Coffins

Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. In a certain small town, Harold, the local gravedigger, upon hearing a bell one night, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time, it wasn’t either. A voice from below begged and pleaded to be unburied.

“Are you Sarah Bannon?” Harold asked.

“Yes!” The muffled voice asserted.

“You were born on September 17, 1827?”

“Yes!”

“The gravestone here says you died on February 20, 1857.”

“No, I’m alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!”

“Sorry about this, ma’am,” Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. “But this is August. Whatever you are down there, you sure as hell ain’t alive no more, and you ain’t comin’ up.”

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What is Heaven? What is Hell?

The pain ended quickly. I rose and tried to find my body. Probably lying mangled underneath the metallic wreck. Dying in a road accident is definitely the worse way to go.

“So! Had a nice life?” asked a voice behind me.

I turned around to find a woman smiling. Since she could see me I was pretty sure she was a soul like me.

She giggled, “You are taking it pretty well. I am Cindy by the way.”

I spoke evenly,” What happens now? Hell? Heaven?”

She laughed louder.
Before I could say something I heard a commotion from far off.

Cindy shouted,” COME ON!” And she ran.

She turned and yelled,” Have you been good?”

“What?”

“Have you done any good while you lived?”

Totally confused, I spluttered,” I…I donated blood once.”

As we reached the source of noise I was dumbstruck to find hundreds of people ripping each other apart in front of a hospital.

I shouted, “WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?”

Cindy replied, “Someone is giving birth here. These souls are fighting to get inside the new born shell.”

“But the baby…”

“LISTEN TO ME…THERE IS NO BABY UNTIL A SOUL PENETRATES IT… If no soul makes it inside, the shell is pronounced dead by doctors.” She continued, “Your fighting strength depends on your Karma. So the soul of a rapist or a paedophile stands no chance. They will never get a shell and will painfully wither away.”

Children are most dangerous. Pure souls. Stay away from them during fights.”

“But what about heaven… and hell?”

“THIS IS HELL! And more importantly, the life you left behind… That is heaven.”

A Road That Never Ends

In California, there once was a road known by most locals as the Never Ending Road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. Now, twenty years later, the landscape of Corona has changed, and the Never Ending Road is no more. However, years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed to never end when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen from again.

The legend became so well-known that people refused to even drive Lester Road during the day. One night, like many teens my age, I drove up Lester Road, but only a short distance, and in my headlights it did look like it went on forever. Frightened, I quickly turned around, because if I continued up the road, I thought I might never return again.

Perpetuation of the legend convinced local law enforcement to investigate. Lester Road took a sharp left turn at its end, and there were no guard rails. Beyond the curve lay a canyon, and on the other side of the canyon was another road that lined up so well with Lester Road that when viewed from the correct angle, especially at night, the canyon vanished from sight, and the road seemed to continue on up and over the hill on the other side of the canyon. Upon investigation of the canyon, dozens of cars were found, fallen to their doom, with the decomposing bodies of the victims still strapped to their seats.

Random Creepy Shorts # 22

unique_cabins_in_the_woods_640_45

There is always this one time when we see a house and we want to enter it so bad, in other words trespassing. I was told by my cousin that it’s bad and she went ahead and told me a story to somehow scare me off. Just so you notice, my family loves telling creepy stories and here I am, spreading them to you. It goes like this…

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning.

As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the hunter awoke — he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.

Random Creepy Shorts # 21

It has been a while since my last Random Creepy Short (RCS) since as a self-proclaimed writer (yeah, right) I also need inspiration in my writings. My teacher told me that I have no right to write if I don’t read. So I read a bunch of stuff to get my engine up and running (hah see what I did there, engine, you know… cause my profile name is SteamEngine… anyway, enough with the funny stuff, besides it’s a random creepy short.) So I decided to give a little bit more effort than usual on this story. Anyway, it goes like this…

I am a loving father, a faithful husband, and a righteous person in my own right. Obviously, I’m a father to my only daughter Cassie. She is my jewel, my diamond, my Mona Lisa, my Eiffel tower. In short, my greatest and most loved. Since she was born, the love I’ve given for her is more than anyone else had. I loved her so much, I think I loved her too much.

It was 10 years since I last played with my little Cassie. She has grown up now, she is no longer the innocent girl who I used to scold for picking up a knife, playing with it and accidentally cutting herself. Another year and she is already an adult. Oh, how I miss the old days, when Cassie would just walk up to me, say

“Tag! You’re it!”

and we would chase each other around the house for the whole day. I miss that feeling, and before she finally leaves behind her childhood, I would like to spend a few more moments to play with her.

She made a playful squeal as I tagged her. It was clear she was enjoying herself, she was laughing herself to tears.

“Daddy, stop it, my sides hurt!” She continued to laugh.

Her joy was contagious, I smiled, for once in years, I smiled. I dare say I’ve smiled more that day than I have in my entire life. Alas, all good things must come to an end, she was tired, and fell asleep shortly after.

My wife soon came home. She was so glad to see me, she yelled my name, again, laughing to tears. She hugged me, still laughing. I continued to smile. She looked down and saw my tagging tool, quickly shooting her focus back to my eyes. I continued to smile.

“Michael…” Tears continued to stream down her face in excitement.

“How could you have done this to our little angel?” She tried to run, but she was too slow.

“Tag…” I smiled wider. “You’re it.”

I guess you’re wondering what my tagging tool was. You see…

it was the knife Cassie used to play with.

Random Creepy Shorts # 20

I am in introvert. I feed off of my own solitude. For some reason, being alone makes me comfortable. It’s peace and quiet. I could focus on whatever task is at hand. But there are some moments when I wish I wasn’t alone, or at least knew if someone was there. This story is about someone alone in the house. I’ll let the story speak for itself. It goes like this…

Here I lay, all snuggled up in bed, warm and satisfied under the soft silk covers, watching some stupid documentary on TV I’d never heard of. I’d turn it over, but the gallon tub of cookie dough ice cream wouldn’t let me use my hands for anything other than shovelling the frozen treat into my mouth. Nights like these are rare, it isn’t often that everyone’s out of the house but me, so I make sure to savour them, in fact, I wasn’t expecting anyone back till the morning. That’s what made the sound of the door opening downstairs so alarming.

Panic hits me like a steam train, I silently leap out from under the covers, spilling the ice cream all over the pristine white carpet on the floor, and creak open the wardrobe next to the bed. I hear footsteps, heavy and indiscreet, like they want me to know they’re here. I pant, and pick up the spoon I had just been using to enjoy a relaxing night. The footsteps get louder, I force myself into the miniscule space remaining in the wardrobe, and close the door, just as the stranger opens the bedroom door, not sparing any seconds for silence.
I peer through the gap, his face looks familiar, but I can’t place my finger on where I know him from. He spots the spilled ice cream, and darts his head across the wide expanse of the bedroom.

“Hello?” he calls, not sounding vicious, but I’ve made that mistake before. Never, under any circumstances, assume friendliness from a voice.

He looks under the bed. Oh crap, he’s looking for someone. I hold back a whimper, and start bending the bowl of the spoon back and forth, hoping to snap it off and create some way of defending myself. It snaps, but it creates a metallic click, the man turns his head around, and makes his way to the wardrobe, I’m shaking now. Please don’t open it, please don’t open it, please don’t open it!

The door swings open, and he sees me, we scream simultaneously in fear and surprise. Without hesitation, I leap onto the man, and start digging into whatever stretch of flesh I can with the sharp edge of the spoon handle, he screeches in clear pain, but I won’t stop, I hammer the handle deep into his chest and neck, over and over, till he becomes motionless. I’ve killed him.

I cry in disgust, and sprint downstairs and away from the house, I charge down the road until I feel like I’m far enough away. I sit down for a moment, and exhale heavily before regaining my composure. Pulling out my phone, I open Twitter and search #babysitter, hopefully this time, I’ll find a household that isn’t lying when they say they’ll be out all night.

Random Creepy Shorts # 19

Do you miss your father, I sure do. Since I was in grade school, I had to live far away from my father because of financial reasons. But you see, I cannot help but be afraid. Afraid from what you ask? Afraid from bad things that may happen to him. But you know, I see the benefits of living far from my loved ones, this story is somewhat an emulation of it… and it goes like this…

A 15-year old girl named Donna lived with her father in a small house in the suburbs. Ever since her mother died, Donna had depended on her father for everything. They had a wonderful relationship and loved each other very much.

One morning, Donna’s father was leaving on a business trip. As they ate breakfast together, he told her that he would be home very late that night. With that, he kissed her on the forehead, grabbed his briefcase and walked out the front door.

Later that day, when Donna came home from school, she did some homework and watched some TV. By midnight, her father had still not returned so she decided to go to bed.

That night she had a dream. She found herself standing at the edge of a busy highway. Cars and trucks whizzed by at an alarming rate. She looked across the highway and saw a familiar figure standing on the other side. It was her father. His hands were cupped around his mouth and he seemed to be shouting something to her, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

As the traffic whizzed by, she strained to hear. Her father’s eyes were sad. He seemed to be desperately trying to communicate something to her. She could barely make out the words: “Don’t… Open… Door…”

Suddenly, Donna was awoken from the dream by a strange tapping noise.

“Tap Tap Tap.”

Then somebody began to ring the doorbell downstairs.

“Ring Ring Ring.”

She scrambled out of bed and put on her slippers. Then, dressed only in her nightgown, she ran downstairs and went to the front door.

Looking through the peephole, she saw her father’s face outside. He was staring right at her. The doorbell kept ringing insistently.

“OK, hold on! I’m coming!”, she shouted.

She pulled back the deadbolt and was about to unlatch the door when she stopped.

She looked through the peephole at her father again. Something about his expression didn’t look quite right. His eyes were wide open. He looked terrified.

She slid the deadbolt back into place.

“Dad!”, she yelled through the door. “Did you forget your keys?”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“Dad, answer me!”

Ring Ring Ring.

“Dad, please! I need you to answer me!”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“Is there someone else out there with you?”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“Why won’t you answer me?”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“I’m not opening the door until you say something!”

The doorbell kept ringing and ringing, but for some reason, her father refused to answer her desperate cries.

For the rest of the night, the frightened girl cowered in a corner of the hallway, helplessly listening to the ceaseless ringing of the doorbell. It seemed to go on for hours. Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

At dawn, she woke up and realized that everything was quiet. She crept over to the door and looked through the peephole again. Her father was still there, staring at her.

She cautiously opened the door and was confronted with a sight that filled her with unimaginable horror.

Her father’s severed head was hung from a nail above the door.

There was a note attached to the doorbell. In crude, scrawled handwriting, it read:

“Clever Girl”

Random Creepy Shorts # 18

I’d like to classify this short as more of an emotional one. I wasn’t really scared or thinking of scaring anyone while conceptualizing this story. It was more of sadness and stuff. So this story is not for the very faint hearted (well none of my stories are so far…) Anyway, it goes like this…

There was a young girl named Susan. She was playing in her bedroom when she heard her mother calling her from the kitchen. She raced downstairs.

“Susan, come here. I have something to ask you,” her mother said.

“What is it?” asked Susan.

“Do you know who ate the cakes that were meant for the guests?”

“Uh… No… I don’t know,” Susan replied.

“Did you eat the cakes?” her mother asked.

“No, Mama, I didn’t,” the little girl replied.

Susan was wringing her hands nervously.

“Susan, I know when you are lying,” her mother said. “A thief always starts out in life by lying. And the police always catch a thief. And the thief is always punished. Do you know what I am saying Susan?”

Susan couldn’t bear the guilt anymore. She started sobbing.

“Mama, I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I ate the cakes! I’m sorry!”

“There, there. Stop crying,” said her mother as she held her hand. “I was angry because you lied to me. Now you’ve told the truth, everything is going to be fine. I don’t like liars, so never lie to me again, OK?”

“OK,” said Susan.

“Now dry your tears,” said her mother. “We’ll go to the store and buy more cakes.”

“OK, Mama,” Susan said.

Susan’s mother had a baby. When she came home from the hospital, Susan was delighted.

“This is Nana,” her mother said. “You’re her big sister. You have to treat her with love and care.”

“I will, Mama,” Susan said.

But after the baby arrived, her mother didn’t seem to have any time for her. The baby cried all day and all night. Susan couldn’t bear to hear it screaming and bawling. She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t even think. Eventually, she had enough.

“Mama! I’m sick and tired of hearing her cry!” she shouted. “I can’t study with all this racket! Can you please shut her up?”

“You need to be more understanding,” her mother said. “Nana is just a baby. You’re her big sister.”

“But you’re always with Nana,” Susan cried. “You never have time for me anymore. I’d like to spend time with you too, Mama. I’d like to go to the store with you, to the park with you, to play with you…”

“You’re old enough to go to all those places by yourself,” her mother said. “So shut your mouth and stop being so selfish.”

“I hate you!” Susan screamed as she burst into tears.

She ran upstairs, slammed her door and locked herself in her room. That evening, she refused to come down for dinner. Instead, she stayed in her room and brooded about Nana.

That night Susan had a very disturbing dream. In the nightmare, she saw herself walking through the house in darkness. She went into her mother’s room and tip-toed over to the baby’s crib. Then, she picked up her little sister and carried her downstairs.

In the dream, Susan opened the back door and brought Nana out to the garden. There, by the light of the moon, she fetched a shovel from the shed, dug a little hole in the wet grass and buried her little sister alive.

When she woke up in the morning, Susan was shaking and covered in sweat. She felt sick to her stomach. The nightmare had seemed so real. She was horrified.

“Mom was right,” she thought. “Nana is just a baby. I’m her big sister. I need to learn to put up with things like this. I’m going to ask Mom to forgive me.”

Just then, her mother burst into her room. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Susan, do you know where Nana is?” she asked. “When I woke up this morning, she wasn’t in her crib. Do you know anything?”

The little girl shook her head.

“Are you sure?” her mother demanded. “You really don’t know anything? Do you swear?”

Susan gulped. “Yes, I swear,” she said weakly.

“Alright! Alright!” her mother said. “Help me find her!”

They searched the house from top to bottom, but they couldn’t find Nana. They ran up and down the street looking for the baby, but she was nowhere to be seen. Finally, her mother fell to her knees and began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Where did Nana go?” she wailed. “Where could she be? She doesn’t even know how to walk. How could she disappear like this?”

Susan was wringing her hands nervously.

“Susam you know something!” her mother screamed. “Susan! You know what happened to Nana, don’t you!”

“No,” said Susan. “I don’t know anything…”

“Susan, I warned you not to lie to me again!” her mother screamed.

“I’m not lying,” Susan mumbled.

“I know when you’re lying!” her mother shouted. “Tell me! Where is she? Where is Nana?”

Susan couldn’t bear the guilt anymore. She looked out the window and pointed at a little mound of earth in the garden.

“No!” her mother cried. “Dear God! No! This can’t be true!”

“Mama!” the little girl sobbed. She tried to grab her mother’s hand.

“Don’t touch me!” her mother screamed. “You killed Nana, didn’t you! You killed her because you were jealous!”

“I didn’t mean it, Mama!” Susan cried. “I didn’t mean it!”

Her mother flew into a violent rage. She grabbed her daughter by the neck and began choking the life out of her. She squeezed and squeezed until she couldn’t squeeze anymore. By the time she came to her senses, Susan lay dead on the kitchen floor.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

The mother got to her feet and answered it.

When she opened the door, she saw her neighbor standing outside. He was holding Nana in his arms.

“We found her crawling around outside,” he said. “She must have gotten out of her crib during the night. Good thing we found her before something bad happened…”

Slate Road Ext.

It is late afternoon. A soft breeze blows and rattles the leaves on the sprigs in a tree-strewn spot of earth in the heart of Manila. The sky is darker than usual and a shadow of a tall man is seen in the distance, in an isolated road. I take small strides into the alley. The sign reads, “Slate Road Ext.” I see the man, or rather “thing” standing. Moments passed by, I still am thinking, “am I really going to pass through here? I wonder what would happen.”

Before anything else happened, I felt more wind passing through his corner. it seems like all my happiness, if there’s any, my energy, and my positive vibes were blown away with it. I kept thinking, imagining, and wondering, would I stay here, until the sun goes down? I just close my eyes, trying to remember someone dear to me, to help me lessen my fear. Am I ready for this? I can’t handle it anymore.

I hear whispers, from where? I look around for the source. It is the shadowy man! He’s whispering “ten, ten, ten, ten…” Why, of all numbers, ten? I approach the man with all my courage and ask. He looked at me straight into my soul with piercing pitch black eyes. “You’re one of us now.”

Everything went black. When I returned to my senses, I find out that I, myself, was whispering, “eleven, eleven, eleven, eleven…”

 

P.S

This story was made by me and my friends. We passed the paper around every two sentences and tried to see what we would make. This isn’t the best story there is, but it sure has a deep meaning if you try to understand it. If you can’t, feel free to ask me personally 🙂

Random Creepy Shorts # 16

When you and your family go on a short trip to some place you never knew existed, does it creep you out? This one is a story about an unknown town with a mysterious air to it. It goes like this…

In the town of Bisden, nobody leaves their home after dark. As soon as the sun begins to set — shutters are drawn shut, candles are snuffed out, and doors are locked tight. Before the moon is fully risen, the entire town appears deserted, and silence reigns supreme.

“Did you hear that?” whispered Freja, sounding very small and afraid in the dark.
“Shut. Up.” Her older brother, Freud, hissed through clenched teeth as he eyed the black windows of the house nearest to them. They were probably locked. Nobody in their right mind would leave their windows unlocked at night. Not in Bisden, anyway.
“I told you we shouldn’t play in the forest,” continued Freja. “I said we should go back sooner.”
“And I said to shut up,” Freud went on. “Whining about the past doesn’t change the present.” Freud looked at his sister, shivering in the dark. “It doesn’t change the situation we’re in.”

Before Freja could respond, the faint sound of a child’s laughter floated across the wind. Goosebumps erupted along Freud’s neck and arms. Something about the sound seemed…wrong.

“Maybe there’s other–“, Freud clasped his hand over Freja’s mouth. Pulling her in close, he shrank back into the shadows of the alley. Again, the unearthly sound drifted across the air. Freja tensed in Freud’s arms as she realized the magnitude of their situation. A child’s voice, oddly distorted, broke the silence of the night like a fist through glass.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

The Thing lumbered across the mouth of the alley — just a few feet from Freud and Freja’s hiding place. It was roughly the size of a child, yet shuffled with its arms hanging grotesquely close to the ground — making its disproportionate body appear markedly apelike. It was completely nude, and had skin so shockingly white that it reflected the glow from the moon. The Thing turned its shimmering bald head toward the alley as it crossed. Its face was perfectly smooth, and entirely devoid of feature — save for an impossibly wide smile with thin lips the colour of blood. The crimson slash of its mouth appeared to stretch from ear to ear. Freud felt warmth spread down his thigh as his bladder let go.

Freja whimpered.

The Thing froze mid-stride, its body becoming as rigid as stone. Slowly, it turned its torso until it was facing the alleyway. It took a tentative step forward. Freja sucked in a sharp breath through her nose as she began to hyperventilate. Freud clamped his hand over her mouth, but he was too late. Impossibly fast, The Thing twisted its head toward their hiding place, producing a sickening crackle from its neck.

“Found you!”

In the town of Bisden, nobody leaves their house after dark. Every day, young ones are sternly told to be home by dusk. They are told of the evil that haunts the streets at night. They are told to always remain silent, because if they hear you…

The Children of the Moon will tear you limb from limb.