Tag Archive: creepy


Inevitable like ants

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All fun and giggles he nodded to happy families on their way to the beach, but he never really noticed them.  His rapt attention was focused elsewhere.  Lost, upset, or just curious it didn’t matter much to him so long as they were alone.  He could wait… till the right one appeared.  It was inevitable like ants at this “teddy bear’s picnic”

This bit of flash fiction was written based on a prompt from Julia over at 100WCGU.  Hope its not too creepy, but I’ve been watching a lot of crime drama so…  Hope you enjoy!

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Lochlin, Shona, & Barlow

Much thanks to the great Tim Burton who created such wonderful characters. All rights to owner.

Much thanks to the great Tim Burton who created such wonderful characters.
All rights to owner.

“Did you hear that they are making a movie about Maple Lane,” Janine said with just a touch too much excitement in her voice for a Monday morning.

“No. That can’t be right.”

“Swear to God Lynn.” Janine looked around to make sure her slightly raised voice was carrying. “You know I watch The Morning Cup news religiously because Teddy, the lead anchor, is just cute enough to get out of bed for. Right? Well he was interviewing some hag in a bad skirt suit this morning, and she said that our community would be playing host to some real life Hollywood producers.”

“Why,” Shelly asked.

“Well why else,” Janine said pausing for dramatic effect. “The Maple Lane Massacre.”

“The what?”

Janine sighed and then rolled her eyes over to Lynn. “Look I know your new-ish to town Rob, but really. The Massacre is the only movie worthy thing to have ever happened here. Just, at least, tell me you’ve heard of the Tough Triplets.”

Rob’s shrug and the various head shakes throughout the group only bolstered Janine’s showmanship. “Lock, Shock, and Barrel?” Janine had asked the question innocently and acted aghast when there was no collective head nod of understanding. “You guys should really bone up on your local history. I mean, don’t you think it would be important to know that only 50 years ago three of the Tough family’s hoard went on a killing bender up and down Maple just becu…”

Janine’s voice dropped off as she made eye contact with the latest edition to her audience, Jackson Tough.

Rob was the first to turn and see what had stopped Janine. “No way! Jack?” The hurt in Robs voice was obvious as he asked, “Is this true?”

“Don’t let me stop you Janine,” Jack said his eyes never once leaving hers, “I recall how much you use to love telling this story.”

“We would all love to hear your take Jackson, at least, I know I would,” Janine said to his back as he passed her by. “I’m such a sucker for back story and… the inside scoop.”

“Would it be the facts or the story your after Janine?” Janine barely had time to purse her lips before Jack continued. “Facts? Lochlin, Shona, and Barlow Tough, not Lock, Shock, and Barrel, were arrested and charged with the murder of 13 people on October 30th, 1948. They were found guilty. Lochlin was sentenced to death by hanging as an 18th birthday present and Shona died in prison last winter. Barlow is still serving his life sentence.”

No one even coughed as Jack spoke either too mesmerized or too afraid. “The story,” Janine asked as she made a give me gesture.

Jack took a deep breath. “On the day before Halloween, over 70 years ago, the three youngest Tough family children were searching for decorations in order to festoon their front porch.  Flour sacs were found for ghost faced masks and the scarecrow was misappropriated from their mother’s garden, along with a gourd or two.  While Barlow worked on his Jack-O-Lantern and Shona her mask Lochlin went off to see what he could find in the attic.  When he returned it was with a large egg crate labeled All Hallows’ Eve.  The three eagerly examined the contents, which must have belonged to the house’s previous owners, and were happily surprised.  Inside were handmade costumes complete with painted masks.  Some were beautiful others horrible to behold, but all of them painstakingly crafted.  The crude sac masks forgotten, each child picked their favorite outfit and tried it on.

The pieced together theory on what happened next was that the three had gone trick-or-treating sparing those who treated and killing those who required tricking.  Whatever actually caused the incident though is still as mystery because all Lochlin, Shona, and Barlow have ever said since that night is…

             Trick or treat,
              Smell my feet,
              Give me something good to eat!
            If you don’t,
             Please beware,
             Else all will know, that we were there!

No one knew what to make of it really.  Maybe if they had chosen to be the friar, puppy dog, and angel rather than the witch, devil, and skeleton nothing would have happened.  But they didn’t and something definitely happened.  Thirteen people died that night and16 lost their lives. ”

Janine had no follow up and as she tried to think of anything to keep her co-worker’s attention she realized Jack had won, if you can call it winning, because she was never going to be able to tell that story again.

All I see

Anyone who watches scary movies or crime based dramas knows at least the basics of being a coroner.  Travel in a black vehicle, carry a black bag filled with time of death assessing accoutrements, and always leave with something in the bag.  I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.  Its about eight feet long, three feet wide, and black as night well not in South Carolina.  In the palmetto state the bags are blue, the happy blue of children’s t shirts, and as the finality of a zipper fills my ears that blue… is all I see.

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All rights to the owners

The only night

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Diana Spelton lives at 1331 Blackburnian Way.  She is a newspaper enthusiast who receives the Journal and the Times in addition to her local edition.  She reads the local rag first over her morning coffee which she most commonly enjoys in her east facing rocking chair.  Then after a brief, 10 to 15 minute, shower Diana savors the Times along with her obligatory toast and jam.  The Journal she saves till last.  Tucked neatly between her elbow and slender waist it makes the 192 steps to her bus stop only to be read and recycled before she switches on the desktop in her cubical.  She eats her lunch beneath a small tree which flowers in the spring and turns orange in the fall.  For dinner Diana keeps the TV company till her seemingly mandatory 10:30pm bedtime.  Then 1331 Blackburnian Way goes dark till Diana opens the green front door to slide her white terry clothed arm out for her papers.  The only variation to this routine is Halloween night.

My name is Dwight Menders.  Diana moved into the neighborhood three years ago, and since that moment I have been drawn to her.  Too shy at first to walk up and start a conversation I positioned myself so we could ‘bump’ into each other multiple times per day.  I hoped that we could start a conversation organically rather than the scripted typical interactions I had with people.  But that never happened, she never even noticed me.  No polite smile, how’s the weather, nothing.  I didn’t exist.  She couldn’t see me, but I saw her.

It’s me who places her papers neatly upon her door step.  Me who jogs ahead pressing the cross walk signals so she never has to wait.  Me who brushes her tiny bench beneath the tree free of trash, debris, and loiterers.  Me who shares her laughter at the nightly scripted comedies.  Me who keeps vigilant watch over her as she sleeps.  And it is me who beneath the Halloween mask buys her drink after drink as she sits in her sexy costume on the bar stool. 

The only night she allows herself to drink too much.  The only night she sees me.  The only night I get to do more than just watch Diana through the invisible glass that separates my world from hers.  The only night she never remembers.

*******Happy Halloween!*******

This is my attempt at a scary story, hope it had at least a little bit of a creep factor 😉  I wanted to write something that if told in the dark around a campfire might make you look over your shoulder, and nothing gives me the heebie-jeebies like a watcher you never know is there ! 

So I ask you what’s your favorite camp fire story or creeps you the heck out?

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