“Hey it’s moving!”
“Ask it something.”
“Ok. Ok. Can you hear us?”
“Told you this was cool.”
“Go on, ask it again.”
“What’s your name?”
“It said it’s name is Billy.”
“Hi Billy. Welcome to our home.”
“It’s responding again. Awesome.”
“What do you want, Billy?”
“Play? You want to play?”
“Are you a friendly spirit?”
“What are you?”
“It just said demon!”
“I don’t like this anymore.”
“Make it stop!”
“Wait, there’s more!”
“Let’s get out of here!”
“MAKE IT STOP!”
“I CAN’T. THE FIGURE’S STUCK TO THE BOARD!”
“I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!”
“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!”
“It stopped. It’s over. I think we’re safe now. What’s wrong?”
#Horror #Paranormal #HarryHorrors
Doctor Dimitri Vallen rubbed his hands underneath a stream of water. His rough hands slowly caressed together back and forth as the cold liquid ran down. After satisfied with his cleaned hands, Dr. Vallen shut off the sink.
He was nervous yet again. He can't help but quake inside. It is a simple procedure that he has done many times before, but his nerves always unease before he had to perform. Everything he knew was at stake with this one procedure. One misstep can become disastrous.
"I appreciate you coming to see me on such short notice." He calmly told his quiet patient. "I know you are nervous, but this is just a simple procedure."
Dr. Vallen placed his tray of fresh polished tools next to his bound, nude patient. Her muffled cries went unheard as the sharpest scalpel aimed for one of her tearful eyes.
"Let's begin, shall we?"
The Smiling Man
There stood the Smiling Man again. Always watching, always smiling. That mangled toothy grin contorted from ear to ear in the shape of a damaged crescent moon. His hollow black eyes were like a doll's eyes. So blank and lifeless yet you know he was looking at you. He followed me for weeks, sometimes from a distance and other times around every corner. Whenever I looked around I could see him stand there. Always watching, always smiling
I first heard about this menacing stalker from a disturbed individual named Jonathan Fich. He was a bright young man if not overzealous when it came to talking about how the government had complete control or when he believed his parents were in the devil's pockets. Yet despite all these wild accusations the most bizarre of them all was how he described the one I mentioned before: the Smiling Man. During our sessions together, Fich always looked to the ground. He would never dare look any one person in the eye because as he claimed then the Smiling Man would be there. Always watching, always smiling.
I finally got him to talk about this Smiling Man. We sat at the table together as he went into great detail of this devilish figure.
"He is not a man." He would say. Trembling nonstop as his gaze remained focused at his feet. "He is not a ghost or spirit or demon. He is something else. I could hear him at night. He stands outside my door. He tells me to endure horrible acts on myself."
"What sort of acts, Mr. Fich?" I asked him.
"Just things. Cutting myself. Slashing others. Murder, rape, torture. Horrible deeds. What's worst is that he'll be there. Just staring and smiling like the sick sadist it truly is."
Then he finally looked up at me. His bright eyes quivered rapidly. His breathing heavily as if something was squeezing his lungs.
"You want to know what truly is the worst thing about him-" He tried to continue but his focus broke. He started staring at someone or something behind me. His timid nature turned violent as he flipped the table and fought off the orderlies that tried to restrain him. "HE'S HERE! HE'S RIGHT THERE, DOCTOR. HE'S STANDING RIGHT BEHIND YOU. HOW DO YOU DAMNED IDIOTS NOT SEE HIM?"
After his frightening outburst, we confined him to his living quarters. An hour later the orderlies found him with his thumbs and eye sockets cloaked in his own blood. They had to wrestle him again as he attempted to gouge out what remained of his eyes so he could not see this Smiling Man anymore. The same night he slit his own throat in the infirmary with a broken glass shard.
I failed him. I failed to save his troubled thoughts. Cases like these don't usually get to me but with what happened to Mr. Fich I couldn't help but completely grieve for this lost soul. As I grieved for him that night I thought I saw rows of teeth gleam through the darkness of my apartment.
Jonathan Fich was buried at his parent's estate under their request. I myself attended the funeral that was held. As his casket was lowered into the earth and the priest begged our Lord for the safe guidance of Mr. Fich's soul something drew me to look up at his childhood home. There in the window that was once his room, there he stood. The every horrid entity that had tormented Mr. Fich for so long, and his gaze was now fixated on me. My lungs grew heavy and my heart beat faster on first glance. I tried to ignore it but his presence was already made. He was there. Always watching, always smiling.
My first sighting of this grinning phantom was not the worst to follow. He followed me like a rotten stench. He appeared again when young Mr. Fich's parents threatened a lawsuit against me for the negligent care for their son. He was there when my office was boarded up, and there yet again when my reputation was ruined.
Now I sit alone in my apartment with the exception of three to accompany my sorrow: This foul-tasting bottle of whiskey, a loaded handgun, and him, that damned spirit, standing right in front of me. I now know his curse won't stop. He'll spread from person to person like a virus and we are powerless before him. I stared up at him as he stared back at me. Even when I'm departed, he'll be there.
Always watching, always smiling.
She knelt over the body that was once her best friend.
Her lips quenched with fresh blood.
She became one with the legend of the northern woods.
Two Sentence Horror
Out of all the paintings in his gallery, this one disturbed me the most. Especially when I realized that wasn't red paint he used.
The Friend Behind the Willow
I always heard her sing and play by the old willow,
Where she said she met her friend Ella there.
I didn't mind at first,
It was common for a child her age
To make imaginary friends.
One day I summoned myself to my daughter's side
Where she drew a dreary picture.
"I'm making a drawing for Ella. She looks sad."
She said as she continued her art.
My smile wiped away as I sheltered
My daughter from her friend Ella,
Who laid by the old willow
Still midst of her decay
Rope and broken branch rested on her lap.
She stalked me for too long.
Her heart poisoned with lustful love.
I told her I never wanted to see her again.
A few days later I went to visit my girlfriend
Only to find the lovesick stalker there.
Dressed in her clothes.
Wearing her face like a Halloween mask.
Whose Hunting Whom?
Two days ago, we started off with ten of us, experienced and heavily armed, hunting deep in the Pine Barrens for this alleged monster. Now only I remain, lost and alone, stalked by something in the trees.
The Stoker Cases
She finally awoke, naked and woozy, in the bed of an old, yet very elegant hotel room. Her head and stomach felt like her insides rocked round on an unstable boat. She frantically grabbed for the trash bin and released her contents. The foul stench of expelled acids tainted her nostrils.
Rolling away from the bin she tried so hard to recount her moments the night before. The details were still muddled but still able make them out. She last recalled her case going nowhere. Four dead; their heads found cleaved off, all blonde, no bodies. The she was assigned to an arrogant new partner, hopefully it was temporary. She wanted to get away from it all. It was late. A stop at a bar that led to a couple drinks. Then a beautiful woman approached her and bought her a couple more. The fuzziness was clearing. She and the woman talked for while and then she blindly followed her back to this hotel room. Once inside, the woman placed her lips on hers. The woman's hands passionately caressed all over her body and torn away her clothing. The last she remembered was the hungry look in her pearl eyes then blackness.
She rolled towards the clock and noticed a folded piece of paper. Perhaps her one-night stand left a message. She picked it up and read the message inside, "I hope you had a nice night. Found a lead in our case. I had the liberty of picking out an outfit for you for work. Look sharp! Meet you at the diner downstairs at noon."
She glanced over at the chair. New work cloths laid out on top; shirts, pants, socks, the works. All appeared to been lifted from her closet back at her apartment. Glancing back at the clock. 11:46 AM. She sprang up and grabbed the clothes off the chair. She quickly dressed herself, and holstered her gun and FBI badge. Hastily she ran down the stairs, past the lobby, and into the small diner. Inside she looked around to see if possibly the one-nighter was there, but instead recognized a man she never wanted to see. Dressed in a grey London fog coat, a mid-thirties man with very pale skin, dark spiky hair, and pearl eyes much like the one-nighter before, sat at the corner of the diner, quietly reading a case file and fiddling an odd, silver coin between his fingers.
The man glanced up and gave a playful wave. "Ah, Agent Weston! Come, I got us some coffee."
Still dazed and tired from the night before, she staggered towards the table and sat in front of her new partner, Xander Nyte, a transfer from an unknown unit. She wasn't sure if it was the hangover or him that made her ill again, but whatever feeling she had she masked it behind a wrathful scowl.
"You look like you had fun last night." Agent Nyte greeted.
"What the hell was that about?" Milla Weston demanded. Her scowl grew. "
"You were stressed out from the case," Her new partner explained. "So I set you up with a friend. Seemed you two hit it off well.
"Fuck you!" She spat. "I don't need you to play matchmaker in my love life. Your note said you had a lead in the case so we can catch the bastard that's killing these women."
He smiled and presented the file he was reading. "Donald Krouller. Age 45. Works at a butcher shop. My informant shared with me, before her untimely death, that Krouller had a thing for blonde woman. Coincidentally, all our dead lovelies are blonde."
Agent Weston studied the file and the suspects mugshot. He was a very large man with thinly red hair, balding scalp, and a triangular shaped birthmark above his left brow. "That's an interesting theory. Doesn't prove his our killer."
"How about this then," Agent Nyte proposed. "A restraining order was given after continuously stalking the first victim, Rebecca Johns. Two weeks later, her head is bobbing down the Mississippi. In 02, he was charged with harassment for stalking another blonde woman. In 04, charged yet again for the same crime. I'd say that warrants for enough reason to take him in for questioning. Also, shit, just look at this fugly sap. How can it not scream murderer?"
"But only their heads were recovered. What'd he do with the bodies?"
"He's a butcher. He knows how to handle meat."
Milla didn't want to follow up on his theory, but she knew she had no other leads. She signed and then stood up. "If your informant believed there was connection, probably best to check it out."
"She was never wrong, Agent." Nyte reassured. "Shall we?"
The agents left the hotel diner and drove through the clustered city, scouting out for their possible suspect. They drove past the jammed traffic stops, past the roaming civilians, and past the conventional street preachers. The file directed the agents outside Krouller's butcher shop. The exterior bricks looked rusted and grimy, but looked more cleansed like a church in contrast to the filthy, roach-covered interior. Nyte and Weston approached the front counter, noting that their suspect was nowhere to be found. They swung under the counter and proceeded to enter inside the dark meat locker. Racks of frozen meat under on hooks, swaying motionless in the cold air.
"Makes you want to go vegan, huh?" Xander joked as he pushed aside the bug-infested meat to make a clear path for him and his partner.
"Where did you say you were from again?" Weston interrogated her mysterious partner.
"Far. Why the second degree, Agent Weston?" Xander asked, checking if Krouller was behind the racks.
"If I'm going to be working with someone, I'd like to know some of their backstory." She added.
"Worried I might share the same fate as your last partner?" Agent Nyte unintentionally mocked.
"That has nothing to do with this!" Weston snapped back.
"Relax, I meant nothing by it. You don't have to worry about me. I'm really hard to kill. I've spent a long time in this line of work, studying law, analyzing criminals, closing numerous cases for my department. They would've have sent me to you if they didn't believe in my skills.
"It's a shame my informant died investigating him. Probably figured her for a spy and had to ax her off as well when she got too close. We were close, her and I. It'll be a matter of time before her death will receive justice. I feel the death penalty is the best solution, don't you agree Agent Weston?"
Weston remained quiet. The way he spoke unsettled her. She never heard any amount of empathy in his voice. It was more cold and tranquil, much like the sociopaths she put away. Her bare hands then began to tremble in the cold room.
"Aren't you cold too?" She asked, still following behind Agent Nyte.
"No." He responded. "It feels more like tanning weath-"
A shotgun blast erupted through the darkened room. The explosive shrapnel punched into Agent Nyte's abdomen, forcing him to bounce backward. His lifeless body collapsed on the dirty-tiled floor. His dead, pearl eyes staring into Weston's. Weston ducked behind one of the hanging rib racks. Her pistol readied, she shot back at the attacker, who also shielded himself behind a giant rib cage. She fired four shots, but the bullets were not strong enough to puncture through the old meat. The attacker gunned down the hook that held the ribs high then shot Weston through her right shoulder. She cried out in pain as the blast knocked her against the wall. Weston reacted fast and clenched her bloodied shoulder with her left hand, breathing heavily in the process. She desperately fought to say conscious, but the damning pain was proving too much to handle.
Marching past racks of cold meat was Donald Krouller himself, reloading a double barrel that was aimed at the wounded FBI agent. His large body sweating through his dirty and bloodied clothes. His face scrunched up as a mixture of emotional torment ensued. Anger and regret boiled inside, but no emotion or sense of conscience could convince him to not undergo the action he must take.
"It weren't s'posed to be like this." He slurred his explanation. "I'd a heart fer her. But she'd had none for me. She and them others."
When the final shell was place inside the barrel, Krouller flipped the gun up and had it pointed at Weston's head. Suddenly, Krouller's gun was pulled upward as he fired at the ceiling. Weston's eyes widened as she witnessed the previously dead Xander Nyte striking back their suspect. His body was still riddled with shrapnel but no amount of blood was stained on his clothes.
Krouller tried to grab at the agent, but Nyte brutally kicked him in his groin. Sharp talons grew over his fingernails as he slashed at the suspects stomach. The first slash ripped along his flesh, leaving behind four long, bloody claw marks. The second poured Krouller's entrails onto the floor. Krouller dropped down to his knees, gasping for his last moments of breathe. He tried to desperately beg the inhuman agent for mercy, but all he could let out was gargled squeals of pain.
Nyte looked into his remorseful victim's eyes as he bent Krouller's neck back, exposing his hairy throat. "I want you to know that I would have followed your human laws and have turned in to the authorities, but then we'd have a problem. You see, you tried to kill me, you almost killed my partner, and, most importantly, you killed my friend. She was one of us. So your laws means nothing to my laws."
Nyte opened his mouth as wide as he could. His pearl colored eyes rolled over into a black abyss like a hungry shark. Sharp inch-long fangs replaced over his regular teeth. His mouth contorted out to spread even wider as an animalistic screech echoed throughout the storage locker. Nyte lunged his fangs into Krouller's neck as Krouller's screams were drowned out by the sufferable sounds of all his blood being drank from his body.
Weston watched on in horror as her monstrous new partner maliciously executed their suspect with his bare teeth. Once drained, Donald Krouller dropped dead. Weston couldn't move. She was loosing blood and consciousness. Nyte then walked up and crouched down, greeting her with a blood-stained smile.
"Sorry you had to witness that, Weston." He said through his sinister smile. "All this Dirty Harry shit wound up an appetite. Don't worry, I won't do the same to you. We're partners after all. I'll call in an ambulance as soon as I cover my tracks. Me and my kind, we'll need someone to look into our murders too. And I think you're the perfect candidate. Rest up now. I think it's going to be fun working with you, Agent Weston."
His pearly eyes beamed through the darkness as she faded out. She'll wake the next day, her shoulder bandaged and greatly confused as to why she's hailed as a hero by the department and what had transpired. She would question if what she saw was a dream or reality. Nyte would return to her once he reported to his vampiric overseers, closing another case in what they called the Stoker Cases.
The Conversation: Chapter 2
“Hey, dude, I got something on the spirit box.”
“What did it say?”
“I think it said your name.”
“Can you do it again? Can you say my name again?”
“You hear that?”
“Yeah, it definitely said your name.”
“We’re investigating a haunting that took place here. Are you the ghost that resides here?”
“Can you tell us what happened here?”
“Died? How did you die?”
“Murder? Were you murdered?”
“Who murdered you?”
“It just said Billy. Who’s Billy?”
“Coming? What’s coming?”
“Dude, it just got cold in here. Can you feel that?”
“It still said coming.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
″Coming! Run! Hide!”
“EMF’s going crazy!”
“Are you still there?”
“No response. It’s freezing in here.”
“I think something else is in here.”
“Are you Billy?”
“Play? You think this is a game? You can’t scare us-”
“HOLY SHIT! ZACH, BEHIND YOU!”
“OH MY GAWW-”
#Horror #Paranormal #HarryHorrors