#horror maybe?

[10ths-writing-corner]

“Hush, hush… This won’t hurt you one bit.”

The words are oddly reassuring, soothing the uneasiness sitting at the point of his stomach. You’d think after witnessing the doctor do this over and over he’d trust those very words. He’d witnessed Henrik do this plenty of times, with adults and children alike. He’d even been on the receiving end numerous times!

But never like this. Never against his own will.

Henrik never forced him to receive help. Never took away his freedom of choice, even if it pained the doctor to see his closest friend sabotage his well being for the sake of saving lives. Guess they were both similar in that department.

Always giving chances, never being forceful.

The hero struggled against his restraints, and is funny he called it like that, because there were no ropes or shackles bounding him down. He was just lying there, muscles stiff and heavy like a corpse. He could move his eyes, hear how the floor creaked under Henrik’s weight as he shifted it from leg to leg. Something he now had to do constantly due to the injury he sustained during those hellish nine months he was missing.

And coming back hadn’t been as easy as Jackie selfishly expected. He had been so desperate to have his best friend back that he didn’t take into consideration that… nothing would be the same. It had been a hard pill to swallow, to admit the only person he had trusted after going through his own horrors could simply be gone.

He’s getting sidetracked, he should be thinking of a way to get out of this.

Luckily for Jackie, enough time has passed that the numbness was slowly ebbing away, giving him back enough control to move his head and use his lips to reason with his friend.

“H-Hen…” Jackie’s voice cracks when he speaks for the first time ever since he was caught off guard by a needle to his neck. “Hen… You need—You g-gotta… snap out of it…”

Upon hearing his voice, Henrik quickly rushed to his side. There’s clattering to his side, but Jackie is unable to see what it was. All he had was the sound of glass hitting the nightstand, but not enough to break it. The hero inspects his friend as best as he can for any signs that his mind was being held prisoner by past events or, god forbid, the demon they had been trying to find and get rid off for god knows how long.

But all he’s met is with clear icy blues, full recognition and capability of understanding what is being done. Jackie’s not sure if it made things better or worse.

The bed dips when Henrik sits down, just like he has done many times over for the past few years. “Snap out of it? There is nothing wrong with me.” Henrik assures, “My head is intact. My mind is clear of the things I have to do. My friend, I have always had your trust, yes? I would never dare to harm you.”

“I-I know, Hen…” Jackie swallows thickly, keeping his eyes on the doctor. Doing his best to convey that he’s not the enemy. “Y-You always take such good… good care of me. B-But—”

“Yes… yes I do.” Henrik agrees, patting Jackie’s shoulder. “Which is why I know it is best for you to stay home. Safe. Where I can see you.”

Blood drains from Jackie’s face. Did he hear right? Henrik can’t be serious… he doesn’t mean to imply…

“Henrik…? Please, t-tell me this is a joke…?” Jackieboy laughs nervously, waiting for the doctor to say all of this is a horrible prank.

Deep down, though, he knew the doctor was serious. Henrik never played pranks on him.

He watched Henrik briefly turn away, only to face him once more with a syringe full of a clear fluid. There’s no trace of a smile on his features, but there is a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

“Do not worry, Jackie. I will make sure to keep you safe.”

[coppertrawlerlantern]

[francesminos-tt]

Twisted -1-

The countryside was quiet and peaceful, almost ethereal in the late spring sun. There was only one paved road in the small village, with numerous unpaved paths stretching from the main road, like branches from a huge tree, or blood veins from the main artery. The whole village was dead quiet at 3:37pm, only the occasional dog barks reminding people that this was not a ghost village.

Daeron looked at his watch, then the small notebook he kept in his pocket at all times. He could have used his phone for navigation, but the internet was practically useless in such remote place. He walked 3 miles just to get to the entrance of this village, a crooked metal board on a tree, reading Arcadia.

There was nothing Arcadia about this place, Daeron thought, except that it was located in the middle of nowhere. But remoteness and isolation seldom meant idleness. It was a fact known by many that remoteness and isolation was the birthing parents of all things sinister.

Daeron stopped in front of a small tavern and put notebook back into his pocket. The tavern was a three story building located at the center of this village, Arcadia, and the only place for social gatherings. According to its website, it was opened in 1894 and had served the community for more than 100 years. Also, it was the only restaurant and the only “hotel” in this small village. Daeron tried to push the door open, but the heavy carved door seemed to be locked. He knocked, no answer. He rang the easily neglected door bell, still nothing.

“Miss K must be taking her nap now.” A voice came from behind Daeron, nearly shocking the young man out of his skin.

Daeron turned back, only to find a friendly face smiling at him. It was a young man, probably 20 or less, with shockingly dark hair and a handsome face. He was almost as tall as Daeron, but a bit slenderer, his shoulders wrapped under a plain sweatshirt. The collar was too loose, exposing his pale neck and delicate collar bone. He wore a washed tight jeans underneath, paired with a pair of pointy oxfords. He looked like any young adult Daeron had met in the city, but there was a delicacy to him, with his nicely shaped eyebrow, long lashes, flushed cheeks and soft lips.

“I am sorry?” Daeron said, tilting his head to the side.

“The tavern owner, Miss K. She always takes a nap in the afternoon. You won’t be able to wake her unless there is a fire.” The young man said; he sounded boyish, his voice high-pitched compared to Daeron’s deep one. “You won’t set a fire to her tavern, will you?”

“Of course not.” Daeron replied immediately. “I booked a room here, but I guess I arrived too early.”

“Oh, a visitor! We haven’t had a visitor in years!” The young man clapped his hands, his darks eyes sparkling with excitement, “I am Joffrey, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” Daeron replied, shaking Joffrey’s outstretched hand. Joffrey’s hand was small and soft, perching neatly in Daeron’s sweaty palm. Perhaps too soft for a young man like him.

“Will you come and take a stroll with me? I can tell you some nice things to see around here. Perhaps share a little gossip as well.” Joffrey offered. He seemed friendly, if not a tad too flirty. He came to stand next to Daeron, all giddy and goofy smile. If Joffrey was not a 6 feet tall man, Daeron would say that he was approached by a teenager girl.

Daeron considered for a moment. He had nothing to do. His phone wasn’t working and he had no one to talk to except for this overly chatty young man. Joffrey looked nice, and naive for his age, a perfect starting point for Daeron’s investigation.

“All right.” Daeron said, putting his hands into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the notebook’s leather cover, over and over again, a habit he had developed in the academy.

“Let’s go! We can go see the flower fields! Oh, do you know Mr. X adopted a new goat? We suspect it’s stolen, but he won’t admit it.” Joffrey put his hand into the hollow of Daeron’s arm and hooked their arms together like a pair of Victorian lovers.

Daeron noticed two things. One, not only did Joffrey talk like a girl, he acted like one too. Second, Joffrey used plural in his speech, we instead of I, which meant that he probably lived with someone. It was strange for a young man like him to have such a sense of collectiveness. Most young men in their 20s wanted to be as unique as possible, imagine themselves as lone fighters against the world. Childish and stupid, in Daeron’s opinion.

“You are going to love our village.” Joffrey smiled, his dark lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, “There. That’s our house, just above the hill.”

Daeron looked at the direction Joffrey was pointing and saw a lovely farm house perched on a small hill just off the main road. The house was painted a lovely cream white, with dark roofs and old style windows. It was well maintained with a row of white fences around, a bicycle leaning against them sluggishly. It was idyllic, dreamy, a perfect image of country life.

“It’s nice.” Daeron commented.

“Oh, it is.” Joffrey said dreamily, a shy smile on his face. Was it the dusk, or Daeron’s imagination that Joffrey was blushing?

There were more to write on his notebook, Daeron thought.

[adamworu]

I am thinking of watching the anime Monster. Is there anything I should know prior to watching?

[therabidjackalope]

Zombiology - Guinea Pig

Dedicated to Kasperdragon and Flipper

(Fair warning - This short will likely disturb or even piss off the lovers of the small and fuzzy. That’s kind of the point)

The guinea pig squeaked and bit at the bars of her cage. She was hungry. It had been at least a full day since her last meal, maybe even so many as two days. The cage could do with a good cleaning as well.

The pig had never been so neglected since being brought home and her squeals of unhappiness demanded attention, yet went unanswered. Her owner, a young girl, was not particularly far away. She sat slumped at her desk a few feet from the pig's cage, her head resting on folded arms as if just taking a short nap.

She had been good to the small rodent, always bringing her tasty treats, giving her gentle pets and time outside of the cage, making sure the pig always had fresh water and tasty food to eat. It had been a great couple of years, the animal wanting for nothing.

It only changed when the sickness came. Suddenly the girl began to smell different as the sickness raged through her body. The treats came less frequently and she was no longer brought out of her cage to play.

The furry mammal let out another squeak and ran in a tight circle, again demanding to be fed and not understanding why the request was being denied when it never had before.

When the girl finally began to stir, the pig did another spin and began to squeak with renewed ferocity. Finally, she thought, she would receive the food and attention she deserved.

The girl began to shiver as if from cold, her grey skin twitching and stretching. Greasy blond hair covered the little girl's face like a filthy curtain. As the small head lifted, the curtain slithered like a mass of serpents. With slow and jerky movements, the young owner sat up in the tiny chair. Her arms fell bonelessly to her sides. A low moan drifted out in answer to her pet's calls.

The guinea pig squealed excitedly as she saw the little girl finally wake. Anticipating the usual care, she reared up, tiny forepaws clinging to the painted metal as she watched the child slowly rise to her feet and turn to face the excited creature she had once so loved.

As pale eyes turned in dry sockets, coming to land on the pacing creature in her tiny pen, the pig's squeaks came in a continuous stream. They grew louder and more insistent with every halting step of the child.

Far beyond the rodent's reach, the top hatch of the cage had been left open, likely in hopes that she would find some way to escape, but much more likely out of mere carelessness. It took several clumsy attempts for the girl to get her hand into the hole, as if she had never worked her own arms before. But once the goal had been reached, her attention fell next to the furry creature within.

Little hands, that has once been gentle and caring, now snatched wildly, ignoring the warning bites of a frightened animal. Eyes that had always been full of love, were milky and blank. The small mouth that had before murmured sweet words now hung slack, uttering only wordless moans.

The cage offered nowhere to hide that the cold fingers couldn't reach. The plastic tube was upended and the igloo knocked aside. Every corner was a trap. The fluffy rodent scrambled about the suddenly cramped cage that had been her home, narrowly avoiding the clumsy attempts to catch her, but her luck was short lived.

Soon she felt cold, stiff fingers wrap around her small body, crushing her in a tight grip while pulling her roughly from the cage. The high-pitched squeal of a frightened animal echoed hollowly in the still room until it was silenced with a single loud crunch, and replaced with the sounds of chewing.

[fagenthusiast]

marimba. stylophone. cymbals. tuba. glasses.

next next next

no windows. no doors. circles and instruments. he paces in circles. circles. instruments.

circles.

lets do weezer blue doom shrek

more more more more

whats next? whats next?

more!

his cyclical existence grips the croud. More! Yes!

marimba. stylophone. cymbals. tuba. glasses.

he paces

and paces in that white room the light sears

his ears ring his hands shake his head pumps

circles circles

his face is numb his skin is blistered he paces and paces and paces and paces

when will it stop? whats next?

he finishes a cycle. camera stops. camera starts

new new new more more

whats

next next next

[therabidjackalope]

Bottom Of The Bottle

Oliver Mills shivered and tugged his tattered coat a little tighter around himself. The worn material did little to increase his warmth against growing chill. It warned of the coming of a harsh Winter. Oliver hated Winter in the city. Why couldn't he have found himself homeless somewhere warm, like Florida or California?

Bitterly, he kicked an old rusty can in his path and listened to it's rattling protest while it tumbled down the littered asphalt. More cans were strewn across the old street, along with used needles, crumpled papers, and other detritus that seemed to gather in the abandoned corners of the world where humans resided.

Oliver often felt a kinship with the trash. He too was abandoned and unwanted, left to collect with the other undesirables in dark and abandoned places out of the sight of more civilized folks. If they couldn't see him then he didn't exist and couldn't disturb their perfect little lives. That was how it worked, right?

He gave a derisive snort. He'd been one of those so-called civilized people not so long ago. He had a great job, his hot young wife had been the envy of all his friends and co-workers, he had a big house and three children and one more on the way. The American dream. And it had been his. Life had been perfect.

And then that sniveling little prick had come sniffing around, sticking his nose in everything and messing it all up. What was his name? Hobson? Dodson? It could be Dickweed for all Oliver cared. So what if he had been embezzling a little from the company? It was HIS company! And it wasn't like he took much! He just skimmed a little here and there. And only when he needed it. He never got greedy.

Braces for little Becky, a boob job for Tonia, a little coke here and there when he needed it. He sure could use a little bump now. The cheap booze, when he could get a hold of it, took some of the edge off, but it tasted like battery acid and often left him feeling worse than before he drank it. Not that he ever let that stop him. Although he was far too sober at that moment for his liking.

Suddenly, his attention was caught by a small flash. One of the piss-yellow street lamps reflected off of something off to his left. Chances are it was just some empty booze bottle, but for some reason, he felt compelled to investigate. His pity party momentarily forgotten, he made his way closer to where the strange glint had been.

At first he failed to see anything amongst the scraggly patches of grass, broken pieces of glass, and crumbled beer cans. A passing breeze rippled an old sheet of newspaper like the wiggling butt of a stalking kitten before it stilled once again. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm cried out it's warning before being abruptly silenced. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Oliver was just about to give up when he suddenly spied it. Half-buried in the dirt lay the tapered neck of some kind of exotic looking bottle. It was a deep purple color of opaque glass with what looked to be gemstones encircling the rim. Chances are it was some over-priced wine bottle, but Oliver stepped closer and decided to go ahead and fetch it, just in case it was worth something. Maybe worth as much as a bottle of Wild Turkey.

Carefully he grabbed and tugged at the bottle, which came out of the ground easily. He then began wiping off the coating of moist dirt that clung to it, exposing more colorful gemstones hidden beneath it. The bottle had to be some sort of weird antique or something. That should bring in a pretty penny to someone. Might even get him something decent to drink for a change.

As he gave the bottle another good swipe, it suddenly began to vibrate in his hands. He cried out and nearly dropped it in his surprise. Only the promise of booze kept his fingers clenched tightly around his prize.

It was fear that fused his hands around the bottle when a strange blue smoke began pouring out of the tip, gathering in a menacing cloud high above his head. Oliver opened his mouth to scream, but his voice was too afraid to leave the safety of his throat. He felt as if his entire body had been transformed into lead, and all he could do was stand still and watch his fate unfold in front of him.

The cloud continued to swell, until it finally began to swirl slowly into itself, forming into some kind of shape Oliver could not immediately make out. Familiar features began to take shape within the cloud, a man's bare chest, long powerful arms, a head, and was that a face? As he watches, the cloud transformed itself into the torso of a blue-skinned man, his arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed with eyes closed. Below his waist, he remained nothing but a tether of blue smoke leading to the bottle's mouth.

“What the hell!” He finally managed to exclaim in amazement. “Did I go and find myself a damn genie?!”

The blue half-man's head slowly rose and his eyes opened, looking down at Oliver passively. The wisdom of eternity was in those pale blue orbs that looked at him with something akin to boredom. “I suppose you could say that.” The genie replied with a booming voice. “And because you have found me, you will be granted three wishes. Do you want power? Riches? Immortality? Speak the words and it shall be yours.”

“Wow!” Oliver exclaimed, then let out a puff of laughter while he almost danced. Sure, every kid had heard the old fairy tales about genies and wishes, always dreaming of what they would ask for when they found their own magical lamp or bottle, but everyone knew those were just stories. It wasn't real. And yet, here he was sober as a stone with his hands holding one of those very magical items. It was his turn. He was being offered his wishes. Anything he could dream of was his for the taking.

He took a moment to calm down. He didn't want to say something stupid and waste one of his wishes. “Ok, give me one moment here to think.” He said, closing his eyes and steadying his breath.

It took only a moment to decide on at least one wish. After six long years on the street, he was more than ready to return to civilization. Hot showers and a warm, soft bed that didn't smell of urine and stale sweat. “Ok, for my first wish, I wish for my house back.” He said.

“Consider it done.” The genie boomed.

“That's it?” Oliver questioned, looking up into the other being's passive gaze.

“Yes.” The genie replied simply.

“Wow! Wowie wow!” Olvier replied, doing an excited spin in place. His wife had kicked him out as soon as his misdeeds had come to light, the divorce papers arriving while he was sitting in jail, awaiting his court date. His kids had refused to even look in his direction when he'd tried to talk to them outside of their school. Well they were all about to be sorry. They would ALL be real sorry, soon enough for discarding him like human trash.

“Ok, for my next wish, I wish for more money than I could ever spend in my whole life. I never want to work another day in my life, and I don't want to pay a single penny of it to the government!” Oliver demanded.

“Consider it done.” The genie said again.

“This is so great! I have my life back!” Oliver cried in victory. He released the bottle with one hand so that he could pump his fist at the sky. “Yes!” Suddenly a shadow crossed the man's happy features and the excitement faded away, replaced by bitterness and anger. “Wait. I still have one more wish, right?”

“That is correct.” The genie answered, his voice as emotionless as his timeless eyes. The genie did not judge, he did not care. He merely waited patiently for the choices to be made.

A slow, sly smile crept over Oliver's features, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated his final wish. “Alright then.” He said slowly, his voice becoming cold and calculating. “I wish for that asshole that got me into this situation in the first place to face a very gruesome, painful, humiliating death. I want him to really suffer. Teach him a real lesson before he dies. That will teach that little prick to ruin my life.”

“It will be done.” The genie boomed, then began to disintegrate back into a heavy cloud of smoke, before being sucked back into the jewel-encrusted bottle. Within moments, the smoke was gone and the bottle began to vibrate once more. But this time, it began to shrink within his grasp until it flattened out and transformed into a crisp ten dollar bill.

Oliver looked down at the bill in his hand in confusion. Had the genie left him with a tip? Was is cab fair or something? Why would he need this? His home was just an hour's walk away, and his bank account should be stuffed to the brim with all the money he would ever.... need.....

A chill ran through Oliver's body, instantly turning his hot blood to ice. The genie was gone. There was no way to take back or change his wishes anymore. It was too late. He slowly lifted his head, staring at a graffiti-covered brick wall that his eyes did not see. They widened in growing horror as comprehension slowly dawned.