Horror Stories

There's a difference between a horror genre and a horror story. These are the stories that are enjoyed around camp fires, during slumber parties and other such friendly events. Ghosts, murderers, stalkers, unexplained phenomenon… all these things could be posted here.

The hunter in the rain

ok, so I'll try a horror story, but i'm not so good at these xp

She sits staring through the open window, staring as the rain pounded it's fists against everything within reach.
Between darkness there are occasional flashes of light, and she can see it coming, moving slowly over the hills.

She could close her eyes but it will still move forward towards her, unrelentless and unmerciful.
It knows she is there, and it comes for her.

Knowing she can not run and she can not fight, she sits silently by the window.
Counting breathes, counting every shudder that pulses through her as the fear overcomes her.

There is another flash of light, closer, and she can not tear her eyes away from the darkness even though darkness will soon be all she knows.

She stands as still as a statue, terrified eyes pointed outward as another flash of light confirms her fate.

Just outside it moves toward her, and in an outbreak of terror she is consumed by the fire of her fear and falls stupildy backwards.
Unabated it finds its way past the open window and looks down hungrilly at the still figure lying on the floor.

She lies dead from the fear of it, and staring at her dead figure it cocks it's head to the side and loses appetite.

Turning with a flutter it leaves behind a long black feather that falls upon the shriveled form of her on the floor, while outside the rain continues pounding the earth in some secret rage and everything else remains still.

The Monster Connection

(by Jen)

Once upon a time, deep in the darkest part of the forest lived a little girl. There wasn't anything special about this girl really, she just lived with her parents and brothers in the forest. Days passed with no meaning and life was generally filled with happiness, until one night a monster came to the door.

Living in the forest didn't mean you were safe from monsters, and locking your doors and windows or hiding under the covers didn't make them go away. They came, every night to the house in the forest, and clawed and glared at the doors and windows.

If the family accidentally stayed out past sunset the monsters would chase them through the forest until they ran inside and locked the doors.

But the night the monster came to the door no one expected it to be a monster. He was a person, or looked like one, and asked to be let inside, safe and away from the monsters. the parents, good people that they were, let the stranger in without a thought. The girl didn't trust the monster. She didn't think he was a person like he said he was. He smiled too sweetly at her and stared too long. There was a monster inside his eyes and the little girl could see it.

She told her parents but they didn't believe her. So when she went to bed that night after dinner the girl locked her bedroom door. She wasn't going to let the monster get her. The parents showed their guest to a room next to her brothers. "remember to lock the windows" they said as they went to bed.

She closed her eyes to go to sleep and then she heard it. Soft, but heavy footsteps moving toward her bedroom door. 'Little girl, little girl, let me come in" she heard a whisper, right outside her door. "No, No! I won't let you come in!" The monster scratched his fingernail on the door to her bedroom, and she could hear it was testing the locked doorknob. "Little girl, little girl, let me come in!" It whispered again, shaking the doorknob as it did so. "No!" cried the girl. "Leave me alone!" "Let me in, so i can eat you up…" The voice whispered hungrily, and shook the handle even harder, but the lock remained. The little girl hid beneath the covers and cried silently until she heard the monster go away.

The next morning the girl awoke to find the monster had gone, but it had gobbled up her brothers. She ran to her parents crying that she knew that man was a monster, but they still didn't believe her. "We left their windows unlocked and one of the monsters got in. Our guest wasn't able to save them in time!" Her mother sobbed, distraught with the loss of her children. "It's all our fault!" the father cried, and the girl stood in silence, helpless but knowing the truth.

Weeks passed into months and soon enough, as the girl expected, the stranger again came to their house in the woods, just as the sun set. "No! He's a monster! you can't let him in!" the girl cried, but her parents shushed her. "No more lies from you" they sighed, and sent her off to bed. The girl cried and cried because she knew her parents were going to be devoured next.

After she reached her bedroom she locked her door and windows and sat on her bed, waiting for the monster to come. Minutes passed to hours..and then..she heard a muffled scream from the other end of the house. Her dad! The little girl grabbed a plastic baseball bat from her toys and ran out into the hallway. It was spattered with blood, and she could see the monster smile at her. The girl was terrified and gripped tighter to her plastic baseball bat. "Run away" she heard a voice, and turned to see her mother sitting over her husband. The girl turned and looked at her mother and father. They were both staring at her, but their eyes….

The little girl ran from the house and into the forest, where for once the other monsters that lived in the forest didn't chase after her as she ran past. They knew that it was too late for her, too late for the family that lived in the darkest part of the woods. They had been devoured by the monster and soon, very soon, they would unescapebly become monsters themselves. The little girl cried as she ran, she could feel it happening already. A little monster voice inside of her was laughing….laughing….laughing….

……………….there are no endings to stories of monsters…….1

Whatever happened to Jack?

(By Jen 9/20/2010)

The streets of London are dark and cold this time of year, and nary a soul wanders upon them if they know what's best for them. It never concerned me though, as I pride myself on my lack of fear of the night. It doesn't trouble me, and I do not bother it, and we live in a mutual silence together.

But some people, as I have noticed, find themselves shaking at the thought of night. They race to the nearest light the way cockroaches flee from it, and shelter themselves in the false safety of their homes, imagining if only for their own sanity; that they are safe and all is well.

But I know how the dark streets are restless, and soft feet often travel with dark intent. I know as I have sat quietly by in my own secret shadows, and I have watched the silent killers stalk their prey.

Despite the fear of darkness, some women walk these streets at night. Poor things, dirty things, things I care not to deal with. But they themselves are searching for something, and they can not let their fear get in the way, especially since they things they are searching for lie only in the shadows of night.

Presently one is passing, and though she is aware of my presence she pays me no attention. I am not what she's looking for, but if she had asked me I might have saved her wretched life. For I can hear that behind her is the soft pad of foot steps..someone is following her.

I find it terribly troublesome that people often fear the things they do not understand. They see a person who looks odd or they can not explain their warped appearance and so they are afraid of the person, they mark him as evil and cast him out of society. People make their own monsters from their fear, and that is why this wretch is being followed.

The stalker doesn't look normal, and so already being hated he had nothing to lose. He found safety in the night where none could see him, and he found revenge in the blade he carried. Revenge against God for making him the deformed thing that he is, and revenge against society for the hate they cast upon him.

Jack walked with a limp and his face tilted awkwardly to the side, but he was silent and deadly. It wasn't long before he was just behind her, fingers clenched and knife held high, he struck her terribly across the throat.

She could not cry out for shock and pain, and he fell upon her in a silent fit of rage and gore.

But here is where I can rest no longer. Fear always strikes for the wrong reasons, and I wish so terribly I could make people realize what they fear is all wrong. There are more terrible things, more bitterly horrifying things to fear than darkness or piculiarities of the flesh.

I am upon him and can feel for only a moment his jagged breath of concentration and hacking. He didn't see me advancing, but had he, he still would not have expected the outcome. My teeth meet his neck in a terrible impact and within a moment the flesh is parted from his neck, leaving an obvious hole.

He gasps, eyes open and gaping as he flails for me, but I am too swift and I use my own daggers to slice and open his flesh. I take a hold of his head and shake him violently, with a strength one my size should not possess, and with a snap and moan he is limp and lifeless.

I place my prize on the ground and bat him gently. Not a movement comes from him and I find myself bored. So back into the night I wander, tail held high in my own silent victory, for I have demonstrated that what humans fear is not so terrible after all.

Humans really should be more afraid of black cats….

((Inspired by Eclipse and Charlie, ferocious cats indeed))((also inspired by Jack the ripper..wherever he may be))

Lily and the dead man

(by Jen, October 18, 2012)

Lily stared down at the man beneath her, his handome green eyes gazing wildly upward, while his dark brown hair was splayed in a frantic disheveled fashion about his head. Some of the hair was just touching his pale cold forehead, while the rest was ruffled upward away from his face.

She leaned down, frowning at his handsome features, and had the situation been different she wondered if she would have liked him. But the plastered look of terror that will forever torment his face was unappealing.

Lily noted the blood. Bright red splashes that adorned his face and chin, pooled at his throat, and was spattered across his t-shirt adorned chest. It looked like the blood had simply danced across his shirt, leaving tiny footprints behind their elegant wake.

Lily touched the blood, imagining its sudden escape from his once warm body, how it must have leaped and galloped from his wanting flesh, driven by the excited beating drum of his heart and the rising melody of his screams, before he must have fallen into silence.

Now the dance was over, the music hushed to a sudden quiet when his voice stopped, forever leaving his body. Then his breath would have left him in an unnoticed sigh, so soft, so insignificant it was as though he had never breathed at all.

Tentatively, Lily touched her own face. Did she too, die with such a look of terror?

She tasted the blood upon her lips, not hers, oh no, but his. She had killed him after all, in her own stupor of pure instinct and a strange undefinable hunger.

But there is was, a hunger she only quelled once she'd sunk her teeth into his neck, where they danced, clinging, thrashing, tummbling about the room, bathed in the romantic flashing red and blue lights of a world gone mad.

Finally he fell, breathless, screamless, lifeless at her feet, arms tumbling unthinkingly to his sides. His handsome eyes gazed at her while Lily stood, stilled and started by death's revelation.

This was how she had died. Someone had danced with her, serenaded to the music of her desperate screams, while they surrendered themselves to their own terrible hunger. Someone had watched the terror that had frozen on her face, as her breathing stopped and her heart shivered and shook into a quiet nothing.

But Lily didn't feel angry about her death. She tried, when she thought about it, but instead of the old familiar burning of rage in the pit of her stomach, all she could find was that same impatient hunger that knawed at her dead flesh, that knawed at what she felt for certain was her very soul.

All around her she could hear screaming. Little musical melodies that wept and cried, gunshots that rang and hit an impossible nothing.

She started for the door hen she saw him stir. Her unnamed snack was twisting his head and looking at her, mouth opened in silence to ask a question that could not be asked or answered. She looked at him, understanding. He felt the same hunger that she did.

Lily held out her dead bloodied hand to him, gesturing for him to follow. Rising he did, and into the screaming, crying world they walked, driven forever onward by an unending hunger.

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