Excerpts

Wary and Paranoid, Lonely and Unsatisfied

The boy was born in a house on the edge of the neighborhood, in the bedroom with a view of the woods. Warm, wet smells and muffled crying were his earliest memories. He remembered everything. The peeling wood paneled walls, the broken blinds, the cat piss and mold in every corner of that house. 

One spring, when he was tumbling around the yard, the wail of an injured animal beckoned him into the woods. Barely able to walk, the little boy crawled into the Appalachian wilderness, searching for satisfaction.

Seasons passed and the boy slowly grew into a man. Uncertain of modern society, he grew up wary and paranoid, lonely and unsatisfied. He couldn't keep moving from one forgotten town to another forever. There was a never-ending spawn of forgotten towns in North America. The remains of failed manifest destiny. But he, a man of class and manners, admired the lure of southern hospitality. These people recognized him for what he was- a gentleman.

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What it feels like to be irritated, almost angry

The most beautiful thing I have ever seen is the crimson red pour out of a warm body into my hands. The heat turns into a stench so vile your stomach churns. Flies buzzing make me feel like I’m mad. Like I deserve it. Like it’s trying to kill me in return. It pisses me off. I spit on the wound. It is no longer beautiful. 

Leaping to my feet, I quickly leave the body. A now putrid sight, my gut feeling directs my feet out of that disgusting yellow house. The moon warms the night air around me. I take a deep breath and the blurriness at the edge of my vision clears. My heart, once pounding in my ears, slips down to my throat, then returns to my chest. The beating slows, reminding me that I am still alive and well. That feeling of another’s blood pooling in my hands is absolutely addictive. But the feeling of sobering up after… that is to kill for. 

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I need to stop reading Reddit horror stories before bed

Laying in my bed, staring at the dark gray wall, cold wind blows through the window. I should be tired, it is very late, but something is off, and I can feel it; my heart is racing, and my eyes feel swollen. A rancid smell is in the air; it’s not the trash from the alley but the sweet metallic smell of something dead. I can’t get up to close my window, it’s already stuffy enough in my room. The gray walls aren’t helping. I just showered but I feel disgusting. The feeling writhes around in my chest, like guilt and disgust, it’s hard to swallow. Whistling. Someone is whistling outside. It gets closer, a dumpster slams shut, the whistling cedes. Another breeze drifts through the window, cold crisp air chases the rotten smell away. The weird feeling becomes a buzz, better than it was before, but not gone. The doorbell rings. What the hell. I am not easy to scare but now I am on edge, the feeling immediately becomes unbearable. I don’t move. The doors are locked, no one can bother me. It is probably someone drunk or on drugs. I crane my head to the window, it is pitch black, darker than the walls. I’m on the second floor, I am untouchable. The doorbell rings again. F**k no. Leave me alone. I just want to go to sleep, please. I slide out of bed and shut the window softly, locking it as well as the door to my bedroom. Just in case. I hope my roommates are asleep for their own good. Nothing happens for the rest of the night, I am able to fall asleep shortly after that moment, the excitement exhausted me. 

He is in my house. I don’t know how, but I can hear the shuffling and the whistling, it’s like he wants me to know that he’s in here. It must be thrilling for him. 

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Vampires, Puritans, Lycanthropes

I lay waste to the village around me, gutting it of each organ. I wanted to drag it out, make them suffer. First, the farms, then the pubs. On the final night it was the school. Getting away was easy, slipping through the cracks of society, the places where no soul would bother looking. The gentlemen’s club, the townhall, the church. I recall wearing my finest black robe the days following. I was stoic, always. If a certain bereaved mother or widow approached me, I could cast my gaze down and shake my head. Yes, such a horrible thing, to happen to someone so innocent. They are now in His kingdom, do not fret. I admit, I was not keen to feign sympathy, any act of pretend was draining. 

I was always hungry. Perhaps hungry is an erroneous word to use, hunger is a feeling of mortals. I know that now. This feeling, like that of an old king without his opium, was beyond primal. In fact, the craving became so prevalent and so strong that everything lost its beauty. There was no joy in sunlight through trees, a hot bath, pain, nothing. It was a pitiful way of life. 

I was celibate, a priest, I dedicated my life and my body to Christ. The inability to reproduce did not devastate me. In this New World, there was nothing for a child. Long, dark winters, foreign disease, a mouthful of food if God was on your side. One particular winter, the New Disease was rampant, its symptoms sudden and violent. Every infant in that coastal town perished. The Devil is afoot, I told them. This is our promised land. Where there is man there is the Devil. But know this, God is everywhere, look to Him. Beelzebub, Lucifer, The Serpent, The Father of Lies, be not afraid, no matter how He makes himself known. We must not cower at his presence.