Showing results by author "Mace Styx" in All Categories

Of course he hadn’t, you would tell yourself. He was pinned in place, the same place, forever. Still you’d have to check. Perhaps, because for every second you tried not to look at him, you’d feel him looking at you. Then you’d look up, and it would be too late. Mr. Adderly’s scarecrow, nicknamed "Black eyed Jack" was around the size of an average man, but was of a curiously lifelike composition.

“You mean…you’re not coming in with me?” Hayley asked, feeling something in her stomach drop, though she didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Amber flashed Hayley a smile that was half-regret, half pitying.

Upon the occasion of her own demise, Mary Seacomb was buried, as was her wish, between the roots of the tree - despite the malevolent elements of her work and the fact that she was expressly forbidden from entering any of the church buildings within the surrounding areas. Accounts and parish records from the time reveal that she was regarded as something of an asset to the local area. This was particularly on account of her apparent ability to shield the town and a number of local villages from the effects of the black death.

We passed in front of the men, some of whom gave me angry stares. I laughed inwardly. How easy it was for them to blame another for their own misfortune. I knew some had their eyes on my navigator, while others affixed theirs on me. I had often been the subject of many an attention, but I hardly indulged in such subtle fantasies. Only once in my very long life have I had anyone who could afford me the pleasures I desired. Others had only managed to while away my time. A commodity I possess in excess.

With the children of the village, "Greenfinger Tom" was not only a suspect, but irrefutably guilty of any number of crimes. A neighborhood boogeyman for decades, he was used by older kids to taunt their siblings and frighten them into obedience. “If you get out of that bed again, Greenfinger Tom will get you,” seems to have been a common threat used by mothers and fathers who had themselves sprinted past Greenfinger’s garden if they were forced to pass after dusk.

"Bob, you need to get here as soon as possible. I think someone broke in last night." "What? Don't you think you should have started with that?" "I thought it was you. That is why I called you," I said, already panicking. "I am on my way. Call the police and get out of there now. Someone could still be in there." He ended the call, and I just stood there, looking around, trying to find the courage to pick up the phone and call them. I don't know why but I thought it would be a good idea to look around first. To see if there was any money or stuff missing.

Darryl stared at her, wanting to tell her to knock it off, that the joke wasn’t funny. But Crystal stared back at him blankly, watching him struggling to even form basic questions. He knew she wasn’t kidding. It was an animalistic instinct that words didn’t have the hope of matching. Logic and reason had left the building.

A few hours later, wafting into the room with the supercilious air of confidence peculiar to those who know they are to speak on a subject upon which they are unlikely to be challenged came Mavis Clay, adorned in a flowing white dress that seemed to be more ruffles than stitching and sat herself like Christ in Da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper in the center of the long table, whilst historians, experts, and the duke himself flanked her like apostles, on either side.

I ran back on the bed and cowered under the sheets once again. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.” I kept on repeating this line inside my head to convince myself that what I saw wasn’t true. Even though I cannot make out what this person looked like from afar, those glowing red eyes was more than enough to terrify me for years. The sequence between the hoots gradually grew longer, but every single one drew closer and closer.

Outside the tent was damp and cold and moist and like nothing Kayla had ever seen. Almost immediately, she wanted to return into the tent. Supria was already swiftly ahead. Here was like nowhere she had ever seen before. The sky was an eerie purple and orange, there were lighting strikes without thunderbolts. Sequoias characterized the landscapes and then the people.

Fear made me dig. After a while, I really did find something, but it didn't look like a doll to me. It looked more like an old rag sewed up to look like a doll, with two buttons as eyes and few strands of hair poking out of what was supposed to be her head. It was muddy and half-decayed, and I tried to tell her again that she doesn't need it, but I didn't.

Aside from the last part, I happened to tick most of the boxes. Without knowing what it was, I already spotted this door a few times. I also had a few vague encounters with ghosts in different places. I just preferred not to tell anyone about it in fear that I might be laughed at. I didn’t say a single word and pretended to mind my own business until the break ended.

Well, this beginning of my new life did not start as I thought it was going to. I was here for less than two hours, and I already managed to have a panic attack. What should I expect next. I was in a foreign country, in a car with two people I do not know, going to a clinic where I should have a meeting that could determine my whole future. I had no idea how to do it, but apparently, I had four and a half hours to bring my A-game and impress my future boss.

Then, she looked up and let out a short, bitten-off scream. A...thing was there, looming above her, observing her with the impassivity of the cat. Though most of it was shrouded in darkness, Paige knew it was a demon. She could vaguely make out the silhouette of wings, of huge horns curling up from its head like a gazelle. She wanted to light more candles to see better, but she didn’t want to look away from the creature.

One of the most remarkable things about Cathy was her beautiful skin. She had skin that was clear as crystal. And her figure was amazing. Her nose was pointed, defining her face in a well-structured manner. People often called her "the sunflower girl" because of her features and talents as a stripper.

The next complainant brought us back our cabbages, which was one of our produce that father took pride in. He was already agitated before the vendor could say anything. And just like the tomatoes, the cabbages looked totally fine on the surface. The vendor took out one of them that was already cut in half, and father tried his best not to lash out in front of the vendor because of what he saw. There were maggots crawling from the stalk of the cabbage, and the inner leaves were incredibly pale that it was almost grayish white.

We were dangerously close from the explosion. My ears rang as my vision was blurred by the ashes that covered the area. As I regained my hearing, I heard a very discreet sound that sent chills down my spine. I was certain that the others heard it, as well, when they turned their heads from left to right. It sounded like a silent howl of something that I have not heard before. It was like a strong gust of wind passing through a shattered horn or a screech being forced out from a dry throat.

"No.” She admitted, guiltily. “I am sorry. If I enter the darkness, it would grab me before I can fetch you anything to get the fire going.” Sam nodded. He had faced death before. But every time, there was hope, a fighting chance. This time, he could do nothing. Emily visibly shuddered. “He will have me, place its scythe through my soul. It allows it to control the agony my soul receives. Then, until the morning, I will keep suffering. Every moment feels like an eternity. I might switch to my other personalities, just to escape the pain.”

The Reaper did not speak. He did not even move, for what need did he have to chase anyone? Everyone comes to him eventually. Men, women, and gods all are consumed in his ever waiting black. Clive, sighing deeply, turned to look Death in the face. In the form he took for Clive, Death stood around seven feet tall, the hood of his monk’s cowl falling to just above the bridge of the nose, had there been a nose to speak of. Instead, there was simply a hole, a cavernous nothing, like death itself.

I had no choice but to lift up the bed, and Becca aggressively grabbed our daughter to stop her from behaving wildly. She struggled to get out of her arms, and she succeeded when she sank her teeth into her mother’s shoulder. I ran immediately to the medicine cabinet. My wife was crying as she tried to lull our little Matthew back to sleep. He was awakened because of the loud ruckus in the house. With my youngest child and my wife in tears as I was patching up the wound on her shoulder, my heart was crushed while I was looking at the bite mark of my daughter.