—run, or stay and confront the impossible? The train. It shimmered in the pale light, an engine of rusted iron and decayed wood, draped in ghostly wisps of fog. Behind it, carriages followed like a procession of the damned, their windows filled with the faces of passengers lost to time. Their eyes—those empty, hollow eyes—watched her with a terrible yearning. These were the passengers who never arrived, whose journey had no end. The train came to rest at the edge of the void, its brakes hissing like the dying breath of something monstrous. The whistle faded into nothingness, leaving behind a silence so dense it was suffocating. Julia felt the weight of their gaze, a thousand souls pressing down on her, demanding something she didn’t know how to give. The door of the first car creaked open, beckoning. Steeling herself, Julia stepped forward, her heart a chaotic drumbeat in her chest. She climbed aboard, the air inside thick with decay—a graveyard of lost time. Her flashlight flickered over the scene—rows of seats, empty but for scattered belongings: forgotten coats, dusty suitcases, crumpled newspapers. The echoes of lives that had been cut short, suspended in the moment of departure. At the end of the car, she found it. A small compartment, locked and sealed. It resisted, but only briefly. With a jarring snap, the door gave way, and inside lay a journal—ancient, its leather binding cracked and worn by time. Julia’s hands shook as she opened it, flipping through pages yellowed with age and smudged by hands long gone. The words spilled out like a confession. The conductor’s journal. He had once guided this cursed train, his entries a chronicle of despair and fear. His words grew more frantic with each page, describing the journey—the cursed, eternal journey. The passengers trapped in limbo, forever departing, never arriving. A loop that couldn’t be broken. His final entry was a desperate plea. Break the cycle. Release us. Let the train finally reach its destination. Julia felt the cold crawl deeper into her bones. She had known, on some level, that this was what she would find. Yet the reality of it—the desperation, the hopelessness—struck her like a blow. She stepped off the train, her breath misting in the frigid air. The fog curled around her once more, and slowly, the phantom train began to retreat, its form dissolving into the mist as it rolled back toward the void. The lost souls watched her with those hollow eyes, fading as the train vanished into the endless gray. Silence. The weight of the station’s sorrow lifted, though not entirely. Julia had found the truth, but the truth was a burden all its own. She would have to find a way to free them. The lost passengers, the conductor—the ones forever bound to the tracks. The mystery of the last train to nowhere lingered, pulling her ever deeper. As she left the station behind, the fog receded, a temporary reprieve. The night air whispered promises of answers still hidden, of ghosts not yet laid to rest. Julia knew her journey was far from over. The line had ended, but the road ahead was only just beginning.
By Black Rose2 years ago in Horror
The Last Train to Nowhere (Part 7)
Night fell in a heavy, suffocating shroud as Julia Parker arrived at the railway station. Shadows stretched long across the cracked platform, a chill creeping through the air like unseen fingers. She had been here before, yes—but tonight, something was different. The whistle. It had haunted her dreams, its mournful wail echoing in the deep recesses of her mind, pulling her back to this place. Darkness swallowed the station whole. The moon’s feeble light barely cast enough glow to outline the broken tiles and rusted rails. Julia’s flashlight sliced through the gloom, but even its beam felt fragile, as if the dark might smother it at any moment. She moved quickly toward the old signal house—a crumbling relic of the past, forgotten by time but not by the whispers of history. She had heard the stories, pieced together the rumors, and tonight she was ready to unearth whatever secrets it held. The door to the signal house groaned open, protesting her intrusion with a wail that sent shivers down her spine. The stale air hit her like a wall—thick with mildew, decay, and something else. Something darker. Her light darted over the room, catching glimpses of ancient machinery—levers frozen in rusted mid-motion, gears that hadn’t turned in decades, and... a whistle. It hung on the far wall, brass gleaming unnaturally amidst the dust-coated chaos. Julia’s breath caught in her throat. There was no mistaking it. This was the whistle. The same whistle she had heard, night after night, as the phantom train roared through her thoughts. Intricately engraved, it was as much an artifact as a warning. She hesitated, standing at the edge of the room. The air seemed to thicken, cold seeping into her bones. The shadows—had they always been this dark, this alive? Her hand, trembling slightly, reached out toward the whistle. As her fingers grazed the cold brass, a gust of wind ripped through the room, violent and sudden, sending her flashlight flickering in and out of existence. And then came the sound. The whistle screamed—a sound so sharp, so soul-piercing, it felt like the very station had ripped itself from the fabric of reality. It wasn’t just a noise. It was a presence. A living, breathing force that clawed at the walls, rattled the windows, and reverberated through the floor beneath her feet. Julia staggered back, her heart slamming in her chest. The room came alive. The levers jerked, the gears began to turn with a life of their own, grinding together in a symphony of rusted metal. Shadows swirled, growing larger, more defined, as if the very darkness had taken form. They twisted, writhed, creeping across the walls in grotesque shapes. The whistle—it wasn’t just sound. It was calling. Her flashlight’s beam stuttered across the room, catching glimpses of the chaos—the whistle, still shrieking its eerie dirge, the signal house seeming to pulsate with each mournful note. Julia could feel the sound in her bones, vibrating, echoing in the deepest corners of her mind. A voice, no—a chorus of voices—rose within the whistle’s wail, an unearthly sound that chilled her to the core. They were lost, pleading, desperate. The passengers. The ones who never arrived. The ones who never left. She had to stop it, had to break the cycle, but how? Every instinct screamed for her to run, yet she stood frozen, tethered to this place by some unseen force. Then, in the swirling chaos, her mind latched onto a single thought. The inscription. The one from the phantom train’s clock. To depart is to remain, to remain is to depart. The whistle was part of this cycle, wasn’t it? A signal. A cry. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a question. And perhaps it needed an answer. Gritting her teeth, Julia stepped forward, toward the whistle, her pulse pounding in her ears. The air was electric now, thick with something ancient, something beyond her comprehension. Her hand gripped the whistle. She took a deep breath, her heart racing as she raised it to her lips. With trembling hands, she blew. The sound that emerged wasn’t the harsh, screeching wail that had haunted the station, but something softer. A low, melodic tone, almost soothing in its simplicity. The room shuddered, the shadows froze, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the air was still. The whistle had changed. It was no longer a call of desperation but a note of acknowledgment, of understanding. It echoed once, twice, then faded into the quiet. The machinery stilled, the levers returned to their resting places, and the oppressive darkness began to lift, retreating as if it had never been there at all. Julia’s breath came out in a rush, her chest heaving. The cold had vanished, replaced by a strange warmth that enveloped her like a blanket. The eerie whistle, once a scream in the night, now hung silent and still, its mystery laid to rest—at least for the moment. She set it down gently, its brass gleaming in the faint light, its song finally silenced. The station, too, had quieted. The oppressive weight of the past had lightened, though not disappeared entirely. There were still questions. Still secrets. Julia knew that. But for now, the whistle’s cry had been answered. The haunting presence that had clung to this place had been soothed, its dirge heard, and for the first time, perhaps, understood. Stepping back into the night, Julia glanced over her shoulder one last time at the signal house. She could still feel the hum of the whistle in her bones, though its call had been quieted. There was more to discover, she was sure of it. The phantom train, the lost passengers, the endless cycle of departure and arrival—it wasn’t over. Not yet. As she drove away from the station, the night stretched out ahead of her, silent and still. But in her mind, the whistle’s call lingered, softer now, but ever-present. A reminder. The journey was far from over. And Julia, determined and unyielding, was ready to face whatever lay ahead.
By Black Rose2 years ago in Horror
The Haunting Legacy of the Toyol: Malaysia’s Ghostly Trickster
The Toyol is a scandalous grand figure from Malay tales, extensively feared and respected across Malaysia, Indonesia, and Singapore. This underhanded and risky soul is much of the time depicted as somewhat, legit creature, with a malicious arrangement. Known for its deception, the Toyol is acknowledged to finish endeavors like thievery and mischievousness to serve its ruler. It epitomizes a rich mix of odd idea, mystery, and fear, woven into Southeast Asian social convictions.
By Kyrol Mojikal2 years ago in Horror
Blight
Carter might be in a dream. As he hit the top of the hill that towered over his hometown, he noticed a wall surrounding the small city. His only assumption was that there must have been a blight attack. This caused his steps to quicken and his mind to race. His mother and little sister were still in town. He had been drafted at the age of 18 to fight the mutated creatures that formed from the unique makeup of the meteorites that crashed all over the earth. The numerous rocks gave off a blue light that was eventually identified as a new radioactive element. That had all happened a little over 5 years ago, and now Carter was finally getting home. His platoon had been decimated by the Blighted that they were sent to fight. He was the only one left with barely a scratch on him. Over the years, the government's of the world had run a plethora of tests on captured and killed Blighted. These experiments found that the Blighted had the ability to create illusions and that they were connected to each other through some sort of hive mind. The strength of the illusions and hive mind depended on their amount of mutation. The higher the mutation, the higher their control. The area Carter was sent to was controlled by a rather strong Blighted. It was able to create almost perfect replications of buildings and people. After the final push resulted in catastrophic losses, the brass decided to just bomb the area. Carter, being the lone survivor, was then asked if he wanted to re-enlist or go home. He decided he was done with dealing with the mutated people and chose to go home. He was now close enough to the wall to see two people dressed somewhat similarly in different colored fatigues. One wore a baseball cap, and the other had on sunglasses. They were both white with brown hair, while the one on the right was at least a head shorter than the one on the left. Before he got too close, one of the men yelled out, "Stop there. We will come to you." "Yes, sir." Carter answered back as he came to a stop. Carter realized that the two men were armed as they slowly approached. Assault rifles were loosely hanging from their necks, slightly bumping around with each step. Once the men got within 50 yards, Carter thought he saw a pale blue light coming from the shorter man. It was just for a second, but was it actually there? He was exhausted from his journey on foot and just decided it was a fluke. Trick of the light plus his tired brain. He looked at his military watch that was also a personal radiation detector; no ping meant he was free of radiation. "How's it going, fellas?" "Who are you?" The taller one asked. "What's your business here?" The shorter one added. "I live here. When did …" "If you lived here, you wouldn't be outside." The shorter man interjected as he put his hands on his weapon. "Gentlemen, there is …" "Why are you here?" The taller one interrupted this time. "Gentlemen, I used to live here with my mother and sister, but I was drafted," Carter replied, "I have been fighting the blight in the south for 5 years and 7 months." "So you were killing those blight monsters?" The short one looked kind of impressed as his hands on his weapon lightened. "Unfortunately." "What's that mean!" The taller one prodded. "The blight were once humans. I took no pleasure in killing them." Carter said in almost a whisper. "Wow, that's … stupid." The tall one said, ending with a laugh and getting a high five from the short one. "You're not the first to say that, and I understand." "Well, since you were out there handling those damn blighted, I am sure we can accommodate you," The taller one said as he extended his hand towards Carter, "Name's Simpson, Simpsonville." "Jason Pollock." The short one said as he, too, lifted his hand. "Carter Davis, gentlemen." Carter said as he shook their hands. They started chatting about the hotspots as they started walking towards the wall. Carter did his best to answer their questions, but he was just a grunt. He didn't know where the main force was. He only knew where he was told to go. He had heard rumors of almost everything going on, but they were just that most of the time, rumors. When they finally reached the wall, the conversation turned towards what happened for there to be a wall surrounding the small city. One day, a creeping group, the Blighted, of maybe 6, slipped in at night, unnoticed. By dawn, there were over 20 of them. After the cleansing, which claimed 32 people, the remaining citizens had a town hall meeting and devised the wall. Everyone willingly pitched in to build it. Unfortunately, his mother and sister were among the cleansed. Carter broke down over this, and the guards just watched him cry, unable to think of how to comfort him. After he pulled himself together, Jason punched in a code on a panel next to a solid metal door. When the door slid open, there was a hallway that led to another door. The metallic corridor was around 15 feet long, and Carter was ushered in after Jason took the lead. With Jason in front and Peter behind him, he felt out of place. He looked at his watch again, but still no radiation. "Got a hot day, soldier?" Peter asked from behind him. "No, just seeing how long it took me to get here," Carter replied, "Four and a half hours. I think that's pretty good." "Yeah, that's way better than I could have done." Jason added. "That's cuz you have short legs!" Peter ended with a cackle. It didn't take long to reach the door, where Jason put in another code on another panel and the door slid open. On the other side was the morning sun a quarter way in the sky, shining down on maybe 2 dozen buildings in all. Jason stepped outside and motioned for Carter to follow. Once outside, he turned back to the guards, hopeful of directions. "OK, what you need to do is get permission to stay in one of the apartments." Peter started to explain. "The only way to do that is by visiting the mayor's office. Since you lived here, I take it you know where the main government building is, on the square?" "Yes." "Great, just go there and let them know why you are there." Peter finished and started to walk inside. "We will radio ahead for you, soldier." Jason said before both of them disappeared behind the closing shiny metal door. ***** The journey was a short 30-minute walk to the square. He was really feeling fatigued as he stepped into the cool air conditioning. The day wasn't that hot, but Carter figured he was tired from the sun beating down on him since he started walking. His steps were slow, but sure. He walked to the end of the white tiled floor, beige colored walls with a white ceiling tiles corridor, and looked left to right. On his right, he found a woman sitting at a rather large wooden desk with a name placard that read 'Doris'. Their eyes met, they smiled, and Carter spoke first. "Hello ma'am, I am Carter Davis. I was told to come here to see about an apartment." "Yes, sir, this is the place. We were informed of your presence. Have a seat, and the mayor will be with you at his earliest convenience." That did not sound promising to Carter, but he found a seat behind him and sat down. He looked around at the few paintings and little trinkets, but nothing filled his curiosity. "What happened here? This is completely different from what I remember." "Weren't you out there fighting those things? You should know better than us what is happening." Doris responded. "We were told our families were safe from the blight." "Well, after we were attacked and built the wall, the drought hit, which led to a food shortage. We had a few deaths over those two years. It was heartbreaking for us as a community." Doris said before tearing up and reaching for a tissue. "The famine reached up here?" Carter was furious, "They told us that the famine was happening in other parts of the world, not here in America." "Boy, don't you know you can't believe everything they tell you. They are the government." Doris now blew her nose. Carter wanted to mention that she was also the 'government' but decided to just say, "That's true." "The guards mentioned your family lived near the old bridge when the incident occurred," Doris mentioned with sympathy on every word, "My cousin and his family lived over there, too. My condolences for your loss." "I am sorry for your loss, too." Carter's voice was filled with despair. Doris started to say something, but she stopped when the sound of a door opening drowned out her first syllable. The solid wooden door opened to show a middle-aged man in a black three piece suit with a white shirt and blue tie. He looked professional and familiar to Carter. It took him a few seconds to remember the face. "Mr. Alastor?" "That's me … Carter Davis? I thought that name sounded familiar. You're Lydia's boy," The late 30's man spoke with an even tone as he briskly walked the few yards between them, "It's a damn shame what happened to your mother, and … your, broth. No, sister, right?" "Yes, sir, and thank you." "That … that invasion was devastating. It claimed way too many people, roughly 6 percent of the citizens." Mr. Alastor said with empathy, oozing out of his words, "Since I became mayor after the unfortunate incident, I have sought to make sure the monsters out there don't ever get back in here." "The wall seems to be working, Mr. Alastor." "I don't mean the wall, boy, and it isn't 100% effective!" The man exclaimed as he leaned over the sitting Carter and then whispered all but the last sentence, "I am working on something that repels those things out there. And you can call me Griffin." "OK, Griffin." "Let's step into my office." Griffin said as he motioned for Carter to take the lead, "And get you set up." Carter stood up, standing a few inches taller than the older man, and walked through the open door. He then sat down in the chair in front of a large wooden desk, and Griffin sat in the one behind it. Griffin pulled a drawer out and started rummaging through some papers in it. He eventually found what he was looking for and placed it in front of him. He started reading, mumbling the words to himself, and flipping a few pages before he found the right thing. "OK, Carter, we have several apartments available. Do you remember where the South End Apartments are located?" Griffin asked with a smile. "The South End Apartments?" "Oh, don't worry. It isn't like it used to be," the man assured him, "Since the wall got finished, the crime rate has fallen across the board. We still have a couple of thieves, but we are looking for them." "OK," Carter bobbed his head in agreement, "I remember, over behind the church." "Correct." The mayor stated, "Let me get you a set of keys." "Does everything come through here now?" Carter asked. "Yeah, we kind of turned into a dictatorship after the incident. I stood up," Griffin sighed, "I decided I would take the initiative and lead this community after the previous mayor fled. He just disappeared." "That's crazy." "You're telling me! My teaching career helped me, kind of, for this. Instead of being in charge of students, I am in charge of over 300 men, women and children," The man behind the desk said as he ran a hand through his hair, "To say I am stressed is an understatement. Teaching chemistry was a breeze compared to this." "Besides the incident and the previous mayor leaving, why did it become a dictatorship?" "I just say that because everything goes through this office, and I mean everything," Griffin became serious, "But I don't hold anyone hostage. We all agreed that if you do your job, you can live here, and everyone fifteen or older works at least four days a week." "You have a four day work week?" "Actually, we need to talk about your career," the mayor said as he opened another drawer and looked for a certain piece of paper, "Here, these are the open positions." Carter grabbed the paper and carefully examined it before saying, "I don't have a problem with police or wall security. It's close to what I was already doing." "Oh, were you an MP?" "No." Griffin busted out into a deep laugh before collecting himself and saying, "That's funny. Um, how about you check them both out? Pay is the same starting out." "That sounds good." " Just show up at one of those addresses on Monday morning. I will call them after you leave, Carter." The near silver haired man said as he fished out a pair of keys and threw them at Carter, "The number of the apartment is on the key, and I will have everything turned on." "Monday? That's six days from now." "No offense, but you look like hell," Griffin replied, "I figured give you time to rest up and settle in before you get back to work." "Okay, should I go ahead and pay first and last month's rent?" "What … oh, no. Don't worry about it, Carter," the mayor smiled, "We will worry about that stuff when you decide which job you want." "Are you sure?" "Positive! Now, go home and get some needed sleep, soldier." The older man stood and stuck his hand out for a shake, which Carter took in kind. "It's got to be the sun beating down on me." "That good ole sun. The good radiation," The salt and pepper, mostly salt at this point, haired man used air quotations on the last two words with a smirk, "Come back and see me anytime, maybe give you a quiz for old times sake." With that, they let go of each other's hand, Carter laughed and then made his way out of the office. He said his goodbyes to Doris and walked outside. The walk to the apartments took him around thirty minutes, and as promised, everything was turned on. It was also fully furnished, but no food or drinks. That didn't matter. He got himself some tap water in a provided cup and gulped down several glasses. He had a splitting headache and figured he was just dehydrated. After chugging water straight from the tap and putting his head under the faucet to cool off, he found the bed and lay down. He was still wet, but he drifted off quickly enough that it didn't matter. ***** Carter opened his eyes and looked around the room. Everything had an odd blue glow for a second as his eyes adjusted to the dark he was now laying in. The bed sat in the middle of the opposite wall with nightstands on either side, an assumed closet door to the right of the bed, an antique dresser in one corner, topped with a flat screen television, and a cheap desk and chair in the other corner. The walls were white, the ceiling was white, and the carpet was brown. There's not much to look at. He sat up and walked to the dresser to see if there were clothes; nope. He then proceeded into the bathroom through the assumed closet and found the actual closet in the back. He took off his clothes, urinated in the toilet, and then jumped in the shower. There were no soaps of any kind anywhere Carter could see, so he chose to just stand under the shower nozzle and let the warm water pour over his body. He wasn't feeling very good, and decided he needed to find something to eat. He opened his front door to near pitch black. The only light provided were old yellow lit lights that lined the paved trail to the center of town. As he walked down the half dozen steps to the ground, he heard a familiar ping, but when he looked at his watch, there was no noise or light that indicated the presence of radiation. Carter shrugged, thinking it could have just been a loud ringing in his ear, and continued down the path. He was almost there, he could see the two buildings the trail passed between, when the wind turned cool, which caused goosebumps to spread out over his skin, and then the smell of something dead filled his nostrils. It was only a second, but it caused his feet to stop moving. He looked around and found something strange. It was a public garden that he didn't remember. The sign said, in black on brown stained wood, 'Community Garden'. He could now see vines bearing beautiful blue flowers he had never seen before that covered the walls of the open structure. Inside, there were even stranger trees with light blue fruit hanging off the thick spiky branches with dark purple leaves. Carter stepped closer and examined one of the blue orange-like fruits. He was able to easily pull it off the branch, and he put it to his nose. It smelled like vanilla. When he tried to peel it, it turned out to be more like a mango. Still starving, he plunged his teeth into the blue peel of the new fruit and started chewing. The insides were a darker blue than the skin, and it not only smelled like vanilla, but it tasted like it, too. As he continued to eat, he walked back to the trail. He resumed his leisurely walk towards the buildings and was finished with the treat before reaching the street. He deposited the blue skin and oddly shaped seed into a trash can he found on the sidewalk. He vaguely remembered a diner being somewhere on one of the four streets that made the four intersections of the square of the town. Carter only had to walk through one intersection to find the diner, which was open. It still had the same signage in the windows that he remembered, which advertised a turkey dinner platter with a slice of pumpkin pie for $14.99 in one window, and their new ribeye steak dinner for $18.99 in the other. The door that led into the diner was frosted with fake snow and had a sign of the store's hours. Carter disregarded the hours, as the place was clearly open, and walked into the building. There were a few customers in booths, but none looked up at him, so he decided to sit at the bar. "I will be right with you, sir!" The words came from a short fella behind the counter, cooking something on the grill. It wasn't long before the man behind the counter finished cooking whatever it was and took it to one of the booths of people. He then hurried back around the counter, grabbed a menu, utensils, and pen and paper. "What kind of drink can I start you with, so you can look over the menu?" The short man asked. "A water would be fine." Carter said before asking, "And what are those blue fruits in the community garden? They tasted good, but I am feeling really sick now." "Are you talking about the light blue fruit that smells like vanilla?" Someone from behind him interjected. "Yeah, what are they?" "Well, for one, they aren't ripe until they are dark blue and have no smell," An older man came and sat next to him, "As for what they are? We haven't decided on a name for them yet. They are a mix of blue marble fruit, blueberries, and oranges, so we have two options; Blue Marble Oranges or Blue Vanilla Berries." "Well, I prefer the second, Blue Vanilla Berries. What do they taste like when they are ripe?" "Vanilla." The guy said as he got up to turn back to his group, "Got another for Blue Vanilla Berries." Carter turned back forward and suddenly felt like the fruit was coming back up. He quickly asked, "Bathroom?", but he couldn't stop what happened next. He managed to turn his head away from the counter just before his mouth opened, and he violently threw up stomach acid and pieces of the fruit. He spasmed four times to expel the remaining Blue Vanilla Berries, and he felt his stomach feeling better, but now his body hurt. His face felt hot, and there was a nasty taste in his mouth. "I am, so very sorry." "It's," the man sighed before finishing, "It's okay, I needed to mop anyways." The employee disappeared into the back for a few minutes and returned with a mop and yellow bucket. As he mopped up the blue tinted vomit, he asked Carter, "Have you decided on something?" Carter decided on something light, thinking he was still dehydrated from the walk that morning. It went down easy and stayed down. He paid for his meal and tipped generously before heading back towards his apartment. The breeze was back to being warm for some reason. The delightful scents that once flowed on the air had changed to something horrible. As Carter reached the community garden again, he was struck with the awful and familiar odor of decomposing bodies. He had dealt with his fair share while fighting the Blight. He looked around in the pitch black, but as quick as it came, it was gone in the next instant. After finding nothing and no longer smelling the bodies, he chalked it up to rotting fruits mixed with something else unfamiliar and continued his walk home. ***** Carter woke up exhausted. He was sure it was from throwing up the previous night and went about his morning routine. He brushed his teeth, peed, and then turned on the shower. He stepped in and lowered his head under the shower head. He ran his hands through his short hair and felt something strange. He pulled his head out of the water and stared at his hair covered hands. "What the …" He ran his hands under the flowing water to rinse the hair off and then checked his hair again. There was less of it this time, but there was still hair in his hands. He just stood there, staring at his hair covered hands. A few minutes passed before he started moving again. He finished his shower and got dressed. He was standing in front of the mirror now when he started counting on his fingers, "Nausea, vomiting, headache, and hair loss. I have radiation poisoning!" Carter started screaming obscenities for a few minutes but got really dizzy and leaned up against the bathroom counter. "Now I am getting dizzy. I have to talk to Griffin." Carter slowly made his way out of his apartment and back towards the middle of town. He passed by the community garden again, and the sweet smell of vanilla wafted on the warm morning breeze. Carter paused and took in a deep breath, which was a mistake. He suddenly felt his stomach churn and braced for the release. His back cramped up, his hands were on his knees as he bent over, and his mouth was wide open. At first, he was only dry heaving, but the third attempt was full of blood. He heaved a few more blood filled times and almost collapsed. He caught his breath and then stood up straight, causing him to become dizzy again. After securing himself to a nearby tree with his arms wrapped around it, he waited for the vertigo to pass. A few minutes hugging a tree later, he continued his now even slower pace towards the government building. He passed a few people and offered a smile and wave despite feeling terrible. His hope was that Griffin could help. The few steps into the building were left to ascend, and Carter had to muster up all his strength to climb them. He was getting weaker as the minutes slowly crept by and with each new step down the hallway. Doris greeted him with a smile before she hit the intercom button to say he was there. "Did I forget an appointment, Doris?" Griffin's even tone smoothly rose from the speaker. "No, sir, he is a walk-in." Doris pressed the button again. "Well, send him in here," Griffin's grin could be heard on every syllable, "I am completely free right now." Carter walked to the heavy wooden door, which opened with ease, and stepped into the office of the mayor. Griffin stood up and extended his hand for a shake, but Carter was having trouble walking as a wave of sickness hit him. "You're not looking very good, Carter," Griffin said after the awkward silence from waiting for Carter to reach his hand, "Have you been to the hospital?" "No … I am pretty positive about the diagnosis." Carter finally responded as he took a seat in the chair in front of the desk. "And what is that?" "Radiation poisoning." "Wow, that is serious," Griffin said with genuine worry on his face, "We need to call an ambulance." "No, they can't do anything." "It's not about doing anything," Griffin's tone lowered, "You are probably in a lot of pain. Let's call an ambulance." Griffin reached for the phone. "I am in a lot of pain, but don't call." Carter pleaded. "And why would I do that?" "Because I am too far gone." Carter tried to explain. Griffin picked up the phone and dialed anyway. The conversation was quick, and then he said to Carter, "The ambulance is on its way. And you don't have to worry about anything. Just get better. I was looking forward to seeing you gradually getting sick and then dying as a weak and frail human." "Wait, what?" "Yes, you heard me correctly, Carter. You see, I have been manipulating you since you reached the top of that hill, yesterday," the man sitting in front of Carter frowned before continuing, "I was hoping you would last longer, but you seem to be weaker than the females of your family. I believe they are still being bled in the garden. You see, my invention, which you stupidly ate without knowing what it was, requires blood without the blue crystals to feed the plant. It no longer needs water to survive, but it needs continuous access to the blood. It is a grotesque way to live, actually." "Why me and my family?" "Oh, you are not special. You, because you happen to be the last person that needed to come … home, if you will," the mayor's frown turned upside down as he talked, "And your family, because they wouldn't turn voluntarily." "Then why were you so nice to me?" "I am still the mayor." Griffin replied in turn. "So this whole thing is just a coincidence?" "Yeah, basically," Griffin laughed a little during the natural pause, "But I was hoping to use you for my next plant. That is, of course, ruined, but I have some of my brood out looking for new recruits." "What's the point of the plants?" "World domination." "You can't be serious!" "As a heart attack," Griffin smiled again and said, "Or should that be radiation poisoning?" "Funny, very funny," Carter replied, "How are plants going to do that for you?" "Why should I tell you anything?" Griffin sat back in his chair with a devilish grin. "I am going to be dead soon," Carter felt like this would be the last conversation he would ever have, "And it's not like I will get out of here alive." "Fair point," Griffin sighed, "I guess I could monolog for you." Griffin cleared his throat and began again, "It all started on a cool March evening when these crystal like meteors crashed into the earth. I, or actually the real Griffin Alastor, was struck by one while tending his garden. He, unfortunately, died, and then the pure blue crystallized meteor did its magic and made me. I am a mixture of the living blue element and a complex creature. I then made a discovery by accident, and that discovery was that blood that had not come into contact with the crystal could actually feed plants infected with the blight." "This stuff doesn't react to plants!" "You are wrong, Carter," the mayor said slyly, "But I can see why you think that. Your government doesn't know nearly as much as they think about my kind. I don't know why it only interacts with plants through human blood, though. This human taught chemistry, not biology." "Why didn't I change? I ate the fruit!" "Yeah, and then immediately threw it up. After I heard you ate it, but didn't change, that is the only thing I could think of. It doesn't make sense," Griffin scratched his chin, "You should have changed." "How do you know I am not infected?" "Because you are dying!" The man behind the desk yelled, "If you were infected, the crystals in your body would absorb the radiation and make it a part of you." " … " "Sorry, it … it irritates me, quite a bit," the mayor's even tone returned, "On with the story. I knew I was on the outskirts of town, so I walked the rest of Mr. Alastor's property to his neighbor. They were nice and let me in, which didn't work out well for them. I used them to produce the first fruits. And those were pale imitations of what they are now, but they still worked. I sold a few to a couple with kids out on the road, and after two days, they all returned, mutated." "You're a monster!" "Of course I am," Griffin stood up and leaned over with his fists on the desk, "I am the one in control of this whole town. Every single person of the 531 is controlled by me in some capacity. I have had my eyes on you this whole time, boy." "If this was a few days ago, I would kill you!" Carter yelled as he tried to get out of the chair but failed. The older man started laughing slightly and then said, "You have no idea what is real, Carter. I have had your mind since your eyes fell on my wall, but I have no problem breaking the illusion." Carter sat, horrified as the illusion started to fall as he looked around. The building was in disrepair, with a hole where the ceiling should be. The walls were covered with filth of an unknown origin, and the floor was stained with blood. The illusion slowly crept around Griffin and revealed the open wall behind him. Griffin then stood tall and said, "Now, you will see me in all of my glory!" The first things that changed were the floors and walls, again. They were now covered in various sized vines, all producing different sized blue flowers. The ceiling was even covered in vines, almost forming a new ceiling and almost cutting out the sunlight. The wall that had a hole in it was the escape the vines needed, and Carter could see them stretching all the way to the nearest build. He imagined they went further and that they were what actually made up the tall wall that surrounded the town. The last thing to start to appear was the actual body of the mayor. The base of the man became four times as wide as the legs had been. This continued to hold true as the fine suit disappeared to show a twisted body made up of vines, large dark blue crystals, and the mangled body of Griffin Alastor. The body started where the left nipple would have been and stretched and turned at an odd angle, which left the head on top of the massive stack of vines and crystal. The face was also turned in a grotesque manner, which made Carter sick when the eyes opened, glassed over, and the twisted mouth smiled. The true reveal of the monstrous creature of torment was the last thing Carter saw, as he lost his fight for life. "You see me in all my …, Carter. Carter!" The hodgepodge screamed the last word before hitting the intercom, which still worked, and said to Doris, "Send someone to take this body and dispose of it at the garden." "You want him bled, sir?" "Yes, he is dead."
By Colt Henderson2 years ago in Horror
The Last Train to Nowhere (Part 6)
The sky hung low, thick with heavy clouds, as Julia Parker made her way back to the desolate railway station. The weight of her day's work pressed on her shoulders—hours spent combing through Emily’s diary, the lost passenger whose disappearance clung to her like a shadow. The diary’s cryptic words about the last train’s never-ending voyage gnawed at her mind, burrowing deeper with each passing minute. But tonight, she had a lead—a sliver of hope wrapped in dread. Her car’s headlights cut through the creeping twilight, but as she stepped onto the platform, an oppressive silence swallowed her. Not even the wind dared to stir the stillness. The world around her seemed to blur, the platform coated in a drab wash of gray under the cloud-choked sky. Her flashlight flickered to life, its beam piercing through the heavy shadows that clung to the abandoned station like cobwebs. Julia clutched her equipment close, her steps echoing faintly as she moved toward the tracks. Tonight, she would focus on a singular clue: the precise time, scrawled in Emily’s erratic handwriting. A time linked to the phantom train, an hour that pulsed with unspoken significance. In the diary, the train had never left. But tonight, Julia hoped it might, revealing its truths in the process. The station felt unnaturally still, holding its breath as if waiting for her to make the first move. She glanced at her watch—the hour was closing in, every second dragging like a leaden weight. The distant rustle of dry leaves, the occasional groan of wood shifting under the weight of forgotten years—those were the only sounds that accompanied her. Then the time struck. A cold shiver slid down her spine like a sharp knife. At first, nothing stirred. The station remained inert, frozen. But then—a low hum, faint, rhythmic. The clanking of metal on metal, followed by the mournful cry of a whistle, like a distant echo from another world. Her heart leaped to her throat. Julia’s flashlight whipped toward the tracks, her pulse racing in time with the eerie sounds. And then—there it was. That glow, soft and spectral, creeping from the depths of the night. Growing. Brightening. The outline of the train materialized from the fog, shimmering, as though it existed in two realities at once—both here and somewhere far beyond. The phantom train slid silently toward the platform. Its approach was ethereal, a strange and unnatural glide. The metal of the engine glinted dully in the faint light, but it wasn’t just metal—it was something more, something that seemed to shift and shimmer, refusing to stay fixed in form. Julia felt her breath catch in her throat. Familiar, yet foreign. When it finally stopped, the train stood silent, otherworldly. The clanking and the whistle faded into nothingness, leaving only the quiet hum that vibrated in the air. Julia, with her heart in her mouth, approached. Her flashlight revealed the contours of the ghostly engine—once proud, now withered and ancient, like the last breath of a forgotten era. She took a step onto the train. The hollow sound of her footsteps echoed down the empty cars, the musty air thick with the scent of decay and old leather. Dim lanterns flickered weakly, their light casting trembling shadows across seats smothered in layers of dust. Each breath she took seemed to pull her deeper into the past, as if the very air was laced with the memories of those who had never left. Julia moved from car to car, each more eerie than the last. Heavy curtains draped the windows, blocking out the night. She drew one back—just a fraction—and glimpsed the outside world, but it wasn’t the station. It wasn’t anything she recognized. Only shadows, shifting fog, and a sense of wrongness. The deeper she ventured into the train, the stronger the feeling grew—this wasn’t just a train; it was a mausoleum for the lost. Old newspapers, brittle and yellowed with time, lay discarded beside broken suitcases. Faded photographs stared back at her, frozen memories of passengers who had vanished into the mist of history. But their presence lingered—haunting the details, clinging to the fabric of this spectral train. And then she reached the final car. Different. Luxurious, once. Now faded, its rich paneling and plush seats coated with the dust of forgotten years. But something in this car was alive, or at least pulsed with a kind of dormant energy. At its heart stood an ornate clock. Its hands frozen, trapped at the exact moment the train had been scheduled to leave—the same time from Emily’s diary. Julia approached the clock cautiously, her breath shallow. An inscription, carved into the base, gleamed faintly under her light: To depart is to remain, to remain is to depart. The words twisted in her mind, their meaning elusive, yet resonant. A chill ran through her as she realized—this was the key. This was the heart of it all. Suddenly, the lanterns flickered. The clanking sound returned, louder this time. The whistle, that mournful cry, cut through the silence once again. The train jolted, then slid forward with ghostly grace. Julia staggered, gripping the seat for balance as the scenery outside the windows warped—twisted landscapes, places that belonged in dreams, not reality. The motion was almost serene, but Julia could feel the shift in her bones—this train wasn’t bound by the rules of the world she knew. Time itself seemed to unravel as it moved, weaving between moments, threading through the cracks in reality. And then she understood—this train wasn’t merely traveling through space. It was riding the veins of time, carrying its passengers on an endless loop. Their souls, trapped. Always departing. Never arriving. Julia’s breath hitched, the enormity of the revelation settling over her like a weight she could barely comprehend. The mystery had only deepened. This train, this eternal journey—it wasn’t just the passengers who were lost. The train itself was the embodiment of everything left behind, forever circling, forever haunted. The train shuddered to a halt. The lights flickered once more, then died. Julia, trembling, stepped off. The phantom train dissolved into the night, leaving her standing alone on the abandoned platform. But now, she carried its secrets with her. Her journey wasn’t over. The path ahead was darker than ever, but Julia had seen the heart of the mystery—and there was no turning back.
By Black Rose2 years ago in Horror
The Last Train to Nowhere (Part 5)
Julia Parker arrived at the station just as dawn’s pale fingers scratched at the horizon, trying to claw away the night’s lingering shadows. The railway platform lay still, abandoned in the early light, yet the air buzzed with an almost suffocating tension. Every inch of her skin tingled in the morning chill, a stark reminder of the phantoms that haunted her only hours ago. The ghostly figures, the forgotten train—they’d crept into her dreams, wrapping themselves around her thoughts like a vine overtaking a crumbling wall. She wasn’t just curious anymore; she was obsessed. Who were they? With each hesitant step forward, the station’s decay was exposed in daylight—cracked glass panes staring like blind eyes, brittle walls clinging to existence, weeds overtaking the tracks like fingers of the past reaching out. The rising sun did little to dispel the unease that clung to the place. Julia inhaled deeply, the air thick and metallic. This place, forgotten by time, pulsed with something—something she couldn’t ignore. And now, her gut twisted with the certainty that she had to uncover the fate of those lost passengers—the ones who never made it out. The waiting room, a familiar cocoon of eerie silence, greeted her. It hadn’t changed. And yet, something had changed. Her ears caught the faintest hint of sound—barely there—like a murmur from far away, perhaps just at the edge of her consciousness. It wasn’t wind, wasn’t her mind playing tricks. No, this was something else. Something alive, yet utterly out of place. Setting her flashlight and notebook on the cracked wooden table, Julia strained to hear, trying to catch the fading echoes. The murmurs swelled, voices slipping into the stillness, growing louder, more distinct. Urgent. Soft, yet frantic. Voices not meant for her ears. She froze, caught between listening and searching. Where were they coming from? Her eyes scanned the room, resting on a series of old posters clinging to the walls, their edges curling, paper yellowed like ancient skin. Forgotten destinations, forgotten promises. The Last Journey, read one, its faded ink barely legible beneath the dust. A vintage train, grand and imposing, loomed in the poster’s center, daring anyone to remember its final trip. The voices sharpened, clearer now. Behind the poster—that’s where they are. Without thinking, she peeled the fragile paper away from the wall. A hidden compartment, small and unassuming, was tucked behind it. Inside, buried beneath years of dust and time, lay a worn, leather-bound ledger. Julia’s hands trembled as she opened it, revealing row upon row of names, dates, and destinations—all meticulously recorded by some long-dead stationmaster. Her heart beat faster as she flipped through the brittle pages. Names of passengers, each one forever tied to the station. But something was off—certain entries were marked with a strange symbol: an old railway signal, crossed out with an ominous “X.” What did it mean? The symbol pulsed with significance, as though it had reached across time just to reach her. She hurriedly sketched the symbol in her notebook, feeling the voices press in closer, louder now, surrounding her. They pleaded, desperate: “We’re lost… We need help… Find us…” Footsteps. Soft, hollow, like someone walking just behind her, though the room was empty. Or was it? A cold gust of air swept through the room, lifting the pages of the ledger in a whirlwind of brittle paper. Julia’s eyes snapped to the doorway, and there—standing still, a silhouette of sorrow and time—a figure. Its edges wavered in the dim light, as though it wasn’t fully there. It hovered, silent but screaming. Human? Perhaps once. But now? Something between a memory and a shadow. “Hello?” Julia’s voice faltered, trembling in the cold air. The figure did not respond. It lingered, watching—waiting. And then, it moved, a slow, deliberate approach. Each step sounded louder than it should have, reverberating through the empty space, filling it with dread. Julia’s flashlight flickered, casting wild shadows across the figure’s worn clothing—clothing that spoke of a different time, a different era. Her breath caught in her throat as the figure lifted an arm, pointing toward the back of the room, toward a door Julia had never seen before. The door was old, wood splintered, paint flaking away like dead skin. Her pulse quickened, but the pull was too strong to resist. She walked toward the door, her footsteps echoing in tandem with the phantom’s, her hand brushing the cold metal knob. What was behind it? She opened the door with a creak, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor stretching into the station’s bowels. A single bulb swayed above, flickering in protest. Julia stepped inside, her flashlight barely cutting through the murk. The corridor twisted, narrowed, and at the end—a small room, cluttered with forgotten relics of journeys never completed. Dust-choked suitcases, old trunks, scattered remnants of people’s lives. Their stories. Their deaths? In the corner, a large, rusted trunk beckoned to her. With trembling fingers, she pried it open, revealing an array of personal items: photographs faded with time, letters crumbling at the edges, keepsakes that felt heavy with loss. Julia could almost hear the voices woven through these objects—the lives they represented. A small diary, leather-bound and delicate, lay beneath the clutter. She opened it with care. Emily. That was the name scrawled across the first page. Emily had been a passenger aboard the phantom train. Her words began full of hope, anticipation, even joy. But as Julia read further, the tone darkened, twisted. Emily’s words became frantic, each entry more despairing than the last. She wrote of passengers trapped in an endless journey, lost to time. Her final message was a cry from the abyss: “We’re lost in the dark, waiting for a signal that will never come.” Julia snapped the diary shut, her heart heavy. The weight of their fate pressed against her. These weren’t just echoes of the past; they were pleas. Desperate cries for help. The ghostly train, the figures—real, tangible souls, caught in a place between life and death, waiting for a release that might never come. The station fell silent once more as she stepped back into the waiting room. The morning light had grown stronger, yet the cold hadn’t left her bones. She felt it now, the responsibility, the crushing need to uncover the truth. These lost passengers, these souls—they needed to be remembered. Their journey wasn’t just some chilling mystery. It was a cry for salvation. As Julia left, the weight of their stories hung over her like a shroud. There was still so much more to discover, more lives trapped within the endless riddle of the last train to nowhere. And she was the only one left who could set them free.
By Black Rose2 years ago in Horror
