Writing Prompt A creepy story thread.

[ElijahRyne]

Write a short creepy story and post it here. It can be ten sentences long, an urban legend you created, ARG, and/or creepy total nonsense. The only rule, outside of the site wide ones, is that YOU must be the one to create the story.

….
When my brothers and I were in elementary school, my brothers kept telling me the same story. Every time it would end differently, but it would always start the same. One day while eating in the cafeteria, a single drop of blood fell and landed on the back of their hand.

Both of my younger brothers told me this story, so I had no idea of the veracity or origin of it. However after hearing the story three days in a row, I just began saying that it must have been ketchup. One of their classmates was a messy eater, or perhaps the brother in question didn’t realize that they got ketchup on the back of their hand. Shortly after I started doing this they stopped telling me this story.

After about a year after, both my brothers came to me with the blood drop story again. However this time they seemed more started. They were sitting by themselves at a table, a drop of blood fell from the ceiling and landed on their palms. Not only that the drop of blood began speaking to them. Both brothers once again told me this story. However it has been so long that I can’t remember much more than the blood drop would repeat every year. Same day, same place.

That summer though, my parents got a divorce and we moved away. I thought that would be the end of the story. Before we continue, I must give my suspicion on the origin of the story. My brothers are not twins one is two years older, the other two years younger, both younger than me. I have always thought that it was my middle brother who made up the story. I think that the youngest though it was cool and just repeatedly retold it and iterated on it. Both brothers did not tell me a full cohesive story however.

Recently, I have had a reoccurring motif in my dreams. One of my brothers retells the story, with a stab wound where they said the drop of blood fell. This only happens once a dream and not every dream, but if it happens in a dream both brothers tell me the story.

For each brother, and each time the story and location of the drop is different. It has been 6 weeks now.

Those moments in my dreams are always so surreal. As if I am peering into a future that could have been.

I chalked it up to just anxiety dreams and had only told this to my therapist, but yesterday my youngest brother scraped the back of his hand quite badly after falling off his bike. Logically I knew that it was probably nothing, but coincidentally an hour ago I got a message from the middle brother’s friend that my brother had just received a fairly serious palm wound. He was inebriated and cutting chicken. He was putting pressure on what he thought was the spine of the knife because the knife wasn’t cutting. By the time he realized that he had the knife flipped the wrong way, things were already pretty bad.

My most recent dream with them in it had had them getting that drop of blood on the palm for the youngest, and the back of the hand for the older one. In reality who got each injury was flipped, but should I think that something is going on? Feel free to ask me questions about this by commenting on this post, I will respond if I deem it pertinent and keep you updated on what happens. I will read all comments even if I don’t respond.

 

[Eldoria]

It just so happens that my novel's side story contains a creepy story... let me share it here.

---

A Sleep Too Peaceful to Never Wake Up!

April 20, 0007 Years of Dawn Memory Ages, Western Rose Garrison City

POV: John – An Honest and Generous Travelling Merchant

The mist began to descend slowly like a silver shawl embroidered with whispers of death. It crept through the windows, into the cracks of the narrow city streets, creeping like a living creature seeking a warm breath. The night wind brought a salty, bone-chilling chill, but inside one of the small inn rooms, a simple man lay quietly.

John. He had just returned from the bar owned by Belle, his childhood friend. They had a long conversation, just like old times… before everything changed. Tonight, John refused to be evacuated. He insisted that as long as the women and children were not safe, he would stay.

And now he lay on an old bed, his body wrapped in a clean, but cold, white sheet. The musty air enveloped the room, but John only smiled tiredly, staring at the ceiling.

“Tonight, I talked to Belle again... she hasn't changed... still worries me. If only she'd evacuated earlier... maybe I would have accompanied her... but she insisted on guarding the bar,” he thought to himself.

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

“Detective Clara said the Black Mist only attacks men... But me? I've never hurt a woman. What did I do wrong?”

It was so quiet. Too quiet. His head was heavy. His eyes slowly closed. And then, his consciousness began to fade like ink dissolving in water.

...

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the small inn room. A stretch of green fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Trees swayed gently in the breeze. White roses bloomed among the grass, glistening in the warm sunlight.

The sky was a pale blue, clear, cloudless, a sky only found in the softest of dreams. John stood stiffly, his hair caressing the wind. He looked around, his eyes still blurry with confusion.

“Where am I...?”

He crouched down, his hand touching the soft earth. He plucked a white rose and inhaled its scent. The scent pierced his heart with a fragrance too vivid to be a dream.

“This is too real...”

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder. Soft. Familiar. John turned quickly.

“Belle...?”

The woman stood there, dressed in a simple white dress. Her hair was braided down her back, her eyes soft as morning dew. She smiled.

“What’s wrong, John? Why do you look so awkward? We’ve been married for so long… You still look like such an innocent and naive young man.”

John furrowed his brows, confused. “Married…? We married?”

“I don’t remember ever confessing my feelings… and now you’re here… or was it just a dream?”

Belle giggled, then nodded.

“Are you playing around again? Come on, don’t be in a daze! Our little boy and little girl are waiting for you under the tree. The food is ready. Let’s enjoy a family picnic!”

Belle reached out her hand. John stared at it for a moment, confused, scared, but warm. He took it, and together they walked across the field to a large tree at the top of the hill.

Under its shady shade, two small children, a boy and a girl, laughed, playing, arranging food on a picnic mat. The little boy looked like a smaller version of John… while the little girl looked like a smaller version of Belle.

“Daddy! Daddy! Come here!”
“Daddy, where have you been? Let’s eat!”

John stopped. His chest tightened, his eyes wide.

"My son and daughter...?" he thought.

The children dragged him to sit down. The little daughter held out a meat sandwich.

“This is for Daddy!”

John stared at it. His hands trembled as he took it.

“A meat sandwich... my favourite food...”

His little son handed him a cup of tea.

“This is for Daddy, who has worked so hard!”

He took a slow sip. It was sweet. Too sweet.

John smiled... then looked at the two children... then at Belle.

Everything felt so peaceful. So whole.

But something inside him still whispered.

“Is this real...? Or just a dream... a very beautiful one...?”

Belle patted his shoulder. “What's wrong, John? Don't daydream. Look, the children are waiting for you!”

John turned his head, seeing his wife's eyes glistening in the warm light.

He shook his head slowly, smiling. “It's okay... you're right. We should enjoy this moment.”

Belle sat down beside him. The little family laughed. They began to eat together.

The wind blew. The flowers swayed. White roses surrounded them like an endless sea of peace.

John's face was peaceful. A small smile hung on his lips. A gentle breeze carried the white roses. As the last white rose fell into his hand…

The sky suddenly turned pale. The wind froze. The white roses turned transparent.

And Belle stared at him… with blank eyes… The children stopped laughing.

And as he looked at their faces… They became faceless. Her vision blurred like mist. And John never woke again.

On the other side of the world, the morning breeze greeted Belle, bringing breakfast like flowers to a grave without a tombstone.

...

At the Same Time…

The mist rolled in like a curtain of death, enveloping the city in a suffocating silence. Belle's every step echoed without an echo, as if even the stone streets refused to answer her presence that morning. There were no pedestrians, no vendors, no babies' cries or roosters' cries. Only the wind, blowing softly... swaying Belle's hair like a flag at half-mast.

She clutched her packed breakfast to her chest, as if it could be the last bridge between life and memory. She stared up at the grey sky, empty, as if the world were holding its breath. She murmured, her voice cracking:

"Strange? Usually the city streets are bustling... why is it so peaceful this morning..."

Peace... but not a calming peace. It was a peace that chilled the spine, like the fingers of spirits crawling on it.

She descended a small alley to the old inn, a wooden structure that creaked slowly, as if breathing. She stood before the door, knocking with a gentle rhythm that had always been greeted with warm laughter.

“Knock... knock... knock...”

“John... It's me, Belle. Breakfast is ready! Please open the door!”

...

Silence. Belle smiled wryly and stroked her head.

“That's strange. Why isn't John out yet? Maybe he's overslept again... That John, he never changes.”

Her hand reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small iron key. Belle still held the key tightly. She still remembered how John had entrusted the key to his inn to her while she was building it the night before.

The night sky was shrouded in heavy clouds. Belle's bar was bustling with drunken men chatting and joking as John sat at the bar and stared at Belle. He handed her the key as usual, as if nothing had happened.

“If I oversleep, wake me up. And don't forget to bring me food like usual.”

“You, John! Laziness never changes!” Belle said, lightly hitting him on the head.

John just laughed. It was a light laugh... but now it echoed in Belle's head.

The men cheered as they watched Belle hit John's head.

“Miss Belle, you're so sweet... Come join us for a drink!”

“Miss Belle, if your room is cold, I can help warm it up.”

The drunk men were teasing her. Miss Belle glared at them and ignored them. Belle said,

“John, look! They’re teasing me again!”

Hearing Belle’s complaint, John stopped laughing and simply smiled wryly. He said,

“They’re just drunk men, Belle. Don’t pay any attention.”

John paused for a moment, his face clouded, then continued,

“You know, Belle, I also get annoyed when they tease you… But if I tell them off, I’m afraid I’ll lose customers.”

John continued to drink his beer. Belle just looked at him with a faint smile.

...

Back to the Present...

The lock turned with a silent click. The door creaked open inward, revealing a living room that was... too clean. Too tidy. Too... empty.

“Excuse me...” Belle’s voice caught in her throat.

She ambled. Every breath she took sounded like a scream.

The clock had stopped. The air was too cold. The walls were white as bone. The tables were spotless.

There were no used coffee cups, no books lying around—as if this place... was no longer a home, but a petrified altar of memories. She stood in front of John’s door.

"Knock... knock... knock..."

“John, wake up... breakfast is ready!”

...

There was no answer. Annoyed, Belle pushed the door open slowly. The hinges squeaked softly like a wail.

Inside, John slept on the old bed with a faint smile on his face—peaceful, baby-like, like someone who had arrived home.

“You! You’re still sleeping so early in the morning. What are you dreaming about that makes you smile like that?”

Belle placed the food package on the side table. Her hands trembled as she approached. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook John.

“Wake up, John... It's morning.”

...

Silence. She shook again, harder.

“John... don't joke... wake up!”

...

Still silence. Belle froze. Her eyes stared at John's face.

She felt his nose... searching for breath that never came. Belle's heart stopped beating for a moment.

“No... it can't be...”

Her legs went weak. Her hands trembled. Her lips turned blue.

She knelt beside the bed and shook John repeatedly—as if trying to squeeze the life out of his cold body.

“John... JOHN... wake up... wake up!!”

But John never moved. Never answered. Never laughed again.

Belle hugged John's body. Strands of her hair covered his frozen face. Tears flowed like blood from invisible wounds.

“I warned you... Why didn't you evacuate...? Why...?”

“I believed in you too much… I believed too much that the world would save a good man like you. But this world doesn’t save anyone. It doesn’t save women. And it turns out… it didn’t save you either.”

“If I hadn’t opened the bar that night… if I had forced you to leave… John… I’m sorry…”

Belle hugged John tightly. She closed her eyes and remembered a moment from their childhood, when Belle had played at his house, and Belle had asked:

“What do you want to be like when you grow up, John?”

John smiled cheerfully and said:

“Me?… I just want to live peacefully with my little family…”

Belle opened her eyes and saw John’s smiling face, but it had already turned cold.

“Do you remember when we used to play house? You said, one day… we’d have a real home, and I’d cook for you every morning…”

But now those memories had frozen, just as John’s body was beginning to cool, enveloped in the cold air and morning mist.

John remained silent, but his smile seemed to answer. A peaceful smile that only those who no longer fear life… or death possess.

“Thank you... for looking after me, Belle. My beloved little friend...”

And Belle wept silently. In the middle of a town that was too peaceful... in a mist that was too still... in a room that had become a tomb... a silent witness to the tragic death of a good man who never came to the wails of women.

No one knocked on the door as Belle wept. No one came. Only mist. Only cold air. Only... silence.

No bells. No knocks. No mother's voice calling for her child. The town did not weep for John. Because the world does not weep for a good man who dies in silence.

That morning, the town became a graveyard; ten other doors never opened that morning. Ten bodies of good men. Ten mists that descended silently. Ten wives and children who would never hear their father's voice again.

And behind the curtain of dense mist, the figure of a black-haired woman in a black and white kimono stood in the middle of the town, gazing out at it with cold, red eyes. And the nightmare begins!

 

[unlaumy]

I invite my friend to stay at my place. At dinner, after telling my parents that the food is great, she leans close to me. She whispers, "Rachel, your parents are dead."

I don't know how I look, but a few moments later, she lowers her head and says sorry. My parents even look worried for me, asking if there's anything wrong.

When we return to my room, I confront her.

"That wasn't funny!"

"But I'm not lying..."

Her expression becomes downcast. Rather than honestly apologizing, she seems more saddened by the fact that I don't believe her.

"Your parents are dead, and they're here in your room."

She grabs my hand, pulling me with a strength that shouldn't come from such a slender arm. Her eyes wandering around the room before locking on my wardrobe. Without giving me a breather, she walks toward the wardrobe, opens it, and have me join her inside.

She covers my eyes with her palms.

"Stop it, otherwise, I'll not invite you to my house again!"

"Sorry, Rachel... Just wait a little more..."

After a minute or so, she finally lets go of her palms.

The wardrobe interior is not that big. With the two of us inside, the space becomes tight and the room feels stuffy. The wardrobe doors are slightly gaping. It's almost dark with a sliver pillar-like brightness from my bedroom as the only lighting.

"Look, your parents are there."

I peek through the small gap and see an incredibily scary scene.

There, by my bed, there is a pair of people standing. Their clothes are miserable like they have been dug from under the ground. Dull red liquid is flowing down their soaked clothes and pale legs profusely. I can't see their faces from this direction, but looking at their figures, they look very much familiar to my memory. I can't mistake them for anyone else, they're surely my parents.

Various thoughts start to rise in my mind. What's happening? Why are mom and dad look like that? Are they with my friend, and that they're actually in it to prank me?

Suddenly, footsteps appear from the hallway.

My friend grabs my shoulder. Her palm is cold and it's trembling.

"I shouldn't have told you... R-right now, just don't make any noises... they'll not hurt us as long as they don't notice us."

She then closes the wardrobe shut.

I don't dare to contradict her anymore. But somehow, I feel like she isn't talking about those scary people standing by my bed.

 

[ThrillingHuman]

After they went to space and saw our planet, we have detected mild brain damage in them with a CT scan, and since then they have filed over twelve petitions in under six months to fly again.

 

[LeilaniOtter]

I shared this a few months ago, but seems to fit here, too. ?

--

A few months ago, my housemate and I were awoken from sleep about 4:00 A.M. by an odd tapping at one of our bedroom windows. The tapping continued for about 5 seconds, and then about 15 minutes later, we heard the same tapping, and again, for 5 seconds. Unable to sleep after that, we took a flashlight outside at about 5:00 A.M., and sneaked around to the backyard to see what was going on.

Not a sign of anyone. Everything was very quiet, and the motion lights from either side of us weren't on.

We went back to sleep and in the morning I checked with our neighbors on either side, who have Ring cameras and CCTV on one side of the house. Neither reported seeing anything coming to our house. My housemate went outside again, now that it was daylight, to see if there was any signs of footprints, or a disturbance, and there was nothing.

When I saw him come back in again, there was a peculiar look on his face. "The screens are down," he said, jerking a thumb outside.

Then I nodded, remembering. For the summer, we had the screens down on our bedroom windows, and the glass side had been slid up to the top of the frame. Whoever had tapped at our windows, if they had been human, would have had to have been roughly eight feet tall to reach them.

I was a bit frightened at first, but then I realized what day it was today.

August 30th.

My uncle had died August 30th, 1991 - and we had gotten the call of his passing at around 4:00 AM.

Maybe my uncle was just checking up on me. ?

 

[ElijahRyne]

I shared this a few months ago, but seems to fit here, too. ?

--

A few months ago, my housemate and I were awoken from sleep about 4:00 A.M. by an odd tapping at one of our bedroom windows. The tapping continued for about 5 seconds, and then about 15 minutes later, we heard the same tapping, and again, for 5 seconds. Unable to sleep after that, we took a flashlight outside at about 5:00 A.M., and sneaked around to the backyard to see what was going on.

Not a sign of anyone. Everything was very quiet, and the motion lights from either side of us weren't on.

We went back to sleep and in the morning I checked with our neighbors on either side, who have Ring cameras and CCTV on one side of the house. Neither reported seeing anything coming to our house. My housemate went outside again, now that it was daylight, to see if there was any signs of footprints, or a disturbance, and there was nothing.

When I saw him come back in again, there was a peculiar look on his face. "The screens are down," he said, jerking a thumb outside.

Then I nodded, remembering. For the summer, we had the screens down on our bedroom windows, and the glass side had been slid up to the top of the frame. Whoever had tapped at our windows, if they had been human, would have had to have been roughly eight feet tall to reach them.

I was a bit frightened at first, but then I realized what day it was today.

August 30th.

My uncle had died August 30th, 1991 - and we had gotten the call of his passing at around 4:00 AM.

Maybe my uncle was just checking up on me. ?

The tapping on the window reminds me of a chapter from my current story.

Spoiler: ‘The Chapter in Question’

Memo from Lead Experimentor:

You generators only managed to submit 14 words, and I was only able to boost your submitted words from your messages to 18. The final two sent words will, most likely hinder your investigation. Of course this is an experiment, so I do not know for certain, but prior experiments have shown that words not submitted by generators hinders the experiment we are performing.

Before I give you the submitted words, I think it is best for you to reflect on your goals. 1. Are you keeping the test subject alive? 2. Have you figured out what your submitted words do?

Have you reflected? Good! Because I have a new goal for you, if you succeed this experiment may transform itself. What does the censored sentence from the first entry read? Here it is again if you have forgotten: ‘§§§§§§ §§§ §§§§ § §§ §§§§ §§§ GABD’OTH!’ As your hints, this sentence was written in English and you have enough info to start making educated guesses.

Now that that is out of the way here are your submitted words, followed by who submitted them and the amount each person submitted.

Submitted words: Brother, Hope, Defenestration, Trampoline, Suspicious, Skibidi, Six, Seven, Tides, Bovine, Spongiform, Encephalopathy, Repeat, Recall, Kill, Test, Subject, Survive, Remember, Crime.

These words were submitted by: @Anemic_Vampire 2, @Maelstrom556 6, @Racosharko 4, @Woolen_Monkey 1, @Hoshino 3, @JayMark 3, @Arkus86 2.

I believe that the results from your submitted words this time might confuse you. But, nevertheless, let’s proceed with the experiment.
…………………………………………….………………………………………………

Slowly and methodically, I heard a tapping at my window. I was still asleep.

Knight of the night, perhaps I can do as I read in those lucid dream posts.

Immediately I began to close my eyes and imagine myself flying.

But, I did not fly. The tapping on my window was still happening.

I carefully walked over, counting the taps. One, two, three, four five, …, 13.

Dreading what I would find I looked out my window.

I saw something strange jumping on a trampoline, tapping my window at the apex of each jump with its beak. When I saw it, it stopped jumping and lay on the trampoline, twitching. It was just twitching and shivering.

I heard a knock at my door. I carefully moved towards it. I peeked out the peephole, and saw Aiden. Of course I knew it was a dream, but I couldn’t help myself. I threw the door open. I was going to hug him, but my body wasn’t listening to me.

“You look scared, did something happen?” My brother asked, something else moved my mouth and throat as I responded.

“You're late, it is midnight ya know! You are lucky that mom and dad aren’t home, otherwise…” That thing responded in my voice.

“Looks like little Marren missed their brother.” He had a wistful smile. I knew what was happening. I had seen this scene a thousand times since. The smile on my brother’s face faded as he sat on the couch. The setting is different this time, usually it is at my parents place.

“Marren, I have something I need to tell you. You need to hear it from me before you hear it from someone else.” He carefully looked into my eyes. “Your brother is going to disappear for abit.” I was about to cry. “Don’t worry, don’t cry it will be okay. I will be coming back home before you know it, hold out a little hope for your brother won’t you.”

“Where are you going?” The thing asked. Of course I already knew, my brother will be killed. Found bobbing in the tides of the ocean a thousand miles from home. The police will say that they had no reasoning suspect crime or foul play.

Before my brother could answer I heard a shattering crack. This was different. My brother and I looked over to the window. Its head was poking in through the broken window. My brother rushed up and tried to push it out the window, the thing had left my body. I rushed to help him. It was twitching and mooing. It opened its beak, clamped it down on my brother and the two fell from the window.

My brother screamed something to me.

“Run! Marren run! Survive! You must survive!

I bolted out of my apartment not hesitating to listen to my brother. I heard the window begin to shake behind me. I ran down a flight of stairs, hopped on my bike and pedaled like I never had before.

Before I knew it I was at campus. Why was I here? I can’t remember, but I am not fully in control of this dream, so maybe there is something my mind wants here. I felt my consciousness fading as I began to wake up.

Something was tapping on my window.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
This is the end of today’s experiment. You have approximately one day to submit your 20 words, and before the next update.

The Insomnia Experiment

Memo from Lead Experimentor: To all who are reading this, you are officially invited to join the Insomnia Experiment. Your role will be to generate words and phrases to give to the test subject(s) through the parasite I have implanted in their soul. You have two goals, the long term one is to...

forum.scribblehub.com

A new creepy story.
…..
In a small town, no more than six hundred people lived. The town was rural and its economy laid in agriculture. It was not rare for people who live in town to drive 30+ minutes to get to the field or ranch they owned and/or worked on. Of course agriculture was not the only business in the town. There was two competing mechanic shops, a gas station, a bank, a small grocery store, and two restaurants. There was also the public services and the like, a police station, a volunteer fire station, a town hall, an elementary school, a bus station, and a public library.

The town‘s name was Nothitown. It laid next to a river to its east, and hilly farm and pasture in the 360 degrees around it. There was a northward highway that bisected the town into an eastern and western half.

I worked as a bus driver for the county. There was a policy that every town and village, no matter how small, requires a buss stop that can bring them to the main station. There are 6 drivers that work for the station, and three active busses plus a back up one at the main station in Hannibal. That is where I live. The fastest growing city in the state. With 200,000 residents it does surprise me that places like Nothitown and Werthe are as small as they are.

As a buss driver, most of my passengers are the elderly. They love to gossip, and no groups of the elderly love to gossip more than the ones in Nothitown.

For years now I have heard of a kid born with unnatural beauty, if the stories are to be believed angels came from the heavens and blessed the kid as a baby. This kid seems to be one of the main subjects of gossip for the elderly folk of Nothitown.

Apparently the kids father ran off with the mothers wealth a month before the kid was born. A year after, to the day, he was struck and killed by lightning. The day after the kid’s mother inherited three million dollars and moved into a mansion. I believe it is the old blue one at the eastern edge of town. To be honest the rest of the gossip is abit boring, talking of who they may be interested in, how good he did in class, and whatever hijinks the kid got up to. I try not to listen to this gossip because when I learned that none of the people talking about the kid were related to them, it creeped me out.

Besides his blessing, the divine smiting of their father, and the inheritance the only other thing I know for sure about the kid is their name, Joe Green. I hadn’t even seen them until today, and only because I had to confirm the veracity of their temporary pass did I know that this person was them.

The kid is androgynous, tall, perhaps 7 feet so, with shoulder length brown hair, circular glasses, and seemed to be in their teens. They got on the buss in Hannibal and as we took the hour long route to Nothitown, they just stared out of their window. It was about midday when the buss reached their station. They left with an older woman, perhaps their mother. I thought nothing of it and continued on to Juvc and Werthe, both villages less than half the size of Nothitown,

On my shift, I had four passengers who leave Hannibal for Juvc and Werthe every week day, and six who leave those towns every week day. They are all middle aged folks, I hadn’t talked to any of them despite driving this route for three years, however, if I had to guess, they lived in these smaller towns and worked in Hannibal. I am their personal driver for their commutes.

By the time we approached Nothitown the sun was setting. I passed a semi, when shortly after I glimpsed a weird human figure jumping over a barbed wire fence into a cow field. The moment passed in less than a second, as soon as the figure landed I had passed it.

The second the bus entered Nothitown, the back left tire blew out and the engine stopped working. I barely managed to pull the beast over to the side of the road with the left over momentum. The call to the station was not helpful, I was told to stay put and wait two hours for the maintenance guy to get here. Luckily the main door was electric and I didn’t have to worry about keeping the emergency exit open until maintenance fixed the old beast. As I was talking, I swear I saw someone wearing a full headed rubber bull mask bike past.

The 8 passengers I had were quite angry with me when I told them they could wait here for an unknown 2+ hours for maintenance to arrive and fix the old beast, or walk to the buss stop in town and wait 3 hours how the next bus. Most walked out believing that the time it took for the other bus to arrive would be faster than what it took for the old beast to be fixed, can’t say I disagreed. As the last middle aged worker left while on phone, some man in a suit and tie, an elderly man and woman stayed. They told me that they were going to wait for their son to come pick them up.

We waited in a gradually warming buss, the air conditioner died with the engine, talking. Once again these folk talked of that Joe kid, they were probably locals then. No idea why they were in Werthe heading to Hannibal. Apparently the kid performed a slam dunk at a critical moment in a game against the local team‘s rival one. Once more, although the sun had fully set by this point, I saw someone bike past wearing some sort of rubber mask with horns. Perhaps I was wrong about it being a bulls mask at the earlier moment, but knowing what I do now, I don’t know what else it could be.

As dusk was in full swing, A minivan pulled over and the two elderly folk left. I was alone in the bus. The night was silent, and I found myself falling asleep. About an hour passed before I woke up, there was a dull sound of metal hitting metal. When I checked my phone it had been two and a half hours since I called the main station, I assumed that the maintenance guy had started fixing the old beast without notifying me. I didn’t see them working on the engine, so I exited the main door.

As I exited the gravel ground directly under the door felt slippery, it was not quite like ice nor like oil. As I passed in front of the bus to check the back left tire a weird smell hit my nose. As I glanced at he back left wheel, I saw someone wearing a bulls mask hitting the side of the buss with the back side of a large meat cleaver. The person was crouching and shirtless.

I rushed back into the bus and shut the door. I don’t think that they had seen or heard me. Whatever they were doing with their tapping had enraptured the masked man. I called the police. As I waited, I saw the masked man crawl across the highway and onto the shoulder of the opposite side of the road. That was the lawn of that old blue mansion. The figure lowered their head and acted as if they were eating the grass of the lawn. A minute later, the red and blue lights and the sound of a police siren approached. I swear as soon as it did, the man in the mask began to stare at me.

The police car showed up and exited. The officer ignored the cow masked man, and knocked on the main door. I opened the door hesitantly. The cop car was covering my vision at this moment but I had swore I saw blood covering the masked man’s back and neck as the police car’s headlights illuminated them.

The officer asked if I was sure that the masked man was carrying a knife and asked me to exit and show them wherea and what I saw. On the side of the buss the masked man was hitting, we saw blood pooling out from under the bus. The officer sho e their flashlight, and I swore I heard him click his tounge and mutter something like not again.

Under the bus was the severed head of a bull, and carved into the side of the bus was random symbols. The officer told me he understood what happened, and asked me to get back into the bus. I asked if they were going to arrest the guy chewing grass in the opposite yard, and the officer said quote: “We can’t really arrest Joe for acting like a cow in his own lawn.“ I was shocked and mentioned the blood I thought I saw covering him, and the severed head. The officer said quote: “The head couldn’t have been Joe’s doing, don’t worry about it. Also he is covered in mud, not blood. The red light just made it look like blood.“ I was escorted back into the bus, and the officer cleaned up the head and blood with a few towels. Shortly after the police left and the mechanic showed up. I didn’t see ‘Joe’, and haven’t seen them since the police pulled up. After about thirty-five minutes the mechanic was able to replace the wheel and fix the engine enough for the old beast to slowly roll on back to the main station.

As I write this down I am still baffled by what I saw. I am strongly contemplating quitting this job. There is something deeply rotten about Nothitown, and I don’t want to step foot or eye on that area ever again.

 

[istryj]

In the beautiful future you will live to see, possessing high intelligence (above 85) will be equated with owning a firearm. You will be required to keep it locked in a safe at all times or agree to a lobotomy. High intelligence will be subject to a progressive tax. High intelligence will be a privilege, and you will be asked to check your privileges.

 

[ElijahRyne]

In the beautiful future you will live to see, possessing high intelligence (above 85) will be equated with owning a firearm. You will be required to keep it locked in a safe at all times or agree to a lobotomy. High intelligence will be subject to a progressive tax. High intelligence will be a privilege, and you will be asked to check your privileges.

Let us do the inverse, I find it scarier.

In the not so distant past, and perhaps once more in the future, folks with an IQ of less than 85 were forcefully sterilized because of a pseudo scientific based fear of ‘idiots’ watering down the nations bloodline. Folks with disabilities were also often sterilized. All of this promoted by a society that attacked, degradated, segregated, and discriminated against such folks on all levels, for being ‘useless eaters that weakened the spirit and blood of the nation’. Given no aid and forced to suffer and/or starve. People who were not seen as ‘white’ were deemed as mentally ’inferior’ and also often forcefully sterilized. This also includes trans, gay, lesbian, and generally LGBTQIA+ plus folk who were seen as mentally ill at the time. If you had autism chances are you would be seen as ‘mentally feeble’ and sterilized. This was excepted to some degree by practically all movements and influential people in the western, and wider although to a lesser extent, world.

All this predicated on the more benign idea that people inherited their personality. A notion divorced from science, that was built upon until it met its zenith. That one can ‘breed’ out the ills of humanity, and create a utopia of perfect workers and their perfect masters. A world where these ideas led to the genocide of millions, not just once. All this leaving you in a world where you could be killed for having an ‘impure’ bloodline, wearing glasses, kissing a man, and/or having the wrong parents.

 

[unlaumy]

Was looking through my past stories and found this one. The horror hasn't exactly done anything, but I think it's an okay add for the thread.

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AWAKENING
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A piercing soreness welled up from the long-forgotten corner of a heart; a pain, a pain, so painful!

With a broken mind, a vampire awakened from its slumber.

Its desiccated fingertip tapped the wooden wall repeatedly. It was soft at first, then it turned louder and louder, until someone upstairs finally heard it.

It was a little girl. She opened the basement door with both hands while leaving the doll she had on the floor. She herself looked almost like the doll.

The little girl couldn’t stop her trembling hands, and her heartbeats seemed about to escape her chest.

She was scared, but more than that, she remembered her parents’ words. She was supposed to be a good girl, and a good girl had two things to do: sleep early and never enter the basement.

The staircase down was tiring for her short legs.

She was in fact, still a good girl. Every time before her parents left her to sleep, they kept reminding her: If she heard a sound from the basement and they weren’t home, then she was supposed to go check it by herself.

The dark, foreboding place was scary, but the punishment for being a bad girl was much worse.

She couldn’t reach the switch even if she jumped. The light from upstairs shone directly at a casket placed in the middle of the room.

The tapping noise came from inside. She opened it.