Slender Story

Something I had too much fun/goosebumps writing for my Creative Writing class. This is more recent than the other ones.

The soft hush of my breath hisses past my ears, like the gentle press of wind that weaves among the branches of the pine trees. I keep my flashlight down, pointed at the ground, motivated by an inexplicable need to attract no attention. (Why? It might find me anyway…) The moon is blurred by the silver clouds, and off in the distance I hear crickets chatter, somewhere under the leaves.

Despite the seemingly peaceful night, my heart is thrumming softly with held-back adrenaline. My eyes are jumping everywhere, straining to see something in the darkness. Anxiety morphs reality, and at times the trees overhead seem like monsters with outstretched claws. This night seems peaceful, but I know what this forest is hiding, and that knowledge transforms the night.

I stop just inside the tree line and glance back at my car, sitting on an ancient dirt road. My route back to salvation, and I'm leaving it. Because my salvation is no salvation - every way I can turn is hell.

He - no, no, not he. It.

It has been in my shadow. It has been standing, tall and strange, in the corner of my eye and disappearing when I turn. It has been studying me in my nightmares and watching silently when I scream myself awake, or when I'm too terrified to even close my eyes at all. It’s been behind me, around me, driving me insane.

There’s a photograph holder in my pocket. I don’t want to take it out again, but I remember exactly what all the pictures look like. A child in a crib with a tall, thin shadow standing over her. A gap-toothed toddler leaping haphazardly over a hopscotch pattern with a tall, thin shadow melting into the bushes beside her. A teenager leaning against her first car grinning impishly with a tall, thin shadow’s reflection in the window of the car.

Every picture has it next to me.

All I know is that it has something to do with this forest.

Maybe if I find it, it will leave me alone. Maybe if I show the world that it exists, it will fade away. That is the only reason I need. I won’t last much longer, with this thing stalking me.

I take a last glance over my shoulder to look at my car. Longingly. Then, I turn back to the forest.

My shoes crunch the short grass underneath me. I’m following a sort-of trail where there’s more gravel than dirt, but it’s not a clear path (who made this path?). I keep my flashlight down, and try to keep my eyes down as well. It’s when I turn my eyes up to find a shape in the blackness that my heart rate abruptly accelerates.

The path widens, and I move my flashlight up to rest on a large tree in the middle of a clearing (calm down just a tree). It looms over the surrounding trees, skeletal arms reaching over their speartip tops. I stop at the edge of the clearing and circle it, scanning it for something, anything important - there. A piece of paper.

I walk closer and see that it’s been nailed to the wood. The words HELP ME has been scribbled all over it in rough pencil, like a child’s scrawl (child was there a child here?). I don’t think about it too much and rip it off and stuff it into my coat.

My flashlight flickers.

My heart jumps into my mouth. I sweep the light around the forest and find nothing. But my heart's still beating like a drum, and I can feel it thrum throughout my body. My nerves jangle and I hasten away from the clearing.

Even after I’ve left the tree far behind, I still feel my heart drumming. I’m jogging, keeping my flashlight down. I glance behind me, but the night is dark.

I’ve slowed down and I’m breathing hard. My heartbeat has not stopped fluttering. I stop to rest and cough slightly at the intense beat.

My flashlight lands on a pair of legs.

My heart stops. I freeze. I don't even breathe. I don't move the flashlight. In its light, I can see two long legs, wrapped in black pants of some kind (tuxedo suit why is it wearing), with arms hanging down by its knees.

The arm moves - like it's reaching for me -

I scream, turn, and run for my life.

Adrenaline fuels me, and mid-flight I think of something. I fumble with my coat pocket and bring out my cell phone. I slow slightly as my trembling hands get the video camera online, holding my flashlight in the crook of my elbow (maybe if I film it, people will believe me - if I live to show it - when I live - stop just stop). When it's set up, I turn the camera on and swerve around.

Nothing. There's nothing there.

I lower the camera. My heart is still hammering.

I've been walking for an hour when something new appears in my field of vision. A house of some kind comes into view, with sides made of bricks and a roof made of some greenish material - probably normal shingles with moss grown on it. It's oddly short, with the roof resting on its walls just high enough for a person to walk through without bumping their head. There are no doors that I can see, but there is an opening where a door would go.

I glance around me, sweeping the flashlight in a wide arc - my pulse goes up as I wait for it to appear, but there's nothing. Feeling nervous, I step inside the building.

My first step clacks against the linoleum and echoes softly. I stop again, breathing hard at the sound, and fumble out with my phone again. I press against the cold wall of the building - also linoleum, oddly enough - and focus on the coldness, trying to calm myself down.

It doesn’t work. I go forward anyway, grasping the flashlight so tightly my knuckles turn white.

There are no lights, just white tile running across the floor and up the walls. The hall T’s after about ten feet, and I stand there dumbly, deciding what to do. After another moment’s hesitation, I take the left passageway. It turns again to the left to open up in a wide room with a single chair standing in the middle. There is a page on the chair.

The tile, the odd shape of the building… This must have been a bathroom area. Was this forest a park? I find the thought briefly comforting (there were other people here once, happy people). Until I move forward and see the page.

There is a crudely drawn picture of a tall and thin creature with no face, surrounded by the repeated word “NO.” The drawn creature sends a shiver down my spine. It seems… oddly familiar (seen it before out of the corner of my eye). But when that thought comes into my head, I stop thinking and stuff it into my coat.

As I walk back, I wonder to myself if there might be another page in the next room, the opposite end of the T. I bring my flashlight up to illuminate that side of the building, but there’s something in the way -

How - how did it - (white face)

I gasp - my eyes go wide - my heart starts leaping - my flashlight falls out of my hands - I’ve only caught a glimpse of it, in its heavy black suit, black tie, (black tentacles? what there’s something behind), knee-length arms and terrifyingly blank white face, but it’s enough to send me reeling - I stuff my knuckles in my mouth to keep from screaming - back up, I hit the wall of the building, turn, and run back into the room.

I throw myself into the corner, behind the chair, as if it might protect me from the creature, and I tremble, cowering. I’m biting down on my knuckle to keep from screaming and leading it to me (but it saw me leave stop just stop), and I keep my eyes wide open, staring at the opening into the room. If I blink, he might appear. Even when my eyes start to water, I keep them open. Even though without my flashlight I can hardly see anything in the blackness, I keep them open.

Perhaps it took a minute, perhaps an hour before I realize there’s liquid running down my hand and I taste something strange in my mouth. I glance down and see a drop of blood fall from my hand to the clean white linoleum floor. Slowly, I take my hand away and observe the saliva-covered wound my frightened teeth have inflicted on my skin. I can see the white of a finger bone if I pull the wound apart with my other fingers. It’s numb and I can’t feel any pain, but it disturbs me (so scared I did this so scared).

I rip off a chunk of my sweater and wrap it around my hand. It’s immediately soaked in red, but I still can’t feel anything. One of my tears from my twitching eyes lands on the makeshift bandage.

I glance back up, the tear reminding me why I’m keeping my eyes open. There is nothing there.

Deciding to risk it, I blink. More tears fall out of my eyes. Nothing appears.

My hand begins to throb. I shake water out of my eyes and stand up. My knees are shaky and weak, so I lean against the wall, pressing my back against the cold smooth linoleum. Still nothing.

It couldn’t have left. It couldn’t have.

I wobble to the opening and peek out. My eyes strain in the blackness, and I see nothing.

I walk back out into the hallway. My flashlight has rolled around and it’s now pointing at my shoes. I pick it up and turn it off. Without looking around, I stumble out of the building. My hand begins to burn with pain.

About a five minute’s walk from the bathroom building, I come upon a double row of rusty round tanks. I walk around the area more warily this time, scanning the night without blinking. I belatedly realize that I had to instruct myself to blink while I was walking here.

There. A page, nailed to one of the tanks. LEAVE ME ALONE written in a haphazard scrawl. I stuff it into my coat.

Suddenly, my skin tingles - up and down my body, goose bumps rise and I whirl around, eyes wide, tracking with my flashlight. The rusty orange of the tanks leaps at me, highly contrasted against the dark forest, and I run out of the rows. As I sprint, (don’t look behind) I look back behind me, and think I see a black tentacle rise up above the tanks against the night sky, but it might have just been a tree branch.

I’m running full out, and my skin is still shuddering all over, uncontrollably, and the fact that I can’t control even that is scaring me all the more (stop trembling I can’t think stop stop stop). I chance a look behind me and see that white face (THERE IT’S THERE) which spurs on a greater burst of speed, and I turn back to see - a truck, looming out of the darkness?

I try to stop myself, but it’s too late - I slam into the bed of the truck, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe and attempt to turn without wanting to scream in pain, and I glance over my shoulder. It’s gone, I can’t see it, but I still feel my heart drum and my skin shiver, so it must not be far.

I look the truck over again and frown. It’s old and rusty, but the keys are still in the ignition. Surely that means someone else has been here, but… but they didn’t make it out.

(No no no no no no no no stop no no no stop no)

This thought sends my pulse racing again and a bucket of acid fear splashes into my stomach, but I force it down and circle the truck, looking for a page. There’s nothing nailed to the car, but there’s a little shed off to the side, painted an audacious and slightly comical yellow, though it’s faded a little. It doesn’t raise my mood, though - as I walk toward it, the crunch of my feet on the grass seems to be the loudest sound in the forest, and the lightning gallop of my heartbeat seems to be a thunderous beacon, screaming to That Creature “I’m here! I’m here!” I want to turn around, but I daren’t, because - what if it’s behind me? What if it’s right behind me? (don’t look behind)

I keep my eyes forward and circle the small shed, rip off the page I find, not even bothering to read what it says (saw it from the corner of my eye - “DON’T LOOK OR IT TAKES YOU” - don’t pay attention I didn’t see it).

And now I hear a new sound, not the thunder or the lightning, but a fizzing sound, like acid rain, and I almost sprint off again, but no, it’s not coming from around me, it’s coming from - from my sweater pocket. I pull out my cell phone, still recording its video, and there’s static running all over the screen, up and down, and making such a loud noise - I try to turn down the volume, but it won’t go down. Is this something that.... That Creature can do?

I’m about to shut it off altogether when the static clears, just slightly, and I can make out an image of something - a blank white face -

I shriek and toss the phone away. It bounces off the side of the truck and falls, still hissing, and I take off running, not bothering to pick it up or fix it. The static hiss seems to follow me, though, and it’s all together now, thunder and lightning and the eerie rain, racing through my skin, and I want to curl up in a ball and make it all go away, only that would allow It to catch up with me, and… and I can’t think about that, I will not become a page in Its forest, I will not, I will…

A rock looms up, out of the darkness, and I’m going too fast again, and I trip and practically fly over the thing. I shriek as I hit my wounded side again and drop the flashlight, I dropped the damn flashlight - I know It’s behind me, I’m lying on top of Its two black shoes -

An animal sound, a primeval sound of pure terror rips from my throat. I scramble to my feet and try to run again, but my knees give out. My flashlight is flickering, flickering, and now it’s gone dark. I’m wheezing like the harried wind through the trees, all part of the storm, and…

(don’tturnaround)

I turn around. I look over my shoulder, and see the source of It all.

It is standing there. I knew It was there. Staring into It’s face, It seems to swallow me up, and all I can hear is the storm, and all I feel is fear, and the static fizz is drowning my ears -

All I see is that face, that blank white face -

ghost

Still finding some weird/cool/no,definitelyweird stuff in my google Docs!
Here's a ghost story.

“Rhhhhhhooooooooosssssssssse…”

A whisper of wind touched my ears. I looked up to my left, shrugged, then went back to my book.

“Rhhhhhhooooooooooooosssssssssssssssse...!”

I glanced up, looked to my left for my brother playing a trick on me, then continued reading.

“RHHHHHHHHHOOOOooooOOOOOooooooOOOOSSSSSSSSE!”

“Eh?” I closed the book and looked up. “Oh, look. It's a ghost.”

A glowing orb of vaguely bluish light was hovering in the air next to me - on my right side. “You spelled my name wrong,” I scolded. “My name doesn't have an ‘h’ in it.”

“Iiiiiiiii haaaaaaave a speeeeeeech defeeeeeect,” the ghost said tartly. “Iiiiiiiit's haaaaardly my faaaaaault.”

“Okay, sorry, whatever. Did you want something? The book's just starting to get really good.”

“Yessssss, I waaaaant sooooooomething!”

“What do you want? I have a bag of chocolates in the kitchen. If you ask nicely, I might share.”

“Iiiiii waaaaaaant your deaaaaath.”

“Oh.” I paused. “Well, obviously, you can't have that. I'm fresh out.”

“Yesssssss Iiiiiiiii caaaaaaan."” Mistlike fingers danced out of the glowing orb and drifted toward my neck. I watched, aghast, as they wrapped slowly around my throat. Gagging, I writhed in the chair, then fell back, dead.

“Hhhhhhhhhhhhahhh,"” the ghost laughed in triumph.

I sat back up. “Heh! Sorry, just fooling you.”

“Daaaaaaaamnation!”

“You're incorporeal. Your hand goes right through me. I hope you realize that.”

“Doooooon't haaaaave to rub it iiiiiin!”

“Look, why don't you just tell me why you want to kill me? Let's talk it out like rational beings.”

“I don't waaaaaant to be raaaaational!"” The orb fizzled and spat, like the crack of a fire. The lights dimmed, and a rumble rolled under my feet like thunder.

“Well,” I said doubtfully, “Either we could talk like rational beings, or we could talk like irrational beings.”

“Whaaaat's that liiiiike?"” The ghost sounded curious.

“It's where we sit down with some nice, hot, chamomile tea, wearing our snow boots on our heads, and chat over a fire on the best way to skin a five-legged moose.”

Even I was taken aback by the promptness of this nonsense. The ghostly light writhed in the air. “Five-legged moose? I didn't know they existed.”

“They're very rare,” I informed it, “and incredibly valuable. That's why it's so important to know the right way to skin one.”

“Are you suuuuuuure this is whaaat irraaational beeeeeings taaalk about?"” The ghost sounded dubious.

I reached out for something on the shelf next to me, then paused. “Hey, can you read?”

“Nooo.”

“Yeah, the rules of irrational being's discourse are right here. Ahem,” I flicked to the i section of the dictionary. “‘The discourse of irrational beings are limited to discussion over hot chamomile tea and a warm soothing fire with snow boots on one’s head, on the topic of -’ oh, pardon me, I made a mistake the first time - ‘all species of purple five-legged moose and the hunting, slaying, and skinning thereof.’ And that's from the dictionary, so you know that's right.” I shut the book.

The ghost made a sound like a burbling. “Aaaaare thooooose my only two ooooooptions?”

“‘Fraid so. Rational and irrational. That's the thing about opposites, there are only two of them.”

There was a brief pause, which I took to be the ghost considering the two. Then, the orb bobbed up and down, a gesture that was probably a nod. “Iiiiii think I would prefer to speeeeeak like raaaaational beings. Iiiiii don't know anyyyyyyything about fiiiiiive-legged mooooses.”

“Good. The method of skinning one is rather graphic.” I frowned. “Wait, did you say mooses? That's not a word.”

There was the burbling sound again. “Meeeeese?”

“No, that's not how you say it either. It's the same. Moose are moose.”

“I am very confuuuuuused. Is this raaaaaaational discourse yeeeeet?”

“Not if you keep saying ‘meese.’”

“But it's a fuuuuuuun word.”

“Let's go back to the part where you wanted to kill me,” I suggested. “I'm, uh, curious about that part. Why did you want my death?”

“Iiiiit's part of the ghooost contract,"” the ghost said, ethereal voice sullen. “Iiiiii could gooooo back to the aaaaafterlife if I fulfilllled it all.”

“So, what's on the ghost contract?”

The ghost's tone took on the rhythmic precision of something that had been memorized within an inch of its life. “Thouuuu shaaalt carry a loooong syllllable speeeech defect. Thouuuuu shaaaalt scare the bejeeezus out of a huuuundred and twelve superstitious redneeecks. Thouuuuu shaaaalt animaaaate the dead and eat braaaains. Thouuuuu shaaaalt covertly steal seven unluuucky objects and threeee benign ones. Thouuuu shaaaalt haaaaunt a creeeepy old mansion for teeeeen years, five months, tweeeeenty days, twenty-five hours, foooorty minutes and fifty-three point nine one secoooooonds. Thouuuu shaaaalt kill an innocent. Only then shaaaaalt thouuuuu be returrrrrned in haaaarmony to the underworld.”

“Aw,” I said, “cool. Nice job with the memorization. So, how much left do you have to do?”

“Verrrry little,"” the ghost said. The orb lifted up slightly as a touch of pride. “Aaaaall I haaaave to do now is steeeeal one more beniiiign object. And kill somebody. But I was clooooose.”

“How close?”

“A little more presssssssure and I could have slaaaamed your book on your fingers.”

“But that's not lethal,” I said, perplexed.

More bubbling sounds. “How do you expeeeeect me to know this? I'm juuuuuust a ghost!”

“Look,” I said, in my most sympathetic tone, “I'm sorry. I can't let you kill me. For one thing, I'm not innocent.”

“Whaaaaat?”

“Blame modern television. The closest you'd get to an innocent nowadays is a newborn baby, and you have to be careful even with those.”

The ghost fizzed unhappily. “Iiiiii don't waaaaant to kill a baby! Thaaaaat wouldn't be very niiiiice.”

“I know, man. I'm afraid you've been swindled by this contract. No one's left innocent anymore. At least, none that you would want to kill.”

The ghost was silent a moment. I thought to myself as well, trying to think of a way out of this ghost's plight. I really wanted to get back to my book.

Suddenly, I brightened. “I have an idea! You've already fulfilled that part of the contract.”

“Howwwww?”

“You're killing time. I want to keep reading my book, but you're killing my time for that. Reading time's pretty innocent, right? And it's a Harry Potter book, too. If it was a Twilight book, we'd have problems. But Harry Potter's great for this sort of thing!”

The orb sparked, then raised itself in the air. “Thaaaank you! I caaaan't belieeeeve you! First five-legged meese, and now thiiiiis!”

“Moose, doofus.”

"Moooooofus?"

“Huh?”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Okay, now it's awkward. You could have left triumphantly, but now you have to leave on meese. Good job.”

“Ohhhhh well. At least myyyy contract is nowwww fulfillllled! Thank youuuu, kind humaaaan! Terribly sorrrry for trying to killlll you earlier.”

“No worries. Now get on out of here.”

The glow faded, and the lights came back on. I sighed, then frowned. What did he mean by his contract being fulfilled? He still had to steal another benign object.

Oh well. I shifted in my chair, popped my back, yawned, and turned back to my book.

To find a set of empty fingers.

“Ghost!” I yelled. “You bastard!”

Vampires that Cough in the Night

This was actually accepted to Tattoo! I'm not all that sure why! But it's funny and weird!

There are, in fact, many types of vampires. There are the cold, dark, deadly vampires that creep around creepy places and love dramatic scenes. There are the more practical vampires who are trained by ninjas and drop in from ceilings, never touch the floor, and are out of the room in ten seconds. There are the vegetarian vampires, who turn into bats at midnight and suck the blood from cows and wandering travelers in the jungle who are not actually not humans but (you don't really want to know what they really are, do you?). But there are also the types of vampires that cough in the night and trip over your slippers you left by your bed. Those are the types that don't really suck your blood, but the types who jump on your bed while you have your nightmares, the ones who carefully move your shoes to opposite sides of the room, who throw your dirty laundry all over the room, who also are the ones who wake you suddenly in the middle of the really really really good dream with their loud coughing (they always have a flu).

Most vampires detest garlic, since it's so strong and it makes the blood they drink taste like lighter fluid mixed with grape juice. Vampires who cough in the night are deathly (haha) allergic to baklava, onions, and cucumbers, especially in the same mixture. When exposed, they break out in hives, swollen/numb lips, and zits that, if you look closely (which you wouldn't want to), look suspiciously similar to the little candy nerds that came from your Christmas stockings which also mysteriously disappeared (which you also blamed dad on). Another side effect to baklonionbers are, instead of coughing, the vampires start sneezing and they have to lie down for a while before they come back to your bedroom at night.

Most vampires (except the ninja ones) sleep in coffins till dusk (the ninja ones meditate on a straw mat). Coughing vampires sleep in bathtubs filled with marshmallows and Styrofoam packing peanuts wearing pink sleeping masks. The bathtubs are typically found inside gopher holes which, if you were to squeeze down inside (which you can't) are very roomy, and furnished with a sink (if you turned on the faucet, mud flows out – its a side effect of living in gopher holes), a bucket (with a hole in it), a yellow teapot (placed proudly on display next to the bathtub), and bright pink bunny slippers with huge puppy dog eyes and grinning sharp – very, very, very sharp – buck teeth (coughing vampires seem to have a fascination with bright pinkness).

Many vampires also hate mirrors. They don't like looking at themselves because of how ugly they think they look (in fact, they are very sensitive about their vanity. They believe that humans faint when they see them because they can't stand how ugly the vampires look – in fact, they are so breathtakingly stunning that the humans faint because they can't believe how ugly they are in comparison to the vampire). It also makes them break out in hives worse than garlic. Coughing vampires are, in fact, not very pretty – they have blue-black hair, pointed ears (like elves), pointed noses, a small goatee, huge thick lips, and a pointed chin. They love mirrors because they often powder their faces to make them look very, very white. They believe that humans faint at the (rare) sight of them because the powder makes them look stunningly breathtaking (the coughing vampires are all very jealous of the others for various reasons), when, in fact, they all faint because the powder makes them so white it blinds them and they faint at how ugly they really are. Also, some humans are allergic to the powder.

There are some rumors that all vampires can turn into bats. The truth is, only a select few vampires can. The creepy drama guys cannot, nor the ninja vampires (it's undignified and not the way of the NINJA). Vegetarian vampires can because the unknown species jungle travelers have such weird blood in them, it changes them (the vampires) into bats. Slowly, after one week and eight days, the vampire will change back into a human form (they look very strange in the middle of the metamorphosis, when their arms are bat wings and they have red eyes and furry feet). Coughing vampires change into annoying bald headed parrots, the type that manage to learn the words you do not want them yelling in the middle of a business dinner. Instead of a regular curved beak, the black and white-faced parrot (always white-faced, they do their best to put powder on their faces with their claws in front of a fancy-shmancy mirror) has a weird humming bird-like beak so they can pick up your shoes easier. There are some rumors that they tried sucking blood with it too, but they only tried it once because the person they tried it on had just eaten baklava for their birthday.

There are some vampires that can also turn into smoke. This is the only characteristic that make the coughing vampires dangerous. The coughing vampires turn into carbon monoxide and sulfuric gas. Fortunately, it's very little, and they don't do it very often, because after telesmoking, the vampires cough harder than ever and need to lie down again. This is one of the things they are so jealous of the other vampires, who telesmoke very gracefully and without any coughing. The others are a little smug about it.