Tag Archives: horror

Fiction: Light in My Eyes

I lay down for bed and turn out the lamp, but I still can’t sleep. It’s the light behind my eyes that keeps me awake. The room may be pitch black, I may cover my eyes, squeeze them shut as tight as I can. It doesn’t matter. There’s still that light behind my eyes.

I haven’t had a solid night’s rest in weeks. The doctors all tell me it must be some kind of neurological condition. Neuronal misfires in my brain. Unknown stimulation of the optic nerve, possibly from an as-yet undiscovered tumor. The fact remains: they don’t know, and I can’t sleep.

I have my own theories about the source of that light, but no one would ever believe me. They’d tell me that the things I see coming out of that light aren’t real, that I’m losing my mind. But I know the truth. I know they’re real.

I have the scratches on the insides of my eyelids to prove it.

Fiction: Mob

Damion stands at the edge of the woods, just inside the treeline. His attention is focused on the house 35 yards away, the house that is surrounded by a teeming mass of the living dead. He hears screams from inside, cries for help from the poor souls trapped within. The home has not been breached — yet. But it’s only a matter of time.

He glances down at the two bodies still smoldering at his feet. Their presence troubles him. Sentries? he wonders. That implies intelligence, caution. Organization. It is a new development and not at all what he had been led to expect.

A new scream from the house tears his attention away from his worries. He whips his head back up to see that the undead have begun to pull several boards away from the windows.

“Time to work,” he says, stepping out of the trees. He raises his hands, palms up, fingers curled up to the sky as the first of the living corpses notices him and begins to charge.

“Come get some,” he challenges, and lightning begins to dance between his fingers.

Accusations

She leans against the sink and stares at the message scrawled in the dust on the mirror. Thank god it’s just dust this time, and not blood. Her arms and thighs are criss-crossed with the scissored scars of past blood-lettings. She breathes deeply, heavily, though whether in relief or panic she isn’t sure.

The words etched in grime stare back at her, mocking her with their scorn and accusations.

BITCH! WHORE!

These first two indictments are nothing new to her. She has read them before. Once, they may have shocked her, but no more. Now, they only weary her. It is the third, though, that brings her up short, the third that is new, the third that causes the panic to bloom in her belly again.

TRAITOR!

She can’t remember what she has done to merit this judgment. She can never remember. She only knows that it will cause the blood to flow freely again, is surprised, in fact, that it hasn’t already.

She chides herself for sleeping, then gives herself a pass. She, unlike her other, is only human, after all.

[Originally posted on Ficly in response to this challenge.]

Cabin In the Woods

*sigh*

Much as I love Joss Whedon, _Cabin in the Woods_ reminds me of exactly why I don’t much care for gory horror flicks. Part of the problem is that I have too much empathy for the characters, and their suffering messes with my head (and heart). Some people get off on this; I’m not one of them. That said, there were, in typical Whedon form, some seriously laugh-out-loud moments in the film, especially in the first half hour. And also in typical form, he’s not afraid to torture the characters he makes you love, all while putting his own particular spin on the horror genre and throwing in twists that take the story places you don’t necessarily expect. But this is probably the only Whedon creation that I’ll watch only once.

I had to use James Cameron’s Avatar as a palette cleanser aftwerward.

Vessel

This is a very nicely done short sci-fi/horror flick that capitalizes on the psychological factor of the genre and avoids unnecessary gore.

VESSEL – A short film by Clark Baker from Clark Baker on Vimeo.

VESSEL is a very ambitious scifi / horror short in the vein of Alien, The Thing and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. VESSEL features a blend of old school, practical creature effects and slick, modern day VFX. The story focuses on Liberty Airlines' Flight 298 and its passengers. Shortly after takeoff, the passengers encounter an otherworldly force and are thrown into a fight for their lives!

Director/Producer: Clark Baker
Producer: Ashley Friedlander
Writers: Matt and Ross Duffer
Director of Photography: Kyle Klutz
Composer: Austin Wintory
VFX: Jeremy Hunt
Creature FX: Mark Villalobos
Editor: Brad McGlaughlin

Please contact vesselshort@gmail.com or visit www.vesselmovie.com for more information!

Murder In Her Eyes

There was murder in her eyes. He saw it clear as day.

Problem.

He rubbed the tender spot where she’d hit him with the blunt — and his heart skipped a beat when she pointed the barbaric weapon at him.

“You’re not actually going to use that thing, are you?” he stammered.

“Oh, I should,” she seethed. “I should use it to take you apart piece by piece.”

He licked his lips nervously and cast about for an escape, but she clearly had the advantage.

“C’mon,” he pleaded. “Can’t we be civilized about this?”

“Ha!” she laughed mirthlessly. “We’re way beyond civilized here, Robert.” She paced around him, where she had coldcocked him.

“Bastard!” she hissed. “All this time I was looking for my boy, I came to you for comfort! All this time…” She gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I looked everywhere for my boy — and all this time you were feeding him to me, a piece at a time!

“I should kill you!”

He smiled, then, a psychotic glint to his eyes.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but didn’t he taste wonderful?

Rumination and Horror

He vomits, on all fours and stomach heaving. Long, ropey strings of fluid slide from his mouth to the ground, wet and glistening. It is the color of infected phlegm, the smell powerful, overwhelming. His belly clenches again, and he vomits more of the greasy strands into the dirt.

They puddle before him, a gelatinous mass that slowly congeals into a single entity. He kneels over it, weak from the effort of puking and panting heavily, struggling to take in air again. Sweat falls from his face and forehead, the salty droplets landing on the yellow, stinking mass. He thinks that he has never felt so badly as this.

It pulses — once — a wet squick of sound, like an infant sucking on a pacifier, and stills.

He is breathing more normally now, still feeling shaky but gaining strength — and now the mass is pulsing again, faster than before, still making that god-awful sucking sound.

And then it leaps, sealing itself to his face, and he realizes he was wrong.

It is possible to feel much, much worse.

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Flight

He soared.

He had always wanted to fly, and now he was doing just that. He had no feathers, no wings, but he was flying just the same. The special magic that fathers possessed had made this possible. He laughed with the euphoria of the moment.

The wind blew his hair back, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the pure joy of the experience. He threw his arms out, tried to catch the air, tried to use it to his advantage. It was a thrill beyond belief.

Tumbling over, the last thing four-year-old Jacob Brown saw before the ground broke his tiny body was the figure of his father standing at the top of the cliff, arms still outstretched.

[Originally posted on Ficly.]

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Skin Deep

He works quickly, his deft hands flitting over the instruments with a skill that comes from a vast history of experience. He talks while he works.

“You are my failure,” he says. “I blame only myself.”

He sets one tool down on the tray, picking up the next.

“I raised you better,” he sighs. There is melancholy in his voice. “But alas, the damage is done.”

He pauses for several long moments, intent on his work. Large beads of sweat stand out on his brow. He pays them no notice. He grunts with the exertion of one particularly difficult area, and after a moment he resumes his narrative.

“Do you know,” he asks, “that vanity is considered a deadly sin? Well, it goes with pride, at any rate.” His chuckle is raw and coarse. “I tried to break you of it, but of all my daughters, you were always the one most taken with her looks.”

He makes one final cut and the last of the girl’s skin springs free, stretched taught on the frame above her.

He gestures. “And you see? I warned you. Beauty really is only skin deep.”

[Originally posted on Ficly.]

Flight

Lightning flashed, and the boys ran, pumping their legs as hard as they could.

“Did you see that?” the first cried.

“No, and neither did you! Keep running!”

“I can’t,” came the reply. “I’ve got to stop for a sec.”

They dropped behind a fallen log and sucked air in ragged gasps, the panic of their flight showing its toll on them. Blood roared in their ears as their scared and exhausted bodies tried to compensate for the brutal run.

“Was that what I think it was?” the first asked. The reply came as a nod. “How can that be? I thought they were just legend?”

The second shook his head. “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter now. We just have to get away. Ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. We’re almost there.”

They stood to run again, and another flash of lightning illuminated the shadow looming over them, arms outstretched, a wooden pole shoved up its back. They screamed, and the thunder boomed.

In the morning, the ring of scarecrows circling the town had increased by two.

[Originally posted on Ficly.]