#11 - Welcome to the Horror Society

Today’s words: Ken, Showing, Bucket, Graduate

Word count: 469

Summary: A university’s ‘horror’ society have an unorthodox way of accepting a young girl’s application.

Before I graduated, I was a member of the ‘horror’ society. We came up with horror stories, went on trips to haunted locations, and had a movie showing every Wednesday in the old campus building. No-one really came near the building, even in the daytime, so it was like our spooky little hideout: high ceilings, old stone walls, and wooden flooring that would creak loudly any time someone stepped on it.

The leader of the society was Seth Teesdale; as Seth was our leader, he decided who was allowed to join the club. Any time that somebody signed up to the society, he’d test them – If they passed, they were permitted to join, if not, he’d give them dirty looks, pull pranks on them, and ‘forget’ to invite them to social gatherings. Many left, but some stuck it out in spite of Seth’s neglectful behaviour.

Seth’s initiation trials were usually pretty predictable – walk through the woods behind the science building unaided, watch A Serbian Film (uncensored) without flinching, tell a scary story that can unsettle him, that sort of thing. That was, until Kenna filled out her application form. Maybe it was because Ken was the first girl to apply in three months, or because Seth had a soft spot for her, but she was the only one who he paid ‘special attention’ to.

Ever seen Jack Ketchum’s Girl Next Door ? I think he got the idea from that. He tied Ken up half-naked in the basement of the campus building for three days – if she stayed there without complaining, she’d be allowed to join. Everyone thought it a little harsh, but we didn’t say anything to Seth. A steel bucket was placed on the floor by her feet, and Seth brought her food and water, but that was it. Not once did she beg to be let go or cry, until the third day when Seth got his pocket knife out.

“I don’t want to mark your pretty face, Kenny, so...”

As soon as he started tracing her side with the blade, I left. He wouldn’t actually cut her, I thought, that’d be too messed up.

When I got round to seeing her the next day, my hand involuntarily shot to my mouth and my eyes widened. What I saw before me didn’t seem real, I told myself that it was Halloween make-up; I think I knew deep down that it wasn’t. Her body was completely limp, feet all dirty, skin peeling away at the hells, and she had knife wounds all over her body. I tried to shout, or cry, but all I could do was take a few steps back, eyes glued to all of her scars that could never, would never heal.

You know what he said to justify himself?

“Fake blood gets old.”

#6 - Baby Doll

Today’s words: Condition, Superiority, Beat, Inevitable
Today’s genre: Fantasy/Horror
Word count: 472

Trigger warning: Contains (non-graphic) implications of sexual abuse

I, like many people, was adopted.

I, unlike many people, was adopted by a fairy.

It sounds ideal, right? A cheery little Tinkerbell-like person who carried a trail of fairy dust wherever they went. A flawless, superior being who everyone adored...

This fairy looked beautiful on the outside (long blonde hair, sparkling eyes, slim little waist, you know), but possessed a very ugly inside; a secret side. He thrived on others’ misfortune to appear superior, he’d sprinkle black fairy dust on people for no justifiable reason, and he made it an almost daily occurrence to beat me. It became a routine, an inevitable activity that I would have to endure lest I be chained up in the attic until my bones became part of the furniture. Eventually the beatings evolved into something worse.

The first night that it happened, I was asleep in my bed after a particularly energetic day at primary school; we had had our annual Sports Day and I had tired myself out so much that I almost fainted during the long distance run. All that kept me going was the thought of my soft mattress, big warm duvet, and the unconscious state that I would be in, away from the world, away from him. I had never been woken up to be abused before, it always occurred just before dinner or when I had done something to annoy him, like when I forgot to buy the right brand of cereal.

At first I thought it was a realistic nightmare, I’d get those a lot – the kind of dreams where I could hear myself mumbling out loud and my body would spasm violently, creating new bruises on top of old ones. I could feel those bony fingers trail up my side and tried to push them away, but my body wouldn’t move. There’s a condition called sleep paralysis which I’d experienced a few times, but never like that. Usually it would pass after a few seconds, but that night it felt like it lasted for hours. A multitude of voices whispered over each other in my head but I was forced into silence. My body was useless...my eyes, my mouth, too; I was like an inanimate sex doll that wasn’t required to speak or move, just to lay there and take it, but dolls didn’t cry.

Just when I thought it was over, I felt him again as his hair brushed against my face and his chapped lips grazed my cheek. I think my mouth got away with a few whimpers that may not have been audible, but inside I was screeching, begging for something, anything to happen that would make him stop, just stop, please stop already, Daddy!

He closed in on me and then I was his; his baby doll to play with whenever he got bored.

#2 - Movement in the Basement

Today’s words: Socket, Slot, Bookstore, Basement
Today’s genre: Comedy/Horror/Action
Words: 493

 Note: Yes, I definitely used Slender Man for inspiration 

Not all bookstores were like Mrs Sweeney’s. They didn’t have a wooden spiral staircase, a sweet old lady bringing you free cups of tea, or a basement to read in. That was the best part – the basement; the walls were covered in old wallpaper, the only chair in the room had a really high padded back, and it smelt of lavender due to the potpourri in middle of the desk.

“May I use the computer downstairs, Mrs Sweeney?” Sophie asked the bookstore owner, presenting a large notebook that she was carrying. “I want to type up a story.”

“You don’t need to ask me, child, go right ahead,” she smiled, stroking her head. “Just plug it into the socket under the desk – I always unplug things before I lock up.”

Sophie turned the computer on, slotted her USB stick in, and began typing. Once she had typed a couple of paragraphs, the screen started to go fuzzy and blink on and off a few times. Gasping, she quickly clicked on the ‘save’ button and waited for the monitor to regain its composure.

“C’mon, you can make it, I believe in you,” she urged, tapping it on its side and twisting her mouth.

A sudden chill raced through the room and the desk lamp began to flicker.

“Not you, too,” she moaned. “Stop taking the Minnie.”

All at once, the light went out completely. The computer screen went fuzzy until a deafening high-pitched noise sounded, almost like someone was screaming. Sophie clamped her palms over her ears and closed her eyes, bringing her knees up to her chest. A cold sweat rushed all over her small body and her breathing became strained. She had wanted to call for Mrs Sweeney but her voice was lodged in her throat. The foreign noise stopped but it was replaced with something else – something ominous was in the room with her, she could feel it.

With whatever courage was left inside of her, she pulled her hands away from her ears and spun around on the chair. She was faced with an abnormally tall man in a black and white suit with arms that almost reached the floor. That wasn’t all. She looked further up and the man had no facial features at all...yet he was still looking at her, staring into her soul, almost.

Sophie did the only thing that she could think of...

She grabbed a discarded book that rested on the table and began hitting the slender man over and over again before leaping up and administering a roundhouse kick to his chest, making him stumble back into a bookcase. She ran to him and pulled on his necktie until he shook his head repeatedly and tapped her on the hand. She let go and punched him in his slenderballs.

“...Do not EVER sneak up on people like that!”

He collapsed awkwardly onto the floor, hands over his crotch.

“Scared the living nightlights out of me...”

#1 - Stares

Today's words: Fat, Embedding, Waste, Myth
Today's genre:  Romance/Horror
Words: 497 

 “Is it true that you eat a six-course meal every day??”

Josie often wondered where that myth had originated. Perhaps it was the time that she took major advantage of an ‘all you can eat’ buffet at one of the restaurants in town with some friends. ‘Never waste food’ – her mother’s motto.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” was also an often enquiry, and not because people were interested in her, but because they were interested in whether it were possible for a plus-size woman to have one.

A long-term relationship didn’t come until Josie was twenty-four with a girl called Melissa. Melissa was very pleasant, cheerful, and gorgeous; someone that would get several stares when they’d walk out in public. When she’d started seeing Josie, the stares changed; they weren’t accompanied by cheeky smiles or winks, instead they were paired with downturned mouths and looks of disgust. Society would always view anything above a size fourteen as ‘fat’.

At first it was bearable – she’d ignore it because she was in love and that was all that mattered; Josie was her teddy bear and Melissa was Josie’s panda bear. She had found this amazing person in Josie and she was happy, beyond happy, she was ecstatic, elated, euphoric, right? Wrong.

One evening when Josie was asked to meet up for a date, Melissa didn’t show up and Josie went missing. The stares became friendly again. She had lost the first person who had ever been loyal to her for an extended period of time, but at least her public image had been salvaged, she thought.

A few days after Josie’s disappearance, Melissa noticed a fresh-looking scar on her waist as she was about to step into the shower. Maybe she had scratched herself in her sleep, she thought. Knotting her brow and stretching her skin out to get a better look, she froze. ‘Hi, panda bear’ was embedded into her skin in small uneven handwriting as if someone had taken a knife to her. All she could do was stand there and stare. “Where did this...?” she began out loud, lightly touching the red letters that carried no pain with them. Thinking of Josie and inhaling sharply, she quickly covered herself up with her towel.

The following day on her inner forearm in the same handwriting was another message: ‘Why did you leave me?’ She focused on the word ‘me’ and tears began to form followed by shaking. Forcefully rubbing at her skin in vain, she closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s impossible,” she repeated. “It’s in my head.” But other people noticed the messages, too.

A sentence would appear every single day without fail. She passed it off as an artistic experiment, but when they didn’t fade or stop, it became harder to excuse.

The stares eventually took a different tone and she was looked at oddly for the rest of her life, forced into a life of solitude.

‘I’ll be with you forever, Melissa.’