Welcome everyone to the fourth annual 31 Days of Horror writing challenge!
It is wonderful to be back with you all with a brand new list and brand new aesthetic!
For all of those new here wondering what this is, 31 Days of Horror is a horror writing challenge that takes place in October of every year. For each day you take the corresponding word and write a short horror story to go along with it. You can then take your creations and post it with the tag #31DOH2023 so others can see it!
If you want, you can check out previous years creations under the hash tags #31DOH2022 and #31DOH2021
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The scandal only makes the club more popular. The hallway that used to be a straight shot from the bar to the break room is now a writhing sea of bodies, forcing me to swim upstream regardless of which direction I’m going.
A new set of strobing, multi-colored lights has been installed on the ceiling at the entrance to the corridor, splashing red and blue and green and yellow as people dance and shout and grind against each other. And, in between the splashes of color, the hallway is dark. Only for a split second at a time but long enough for the shadows to dance, too.
They rise and fall, lashing out whenever the lights flash off, coiling around the limbs of the dancers. Up and over, around, threading in between their thrashing forms. The darkness looks alive.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
One of the bartenders has leaned all the way over the bar to shout in my ear. It snaps me out of the near-trance I'm in, watching as the shadows creep and crawl, closer and closer and closer.
“It’s not like somebody died back there.” He guffaws loudly and slaps me on the shoulder before reaching out to ruffle the hair on top of my head in a way that makes me wonder how hard it would be to beat someone to death with an empty five-gallon bucket. “Now go get some fucking ice, ice bitch.”
Sometimes I let myself forget that the high-maintenance customers aren’t the only assholes in this bar.
I give Bar Dick Number One a mocking bow as I back away from the bartop, throwing in a curtsy for good measure, before turning back toward the hallway and flipping him off over my head. I wonder if he realizes just how lucky his is to work in the only well-lit area in this place.
A throbbing beat that I don’t recognize drops as I wade into the sea of people between me and the ice machine. Their faces freeze in rictuses of laughter but the way the lights flicker over them makes it look more like they’re screaming. The darkness is thickly woven between the bodies, nearly a solid thing, and I find myself searching for a path that doesn’t have such deep shadows.
There’s a bright white flash of light off to my left, a small group of colorful people pressed up against the section of the wall that it took me hours to scrubbed blood off of. They’re circled up and smiling, hunched over the phone and trying to decide just what photo to post on social that captures how much fun their having and how horrified they are.
But they’re not horrified.
No one is.
That’s why the wave of people keeps crashing into this hallway. They want to see. They want to know. They want to brush up against the dark and imagine that it can’t touch them. As if it isn’t there, waiting for them every time they close their eyes.
I watch them swipe through their photos, and crop, and filter, all smiles.
I blink and the wall behind them is smeared with blood again.
I watch them cram together for a selfie, all duck lips and peace signs.
I blink and the bulbs in the strobe light die with a loud pop.
I watch them pull up their flashlights, shining them at the floor.
I blink and all the little pockets of shadow coalesce into a thick, slithering line.
I watch them watching me as the darkness weaves around our feet.
I blink and it’s in front of them.
I blink and it’s in front of me.
I blink and cold, sharp fangs sink into the back of my hand.
Warnings and Tags: Horror, Thriller, Fear, Anxiety, original work
Word Count: 605
Summary: Everything is different without the bright lights, busy side walks, and noisy streets. Written for @31-daysofhorror Day 4: Urban
Author Notes: Happy Spooky Season! This is my first time posting an original work in ever and also trying out a different writing style, but I hope you all enjoy this anxiety-driven tale.
💀🧡 Happy Haunting 🧡💀
Read Getting Home, Rated Mature, in full below the cut.
Getting Home
The walk home after the last train was never the same as the journey home just before the lamp posts flickered to life. Before the lamps turned on, the city was still humming with evening excursionists and bustling with life. The array of joyous noise that filled the streets and a sky filled with a vibrant array of colours, which reflected endlessly in tall mirrored glass, the last few blocks home were always magical in the twilight air. After the last train, however, when night claimed dominion over the metropolis, gone were the inviting hum of artificial bulbs, leaving the tall mirrored glass to reflect only the inky sky. The bustling sounds of the evening had long since quieted and given way to a deafening stillness that caused every disturbance to whisper into one's blood-curdling imagination.
With each sound, the wayfarers' heads turned and feet stepped faster down the walkway. A low skittering of something’s feet. A subtle crunch of leaves just out of sight. The sound of a door slamming, which sounded as if they were just a hair too close, would send them rushing towards home.
In the darkness, hearts raced when a neighbour, familiar in the daylight, lingered unknowable in the shadows and too far from the reach of the spotlight glow of the street lamps. Shadows shifted around every turn and behind the darkened windows, all just beyond the stray overhead flickering and passing headlights. The cityscape was bathed in the soft luminescence of its citizens preparing for sleep, but the ground floor of the city was dipped in a layer of darkness as the bright fluorescents of shopfronts slowly went out.
The unkempt yards of historic buildings that were foreboding during the day hissed with malice at night. The old homes and unkempt grass littered with broken metal and parts caused feet to carry the wayfarers of the night faster along the concrete path. The forgotten buildings drew images of terrors lurking within the shadows and moving brambles. Night commuters feared the curl of their stomachs and each bustling branch drew images of lurking people, roaming critters, ghouls, and fantasy on mas. The various stages of decay and restoration left travellers searching work areas and broken windows alike. The rows of restored homes seemed to peer back into the wide eyes of each late-night trekker, full of empty windows framed in the shadows and spectres of centuries past reaching through the veil.
Nature had taken to the plots that had once stood unused beside the glaring houses of old. The wayfarers kept their pace against the hair that raised on the back of their necks as they passed the rustling branches. Gone were the tall grass and twisted metal, replaced with a garden full of fruit-bearing plants with their twisting vines, crowding trees, shifting shrubbery, and an empty playground bathed in shadows that drove nerves higher with each unknowable creak of the vacant swing set.
Nothing ever felt as good as the keys twisting in a lock and the horrors of the night at their backs. The smell of home coupled with the promise of light and sight awaited them just on the other side of the simple gateway.
The door closed and locked, the wayfarers reached for the ease of electricity and the welcome blessing of illumination that promised to clear the confusion was only a flip of a switch away.
Everything just looks so different in the dark, hidden in the shadows.
Click.
What great truths the light can illuminate in the thick claws of darkness. Like the knife before it twists around the corner of your foyer.
It sits on a shelf in some long forgotten prop department. No one touches it, they say it will being anyone bad luck if they do. But like any good theatre, it's just an old horror story passed down from tech crew to tech crew that grew wilder every time it got told. Of course no one is sure why the severed head ended up in the prop department. If it was for some show that no one seemed to be able to remember or if it was brought in for a joke by a crew member and it just never made it's way home. Finding home instead on the dusty shelves in the back of the prop room.
It's face is withered, it's eyes are sunken, and it's lips are pulled back into a gruesome howl. It's far to realistic to have come from any local Halloween shop but with the connections some prop masters end up with it wouldn't surprise any of the crew if it had come from the back of some movie set shot years before. People, the new ones to crew, always seem to want to reach out and touch it, try to figure out what the skin could be made of but they get warned off of that fairly quickly.
There is, of course, tales that go around of an actor or a new crew member who's curiosity just grew to be too much and snuck in to touch it. The story always ends the same way, the person just happens to never be seen again. Of course there are no such records of that happening there at the theatre or in any theatre scattered across the city. It doesn't stop people from whispering about the rumours though. That doesn't stop the newbies from daring one another to lock themselves in the back of the prop room armed only with a flash light.
More senior members of the cast and crew will always warn them, tell them that they won't like what they'll see if they decide to go through with it. Warnings are never heeded though and they always come out looking a little worse for wear. Eyes wide, skin pale. No one will ever talk about what they saw in there, which only makes the more daring want to go in there more. Until finally enough people have done it, enough people have come out saying the same thing, that no one dares to go in alone.
Warnings and Tags: Horror, Mild Body Horror, Mild Blood, office jobs, original work
Word Count: 3,489
Summary: Work's a bitch. Written for @31-daysofhorror Day 12: Cubicle
Author Notes: This took longer than I thought it would to be happy with, but I hope you enjoy this twisting tale. I actually posted this on Ao3 as well and there are some formatting differences that I think enhance the tale.
💀🧡 Happy Haunting 🧡💀
Read The Cubicle and the Poster, Rated Mature, in full below the cut.
The Cubicle and the Poster
It was a job, a boring, tedious, easy job, and most importantly it was a pay cheque. It wasn't a great pay cheque, but it was enough for now, and there was potential for growth. It wasn't anything other than sitting in front of a large screen that was paired with long shifts and plenty of breaks. Breaks that didn't require leaving the small space they were assigned, instead they spent them at the grey L-shaped desk that was fitted into three and a half grey walls, spinning in the plush office chair which had already started to conform to the curve of their spine. As the worker spun, munching on their lunch, their gaze took in their surroundings.
When the chair stopped and faced the white wall that had been left untouched, that somehow seemed to enjoy its lack of marks or decoration, the employee felt the urge to fill it. To defile the uncanny smoothness of the blank wall that lay not far from their cubicle's opening. A chuckle left their lips at the idea of hanging up one of those ridiculous cat posters over the obnoxious empty space, before it vanished with the crunch of their cracker-covered hummus. Chewing as they turned, the chair only stopped to gaze at the mass-printed poster board that had been the sole decoration of the space they had been assigned.
It was a remnant of the last employee and one they hadn't wanted to remove from its centred place on the dull grey pinboard wall. It was the only poster that seemed to have ever hung there, the grey wall having no other holes. At least from what they could see. It was perfectly centred. The push pins that held the poster's four corners in place looked more like nails in the fake wooden window frame. The brown push pins were well-centred in the painted wooden window frame that squared and divided the landscape the window offered, reminding the employee of being in an old country cabin.
The poster was no doubt relaxing to peer at after hours spent in front of the screen, and perhaps that was why no one had wished to remove it. They shifted in their seat, eyes coasting over the bright yellow fields and the bright green of the leaves of the tree just perfectly on the right of the pane. You could almost feel the breeze that rustled through the serene, sun-drenched landscape. They could understand why no one had removed it, the infusion of such vibrant colour in the dull space was mind-numbingly peaceful.
Whoosh
Their head turned from the window to dull grey until their gaze met the bright screen and the reminder vying for their attention. A sigh passed from their lips, looking over their shoulder to the poster one last time before setting back to work.
The grey was too grey, the white too white, and the screen too bright. They frowned, rubbing their eyes and looking away from the screen to the dull grey surrounding them on three and a half sides. A groan passed their lips as the worker sat back in their seat.
They glanced over their shoulder at the centred pins of the brown wood line frame, eyes briefly captivated by it, before looking towards the photo that had been added to the grey beside them. It wasn't placed nearly as carefully as the fake window, but the coloured push pins would hold. The image of their feline companion curled on their lap brought a smile to their lips.
What was one attempt to bring life to the dull grey and monotony soon became several. A fake plant here, a photo of their childhood dog, tokens gifted to them from friends, and their favourite figures from their childhood, all soon littered their desk and the grey walls surrounding them. But no matter how much was added to the shrine of their life around the screen, it didn't stop its brightness, or the dull grey from peaking between each item, like cracks in the timeline of their life. The grey demanded attention just as much as the vacant white wall beside them.
Whoosh
They jolted upright at the reminder, head snapping back to the computer behind them. They grumbled at themselves, looking at their half-eaten sandwich and nearly untouched smoothie, and figured they'd be finishing it through their next entry.
They’d lost track of how many times they’d run the same report. Endless Macros after Macro of inputting and updating the same files. They stared at the same screen beside a phone with too many buttons that never rang for them. The raise they had got was worth the extra time, and the near-constant fatigue. Dry hands rubbed together as they sat back for a break, their eyes closing for a moment just to rest them. A grumbled complaint about chapped lips had them reaching for water and drinking it quickly, as their eyes opened they took in the grey lines between the objects of their life. The bits of their personality were spilling out around them, the desk was cluttered, and push-pin walls were layered with sticky notes, doodles, reminders, and movies they'd enjoyed. With tired eyes and a strained mind, they took in the bright tokens that sat like a shrine to the past before the blue light. It wasn’t enough. More came, endless trinkets of the life they had lived, but the dull grey wouldn’t leave, taunting them much like the laughing emptiness at their right.
They weren't sure when it had started, tokens from childhood, from their memories, filled the grey walls and grey desk. Photographs were pinned and tacked around them, like a testament to their past, but none ever encroached on the wood-framed window. The bright hair of Trolls huddled together was at war with the blankness of the wall and the dullness of the cubicle. The swirling history covered nearly every grey spot and encroached on the bright screen that filled their time and grew to box in the window poster. Yet still, the grey remained. No matter how much was added with dedication and obsession.
Along the timeline of their life, the dull grey stood out like mocking connectors, all lending to the window frame directly behind their cushioned chair. Their eyes narrowed at the white wall that screamed at him, glaring at it before turning to the peace that called to them from the bright yellow fields that blew in the darkening sky.
… Wait…
The tips of their shoes stuttered their chair to a stop, brows creasing as they stared at the framed fake window. Their hands put down the sandwich they were eating and forwent the sting of their eyes and the sluggishness of their thoughts. Their gaze was critical as they looked over the clouds that threatened rain, and the movement that seemed etched into each leaf on the tree. The bright yellow fields seemed ready to break at the winds that rolled through them. They scrutinized every pixel of the image, leaning forward towards it with a firm press of their lips. The poster stood bright against their tokens, like a portal through the pixelated glass into the stormy sky and bright fields struck with the shadows of the oncoming storm.
Whoosh
Despite their furrowed brow and the curiosity that suddenly filled them at the change, their eyes followed the connecting grey back to the screen. The call of a pay cheque turned them away from the little window, abandoning their lunch and picking up the reading glasses beside their keyboard. As they tried to dismiss what they had thought the poster looked like they spared a look at the looming painted clouds, lips twisting with doubt, before turning back to the unending light of their screen. They were just seeing things, eye strain was a bitch.
They spun slowly, tired eyes glaring at the screen before their stiff body turned. They cracked their fingers before taking off their glasses to rub their eyes. When they opened them, the worker's gaze fell back on the white emptiness that stared back into them. Their hand came to rest under their chin, scratching at their flaking skin. The grimace that filled their lips was one of distaste, their skin dry and cracking. With a drawn-out sigh, they looked over their arms, taking a long pull from the can of energy drink beside them. Their gaze was fixed on the empty white, as they placed the can back and reached blindly for the lotion that was always in the top drawer.
The wall stood endlessly, dedicated to its smoothness. The longer they peered at it, the less it made sense. A wall that had been there so long shouldn’t be so pristine. As the worker rubbed the soothing cream into their broken skin, they couldn't look away from it. It taunted them with its perfection. The wall that stood empty, unmarred, and untouched by time, was improbable at best. The worker couldn't understand how the wall remained so white, how throughout the history of it no one had ever chosen to touch it, not one nail was left or hole filled, not another layer of paint marked by different brush strokes appeared on the smooth surface. When they searched, they weren't entirely sure that there were brush strokes at all.
Hands twisted with cream over their aching joints, wondering if someone was constantly washing it so that the wall remained so brightly devoid of colour. So devoid of it that it felt as if it was determined to suck the colour, and therefore the happiness they had found, from the ever-growing collection of colourful bobbles and knick-knacks that surrounded them within the cubicle. Their hands paused, holding them close to their chest as they stared into the smooth surface, searching for a hole, a dimple, a rough brush stroke, desperately wanting to make the imagined unease within the pit of their stomach dissipate. They spent their break staring at it, uninterested in food at the prospect of finding a fault or trace that time had passed for the painted concrete.
Whoosh
They didn’t lift their glare with the wall at the sound of the end of their break. The employee looked at the forgotten meal beside the screen, replacing their glasses before turning violently around their desk chair. They had found no fault in the emptiness, and anger had found them instead as they continued to press aching fingers to the keyboard.
They winced in pain as bandaged fingertips paused on the keyboard, wrists aching and in need of a cracking. Their hand reached for the can of energy drink, downing it quickly before looking at the state of their fingers. They had been hurting more, with bits of blood as fingernails broke and cracked. They reached for the painkillers in the top drawer, taking two before replacing one of the bandages. A whimper left their lips as a bloody scab pulled from the wound, bleeding anew. They quickly wrapped it, holding tightly to the bleeding digit, they couldn't risk losing the work.
They sat back when it was done, carefully holding the injury as they resumed their spinning. Their eyes looked over the fading photos and trinkets that lined their space. Their squinted gaze followed the river of grey that ran through their life until it fell upon the window.
The worker swallowed, there was no denying now the landscape beyond the fake poster had changed. Their shoulders hunched forward before their left shoulder dropped, peering at the once bright yellow fields, now looming with darkness. Their chair rolled closer, licking over their cracked lips. Shifting through the yellow wheat was a cloud, a fog almost, of darkness. The swirls of it moved against the blowing wheat, separate from the storm clouds above it that flashed with lightning.
When had they last looked out the window?
They couldn't remember. But they knew there had never been a creature in it, and it was a creature. A shudder crept down their spine, eyes wide as they stared at the unknowable shadow that stared back into them. They couldn't look away from it now that they saw the garnet eyes that pulsed and swirled from the poster board behind the panes of painted glass. They were too focused to look away, trained on the creature's bending shapeless appendages. It hadn't been there, they knew the poster had been sunny, or at least devoid of life.
Whoosh
They ignored the sound, wide eyes focused on watching what could be a mouth or snout within the shadows, but not close enough to the two glowing dots to be humanoid. It was too far away from the glass to make out, and dread laced its way into their heart at the fear it coming closer.
Bling
The change of tune is what finally caused air to get sucked back into their body. They blinked rapidly, looking from the poster toward the computer screen and its line of bright posted notes. They tried to shake themselves from the draw of the mist creature, the unsettling need to watch it and look away at the same time filled them. Their hand gripped one of the stress toys they'd always loved. Left hand wrapped tight around it before looking back to the screen, trying to push away the feeling of being watched with each eye-popping squeeze.
They refused to turn around, it had changed. The creeping feeling up their spine and the sourness in their stomach never left them. The empty white offered no comfort as they reached for the painkillers in the top drawer. They swallowed two quickly, trying to beat down the steady pain that was pulsing between their eyes. The dry pills pulled at their throat, but the tired worker couldn't be bothered. Bandaged hands moved to scrap at the back of their neck, wishing the feeling would leave them but refused to turn. They were unsure if it was the fear of seeing the creature or that they had imagined it all that turned their stomach more. They weren't sure if the creature had been there, or if they had been imagining it, or maybe they had imagined that the poster had ever been serene.
It didn't matter. They wouldn't look again.
It was only a poster, they reminded themselves often. They let their eyes drift over the age-worn photos, with their corners curling around colourful push pins. Their cracked lips curved up into a smile, enjoying the photo of someone and their cat. The sight of the fading bits and bobbles comforted the quick beating of their heart and the churn of their empty stomach. Eyes roved over the dull colours of triangle-shaped hair from short pudgy creatures, curiosity distracting them from the pain of their tired body and the fear in their heart.
Bling
They blinked slowly, looking back at the screen with a roll of their shoulders as the creeping feeling returned and vaulted to a new intensity. They hitched their shoulders higher, chancing a glance behind them that stole their breath. The creature was larger, closer to the glass, with garnet glowing in the wisps of its body.
Bling Bling
Their breath stuttered, ripping their eyes from the poster. It was only a poster. It was just a poster. They were tired, getting sick, and they only had a little bit longer in their contract. They stared at the bright light, focusing on it as they swallowed and pressed bandaged fingers to the keys once more.
Their vision was tunnelled as they spread more lotion on their cracked and bleeding skin, eyes drooping and exhausted. They sat back in their chair with a groan, looking down at the poor toy they had squeezed too often and too tightly, that was coated in drying blood. Eyes blinked heavily when their gaze turned from the abused toy, finding the emptiness that haunted their every thought. They abandoned the comfort of the toy for water, quenching the dry feeling of their tongue as they looked into the endless white that watched them. The sound of their pulse filled their ears, watching the whiteness shift into nameless faces, screaming and calling for them before shuddering away from the tricks of their weary mind. Shoes pushed the office chair away from the horrid void, intending to miss looking at the window, fearing the creature’s closeness, but couldn’t stop their gaze.
Their lips parted in a silent scream, shuffling back from the horror pressed against the frame. The shadows were wide and looming, consuming the vantage point with its swirling masses, maw wide and beckoning. They hadn’t been wrong, it had always been there and was now spread against the painted glass, that stood fractured and breaking.
Bling
Their heart sped into their throat, the tone going unheard and forcing their eyes to stay open as the glass seemed ready to rupture under the force of the screaming entity behind it. Web-like spindles spread from a grouping of shadows that were pounding into it. They held tight to themselves, unable to look away from the beast beyond the glass.
It was glass, wasn’t it?
Bling
Had it been a poster?
Bling
They couldn’t remember ever touching it, not seeing the need to check something so centred as if it was part of the cubicle that encased them. The idea that they’d never touched the once peaceful countryside poster, haunted them now. They couldn't see it move, but they could see the change within the glass and the splintering of the wooden frame.
Bling
Bling
Eyes fought against the need to blink, eyelids already barely managing to stay open after all they had put into their work. The vignette of their eyesight inverted, the dark corners of their vision were suddenly filled with a horrid florescent light. The once-silent scream was given a voice as cracks spread further. Their eyes closed and the sound of glass breaking coated their rasping cry as their chair spun and eyes flashed open, bleeding shrivelled hands reaching for the blindly bright light.
“Turn that racket off,” a voice skittered in an echoing whisper. “You won, no need to be dramatic.”
The endless alert stopped and was replaced with smug laughter that swirled around the darkened space. The dark cloud-like entity had brought her endless darkness with her, infecting the space. Mist moved with purpose, creeping over the faded trinkets of the hollowed-out shell that lay, reaching towards the only light left in the cubicle. Garnet-coloured eyes floated around the mist until they stayed within its centre, focused on the human husk.
“Don’t be a sore loser, Bethany,” a deep voice said, disembodied around her dark mist.
“You are a lazy soul sucker,” the mist accused, garnet shifting around the mist to the far left of herself to look at the white wall.
“And you work too slow and hard,” the rumbling voice argued as the white wall hummed in a high-pitched tone. “Dear Bethany, you don’t utilise technology. Don’t blame those that adapt for your hunger.”
The mist shifted, contracting before expanding, the sound of a huff of wind filling the darkness around the bright screen. The mist crawled along the floor towards the endless empty as the white wall shone. Light filtered through the wall as it opened, much like a folded paper box, allowing the looming white figure to emerge and take shape from the geometric. The smug laughter didn’t fade as the second entity formed a grinning mouth out of jagged triangles. Bethany’s glowing eyes bore into the blinding white of the second’s teeth before looking towards the pieces of the shrivelled human that lay half-absorbed around them.
“I always share with you,” the pristine figure stated, glowing aura quartz eyes that were cut into an icosahedron looked at the pale figures as he stepped closer to collect its waste before the pair brought in the next. “You can have all the scraps you want, old timer.” His well-fed laughter rumbled around them, dragging the human, whose sunken face was frozen in fear, back towards the open glowing wall.
“Oh, how very gracious of you, Francis,” her voice a hiss as mist pooled around the cubicle and the scrapes of the slain human’s soul.
