Goodreads Blog

Writing Prompts for Horror Week

Posted by Cynthia on October 16, 2017
For many writers, there’s nothing scarier than a blank page. To celebrate Horror Week on Goodreads, October 16 – 22, we crafted some creative writing prompts to get the blood – we mean – creative juices flowing. Share your stories in the comment section below, on your blog, or in the creative writing section on your Author Profile.





















Ready, set, write!



Next: Five Things Authors Can Do During Horror Week

You might also like: Five Writing Prompts for Mystery & Thriller Writers

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Comments Showing 1-50 of 69 (69 new)


message 1: by Tone (new)

Tone Melbye The world's smallest ghost was as big as a dandylion-seed, or a tiny jellyfish moving in the sunlight with short jerks, like something at the end of a fishing rod. Carefully, I reached out to touch it.


message 2: by Ian (new)

Ian McInnes When treats are tricks

A story for Halloween

By Ian McInnes

Mrs. Parsons at eighty-one years young moved well for a senior. The date helped her motivation somewhat. It was Halloween night, the one night of the year that she could guarantee that she would have company. Her husband had passed away three years ago and her four children had moved away. Sure, they kept in touch and sometimes visited with their children but it was rare.
Tonight, October 31 was the one night that the old lady could guarantee to see smiling children’s faces and she was well prepared. There were home baked cookies, cakes and plenty of candies and little toys. She busied herself carefully covering the home baked goods and putting the candies and toys in baskets. Mrs. Parsons expected to be busy.

Sitting patiently by the table in the hallway that was loaded down with goodies was her black cat, Bunny. Well, he was Bunny to everyone else but to Mrs. Parsons his real name was Salem. But one didn’t want to be calling that out late at night to get the cat in, did one? It might give people the wrong idea. An old lady living on her own with a black cay called Salem? Well, that might give people notions. Whatever next.

Pictures on the walls and displayed on furniture all over the house showed Mrs. Parsons and her husband in various poses with animals at the veterinary clinic they ran together for over three decades along with family and camping pictures. Happy times, all.

The afternoon and evening was busy, as usual. The local children knew Mrs. Parsons was kind, very generous and trusted by parents and older relatives not to give out anything inappropriate. One just can’t be too careful these days. At a little after ten, the old lady was tired out and ready for bed. All her regular visitors had come and gone as had virtually all her goodies. One packet of homemade cookies and some candies remained, just in case.

Bruce and Barb Maddox were brother and sister and renowned bullies at the local high school. They enjoyed the thrill of scaring people. Tonight, All Hallows Eve, the pair were out in their costumes. Bruce was a pretty scary looking Joker while his sister had somehow squeezed herself into a Cat Woman costume, which almost fitted where it touched. Perhaps bulged would be a better description. Somehow the plastic had not split, not yet anyway. But the threat remained. Barb felt constricted but pretty good as the sugar she’d consumed raced around her body.

Trick or treating for Bruce and Barb was more trick or trick really for the people they visited. Get the candy then throw eggs, dog poop, even break windows was part of their repertoire. There were always plenty of newcomers in town that had not yet experienced the Bruce and Barb effect. Now though, it was time to head home, eat the rest of their spoils and look forward to scaring some kids in the daytime tomorrow. They cut onto a street they didn’t often visit. Too many people there knew them. There was one house though. “What about the old lady with the cat?” Said Bruce. “I don’t think we’ve ever been there.” Barb paused and thought. The latter being something of a rarity. “Sure,” she said. Shaking up a can of unopened soda. Bruce did likewise.

Just as Mrs. Parsons was thinking about bed the doorbell rang. The cat yowled a warning. “It’s just children Salem,” the old lady scolded. “Older children, but children. Look at their costumes.” Salem was not impressed and scooted under the table from where he watched the door balefully.

The old lady opened the door and just got a glimpse of a rather good joker outfit and what looked to a very overweight Cat Woman was it? “Trick or treat,” the tricksters screamed then opened their soda cans so the contents exploded over the old lady and the cat. “That was funny,” said Bruce. “Now give us something.” Mrs. Parsons was badly shaken and could feel palpitations in her chest. She was scared but also angry. Even though she was dripping with the sticky soda she kept her head and her temper. Only a glint in her eye revealed that.

“I’ve got one thing left,” she said handing them each a cookie from the last packet. Bruce and Barb snatched the cookies and devoured them in short order. “These are good,” said Barb spitting out crumbs. “Oh yes, they’re very good, “said Mrs. Parsons. “Is it OK if I clean up now,” she said icily. “Sure, you old bag,” said Bruce scooping up what was left of the candies. “Licky sticky,” said Barb. They left, laughing, just making it through the door as Mrs. Parsons shut it, Salem ran out too.

“That was fun,” said Barb as they headed down the street. “Yes,” said Bruce in an unsteady voice. He stopped and vomited copiously over the side walk. “Yuck,” said Barb, yawning. “I’m tired. Let’s cut through the woods to go home. It’s much quicker.” Bruce did not look or feel at all well. His head was spinning and he was having difficulty coordinating his movements. “OK,” he croaked. A shadow, a big one moved quickly to the side of them. Barb, jumped and grabbed her brother. “Did you see that?” Bruce confessed that he didn’t. Both heard the low growl that was coming out of bushes in a garden behind them. Whatever it was it sounded large and very unfriendly. They lurched as quickly as they could towards the woods. Something very large and vaguely cat like crept out of the bushes and followed at a distance.

The woods weren’t large and the path to the bully’s home through them was a little over 200 yards. That distance seemed like a lifetime for the siblings who were both now very much under the influence of whatever was in Mrs. Parson’s special last package of cookies. They thought and perhaps they were stalked by a large, strange animal all the way that was snarling, spitting and sometimes darting in to scratch at their costumes with the tip of it’s claws.

By the time they had reached the edge of the woods they were barely able to walk or speak and saw terrible visions of a giant black creature roaring at them. When they got home they spoke of it to their parents who sat in disbelief at their tale. Their children’s scratches and scrapes they could have got from running through the woods as for the odour on them that was certainly the work of a tom cat. Suffice to say that was the last time Bruce and Barb went out on Halloween for many a year.

Responding to a meow at the door Mrs. Parsons opened it so Salem could come in. The cat walked in with his tail up and his fur clean. It a cat could look pleased with itself, he did. “There you are Salem,” said the old lady. “I hope you taught that pair a lesson.” The cat looked at her and purred.


message 3: by Eduardo (last edited Oct 16, 2017 10:37AM) (new)

Eduardo Luengo Until a month ago my wife only ate vegan. Now the only place where I could restrain her was in the attic, so our kids could move safe around the house without being eaten.


message 4: by Eduardo (last edited Oct 16, 2017 10:37AM) (new)

Eduardo Luengo Dad repeatedly told me to let them out of the closet or I'd be grounded. Even with the axe maiming and weeks later, his screams still wouldn't let me sleep.


message 5: by Ellen (new)

Ellen The sound was faint, but it was definitely there. A small child singing, giggle, “Peek- A -Boo; I see you!”
Liz shook her head, sending her long black hair flying like a Medusa’s beautiful ebony snakes coiling around each other. It couldn’t’ be. She was alone in the old doll museum, once an asylum for the criminally insane. Not for the first time, she wondered why her parents thought this would be a good starter business for her. Her middle aged parents had the hearts of Young Turks, free spirits, always ready for a good business gamble. Don and Melly had bought many small businesses, housed them in quaint buildings, and then sold them for a huge profit.
Liz only wanted a small bookshop, preferably in a large, well lit shopping center. She didn’t do creepy. She didn’t do dolls. Yet, Mom and Dad thought this was the perfect beginning to her career as a young entrepreneur fresh out of Harvard Business School, which they insisted she attend.
“Peek- A -Boo; I see you!!”
There it was again, louder now. It seemed to be coming from the Baby Doll case, two huge glass cabinets and three old wicker baby carriages that contained every kind of baby doll imaginable, even a couple mechanical zombie babies form the local Halloween shop.
“But this is April”, Liz reasoned, “Halloween isn’t for months.”
To her horror, Liz realized she was trying to make sense of the impossible, which meant she really heard the singing, which meant she was losing it big time. Well, that’s what happens when your parents read you Forbes and the journal of corporate law instead of nursery rhymes and Dr.Seuss.
Liz started to shake as she walked towards the Baby Doll case. A few of the dolls there did cry “mamma,” but that was it. The other talking dolls in the museum said nothing like this. Outside of a few teddy bears, Liz didn’t like any of the dolls in this collection assembled for her. She hated being there. She tried to ignore all the glassy eyes staring at her, but every bump and scratchy sound mad e her skin crawl.
The closer she got to the case, the louder the sound. She leaned forward to peer into the lower shelf of one glass cabinet, then sensed she wasn’t the only one investigating. Furtively, she looked to her right, and at the same time, felt a tiny tug on her blue plaid flannel shirt. She saw tiny, curled, bloodied fingers tugging at her shirt tails. She looked up a pudgy, white little arm deeply scratched with bloody gashes, then into a small toddler’s face. It might have been a real child but for the ghostly pallor, and the fact that its’ glass eyes were gone. It was holding them in its other tiny hand, just as bloody as the first.
The little phantom wore an old fashioned, very long baby dress, beautifully embroidered and covered with lace, or it would have been pretty if it hadn’t been soaked in blood.
Liz turned to run, but the little hand clutched at her shirt tail with surprising strength. As she looked around wildly for an escape route, she saw that the door of the other cabinet had swung open. There was an empty space between to very old wax baby dolls. The pudgy baby had been displayed there as an early 20th century German character baby called “Hilda.”
At that point, it seemed all the baby dolls either started to cry or sing “Peek a Boo”, I see you. It was the last part of the line that made Liz faint dead a way, literally; “Peek- A - Boo; I see you, and now I’m going to Eat You!”
Ellen Tsagaris


message 6: by V.A. (new)

V.A. Trafton A sweet smell of stench filled her nostrils as a faint, eery fingernails on chalkboard laugh, in the distance, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
One, then two, now hundreds they began to fall from the sky, within minutes she drops to her knees, taking her last breath, covered head to toe in large black musty cockroaches.


message 7: by Carolan (last edited Oct 16, 2017 02:18PM) (new)

Carolan Dickinson I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. I'm laying on my left side, facing away from the sound and almost asleep as I feel the chills caused by their presence, and hear the sound of dripping water as it hits the floor. Might as well face it now because if I don't, they won't go away. Why do I have to see them? Isn't it enough that I know their there? When I finally turn, I'm faced with yet another two souls, dripping blood and wanting answers.


message 8: by Jenna (new)

Jenna Moquin And these spiders were hungry for something that wouldn't be found in this room. These spiders would only eat children's blood. I held out my arms toward the floor, hoping to thwart them from going into Gracie's room, but they weren't fooled. I threw my feet over the side of the bed, thinking I'd stomp on as many as I could, but since they were invisible it was impossible to get them. I could've squashed some, but I'd never know it.

Running now, I rushed to Gracie's room down the hall. There was some packing tape in a dispenser on the hall table. I grabbed it and tore off strips of clear tape and sealed off Gracie's door. Thankfully there was just enough tape to cover it. I let out the air in my lungs, turned around and saw Gracie standing behind me.

"Hi daddy. I just wanted some water."

She wasn't even in the room. Which meant the spiders could be all over her at any minute. I picked her up and ran into the bathroom, and it was only when Gracie screamed that I realized the spiders were already on her.


message 9: by Cynthia (new)

Cynthia Shannon Carolan wrote: "I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. I'm laying on my left side, facing away from the sound and almost asleep as I feel the chills caused by their presence, and hear the sound..."

Gah!


message 10: by Jill (new)

Jill Benson I thought this had been the best sleep of my life, cool satin pillow beneath my cheek, the soft bedding under my weary form. Then in the darkness, I reached out with one hand, fingering the splintery wood only inches above me and realized to my horror—I'm in a coffin!
Witch


message 11: by Carolan (new)

Carolan Dickinson Jill wrote: "I thought this had been the best sleep of my life, cool satin pillow beneath my cheek, the soft bedding under my weary form. Then in the darkness, I reached out with one hand, fingering the splinte..."

Jill wrote: "I thought this had been the best sleep of my life, cool satin pillow beneath my cheek, the soft bedding under my weary form. Then in the darkness, I reached out with one hand, fingering the splinte..."

Very Nice!


message 12: by Carolan (new)

Carolan Dickinson Jenna wrote: "And these spiders were hungry for something that wouldn't be found in this room. These spiders would only eat children's blood. I held out my arms toward the floor, hoping to thwart them from going..."

Made my skin crawl, loved it!


message 13: by Carolan (new)

Carolan Dickinson Eduardo wrote: "Until a month ago my wife only ate vegan. Now the only place where I could restrain her was in the attic, so our kids could move safe around the house without being eaten."

V.A. wrote: "A sweet smell of stench filled her nostrils as a faint, eery fingernails on chalkboard laugh, in the distance, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
One, then two, now hundreds they bega..."


Eeek!


message 14: by Carolan (new)

Carolan Dickinson Eduardo wrote: "Until a month ago my wife only ate vegan. Now the only place where I could restrain her was in the attic, so our kids could move safe around the house without being eaten."

Didn't see it coming, Nice!


message 15: by Yawatta (new)

Yawatta Hosby My two-sentence horror story:

"I hate you."

"Okay, then I'll have to kill you."


message 16: by Yawatta (new)

Yawatta Hosby V.A. wrote: "A sweet smell of stench filled her nostrils as a faint, eery fingernails on chalkboard laugh, in the distance, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
One, then two, now hundreds they bega..."


Yuck, in a good way :


message 17: by Michelle (last edited Oct 16, 2017 03:21PM) (new)

Michelle Vongkaysone This is for the two-sentence horror story:

It began as a skin hunger, a desire to feel another's touch against her own. And so she gripped and clung against him, until he'd withered into a skeletal husk, defeated by his own hunger and longing.


message 18: by Kayla (new)

Kayla Krantz A short chiller:

A thumping sounded in the wall, sometimes light and sometimes heavy. With the construction going on down the street, I never put much thought into it. When I lay down to go to sleep, the thumping sounded again, and I groaned in the back of my throat until I realized two things--the construction workers had left for the day and the sound was coming from my mirror.


message 19: by Carolan (new)

Carolan Dickinson Kayla wrote: "A short chiller:

A thumping sounded in the wall, sometimes light and sometimes heavy. With the construction going on down the street, I never put much thought into it. When I lay down to go to sle..."


Holy Cow!


message 20: by William (new)

William Chanler An excerpt from my book "SON OF TERROR: Frankenstein Continued" - The Reaper had hijacked Frankenstein's Creature before going on a killing spree. The strength, size and stamina of its new host were ideal but the Creature's advanced brain fought to evict the Reaper. . . . . . The Reaper awakened.


message 21: by Tracee (new)

Tracee Raptis Dive Tour: Raptis Trilogy: Volume One
When you run out of air as your held captive...

Tracee Raptis


message 22: by Edward (new)

Edward Hackemer Monday night, June 11, 1928

It must have been around midnight. The skies were dark as pitch, with a full ivory moon dangling, suspended directly above, as if hanging by an invisible string. The lone streetlight at the corner was a flutter of activity. Whippoorwills darted in and out of the light beams, catching and feasting on a hearty meal of moths, flies and June bugs buzzing around the lamp. The air was thick, heavy and curiously unmoving. Lawn crickets moved their legs in a frenzied mating call; squeaking and chattering. Oppressive midsummer humidity covered the city’s neighborhoods like an unwelcome woolen blanket. A thirsty man could quench his thirst by waving a spoon through the wet, soupy air.
Vanilla moonbeams filtered through the leaves of towering elm trees down onto the green grass, grey sidewalks and red brick streets below, creating an illuminated pathway skyward, to the heavens above.
Eight shadowy figures in street-length overcoats exited a large four-door sedan that was parked at the curb. Had they not arrived in an automobile, they could have been mistaken for eight prophetic horsemen dressed in rawhide dusters. With damned determination and manifested malicious intent, each moved slowly from the large car, carrying Thompson automatic machine rifles alongside their frames. Their identities were mysterious; all facial features were hidden deep in the shadows of the tilted brims of their black fedoras. Only their eyes were visible as heinous glowing pools of blood-red. Their hats had distinctive wide white bands that emitted a foreboding glow in the moonlight. Lit cigarettes hung from their lips with the burning intensity of red hot coals. The eight men moved toward the two-story, wood frame Victorian home and stopped short of the wooden steps that led up to the covered porch.
Four brown bats exposed their fangs, chattered, clicked, chipped and performed aerobatic swan dives above the heads of the eight dark strangers, feasting on mosquitoes and gnats.
A knock sounded, and it echoed up and down the street, but no one appeared at the door. A lamp came on upstairs and another in the parlor.
When the front door opened, orange-red flashes of light and the piercing sound of gunfire brought the wrath of the Evil One down upon Adams Street. There was no one standing behind the open door. From the street, only the vacant hallway, the empty stairway, and the bare parlor could be seen. There was no life inside the home. The eight men laughed along with the Devil’s hellion choir.
The home burst into a fireball that lit up the sky, illuminating the city, blanketing everything in flaming red. A demonic scream from the deepest depths of Hades called out: “THROCKMORTON !!!” The eight horsemen aimed their machine guns at him.
Further down the block, coming from within a cloud of the blackest smoke, the harrowing whistle of a monstrous steam locomotive was heard. “All aboard” was the shrill cry of the mummified conductor. Grey flesh fell from his bones as he stood waving his lantern. Phryne emerged from the coal-black cloud, taking the form of a ravenous, winged hag on the fly, swooping upon a painted oriental girl dressed in scarlet silk. Eloisa was as innocent and beautiful as a spring bride, unscathed by the blazing cataclysm, smiling and pointing to his derelict Model T, without a roof or wheels.
Leopold’s mother and sisters were beckoning to him, riding atop a horse-drawn hearse, racing across the International Peace Bridge. The horses spooked, reared, whinnied and jumped from the bridge into the roaring waters of the Niagara River below. Dillon Cafferty stood on the shore, hands-on-hip and laughing in a tone shrill enough to evoke apocalyptic terror from the Archbishop of Canterbury. His younger brother Nicholas stood at ringside, and rang the bell that signaled the end of Round One. His father was peddling penny-a-bag peanuts.
Dollar to Doughnut


message 23: by Mariko (new)

Mariko Pratt Pumpkin Spider

A Short Story for Halloween by Mariko Pratt

Simon's angry scowl suddenly turned into a thoughtful frown. He then looked sideways at his older brother Ferris, who was staring fixedly at his Heavy Metal magazine, before returning his attention to the pumpkin spider perched on his cereal spoon. In a single, deft little stroke, he flicked the spider into Ferris’s cornflakes and then watched intently as the teenager unknowingly spooned the small orange “tidbit” into his mouth.


message 24: by L.B. (last edited Oct 16, 2017 07:55PM) (new)

L.B. O'Milla My cell vibrated in the pocket of my jeans, and I pulled it out to see a message from my friend, Scott, typed in unusually colored bloody red letters, "Help me:(("
I tapped on his contact picture to discover it was missing his body, showing only his head, with a horrified look on his face and a cut off neck dripping with blood.


message 25: by L.B. (last edited Oct 16, 2017 08:44PM) (new)

L.B. O'Milla I could hear an eery sound of heavy steps heading towards our room, and soon the doorknob began slowly turning back and forth. The door opened letting in a gust of freezing air, but revealing no one behind, only a trail of bloody footprints arranged into two words, BEWARE and HELP.


message 26: by Nik (new)

Nik Morton From my collection: GIFTS FROM A DEAD RACE.
http://authl.it/B06XHLSPVP

OH, WHAT A LOVELY SURPRISE!

His face very grave and lacking colour, Daddy hung his constable’s jacket on the clothes-bracket in the hall and turned to Mummy. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, Jane... The Turner girl’s missing now...’
Watching through the banister rails, I saw Mummy’s normally rosy cheeks become mottled, her smiling face freeze stony-hard. ‘It’s too horrible to contemplate,’ she said, whatever that meant.
There was fear for my safety there, I think. ‘How could anyone kidnap so many poor helpless children?’ Mummy wanted to know as she climbed the other set of stairs to the kitchen with Daddy. Their voices had lowered, but I knew they would be talking about me, worrying about me, afraid that I would be next...
Last March I had my twelfth birthday and such a marvellous party with just a few very special friends... But of course nearly all those friends were now among the missing – so it was quite natural for Mummy and Daddy to suspect that I may be next. Well, I must say I’m not afraid, and must assure them both of this.
The trouble is, Mummy was never so close to me as she was to Melanie. My elder sister was such a lovely girl! Golden locks, long and silky; I used to love combing her hair at night to the sound of local screech owls. Her green eyes were forever sparkling; and her rosy cheeks were just like Mummy’s. She always seemed so happy and carefree, laughing and playing, with a heart of gold...
... until the day she fell from the ladder leading to our windmill’s sails. (We live in a converted windmill, you see). The fall broke her back in two places. I was the last to see her alive: she just said, ‘Tell Mummy I’m sorry...’ I cried and cried, upset at losing my best play-friend, my first and only idol. I loved her. And so had Mummy.
Later, after some months Mummy and I seemed to get closer, until she would cling to me. It was as if she didn’t want to lose me, too... I must say, I liked the attention. But I still felt that she wanted to love Melanie, not me. They had been SO close. But it was understandable that she was concerned for my safety; I was a pale imitation of Melanie, and that was better than nothing, I suppose. I didn’t mind, of course. I understood.
For just under a year now, children have been disappearing. Not many. About one every two months... To begin with, it was only boys who went missing. Their ages were between six and eight, I think. All my friends, save Christabel, have gone...
Ours is a small, quiet village on the Cornish coast. Some of my school friends – those who are left! – still seethe with envy because we live in this old windmill overlooking the entire village. (When Daddy was offered the post as village constable, he scouted around and came up with the idea of converting the old tower mill. So here we are!)
It is largely made of stone. The tower has a kind of rotating cap for carrying the sails, so they would always face the wind. The gigantic wallower or gear-wheel on the top-most floor has been removed, though the spur wheel, stone nuts and grindstones are still in the cobweb-filled lower portion, which I call the mill-room. (When we moved in, I read up on mills: it was fascinating stuff!) So far, Daddy has only converted the three floors above the actual mill-room. The sails, I’m afraid, have no fabric covering now and are continually still.
The place is about two hundred years old, though far from crumbling. I think the hiding-place I found beneath the mill-room’s trap-door was used in the old days, to conceal contraband and booty of the wreckers, as the Preventive men were pretty nasty round these parts...
There is quite a history of weird things going on down in this part of the country; legends and myths live on; superstition is still an influence on many lives. Although Scotland Yard has been called in on all these disappearances, Daddy says they have been unable to find any clues. So now the people of the village live in constant fear for their children’s lives, shutting them in as soon as dusk creeps over the moors and hills.
Lately, I have found it very difficult to persuade friends to travel up here to play.
Sometimes, Mummy and Daddy get very anxious about me, especially when I’m hiding below the mill-room’s dusty floorboards. No amount of reassuring them helps. They continue to pace up and down and to worry. On these occasions, I suspect they have visions of me being whisked away by some horrid old man! Reluctantly, I have to show myself, before they go off into hysterics.
I’m planning a surprise for Mummy and it’s nearly finished. It demands more of my time and my absences are certainly becoming of concern to my parents. I must be careful, for I wouldn’t want them to discover what my marvellous project is before I have completed it. That would spoil the surprise. It’s my bestest project yet; mind you, the boys taught me plenty.
I keep most of my projects in the meal and grain bins around the base of the mill-room. Unfortunately, I fear Mummy is beginning to smell something...
But, tonight, I’ll finish my project, won’t I, Christabel?
Your gorgeous green eyes perfectly match Sally Turner’s beautiful golden hair and Angela’s lovely rosy cheeks and my very best friend Maud’s heart...
Just like Melanie.
O, Mummy will be surprised!


message 27: by Luanne (new)

Luanne Turnage Once I've removed and eaten the first eye, I always pause, out of pure curiosity, to ask them one question: ''Do you believe in God?"
~But, truth be told, most of them had answered my question long before I've even begun to cut.Luanne Turnage


message 28: by April (new)

April Moran For the 2 line Horror Story.

I don’t remember slaughtering them all, but I must have. A hatchet, bloody and knicked from striking bone, hung limp in my hand.


message 29: by Tonya (new)

Tonya Baysmore Pilar forced herself to approach Tony, who held Mason captive. She beamed the light on him and her blood-soaked, injured lover, who had wires cutting deeply into the corners of his fleshy lips and his eyes bulged as he gawked at her. (Humble Hill)


message 30: by Trisha (new)

Trisha Kelly The shaking in my hands quickly spread into my arms and travelled through my whole body I was petrified, using both hands I steadied the knife. The deranged lunatic was counting down, inviting me to kill him or he would slay my child.


message 31: by Jemima (new)

Jemima Pett Two line story:
She'd been warned that leaving the garden rake around was a trip hazard. Exhausted from calling in vain for help, she listened, watched, and finally felt, the giant slugs approach.

My 750-word flash fiction on one of the prompts will be live on Friday 20th here: http://jemimapett.com/blog/2017/10/20...


message 32: by Evan (new)

Evan Leepson Two line story:

We have a new president. His name is Donald Trump.

author :Evan Leepson


message 33: by Groovy (new)

Groovy Lee My two-sentence horror story:

One late night while I was gazing around the refrigerator for something to drink, an eerie voice called out to me. It was the half-eaten cake and it whispered, "Groovy, eat the other half of me."


message 34: by Mariko (new)

Mariko Pratt My two-sentence horror story:

He could feel its prickly wriggling tendrils poking through the thin cotton of his denim pocket. He wanted to remove it but was afraid Mr. Underhill, the study hall moderator, would see it.


message 35: by L.B. (last edited Oct 17, 2017 12:27PM) (new)

L.B. O'Milla Evan wrote: "Two line story:

We have a new president. His name is Donald Trump.

author :Evan Leepson"



message 36: by George (new)

George Saoulidis For Horror Week on Goodreads, I wrote:
Wear the mask. It will come off in the morning.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076HT6P1W


message 37: by Eddie (new)

Eddie Wallach The boats engine revved, moving the vessel forward, creating a small wake on the glassy water surface. The low hum of the motor all but drown out Clarence’s cries for help.
“Noooooooo.” He cried as he watched the boat leave him floating in the middle of a shark buffet. He turned in a quick circle to check his surroundings. Directly behind him, approximately thirty yards and closing, was a huge dorsal fin. The spread between the dorsal fin and caudal fin was nearly thirteen feet! A The Debt Hex by Eddie Wallach massive man eater approaching.


message 38: by Eddie (new)

Eddie Wallach The boats engine revved, moving the vessel forward, creating a small wake on the glassy water surface. The low hum of the motor all but drown out Clarence’s cries for help.
“Noooooooo.” He cried as he watched the boat leave him floating in the middle of a shark buffet. He turned in a quick circle to check his surroundings. Directly behind him, approximately thirty yards and closing, was a huge dorsal fin. The spread between the dorsal fin and caudal fin was nearly thirteen feet! A massive man eater approaching.


message 39: by Joseph (new)

Joseph VanBuren My two-sentence horror story:

The thumping noise behind him was not the footsteps of the thing chasing him in the dark. It was the sound of his beating heart, freshly ripped from within his body.


message 40: by Kayla (last edited Oct 18, 2017 12:51AM) (new)

Kayla Krantz My two-sentence horror story:

Gabrilla sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding so hard she was unsure how she had escaped the clutches of her nightmare. Wiping away the sheen of sweat on her forehead, she looked into the darkened corner of her room and realized the monster from her dreams looked right back at her.


message 41: by Lancelot (new)

Lancelot Cannissié Goodreads asked me to write a two-sentence horror storry so here it is :
He who was eaten by the maggots last night shall rise again to the brim light. He'll roam the lands for some unfortunates to devour, as it is the deads fate!


message 42: by Sandy (new)

Sandy Carlson What fun, Goodreads! Thank you. Here is my two-sentence horror story challenge:

Disguised as a scarecrow, funny Kyle sat unmoving next to his bowl of Halloween candy. When he screamed, “Boo!” at the four trick-or-treaters, they screamed back, then barred their fanged teeth and ate up funny Kyle.


message 43: by Benjamin (new)

Benjamin Appleby-Dean My two-sentence story:

She looked into the deep red and saw a spiral of bodies, bloated and crushed, coiling down down into the void.
"Drink up!" he said, raising his own glass.


message 44: by Maria (new)

Maria Alonso-Sierra Here's my horror story in two-sentences:

I was awake, yet frozen, my body lax, without will of movement, without stimulus, yet aware. And when the spark reached me, when it embedded itself within the soft folds of my nightgown, I knew my death would be torture--a spontaneous combustion death, where my body would be consumed by a slow burn for many agonizing hours.


message 45: by Michael (last edited Oct 19, 2017 09:08AM) (new)

Michael Sahd Two-Sentence Horror Story:

When I entered the bedroom, I was immediately struck by the gore everywhere -- on the floor, on the walls, even dripping from the ceiling. In horror, I surveyed the wreckage until my eyes fell upon that which I sought; there he stood, naked by the crib, a smile on his face and a half-eaten Ex-lax bar still clutched in his hand.

Michael C. Sahd


message 46: by Brenda (last edited Oct 19, 2017 10:11AM) (new)

Brenda Mohammed Revenge of Zeeka Book 4 Zeeka's Ghost by Brenda Mohammed
Do you love ghost stories?
Then you would love Zeeka's Ghost.
The drama of the Zeeka Series continues in Zeeka's Ghost: Revenge of Zeeka Book 4. .
This book is the fourth installment in the Medical fiction series, Zeeka Chronicles. but It is a standalone
Swift. Silent. Ghostly, Zeeka's Ghost appears to Steven.
Does the ghost have evil intentions?
Are Steven and Mandy targets of unknown enemies?
Are their lives at stake?
Steven must find a way to hunt down and apprehend these ruthless maniacs and save his beloved wife.
Will he succeed?
Is Zeeka's Ghost here to harm or help?
Read Zeeka's Ghost: Revenge of Zeeka https://www.amazon.com/Zeekas-Ghost-R...


message 47: by Adam (new)

Adam Page Two sentence horror story:

'Why?' She shrieks, dressed in a disheveled white gown, crudely mocked up with offcuts of her captors linen, her wrist shackled to to the turn-pipe of the radiator.
'Why?', he begins, scoring the circumference of her ring finger and bloodying the floorboards beneath, 'because true love hurts'.


message 48: by E.R. (last edited Oct 19, 2017 02:17PM) (new)

E.R. Yatscoff I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. Thousands of spiders had crept into the room. And they were hungry.
I'd waited long enough for Nuu my Samoan friend. He'd left me here in this hole-in-the-wall basement below a house and had gone for the keys to the house. I'd nodded off on an old couch awoke to darkness. Where was Nuu?
A flit from the far end. A bat's wings?
Scraping sounds along the floor. Coconut crabs? The huge land crabs ate coconuts, actually broke the husks apart with their claws. What would they do to my bones? Something touched my hair.
A skitter across my chest. A rat?
I had to make a break for the hole through the cinder block. What if the spiders made a web there?
Sweat broke out over me in the hot night. I lay stiff afraid to aggravate any tropical insect. Until, something slithered on my shoulder. I shot up to the ceiling and like in the cartoons my legs spun to gain traction and I floated over the floor and out the hole. I never saw Nuu again even thought Pago Pago was small place. Maybe he'd sent me to the house to feed the creepy-crawlies. (A true tale)


message 49: by Michael (new)

Michael Nadeau The Necromancer's Son
By Michael D. Nadeau author of The Darkness Returns (A Lythinall Novel) Book 1

I Couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. Thousands of spiders had crept into the room. And they were hungry. I knew this simply because I had called them. You see I've learned a few tricks from my father. Not powerful magic that could tear down a kingdom like Ravenal, but subtle magic that can keep me safe. Oh and get revenge, that's always handy when you are eleven and you've seen your father hung for dark magic. These spiders will follow me down to the town and avenge the death of my father, and no one will see them coming. I write this now for you to find and if you want to come find me, just follow the screams.....


message 50: by Kathy (new)

Kathy "I'm sorry darling, I'm going to be late this evening," Jack said, before saying goodbye and hanging up. That was just before a policewoman arrived at the door to tell me that a mutilated body, found in the woods that afternoon, was his.


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