The Knife

You are so fucking tired of the potholes. Lately it’s been raining more and more and now it’s pouring down from the heavens with a vengeance, filling the pesky holes in the road and making it impossible to navigate properly. You could kill someone right now with the amount of rage you feel, but you somehow manage to hold yourself together as you barrel down the street. You make a left turn and head into the woods just outside of what used to be your home.

The city is in shambles. The world is going to heal without you, but it has changed so drastically since the return of the demons. You drive haphazardly through the trees as the truck nearly spins out of control multiple times. The radio plays some poppy 80s songs as you wonder how any stations are still active. So much doesn’t make sense, but none of it matters anymore because you’ve lost the only thing you ever actually cared about. They ruined your life. This planet was already dying, you had known for a long time and had been preparing for years. You had always considered yourself to be more cultured and intelligent than the hicks that used to live out here, but you committed fully to your bunker and prep work. What you hadn’t counted on was the weirdness of it all. The impossibility of how events had actually played out. Now your family was dead, and it was entirely your fault. The trees sway in the wind and the leaves darken the sky above you as lighting flashes become your main source of illumination. Though it was supposed to be midday, you could never take vision for granted any longer. Not after how many illusions you have fallen victim to already. You change the station and park the car. Deep in the woods you contemplate your family’s terrible fate as you pull out a pack of cigarettes. Vaping has not really been an option since the beginning of the end. The radio is now playing some pretentious hipster shit. You roll down a window and let the engine run. Some rain gets in and eats away at the mat on the floor, but you couldn’t care less. Your fingers move to your lips as you take a long slow drag, letting the ashes fall to the floor of the truck. Your mind clears and you look around at the filthy vehicle. You’ve got a large pistol lying on the seat next to you and you reach out to cradle it in your filthy hands. This is what became of you. You built a good stable life for yourself, and you were anything but content with it! The gun fits snugly into your palm, as it had just hours before when you tried to defend yourself. The reason you came out here was to go down in a fight against them, but unfortunately you see nothing but blurry trees as it keeps raining. You could have sworn they retreated into the woods, but now you find you’re questioning your own memory. That’s been happening more and more lately. Lightning flashes again. You breathe in another lungful, wishing the smoke would just choke you and be done with it.

Some idiot on the radio starts to introduce the next song. It’s called Lightning in a Bottle. You are just about to change the station, but the irony of the title stops you. It starts playing, and of course it’s some gimmicky indie folk garbage, but it gets you thinking. Your whole life you’ve been trying to make things work. Trying to control the situation despite bad circumstances or being dealt a shitty hand. Many years ago, before you lost touch with the larger world around you, mom had said something that had stayed with you your whole life. She said you were destined for greatness. She could simply feel it and there was no question about it, you were going to do something incredibly special and important with your life. You were supposed to be someone worth being. But here it feels like you have lost the only people you ever helped. No one has ever benefited from your presence in any meaningful way, and it looks like no one ever would. A single tear falls onto the steering wheel as the song continues in the background. It is followed by a river rivalling the downpour outside. You’ve been holding back for an exceptionally long time, and since your loss you have been unable to grieve. You just had to take it in stride, the same way the uncaring universe has taken everything from you for as long as you can remember. Mom died only 6 years ago. Good thing she passed while she still had faith in her dreams for you. You had taken everything from her, you stole her youth, her financial stability, and you drove her apart from your father. Despite her claims to the contrary, you had always known the truth. You blink rapidly but it does nothing to stop your cries. Your body spasms. The song starts to shift and change.

Buzzzing. A persistent and grating buzzing cuts through the sound of acid rain splattering and sizzling on the roof and hood. You attempt to compose yourself but find it impossible. They finally decided to show up. This is where they will kill you. This is where everything will fall apart for good. Their formless bodies will smother you and their mouths and hands will tear flesh from bone and atom from atom.

The world around you starts to spin, slowly at first but picking up speed. The stupid song on the radio seems to distort and the lyrics get weirdly specific. Then the wind outside calms and the spinning stops as you focus and inhale again. Toss the cigarette out the window. Watch its light go out. Feel the world slow down as you steel yourself for a fight. Hands tighten on your weapon, finger on the trigger. These are your hands. This is your last moment, your final stand. Most people aren’t given notice before they die. You’re one of the lucky few who can pinpoint the exact moment. Your perspective changes so much when you’re facing the unknown. The ultimate change. You realize they aren’t going to get you. You realize you always knew it. You realize you won’t let them have the satisfaction. You realize this is what you wanted anyway. You open the door and step out as the music fades into the background, turning robotic and alien. When will that damn song end? Was the world just an illusion? Why are you still stalling? What are you waiting for?

You look around as an incredible wave of peace washes over you. It’s difficult to believe just how calm you are as you squint at the tree line searching for signs of movement. You see nothing as you raise your hands. A flash of light blinds you and the song is finally gone, replaced by nothing. You fall to the ground, leaves and dirt scattering from your impact. Your ears are ringing. Your eyes open and you realize you are lying on your side. Blood is pouring like thoughts out from you. The gun you dropped is too far to reach now and wave after wave of pain starts to radiate from your head, buzzzing out throughout your entire body. You feel something sharp in the small of your back. Why are you still alive? What is this torture they devised for you? Why didn’t your weapon strike true, the way it had struck your only child when you thought she was one of them. Why did it now fail you and leave you unable to move or think as the world fades in and out with each halting breath you take? The pain in your back has gone numb. Not that it matters… Your bullet wound in your skull is enough to give you more screaming nerves than you had ever encountered in your life. You scream and try to get up, only to move a couple inches and fall to your back, looking up at the sky as the rain pours down. You scream again as the acid rain stabs your eyes and blinds you. Colors mix and change and distort like a watercolor painting as you try to scream again. But this time nothing comes out. You close your eyes. The rain eats through your eyelids and gets in anyway. Not even the tears are keeping the rain out. Your skin burns. This is how you will die, alone and unwanted, unable to even take your own life. Then you reach behind yourself and claw at the numbness in your back, pulling a small knife out. Where the hell did this come from? This blessed rusty knife with a red hilt is the kindest thing you have. You hold it above your heaving chest and plunge it downwards. You feel resistance give way and you feel a mild foreign presence enter your skin. But it doesn’t really hurt as all your pain is falling away. You almost feel like you’re watching yourself as you lift the knife out, slide it to a new point in your chest, and bring it up and down again. Again. Again. Now your hands move to your belly and you try again, but this time your arms are too weak. You have a sense of strange tunnel vision, and you see pale glowing eyes surround you. But you don’t care. You got to yourself before they did. A sudden burst of flame and light strikes down, burns away the eyes, and sets you free.

At least, that’s what you saw at the end. Who knows how real any of it was? You’re floating now. Watching it all play out. Alone. You used to fear dying alone, but now you realize you only ever feared the not knowing. This isn’t so bad. This isn’t so bad. This was never all that bad.

song i wrote based on this story. thx for reading!!

Post: Small Town Horror Story: The Horrific Dismembering Of A Landlord in Chicago https://www.blaqsbi.com/5Qty

“The secret that left with him…” | A story about loss and acceptance | Audiobook

Margo's father is seriously ill. He is very eager to tell his daughter something important about himself, because this is his last conversation with her, but he leaves his secret unrevealed...

Devil's Reef. Based on "The Shadow over Innsmouth" by H.P. Lovecraft

#Repost @_steffi_licious 😏👍 A very good hobby! 🍿 #horror #horrormovies #horrorgirl #horrorfan #horrorjunkie #instahorror #horror memes #horror addict #the shining #lovehorror #horrorfans #horrorstory #horrorlife #horrorfanatic #horrorclub #horrorobsessed #horrorpage #horrorcommunity #horrorfreak #horrornights #horrormovies ##horrorclassic #horrormemes #horrorart #memes #dailymemes #horrormemes #80shorror#halloween #halloweeneveryday 🦇🕷️ #halloweenmemes 🎃 https://www.instagram.com/p/CprM74PMbiw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

CultureCult Press invites fiction submissions for publication in its anthology of stories about rivers “THE RIVER IN US ALL” (Expected release: July 2023). The final date for submission is May 12, 2023 Link to submission guidelines: http://culturecult.co.in/anthology-submissions/ Feel free to use any of the following writing prompts or use one of your own! – Two things have kept her away from her hometown. Her abusive father, and the river she loved which had turned monstrous one stormy monsoon and claimed her best friend. After all these years, she decides to return. – A group of friends are lost on their way to the cabin in the woods. It’s night, and they camp out by a river, which holds a dark secret that is set to end all of their lives by dawn! – An interstellar scientist working on the mythical cure to ageing, stumbles upon a river in a distant planet, whose water seems to flow backwards. He begins to believe that the river is the key to his success. – In a magical world, a river flows through the center of the land, connecting different kingdoms and providing life-giving water to all. An evil sorcerer animates a mountain and compels it to block the river. Everyone is scared, but a young heroine decides to fight back. – A small town by a river is plagued by a series of strange disappearances. The curious church organist must navigate the murky waters of the river and the murkier secrets of the townspeople to solve the mystery. – The river was dying. The reasons were too many – natural, economic, political.. Even as his fishing business got decimated bit by bit, he began to discover the presence of a strange river full of fishes, inside his own body.. PLEASE NOTE that this is an anthology with a THEME. ONLY those fictions that feature a river in a prominent capacity, shall be considered for publication. Stories of all genres are invited. . . . . #CallforSubmissions #SubmissionCalls #anthologysubmissions #authorsupportingauthors #authorscommunity #authorssupportingauthors #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writersnetwork #writingcommunity #writingprompts #writinginspiration #writingtip #writenow #culturecult #horrorwriter #horrorstory #myster https://www.instagram.com/p/CrgSoDMJPHk/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

The Lighthouse

As Dolly drove up the narrow dirt track towards the ominous Maine coastline, she observed the dark clouds and hissing wind circling the towering white structure ahead of her on the cliff edge, the fierce wind appearing to chase the clouds around the circular exterior in an aggressive game of chase.

Outside of the hired classic Cadillac, she passed long-forgotten properties with dilapidated exteriors, neglected lawns and battered white picket fencing. Although Dolly could sense the eerie emptiness of the buildings she passed, she could feel a continuous gaze from the broken windows, the town’s soul was still in residence.

Glancing down to her right past the gearshift, lying on a meticulously restored cream leather seat, the metal box sat proudly. She had promised to urgently deliver this menacing box, with all its secrets hidden within, before it was too late. Looking back up towards the road through the windscreen, Dolly brushed a rogue strand of mahogany hair away from her youthful face, clearing her vision.

As Dolly increased her speed, heavy rain started to pelt the beautifully appointed car with a steely determination, the force of the rain pushed back on the fragile aluminium exterior with a might that suggested it knew her mission was a fool’s errand. The sudden and thunderous roar of lightning did little to break her focus; she was just mere minutes away from arriving at her final stop, the old lighthouse.

Passing through the property’s main gates, the track narrowed further upwards with potholes littering the way and making the car bounce along in an erratic manner. Dolly’s stiletto pressed down with force on the brake, bringing the Cadillac to a grinding halt on the pebbled drive, ending its treacherous journey directly outside a porch attached to the small building nestled under the towering structure.

Thankful that she was wearing her heavy fur coat, Dolly stepped out of her cocooned protection into the great forces of Mother Nature, the metal box tucked tightly under her arm. The rain, encouraged by the unforgiving wind, had slanted to an angle, attacking everything with the power of a thousand knives.

With rain falling on to her beautifully painted face, Dolly looked upwards to the top of the shining beacon just in time to see a bolt of lightning attack its tallest point. Her face brightened under the flash of light, showing an expression of steely determination and naïve youth. The teenage girl inhaled a huge breath of air and took her first steps towards the lighthouse.  

Written by Chris Coote-Stubbins

🎃 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗜𝗿𝗼𝗻 🎃

In the turbulent year of 1960, an enigmatic figure known as "The Great General" cast his ominous shadow over a South American state. His reputation, a tenebrous legend, surpassed his meager military prowess. Born of privilege, not talent, his dominion over the land was built on fear and ruthless executions.

One eerie day, he embarked on an expedition to a nameless, remote town where chickens outnumbered souls, and a simple meal of rice and beans held more value than lofty ideals. His mission: to mock the struggles of ordinary people. Yet, he could not have foreseen the descent into an abyss that awaited him.

The horror began when he coerced local farmers and fishermen into grotesque performances, silencing any who dared oppose his twisted amusement. But the true nightmare lurked within a decrepit shanty. There, he stumbled upon cryptic books written in an eerie script. Silence reigned, despite his violent inquisitions, until a quaking woman unveiled a concealed trap door in the floor. Defying her desperate pleas, he descended into a chasm, unearthing an intricate tunnel leading to a hidden underground sanctuary. This was no rebel's lair, but a crypt of dread built by ancient civilizations, concealing arcane technology untouched by time. The General's gaze fell upon lifelike robots, grotesque automatons resistant to the ravages of ages. Driven by his insatiable hunger for power, he recklessly attempted to awaken the mechanical sentinels through a cryptic computer thinking about world dominion. A dark ritual unfurled, igniting a cataclysmic response. The ancient machines turned on his men, orchestrating a ghastly symphony of metallic death with noises of chainsaws and broken bones.

As they circled him, they revealed their cursed genesis. "Once, we were human, warriors" they intoned, "but a shaman's curse transmuted us into beings of iron, for only iron conceals a killer's heart. You, too, shall share our fate: an eternity of silence, encased in an iron coffin, a grotesque parody of life."

In a blinding flash, The Great General joined their grotesque metallic ranks, stripped of humanity. He waited in eternal torment, a soulless sentinel in the shadows, eager to claim more hapless souls who dared venture into the abyss.

💀☠️💀☠️💀

WELL, ACTUALLY 

By TM Hogeman

Part of the Movie Scenes Reimagined series.

Here's a snippet of what's to come! Enjoy the introduction to "Workaholic," which can be ordered from Something Or Other Publishing @ https://soopllc.com/product/Workaholic/

My father was a workaholic. The old man had slaved his days away in the coal mines—proud to be doing his part to fuel Appalachia, but a stranger at the dinner table where my mother always kept a plate ready. They taught me as a child that hard, dedicated work was the path of righteousness, something to aspire to. Be devoted to your employers, and they’ll be loyal to you. Earn your keep and they will reward you. In the end, all I earned was an empty pill bottle and this lousy pickaxe.

The blade was dull when I pulled it from the dark closet, stained with years of rust from neglect. A physical symbol of my labor’s burden, the tool dragged after me, scraping against the rough tile floor of the office where I used to work. Admittedly, I was no longer sure whether the wake of red flakes left behind was corrosion or blood. Despite the bright, shining lights and the bitter silence, I could no longer distinguish between what was real and what wasn’t. My former coworkers cowered under their desks while I shuffled. Quiet, as they had been when they all saw me drowning, and praying to the God that forsook us when I passed. One of the faceless screamed when the tip of the ax crashed through the wall of her cubicle. Removing it decapitated the kitschy kitten poster that bolstered everyone to “hang in there.”

I did hang in there. I had gripped the edge of sanity with my fingernails.

Why are they here?

I stay up late most nights,

listening to music, watching youtube, scrolling on my phone trying to entertain myself with whatever crazy stuff the world has to offer.

I sit up in my bed, in the dark, only having my little lamp to bring some sort of comfort from the darkness surrounding me.

Some nights, I see them.

They're small about the size of a small dog, about 1 or 2 every time I see them, they don't do anything really. They just crawl around like a curious puppies looking for food that fell off the kitchen table. Every time I look up at them they scatter but when I see them from the corner of my eyes they like playing around with the clothes I leave on the ground or try to take my books and flip through them, they can't seem to pick them up their hand just passes through. Must be too heavy for their small hands.

Then we have the tall one, he's taller than me, tall as my room door. He comes out at night when I'm awake just like the little ones. Except he's..... different.

He follows me around when I go to the bathroom at night or when I go to get water from my kitchen, kinda like a bodyguard. He's a gentleman though and stops at the door when I close it. Then he follows me back to my room and stops at the door and just kinda stands there on the side of the door, again like a bodyguard.

There was this one time, I was staying up late again.

I decided to change my clothes since I felt ucky, I felt the closed door that I bumped into since I was taking off my clothes open a bit so I turned back, and I saw the silhouette of his face then disappear again. I closed the door and whispered "you F-ing creep, don't do that"

I heard a small tap against the wall after I said that, I believe that was him apologizing for peeking.

I̶̪͐ ̵̮͔͑̈̓ẁ̷̜ä̴̯̝͎͐s̴̨̼̪̒n̶̳̰̪͋̃̽'̶̨̟̂͘ẗ̵̪̬̫́ ̷̡̘͒̐͝ń̸̤̀e̵͉̖͆̈́a̸̯̽r̵͖̃ ̴͖̆̀t̷̢̙́̓ȟ̵̰̮e̷̛̲ ̶̯̤͉̈́̂w̴͉͕̺̋ả̶̤̘͂l̶̢̢̟̈́l̴͈̈́̆

Now that I think about it, every time I tell the shadows little or tall to go away, they do.

I don't know why, but... they do.

W̶̠͙̭̃̊̀͝ḧ̸̛͉̭̮̻̪́̊ŷ̴̡̬̞̣̳̭̺̏͊͊̃͠ ̶̨̦̥͚͂̌͆ǟ̶̢̛̩̫̼͔r̴̻̻̟͔͍͙̈ę̷͙̩̒ ̵̧͎̙̺͍̹̏t̷̙͉̭̬̓h̵̺̽͐̇̚̕͜͠e̷̟̊͂̓y̵̛͚̫̐̂̓͂͂͘ ̴̢̣̫̞͖̟̀̀̑̌́̄͜h̵̗͚͙͗̉̃̏̀͑͘e̴̞̪̔͊̔̇̽̀̆r̸͎̝͈̰͙̟̔̊̍̋e̵͙̓?̶̠̜͇͎̬͔͐͋̈́͒̌̕̚͜ ̶͚͉̬̞̰͔̹́Ẅ̷̖̱͎́̏̔̿̍h̵̖̦̬̳̠͒͆͆ͅy̸̡̢̡͉̦̖̌̆̍̄̕̕͝ ̸͎̳̮̍́̇̌͠d̵͇̞̝̓ǫ̸̖̜̺̬̦̾̂͊̈́̀̕̚ ̸̟̱͈̺͍̩̆̀̔͂̿̽͝ẗ̸̥̭̤͇̙͆̓̆̒͌h̸̛͕̏̈́̉͑̚e̵͕̜͉̙̓y̷̢̡͍̝̞͐̅ ̷̹̲̰͖̽͐́͌̓͠͝l̴͎̈́̎i̴̮̲̲̻͈̟̓s̷͖͚͚̜͈̭̮̎̊͌̊͋ţ̶̘̫͕̰̲̊̓̓͘̚ȩ̶̀̕n̵͍̟̄̈͌̈́͂̚?̸̤̔̽̌̉͋̚͝

‘It looked like a giant glowing acorn and then this thing stepped out of it…’ #dailyweirdo #dailymonster #cryptid #creatureconcept #monsterconcept #alien #ufo #monster #weirdo #horror #horrorstory #monsterdesign https://www.instagram.com/p/ChGO6JYsD5J/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

Beautiful Skirmantė

Once upon a time, in a small Lithuanian town named Alytus, there was a girl named Skirmantė. She was known for her beauty and charming personality. Skirmantė was the kind of girl who always got what she wanted, no matter what it took. She had a way of manipulating people to do her bidding...

Every Horror Film Ever

The Abandoned House

Once upon a time, in a small town nestled in the woods, there was a house that stood abandoned for years. The locals whispered of strange noises and eerie sightings coming from the house at night, and it was said that anyone who dared to enter never came back.

One stormy night, a group of teenagers decided to investigate the house for fun. They crept up to the door, and with trembling hands, pushed it open. The interior was dark, the air thick with the scent of decay, and the only light came from the flashes of lightning outside.

As they made their way through the house, they started to hear whispers and footsteps behind them. Suddenly, the door slammed shut, trapping them inside. The whispers grew louder, and they realized they were not alone. They were being watched by something sinister and malevolent.

In the darkness, they saw glimpses of twisted figures and felt cold, bony fingers brushing against their skin. The whispers turned into cackles and laughter, and the teenagers were engulfed in a sea of fear and despair.

They stumbled through the house, desperately searching for a way out, but the walls seemed to shift and change, leading them deeper into the darkness. Just as they were about to give up hope, they found a trapdoor in the floor, and with a burst of energy, they managed to escape.

As they stumbled outside, gasping for air, they looked back at the house and saw a figure in the window, watching them with cold, unfeeling eyes. They never spoke of that night again, and the house remained abandoned, a monument to the horror that lurked within.

The brand new 2022 Jane Tennison thriller from the Queen of Crime Drama

Please Visit this link and read https://bit.ly/3qJ2YM3

The thrilling new Detective Jane Tennison crime novel from the Queen of Crime Drama - now available to pre-order in hardback, eBook and audiobook.

Helena Lanark is the only one who knows about the horrors which once occurred in her family's house. The heiress of an immense family fortune, she now resides in a luxurious care home; her mind and memory fading fast.

Jane Tennison is leading a murder investigation into the recent brutal death of a young girl, her decomposed, starved body discovered in an old air raid shelter in the garden of the Lanark's now derelict house. Initially the focus is on identifying the victim, until another body is found hidden in the walls of the shelter.

As the investigation and search for answers intensifies, Jane travels to Australia. There she discovers the dark secret that the Lanark family has kept hidden for decades. A secret that not only threatens to bring down a family dynasty, but also places Jane Tennison in mortal danger . . .

Murder hides behind closed doors in Lynda La Plante's brilliant new Jane Tennison thriller.

Praise for Lynda La Plante:

'The UK's most celebrated female crime author' - DAILY MAIL

'Thirty years on from writing Prime Suspect, La Plante is still delivering the goods' - THE TIMES

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