Halloween Short 2014

I didn't write a Halloween story last year unfortunately, I have however, written one for this year. Just a short one. I've noticed a trend of stories which are only two sentences long floating around recently. I've written one before, and here is my second for everyone's viewing pleasure. Enjoy, follow, +1, and share if you want to and thank you for reading!

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I got home late from work one evening to find small, muddy footprints trailing through my apartment and eventually leading to the bedroom. Opening the door slowly, I entered to see the prints come to a stop at the foot of the bed which had the dress my girlfriend was buried in draped across the sheets, now tattered and coated in blood and dirt.

Desert Sandstorm

Essentially just a retelling of a dream I had last year. I don't know why, but it has stuck with me ever since. I thought I should share it since it's been a while. I am working on something new though. It will come in six parts, I think. I have the first two parts written and ready, I just want to get the others done before I start posting them, once each week. Anyway, enjoy!


 
You are stumbling across a dry desert. Sweat pools from every pore, your clothes are drenched with it. The sun is halfway through its daily arc and the heat is overwhelming - it must be midday. Licking your lips you discover they are cracked and bleeding and your mouth is parched. You are wearing a thin black tank top and green khaki shorts. On your feet you wear grey plimsolls and you can feel the heat of the sand soaking through the thin rubber soles, threatening to melt them into nothing. You carry a small brown backpack; it feels so light you barely notice it's there. The food and water it once contained are long used up.

Scanning the horizon shows you are far from anything. All you can see is desert and sky in every direction. The sand is littered with the occasional rock or cactus, but otherwise it is just you. You start to turn in circles, trying to decide a way in which to walk. That's when you see them. 

At first they look like black orbs floating in the air. But gradually they morph into the shape of people and drift down onto the sand. Then they start running at you. The closer they get the deeper your feeling of dread gets. Your chest feels contracted and your lungs feel as though they are shrinking, not allowing you enough air. You see that they aren't really human. They are made completely of shadows and black smoke, curling and churning constantly within a humanoid shape.

You turn and run the best you can on the loose sand. You aren't getting anywhere fast and all the time the shadows are gaining on you. Your muscles scream at you from exertion but still you go on. It has to be better than whatever awaits you if the shadows catch you. 

You feel like you've been running for hours but it's probably only been a couple of minutes. You risk a glance over your shoulder and see that the shadows are no more than a few meters behind you now. That’s when you twist your ankle in the sand and fall to the ground.

What’s the use? You think. They’re just going catch me anyway. I may as well save what remaining energy I have, that way I can at least go down fighting. You stand up and face the creatures preparing yourself to make an attempt at defending yourself, though you aren’t sure your efforts will be worth it.

The shadows get within five meters of you and suddenly they stop dead. You stand there staring at them, wondering what’s about to happen, when one of the shadows turns around and runs in the direction it just came from. The other starts to take slow steps backwards. You turn around to look behind you - something must have scared them - a vicious sandstorm is coming up fast. You turn to look at the shadows making their hasty retreat from the encroaching storm and you feel a pang of joy. You fling your pack to the ground and pull out a cloak,  a neckerchief, and finally a pair of goggles you somehow knew were in there and pull them over your head. You cover your mouth and nose with the scarf and throw the cloak around your body just as the sandstorm reaches you. You put the pack back on under the cloak and watch as the shadow creatures dissolve into the storm. You are on your own once more.

You start trekking again. It is impossible to say how much time has passed when you see the cabin looming up in the distance. You don’t care either. You just want the shelter it can provide from the heat and hopefully some food and water as well. 

You eventually reach it, stumbling your way across the threshold. There was no door and the building appears to have been abandoned long ago. You make your way across to a sink in the corner and turn the tap but nothing comes out. You search in the cupboards hanging above and find them empty of everything but a thin dusting of sand.

You look around the room and see a doorway. You go through and find a bed frame and tattered clothing strewn everywhere. There’s another doorway to your left and inside there’s a sink and a shower unit. You turn the taps on the sink in desperation but again, you get nothing. Clinging to a fragile thread of hope you try and turn on the shower. To your surprise it works! 

You plunge your face under the flow of water and guzzle down as much as your stomach can hold. You emerge, face and hair dripping, and strip off your salt stained clothing to wash them off. However when you step back under the cascade of liquid you find that it is no longer water pouring from the shower head, but acid. You are being burned alive.

Old Paragraph

I was looking through the bits of writing I have saved and I found this. It's just something I wrote when I couldn't concentrate on my English work in high school. It was also something to try and cheer myself up and as an outlet for my emotions at the time. I was feeling really suffocated if I recall... Anyway, it is only a paragraph, but I really love it, and thought I would share it. Enjoy amigos!

                The waves danced rhythmically with the silent breeze, tapping its steady beat into the rocky shore. The breeze brought with it the heady scent of salt water. The small beach was pleasantly secluded from the outside world, completely surrounded by grasses and foliage. The heaving cities and fuming factories were far, far away –unable to pollute the perfect scenery and flourishing wildlife that lived and grew in abundance around this fragment of coast. The beach was known by a minority and so was not overflowing with bodies, greedily soaking up the rays like sponges. Only an aged married couple, a small family of three with a young infant splashing in the waves, and a male with his terrier disturbed the private atmosphere encasing the beach in a beautiful bubble. Creating its own perfect world...

The Forest's Cabin

            Once, there was a photographer who went camping in a forest not far from his home. He’d recently moved to the area and hadn’t explored the surrounding countryside yet. When he got a call from a magazine requesting nature photographs, he decided it would be a perfect chance to wander around the vast expanse of woods located behind his new estate. He determined that twilight and dawn would be the perfect times to get some brilliant shots so he packed a tent so that he could spend the night. Donning his hiking boots, and with his camera in hand he ventured out among the vegetation.

             He spent most of the day following a nature trail, taking a few photos of the wildlife as he went. Eventually, however, he became bored of sticking to the path, and diverted amidst the trees. He was about a mile off the trail, tracking his route on his map, when he came to a small stream. Glancing at his watch, and seeing he had just under an hour until sunset, he decided to make camp. He set up his tent, and built a small fire to cook supper. After he had eaten his makeshift barbeque he grabbed his camera and waited for the sky to darken. 

             He snapped his camera, taking shots of the treeline, the stream and the wildlife that were beginning to emerge from the undergrowth. When it was too dark to take any more he propped himself against a tree and scanned through his work. There were quite a few pictures he was pleased with and he smiled happily to himself as he put out the fire and then crawled into his tent so he could get enough sleep before the sun rose in the morning.

            He hadn’t been asleep long when it began to rain. Really heavy rain, that battered at the tree tops and blew down to the forest floor in great sheets on the wind. The man's tent was taking a beating in the harsh gale and soon enough it tore against the rough bark of a tree and split down one side, letting in torrents of water. Cursing to himself the man quickly packed his belongings back into his bag and decided he would have to call it quits and make the journey back home, or find shelter somewhere along the way.

            He reached into his pack and pulled out a torch and his map, following the route he marked earlier. However, after some time he began to feel a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. He should have reached the path by now, but there was still no sign of it. He swung around, aiming the light in every direction to see if he could find it; he couldn’t. The man inhaled deeply, trying to calm his rising panic. After a moment the man set off again, in the same direction. He figured he had misjudged the distance and eventually he would stumble upon the path. What he stumbled upon instead, was an old wooden cabin, lit up invitingly, in the middle of a cluster of oak trees.

            The man breathed a sigh of relief and ran up the steps onto the porch and banged on the door.

            “Hello?” He called through the thick timber “I’m sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but I’m afraid I lost the trail, I was wondering if you could help me? Is there anyone there?” He banged continuously until his knuckles were sore, but still nobody came to his aid.

He stepped off the porch and backed a few feet into the trees to get a good look at the cabin. Every window was lit up brightly, gleaming like a beacon in the night, but he couldn’t see any movement through any of them. He circled around, just to be sure, and when he reached the front of the house he stood, staring in its direction, pondering his next move. Absently he lifted his camera and took a photograph of the cabin. As he was lowering it again he saw the door creak open and a crack of light spill from the gap.

            He started slowly back up the steps and over the threshold. The cabin was filled with old fashioned wood furnishings and in the corner a large fire crackled quietly to itself, warming the inside. The man pushed the door shut behind him to keep the warm air in and called out again.

“Hello? Thank you for letting me in. This is a nice place you’ve got, where are you?” There was no answer. “Hey, can you hear me? Is it alright if I wait out the rain here? I won’t be any bother.” Still nobody answered. “Is there anyone here?” He asked the empty room before him. As if in answer he heard footsteps somewhere on the floor above. The man strode towards the stairs in front of him and made his way slowly up each creaking step.

“Hello?” He called again when he reached the top. There was a bang from behind the door to his left and he cautiously moved towards it. He knocked gently on the door and waited a minute for a reply before he swung the door open. Inside was a large four poster bed with golden drapes hanging over the top. On either side of the bed were two intricately carved tables, on top of which stood candles, almost burnt to the base. But there wasn’t anybody else in the room with him.

Confused, the man turned and went to check all the other rooms in the house. Every single one was empty; there was nobody in the house but him. He turned the lights off as he left each room to remind himself he had already checked there. He went back downstairs and slumped on the ivory sofa in front of the fire. He warmed himself and began to feel very drowsy. He moved to turn out the light in the living room, leaving the glow of the fire as the only lumination in the house. He decided that he may as well take a nap and if the owner of the cabin came back he would explain everything. If not, when he left in the morning he would leave a note for them to find to let them know he had stayed there.

He settled himself down and propped his head on a cushion and got comfortable. He led there staring at the fire as the heavy pull of sleep tugged at his mind. He was beginning to drift off when the fire started to flicker violently, like a sharp gust of wind was rattling through the building. He watched groggily, as the flames continued their elaborate dance. Then all of a sudden a vile face reared out of the fire, with huge, pointed teeth and a long forked tongue lashing out, trying to reach the man. The fiery face had skin that looked to be covered with oozing blisters and large eyes filled with malice. 
The man jumped off the sofa and backed away hurriedly. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away the terrifying sight before him. When he opened them again the fire was completely normal; the face had vanished. He rubbed his eyes, passing it off as a dream and was just about to settle down again when there was low, rumbling cackle from upstairs.

The man sat bolt upright.

“Hello? Is there someone there?” He got up and stood at the bottom of the stairs, torch in hand, pointed at the top. “Show yourself. Now.” There was no movement, no answering voice; nothing. The man looked around, wondering what to do now. That was when he noticed pale faces watching him from every window he could see. The cabin was completely surrounded by these milky skinned people and their faces were contorted with looks of violence and hatred. Then there was a series of loud bangs upstairs and what sounded like running footsteps. Lots of running footsteps.

With a gulp the man grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace and with it raised behind him padded up the steps, trying his hardest to keep them from creaking. He got to the top and the footsteps sounded like something ran right past him and into the bedroom he had checked earlier. But the torch revealed nobody. He steeled himself and edged slowly towards the room. The door was ajar and it creaked eerily when he gently pushed it open. In the far corner was a tall wardrobe he hadn’t noticed before. Its door too, was ajar and there was a murmuring whine coming from inside.

The man raised his torch and crept towards the sound. When he reached the wardrobe he flung the door wider and flashed his torch inside. It was empty, and the whining had stopped. The house was completely silent for a moment. A moment that made the man feel like he was suspended in time, weightlessly floating in its embrace, utterly helpless to its every whim. Then the bedroom door slammed shut.

The man raced over and tried to pry it open again, to no avail. The floorboards behind him creaked and there was the cackle again, this time it was coming from just over his shoulder.

He spun around to face the noise and was met with a dark, cloaked figure. It lifted it’s head and smiled a spiteful, toothy grin, stretching his papery skin taut. The figure rushed forward and grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him high above his head as though the man weighed nothing.

The robed man cackled once more and then said in a deep, throaty voice, “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re staying here now.” He cackled again as he gradually began to apply pressure until he heard the satisfying crack of the man's spine crumbling beneath his fingertips.

***

Shortly after, the photographer was reported as missing. Authorities searched for days but couldn't find a single trace of his whereabouts. All that was ever found of him was his camera. Every photo the man had taken was erased except one. The photo of the cabin which showed many pale faces staring maliciously from every window.

The Warrior

Suddenly a feeling of unease swept over him. The heat of the burning fire in the center of the room was warm and comforting, like the caress of a lover's hand. But something didn't feel quite right. He slowly stepped out of the shadows that swamped the edges of the circular room. There was something by the fire. In fact there was many somethings. He counted six distinct shapes as he moved ever nearer.

A feeling of dread began to build in the pit of his stomach as it dawned on him; they were bodies. The dread increased and evolved into sorrow as he saw that they were the bodies of his wife and five sons and daughters. His knees buckled beneath him and he crawled to his wife's side, scooping her up in his arms. His body unleashed a scream of anger, pain, and betrayal as he hugged her lifeless body to his. 

He remained this way for some time, sobbing, mourning in the blood soaked room of the tower. After a while he held his wife's beautiful face in front of his and tenderly kissed her lips one last time. He rose, and touched the faces of his children one by one, blessing them, and wishing them safe passage through the beyond.

He left the room feeling a thousand years older. He vowed to avenge the death of his family. 


                                                                   *   *   *

He opened his eyes, and they widened with terror. He remembered now. The Demon that stood before him was responsible for killing his family. This very Demon that was now sucking his life and soul from his body. The memory was triggered by the Demon leeching away at him, for that is what this sort of Demon does. A Desire Demon shows you what you desire most of all.

And this was what he had yearned for for many years now. He smiled for the first time in an age and grasped the Demon towards him and as his last breath left his body he kissed the Demon.

At last; he was free.

The Man in the Blue Trimmed Cloak

Things have been quiet for a while now. The fear that lasted over a year ended four months ago today. Some people think that he decided to stop after he was nearly captured. Thought better of it, that it was too risky to continue. Others say that he has moved abroad to some foreign country where the air is sweet and the blood sweeter. A few even believe that he hung himself, unable to go on with his insatiable hunger. But no, I don't believe any of the stories printed by the press. I think he's still around, only he got smarter with his moves.

I think that he's biding his time; I think that he is going to strike back with a vengeance.

They say he would watch the crowds carefully, picking out his prey. Only on the last day of every month would he make his move. Most of the time he would pick just the one victim. But occasionally he liked to take more. Once he abducted six people - none of them survived of course.

The police could never find a pattern with his killings. It was always completely random. None of the people knew each other. Most weren't even from the same town. He preyed on every type of person. Old, young, sick, healthy, male, female, black, white.

It was pure luck that they managed to get a good lead in their investigation.

The one that got away lives in a care home now. Her face, once so beautiful, is now maimed by a long, thick scar running along the left side of her face. Her eyes were once like molten pools of golden caramel. The one eye that remains now has a hollow, haunted look. Her left eye was sliced in half as he traced his knife down her face, towards her ruby lips.

These days her skin is a murky grey colour. Her face is sunken and all her bones show through because she refuses to eat most meals. She spends her time sitting in her room on her rocking chair, swinging slowly back and forth whilst staring off into the distance. Either that or she crams herself as far into a corner as possible, screaming at unseen things, telling them to leave her alone.

When they found her in the abandoned house she was barely alive. The other two that were with her were long dead. The police had a tip off from a man who witnessed a figure in a hooded black cloak with blue trim carrying a young girl into the building and glancing around him suspiciously as he closed the door behind them. The man, I forget his name, who was walking his dog at the time reported that the person was wearing a full black attire apart from the trimming on his cloak and the brilliant, shimmering blue silk that lined the inside. He said that the figure was wearing the hood up to disguise his main facial features. The only reason he knew it was a man was the sprinkling of hair that covered the lower part of his face which wasn't shrouded in shadow.

The police rushed to the scene, knowing full well this was the night that the serial killer would strike. They hoped that this time they were on to something; they were sick of getting false leads and blundering into dead ends. But the killer had already fled by the time the police arrived. Nobody knows how he knew to flee, but evidence shows he did so just in time. The blood standing in a wine glass on the low table was still warm, and was still trailing back down the side of the glass after the killer had taken his last sip.

At the hospital, doctors and police tried to get the woman to talk about her ordeal. They never got anything coherent from her.

The man with the blue trimmed cloak has been lying low ever since that night. But something tells me that he's going to strike again soon. I think that he's been waiting for Halloween night to take his next prey. There are many people dressing up as him this year. That will make him harder to spot. Maybe he has been lurking in your town. Maybe he's been hunting near you for the past month, looking out for his newest victim. Maybe one of them is you.