\\Spooktoberfest// Stories

edited October 2020 in Sagas

Spooktoberfest Stories is here!

Make a Halloween inspired card and then write a brief story for it down below.
Try to keep it to one post, as we'd like to get as many different stories as we can.
Qualifying entries (spooky NEW card and story) will earn the Pumpkin Avatar!



  • edited October 2020

    Here's my spooky story (hopefully not too long!)

    “It was always easy just to dismiss them as… tainted or evil. To just say that there was something wrong with them from the start.” Jantha’s eyes seemed lost in the campfire. “How could killing them be wrong if they were 'wrong'?”

    Immit was barely paying attention, nursing his sword arm that had grown black and heavy. Even in the light of the fire, it was unnaturally dark; even in its warmth, unnaturally cold. All along it, pustules had begun to appear, each a perfect orb of oily black that reminded him of the warlock’s eyes right at the end. Those eyes…

    They had been tracking the warlock for two days after seeing a notice as they travelled through Braythe. A terror had descended upon the village. “Folk disappearin’,” the village ealdorman had told them, “and then reappearin’ hangin’ from them trees in the woods, all their bits fallin’ out of them. And not just any folk. Good Braythe folk. Only the right sort of folk livin’ in Braythe.”

    The villagers had been particularly adamant they knew who was behind the deaths. They just needed someone of a “coarser nature” to do the deed. For some, the remark may not have gone unchallenged but, for Jantha and Immit, coin was coin. Following the villagers’ directions, the pair cornered the warlock in the forest outside Braythe, Immit landing the killing blow but not before the warlock had uttered something undecipherable, his eyes turning that oily black. Almost immediately, Immit screamed and dropped his sword, clutching his arm in agony.

    It was still a day’s trek back to Braythe and whatever healer the village had to offer. Night had drawn in and it was impossible to make any progress through the dense forest until the sun had returned.

    Jantha was still looking into the flickering light. “It makes it so easy to think what we did was right.”

    “What we did was right,” Immit spat. With his one good arm, he tried to make himself more comfortable, sitting against the tree at his back. “What’s gotten into you?”

    Jantha was sat cross-legged in front of the fire, almost meditatively. Not so much of a coarser nature. She turned to Immit.

    “Everyone we’ve hunted. Everyone we’ve killed. Maybe if we’d stopped to ask why they did what they did.”

    “Why?” Immit cried. “After this?” He held up his blighted arm. “There is no why.”

    Jantha exhaled, turning back to the fire.

    Immit was breathing deeper now. Sweat was dripping from his forehead. To his surprise, tears were threatening to burst forth. “What if this has to come off?” he yelled, clutching his arm. “Then what?”

    Jantha didn’t respond.

    Immit was losing his patience. “Look, we’ve got torches. Let’s just go. We can get to Braythe. We’re not going to get lost.”

    “Braythe.” Jantha closed her eyes, the mere mention of the village like a weight that had been hung around her neck. “It’s always just the right folk telling us about the wrong folk.”


    Jantha looked at Immit again.

    Immit’s breath stuck in his throat. A lead weight in his gut. He recognised those eyes. Those eyes…

    He lunged for his sword with his one good arm.  

    And the spooky card to go with it
  • That was when I was 9 years old.. My mom used to hear strange noises from my room during every night. "Your room might be slightly haunted. Better watch out." She said.

    But I knew exactly what to do. The ritual of exorcism. I saw it in the horror movie my mom showed to me. I put out on the floor as many holy objects as I have. A toy katana, pokemon energy cards, and some stones I used to collect from rivers for some reason. I stood in the center of my room and said- "Sare! Omae ha mou shindeiru!(Leave! You are already dead!)"

    ..The next day, I woke up and found all of the drawers in my room were open. That time I was legit scared. I pulled out a paper and wrote "Ghost-san please don't hurt me." and put it on the wall. 

    And that night, my parents heard noises again, and they came into my room. This is me they saw-

  • Oh, I wasn't quite following the rules. I wrote a story then made a card. Oh well.
    That's a real story btw!
  • It was a quiet night. The party had only started hours before, but it was already dark out. Time to sleep. One of the party guests walked downstairs to get a glass of water. He grabbed the glass, poured some water into it and started to walk back up the stairs. He twisted the doorknob, but...
    It was locked. 
    They had locked him out. Probably for a prank or something. After all, Halloween was just around the corner.
    "Nice one guys!" The guest said, with a slight tone of fear in their voice. "Now open up!"
    Laughter came from behind the door, then it creaked open.
    The guest walked back into the room. Some of the other guests were laughing, falling over on the floor. 
    "We got you!"

    9:00 pm. The guest woke up. Everyone was already asleep. They peeked through the window next to them. A single scarecrow loomed out from the window, shadowed by the moonlight shining in the opposite direction. The guest guessed that the owners of the house had put it out for Halloween. They went back to bed.

    10:00 pm. A scarecrow loomed over the Guest, opening it's mouth wider and wider. The guest screamed, then jolted up. Just a nightmare. They opened the curtains. Was the scarecrow closer? The guest couldn't tell. But they could now see all the details of the scarecrow, a jagged mouth like a jack o lantern, a burlap bag as a head. It was creepy. The guest went back to bed.

    12:00 am. The guest woke up once again to a crash. They looked around them, to find the glass of water broken on the floor. Shoot. They were going to have to go downstairs and get a towel. They crept down the stairs, making sure to not make any noise. As they reached the bottom step, they froze. A loud creaking sound was coming from the back door. They leaned against the wall, then quickly peeked around. The screen door had flown open in the sudden wind. They closed the door, got a towel, and then walked back up the stairs. When they got halfway, they thought. Did I forget to lock the screen door? I don't want to have to close it again. They walked back down, and found the door swinging open again. They closed it, making sure to lock it, then they walked back up the stairs to go back to bed.

    1:30 am. The guest woke up in shock. Why can't I sleep? Then their back began to itch. They sat up, then turned around to see straw in the bed. Huh. They decided while they were here, they wood look out the window. They opened the curtains. A sinking feeling rose in their stomach. The scarecrow was gone.

    This is based off of a prank me and my friend were planning to do, having a halloween party then scaring the guests with moving scarecrows and then dressing up as scarecrows to frighten them a little. I've always loved short stories, especially horror ones, so writing this one was a treat. Hope you enjoyed!

  • Here's my spooky story (imagine everyone talking in a Scottish accent): 

    Jeder sighed loudly. It was a full moon upon the highlands, and there were naught but hills in sight. Another night on the highlands alone...especially scary with the 31st coming up, Jeder thought. The 31st day of the 10th month was known as a time when the stories your grandmother's grandmother would tell late at night, and never outside, came true. Jeder, of course, didn't believe in that nonsense, he was a practical man. However, even practical men have to admit that disappearances on the highlands were common, especially on that fateful day.

    As he continued to walk, what sounded like loud voices shouting merrily echoed across the hills towards him. Jeder perked up, and began to run to the sounds. He was in dire need for company, having been alone for so long, his only talking companion the sword buckled at his waist.

    He ran over the final hill to the noises, and as the rounded the hill, he beheld the strange gathering. A campfire lit a ring in the gully between a few hills. Around the campfire sat a multitude of figures, except something was...off about these figures. Their smiling faces seemed not quite right, and the laughs now sounded hollow. And as Jeder slowed while running downhill, he noticed the main off thing. Each figure had stab marks, crusted with dried blood. Some in the heart, some in the gut, some had limbs missing, and others barely had anything left of their necks.

    Jeder paused, and as one figure turned its gaze to him, its eyes gleamed cruelly, and the campfire went out with a whoosh. The moonlight was the only thing lighting the gully now, and nothing implied that anything had been there. And suddenly, Jeder remembered something his mother's mother had told him.

    On the eve of the darkest night of the year, a gathering of restless spirits is convened.

    Footsteps echoed all around him, and the sources seemed to come from where the moonlight shined, but no figures stood in sight.

    These spirits are those killed in cold blood, and their wounds still see the light of fire, but not sun or moon.

    Jeder moved his hand down to his sword's hilt, hand shaking. He drew out the sword, which shined in the moonlight, but its tip wavered in the air wildly. He slowly backed away from the footsteps direction, and felt a sudden cold come upon him.

    They seek vengeance for the wrongs done to them, and if you feel a sudden cold on the eve, run far far away and don't stop running till dawn.

    Jeder, the footsteps ominously continuing, turned his back to them and ran, breath misting the suddenly freezing air with his fear.

    If one looks you in the eye, know you are doomed, for the chill will come, and then...

    Jeder looked behind him, seeing only the imprints of footprints on the grass, and let out a shriek of fear. This is a dream, this is a dream..., Jeder started frantically thinking to himself. As he turned back his head, he realized to late a small rock stood on the ground in his path.

    ...Their cold, reaching hands will touch you...

    Jeder tripped. He started to frantically scramble up, his sword abandoned in the dirt, his patchwork armor stained with grass, his nails torn up by the rough ground. The footsteps grew ever closer, and he felt the touch of what felt like a hot hand lightly rest upon his back. Only when the second hand touched him did he realize these hands were burning cold.

    ...And you will join their ranks of the restless dead.

    (Sorry this was long, I just couldn't stop writing)
    The accompanying card: Feast of the Restless Dead

  • @ChoyBoi what makes a creature spooky?
  • If it is a spirit, zombie, skeleton, or horror @SNAPcreator7
  • @fire12 - New Cards please.
  • Okay, here's an attempt.

    The family was at the table, cutting into our jack-o-lanterns. The boy had just finished his. His mother handed him a strange looking candle as she said
    "Here. The man at the store advertised that these candles never blew out, except when you blow on them. He was a spooky man, though."
    The boy gladly took the candle and placed it inside his lantern. He set his pumpkin outside and then came back in. As he sat at the table, his mother asked him
    "Boy, why didn't you put your jack-o-lantern outside?"
    The child looked beside him and saw his jack-o-lantern, right next to him. The boy, startled, took the jack-o-lantern back outside. As he was heading inside, his mother said
    "Darn! We forgot to get candy. Wait here with your father. I'll be right back."
    A minute passed, then a yelp was heard outside.
    "Wh... What was that?" asked the boy to his father.
    "I'm sure it was nothing, son. Also, why is your jack-o-lantern still inside? And why did you paint it red?" his father asked.
    The boy turned and saw his jack-o-lantern right beside him.

    The last anyone heard from the poor family was screams.

    Here's the card:
  • edited October 2020
    I used a very old story of mine, so I put it on Off-topic Chat.
    I hope it's worth  :)  :p
    A few pages

    Macabre Stories

  • Great Stories and cards everyone!
  • Lord Ruven stumbled out of the door, panting. He rested his hands on his knees for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath.

    Those damn moving shadows, he thought. Why now? Why now, of all times?

    "My lord?" a servant said.

    Ruven jumped. He looked up at the servant, who looked at him with a combination of confusion and nervousness. Slowly, he stood up.

    "Open your mouth."

    "What?" the servant asked.

    "Open your mouth!" Ruven growled.

    The servant's face changed from an expression of confused nervousness to one of knowing irritation. Ruven managed to bring up his dagger up fast enough to catch the servant in their chest before its fangs could find him. The servant writhed for a second before falling limp. Ruven was off before it had finished.

    Corridors later, and Ruven collapsed into a chair. His chest heaved, and he gasped for what breath he could get. The shadows were coming for him, and had gotten his servants as well. He couldn't trust anyone-

    "Come now, my lord," a voice said from behind Ruven. "You can trust me."

    Ruven turned and screamed.

    Within a few weeks, a new lord had come to power after Lord Ruven had suddenly taken ill.

    Ywain Astute Vampire
  • edited October 2020
    The town of Innsbury was damp due to the rain. There was no beautiful stars or the shining moon as the thick rainclouds blanketed the land, thundering like the wrath of a storm god were being unleashed upon it.

    A lone person could be seen walking on a muddy street, unbothered by the rain or the emptiness of the broken-down town that was once a bustling fishing spot of the local citizens. A small golden orb was also glowing in the left eyesocket of the cloaked figure. The gold lining of its cloak glistening in the rain.

    'It's a rainy night outside.' 

    The figure then outstretched its right, bony arm. Emitting purplish, glowing magical aura along with the purple glow of the orbs in their eyesocket, encompassing the single gold orb in their left eyesocket.

    'The dead are waking, kingdoms lie in ruin...'

    Rustling sounds from many of the buildings in that dead town could be heard, as all manner of dead human corpses that were inside of their respective homes and nearby graveyard alike were suddenly awaken with the same glowing purple eyes, or eyesockets as the necromancy was taking hold. And they were bursting forth onto the street with unearthly vigor.

    'On nights like these, abominations like you...'

    Right in a forest outside the town, numerous figures could be seen slowly marching towards the said town. Figures that were once people, but at that point they were just horrendous indescribable mindless mutated husks with incomprehensible limbs, whispering to their one and only creator, Emrakul, the Warper of Life from beyond the stars despite the said deity was imprisoned in the moon of that world.

    But Auric wasn't a living being anymore. And an avaricious archlich like him would never like to be denied of his prize, namely a great vault of gold that was hidden under a castle of the fallen kingdom that was visible from his position where he was currently standing.

    'Should be dreaming in the Beyond.'

    And hell broke loose as the army of undead was clashing against the army of mutated creatures. But Auric only smirked internally as he was surely marching forward, undeterred by the raging battle as more and more undead were arisen from the dead mutants instead...
  • edited October 2020
    Zemin lined his crossbow up, aiming for the heart of the beast on the horizon. If he had anything to do with it, that creature would be dead by 2:00. 
    It was.
    His next target lay behind a castle walls, as if a sentry with thoughts.
    But no bloodsucking vampir' has got any of 'em thoughts. Zemin thought to himself. He'd been doing this for years, and they never had shown any sign of stopping their evil ways. 
    A young bloodsucker ran from the castle, just as he saw the brazier light up. 
    They knew he was here.
    Another bolt flew from his weapon, piercing the heart of another sucker. 
    In a few seconds, three more dropped dead.
    Only one more target in sight. 
    He aimed his crossbow, right into the young girl's head. A little higher. To the right.

  • @Fallen_Lord_Vulganos ahhahahaha... I see what you did there... I love abovefact! It's my favorite book!
  • @SNAPcreator7 (Nyehehehe... I forgot about the card tho lol. Gonna post the thing soon then.)
  • One day, John, who was ten, was walking to Grammas house. She was sick so John was just checking in. "It shouldn't be much farther than," he thought. A good half-an-hour later, John arrived at Grammas house. It was a dusty, old house, that has been for over 250 years. He stood there gazing at the house for a moment, then walked up the creaking steps and knocking on the door, thought "Hm. Looks like Gramma's not home," as the lights were off and Gramma's car was not there. He heard someone shuffling around in the house. The door opened. There was his Gramma. "Oh, who is this?" She asked. "Oh, gramma it's me, John. You must be forgetting things because you're so sick." Gramma looks kinda weird. John thought to himself, Her head is shaped funny, it looks like she got a bump on the top of it, and she sounds a little strange. "Oh John, it's you! Your just the sweetest... uh... grandson! Well, come on in." John walked inside and... there in the corner was a little old lady. With no head. Bloodstained the floor and wall around it. It was Gramma. The 'fake' Gramma grabbed John and took off her disguise. It was the ruthless killer Head O' Jack, the Lantern Man. John's body was discovered six days later. There was a funeral after that. Nobody came.

  • Farmland Fiend

    A poor family lived in a farmland. A father, his two sons, and baby daughter. The children's mother died to a disease shortly after the daughter had born. Father had since been an abusive alcoholic, who started drinking during sunsets and beat his sons in the dead of nights every week, especially the eldest, who always protected his younger brother from drunk dad.

    The younger brother hid farm tools away from their house to a nearby hideout whenever their father started drinking, so the father wouldn't use them to severely harm the eldest. The hideout was under an old spruce tree right next to their neighbor's garden.

    One day when the boy hid a sickle in his hideout, he saw a scarecrow far away in the middle of the neighbor's garden, which he hadn't seen before. It seemed like it was watching the young boy, so he just ran away.

    Later the young boy was told his father was in a village meeting. Big brother told him that a creature had razed the nearby cornfields and gardens. The creature had also let animals loose and stolen tools from farmers. When the father returned, he took a pitchfork, chair, and waited next to his cornfield for hours without drinking a single drop of alcohol.

    As the sun was setting, big brother picked up an axe and he told his younger brother to get the sickle just in case the creature does show up. Little boy ran to his hideout while the big brother was waiting with the father and the little sister playing in the house.

    Moon was rising and it was getting dark. The boy got to his hideout, but couldn't find the sickle anywhere. He felt that something was wrong. He looked at the neighbor's garden and noticed that the scarecrow had disappeared. Then he heard his little sister's scream.

    The young boy ran back to the house and saw his sister crying at the back door. Then he looked at the cornfield. Big brother was standing next to their father, who was lying on the ground. The missing sickle was sticking out from the father's head. When the little boy looked at his big brother, he realized that he was grinning.

    Farmland Fiend
  • I normally write High Fantasy, not horror. Sorry.
    (Not like i'm that good.)
  • edited October 2020
    Leonard St. Gerard, the Salesman

    "Have I got a deal for you!"

    The knock at the door was unexpected, catching Ms. Happin off guard as she was drifting softly into her regular daytime nap. A second knock offered more aggravation than insistence or sense of importance. "Oh, hush. I heard you the first time." She reached the tarnished brass doorknob. She gathered her courage, not overly enjoying the intimacy of talking face to face and swung the door open, revealing a well dressed and handsome young man.

    "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Leonard St. Gerard, and I was wondering if I could steal a moment of your time." The forward and fast talking demeanor and tone was completely offset by the debonair attitude and friendly features of the salesman.

    "Oh, well. I'm Gladis, charmed I'm sure. I was, well, uh, rather busy..." she glanced back to her vacant chair, the lie brazenly muttered from her mouth. "...but I suppose I can spare a moment for such a charming young man. How can I be of service?" Ms. Happin couldn't believe what she said, the flirtatious subtleties, the general smitten feeling, and the open welcome she provided for a complete stranger.

    "Well I do thank you, young lady, but it is I, who wishes to be of service to you." Leonard stood upright, an obvious sense of disciple and pride washing over his presence. "I am here to offer you the greatest gift, the most beautiful present, and an answer to your deepest questions." He gave a quick smile, not only believing his words, eager to prove them."

    "Oh, well, I wasn't expecting company, so-" Ms. Happin stumbled a bit, not prepared at all for such a declaration. "My h- house is a mess." She looked back into her living room, and then once more to the handsome stranger, who know leaned in closer.

    "No worries at all. The idea that a house has been lived in does not make it unappealing to those on the outside, it just means there are stories to tell."

    That smile. Ms. Happin was downright content, more so than she had been in since she didn't know when. "Well, than, would you care for some tea, dearie?" Ms. Happin stepped to the side, ushering the stranger into her home with a gentle wave of her arm. "Sit wherever you feel comfortable." She closed the door behind the man as he took off his coat, hanging it upon the rack to hung adjacent to the door. The man stood there in the threshold of the living area, motionless, save for the pivoting head that seemed to be taking in the new environment. "Well, dearie?" He glanced back at her, seemingly unfamiliar with her quandary. "Tea?"

    "Ha ha, oh, forgive me young lady, I was rather carelessly looking about your house, fantasizing of the stories it must hold. Yes. Yes. Tea would be quite delightful, thank you." He stepped into the living room and took the nearest seat, an undisturbed couch just in front of the magnificently lit bay window. Already he felt the soft glow of the sun's rays upon his back, a warm embrace to further offer comfort in this quaint house.

    Leonard resumed scanning, taking in the shelving that housed books, twisting his head sideways to glance easier at their spines, mouthing the words as he passed from book to book. "You have an exceptional home here, Gladis." His eyes darted to the framed photos, noticing several different people besides his current company, but not being able to see a ton of detail, given the glare from the brightly lit room. "I must thank you for your hospitality. I must admit, in this day and age, it's even hard for fellas in my situation to get our foot in the door." He stood as he continued talking, walking over to the framed photos for a keener look. Handling several of the momentos before returning them to their spots on the mantle or tables. "Is this your husband?" The volume of his words lowered mid sentence as he noticed his hostess enter the same room as him, now toting a serving tray and all the standard accessories that accompany a cup of tea. "Oh, here, let me be of help." Leonard reached his hands out to take the tray from Ms. Happin.

    "Oh, well aren't you a chivalrous one, Mr. St. Gerard." Ms. Happin gladly accepted the aid, unknown to her guest that her arthritis had been rather keen this day. "Now, how do you like your tea?" She smiled as their eyes met, the question feeling almost intimate in this instance.

    "A touch of sugar and a dash of milk. Just as my grandmother taught me." Leonard returned the gaze, before resting down once more onto the couch. "Now, I'm sure you more than eager to let m get started on my pitch, as then you may resume your day as you had previous plans. Thank you." He took the saucer and cup that was extended to him, an initial sip of courtesy, before setting it down on the table to cool to a more reasonable temperature.

    "Oh, hush." Ms. Happin waved off the comment, already forgetting her daily nap or any other solitary idea she had for the day. "In due time. I'm curious how someone so young and handsome as yourself got caught in such a racket as this? Surely you did not think in youth that you would venture to such a location?" Why was she prying, why did she wave off the sense of displeasure she originally had upon hearing the knock at her door?

    "Oh, well, to be perfectly frank, my dear Gladis, I actually did have a clear sense of this profession. I found at a young age I tangled in the dubious nature of the sale. That initial wedge driven between salesman and potential buyer, the pitch, the hook, and the possible sale. It was not unlike my own father's revelry that he found in fishing. Although I do feel as though that analogy may seem a bit crude given that I am essentially comparing you to that of a fish, but I assure you, it is in the most dignified of ways. Perhaps it would be more astute to say that of a prize so valued, yet just beyond reach. A lost artifact, yet to be discovered. The adventure one seeks to reveal treasure yet to be obtained."

    "Well, I would rather say, I find myself liking to being called treasure, more so than that of a fish." Ms. Happin gave a rather snooty snort as she took a sip from her cup.

    "Yes, I do apologize for that. My, experience, beyond that of sales is rather limited, so I don't have that many personal stories to relate to." Leonard set his cup once more upon the saucer and sat back in the couch cushion, still remaining in a poised position. "So, let me start by issuing a rule that I have whenever I make a call upon a new potential client. I, at no point, wish for you to feel pressured, obligated, or otherwise coerced into anything you do not want. While I stand to make my living off of commissions and collected sales, I will not stand to make a living off of fleecing others. I want you to be completely informed and educated before agreeing to anything."

    Gladis uncomfortably adjusted herself in her chair. "Well, the way you sound, it's as if you're going to be selling me a rather pricy investment. I'll have you know right now that I need nothing large, nor fancy. I have no use for a car, nor radio, or any of that fancy technologies I keep hearing about. So if that's what you're on, there's no need to continue."

    "I assure you, Gladis, this is not that kind of product. Everyone can find a use in what I sell." Leonard gave a smile, and Ms. Happin wasn't sure if it was the warm tea, the warm sun, or that warm look, but she felt at ease once more. The tension in her back slowly dissolving to nothing more than a faint tingle.

    "Well, I thank you for your candor. So, tell me, what is it you sell?"

    "I am here today, Gladis, to talk to you about your own death."
  • Forgive the lack of theatrics on this presentation, but I am in a fair amount of pain at the moment; I had surgery just last Friday, and am still recovering. Anyway, without further adieu, let me tell you the story of the creation of a Halloween tradition we all know and love: Jack o' Lanterns!

    It was a cold windy night, when the village drunkard, Jack, was wandering home from a night out drinking. He stumbled haphazardly through the spooky woods that lined his home town, when he chanced across a sight to behold: he saw a red horned figure climbing an apple tree, reaching for a juicy red apple at the top. Jack may have been tipsy, but he was not a fool, or so he thought. He reached for a knife and carved a cross into the base of the tree. As the red figure began to climb down with his prize, he stopped near the base and asked, "Why did you trap me, the great and terrible Lucifer in this tree with a cross?!" Jack replied that if he were stuck in the tree, he could not plague people anymore.

    The Devil pled and pled to his captor, promising him riches and fame if the drunkard would let him free. Eventually, Jack took a pause and said, "Where will I go when I die?" The Devil smiled a wicked grin and said, "To my domain, of course! You are Jack the Drunk! He who disrupts all town's goings on with his antics!" It was now that Jack knew what he wanted from the Devil. "Vow to me that I will never go to hell!" The Devil smiled a broad smile and reached his hand out and they shook. Jack scribbled some scratches over the cross and the Devil hopped down, bowed, and vanished in a puff of smoke.

    "This is great!" thought Jack, for he had nothing to fear anymore! He lived his life as a stingy, sinful, drunk, before one day dying in a ditch. When he arrived at the Gates of Heaven, he strutted up, cutting in line, and said "I believe I am due here." Saint Peter seemed confused, and said "You're Stingy Jack, yes?" Jack held his arms out wide and said, "The one and only!" The saint frowned and said "You can't come here. You would be due in Hell, but it would seem you made a deal. No no, you must return to the realm of the living as a spirit, for you are unwelcome here!" Jack was outraged, storming to Hell, demanding an audience with the Devil.


    When he had his audience, the Devil roared, "How dare you step foot in my domain?! You are unwelcome here, or have you forgotten our deal!?" He pitched burning hellfire at Jack as he fled the abyss. Jack returned to the world of the living, where he created a lantern with the burning embers, and a turnip he found, and thus began his wanderings.
  • Loving the stories!
  • edited October 2020
    There was no time to waste. Charles needed to get home before dark, or his grandmother would ground him and he wouldn't be allowed to go out again and see Rita. He didn't even hesitate... okay, he hesitated for just a second, looked up at the sign. It read "Cementerio de Los Condenados". He quickly thought, "Where's Los Condenados? I thought we lived in El Paso."  That was all the hesitation Charles had before plunging headlong toward the short cut that would keep him in his Grandmother's good graces... or so he thought. "I'll just cut through this Cemetery and be home in time to set the table for dinner."

    At first, Charles walked with ease. It was a beautiful day, the sky was clear and the sun was slowly winding down. His grandmother's house was an easy five minutes away, which made Charles smile with delight at his decision to go this way. As he walked down the pathway, he hadn't a care in the world. Then, about two minutes into his leisurely stroll, his eye caught a tiny creature on the trail ahead of him.

    The creature appeared to be limping. In fact it was limping. A cute and fluffy squirrel was slowly making it's way from one side to the other. Charles slowed down a bit, trying not to frighten the little guy. "Hey little buddy..." he spoke very softly.

    The squirrel stopped.

    Looked at Charles.

    There was a hesitation in the air, and Charles knew what was coming next.

    Both he and the squirrel made a break for it. Charles, determined to help the cute tree dwelling creature, ran headlong up the path. The squirrel hobbled as painfully swift as it could into the cemetery. Charles was quick, but the squirrel somehow managed to disappear behind a tombstone just as Charles stepped off the passageway. He was behind the tombstone in the time it would take to draw in one's final breath, and much to Charles' surprise, the squirrel really had vanished.

    Charles looked around, but nowhere could he see the injured creature. There were no holes in the ground, no caverns in which to hide, no trees to climb (Not that he though the injured critter would be able to climb it anyways) and behind the tombstone were just a few grave markers. "Where on earth could that little guy be?" he though to himself.

    "tck tck tck" Charles clicked with his tongue. "Come on out little guy..." but the little guy did not come out.

    Charles spent another good minute looking before finally giving up. He turned back to the path, but it was not where he had left it, in fact, it wasn't anywhere.

    "What the..."

    Then Charles noticed the sun wasn't where he remembered it to be either, and a wave of panic struck him.

    "Oh no..."

    Charles began to jog through the endless cemetery that enveloped him. As he approached more tombstones, around him it became darker. His pace picked up and he was soon darting past mausoleums and in and out of ornate head stones and grave markers, and as he did, something his grandmother used to tell him suddenly filled his mind.

    "You don't go in there at night, and you don't go off the path. Do you hear me young man?"

    "Yes Nana..."

    Then a noise snapped him back to his surroundings. He could hear a strange sound, like breathing. Charles stopped in his tracks and turned in the now darkened cemetery... His scream trapped in his throat.

  • Reading down this at midnight right before I go to sleep. I dare you to try it.
  • It isn't mine, but if you want "Horror" stories, I can't recommend anything other than MISTER POOFERS MUST DIE.
  • It sounds quite scary!
  • Thanks to all who were brave enough to enter!
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