Halloween Writing Contest

Skypool · October 15, 2011

user posted image

Can you come up with a story so frightening that even monsters would cower under their bed with fright?

-Theme-

Create a story full of all the basic elements that a scary story has. The story must have something to do with Halloween OR it must be frightening in some way. Mysteries are acceptable.

-Rules-

- 1000 words or more.

- The story is due November 2, 2011

- You cannot copy a story off the internet. It must be created out of your own mind.

- No rainbows or adorable puppy dogs. In other words, make it scary.

- You'll be judged by me. No ifs, ands, and buts about it.

- To get your story accepted, it must meet the word count of 1000 words or more and also, you must have a form to go along with it. The form is somewhere below.

- Two entries per user

Username:
Story's Name:
Rating: (12+,15+, or 18 and up)
Story:

Judging

Creativeness- If your story is creative, you will receive 25 points.

Grammar/Spelling- If your story exhibits proper grammar, you can receive up to 25 points.

Neatness- If your story is neat, you can receive up to 25 points.

Scariness- If your story is SUPER scary, you can receive up to 25 points.

-Contestants-

Philpot123- The Shadows

Nine- Hour of Curfew

-Accepted Stories-

(If your story is not accepted, go back and revise it and then re-submit it.)

-Hour of Curfew (Ages Nine and Up)-

Written by Nine

"But why can't we go out and play tonight, it's not faaair..."

A small gathering of young hatchlings had amassed around the entrance to the cave, only to be prevented from leaving by a large Split dragon. Her wings were splayed widely, sealing off any nook or cranny that presented itself for escape.

"Come oooon, let us go through! We want to go out!" the petulant hatchlings whined. The Split remained unmoving from her position while the leftmost head turned to speak to the growing crowd.

"Not tonight, young ones. It is much too dangerous to venture out, for today is the eve of Mischief Night!" Coupled with a stern gaze, this last part was spoken in a hushed whisper.

The hatchlings appeared unaffected and continued to complain in annoying, high pitched voices. The great Split dragon similarly appeared indifferent to their protesting, and while continuing to bar the exit to the outside world, both heads slowly closed their eyes as if to mentally block out the irritating whining. A short distance away, a small group of hatchlings had pulled off to the side in a tight huddle.

"So, what are we going to do now?" A tiny Flamingo hatchling sighed.

"There's nothing we can do..." an adjacent Neotropical grumbled, head drooping to face the dirt floor.

With a furtive glance over his shoulder, a young wingless Magi in the group quipped up, "Well, not exactly!"

The rest of the hatchlings cast curious glances at their fellow. "And how do you propose we get past the two-headed ogre over there-- you have some clever idea?" A short, fat Red asked suspiciously.

The little Magi just shook his head, a slight grin on his face, "No no, not we. It's how I am going to get past them!" And without another word, the hatchling spun around and dashed off toward the entrance to the cave, leaving his brethren to watch with dumbfounded expressions.

Eyes still closed in concentration, the Split dragon didn't appear to notice the tiny orange blur charging its way through the crowd of disgruntled younglings. Such fortune was not lost on the Magi who-- as he continued to hurtle his way toward the formidable mass of adult dragon-- was beginning to question his bold plan.

'Too late to turn back now!' the Magi squeezed his eyes shut only a few feet from impact, attempting to clear his mind like he'd practiced many times before, and...

Pop!

The little dragon disappeared right before the eyes of several dozen witnesses. The rowdy crowd grew quiet in their astonishment, and struck by the sudden quietness, the Split dragon's eyes peered open. Slowly, pairs of tiny, amazed eyes drifted up to meet the Split's. Her brows furrowed-- What was all this now?

---

With an abrupt crackle of energy and another 'Pop!', the orange hatchling reappeared... this time, several dozen yards away from the entrance to the cave. Outside. With a surprised gasp, he quickly darted behind some thick shrubbery that lined a nearby tree. He could see the huge, blue tail of the Split dragon snaking out from the cavern's entrance.

"I- I did it!" He panted breathlessly.

Outside, the sky had grown a darkened orange with the setting of the sun and the air held the unmistakable chill of coming night. There was still enough daylight to catch glimpses of birds, insects, and other dragons flying about, heading back to their own homes. The Magi jittered nervously but still smiling broadly, scurried out and further away from the entry to his cave.

Tiny heart beating fast with the adrenaline rush, the hatchling mentally congratulated himself for being smarter and more clever than the rest of his playmates-- and even the adult Split. Barring all the cave's young from playing outside during the night due to a superstition was stupid anyways.

'It's only a tool to scare hatchlings into not having fun. Only babies believe in that kind of stuff!' He thought pompously.

Coming around a bend he did not recognize, the Magi slowed his pace and stared at the diverging paths. "Things sure do look different at dark..." He whispered to no one in particular.

Indeed, the sun had begun to set at an alarmingly fast rate-- much quicker than the dragon thought possible-- and already it was becoming harder to make out normally obvious landmarks. These two paths that lead in opposite directions were unfamiliar to him; this part of the forest in general was very alien and foreign. The tiny Magi huffed air through his nose and turned his snout up, chiding himself for being so worried. He was no defenseless, scared baby! He was a Magi, more powerful than any other dragon and twice as smart! With a final glance at the split in the road, the dragon bounded forward to the left path and scampered onward.

It was not long before the path grew into more obscure and bizarre trails, splitting off several times and even doubling back it seemed. The tiny hatchling frowned as he came to rest upon yet another fork. It was getting very dark by now, even the faintest remnant of light seemed to be sapped from the air. It had gotten colder too, much colder than the warm summer nights he was so used to. A slight shiver ran up the dragon's spine as he stared back down the path from whence he came. The road seemed faint and much harder to make out than it had a few moments ago. What sorcery was this?

He shook his head silently, 'No sorcery, this was not magic. It was just a forest, a big stupid forest of trees that no Magi would get lost in!'

This boldness seemed to fade as quickly as the light, and soon the hatchling found himself perplexed and quite afraid. He was beginning to regret ever defying the adult Split and abandoning his friends... of ever leaving the warm, familiar safety of his cave. Tiny eyes scanned the surrounding wilderness. The trees appeared to have grown in the darkness, ceasing to be the bright, leafy guardians of the forest and twisting themselves into gnarled figures that loomed overhead. Jagged branches seemed to entwine in one another, weaving themselves into a spindly net that closed off the sky. Shrubs and bushes quivered restlessly as if waiting for hapless prey to wander by before unleashing their concealed horrors. Even the stones and pebbles that littered the ground appeared more pointed and serrated, like teeth lining the maw of a thousand feral beasts. The more his imagination wandered the more the Magi felt his hope and resolve withering to nothing.

The sudden rustling of nearby foliage sent an alarmed cry out from the hatchling. He swiftly spun on his haunches and trembled in anticipation of the unknown. His head screamed at him to run, to take cover, flee! But his body remained unmoving and frozen to the spot. His muscles began to ache as they begged him to move-- to do something-- but still the little dragon found himself too terrified to put these rational thoughts to action. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest as a large shape moved out of the concealing brush. Was it another dragon? Was it the adult Split, who somehow managed to track him down to return him home? Was it... something else?

A horrible, fetid stench hit the little dragon's nostrils like a blow to face. It was so disgusting and overpowering, he felt his head begin to spin. Again, every instinct in his tiny body told him to flee and to find a place to hide, but the Magi found himself entranced by curiosity. As the thing continued to make its way out of the foliage, its shape became more apparent: huge, massive body, legs as thick as tree trunks, the shadowed form of wings...

But this was no dragon he had ever seen-- or smelled-- before. It moved with a slow, lumbering gait and seemed to stumble over its own feet on occasion. Each lurching step it took, the more fear grew inside the hatchling. Its huge body looked unsteady, as if the being were about to topple over any moment. As each step it took brought it closer to the cowering hatchling, more and more of the creature's visage became apparent. Great, festering wounds crawling with maggots, tattered skin that hung loosely to its skeletal frame, a tail that dragged behind with poise all but absent. A breathy moan spewed from the creature's mouth, sending pangs of fear up through the Magi's spine, and that was when he saw the beast for what it truly was: the walking, decomposing corpse of a once great dragon.

Legs no longer frozen by fear, the Magi instead felt his limbs burn with an intense heat that spurred him to run. Without a second thought, he spun around on his haunches and made a dash back up the path from where he came. He could hear the... thing behind him suddenly howl out in a horrible, strangled cry, as if it had only now noticed the little dragon. Panic drove him to run even faster, though he could not be sure if he was even being perused. He just wanted to get away from this place as fast as possible.

After a brief moment, the hatchling made the quick decision to dart off the main path and seek cover behind a ragged, prickly stump. His little chest rose and fell rapidly as he attempted to catch his breath, though he kept his ears alert for any hint that the horrible beast had indeed perused him. After a moment of silence, he was beginning to think that he had escaped notice from the undead fiend. It was then that the sickly, rotting smell filled his nose once more. He clamped a tiny claw to his face in an attempt to muffle the sound of his breathing in addition to blocking out the horrible scent. He could hear the snapping of tree limbs and the crunching of bushes growing louder, as well as harsh, labored breathing. It seemed to stop only a few feet from the stump where the Magi was hiding, and he could feel his spine and shoulders tingling in dreadful anticipation. He did not dare peek around the edge of the stump as he knew very well what lay just a few feet away. The beast's labored breathing continued in awful tandem with the Magi's heart beat, which he swore was so loud the worms beneath the earth could hear it. But nothing happened; no giant, rotting claw swooped over the stump to grab him, no mangled jaws snapped down to tear him apart. The massive dragon seemed unaware that the little one lay just a few feet away.

Still not daring to budge from his position, the Magi could hear the creature as it began to make strange, snuffling noises. Just as hoarse and tattered as its breathing, the undead dragon would inhale deeply as if it were attempting to smell the air. How it could manage that when it exuded such an overpoweringly foul odor, the hatchling could not guess. But he certainly did not want to stick around and wait for the beast to catch wind of him. He made to slink to a nearby bundle of twigs further away, but before he had even made it a third of the way he heard another horrible roar erupt from behind. He felt his heart plummet as he glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see the massive hulk of rotting flesh staring directly at him. Its face was decrepit and battered, most of the skin having been peeled off and leaving large patches of skull visible. Dried blood caked its jaws and neck, tongue hanging limply from shattered bone. Its eyes had all but been destroyed, leaving nothing but deep, empty sockets devoid of any life.

'But how can it see?!'

The Magi could not bear to look into the face of death any longer, deciding that running away was a much better choice of the two. He sprinted with all his might back down the road, pushing his tiny body as hard as it could go. But alas, the difference in size was too great, speed unmatched by pure force; every step the undead brute took equaled two dozen of the Magi's. He could feel his driving force wane as the looming presence behind him grew closer, both feeling and smelling the putrid breath on his back.

'This is it-- I'm dead, I'm gone-- I'm done for.' He whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

But just as a massive, decaying claw swung up and down over his tiny form, a surge of energy rushed through the hatchling, followed by a ...

Pop!

The zombie dragon's claw smashed into the forest floor with tremendous force, leaving a marred imprint where its talons had dug in. It raised its arm and stared at the ground stupidly. The Magi had disappeared. The creature seemed utterly bewildered though its disfigured, rotting face revealed no such emotion. It raised and struck the ground a second time, staring blankly at the spot the Magi had been just moments before. A shuddering moan escaped its jaws as it turned its head upwards. Discolored drool and gore dribbled down a shattered jawbone as its gaze focused on the branches of a nearby tree. Only just visible in the pitch blackness of night, a tiny orange figure peered down from the very highest branches.

---

The Split bowed her head as she finished the last portion of the story, returning the gazes of dozens of wide, unblinking eyes that surrounded her. Several hatchlings even appeared to be on the verge of tears. The silence was depressingly solemn, that is until a tiny voice squeaked up from the back:

"That's... t-that's it? That's the end?"

A few heads turned to face the speaker, but most eyes focused on the large Split dragon with mirrored inquiries. The adult once again bowed her head sadly before continuing on.

"No, unfortunately that is not the end of our little Magi, though the story differs depending on who you ask."

The rightmost head nodded before continuing on, "Some say that the little Magi stayed up in the tree all night long, waiting until the sun's rays sent the undead blight back into hiding. Others claim that the young one never dared to venture out of that tree, frightened into a permanent state of shock."

"Still others insist that the horrible, undead dragon had spread its curse to the little one, turning him into a terrible, blood-thirsty creature like itself!" The left head interrupted.

Several squeals rose from the crowd of young dragons along with heated murmurings, but the Split dragon simply waved a claw to signal she was not done. She continued with a softer, hushed voice.

"So heed my words, little ones, for they carry with them a dire warning!"

Wings opened and splayed dramatically, both heads repeating in unison:

"Young hatchlings-- never dare to venture out at night! Lest you become lost and risk a similar plight!"

-The Shadows (Ages 12 and up)-

Written by Philpot123

Username: Philpot123

Story's Name: The Shadows

Rating: I'd say 12+. Not particularly graphic at all.

(this isn't horribly amazing, but I liked the concept.)

Story:

“Timmy doesn’t come out of his room much in the evenings,” Mrs. Jameson remarked to her husband, “I’m beginning to worry about him.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Mr. Jameson responded without looking up from his evening paper, a thick cloud of smoke emitting from the pipe he talked around, “I’m sure he just has homework. Middle school is very challenging I’m sure…”

His voice faded off as he lost interest, his eye catching one of the latest headlines, something about a robbery at a local store or some such inconsequential nonsense. The husband and wife sat across from each other in the small living room, both wasting time until tiredness overtook them. Mrs. Jameson sighed, decided that her husband would be of no help, and marched up the carpeted stairs to check on her only son. She reached the landing at the top of the stairs and turned to her right, walked down the hall and reached her son’s door. It was closed. This in and of itself was unusual; Timmy usually liked his room open and well lit. She could not suppress an involuntary shudder as she raised her hand to rap softly on the door. Though she listened close, she heard no response. Beginning to worry, she opened the door slowly. The room was lit by a single lamp on a desk in the corner, the desk framed on either side by a dresser and a bed. She could not see her son. The space between the bed and the wall was pitch black despite the light source on the desk, and eerie shadows were cast on the wall. She approached the bed slowly, saying

“T-Timmy? Where are you?”

She reached the foot of the bed and peered over the edge, and what she saw caused her to start. Little Timmy was on his hands and knees, head towards the corner, sitting in the darkness. She could not see his face.

“Timmy? What are you doing?” Mrs. Jameson asked with concern evident in her voice. It was as if the boy was controlled by puppet strings as he turned around stiffly. His eyes were cold, blank, and seemed to stare through her. In his hand, he grasped his favorite toy; A small action figure in an elaborate, colorful costume. His eyes stopped on her, but they did not seem to actually see anything.

“The shadows…” He started, “The shadows were bored.”

Two weeks later, Mr. and Mrs. Jameson sat opposite each other in the living room again, the strange incident with their son all but forgotten after the hustle and bustle of the past weeks. Mrs. Jameson was working on her new knitting pattern, and Mr. Jameson was again indulging in his pipe and the newspaper after a long day at work. For the longest time, neither spoke. Suddenly, they heard a noise. Both of their heads snapped up, towards the ceiling. It was late, much past Timmy’s bedtime. He should be asleep by now. They heard him move across the floor of his room, through the hall, and down the stairs. He rounded the corner downstairs, a blank look in his eyes, and headed straight towards the kitchen. No one spoke. Timmy reached for a cabinet, opened it, and promptly pulled a glass out.

“Honey… Honey what are you doing?” Mrs. Jameson asked, reminded of the last time she had seen her son look like this a mere two weeks ago. An involuntary shudder went down her spine as her son turned towards her, eyes focused on nothing, seeing nothing, only looking.

“The shadows…” He started, with a slight hiss in his voice. “The shadows are thirsty.”

Mrs. Jameson could think of no good reason for this, no logical explanation. Perhaps her son was sleepwalking? “It… it’s alright honey, just take the water on up to your room and go to sleep. Go on now, you have school in the morning, you need your rest.” Timmy did not seem to respond to this immediately, but eventually filled his glass from the sink and began walking upstairs again.

Mrs. Jameson turned to her husband. “Robert. Robert, look at me! I’m worried about him! He’s not acting himself. This is the second time something like this has happened. What are we going to do?”

Another two weeks went by, the two incidents not entirely forgotten, but the memory dulled with every passing day. Mr. and Mrs. Jameson explained it away as sleepwalking, maybe nightmares as well. There couldn’t be anything wrong with their son, not at his age. They simply refused to believe it. That night they were watching an evening news program, sitting together on the couch and dozing off periodically. It was late, past midnight, when they heard noises from upstairs. They were coming from Timmy’s room.

“He shouldn’t be up this late.” Mr. Jameson shook his head, “If he comes down here I’ll set him straight.” And he would, in fact, come down there. His footsteps moved slowly, across his floor, through the hallway, down the stairs, and around the corner. Once again, he headed straight for the kitchen without so much as a glance at his mother and father.

“Young man, what are you doing up at this time of night?” His father said, his voice raised slightly. “You should be in bed. Tomorrow is a school morning! Come on now, what are you doing up?”

Little Timmy turned slowly, eyes looking but not seeing, glazed over and unfocused. His hand was on the refrigerator door, his other arm hanging limply at his side. His mouth opened slowly, and he said,

“The shadows… The shadows are hungry.”

“Oh no you don’t!” His father said, rising from his recliner. “None of that. If you wanted a bedtime snack, you should’ve gotten it hours ago! No no, straight off to bed with you!” He walked over and physically pulled Timmy’s hand from the refrigerator handle. It was strangely difficult, as if the last thing in the world Timmy wanted to do was to let go of it. “Go on, sleep tight!” He said, giving his son a last little shove towards the stairs.

The next morning, it was almost eight o’clock when Mrs. Jameson realized that Timmy was nowhere to be seen. “What on earth is he doing? He’s going to miss his bus! TIMMY!” She yelled, and got no answer. It appeared she would have to go up the stairs and get him herself.

When she got to the top of the stairs, his door was open a crack. She pushed it slightly, and it swung open with ease. “Timmy?” She said softly. At first she didn’t see him, until she saw the telltale tent of the sheets over him on his bead. The covers were pulled up over his head, so she could see no part of him. “Come on Timmy, you’re going to be late for school!” She exclaimed as she yanked the covers off of her son.

She fell backwards to the floor in shock, her hand darting to her mouth to suppress a high shriek that was forming in her stomach. Beneath the sheets lay not her son, but a bleached white skeleton, stripped bare of all flesh. The eye sockets were ghastly holes, and the jaw hung open slack in a sick grimace, sheets marked red with gore. One hand was clutched to his throat, as if he was screaming in death, and the other hung out to the side, clutching a small pen knife his father had given him for his last birthday. The bony hand of the skeleton stretched out over his desk next to the bed, where something was scratched in messy writing, stained red with a small pool of blood.

THE SHADOWS WERE HUNGRY!

-KageSora's Entries-

The First Horror Ages 13 and up

{URL=http://kagesora.deviantart.com/art/End-140869337]End[/url] Ages 13 and up

Edited October 27, 2011 by Skypool

philpot123 · October 16, 2011

Oh I am TOTALLY doing this. I've got a super awesome idea too.

RheaZen · October 16, 2011

I won't be able to write anything decent, but I'm going to love reading the entries.

philpot123 · October 16, 2011