Short stories & poems

Set on foot identifiying on the darkened path. The wisps that are haunting will escape. She will save them, she's their hero. Its her dream to walk back and from. She had to go... Drifting into seeing or hearing of her again. Well lit path and her only life brings them back to life. They lose hope further inside the mysterious woods. What's there are lives have been seen a spirit lasting impressions. They kept talk with her they seen her and know her. She will be back this time she was seen and slaughtered to death. Her very own sight will give them their life back in a frame set by herself. They all needed to know what she of all seen its her new home; she went home. Her happy place is her own world, something that can only understand her and only her. They never met inside taking her life and making this world her way to understand, it was not her being imposed or invited. Of all that needed to rest set aside her own path and tired paws; nothing to rest a shoulder. Lifeless to her encounter. Of all can see the hearing of the winded forest of death and sports and know it like she does. the memory of her last visions ended giving her own life to plead to know what was always there going on in unknown communications. Unknown and unfamiliar awareness to what was strange making struggle to not be able to identify with the only one can be needed. Reached at out of the woods caught into a fragile state. The last spirit realm deserted without her died and screamed without her there keeping them safe. She vaguely remembers victims by name and scratched by ill fated gore. One by one put to their own death. Nothing ever rested, Nothing ever escaped. She seen the most explanation of death to their pure life and things to lose. All life treasured and used and lived growth was a path into her world. Leave it all- it was all a trap to keep them from the start. Making them wail and lose their senses in darkness. The darkened path set a frost that burned to the touch. All pry to set themself free what attempt made them slip into their life burning visible to her screaming and wailing vanish into a mist. Now they all are wandering mists. Any life they were to her was not clarifying near her own fatal captive death. The unfriendly approach made by what grabbed her betrayed her (a cat)...

The Reserved dinner is placed in a captivating town. Expecting the tourism routed path. Set on foot several stragglers making it to the checkpoint. Taking all they could carry had nothing to being expected; as arrived. They were safe and let about their travel and expectations. Further details are informed committed to later details to further their accommodations. The director had passed unconcience the one and only holding further case of the planned escape. Clutched in hand and arms finding the visible encounter blaring and unaware of who they are expecting. Walking toward the counter in line person per customer. Given the greeting and a sense of torture held their breath. Getting past the first checkpoint, going against odds. Their grocery bags set along cleared counter space. Working on a late snack that can nourish their hunger. Making silence saving their breath of half to death misery. Staying quite while the door resumed a peering of who named faced could make of what can be explained. With the handover gesture giving a warm soup a welcome to your inlet and stay. A warm bath sounding exotic. The already furnished design would be restful. Reading near dark hours a quiet silent type of activity. Disturbed sleep was often from trauma of tiredness. Instant waking to a daily schedule had in mind the minded blown riff. And planning the escape by being captivated while a travel made by tourism agents. Unknowing they even made it to their accommodations. Unexplained planned off turn route to find their self disappearing leaving least unfriendly encounter of delusional voices. Unheard to everyone looked the same angry half-eaten breakfasts. Holding on to their hope nothing seemed to be communicating with them. All they catch up being seen to team up. They did pick up a few hikers going their way. Knowing they will be separated and held against their willing ability. And to study what would be critical to find themselves drawing apart; separated and going against each other. The negative insult, the crazed laugh manic ongoing about "let's get dinner started" Hung cage-like for captured animals feeding dwells for nourishing times to keep them awake. Noticing they can all be the same; looking grungy and savage torn and tattered faces and hair. making all sound hysterical to what they really are. Now the under greeting breath would leave the unconcience waking up being descriptive and told how time changes the status of how he appeared. His satchel sat perched in their backpack. Inspired by his own plans and hope to find his friends. Miserable to find hope still. Being taunted about how they will find their way out of here. The look of fresh hooved stature and figure. Keeps them hung drifting slowly draining their strength from their over heated life. Making sipping and weak voices someone drinking out of their souvenir cup. The footsteps slowed talking to in normal conversation ability. Hearing of trophes and stories ever needed to be heard again and again. So proud til this say and bloody sport breath. Unending making motivational speech and slurs and howls. His eye lids blinking and a diving hit to his head. Foot dragging behind him, dragging him away and he lay inside a darkend room. When he wakes they will find him and doing guess work of his movement. Maybe they have a warm heart and could just be mean. A sense of out going lights droning noises and lack of movement. Door jeering shut will never be opened he senses panick ridden in this room he will be in gone and ignored.

Sleep was lousy thing to do. Working off energy and keep picking at the edibles. Imagine to be freed and making tortuous attempts to be found again and again. Some never had left had hope to die. These given sacrifices to the only living to survive past. Hinges torn and antique looked rusted and over used to sit to glare at their immaculent scene. Over looking the dock and boats. The peaceful way to never go and struggle into down river heels and survive at their opposing techniques. The beauty of it all the falling branches and ingrown flowers brushing a path freely expressions for air and exercise. Baker and Grill neatly placed and used over and over. Hearty fault used menus by ongoing traffic stopping to catch up on the warmed brew of coffee and talk. Good fellow talk stoppers stammer sometimes and fall into tears of who they were. Going against their wishes ongoing about their own life to sacrifice. Sometimes they had it all. And still seek into their opportunity by skill and enough work to keep them and busy making it in life. The nonstop will never be seen and for it all became and sat unknowing of everything else in a better place. Serving customers is a must and keeping their home a place of their own. No one to change their music or their pace ongoing pages go blurr and give up into their fright and nightmares that wont go treated and hesitate all else to give any warm wishes to keep strong and going on how they will be finished. Its manic to see what life they had been to be understood unfairly and keeping their way hearty. To be understood is underestimated. Males keep their path haunted and hard to falsify and protected. Hunting and camping news to most set unidentified trails to keep their grill going. Nothing could ever go wrong. Men kept their warm gloves and coats as if keeping what is so important to them with them and never can feel their warmth. And ever has any food became a sense of living which their biggest wish came true. They won't change from leaving their old boots for what they really deserve and kept everything to their hearts and above their belt. They had lost all what their from and have been successful to prove what their ontaking hearts can be. Proving the nightmarish theme may their wishes go as planned. They have everything to lose and kept their bedside their place of unknown rest. Set off foot a travler might seem captive any unreality making his protruding thoughts more real. When tampered and found something hassled of theirs things go wrong and overturn this world upside down. They will never be happy and are tired of it all. "It always goes to hell" They can never do nothing and to prove they all had it coming. The End of the world suffers from it all will never cease, the blaring signals and death ill related to be again and again. Overall road kill hazards win over a look over again given another chance to breath. To keep trying to look normal hearsay to break the whitenoise and waking lights. Set along paths to deny any of it will go away. We mean no harm or scare. The least bidden is nighmarish to this world. Comfort of attraction and inset ongoing. Keeping interests in difference. Nothing can be retained to remain. The many interests set upon denial and deserve the worsened pattern. Going against many wishes living without any air are light breaking through walls. The tiring wails and cries paned the walls. Bloody walls covered in death sequenced many deaths. Anything was sacrificed not a wink; not a breath, or a drop of life detected. Needing interaction and truth of life and set in a difference paths lit for ongoing capture. Coaxed and ridden by lurking offensive welcome. Made to hesitate overall given to prove any claw markings engraved floors or wisps of lifetakings. Breaks my breath of what is not even spoken.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Angie knew what Viv was doing, and she had to warn Williams. He was getting too involved, too blinded by the alluring glow Viv — that damn, charming woman — cast around her. He needed to understand she wasn’t perfect. He needed to know she wasn’t who he thought she was.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Angie measured her steps, her nose wrinkling instinctively as the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air. The garage grew darker with every passing second. The oppressive silence unsettled her—part of her was relieved she heard nothing, but another part knew it could only mean one thing: Viv already knew she was here.

The thought made her blood run cold. Viv’s cleverness was terrifying, but Angie reminded herself why she was doing this—for Williams.

Thud! She froze.

3… 2… 1…

Turning sharply, she spotted scattered boxes in the corner. It was probably just rats in this damned garage, but the image of Viv’s potential crimes loomed over her, making her skin crawl. The smell of blood was so vivid now that Angie could taste it—coppery and bitter, clinging to her tongue and throat. Her stomach churned as she fought the urge to vomit. Whether it was the stench or sheer terror, she couldn’t stay here much longer.

Each step forward felt like a mistake. She reminded herself: evidence and warn him. Evidence and warn. That’s it.

The space cleared, and harsh yellow light flooded the room, illuminating what lay ahead. Angie’s breath hitched as her eyes landed on the gruesome scene. A table stood in the center, its loose straps dangling like silent witnesses. Tools lay scattered around it, stained with reddish-brown smears. Bags and instruments hinted at horrors she couldn’t fathom. Her mind reeled, filling in the blanks with grotesque imaginings.

She doubled over and vomited.

Her body shook as she clung to the wall for support, bile rising every time her eyes strayed back to the table. Nausea clawed at her, but she couldn’t look away.

Then, a voice broke through the suffocating silence.

It was soothing, calm—a light at the end of the tunnel.

“Angie.”

Her head snapped up. Williams stood there, perfectly still, his figure silhouetted in the yellow glow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes pierced through her.

Angie gasped for air, her voice raw and trembling as she managed to croak, “She’s not who she says she is.”

“I know,” Williams replied, his tone steady, almost chilling.

His unyielding gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

Ella de cabellos negros rondaba por la cumbre de aquella lejana loma. La luz de la luna iluminaba su rostro moreno y ojeroso, curvado desde su lumbar hasta su cervical, desfigurado por algo indiferente de los años, algo oculto.

Un lobo hambriento a la luz de la luna sólo podía significar peligro. Éste se escondía en la hierba grisácea, se camuflaba y con la paciencia de un cazador experto removía la tierra bajo sus garras.

Una mujer y un lobo. Un asesino despiadado y una mariposa débil.

Ella saltó hacia la figura del can, sorprendiéndolo por completo. Se agarró a su pelaje y arrancó su piel. Su cuerpo cual arma, envolvió al lobo y lo atravesó con su brazo izquierdo. Los gemidos, la sangre y la luz de la luna adornaban el lugar.

La mujer usó todo su rostro y lo introdujo en el estómago del lobo, logrando que el animal de su último respiro. Se deleitó con los órganos tibios del ser y gozó de su festín, finalmente en cálido silencio.

A lo lejos, una pequeña niña perdida presenció toda la escena, ella sólo estaba buscando a su madre. Su cuerpo entero reaccionó al ver esa figura familiar devorando al animal salvaje. Comenzó a transpirar helado, se paralizó de pies a cabeza y las lágrimas brotaron desesperantes.

"Mamá" quería gritar. Ni una palabra salía de sus labios pálidos. La noche sólo proporcionaba una ventisca gélida y un silencio interrumpido por los sonidos horripilantes al remover tejidos viscosos con tus fauces. Las lágrimas salientes de la pequeña la abrumaron tanto que tuvo que suspirar por aire, soltando un estruendo dirigido directamente a los oídos de la fiera.

La mujer levantó su cabeza del vientre del animal. Su rostro estaba manchado por un líquido rojo y pedazos de tejidos colgantes en sus cabellos cual adornos. Sus labios estaban irritados por haber hecho contacto descuidado con los ácidos gástricos, lo que producía que se mezcle su propia piel con la del animal, terminando en una miscelánea escarlata. Miró en dirección del sonido, ella denotaba una mirada inhumana con dotes únicamente depredadores; esclerótica rojiza, iris de noche y pupilas inexistentes.

El peso de mil rocas se posó sobre la indefensa niña al conectar miradas con su madre. Quería correr, quería gritar, no sólo lo quería; lo necesitaba. Las más remotas fibras de su ser se removieron, conspiraron para mover al menos un músculo; pero, lo único que consiguieron es temblar. La pequeña sentía el pavor en sus huesos y no podría combatirlo aunque quisiera.

Lentamente, la mujer cargó su propio peso en sus extremidades y avanzó con dificultad hacia la pequeña. Los movimientos que sus brazos hacían eran físicamente imposibles; capaces de fracturarse en otros cuerpos, pero no en el de ella. Avanzó con peligrosos ángulos e hizo que sus ramas secas sigan en camino. Su mirada jamás abandonaba a la niña. El silencio ahora plagado del sonido de huesos rotos y torcidos.

Un hilo de saliva caía por sus labios maltratados mientras avanzaba. A su paso dejaba una estela de sangre, viceras y tela saliente de su vestido rasgado. El camino que la separaba de la pequeña se hacía más corto, y al acercarse más se podían ver las lágrimas brotando de ambos seres.

Al estar frente a la niña, un único pensamiento cruzó la mente de la mujer. Moría por hacerlo. Se despojó del espacio que las separaba y la abrazó. Besó su cabeza y disfrutó del momento. Cerraron sus ojos y sonrieron sin darse cuenta, sus propios cuerpos cobraron conciencia y se alcanzaron para prometer nunca dejarse ir de nuevo.

Ambas cubiertas de sangre y otros sentimientos gozaron del momento y apartaron sus miedos. Madre e hija reunidas finalmente.

Your eyes fall downward, fixating onto your hands. They're fidgety, awfully fidgety. You watch as you pick at the skin surrounding your nailbed. You can't seem to stop yourself, it's frustrating. With a hum, you force yourself to avert your gaze from your fingers and to look up at the people surrounding you.

Huh?

Immediately, you notice zippers crawling up and down every person's form. They look rushed, sewn onto the people's skin. And for a moment, you can't help but wonder what is beneath.

Your thoughts are disrupted, disputed and thrown into the air before you can even process them. Your eyes squeeze shut just before you hit the ground before you. You feel water soak through the back of your shirt, freezing cold against your warm skin.

A hand brushes against your shoulder, and you turn your head to see a woman with her arm outstretched toward you. You wonder what she wants, but then remember that you're on the ground, and you grab her hand firmly to pull yourself up.

Looking up to thank the woman, you see it. She doesn't have a mouth, and it seems to have been replaced with yet another zipper. You grimace, closing your eyes and opening them. Closing, opening, closing, opening. Nothing seems to work. You feel like you're going insane, and maybe you are.

Quickly, your hands move upward and grab the woman by the hair. A free hand of yours moves over to her neck, where a zipper is located. You inhale sharply, closing your eyes a mere second before pulling it down.

You shouldn't have.

Blood and.. something else you can't place, spills out from her neck. It's gross, it's sticky, and you want to run away. You can't move, though. What the fuck? It falls onto the floor along with her now almost limp body, but you can still see her, see her scared and betrayed look, as if those zippers are.. normal. They aren't. Right?

You don't realize it yet.

You gag on nothing, before hunching over and throwing up right beside her body. No. This all just has to be a dream. It can't actually be happening, right? You didn't just.. murder somebody. If it can even be called somebody.

You run a hand through your hair, and that's when you realize.

You have one too.

My shoes make a quiet sound every time they hit the old, cracked concrete path I walk on. I twist my lips in annoyance as the overgrown grass hits my ankles now and then causing them to itch. The ghost-gray mist blankets the ground creating a haziness over the dead grass and weeds.

The sky above me is dim and gloomy as clouds consume the sun's rays. I tighten the red zip-up jacket around me as I continue to walk. Trees surround the open field along with old houses. One is my childhood home.

I didn't have the guts to go back in. At least, not when my parent's memorial is happening. The family had decided to have it in the place they were happiest in. Which is funny, because they made that house my nightmare. The constant screaming and slamming of doors. The holes that sat in the walls that were so old the wallpaper had started to peel off. The broken doors that were kicked in and never got fixed.

I shiver as a slow breeze blows. The tops of trees sway in the distance and I sigh at the tranquility. My parents loved each other, but they were tragic. They loved each other, but not enough to leave. Not enough to save me from seeing the brokenness that seeped through their own lives and eventually bleed into mine. I hate them for raising me in that environment. Yet I love them because they are my parents.

Were. They were my parents.

Even now, I can't let them go. I haven't spoken to them in years. I haven't been back to this house in almost a decade. Which is funny, because I still feel trapped here. Trapped in that house. Trapped hearing the screaming and fighting. Therapy hasn't helped. One therapist suggested I come back but that was years ago and I never did.

I'm here now though.

The sky has become darker and the mist has amplified causing an eerie feeling to settle over me. This place has always felt weird. I catch a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye when I near the house.

She had long dark hair, braided into a crown around her small head. Her bleak pale skin blended into the mist. It was me. I was sitting on the small concrete pathway humming to myself as I scribbled on the ground with chalk. I looked to be around eight. I remember this day. It was when one of the worst arguments happened. Mom and Dad got into another fight and he threw a glass vase at her. I ran inside and found her on the ground bleeding with him bent down at her side profusely apologizing.

I walk closer and a small stick from one of the trees must have fallen onto the pathway because I hear a crunch come from under my foot. The little girl's head shoots up and she stares me down before smiling gently.

"It's okay," she said. Pushing off the ground with her hands and then dusted off the dirt that had collected on her long blue skirt. The white blouse was stained with blood but it didn't seem to bother her. "You can let go now."

I was too stunned to speak back for a moment. I stood still, letting the breeze blow my hair behind me. Blowing open the unzipped jacket that I had wrapped around me earlier. My arms dangled at my side and I processed what she said. I looked down for a second before lifting my head back up but the little girl had already walked off. She walked further and further into the field opposite to the house till the mist became too thick and she disappeared.

I go to follow in her path but Aunt Sheril's heels clicked on the rotted wood of the porch as she walked out of the door and over towards me. "Are you coming back inside?"

I nodded wordlessly and followed her back into the house, but not before taking a quick look towards the field where the girl disappeared. I now stand in front of the antique vases that hold my parents' ashes feeling a little lighter. Letting go of the trauma this house has brought me. That they raised me in. Finding forgiveness. Allowing the small child that still exists in me to be healed.

The young girl shrugged and leaned back into the cold brick wall casually, "don't worry about it."

The figure slammed the duffle bag back down onto the table and puffed their cheeks up before blowing the air between their lips harshly. "What do you want."

"What do I want," she laughed shaking her head. "You know what I want. I want you to go to the judge and tell them my friend is being framed."

"I can't do that."

"Yes," Anina stood up straight before walking to the small table between. She leaned towards the figure that shifted their body to the side. The dimly lit area provided them the perfect cover beside the hood that was secured around their head. "You will, or else I leak this to the press and everybody in this small godforsaken town finds out exactly what you did."

"You wouldn't," they muttered darkly. Their body went rigid.

"I have nothing else to lose."

She stared down the hooded figure for a couple of seconds longer. The fear that she felt before has completely vanished. Anina straightened her shoulders before giving one last glare and turning around. Lisa did not kill the mayor, and she would be the one to prove it.

Come along, they said. It would be a new, fresh start, they said.

But nowhere did they say that sickness would ravage the travelers. Nowhere did they say that so many of us wouldn't make the trip over. And what of the ocean? Will the creatures lurking underneath murky seas allow us passage or strike at our ship full of easy prey.

King George was a monster. King George was unfair. As true as both of those things were, King George, contained one other key personality trait. He was predictable. With King George, I knew what to expect and how to navigate life so that I could at least get by, but now on my way to a new life, I knew absolutely nothing at all.

I knew nothing about what waited of me beyond the endless seas. I knew nothing about the land I was to soon call home or the people already inhabited there. Although if it's anything like this journey so far, I can see this exciting new opportunity morphing into my doom before my very eyes.

Because horrors aren't in the the fantastical; the true horrors are the things lurking in our everyday world that we simply don't know.

I'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my breath hitching as I took notice of everyone around me. The fact that so many people were out at this time of night was unsettling enough, but this sparked a feeling of nauseating anxiety you'd normally only feel in a nightmare.

At first I saw it with the man that was walking in front of me. Then the woman walking past me. Even the big dog who's leash was tied around a lamp post across the street. Everyone around me had these.. weird zippers over their skin. As if their flesh was nothing but a suit. Their positions varied between the people. Some had them running from their temples to their shoulder. Some had them going straight down the back of their heads. One of them I could even see had them running fully around their wrists. My mind ran wild with overwhelming paranoia. I couldn't even begin to make sense of any of this. Was this some kind of sick joke? Are they maybe filming a movie? Am I supposed to be here?

That last thought echoed in my mind.. until I eventually came to the conclusion that I wasn't. I didn't feel safe there. So I turned around, planning to just.. leave. I didn't want to cause any trouble or draw any attention to myself, so I turned and left, refusing to look up from the concrete below me. But as I walked, I stopped as I saw a pair of shoes standing motionless in front of me. I'd never felt such dismay strike my heart, and I audibly let a small shaky breath escape my lips. A grave mistake.

Mustering the little stoicism and courage I had left, I slowly allowed my gaze to travel up to the person in front of me: A woman that seemed around my age. She stood there, almost as still as a statue, giving me an oddly warm and.. human smile. One that looked so genuine that, for a second, I almost felt safe again. But then I watched with a growing primal terror as her eyes had slowly rolled sunk back into her head, and I could hear the sound of something unzipping. My nose was immediately hit with the horrid scent of what I could only imagine to be a rotting corpse as I could visibly see the skin around the woman's head start to... loosen.

I did not stay to see what those things looked like on the inside. I didn't even return home that night. I ran back to my work building and begged my mother to pick me up. Only after I explained the situation to her did she agree. I slept at her house for a week, until I felt safe again.

To this day I fear that one of them may have followed me. I can't sleep right. Every noise I hear back at my apartment, every time I walk past a person in the middle of any street, I get uneasy. Like I'm going to be sick to my stomach.

Please. I ask, for your safety.. hell, for your sanity. Do not step foot on Hollow Boulevard.

It was a strange thing, to be singled out in the middle of a bustling city. Sure enough, though, the red dot appeared on Micah's chest, proving that not even the crowds of people can provide the anonymity he was so desperate for. He just needed a half second to make his move. He needed a small opening to get himself out. Except it was hard to focus on anything other than the red dot on his chest and the hoards of people rushing into him and past him.

It was a mindfuck, that's for sure. Who in the crowd was working with the Sniper? Scanning faces for any sign of recognition was overwhelming when there were hundreds of them. Scanning buildings for any sign of where the Sniper may be was pointless when he was surrounded by skyscrapers as far as the eye can see.

It was supposed to be a quick job for some fast cash. This certainly wasn't of the job description. Even with rushed document signings and whispers behind closed doors, never in his wildest dream did he think this was was where he would be all these months later.

The worst part was Micah really thought he had him beat this time. He thought he had done enough to get a step ahead for long enough to disappear. The worst part was that Micah had gotten his hopes up.

But it was no use. The Sniper has found him and he feared he would never know peace again.