Short Story

'I'm going to worry about that boarded room.' You concluded before heaving yourself off the leather chair that they could somehow afford. Luckily enough, Yariel was nice enough to show you around the attraction before you could get to work. 'Remember, if anything goes horribly wrong, just quit.' You tried to calm your racing heart but it only reduced the pounding a little. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead as you trudged past by the boarded room. Honestly, you never felt so nervous in your life. Maybe you should stop watching horror movies and reading rumors online, it was fake after all. You couldn't help but get a whiff of something rotten from that dreaded room. 'No, no thank you. Not going to die today.' Your pace quickened, eventually settling in the office. You weren't going to lie but, the crappy props that was made to scare people did scare you--at least as of right now. The ringing of the phone almost made you jump out of your

There was more than a touch of unpleasantness contained within that safe. Across the room, however, was my real arsenal: a two-tiered bookcase made of pressed particleboard that I'd picked up at a garage sale for five dollars. Crammed in it and disguised by a simple holographic misrepresentation which caused the volumes on the shelves to appear as a complete run of the Ace Science Fiction Specials from the 1960s, was in fact such a collection of ancient tomes of mind- blasting lore as to give the cognoscenti of such things many sleepless nights: The Book of Eibon, Cultes des Goules, De Vermis Mysteriis, The Eltdown Shards, The People of the Monolith, The Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, and the dreaded Al-azif itself, know also as the Necronomicon. Should the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse show up, even wearing Armani and Kevlar while driving SUVs and brandishing Russian assault rifles, I was ready for them. While finishing the assemblage of the gun, I glanced up long enough to make sure that whoever had entered a little less than four minutes ago wasn't, say, a Mi-Go intent on booking me for a missing-persons case--with me as the star. I'd registered earlier the sound of my client--or so I hoped-- standing and moving desultorily about the outer office. There being no indication of impatience in the light steps, I merely raised my gaze, intending nothing more than a cursory glance and a word or two of reassurance before completing my work. Instead I stared, motionless, like a hare transfixed by the glittering gaze of a

My name was called eighth and my hands trembled as I walked into the cramped room. The floor and walls were covered in light blue tile and there was a slight scent of filth and dirt, but it was concealed by the overwhelming smell of bleach. Standing in front of me was an average looking petite woman with greying brown hair in a lab coat and two hairy, burly men in light blue doctor’s scrubs, they all looked menacing, which did not help with my concerns and in that moment I knew my fears were justified.

Then suddenly, a disconcerting fear latches onto your cold shoulder holding you tight. What if these walls eat you alive? What if the only things you will ever see ever again are the scuffed tile floors, plain walls, and flickering fluorescent lights? The fear makes your head spin, yet it yanks you back to this moment with its boney, thin, gray

“I’ll have 6 eggs, a big glass of orange juice, a banana, and some oatmeal please” said DeSean “ You’re one crazy kid” said the female bartender at IHop. “Yes ma’am, I might be crazy ,but ready for football this morning” DeSean responded swiftly. The bartender responded almost immediately saying “Damn right, hope you do well this morning, I’ll have that food out real quick honey”. DeSean waited for less than 5 minutes before chowing down on over 1000 calories. He exchanged some words with the bartender and he was off to football.

I backed against the wall and tried to stay quiet. Loud thumps shook the ground. "Alister, what is down here that could be that big?" Light boomed in my direction. I squinted my eyes from how bright it was. When the flash died down I opened my eyes to a roaring path of burning flesh. Shadows of skulls and torn bodies danced the walls. The thumps grew closer. "I guess I'm about to find

“Of course they aren’t helping,” Adia groaned, slamming the door to Heron’s Hideaway shut. It was our last midnight patrol for the week of camp, and it was supposed to be easy. But how was cleaning an entire building with just the two of us easy?

Restless shifting of bed linens. A trickle of sweat sliding down a pain contorted face. Hand fisted white knuckle in the sheets. Breaths coming in shallow quick pants of pain and fear. His head swiveled and tilted to the sounds coming from down the corridor. A slow inhalation of air through the nose to scent it. Damp earth, death, old blood, panicked fear of a female, a slayer. These where the ones that meant something. The others came and went with the dreams but those, they where all ways there. Always underlying the changing backdrop of images that seamed to be interchangeable. Always a corridor and at its end a group of cells. Three to the right and three to the left and the largest one it dead ended in was lit with a dim hazy gold light. Its front ten inches or more of clear plexiglass. Beyond this a bed large enough for two unlike the six cells lining the wall, a toilet, a sink but nothing for privacy. The female slayer was usually in the bed when he reached the plexiglass wall but not always. He opened his eyes to the shadowy blackness of the corridor that even his enhanced sight couldn't penetrate, but he knew from the damp earth smell that if he lifted his hands over his head that he could lay the palms of his hands flat on the ceiling and he would feel the roots of

“Wake up you lazy lout!” the Owner of the theatre yelled at a slumped figure sleeping on the rotting desk in the room, who had a quill in hand. The room was stingy, dusty and boiling hot and room was dimly lit by a pair of tall candles and the moon poured it’s beautiful dim light into the room.The room smelt of smoke and burning wax. It was as horrifically smelling as the city dungeons.The walls were covered in full bookshelves with books and scrolls that appeared to have never been opened.He woke startled and terrified, ink staining the old wooden table. he was meant to be working on on a money making scheme for the theatre.

I feel happy and relaxed as my legs brush up against the scratchy slate gray carpet. I look up and see colorful chewed pieces of gum stuck underneath the brown wooden table. The smell of popcorn and cookies mix with the stench of sweaty children. Screaming children can be heard in the distance but the hum of the air conditioning is the most prominent sound filling my ears. Touching the soft reality escaping portal my hands lie still. My eyes wander and there are kids reading, talking, and even sleeping. I feel safe within these four boring gray walls filled with colorful Picasso like papers dominating the eyes of the viewers. I pick up an object next to me that is cold against my warm palm. I bring it to my lips and the sweet bubbly caffeine trickles down my throat. Peace and comfort are felt in this small corner under this desk.

You couldn't believe the gory scene in front of you and you inhaled sharply, fearful of approaching Springtrap in his insane state. You nervously made your way back to the Office in fear of Springtrap jumping out and murdering you on the spot. You sat on the comfy, black chair which creaked under your weight and realized that your shift already started and you still didn't have a fully-developed plan. 'What's the point anyways, I'm going to die whether by the Phantoms or Springtrap's hands.' Losing all hope, you grasped the tablet and began to monitor the horror attraction that contained greasy checkered-tile floors and props that came from a landfill (at least you think).

“I fell,” Madge answers through gritted teeth, clutching her calf tightly as she blinks out tears from her eyes as quickly as she can. It was just her luck that she’d fall off the wall like a complete idiot right after being told to quit. Maybe the odds really weren’t in her favor.

Walking into the Psychiatrists office, I was immediately calmed by the fact that I was seemingly the only presence in the waiting room. The décor was very dark and heavy; a mishmash of large wooden plush leather and floral print couches lined each side of the room and a single oriental rug paved a walkway leading back to the doctor’s personal office. The lighting was dim, and gave off a subtle yellow glow, it felt like I had just walked into someone’s personal study.

"You were a cute kid," I say aloud to him, smirking at his baffled expression. He was staring down at me with confusion, probably wondering what was happening and what the hell I was doing. I honestly don't even know what I'm doing myself.

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not