Tag: scary
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Vengeance
This story is dedicated to the fuck face at Goodwill one Sunday morning…
Lyndon Crallis drove his car to Goodwill because he had a small donation to give. He drove down the path to the back entrance and found a mound of boxes and garbage bags full of stuff waiting to be picked up by the Goodwill handlers. Parked outside the door was another vehicle. Lindon didn’t think anything of it; surely this person wouldn’t hamper his progress
He opened his trunk and pulled out his intended donations, and stacked them neatly with the rest of the pile. He went back to his car, hoping that the person in front would move so he could pass.
It did not move. Lyndon saw the man sitting there in his seat, just waiting… Perhaps he was waiting for help to carry some heavy donations out of his SUV, but since Lindon didn’t want to stay trapped behind him, he walked up to the driver’s side door to ask if he would move closer to the building.
“Excuse me sir,” said Lyndon, “Could you please pull up closer to the side of the building so I can pass through?”
“No. Just put your vehicle in reverse and leave.”
Lyndon persisted. “I’d really hate to run into someone while I’m backing up. There is plenty of room on the side that you could move over and I could pass through.”
“I’m not moving. It’s your fault for getting here early. You should just wait. Or you can go in reverse.”
Lyndon’s patience had left him. He didn’t want it to come to this. He was trying hard to turn a new leaf and be a good citizen, but his pride wouldn’t let him.
“Alright sir,” he said, turning around. And then, loudly enough for the man to hear out of his open window. “May all your tires burst and you are stranded here for 3 hours.”
Lyndon stepped back into his car and watched as the man flipped him the bird. Lindon put his car in reverse and backed up around the corner to a side parking spot. He parked his car and pulled a large tactical knife out of his glove box. He stepped out and walked back to the SUV and jabbed his knife straight into the back passenger tire. It popped and hissed as Lyndon pulled the blade out and made his way to the driver side back tire.
“What are you doing? You mother fucker!” the man stepped out of his car as Lyndon popped his second tire.
“Making good on my curse,” Lyndon said, a crooked smile stretched across his face. He hadn’t felt this joyous since his last vengeance.
“I’ll call the police you lunatic!”
Lyndon pushed past him and slashed the driver side front tire. He turned and stared at the man. “So?”
The man shook as his car sunk to its hub caps with Lyndon’s final stroke. Lindon walked back around to the man.
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t curse you with a knife to the gut?”
He brandished the blade near the man’s belly, making quick slashing movements. Lyndon’s skin grew hot with the intensity of his furious ferocity. He loved it. He felt free; alive!
The man backed up into his car, his eyes welling, streaming with tears.
Lyndon jabbed at the man’s eye, the man yelped, but Lindon’s blade did not cut. He simply dabbed the flowing water at the man’s left eye, wetting his blade. He brought it to his mouth and a savored the emotional outburst on his tongue.
“You’re lucky. You saved yourself this day, you old fuck. Be kinder to people from now on, won’t you? I’d hate to run into you again.”
Lyndon folded his knife and walked away. The man fell to the pavement as the Goodwill employees finally opened the door.
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Frost Wraith
Annabelle sat at the family piano in the great hall. The candles lit; the chandelier, glistening, spreading the light, revealing the room to any onlooker. There were none, however, though even if there were, their presence would be lost in the music. Annabelle’s nimble fingers gently rapt the keys melodiously, her prodigious skill echoing in the manner, a symphony of her own design grasping her consciousness leaving little to distract her.
Even her long golden hair, which tempted her fingers to set it in place could not attain her attention. Her keen focus lay on the keys as she spread the width of the instrument, delicately tapping from one key to the next.
It seemed like she would never stop, but silence abruptly overtook the great hall and all that was left was a remnant reverberation of the final key struck. Her head hung low. She stared at the keys, searching for the next one. Her meditation lifted and her mind raced to figure out what was next until she heard something peculiar.
It startled her right out of thought. She looked up to see a gentleman standing there, his white gloved hands clapping. He was handsome, and Annabelle blushed as she was in her nightgown; this was highly unusual for a gentleman caller to be here at such an odd hour, without even an announcement. Her servants must be asleep by now.
Her face reddened and her lips tightened. How rude of him! She stood up, forgetting her present garments.
“Excuse me! Who the hell are you? It is 30 past midnight, and I am without a chaperone. If you wish to see me, you need to talk to my father at a decent hour.”
“You play beautifully,” he said. He had a handsome face, his smile beguiling. Though a gentleman, he had not shaved, a pleasant stubble grew on his chin, his jaw line pronounced, leading to a set of emerald green eyes that Annabelle couldn’t help but linger on. Bewitching, with a beckoning call that almost made her forget her anger. Almost.
Her eyes ignited again and she raise her hand to strike him across the face… There should have been a cracking sound, of five digits colliding with a bristly cheek, but there was none.
Had she missed? Her eyes had blinked for a second, but as she saw, he stood there, unshaken, practically laughing at her.
“That was very unsavory,” he said. “Treating a guest so enraptured with your… fingering…”
His eyes trailed down her body, they were cold, icily prickling every skin through her thin dressings. Her whole body tightened. She brought her arms inside her body instinctively, trying to stay warm, trying to stay safe.
Backing away, she said, “I’m warning you, my father has taught me boxing. I will fight.”
“I like a fighter,” he said, instantly closing the distance between them.
She gasped. It was as if she blinked and he was upon her. His hand caressed her cheek. “I find a dose of adrenaline,” he continued, “really makes it extra juicy.”
She pushed against him, but her hands went right through. It was so cold.
He smiled. “Tsk tsk.” He body changed. He became like vapor. A cold, icy fog that gripped her. His fingertips, piercing like talons, clutched her inner being, brought her closer. His face, skeletal now, opened its mouth, a stench of decay, breathed as it enveloped her mouth in a soul crushing embrace.
The servants found her the next morning. Her lips torn off, eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her nightgown stripped, her back sliced with ten claw like marks…
This was the first encounter with the frost wraith.
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The Game
No one knows who created the game. Maybe it existed when the first cars drove off the lot and onward to their destinations, but whoever it was probably didn’t see this coming or intend for it to happen.
The game, as Harold Pfinster and his friends called it, was a driving game. On any stretch of road with two lanes, driver A would pull up to driver B in order to drive with him/her, side by side. The fun was to make driver B uncomfortable, so they would, inevitably, slow down or speed up. Driver A, in turn, would keep pace, in order to keep the fun going.
Harold would argue that he invented the game. No one he knew of mentioned it, and his friends were shocked when he taught them the game. It was fun until one Friday night when he and his three friends went driving late at night looking for something to do. Unfortunately their little town didn’t have any cool hangouts for teens. At age seventeen and an itch to explore the adult nightlife, the group had very few options.
“We could go walking around Wal-Mart again,” said one of them.
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The Witch Doctor Part 4
Lance invited Paul to his apartment later that week. There was a lot to do. He opened the door to his apartment and surveyed his open living room. The area rug had to go. He didn’t want to ruin it, after tonight… He wasn’t sure just how it was going to turn out.
The witch doctor had given him an incantation to use, which Lance felt extremely skeptical about. It would suck if he had to go through with the whole ritual and it didn’t work.
He walked into the room and after setting a brown paper bag on the floor, he pulled the furniture and the rug away, to clear the center of the room. Then he reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out a piece of white chalk.
It felt dry in his hand, and a shiver ran up his wrist as he stooped to draw a large, white circle on the floor.
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