Two Sentence Horror Stories 2014
#TwoSentenceHorrorStory. Written throughout the month of October by Josh and Kevin. Feel free to share but please give credit! Enjoy!
When I sat under the lone, dead oak tree behind my father’s place, it filled my head with the most peaceful song. My mind was beset with horror afterwards when my reflection revealed I had aged many years and the tree had begun to flower.
When my wife died the thought of her watching over me was comforting. Now she stands at the foot of my bed every night watching me.
I checked my reflection this morning to find edges along the contours of my head that I could see but not feel. I checked again and now I’m certain, there’s a thing in the mirror and it’s wearing my face.
I dreamt I was standing with my face turned up, warm raindrops caressing my cheek. I awoke to find instead it was the bodies of spiders hitting my face, falling through the crack in the lid of my coffin.
When I walked, alone, down the back alley of an antique store, I got startled when I ran into the creepiest doll. I laughed it off, but when I stopped, I could hear it laughing too.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realized that it was not looking back at me, but at something behind me. What it saw ripped a silent scream from its mouth.
The strange rhythm and sound of the waves that morning led all the townsfolk out to listen to it. The eerily swollen sea coaxed everyone forward and even when I was waist deep in water, I couldn't stop walking.
The noise I heard outside my bedroom door made me jump out of bed. It was only as my feet hit the floor and the cold hand from under the bed closed around my ankle that I realized its game.
One of the students in my grade one class noticed I had a cut on my index finger and asked me if I’d been visited by the Paper Man. He showed me the lacerations on his arms, and then, as I watched him turn pale white, he told me about a thin man that slides out of the cracks in his baseboards at night.
As I walked down the dark hallway, I heard a noise behind me. Turning around, I realized too late the noise had only been a decoy for what I felt creep up behind me.
My late wife and I studied a rare beetle off the coast of Angola that had tiny vocal cords used to repeat things they heard. I still have a bottle of beetles I open at times to listen to my wife’s voice, her last scream.
Opening my eyes, I looked up at the smiling face of my little boy as he said 'Bye Daddy'. As the cold skeletal hand closed around my throat and pulled me under the water, I too late realized that everybody had been right about him.
We buried him in pieces in the woods because we couldn't bear to bring him back that way and thought he’d want it like that. Except I keep seeing his head in piles of leaves, appearing and then disappearing, trying to find his way home.
The screaming wouldn't stop, just wouldn't stop! But, as my fingers tightened around his throat, as I saw the life light leave his eyes, my screaming did finally stop.
I saw the stranger again, black eyes staring at me from my basement window as I parked in the driveway. The cops have looked and have never found him, but I can’t shake this feeling that he’s still hiding somewhere in my house.
I lie awake every night, my wife's breath caressing my cheek, her fingers running through my hair. My mind pays no attention to the fact that every morning I pass her grave as I drive to work.
A muffled thump summoned me with urgency from the snow filled banks of an icy basin. When I cleared the powder from 9 feet out on that icy lake I took a look at who was beneath, thrashing around desperately, lungs filling with water - it was me, and I was dying.
Huddled under the blankets in the dark, I could hear ragged breathing in my ear. It was only when I held my breath, and I could still hear the sound, that I realized I was not alone, and I felt the deathly cold lips pass gently over my cheek.
I was alone when I heard a long, slow knock at the dining room window at 10 past 1 in the morning. I went to look but could see nothing except the reflection of my brightly lit room, and of whoever was standing behind me.
It doesn't bother me that my dead little girl's doll watches me every night as I sleep. What bothers me is that I lock the doll in the attic every morning.
When I thought about how disgusting it was, a shiver ran up my spine, ending as pressure at the bottom of my neck. I reached in back to massage it out, when my fingers found the antennae of the giant centipede that had crawled up my shirt.
This makes eight bugs that I’ve squashed as they crawled across my body. Here I thought I cleared all the maggots from the hole in my stomach.
Walking down the stairs into the dark basement, I was nervous, and I laughed at my silly fears, knowing there was nothing there. But as the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, and I felt the cold fingers close around my wrist, I realized how silly I had really been.
They said there was something in the air that was turning people into zombies. I thought, air born disease until I heard that strange melody, carried in a breeze, and then it consumed me, becoming all I could think about.
I got used to the sound of the branches outside my bedroom window tapping against the glass when the wind would blow. But, one night, when the air was deathly calm, the tapping returned, like the sound of claws clicking against the pane, this time coming from my side of the glass.
I remember my first time experiencing sleep paralysis, when in my periphery I could see someone staring at me from the foot of my bed. He backed away and dissolved into the wall, where to this day I can still see remnants of his crooked smile.
The rustling of the leaves in the trees outside my window was always comforting, lulling me to sleep. But lately the rustling I hear in the corners of my dark bedroom drowns out all but the sound of my ragged breathing as I lie awake, praying for the sun to rise.
After the night storm rolled in and the downpour started, I thought I saw a flash of lightning through my open window. When I looked, I saw the dark figure in my yard, who had just taken my picture.
My daughter was coloring a picture of our house and was working on my room when she stopped and mumbled, “What’s he doing there?” Before I could ask about it, she shaded the area with her pencil and revealed the outline of a monster that she had not drawn.
