MagiStream

Share any horror story you've ever written! It can be about, zombies, ghosts, anything! Here's one of mine:

Zombie Apocalypse!

The end of the world began on Tuesday. I had been wandering around town, wondering what sort of stuff I could get into. I remember thinking, “That’s weird, downtown is usually packed with people.” Usually, downtown Chicago’s streets are bustling with people that all need to get to one place. But on this foggy day, no people were in sight, and not one taxi or bus was visible. Even all the restaurants and shops were empty. “It’s like I’m the last person on Earth,” I joked aloud.
How very ignorant I was.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps, many footsteps, like a whole army of people. I was glad, because I had been beginning to be a bit creeped out by being all alone. All the people must have been at a convention or a sports game. I saw shapes coming towards me, but because of the fog, I couldn’t see quite clearly. Weirdly enough, I heard no voices, only groans and grunts. I took a step backward, getting a little scared. I squinted hard and saw hunched over people with ripped clothes and… was that blood on their faces?
It was when I caught a whiff of rotting flesh that I started to run into an alley. Suddenly, the city became alive with grunts, groans, and footsteps. The fog had lifted, and I could see quite clearly the remains of humans on the ground.
Then, as if somebody had pulled a mat from over my feet, my legs went flying above me and I fell, hitting my head on the sticky pavement. Wait, sticky? I rubbed my head and saw blood on my hands. I had slipped on a pool of blood. The fall had cost me precious seconds, and I could see zombies coming from the right, left, and in front of me. Their mouths and faces were covered with blood, and some held human limbs in the hands and chewing on them occasionally. In a matter of moments they would be on top of me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand went over my mouth and something pulled me through a door and into a house. The door slammed shut but I could hear the zombies pounding on it, trying to find a way in. I kicked and punched trying to free myself from my kidnapper until I heard the voice.
“Hey, easy, Penelope.” My eyes widened and the hand released me. I turned and say my best friend, Zach. I had started laughing with joy and relief that I was not the only one alive and human. Zach started laughing, too. But I stopped when I remembered something. “Zach, what about my parents?” I asked. He stopped laughing real quick and shook his head. “I went to your house when the zombies came, but I didn’t see you or your parents. There was blood all over the place. My guess is that the zombies invaded the house and your parents weren’t prepared. I thought you had died along with them. Then I went to my house, and almost got eaten in the process.”
Tears welled in my eyes and my vision became blurry. My parents… why my parents? Zach but his hand on my shoulder but didn’t say anything. “What about your parents, Zach?” He grimaced but answered, “They’re dead, I saw them get eaten.” His eyes had a cold look to them, like they did whenever we talked about his parents. They never really did care about what could happen to him. He spent most of the time at my house, so he didn’t care about them either. I could just imagine his parents begging for help while Zach stared at them get ripped to shreds, but the thought was so gruesome I pushed it away. Something brushed my legs and felt a little surprised to see Zach’s cat, Miss Lucy and my feet.
“Hey, it’s Miss Lucy.” I picked her up and started to stroke tickle her behind the ears, trying to calm myself down. Miss Lucy closed her eyes and started to purr. Zach grinned, and the cold light in his eyes went away. He grinned and stroked her tawny head. “Yeah, when I came back from your house, she came out from under the couch.”
We stood there for a moment, smiling and stroking Miss Lucy when a gray fist went through the door. The groans and grunts came back, louder than ever. I stood there shocked, but Zach took charge. “Penelope, go to your house! Take Miss Lucy with you! You guys will be safe there!” he yelled, trying to be heard over the zombies pounding. I shook my head. “Nuh-uh, I’m staying here! If I die, I die with you!” I shouted. Miss Lucy meowed, as if asking to be stroked.
Zach saw I wasn’t going to leave, and gave a tiny nod. “How about we both go to my house,” I said as a zombie head went through the door. It was extremely ugly and frightening. I knew that if I lived, I would have nightmares for the rest of my live. It’s skin was gray and covered in blood. The skin around the mouth was in tatters, as if it got so hungry it chewed on its own lips. And the smell was unbearable. It was like a mix of rotting flesh and like the toilets at school. Zach ushered me with Miss Lucy in my arms through the back door and running through the city until we got to my house. Fortunately, there were no zombies in it. As soon as we got in Zach looked the door and I collapsed on the floor. Miss Lucy leaped out of my arms right before I hit the ground.
Zach was at my side immediately, helping me up, but I didn’t want to get up. My parents were dead, all my friends except one were dead, and approximately everyone I knew was either dead or a zombie. Zach looked past me a bit and his eyes became bright with fright. “Get up, get up!” he hissed and pulled at my urgently. Miss Lucy yowled and I saw out of the corner of my eye her leaping onto the refrigerator. “Get up!” Zach growled, and did one final attempt to lift me, but I slid back on the floor. I shook my head miserably, and then heard the dreaded groan.
Suddenly Zach leapt in front of me as if to shield me and I heard him scream and something crunch. At once I was on my feet and seeing my best friend be devoured by two zombies. But there was something familiar about these zombies, even though I had never seen them before. One was wearing my mom’s shirt and the other had my dad’s glasses. Oh gosh. My parents were eating Zach. They ripped his limbs from their sockets and bit him, ripping out pieces of flesh. Zach screamed and thrashed wildly, until the only thing left was the bloody remains of my best friend.
Then my parents turned on me.

Comments please!

It was the third time he felt a chill run down his spine. That odd, prickly and sudden sensation of awareness was uncomfortable but as the other two times he brushed it off. The weather was cool after all, so the light breeze might what was triggering it. He adjusted his backpack over his shoulder and walked on, they were drawing near their destination. The gothic chappel loomed over the graveyard, he could have sworn that it got darker as they stood in front of the gate. -Come on, don't be a wuss- The smirk on the girl's face was enough to convince him, although he wasn't gonna back out. Still, he couldn't shake the foreboding sensation being in that place gave him.

The graveyard was ancient, as the building inside it, and far enough from the town to force them to stay the night there, even if he didn't wanted to. He pushed the gate open, which moved with a high pitched moan. The rust stuck slightly to his hand as both entered and looked around. The ground seemed to hold on to their shoes, he forced himself to avoid thinking of bony gnarled hands trying to pull him below. The boneyard was silent, even the occasional chirp was lulled by the atmosphere of the place, the dark grey color of the ground reminiscent of the corpses below and broken down gravestones and markers whose face had been defiled by time and overgrowth. The overgrowth made him hesitate, the sun had just set and in the twilight each branch looked like something lurking on the shadows.

She laughed , dryly and malevontly, making him start and frown at her. -If you hadn't told me about the stories on the way here I wouldn't be in such a mood...- He scowled at her and glanced at the tip of the sword that hung over them from the hands of an angel statue. -And all these statues look like they'd come to life and move on us.- She rolled her eyes and kept on walking, up close the building was quite interesting, if you liked the architecture. A series of gargoyles seemed to be staring at them from the edge of the roof as she crossed the door's threshold. He slid his hand over the cold marble, wondering if she had brought some light with her. He knew it was a full moon night, so it wouldn't be as dakr once it rose, but at the moment it was getting steadily darker. -Hey?-

He had lost sight of her while his eyes adjusted to the dark, most of the ceiling seemed to had crumbled down under the weight of the vines and the centuries. There was no reply so he walked inside and walked towards the statues that lined the wall. They had met on a forum about haunted places, there seemed to be a legend of a ghost that kidnapped people on full moon nights and made them join the many bones that were buried in the place. They had agreed on a visit together, on hindsight it might have been reckless to be alone witha complete stranger.

He saw movement on the corner of his eyes and saw her silhoutte near the altar, he walked up to her and both sat on the ground. Now they only had to wait, and eat something, he reminded himself looking for his bag. -A sandwich?- He offered her one of his and she took it while taking out a coulpe of water bottles. -Thanks, the legend says we have to wait until the moon is up...- They spoke in whispers almost afraid to speak to loud and wake the dead.

An hour went by, uneventful, until the evening started to light up. And then something moved behind her. He jerked his head up and frowned, he could only see hints of the statues a few meters away from them. She frowned and also looked over her shoulder, maybe hoping that the ghost had appeared. Another chill went down his spine, his eyes searching wildly in the darkness, but maybe it had been his imagination. He could feel his heart thuping in his chest, he moved a hand to it hoping that she couldn't hear it.

She shrugged and returned her attention to her sandwich, a faint brush of fabric on the stone made both look behind him this time. -Something moved...- She stated as a fact, her voice a whisper and when he looked at her there was a hint of a smile on her lips. They both stood up as soft breeze hit them from the corridor, he started to wish that they hadn't agreed on not bringing any source of light. He felt her take a step towards him, his voice seemed to have left him, otherwise he would have returned her comment about him being a wuss.

Another chill when up his spine as this time she laughed again, he turned around slowly and fell back, scrambling away from her and the figures that now looked at them. The robbed statues had left their recess on the walls and looked at him from behind her, she looked frozen in place, looking behind him. He gathered the last of his will to look behind him across the open area of the chappel. More figures stood behind him one of them leaned and extended a hand towards his shoulder which he swatted away as he moved towards a wall.

More light entered through the holes in the ceiling, their faces were pale and their robes darkened. He gasped when he was that the white fabric was now blotched with a dark hue. He couldn't help but think of blood as his own froze in his veins. And then he looked at her again, there was a smile on her face as she took out a robe from her bag and a knife that looked stained. Confusion, anger, fear, all of them went through his face as she got the robe on and moved closer to him.

Cold hands grasped his arms and legs, stretching him over the ground. He couldn't scream, he could barely defend himself from the undead coldness that pinned him to the ground. -Ah...Ar...Are you...dead?- He struggled with the words, getting some courage from the hopelesness of the situation. Her laugh joined his scream as the knife sliced a slab from his leg. -Dead? Poor boy, perhaps this is a nightmare, perhaps you will wake up in the middle of the chappel alone.- His eyes went wider as those that weren't holding him down took out more knifes and she moved the slab of meat to her lips. -Or perhpas you should have been less naive and more afraid of the living.

James kicked out with a cruel laugh. He loved beating up the younger kids at his school and as he was the oldest child there none of the others opposed him. They were all too scared to go to the teachers about it. His most recent victim was a young sandy haired boy called Danny. Danny was new to the school and needed to be taught who was boss around here.
“Don’t even think about doing anything like that again!” James sneered at the huddled over boy.
“What did I do?” was the gasped reply. Danny clutched at his stomach where the kick had landed.
“You were too loud. I don’t like loud people”
“I-I was not being load. And if you don’t stop hurting people then the Black Bunny will come for you!”
“Black Bunny?” James laughed cruelly the sunlight glinting on his light red hair. “And who might the Black Bunny be? Hmmmm? Your recent pet rabbit?”
“No he’s-” Danny was cut off by the school bell.
“Ha, I don’t care anyway. Smell ya later.” With that James left Danny to pull himself up and struggle to the school nurse.

Danny was sent home after that incident. James walked home after the final bell, once again laughing his cruel little laugh. The Black Bunny, he thought, that sounds like a bad version of the Easter bunny or something stupid like that and it’s Easter tomorrow. I think I will pay a ‘visit’ to Mandy. She always has such nice treats on Easter.
He was so engrossed with these thoughts that he did not notice the rabbit that watched him from the moors that ran along the lane that led to James’ house.


After dinner at the old converted farmhouse, bangers and mash, James snapped at his stupid 6 year old brother while their mother was out in the garden before going to bed. He hated his homework and rarely ever did it. He was thinking of all the treats he would get from Mandy as he fell asleep.
When he awoke he was in an earthen room. Where am I? He wondered to himself. This isn’t my bed or my house.
“No Jamie boy, it isn’t” A soft voice giggled from the corner. James turned his head and saw the shackles that bound his wrists down to the floor. He tried to tug at them, thinking that he could pull them out of the Earth but there was no give in them. “That won’t work.” Came the sing-song voice in the corner.
Looking up James gasped. A rabbit stood in the corner watching him but it was no ordinary rabbit. It was humanoid in body shape with the head of a rabbit. Its fur was black as midnight with darker splashes on random parts of its body. Beady black eyes watched him from the narrowed face. A basket, similar to those used by children in games of egg hunting on Easter day, hung limply from his arm. A red soaked cloth covered it so that James could not see inside.
“Wh-who are you?” He whimpered. A fear that he had never felt before causing his voice to crack.
“Oh you know who I am. You were warned of me yesterday. Remember?”
James remembered suddenly. “The Black Bunny!” he gasped. “What do you want from me!?”
The Black Bunny looked at him for a couple of seconds. A couple of seconds that felt much too long. “You have been bad. Don’t try to deny it, I saw what you did to poor little Danny, and what you wanted to do to young Mandy. That’s not allowed. This is a nice time of year and I don’t want it to be made nasty by a little brat like you.” The voice had turned into a soft hiss. “Do you know what I do to bad little children like you who want to ruin Easter for other people?”
James shook his head, the tears running swiftly down his face, too afraid to speak. The creature padded slowly forwards and placed the basket down next to James’ head. A quick movement from the rabbit paw moved the cloth away... And revealed the heads of three little children. Staring up at him with cold, dead eyes. He had no time to scream as the beast grabbed his head and twisted sharply until there was a wet sounding snap.


Danny sat up in bed as his Father told him a bedtime story. He was thinking too much about James to focus on the story. After a short time he asked his Dad, “Dad, can you tell me the story of the Black Bunny again?” His father blunk at him a couple of times from behind his small glasses, surprised by the interruption.
“I suppose I could,” He replied thoughtfully as he closed the book on his lap. “Well, we have all heard of the Easter Bunny who leaves eggs for children to find on Easter but few people have heard of the Black Bunny. The Black Bunny is a rabbit with a humans body and pure black fur. He is said to hate people who try to be mean or cruel on Easter. It is said that if you even think of being mean on Easter then you will be taken from you bed and never seen again.”
“What happens to them?” Danny asked in a breathless voice.
“No-one really know, but many people say that the Black Bunny carries with him a basket. Just like the ones that children carry on egg hunts but instead of collecting eggs, he collects the heads of naughty children...

This is based on The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allen Poe.

Spoiler

I apologize in advance for the messy writing, lousy spelling, and bad grammar that may be enclosed in this letter. I am very busy tomorrow, because I am invited by one of my old friends to swing with him on our favorite rope necklace, and warm our hands at the underground campfire, where our iron slippers conveniently attach us to the floor. But I assure you, I am not, by any means, guilty of a crime.
I don't understand. I am entitled to a right to pursuit of happiness. In the past few days, I have been anything BUT happy, and no one can argue that the child I killed was not the cause.
I cannot remember what irked me about him. Though he was rich, I did not want his money. He was also very well behaved, so it wasn't misbehavior. Ah, yes. It was his smile. His cheerfulness that followed him even in the worst of times. You see, his parents had disappeared. He was taken care of by a wealthy couple, who lived in a mansion near my house. This boy, however, despite all the toys and friends that he could play with, decided to come and stay with me. Don't get me wrong. I was delighted. He was quite intelligent for a small boy, and helped me with every task that I couldn't complete myself. I did not treat him badly. In fact, I treated him as if he was my own son, and I feel, that he, in turn, treated me like a second father. I did everything with this boy. I went swinging with him, I took him to restaurants, and bought him lollipops and peanut brittle at the local candy shop. He knew everything that troubled me, and I knew of everything that troubled him.
One day, that boy went to school. He made new friends, and made new hobbies, and for once, I was left alone. Eventually, he forgot about me. I, in turn, did not forget about him. This is all rather unfair, isn't it? I was his first friend, and yet, he does not treat me any better than his second, or third, or fourth...
Over time, he made five, and six, and seven, and eight friends. They would go with him to restaurants, go swinging with him, and buy him lollipops and peanut brittle at the local candy shop.
And I became quite unhappy with his neglect. He no longer visited me, never listened to anymore of my problems, and never gave me the privilege to listen to his. And these problems, never shared with anyone else, built up, until I developed a hatred for the boy. How he smiled while laughing with his friends. Why, it was wider and brighter than when he smiled for me! This is so terribly unfair, don't you agree?
And so I made a plan. It was just a small trick. One that would surely bring him back to me. It was so well planned. How could a guilty man come up with a better one, when his heart is weighted with the burdens of his guilt? My heart was lighter than a blade of grass. Surely, I am not guilty. Besides, if I have a right to happiness, which I do, then I should be allowed to fix the everything that troubles me, yes?
My plan was carried out at the town well. I did everything at night, when no one would dare go outside. I was so deft with my knife work that no one screamed, no blood dripped into the pavement. Everything dropped down into the town well, without a single splash of water to alert any sleeping watchdog or policeman. In fact, I carried out this operation so skillfully, that no one questioned where he went. A strange peace came to my mind. The boy would no longer trouble me with his smile.
The next few days were rather strange. The men who went to the town well claimed that they heard crying coming from the well, or saw bubbles float up to the surface, when the water otherwise remained undisturbed. The well flooded over frequently, and one day, so much water flowed out that the whole city went underwater. Even then, people heard it: the sobbing of a young child deep inside the well, as if it was the source of all this water.
When all the water dried, everyone moved back, fixing their houses, wringing out water from their clothes and mopping water from the floors. Soon, everything was back to normal. In my triumph, I revisited the well to commemorate my success. What else did I hear other than sobbing coming from the well? How strange. I came closer to listen. At first, it was the soft sniffling heard when a man breaks up with his sweetheart. Then it became louder, until it became an enraged snarl, and I backed away slowly from the well.
A nearby policeman noticed my retreat. He asked if I heard the sobbing from the well. I denied it, and claimed it was just a fly that startled me. We had a friendly discussion about recent events in the city, and eventually, I was led away to the opposite side of town.
But the crying did not cease. I heard the angry screaming throughout the conversation. Slowly, I became more anxious and irritated. How could he not hear it? We were starting another round around the city. The crying became louder, and I saw the well nearby. How could he not hear it? Surely he knew of the incident, and was just waiting until I confess.
"Stop! I confess! Look, there, the crying corpse of the boy I killed in the well!"

I love these!

wow these are good

Ah it's not very good but I've had this little idea saved in my tumblr drafts for a while now! (please pardon its incredible shortness, I've had no plans to finish this or rewrite it and it was very late that night) Please note that it is meant to be read with very... dramatic... pauses...

...

____You lie in bed one night, exhausted from a long, tiring day. You typically find comfort in a cozy blanket, but tonight is unfortunately different. The world somehow feels colder around you. Closing your eyes, you find no relief from the stress of your day. You give up on trying to sleep and make yourself as comfortable as possible- it would be a long night. You soon find yourself thinking about your life so far- the things in your future, the things you will surely lose, the happier things you have been forced to forget. Lost in thought, you gaze hopelessly towards the ceiling. You could count every speck and dot there if you didn’t have other problems to be worrying about.
____Your hand then carelessly drapes over the side of the bed. You feel the smooth, cool, lifelessness of the air around you as your palm gently touches the bed frame’s side. It feels icy to the touch. You release your hand and let it sway in the night air. You can almost imagine it swirling around you, the winds at your command as your finger dances through the cool air. Eventually, your fingers grow numb as they dangle off the edge. You decide to lift them, attempting to occupy your mind by wiggling your wrist a bit, but you are stopped.
____You now feel a gentle tug dragging your fingers back down along the side of the bed. You try again to raise your arm, but another pull brings it towards the ground. You look down. The shadows below greet you. They creep silently along the ground, sliding smoothly out from underneath your mattress, and they have apparently managed to secure themselves tightly to your wrist. You watch for a moment, typically you would be frightened, but your drowsiness stops you as you eyes are forced to stay open. Curious, you lean closer. The shadows are somehow beautiful, in their own, mysterious way. They appear to swirl around as they dance around your fingertips. Strangely, you find a bit of comfort in them. It is as if they fill some sort of emptiness in your life, a feeling of familiarity and nostalgia. It's as if they are old friends of yours, simple wanting to say hello. Warmth begins to fill your body as you start to accept the darkness and it’s presence. You feel a sense of completeness as you slowly grow drowsy. Your eyes begin to close, and you now prepare to rest for the night. Soon, you are asleep.
____As the world constantly grew and changed around you, you were forced to join it. Your life a series of twists and turns, you find almost nothing constant within it. Almost nothing. For although they remain unnoticed, the monsters under you bed have always been there. Now it seems they no longer haunt you, all fears of the strange and unnatural dismissed by mother when you were little, replaced by your hopes, regrets, and desires that seem to now torture you. But secretly, they still live, watching you grow, watching you learn. The only thing truly timeless, was your imagination, and, of course, your f̱̱̰̼͉͓͙e̱̤͚̮a̬̹̳̟r̨͙̯̗̺͚̣.

...

ohmygod continue the story plz I need to know what happens

I have been waiting for this. Yes. HERE WE GO.
As a warning, these two have gore and violence. Please don't read if you're not comfortable with that.

"Of Owls and Omens" -

• An owl.
  A bird of ill omen, thought to predict death.
  
  A suspicious smell of flowers in a barren, burned forest.
  An omen of death.
  
  Two coupled in a row - and what could this mean? Does it mean death? Two deaths? Even more? Even I do not know - but what am I but a lonely townsperson, recording this tale as it develops, and nothing more? What can I say about this dire situation? What could I do to console the child who will surely be sentenced to death?
  
  …
  
  There was a little girl who lived on the lip of the valley, by herself in a small house in the village there. She kept to herself, but every time a villager saw her, she seemed to be getting paler - her frame shrinking, becoming more skeletal, her face becoming sunken, her eyes large and haunted.
  
  At first the whispers were of sympathy - “Poor thing, losing her parents so early on in life!” - “How old is that poor child - isn’t she only ten?” - but that was before the incidents began.
  
  The valley down below the village held a dead forest, and the only thing still green was the underbrush that, well-known to the villagers, held many useful herbs and remedies - but no flowers. There were never flowers there, and the soil was too infertile to grow them. But the undergrowth also sheltered small prey animals. The trees, however, were another story… they were black and scorched, the roots brittle and weak. No birds nested there, and there were no predators to stomp out the bountiful prey. So villagers hunted there.
  
  It started when the owls came.
  
  Owls. Of all shapes and sizes. Barn owls, Great Gray owls, Elf owls, Grass owls, Great Horned owls, even something as small as the Saw-whet owl - all of them came to the valley at once, swarming over the trees and roosting in them by day. By night they disappeared, and none of the villagers knew where they went. So now the villagers couldn’t trek through the forest in the daylight, for when they tried, the owls would stare at them more intensely than anything they had ever seen before, glaring with predators’ eyes. So they would all stay away.
  
  They began only entering the forest in the solitude of night.
  
  But then something else deterred them. The intense, sweet, suffocating perfume of flowers.
  
  They would smell roses and irises, honeysuckles, in a place which could not nurse the blooms. The villagers began rooting through the leaves on the ground, looking for the smell, for it unnerved them terribly.
  
  Then they all started disappearing. One at a time, at the beginning. The first to disappear was an old farmer, who would go into the forest and look for herbs’ seeds. He left one night, and then the following evening, he was found again.
  
  His head had been cracked as if it was an egg, the skin rent apart and his blood splattered across the trunk of a withered birch tree. His old, wrinkled face was hardly recognizable, with his nose smashed and his eyes gouged out. His chest had also been slashed open, and his heart was missing. The rest of his insides hadn’t been touched by anything but the maggots.
  
  After that, the villagers stayed away from the forest, and away from the farmer’s cottage, where the cries of his family could still be heard - or, at least they stayed away for a while. After that, they burned the farmer’s house, for they believed his death was impure; and his family barely managed to escape with their lives, all their possessions lost.
  
  Then, the villagers started going back to the forest - and right after that is when they saw the orphan girl again.
  
  She was pale as death, her neck skeletal, her eyes gaunt and sunken, her skin stretched taut across her bones - and her hair was white as snow. A villager was so shocked by her appearance that the shrieked and ran, startling the child terribly.
  
  After that, the whispers turned malicious. They would say, “She’s a witch” - “She’s the one who killed the farmer” - but no one acted on their suspicions - not yet. They would skirt around the girl when they saw her in the market, and those few vigilant souls who tried to keep track of her only could see her for nary a minute until she disappeared from their sights, seemingly vanishing into thin air.
  
  The second death happened on the eve of the full moon.
  
  A young woman, the assistant of the doctor in the area, had gone to fetch herbs for natural remedies - she disappeared for a night as well, appearing back at the edge of the forest. The first one to find her again was the doctor who had sent her.
  
  Her spinal cord had been removed from her body.
  
  The woman’s back had been slit, gouged in a V, and then her vertebrae had been cut out - judging from the foam on her lips and the wildness of her eyes, she had been alive when most of this occurred.
  
  And that, then, was when the villagers began calling for death.
  
  The little girl did it, they said. They knew bone was an ingredient in witches’ potions, and the heart of the farmer couldn’t be far off. They called for a test, one to make sure she was a witch, for they were so convinced that they would hear no cries from the child they were condemning.
  
  They broke her thumbs and tied her hands together behind her back.
  
  Then, they threw her in the river to see if she would float - for, you see, in this time, if you floated on water, you were called a witch and burned. They threw a tiny girl into the river, with her hands tied, in the winter.
  
  She floated.
  
  She rose to the top of the water, gasping for air, flailing with her legs and screaming and crying for mercy, why were they doing this to her, what did she do? she would ask. Then they hooked her by her collar from the water, then took her to the prison - she dried, still shivering, hypothermia setting in -
  
  And then, the next morning, they brought her to the stake.
  
  The girl was tied with crisscrossing, looping ropes to the large pole of wood in the middle of the highly flammable platform - kindling, straw, logs, timber, wicker… all these materials were piled under her, and the man with the great torch stood a distance away, his face set as if stone.
  
  The girl hung limp, her sickness belying her panic. She couldn’t break free of the ropes, nor the two men carrying her by her arms.
  
  Then, they let go, and returned to the ground around the stake. The two stepped back, and the man with the long torch stepped forward. Without a single word or signal, he thrust out the huge item, and the wicker near him caught afire, the flames licking up the kindling and setting fire to the platform; the wood burned quickly, shrinking, until the heat seared the little girl’s feet.
  
  That was when the screams came.
  
  The girl screamed as her long dress caught fire, and writhed furiously as the flames charred her legs and shoes; she screamed as her feet burned, crisping to a cinder in the flames; she let out an inhuman cry of pain as her arms were consumed; …
  
  Then, the screams stopped.
  
  The girl slowly burned, her face showing pain and terror until the moment until it withered away.
  
  ...
  
  ...
  
  … Decades after, a helicopter covered the area above the village to confirm the suspected murders. What they found when they landed was something none of the villagers of the age had ever thought.
  
  In the forest lay the slowly rotting corpse of a full-grown man, cradled among the roots of the withered trees in a secluded grove. Beside him lay the scratched and mangled remains of an entire spinal cord, gnawed on for years by animals and the man himself. Blood and flesh on the leafy ground were verified to match the DNA collected years earlier from the first victim. The murders were traced back to him in days.
  
  And none of the villagers had ever known he was there.

-

"One-Man Hide and Seek" -

• This wild tale is quite unbelievable. I, as the narrator, am warning you now - it is actually quite ludicrous.
  
  We will start off following a nice little group of friends - as there is a confidentiality clause attached to this story, I will not be using this nice little group’s real names - so we shall call them Albert, Bethany, Connie, David, and Emily… or, A, B, C, D, and E. Oh, what a quaint little group they were.
  
  Now, on an All Hallow’s Eve just like this one upon us, our dear girl B decided to invite her friends over for a night of eerie storytelling - just like how, maybe, one of you are going to invite your friends over for some sort of event as well, hmm?
  
  As our beloved boys, A, C, and D arrived, so did our nice little girl, E. Bethany invited them all into her home, where the children all immediately began looking into obscure urban legends. A bad idea, as it turned out! Al, one of our boys, as you know, found a rice doll ritual. He read the rest of our nice little children the instructions, which happen to be found here. Of course, faced with such a frightening ritual, all of the children backed off - even Albert - except for the daredevil of the group, David…
  
  
  The little children gorged themselves on candy, munching on the treats until nearly midnight; then, stuffed to the point of drowsiness, they all went to bed, curling up in their covers. All except for our dear boy D. He stood up silently as a mouse when all the other children were asleep, and looked at little B’s computer to pull up the aforementioned site.
  
  With his little fingers, David rooted quietly through Bethany’s toy chest to find a nice little cotton-stuffed doll. With a pair of scissors he found on B’s desk, he slit the doll’s stomach, pulling out all the stuffing inside it. Then, he tiptoed oh-so-carefully down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found a bag of rice in the cabinet. Tipping it over soundlessly, he poured some rice into the doll’s stomach; he winced at the sound of the rice shhhh-ing into the doll, but finished without incident. Then, with his pair of safety scissors, he cut off scraps of his fingernails, trimming them messily. He dropped these little scraps into the doll as well.
  
  Cradling it against his chest, little boy D tiptoed back upstairs, and got into little girl E’s sewing kit; he brought out some crimson thread, and sewed the doll back up, accidentally pricking himself once on each hand in the process. He sucked on his fingers as he put the thread and needle back. He then poured a glass of water for himself, adding salt to it. He put it behind the TV, in the corner of the room. Then, he went to the downstairs bathroom, filling it halfway with lukewarm water.
  
  David named his doll “Mary”. Then, David began the ritual (a bad idea, as it turned out).
  
  He watched the clock on the wall, its ticking echoing in the spacious house. It seemed to invade his brain, getting louder and louder. Our quaint little boy watched the minute hand tick until 3:00AM arrived. Then he took a deep breath, and held up the doll.
  
  “David is the first it.”
  “David is the first it.”
  “David is the first it.”
  
  David set Mary down in the bathtub, floating her up in the middle. He ran back to his hiding place and squeezed his eyes shut tight, counting to ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, he said in his head, then he picked up his scissors and ran to the bathroom. He took another deep breath, raising his scissors.
  
  “I have found you, Mary.”
  “I have found you, Mary.”
  “I have found you, Mary.”
  
  He stabbed his little doll once, and then lifted her out of the tub. Her wet yarn hair dripped water all over David’s hands, but he set her down on the counter without incident.
  
  “You are the next it, Mary.”
  “You are the next it, Mary.”
  “You are the next it, Mary.”
  
  Then he ran quickly back to his hiding place, rushing to crouch down behind the television. David picked up the cup of salt water, and poured half of it into his mouth; he held it there uneasily and rose from his little hiding niche. I say, once again, that he was unwise to continue this far into the ritual.
  
  He heard a noise, and crouched back down. He swirled the water in his mouth, his eyes looking uneasily around. Then, he heard it again; an unholy squelching. Our beloved boy D stood up and walked toward the sound, which seemed, oddly enough, to be coming from the room that all the other children were supposed to be sleeping. He crept toward the noises, and as he rounded the corner, an ugly surprise greeted him.
  
  A surprise so great that he spat all the salt water in his mouth out, his eyes gaping.
  
  The other children - our nice little boys A and C, and our pleasant little girls, B and E, had all been gruesomely killed. Girl B had her throat slit, and a rope nestled in the deep cut, straining against her neck to hoist her limp little body onto the ceiling fan, where she swung gently in circles. The fiber of that cursed rope was stained crimson, and the small girl’s face was frozen in horror. Little girl E sat in a chair, her arms hanging limp over the backing. She seemed to have turned into a hedgehog - but no, there were millions of tiny needles piercing every centimeter of skin on her body. Even her eyes, which were wide with terror. Our poor boy A was hanging over the bedpost, the center of his body forced down on the blunt wood until he ruptured. The post was dripping red. And our boy C was stretched out on the desk, and on a stool next to him stood -
  
  - the doll, Mary. She held a pair of scissors, and snipped away at Connie’s arm gingerly, moving in stiff motions. She turned her head at the noise of David’s mouthful of water splashing onto the floor, with the same jerky, uncoordinated movements; backlit by a lamp, she seemed to look at David with her button eyes, and she raised the scissors -
  
  … no one in the house was alive the next morning.
  
  But I was there.
  
  And do you know why? Think, for a moment. I was in the house, that morning when no one was alive. I knew the story - and who could that make me? Who could that make your beloved narrator, the one who told you this story?
  
  That’s right. It’s nice to meet you.
  
  My name is Mary.

Amazing and ello mary * waves and runs screaming*