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May 31, 2019 15:48
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986 words No Take Backs Harry and Tracy had been trying for a long time. They used to get upset when other couples talked about how long they had been trying to get pregnant to then reveal they’d only been at it for a year or two. That phase was long past. Now Harry would just give a bitter laugh, welcoming two more travelers on the endless, hopeless road. Over the years, Harry and Tracy had tried everything. As long as it didn’t seem actively harmful to Tracy’s body, she would do it. At first each new procedure or treatment or medicine would be preceded by a period of getting themselves emotionally ready to try again, and succeeded by weeks of gloom when it failed. Again, that phase was gone. Now they just automatically tried whatever new thing they stumbled on, checking off lists with a cold, clinical detachment like scientists running a study. So, when Harry found the Reddit post with a new ‘One Crazy Trick to Get the Baby You’ve Dreamed Of’, he gave it a serious read through despite it having been downvoted almost into oblivion. The ‘crazy trick’ was simple, if legitimately insane, and besides, Harry figured a nice trip to Europe would be good for both of them. So, he explained the process to Tracy, who did not laugh a single time during the discussion. They both agreed, and the process began. First, they ordered a hyper-realistic newborn doll from a specialty retailer (at the recommendation of the Redditor, they used reborns.com for this). With the fake baby in tow, the two took a trip to Europe. Every day they would travel to a different ancient forest or anywhere faeries were supposed to gather. While hiking out in the old hills under the old trees they would talk loudly about how beautiful and strong their little girl was going to grow up to be. When they camped, they would spread out maps of their hometown and discuss the specific location of their house. The whole time they made sure to act as though the reborn doll was a real child. The whole thing would have had most other couples in stitches of laughter, but Harry and Tracy treated it as seriously as any of the other dozens of remedies they had tried. When they returned home, they continued to treat the reborn doll as a child while they watched, and waited. Then, a month or so after their trip to Europe, it happened. In the middle of the night they were awoken by the crying of an infant from the crib in their room. Rushing over, they found the reborn doll replaced with a living, breathing baby with stunning blue eyes. Though shock and delight froze them for a moment, they quickly remembered that time was of the essence to seal the deal. Immediately they called up a practicing local druid and had him rush over. Together with the druid they quickly placed protections around their house. Iron, mainly, and various herbs they didn’t recognize. Then they went inside and cradled their new baby girl into their arms and cried for joy. The first few weeks were rough. With the help of the druid they fed their new daughter minute iron shavings every day to immunize her. At first she would scream and vomit, but over time she started to tolerate the presence of the metal. Difficulty came from outside as well. Every night those first few weeks the fae, enraged by the trick, would try to find a hole in the defenses around the house. The druid was a constant companion to the couple, keeping them fitted out with protective charms and spells. After a few months passed by, the fae attacks subsided, and Harry and Tracy could finally relax and enjoy raising their little miracle girl. Everything was a beautiful dream until her teenage years. Her imperious, entitled attitude that had made her an intriguing and precocious child, became insufferable. She was intelligent and observant, and treated her parents more like subjects than caretakers. When they fought, she always knew exactly what to say to break them down and make them rage. Then she would twist her mouth in a mocking smile of victory, her blue eyes icy. One night it was just too much. She wanted to go to a party, but Harry and Tracy had always strictly forbidden her from being out at night. During the ensuing argument she had thrown all the worst things at them, all the most hurtful words. Unable to stand it anymore, Harry had let her go. And then she smiled that victorious little smile of hers and slipped out into the night. The next day, when Harry and Tracy came down to breakfast, they found their daughter crumpled on a stool at the kitchen bar, face-down, head on her arms. Her hood was covering her face. Thinking she was just sleeping off a drunken night, Harry went to rouse her. What arose from the bar stool was not their daughter. As the hood fell back, it revealed the tiny plastic head of the reborn doll they had bought all those years ago. It reached out flimsy plastic arms, head flopping back and forth as it spoke, plastic lips immobile. “Mo-meeeeee, da-deeeee,” it moaned, stumbling toward them. Harry shoved it aside and took out his phone. “Call the druid! I’m booking us a flight to Europe!” he told Tracy. He ignored the plastic thing, which cowered and gibbered in the corner. Just like the night they had traded for their daughter, they had to act fast. It would be too much hassle to get iron weapons onto the plane, so they’d have to find some at their destination. Harry wasn’t much of a fighter, but for his perfect, miracle girl he’d become one. He was about to go full Taken on some faeries.
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Jun 3, 2019 03:04
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My last story had all of one line of dialogue so this will be good for me. In. Flash.
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Jun 4, 2019 15:04
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Nikaer Drekin posted:At some point during your play, one of the characters has a fit of laughter. A Shepherd Confronts Two Wolves 1540 Words Cast “Salvation” Saul Miller - Male, 40s. A charismatic preacher. Peter - Male, 40s. An old friend of Saul’s who helps run their megachurch. Slick. David - Male, 40s. Same position as Peter, but acts and is treated as subservient. Anxious. Wardrobe All three men wear suits and ties. Saul’s is a light shade, blue or white. The other two wear dark blue, gray, or black. Setting A simple meeting room with one door at stage left. A long table takes up most of the room. Props A heavy religious ornament on the table An old-fashioned flip cell phone Two cups of water or coffee [AT RISE: PETER and DAVID are sitting at the table.] DAVID: Did he tell you what the meeting was about? PETER: No. [Sarcastically] He probably had another one of his revelations and just has to tell us that the big man's really worried about pornography right now. [More serious] If it was something that impacted the company he’d have called the whole board. DAVID: Yeah. That’s true. [SAUL enters through the door on stage left. PETER and DAVID jump to their feet with big, fake smiles.] PETER: Saul! DAVID [Nervously]: Your sermon for the faithful in the UK last weekend was amazing. PETER: I’ve already listened to it five times since then. Fills me with the holy spirit every time. DAVID: Makes me cry every time. SAUL: Thank you, brothers. [Chuckling] I’m glad you haven’t gotten tired of hearing me talk. [PETER and DAVID make a show of laughing at Saul’s comment.] PETER: So what’s up? New orders from the man upstairs? SAUL: Well, yes. Why don’t you two sit down. [PETER and DAVID sit down slowly] SAUL: I’m going to ask the holy spirit to be here with us right now, because this isn’t going to be an easy thing to talk about. PETER: Something wrong? [SAUL nods] SAUL: Peter, David, I think we’re running God’s church all wrong. [After a pause, PETER barks a laugh. DAVID looks horrified.] PETER: Well what the heck do you mean by that, Saul? You’ve brought millions to God, we donate, do charity work. What else does the big man need? SAUL: I look at this church and I don’t see humility and service. I see giant golden castles we’ve built all over the world. PETER: You yourself gave the sermon on that, Saul. ‘Candles on a hilltop' remember? SAUL: A city on a hill. A candle on a candlestick. [PETER waves a hand dismissively at the correction] PETER: Yeah that. Anyway it’s about people seeing the glory and power of God on the Earth, right? People look up, see our churches, and know these are holy places. There were golden temples in the Bible too. SAUL: I agreed to build these chapels only with whatever was leftover after all the donations and charity work we could do. PETER: That’s right, and that’s what we’re doing. SAUL: I saw a report saying less than 25% of our parishioners’ tithes go to charities or relief efforts. [DAVID, who was reaching for his drink, gives a start and knocks his cup over. He swears, and SAUL is visibly offended by this.] PETER: Where did you see that? Protestors? I told you, Saul, Satan is always- SAUL [cutting PETER off]: I saw it on the internet. [PETER’s smile goes from false to visibly forced.] PETER [struggling to keep his voice light]: What were you doing on the internet? SAUL: There are people out there replacing the S’s in my name with dollar signs. PETER: We’ve been over this, Saul, the internet is Satan’s playground. You can’t-... SAUL [cutting PETER off again]: No, no. I’ve looked at the financial reports and it’s all true. There are wolves here, my brothers. Wolves in sheep’s clothing, hiding in the flock. Demons of greed. I just wanted you two to hear about this before I bring it to the board. There are going to be big changes here. This whole church is going to repent. [Ignoring half-vocalized protests from PETER and DAVID, SAUL turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.] PETER [furious]: What the hell was he doing on the internet? How did he even get on? We fed him that crap about Satan spreading viruses so we could keep all his computers off the network. So tell me how that happens? DAVID: I think he used his cellphone. PETER: What cellphone? He doesn’t have a cellphone. He has secretaries at every location ready to make any calls he wants to make. Multiple secretaries. DAVID: I got him one. He said he wanted to be able to make personal calls to his family without going through an assistant. [He winces as PETER looks ready to start screaming at him.] It’s just a flip-phone, the oldest, cheapest one I could find! I didn’t even know it could connect to the internet! PETER: Well great job, you really screwed us this time. We need to think of a way out of this. DAVID: Let’s just leave. We’ve got all the money we need, let’s just leave the country. PETER: And go where? We’re a worldwide church you moron. And once Saul starts blabbing about the finances, we’re going to have police from every country knocking on our door. No, we can’t run from this. We’re going to end up penniless, or in jail, or both. DAVID: So what do we do? PETER: We need to keep Saul from meeting with the board. Off the pulpit, too. He needs to take a sabbatical. Right. Now. [DAVID looks horrified] PETER: Oh calm down. We’re not going to do anything stupid. We just need him out of the picture for a while. We’ve got enough audio of his sermons recorded to last us for weeks, and if we run out of that we can just have somebody with a good voice read his written stuff. Hell we could staple his picture to a popsicle stick and wave it around and his fans would still eat it up. DAVID: I don’t know. I mean, he’s dumb but he’s still a nice guy. PETER: You should’ve thought of that before you let him have a phone with an internet connection! DAVID: I thought he knew! PETER: You thought he knew what? You thought our perfect choir boy knew his whole religion was a scam? [SAUL bursts in the door from stage left, cold rage on his face. DAVID is terrified. PETER shows surprise for a moment before smoothly sliding into obsequious mode.] PETER: Forget something Saul? SAUL: I heard everything. [There is a moment of heavy silence.] PETER: Eavesdropping isn’t very righteous. SAUL: I suspected, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. That the demons of greed, the wolves among the flock, were my own best friends. We’ve been brothers since seminary, but apparently all it took was a little success and riches and- PETER [cutting him off]: Oh shut up Saul. I got sick of hearing you preach when we were kids and it hasn’t gotten any better. Well done. You caught us. DAVID [begging]: We’ll leave, Saul. We’ll leave the country. You can fix up the church and everything will be fine. Just let us go. SAUL: No. No. You hurt my flock, my sheep. You have broken the laws of God and the laws of man. There will be justice. [PETER jumps to his feet and picks up the heavy ornament from the table, advancing on SAUL with murder on his face.] PETER: I’m so sick of you, you stupid son of a- [SAUL retreats a few steps backward, and pulls a small flip-phone out of his pocket. It is open, and his finger is on the call button. PETER looks between it and SAUL, then drops the ornament and flops back into a chair.] PETER: Go ahead. Call the cops. You’re the face of this whole operation. When we go down, you go down with us. No one’s gonna believe you were innocent. SAUL: If that’s what it takes to bring the light of God back to my flock, then so be it. [SAUL backs away, still holding out the phone with his finger on the button. When he reaches the door, he exits STAGE LEFT. PETER drapes one arm across his face and starts laughing, hard and slightly unhinged.] PETER: Good job. Good job. He just had to have a phone. [DAVID stands and kicks over his chair.] DAVID: Shut up. Shut up! [A moment of heavy silence passes. Both men glare in different directions, deep in thought. Then, they look at each other.] PETER: I’m not going down for this. Sorry, David, but the phone was your idea, so you’re going to need to take the fall. DAVID: The hell I will! I’ve put up with your stupid schemes since seminary. I’m tired of getting dragged into your shady crap! [Both men become worked into a frenzy, yelling variations of ‘I’m not going down for this’ and ‘this is on you’. SFX of two wolves snarling starts low and builds until it drowns out the yelling of the two men as the stage goes dark and the curtain falls.]
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Jun 7, 2019 23:53
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In flash
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Jun 11, 2019 12:05
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Mercedes posted:Omfg, you still have the fresh print of a mushroom stamp on your forehead. Mercedent Brawl By the power vested in me by my single HM, I will judge this brawl. Please write me an adorable horror story. The writer who can strike the finest balance between  and  will be the winner.I recommend making these supernatural horror stories because I find realistic horror tedious. If either of you decides to give me a hot take like 'modern society is the real horror' I will eviscerate you. Give me up to 2000 words by Midnight on July the 1st, EST that will warm my heart and chill my blood. Goonspeed, gladiators.
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Jun 16, 2019 05:13
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Black Griffon posted:Ugh, coming back in the middle of a vacation gave the illusion of more free time than what I usually have. I will brawl any motherfucker who steps up, to sharpen my senses and, maybe, come across some kind of redemption. I am enraged by my own failure to submit this week so I need to bite someone’s jugular. 
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Jun 17, 2019 21:17
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In, flash.
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Jun 18, 2019 13:57
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GetsuGriff Brawl Sometimes They Really Are Out to Get You 819 Words Agent Mark Farrel fingered the switch on his loudspeaker like he was stroking the trigger of a gun. In front of him, past the barricade of parked police cars, loomed the Fire of Liberty cult's headquarters, commonly referred to as 'The Ranch'. Mark wondered if it was looming for anyone else, or just for him. The Fire of Liberty would have been hard for an FBI specialist in cults like Mark to tell apart from the crowd - it seemed each of these groups had a 'The Ranch' and the foamy-mouthed ramblings of all the charismatic pastors tended to bleed together after a few years - only, the Fire of Liberty had a special place in Mark's memory. It was the cult that had raised him. Agent Adams, the lead on the current hostage situation, waved him up closer to the defensive line of police and FBI vehicles behind which a platoon of blue-coated officers were crouching. "You sure you're up for this Farrel?" Adams asked. She was looking at him like any good agent would, given the situation, as an unknown number that could either make or break the case. "You know what you can say to this guy to get him to let go of those hostages?" Mark gave a curt but firm nod. "I grew up listening to this guy preaching. I know how he thinks and what's important to him. He wants the attention more than he wants the hostages. I think we'll be able to de-escalate things once he sees he can come out as top dog without ending up a martyr," he said. He had practiced the line a thousand times on the drive over, so it slipped out smooth as silk. Adams bought it, and returned his nod, waving him forward. Mark stood, took a deep breath, and pressed the switch on the megaphone. "Pastor David, this is Agent Mark Farrel of the FBI. I'm here to talk to you about how we can work this all out peacefully," he said. "I remember you." The voice of Pastor David Smitty - just 'Pastor David' to his flock - also came through a megaphone, because of course he would have a megaphone. When he heard that voice, Mark squeezed his finger on the megaphone convulsively, making it bleat with feedback. "Little Mark Farrel. Left the flock 20 years ago to suck on Satan's teat and now you're back to spew his poison at us," Pastor David continued. There was a pause as Mark waited for the shuddering of his body to stop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adams giving him a 'well? say something' look, so he swallowed and raised the megaphone again. "Listen, I know I didn't part on good terms with you or the other members, but-" he started, but a stream of amplified ranting cut him off. "You shut your mouth before Satan fills it with any more lies to sling at us!" It was going about as well as Mark had imagined. Soon Adams would realize this was not a good plan and drag him away to be replaced by a much better negotiator. He had to act now. The thought of the children and elderly in the compound briefly crossed Mark's mind, but he knew they would all claim to be willing to die for Pastor David. So, today, they would. "Look out, he's going to shoot!" Mark yelled, 'accidentally' letting his voice pass through the megaphone to echo through the entire compound. All he needed was a single shot, and with trigger-happy yahoos on both sides, he got it. He wasn't sure which side the first gunshot came from, but its echo hadn't faded before a deafening staccato of gunfire filled the air and drowned out breath and thought. As glass and sparks flew around him, Mark dropped down behind the tire of one of the nearby police cars for safety, hugging the megaphone to his chest with white-knuckled fingers. * * * The fighting ended when Pastor David himself fell. This broke the morale of his followers sufficiently that they surrendered, allowing for a surprising amount of both believers and hostages to make it out alive, considering the circumstances. Mark knew once the dust completely settled he would be dragged in front of the media and his superiors at the FBI, but he would deal with that when it came. At the moment, he was looking down at the fallen figure of Pastor David. Looking over his shoulders to ensure no one was currently looking in his direction, he gingerly extended his leg to place the toe of his boot to the pastor's scruffily bearded cheek. Slowly applying pressure, he twisted his foot, grinding the pastor's face into the carpet. Then he let out a long, shuddering breath. And, finally, he took his finger off the trigger of his megaphone.
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Jul 1, 2019 04:19
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Mercadent Brawl Judgment Saucy Rodent's Jaws of the Fwuffster Adorable: Horror:  .5You chose to tap into that universal fear of getting old and dying, a safe choice since it's hard to guess what specific fear will terrorize a given judge. The scene with the rabbit was effective, and most of the horror in the tale comes from this guy feeding the poor girl's beloved pet to death the dog. You wax a little poetic about death which, while very nice writing, really doesn't do anything to make it any scarier. The issue here is there's nothing immediate or visceral about this threat. By the end your character is embracing his own destruction calmly, without any mind-shattering worries about the nothing that's coming next. All in all, between the little girl's love for her fallen pet and death the dog wanting walkies before it takes this guy's soul, it just ended up being much more adorable than horror. Very well written, though. Mercedes's The Father of Exorcism Adorable: .5Horror: Mercedes got incredibly lucky and hit on one of my specific fears; demonic possession and having your will taken away from you. Even without that, the twist at the end is pretty gut-wrenching and extremely well executed, in my opinion. Everything that seemed out of place clicks together once you realize what's going on. That said, that little prologue bit is stupid and should be cut. First of all, it spoils the whole demonic baby reveal which would have been much more surprising and hilarious if I didn't know it was coming, second it straight up lies about what's going to happen because the baby never pulls the trigger. This is a short story, friend. You don't have to cut forward to the good bits to catch my interest or whatever. It also gums up some of the execution in the story, since the pastor is too freaked out by the concept of a possessed baby and emotes being scared shitless too much before he even sees the thing. We, the audience, know why he should be scared, because this baby can beat up adults and point (but not shoot) guns at them. But, as far as the pastor knows, it could just be speaking Latin backwards or vomiting chicken feathers or something. Yes, I know it's all a made-up story in his mind, but it's still bad writing to have your characters going 'oh poo poo oh poo poo I'm so terrified' like that. That's telling, not showing. I wonder if some of it was your fear that your story wouldn't be scary enough or something leaking onto the page. Anyway, setting that aside, the actual fight with the baby was well done and of course the twist reveal and ending were effective and ramped up the horror quite well. Unfortunately there wasn't much cute about it. Yes, babies are cute. That's about all you have going for you. Especially because you spoil the possessed baby in the opening paragraph so I can't even enjoy a moment of baby cuteness due to already knowing it's possessed. Your story is basically the exact opposite of Rodent's; it ends up being much more horror than adorable. So we've got too much cute, not enough horror and too much horror, not enough cute. However, I believe Saucy Rodent struck a slightly better balance of the two and also didn't have quite as many glaring flaws in their execution of the story, so congrats! Winner: Saucy Rodent
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Jul 3, 2019 14:52
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Hey Saucy Rodent and Mercedes sorry for taking so long to judge your hissy fit. To make it up to you I'll beat both of you bloody until you're no longer capable of feeling these frustrated feelings.
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Jul 3, 2019 17:49
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Also I’m in for this week.
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Jul 3, 2019 22:13
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A Mormon Ghost Story 1251 Words Disclaimer: This story contains beliefs and practices that have absolutely nothing to do with the actual beliefs and practices of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints Elder King - my missionary companion - was shivering from his fever on the bottom bunk, making the whole bunk bed rock. We had been to the hospital that day to get him some medicine, and the other two missionaries in the house and I had given him a blessing of healing before bed. At this point all we could do was wait it out and hope his fever didn't get any worse. I was drifting in and out of sleep when, as I opened my eyes, I found Elder King's sweat-drenched face a inch from my own. "Elder," he said. "Get up. We are under siege." Let me tell you a little about Elder King. He had been converted from the Jehovah's Witnesses to Mormonism and he preached Mormonism like a Jehovah's Witness. It was with him that I had my first and only experience of being thrown out of someone's home on my mission, as he got a little too aggressive in condemning a family to Hell if they didn't hear the words of our prophet. You may think, over the rest of the story, that I am embellishing the way he spoke about things. I assure you I am not. This guy was a little package of pure melodrama. So, caught up in how deathly serious my sick companion appeared to be, I slid out of bed. As I got up he ran to the other room to wake up the other two missionaries and herd them into our room. Looking at all of us, who had our undershirts untucked, he wrinkled his nose and said: "Gird yourselves properly, Elders." So we tucked in our undershirts. This, along with every other weird ritualistic thing you are about to hear, was not an actual Mormon rule. Once we were properly 'girded', he explained the situation. "Satan just tried to kill me," he said. "I fought him off, but I believe he is still here in this house, trying to destroy us. We must break the chains with which he bound me and expel him from this place." My first assumption was that he had some kind of fever dream about being attacked by the devil, but I kept my mouth shut about that. I had once tried to tell him that sleep paralysis had a scientific explanation and wasn't a sign of possession only to have him say "Shut your mouth, Elder, before Satan fills it with more lies." Besides, it's not like our church didn't believe in possession or exorcism. We don't have a big ritual we do for it like some other churches, but I'm pretty sure I could cast out a devil if I needed to. The other two Elders were caught up in Elder King's intensity, so we all just followed his lead. He asked each of us to look up one scripture from each of the 'standard works'. That's what we call the 4 different sacred texts we use; the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Pearl of Great Price and the Doctrine and Covenants. I don't remember all the scriptures, though I do remember that he was requesting specific verses from memory. The only one I remember off the top of my head is 1st Nephi 3:7 from the Book of Mormon. It's about obedience to the commandments of God and everyone in the church knows it by heart since childhood. After one of us would read one of the chosen verses, Elder King would hold out his arms, clenched fists upward. Think of how a prisoner would hold out his hands if he had handcuffs on. That's what he was going for. He then told us to pass the actual physical book of scripture between his arms. To 'break the chains', you see. Once we did that four times, he let out a shuddering sigh and sank to his knees. After taking a few deep breaths, he said a long prayer of thanks for the power of God vanquishing the Devil. Cool, all better, right? Actually, this is where things get interesting. As you can tell from the way I wrote about his fears, I wasn't really buying his story about Satan taking the time to personally attack four 20-something guys trying to preach the gospel in Brazil. I just wanted whatever we were doing to be over so I could go back to bed. But, as soon as our strange little ritual was over, it started to storm outside. Our cheap little house shook as wind howled all around us and rain lashed at our windows like it was trying to smash its way in. My skepticism was replaced by a strange feeling of oppression, like some kind of force was squeezing in on me. "Be vigilant," Elder King warned. "This siege is not yet over." Each of us returned to bed, but this time Elder King wasn't the only one drenched in sweat. Laying on my bed, I tossed and turned. I wandered in and out of strange nightmares and flashes of heat and cold. At one point I lay awake in the dark, and I heard something through the storm. Over the howling and whistling of the wind and the pounding of the rain I heard a tapping. Tap, tap, tap. Eyes closed, I listened to it. Whatever was making the sound, it was not staying in one place. No, I could hear it growing nearer and more distant. As I listened, I began to visualize the path it was taking. The tap-tap-tapping thing was making a tight, square circuit around the outside of our house, going in and out of my hearing as it went around the far side. Never did it slow or miss a beat or seem hindered by the raging storm outside. Just that constant tap tap tap infiltrating my dreams and freezing me to my bed with fear. Once it was light, we cleaned our house thoroughly and knelt down to perform a dedication. This is an actual prayer members of our church perform to bless their houses as sanctuaries from sin and darkness. We also set up a meeting with the mission president to talk about our experience and receive spiritual reinforcement from him. After that one night, we never experienced anything like it again. Later, in the light of day and with my rational mind regaining its power over my emotions, I would tell myself that the tapping I had heard was the loud ticking of our alarm clock rather than the clicking of cloven hooves or the shiny shoes of a well-dressed man on the sidewalk outside our house. I would tell myself the 'attack' was nothing more than a fever dream, which had one missionary frightened intensely enough to catch up his housemates in the emotion. But, I also know that I am a light sleeper, and would never have been able to sleep regularly with a clock that ticked so loudly. And, I remember the sense of distance and movement to the sound I heard that night. I also remember vividly the feeling of some great force squeezing down on me as if to crush me in its fist. Regardless of what really happened, it was a night that reminded me those who believe in God must also believe in the Devil.
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Jul 7, 2019 22:14
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Well in.
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Jul 9, 2019 13:41
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The Rosa Challenge 1194 Words Everyone remember Rosa Flores? She used to have a TV show called 'Extreme Ghost Lockdown'. Well, now she's a ghost. But she still investigates people's houses. If you want Rosa Flores to investigate your house, go to https://www.extremeghostlockdown.com Open the 'Investigate My House' form. Type this into the form three times: Rosa Flores my house has a ghost Then Rosa Flores will come 'investigate' your house. Pass this on to 10 friends or you'll be the next to join Rosa's ghostly camera crew! Kate Meyers was just old enough for her first night home alone. She would have preferred to celebrate this little bit of freedom with a sleepover, but her parents didn't quite trust her enough to throw her own party without supervision, so instead she was stuck home alone as the sun went down. Still, she wanted to do something fun and daring to mark her first night alone, so she dredged up a creepypasta her friend Mary had texted her a while ago. It was weird, thinking of Rosa Flores as a ghost. Kate's mom had actually been a big fan of Rosa's show, and Kate had seen a few episodes herself. So, following the instructions in the post, Kate filled out the website form and gave it her real address. She had been warned about giving out her home address online, but she figured nothing bad would happen if she gave it to a website for an old TV show. After she was done, she waited for a while. Of course, nothing happened. Kate felt a little let down. Oh well, she could always make up a freaky story to tell her friends tomorrow. It was all just a joke anyway, so it wasn't really like lying. She would just be playing along with the game. She got ready for bed and laid down to sleep. Part of her was a little worried the late spooky story would keep her awake, but it was late and she wasn't used to staying up, so she drifted off quickly. A noise woke her up, sometime after midnight. Looking around her room blearily, she tried to figure out what the noise was. It was sort of like static, but not exactly. Chills ran down her spine when she recognized it. It was a sound she only really recognized from seeing the things on TV or in movies, since there wasn't one in their home. It was a tape recorder. As soon as she recognized it, a scratchy, crackly voice joined the static noise. "This is Rosa Flores, beginning my Extreme Ghost Lockdown. First, I'm going to try to record some EVP," the voice said. "That's 'electric voice phenomena', for those of you new to the program. I'm going to talk into this tape recorder and any spirits in the home will be able to respond. The electric tape recorder will pick up ghostly speech that is inaudible to the human ear." Kate was frozen, with sweat like tiny icecubes soaking into her pajamas. She hardly dared to breathe as she listened. "Is there anyone here with us? Do you have a message for us?" the voice asked. Kate prayed this was just a dumb prank her friends were playing on her. "Mary is that you?" she called. Then she let out a little shriek as the crackling of the tape recorder instantly grew louder, sounding like it was coming from right over her bed. At the same time, the temperature in the room dropped until Kate could actually see her breath misting out. She froze, again. This was no prank. "Did you guys get that? An actual response from a ghost, clear as day!" Rosa said. "Let's listen to that one more time." There was the popping sound of tape recorder buttons being pressed, then Kate heard her own voice, distorted as if by a poor recording: "Mary is that you?" "The spirit seems to think we are someone it knows. Let's see if we can get it to say anything else," Rosa said, an almost hungry tinge to her voice. "Who are you? Who is Mary?" Kate threw off the sheets and leaped out of bed. She had to get out of the house. Sprinting to the front door, she scrabbled at the lock. Then she tried the handle. No good. It clicked as if locked, even though she was sure it should be open. She tried the back door. Same thing. Because, Kate realized, in 'Extreme Ghost Lockdown' Rosa Flores always got locked in overnight at the locations she was investigating. The chilly air had followed her out of her room. "That was incredible, did you guys get that on camera?" she was asking. "Ladies and gentlemen we just saw a spirit disturb the sheets of a bed and move a door. Incredible. We're seeing real, live proof that there are spirits among us." The door to Kate's room began to swing back and forth. "Spirit, could you come do that again? See? Like this. Just move the door one more time for our viewers," Rosa coaxed. "I'm not a ghost!" Kate yelled. "You are! You're dead! Go away!" "I think we got something from the spirit, but... no, I can't quite make out what it's saying," Rosa said, accompanied by a garbled mishmash of Kate's recorded voice. Desperately, Kate dashed back into her room and grabbed her phone. She pulled up a news article about Rosa Flores dying and showed it to the room, thrusting it in various directions, unsure of where exactly Rosa's ghost was. "See? See? You're dead! Go away!" There was a loud click, and the static tape recorder noise vanished. Kate got up and walked out into the front entry. She didn't feel any cold spots, and the front door opened when she turned the handle. With a deep sigh of relief, she went back to bed. Her heart was still pounding, but a little smile formed on her lips. Sure it had been the scariest thing she'd ever experienced, but man did she have an amazing story for her friends tomorrow. She was just starting to nod off again with that happy thought in her mind, when she felt the air start to chill again. There was another loud click, and the tape recorder noise was back. "Ladies and gentlemen I don't think we're dealing with a normal spirit," Rosa Flores said. "Whatever it is, it showed me a prediction of my own death. I think we're dealing with a demon. So, I've come back with some help. We've got Father Anthony Waters, professional exorcist." "Ready when you are, Rosa." "We have Mr. Takanori Yoshimura, a Shinto priest who specializes in purifying evil spirits." "Junbi ha sorotteimasu, Rosa-san." "And we've got my good friend Carlos Rivers, a spirit psychologist who can help us better understand this crazed, evil entity." "We'll need to be careful with this one, Rosa." As the crowd of voices filled her room and the air temperature dropped lower and lower, Kate let out a shriek and dove under her covers, clamping her pillow down over her ears.
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Jul 14, 2019 20:46
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In and for fun random times. (USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
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Jul 15, 2019 16:12
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Magical Realism Brawl Something's Been Bugging Me Martin winced with each scraping touch as Kichik smoothed his hair with her clawed arm. He was supposed to be her husband, but he always felt more like her kid whenever she fussed over him like that in public. It didn’t help that she dwarfed him, but he had known from the beginning he would be the short one of the pair when he decided to start dating a praying mantis. “I just don’t understand why anyone would think I would ever do anything to harm my little Marty,” Kichik was saying to the social officer. The officer was another praying mantis, of course. Kichik insisted that they speak to another insect about the case, since they were ‘more sensitive to the needs of human-insect couples’. Sensitive to her needs, she meant. “There’s a lot of misunderstanding toward mixed phylum couples,” the officer said sympathetically. “I’m sure the person who made the report was jumping to conclusions.” Craning her emerald neck down to Martin’s level to fix him with her multifaceted eyes, she asked, “Do you feel in any way threatened or abused by your wife?” Scrape, scrape, scrape Had Kichik’s smoothing of his hair gotten subtly more firm, or was he just imagining it? “No, no, everything’s fine,” Martin said, putting on the fake smile he had mastered a month or so after marrying Kichik. “Well, I’m glad. It’s always good to see a mixed phylum couple getting along despite all the prejudices,” the officer said. She picked a card off her desk with a long claw and handed it to Kichik. “If there’s ever anything you need to talk about, here’s a good insect relationship therapist who is excellent at helping mixed phylum couples with the little issues that may arise,” she said. Kichik thanked the officer, and the two of them went home. *** “So,” Kichik said, as soon as she shut their front door behind them. “Why is someone from your work calling social services about us?” Martin had started to sweat in the car, and was drenched in it now. He fought to keep his face as calm and normal as possible. If he showed fear she would ask him why he was afraid. He had to put on that smile. Hadn’t she seen that fake smile enough times now to recognize it? No, he couldn’t worry about that. He had to smile. “Honey, I have no idea. I guess I’ve been a little stressed lately and maybe someone just saw that and immediately assumed something was wrong at home. You know how people are about couples like us,” he said. “Stressed? Why are you stressed, Marty?” she asked, head tilting in a way that might have been sympathetic on a human, but looked predatory on an insect. “I’m not,” Martin said, cursing himself for giving her something else to poke and prod at. “I- I mean I guess work has just been a little stressful lately.” “I’m sorry baby,” she said, with the barest hint of feigned sympathy, then she was back to business. “You need to complain to your boss. Tell them this is discrimination. Will you talk to him tomorrow?” Her suggestions always turned into commitments, and she always followed up on them. The only saving grace in his life was that he worked at an all-human company, and they would have his back if she ever called to check out his stories. “Sure, yeah. You’re right,” he said. He would talk to his boss about it. He’d ask him to tell everyone to not do crap like this that put him in an awkward position with Kichik. Yeah, he was having problems with her, but getting dragged to an insect social officer wasn’t going to resolve any of them. It would be weeks before things would get back to normal, now. “What’s wrong?” Kichik asked, bending to stare at him from his own level just like the social officer had. Too late, Martin realized his response hadn’t been energetic and positive enough. He had let hesitation slip into his voice. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m just tired from work,” he said, but Kichik wouldn’t be turned aside. “You’ve been acting so strange lately,” she said. “This is about the eggs, isn’t it?” Martin blanched. He couldn’t help it. She turned away. “I knew it. Every single time we talk about it you say you want to have kids but you never want to talk about when,” she said. What she meant by ‘you say you want to’ was actually ‘when I ask you about it you say yes’, but it was all the same to her. Martin had to swallow a few times to work up enough moisture to form a response. In his head he was seeing those horrible Youtube ‘grub birthing party’ videos she excitedly showed him of poor human bastards vomiting live white maggots the size of their arms while groups of insects stood around and cheered. “Is that why you had one of your coworkers call the social workers?” she asked. “If they decided I was abusive, you would have never had to worry about kids, right?” “What? What?” Martin’s mind reeled. She was throwing accusations so bizarre he couldn’t even figure out how to lie about them. “Baby you- you know I want to have a family with you…” he stammered. “Then let’s do it. Right now. Tonight,” she hissed. Then it clicked. Would any of his friends really have called social services against his wishes like that? Besides that, would a domestic abuse call about two adults even go to social services? Wouldn’t it have been the police? The connection between the call and this discussion of children suddenly clicked in his brain. Even after realizing he had been manipulated, even with the horrible Youtube videos cycling through his head, with her looming large and emerald and angular over him, he forced that same old smile as always and said, “Of course baby. Let’s do it.” *** “Oh don’t worry, baby, it’s not a stinger, it’s an ovipositor,” she joked as she jammed the thumb-thick spike through his navel and into his stomach. He whimpered and twisted under her, but she kept him easily pinned with her claws. “Oh stop. You’re a man, aren’t you?” she whispered as tears dripped from the corners of his eyes. Then she stroked his hair, scrape scrape scrape, as the eggs squeezed in. After it was over, and she draped herself over him, spent and asleep, he lay awake long into the morning, staring at the ceiling. The bloated feeling in his stomach disgusted him, the dry smoothness of her chitin disgusted him, the angles of her body disgusted him, her bulbous eyes disgusted him. His own cowardice disgusted him. It was as he dwelt with his dark thoughts that night that a plan took root. As it spread its poisonous branches throughout his brain, he smiled a small, content smile and rubbed at his full belly. *** It took four months. Four months of wearing that same, contented smile for Kichik to see and really meaning it. Four months of her babying him even more than she usually did, rubbing at his growing belly, cooing at the grubs as they hatched inside him, spoon-feeding him just the right nutritious sludge to make sure they grew up big and strong. Four months of breathing in through his nose to keep from vomiting when he felt them twisting and squirming inside him. Four months of really meditating on how much he hated her. Then the opportunity came. It was their wedding anniversary, and he convinced her to let him go out alone to pick out a gift for her. With all her hovering he was sure she would say no, but apparently he had been doing such a good job playing the obedient, cowed husband that she let him go with only a little wheedling and shmoozing on his part. His human friends from work came through for him. They got him the one item he needed, and promised to take him in if he needed a place to stay after it all went down. When he arrived home Kichik was there waiting for him, her chitin all polished, wearing a fetching red dress. She had a great big chocolate cake in her arms, an indulgence she hadn’t allowed him since she put her eggs in him. “Ooo, what did you get me?” she cooed, seeing the wrapped package in his arms. Without a word, he stopped where he was, out of her reach, and unwrapped the package. The cake fell from Kichik’s claws, plate smashing to pieces on the floor. Martin was holding a bottle of insect poison. Before she could move, he tore off the top and pressed the neck of the bottle to his lips. She froze, half-extended in a grab for the bottle. “M-Marty wh-what,” she stumbled over herself trying to find words. “What are you doing Marty? Why?” He didn’t want to negotiate. “I’m leaving, and I’m having a doctor remove these things, and I never want to see you again,” he said. “You take another step toward me and I’ll down this whole thing.” “Marty, I know it’s been tough but we’re almost there,” she pleaded. “Soon they’ll be out and you can go back to work and everything will be back to normal. You won’t even have to help with them, I can take care of them.” “Don’t you get it? I don’t want grubs!” he shouted. “I don’t want to come home to a house full of you!” “I don’t understand,” she said. “I asked you a dozen times if you really wanted kids and you told me you did every time. A dozen times.” “You wanted me to say yes so I said yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s how it always was.” “So when I asked you if you were sure you didn’t want to date a human woman instead you were just humoring me then too?” Her voice cracked, and her bulbous eyes were cloudy with tears. “I-...” he hesitated. “I did love you, when we first met. You were fun and different. But after we got married I felt like I could never disagree with you about anything.” “Why not?” she asked, tilting her head to the side in honest confusion. “Why can’t you tell me how you really feel?” “Because I was afraid!” he shouted, trying to drown out her reasonable, rational tones. He was the sane one here, she was the monster. “Afraid?” “Yes! I was afraid if I made you mad you’d-...” he stopped short. He had been raised to be tolerant. His parents had marched in the pro-insect rallies and he had too. He had come face-to-face with a lot of the worst kind of anti-insect prejudice in the world and, even then, couldn’t bring himself to give voice to the worst of the propaganda. Kichik knew what he was thinking, though, and she finished his sentence. “You were afraid I’d bite your head off?” she said, cold outrage in her tone. He dropped his eyes, but kept the bottle close to his lips. “Why don’t you just call me a bug, huh?” she said. “I thought you were different. But, no, apparently even guys who say they’re tolerant still believe us insects are just one argument away from eating everyone.” Her righteous indignation cut through his numbness, and his hand trembled. “I’m sorry,” he said. And he was. “Me too,” she said, and he felt like she was. “But, this isn’t going to work,” he said, lowering the bottle. “I know,” she said, scratching at one arm with the other. Scrape scrape scrape. “There’s a doctor I know who will take the babies out without harming them or you,” she said, after a moment of silence passed between them. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m going to go stay with some friends from work in the meantime.” “Okay,” she said. “But, before you go, can I just say one thing?” She stepped closer, her body hunched and smaller than he had ever seen it, almost level with him. He saw his own sad face reflected in the facets of her eyes. Then he heard the bottle hit the floor with a thump. He looked down and saw his hand, still holding it, roll on the carpet. He hadn’t even seen her clawed arm move. Before he could process what was happening, she had his other arm and her face with its giant emerald mandibles was centimeters from his, hissing cold breath, glaring through a thousand mirrors. “I just wanted to say that you don’t need a head to grow my babies.” Then she bit his head off.
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Jul 20, 2019 04:50
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