Archive for the ‘Horror’ Category

Cain, Abel, Seth, Abigail, Peter, David, Luke… for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Eve’s mind ran over the names of her children. Adam was out with the older children, hunting and gathering food for the night’s meals, while Eve was left to relax for a few quiet moments, her hands sliding over the swell of her belly. This pregnancy was different, despite the fact that everyone was acting the same.

It wasn’t the same because the night she’d conceived had been different from all the other times. Her beloved hadn’t said a word to her… he’d simply come to their bed, pressed her in to the furs beneath her, and had her. There hadn’t been anything tender or loving in his touches, and his kisses felt more hungry than passionate… he’d acted like a man starved and deprived. His skin had felt hot to the touch, but he failed to sweat, and he met her eyes only once, when he was filling her with the child now growing within her womb.

After, he’d never spoken of it. Eve worried he was angry with her for something, but nothing in his eyes or on his face suggested such. As Eve continued to fret, the little life within her stirred, kicking rapidly. She was so tired these days… carrying this child was more draining than the others, and as her grip on consciousness began to fade, her mind seemed to come alive with color and sound.

Waking on a bed of plush green grass, Eve sat up to find herself back in the place she’d been sure she’d never see again. Lush green foliage and bright, colorful flowers were all around her. Confusion muddled her thoughts as she stared around Eden, sure she had to be imagining the entire thing. Even as she stood, her feet sinking in to the soft grass, she watched as creatures went about their lives as if they hardly noticed her. Among them, she saw, was a great serpent, longer than she remembered it ever being before. 

A sense of dread swelled up within her even as the child within her womb stirred, kicking and turning, twisting and battering her insides with it’s fists excitedly. Protective hands moved to her belly, covering it as if to hide her child from the evil descending from one of the massive trees. Scales shining in the dappled sunlight, the creature slithered toward her and Eve took a small step back. “Stay back! I’ll not succumb to your temptations again!” she insisted, voice trembling just a bit.

“Sss… Oh, but darling Eve, you already have…” She could swear she heard the animal laugh as it slithered around her slowly, wrapping around her legs and sliding up them as if they were slender tree trunks.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, feeling the creature’s heavy form sliding up between her thighs and up, around her hips and torso. It moved over her bare belly and Eve found herself shuddering, her hands desperately trying to push the thing away from the skin that separated her unborn child from the outside world. “St-stop…”

“I just wanted to say hello to the little princcccccce,” she snake hissed, it’s head sliding around her neck, down between her bare breasts, to nuzzle itself against her belly.

“Prince?” Eve’s voice quivered slightly.

“Oh, yesssss… you ssssshhhhaaallll ssssseeeee,” again she could swear the animal was laughing at her.

A cry of pain erupted from Eve’s lips as she woke suddenly, her hands moving to her belly. It was hard to the touch and even though she was convinced it was too soon, the labor pains hit her with sudden, rapid succession. Her hands gripped at the furs beneath her as she panted hard. The pain was blinding… worse than it had ever been with her other children, and even as she trembled and felt sweat beading on her brow, she whimpered. When the contraction ended at long last, she collapsed, her eyes rolling back in her head once more.

Eve’s eyes opened once more, snapping open to stare around her. The trees were orange and red, burning, and the cries of animals fleeing their homes hit her ears with piercing clarity. “What’s going on?” she breathed, and once more the snake seemed to laugh. 

“The prince is coming,” it hissed, tongue dancing over her bare, hot flesh.

She could feel the grass at her feet heating, turning black and hard, cutting in to her flesh, and the pain was swelling once more, she could feel it as she collapsed to her knees in the blackened, dead grass. “Make it stop…”

Another scream escaped Eve’s lips as she woke to find Adam’s worried face hovering over him. Their adult daughter, Abigail was there, moving between her mother’s legs. “The baby is coming already?” her daughter asked in worry, and Eve could only nod while somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard the serpent’s voice once more. The princcccccce issssssss coming.


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Hands, slender and long-nailed with ghastly white skin reached out for the terrified face of the man whose words had sealed its fate. His eyes were wide with terror, and his mouth opened in a silent scream as those deathly hands gripped his face and held tight, not allowing him to move from his place in the high backed leather chair he graced as if it were a throne. Holding him still, the wild eyed creature climbed up on to the wooden surface of the desk as bony fingers slid back, wrapping around the sides of his neck, finding their way in to the hair there that seemed to thin rapidly with every passing second.

As items fell from the desk, scattered to the floor like so many forgotten pieces of refuse. Papers fluttered through the air as bare feet kicked them aside and the hunkered form continued its predatory climb up, across, and onto the creature’s prey. Stringy hair a mixture of white and black and stained with something that resembled old blood hung in to those wide, intense eyes as the hollow-cheeked abomination crouched there on the desk. “Look at me,” the voice was a hiss, too reptilian to be human but too clear to be animal, and jagged nails dragged across the man’s face.

Blood gathered rapidly at the surface of his skin before beginning to run down his cheeks, pooling in the place where the nightmare’s hands pressed to his skin. His blue eyes continued to stare off in to the distance, not focusing. He wouldn’t… No, couldn’tfocus. It would seal his doom, he knew it. An angry sound left the creature, as if air were rapidly escaping between its pointed teeth and the stench of death flowed over his face. “Look. At. Me!” the voice insisted again, and he felt his head being squeezed in warning, as if it were going to be crushed like a pimple.

Still he resisted, but when the abnormally, inhumanly strong hands shook him hard, making him feel like a rag doll despite being rigid with terror, his fight fled from him. “Look at me!” He looked. His blue eyes met those rage-filled ones and he was aware for only a second that the creature had one. Pale, thin lips stretched over jagged, dangerous teeth in a cruel smile and a sound that rumbled like a hiss and a growl in the back of the creature’s throat sent terrified chills down his spine. “You broke your word,” the creature whispered in that deathly voice as it leaned in closer. He could feel the moisture of its breath now, could hear the promise of violence in every uttered syllable.

Nails dug in to the skin beneath the hair on his neck, blood gathered around the puncture wounds and began to drip from there, sliding down and staining the collar of his once clean white button-up shirt. “You broke your word and now you have to pay. Now you have to suffer like I suffered.” Little more than a terrified whimper left him at those words, and the creature let slip what could be assumed was a laugh but was too malicious to hold any mirth at all. “You smell like fear. Are you afraid? Yes? Good. Let me show you what happens to betrayers.”

Hissing again, the creature stood on the man’s desk, spindly legs unfolding until it stood straight, simultaneously lifting him bodily from his chair until he hung from the creature’s grip, his toes nearly a foot from the floor. Two easy steps carried the monster to the edge of the desk before it jumped down and dragged him, still holding his bleeding head in its hands, to the tall mirror on the far wall. Thrust before it, the creature stood behind him, peering over his shoulder and grinning a feral, murderous grin. His reflection was pale, and growing steadily more so, his eyes were wild and terrified, his hair was thinning and growing out, his teeth were rotting and breaking until his gums were black and the teeth themselves were jagged and terrifying. He seemed to be growing thinner and thinner as the creature watched, the human in its hands rapidly seeming to mimic its looks.

As he watched in horror, his mouth opened to let loose…


A wretched scream left Dr. Jacob Ryan’s throat as he arched and writhed, fighting against the restraints that held him down to the bed. The saddened green eyes of his once-colleague looked down at him while a male orderly delivered another tranquilizer shot to his thigh. As he began to calm, he murmured incoherently and Rebecca Mardsen waved the orderly away. “You can go,” she said quietly. She wanted to be alone with her newest patient.

When the door to the cell-like room closed behind him, Rebecca leaned down to lift one of his eyelids, looking at his dilated pupil for a moment before shaking her head and standing. Looking down at the file in her hand, she frowned. The last file Jacob had begun had been on himself and it contained a paper he’d begun working on just days before falling ill. The title ‘Contagious Psychosis’ was typed neatly across the top of the paper in bold font.

Shaking her head, she turned to leave the room as she began to read, and just before she cleared the door, she heard an odd sound from behind her. The malicious half-hissed laugh sent a chill down her spine, but when she turned to look back at him, Jacob’s form was still and the sound was still echoing through the room. Frowning, she stepped in to the hall and pulled the door shut firmly, trying to shake the feeling left behind in the silence after the laugh stopped abruptly.

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Her Name Is Sarah

Her name is Sarah, and her fingers are moving over the paper, smearing the thick, slippery paint everywhere, painting a picture of her home. She’s painting the blue of the sky and the green of the grass, the black outlines of the house and the yellowish orange of the sun. She’s humming a tune she’s known her whole life, one without an end that spins itself over and over in her mind, one that annoys her mother and makes her father groan every time it starts. She’s crouching on the carpet and her hands are telling a story without words while her toes curl in and around the fibers.

They’re soft and thick, plush and tickling the sensitive skin under the soles of her bare feet. She’s drawing her pet now, a little bright pink ball of fluff beside the big tree. It’s purring, sitting a few feet away and watching her paint with its lazy eyes, head tilted curiously to the side. She’s ignoring her hair as it hangs in her face, obscuring her view of her painted place. She’s biting her lip and listening to the distant creaking of her mother’s rocking chair and the sound of her father’s truck rumbling up the drive way.

Her name is Sarah; she’s still humming her song while she’s painting her favorite thing of all, a purple birthday cake with a messy, smeared number five on it, the number of years since the day she was born. She’s painting her birthday scene on the lawn where her stick-figure self is surrounded by family and friends from her class. And now she’s adding the final touch to her perfect memory, her perfect dream… the bright red apples hanging from the branches of the big green tree beside her birthday scene.

Her name is Sarah and she’s seventeen years old. The blue of the sky is what’s left of the dish detergent her mother put beneath the sink. The green on the tree is antifreeze her father keeps in the garage. The brown is the chocolate sauce she puts in her milk and the black is the ink from her mother’s calligraphy set. The sun’s rays are painted with the remains of a carton of orange juice long since gone bad and the purple is old grape jelly scraped from the bottom of the almost empty jar in the back of the fridge full of food that’s growing life on its surface.

She’s kneeling on the tattered remains of her mother’s favorite fur coat, a crime that would be punished if her mother was able to get out of bed, and her fingers are adjusting the bumpy, pulpy pink substance that forms her cat’s body, taken from the mess left behind when she bashed in its skull with the bust of George Washington her father was so proud of showing off. The bright red apples are painted with the stuff that’s collected in the Tupperware container she cooks her meals in. Her fingers reach for another pinch of her favorite treat and as the recently microwaved meat slips between her lips, she sings a few sparse words from the song she can’t seem to forget.

“The song that never ends, yes it goes on and on…” she stops to chew for a moment, still humming and bobbing her head as one hand reaches out to grab a bit more of the pulp from the cat mess on the carpet and uses it to decorate her birthday cake with little pink candles, giggling. “And they’ll continue singing it forever just because…”

Her name is Sarah and her mother would be mad about the mess she is making, but she hasn’t left her bed in days, and her father can’t spank her because he doesn’t have hands anymore. Or eyes. Or a tongue. Or a heart. She slurps the luke-warm liquid from the pulmonary artery and lets out a happy coo as her distant blue eyes lift to look up at her Daddy and what’s left of his body slumped in his recliner. “It’s gonna be such a pretty picture, Daddy. You’ll see.”

The rumble of thunder is the tank rolling down the road, ignoring the dilapidated house a few hundred yards off the highway, the creaking of the rocking chair is the back door blowing in the wind, and the rumble of her father’s truck is the sound of a jeep pulling up outside carrying five men with guns expecting an abandoned home in the war-torn country side. The clicking of them pulling the hammers back on their guns doesn’t seem to faze her, but Sarah reaches out to pick up the nearby cleaver anyway.

“Did you come for my party too?” she asks in a distant voice, only lifting her eyes from her picture once she’s fully upright. She’s stepping over the picture, she’s ignoring their hurried shouting as she lifts the cleaver over her head and smiles that broken smile.

Her name is Sarah, she’s seventeen years old and lying in a pool of her own blood, eyes glassy and distant as the dirty and torn remains of her favorite flower print sun dress are soaked through by the crimson liquid spilling from the series of holes in her chest and stomach. Her world is going gray and fuzzy, and now black and cold as her lips form the quiet whispers of her favorite song.

“Yes it goes on and on my friends…”

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