My Short Scary Stories

Over the past couple of months I’ve become addicted to writing very short horror stories (under 275 words) that I then post on a Reddit sub called: Short Scary Stories (duh). Here are four samples of the stories I’ve submitted.

The Subway Ride

William hated taking the subway. He hated rubbing up against the cheap clothing of total strangers. He hated the glares of greasy-haired kids with nose rings, and he hated inhaling the toxic mix of acrid spices, cheap perfume and body odor. On top of everything else, there was some kind of electrical problem this afternoon that caused the lights to flicker on and off. The next time he had to take his car into the shop, he was renting whatever piece of junk they offered him.

He clutched his expensive briefcase against his chest like a shield, keeping his eyes lowered, trying to be invisible. Despite his efforts, William felt eyes resting on him and lifted his head slightly. A pale little girl with long black hair, perhaps five or six, sat across the aisle, her large almond eyes staring at him. He smiled awkwardly, but her expression remained unchanged. The car bounced and jostled, but she kept her wide-eyed gaze locked on him. Something didn’t seem quite right about her. The facial skin looked opaque and stretched. Her fingernails were far longer then he’d ever seen a child’s.

Shit, there go the lights again. He felt a sudden jolt as if someone standing had fallen on him. The lights came back on and the little girl was gone. It took him several moments to sense the pain around his throat and to touch the gurgling flow of blood gradually staining his white silk shirt red.

What Jen Saw          

“So you knew the deceased?”

Jen had never been interviewed by a police detective before, and although she knew she’d done nothing wrong, it was still nerve racking. “Not very well. She was my neighbor. We said ‘hi’ to each other, but that was about it.”

“Did you see or hear anything unusual Thursday, the day of the murder?”

“I took my garbage to the chute that evening and saw a man leave her apartment, but only his back.”

The detective scribbled on his pad. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Oh wait,” said Jen, leaning forward. “I could see part of a tattoo on his neck. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I’d know it if I saw it again. Is this related to the other two murders in this part of the city?”

            “Actually, it’s three murders.”

            At that moment, Jen noticed the back of the detective’s head in a wall mirror, and the tattoo on his neck.

The Halloween Prank

My friends and I played the same Halloween prank three years in a row. Redeemer Cemetery sat in a fenced off area between two neighborhoods. Just at one edge of the cemetery was a path that connected the two areas. The path was only about 100 yards long, but it went through some woods and it was really dark. On Halloween, my friends Jordan, Amy and I would dress up in black hoods and robes and hide behind markers near the path.  I don’t know if the little kids in my town are retarded or just oblivious, but every year the greedy little monsters took the path, and every year we’d jump up screaming from behind the gravestones and chase them for a while.

This Halloween started out the same as the others. The three of us met at dusk just inside the cemetery gate in costume, then took up our positions behind our favorite tombstones. We pranked a couple of groups of kids, and Amy was really into it this year. She looked like she actually wanted to catch the little screamers. Then, as I sat behind my tombstone waiting for the next group, I get a text.

I’m at the gate. Sounds like you guys started without me.

It was from Amy.

Liars

My friends look at me as if I’m crazy, but I’m sure someone is following me. I named him Jack. I catch a glimpse of Jack’s shadow out of the corner of my eye, feel his presence behind me when I’m walking, sense that he’s sitting in the same restaurant that I’m in. I can’t even convince my therapist that Jack is real. She pretends to believe me, but I’m sure she doesn’t. And no, I don’t know why I’m being followed. Does the reason even matter? This is America in 2014. People are spying on you all the time whether you realize it or not. Maybe it was a letter to the editor I wrote. Maybe I said something to a friend on the phone. Maybe I smiled at him once and he got the wrong idea. I’m not a criminal or a terrorist. I am a nurse. Maybe that’s a crime these days. I didn’t want to, but I bought a gun a few years ago and I keep it with me wherever I go. It was a good investment because of all the Jack’s in the world. They watch you and wait for just the right moment when they think you’re at your weakest and most vulnerable. But I turned the tables on them a while back. Went on offense. Jack will die just like the others, swearing he doesn’t even know me. They’re liars. All of them.