vacantavern

[vacantavern]

“Nothing grows in my back yard” (Original short horror story)

Nothing ever grows in my back yard. Every time I try to plant something, even though I care for it meticulously, it soon withers and dies. No matter what plant, flower, or tree, they all die. Even the grass dies, sickly yellow patches interspersed with thick weeds covering the entirety of the yard. The stress of it all was beginning to get to me after so long. I loved to garden. It was one of my favorite past times, and helped me deal with the horrendous anxiety of living alone. But my yard was starting to make me think I just did not have the green thumb necessary to do it. I considered giving up on it so many times, but something always brought me back and had me trying again.

Thats how I found myself yanking the weeds that had grown back for the umpteenth time every Sunday afternoon, instead of relaxing like everyone else. There was one weed in particular that bothered me to no end. It looked like a small tree, surrounded by tall crabgrass. The tree-like weed had a waxy, whiteish stem. The branches grew in strange, sharp angles, with small, red leaves sprouting from the ends.

It usually grew up to my shoulders before I had a chance to yank it out. But no matter how many times I pulled it, it always grew back. Finally, after many months of battle, it had grown too big for me to pull out. Its trunk thickened to a point I couldn’t fit my hands around it. The thin, angular branches stretched higher than my roof. After that I reluctantly gave up and let it be. The rest of the yard was more concerning anyway.

I thought perhaps my soil was bad, so I started doing research on how to restore it. For an entire summer, I worked to bring my yard back to life. And it seemed to be working; the new grass was growing in, the trees and rose bushes I planted were taking root. Even the tree weed looked to be finally dying, its tall branches now drooped down, and the stark white of the trunk had turned a sickly grey. I praised my lucky stars. Though of course, this wonderful luck lasted all of two months.

It was on a brisk, Fall afternoon. After coming home from a very long work day, I went to check the progress of my yard. As soon as I rounded the hall corner and the double sliding glass doors came into view, I froze. I was rooted to the spot, my mouth hanging agape as I stared with wide eyed horror at my yard. Everything was dead. My roses, shriveled and brown, littered the ground around the bush, along with all its leaves. Only dead sticks remained, reaching up to the sky in a desperate, yet futile attempt to live.

The grass had turned a sick yellow color, crinkled and dry, devoid of life. The young trees I had planted were completely uprooted, as if a hurricane had hit them and pulled them from the earth. Each one lay on their sides, roots flailing uselessly in the breeze next to small craters in the ground where they had once been standing. Shock and disbelief had my blood running cold, then hot. How had this happened in less than a day? It was impossible. Unless someone poisoned all of it, maybe. Just as my mind began racing over who the culprit could be, I spotted something stark white in my periphery.

I shot my gaze over to the tree weed. It had doubled, maybe tripled in size. It stood at least twenty feet high now. Its white trunk probably stretched the width of three people standing side by side. Long, shark branches shot out everywhere. Thick, dark maroon leaves hung off the tips. Along the tree ran thousands of small red and purple veins that looked eerily like a human circulatory system. I glanced down to see the roots had grown so large they breached the surface of the soil halfway across the yard.

Unable to comprehend what I was seeing, and not able to deal with the stress anymore, I went back inside, slamming the door shut behind me with a distressed growl. Later that night I searched online for any possible answer, finding none. I thought of calling a professional out. Even though it might be costly, maybe they could shed some light on the situation. I toyed with that idea for the rest of the night, but frankly, I was too tired to do anything about it. I was just done with my yard. I had been working so hard to fix it for so long, I just felt like giving up at that point.

The following day I cupped my hand over the side of my face, blocking the yard from view as I walked past the sliding glass doors to get breakfast. I was so upset that I couldn’t even handle seeing it in my periphery. In the middle of my delicious soggy cereal meal, a knock sounded at my door. The knock sounded two more times in quick succession on my way to get it. “I’m coming!” I shouted. Swinging the door open a little rougher than I intended, I glared at my neighbor, Leslie, standing there, fist raised for yet another knock.

She smiled wanly and lowered her hand. “Hi, sorry to bother you. I know its early...But do you know where Hunter is?” Her voice contained thinly veiled panic. Hunter was Leslie’s ten year old son. Her very annoying ten year old son. He, like any normal child, always played in their front yard with his friends. They always yelled so loudly I could hear them from my bedroom. One time the kid even put a hockey puck through my window. I constantly had to remind myself of the fact he was only a kid when my temper flared at him.

“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him. Is everything alright?” Concern replaced my earlier irritation. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her hair was sat in a tangled mat on her head. She looked like hell. Her kid was missing? I began mentally preparing to get ready to join a search. “He went out to play with his new baseball gear yesterday evening and didn’t come back. I called him in for dinner and he didn’t answer. I searched the whole neighborhood and I couldn’t find him. I don’t know what to d-do!” Tears began flowing down her face as she spoke, her arms gesturing wildly as her panic rose closer to the surface.

I glanced behind her to see her husband knocking on the doors of the other neighbor’s houses. “I came home from work at six yesterday and I didn’t see anything. Have you called the police?” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Yes, they’re going around searching too. If in 24 hours we still can’t find him, they’ll put out a missing person’s report.” She broke out into sobs then. “Alright, give me ten minutes. I’ll help.” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders in a vain attempt to calm her. She thanked me through bleary eyes before I shut the door and quickly threw on my clothes.

The search went on all day and for part of the night. We recruited quite a few other concerned neighbors on the search as well. People were driving slowly down the streets, calling Hunter’s name out of their car windows. We canvased the nearby parks while the police searched inside the schools. Hunter was nowhere to be found.

Days, then months passed, and there was still no sign of the boy. Hunter’s photo haunted me from every street post. The police investigation was going nowhere. And after a while, the police stopped looking for a living child, and began searching for a body. I spent my days off consoling Leslie and helping in the search. I was exhausted, but if there was a chance to find Hunter alive, I wasn’t going to give up. He was just a child. Even though my own hope that they would find the kid alive had dwindled over the past month, I would still help. One morning, as I trudged to the kitchen in a daze, sleep deprivation causing me to drag my feet, a flash of white caught my eye through my sliding glass doors.

Through all that had happened, I had completely forgotten about my dead yard. I hesitated to look, fearing the sight might upset me again. I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever though, so I turned with a sigh to gaze upon my lifeless yard. It was the same as it had been months ago, everything shriveled and dead, brown, yellow and a stark white tree dominating the space. It did not upset me as much this time though.

Perhaps it was because I had bigger problems now, more upsetting problems. I studied my yard for a few long moments. I don’t know what drove me, but for some reason I felt compelled to go outside. I slipped my feet into my sandals and slid the door open. The deadened grass crunched beneath my feet. My blood turned to ice, dread pooling in my gut as I approached the sickly tree weed.

The silence of the yard was almost like a vacuum, sucking in sound as it was made. I came to a stop a few feet in front of the tree. The red and purple veins had thickened noticeably. They seemed to pulse and quiver up close. All the hair on my body stood on end as I looked up to study the branches that reached high into the sky. I don’t know how I missed it that first day. It stood out so clearly now. I gasped in panicked breaths as my eyes locked on something high up in the tree, surrounded by large, deep maroon leaves. My eyes burned, my chest tightened. Because there, tangled in the high branches, was a baseball.

#horror #short story #my short story #scary #story #halloween #spooky

[vacantavern]

“My best friend is a parakeet” (Original Short horror story)

“Your bird’s stupid.” I turn to see my roommate, Shea, poking her finger between the bars of the bird cage. “Hey, leave her alone, she’s smarter than most of your boyfriends.” I shoot back. The bird in question, who I named Zig, squawks and flaps one wing. “But its strange isn’t it? It doesn’t really act like a bird. Its like it has something wrong in the head. It doesn’t even tweet right.” Shea waggles her finger at Zig.

I sigh and turn back to cooking dinner. She would never understand the bond we share. Zig has been a precious member of my family for the past six months. I remember seeing her through that pet store window; the cute, white and blue speckled parakeet was alone in a small cage at the front of the store. Her head was cocked so far to the side that her beak rested on the top of her wing. It reminded me of an owl. I didn’t even know parakeets could twist their heads that far. Those deep, soulful black eyes bored into me with a sharp intensity that almost moved me to tears. When I looked even closer, I could see small flecks of amber within the ebony voids. I decided then and there that I had to have her. I strode right into the pet shop and to the front desk. Immediately I noticed that for a pet store, it was oddly quiet. I stole glances at the other animals around me as I walked. The one ferret they had was in a large, circular glass enclosure. It sat on its hind legs in the center of the pen, its little arms held away from it’s body as if it was avoiding touching itself. The hamster on my right was hanging upside down on the mesh ceiling of it’s cage.

When I reached the front desk, a younger woman, maybe in her early twenties, greeted me with a larger than life smile. She had an eyepatch covering her left eye, and I wondered what had happened. I inquired about the bird, and if at all possible, her smile grew even wider. She was all teeth and grins as she told me all about how to care for a parakeet. When I told the woman I’d take her, she clapped her hands loudly in excitement before moving away from the register to retrieve her for me. When she strode past me, I noticed her gait was an awkward limp. The thought briefly crossed my mind that she might have some kind of skeletal deformity, and I felt pity for her. After I payed the surprising cheap bill, I left with a new sense of responsibility, along with a lightness I hadn’t felt in over a year.

Getting Zig was the best decision I ever made.

After losing my mother to cancer a year earlier, Zig had been a huge aid in helping me cope. After much research online about how to enrich a parakeet’s life, I waited on her hand and foot, spoiling her as much as possible. I know most people would say that she’s just a bird, but to me, she is a living creature who deserves love just as much, if not more than any human. She is my best friend. She was there for me when no one else was. After mom’s death, all of my human companions looked at me with pity or judgement. With Zig, there was none of that. I could tell her anything and she wouldn’t give me any criticism or harsh treatment. It didn’t matter that she was a little strange. What was normal anyway? Weird and normal are human constructs.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Shea asks, interrupting my reverie as she throws herself down on the couch with a loud exhale. “Meatloaf.” I call back to her. Shea makes a choking sound and kicks her leg up in protest. I ignore her. If she wants something different, then she should go out and buy the groceries for once. Getting a roommate was an unfortunate necessity if I wanted to be able to afford rent in this overpriced hellhole of an apartment. After my previous roommate decided to move in with her boyfriend, I had tried to go it alone for a while. But my wage was just not enough to maintain the apartment. So I put an add in the paper for a new roommate. Shea seemed nice at first. Polite and respectable. That was until she got comfortable and began to show her true selfish, lazy colors.

As we sit down to eat, Zig makes a strange choking sound, similar to the noise Shea made earlier in response to my horrid meatloaf. “Weird bird.” Shea mutters as she picks up a forkful of meat. I smile at Zig. Good job, girl.

The next morning I sleepily trudge through the house, getting ready for work. Zig squawks loudly and her tongue falls out of her beak, her eyes rolling back into her head, showing the whites. I smile. “Good morning, Zig.” I slide my finger through the bars and pat her small head. A few feathers come away from my touch, revealing the pink skin underneath. Concern fills me. I had been noticing Zig was losing a lot of her feathers lately. Her little body was now decorated with small bald patches. I wondered if she was plucking them out. I read somewhere that when a bird is stressed, they sometimes pluck their own feathers. I would have to look more into that after work. I wave to Zig, and she flaps her wings unevenly, one of her talons gripping her perch at an awkward angle.

Work drags on as usual. My co-workers greet me with large, fake smiles that never fail to sicken me with every passing day. I put in my earphones so I don’t have to listen to their incessant gossip. When I finally open the door to my apartment later that evening, my gaze immediately finds the couch. And then I promptly shut the door again. I let out a frustrated breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. Shea is making out with some guy yet again. The two were so locked together that they didn’t even notice the door opening. We have a rule about bringing boys home. If you did, there was to be no fooling around in the living areas. But Shea seemed to think this rule didn’t apply to her. Sighing deeply, I walk over to the window and give it a loud knock. I hear startled gasps from inside followed by the rustling of clothes. I go to wait in front of the door, my arms crossed over my chest.

A minute later the front door clicks open to reveal a disheveled Shea, smiling guiltily. “Sorry.” She offers, trying to smooth out her tangled hair. I shrug and head inside. It’s not like she would listen to me if I scolded her anyway. I walk quickly to my room, not bothering to even attempt to greet Shea’s guest.

That night sleep eludes me. So I decide to go out to the kitchen and play on my laptop. I research birds and feather plucking, and try to come up with a reason for why she would be stressed, and what I could do to fix it. It upset me that my Zig was so stressed out. After spending another hour down the rabbit hole, I yawn, contemplating trying to sleep again.

As I close my laptop, a sudden, horrid choking and wheezing echoes through the room. “DO NOT WORRY, LITTLE ONE.” A deep, scratchy voice echoes into the room. The sound of it seems to reverberate inside my head. I smile and look up at Zig, who hangs upside down on her perch, her wings crossed over her body like a bat. A thin, clear membrane clings to her body, slicking what is left of her wet feathers down against her body. Her neck seems to be a little longer than normal. It almost looks broken, tilted at an awkward angle. Her beak is stretched open wide to reveal a set of tiny, razor sharp teeth. Her beady little eyes seem wider than usual, the golden flecks more prominent. The two black and amber voids are fixated on me, through me, with great intensity. Just like they did that first day in the pet shop. I look away and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, closing my eyes against the headache starting there. “Thanks, Zig. It’s just so frustrating that she doesn’t care about respecting me or my space.”

“THE OTHER FEMALE IS SELFISH, DESTRUCTIVE, INDULGENT. A STAIN ON THIS WORLD, LIKE MANY OTHERS.” I sigh heavily, pushing back from my chair before walking over to Zig’s cage. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.” I place my hand against the cold metal bars, hoping she will hear the sincerity in my voice. Her concern warmed me. “YOU MUST REMOVE HER. SHE IS A DETRIMENT TO US.” Zig coughs strangely and flaps one wing. “Don’t worry,” I say. “If she crosses the line, I’ll kick her out.”

“TOO LENIENT, LITTLE ONE. TOO LENIENT. SHE MUST PAY THE PRICE FOR DISHONORING ME.” I softly stroke the gelatinous membrane coating Zig’s wing with the tip of my finger and turn to look at Shea’s door. “Thats going a little too far, Zig. Don’t worry, I have this handled.”

Zig gazes up at me from her upside down position, one glowing amber eye drifting off to look down the hallway towards Shea’s door. “FOR NOW, I SHALL ALLOW YOU TO BE LENIENT. HOWEVER, AS THE TIME FOR ME TO EVOLVE APPROACHES, I SHALL TAKE MATTERS INTO MY OWN HANDS, LITTLE ONE.” I turn from the cage and go to collect my laptop, suddenly feeling exhausted, my headache worsening with the booming of Zig’s voice in my head. As much as I loved talking to her, I needed some rest. “Alright, Zig, I’ll let you handle it if it goes too far.” I head off to bed with a slight smile on my face. Zig always has my back.

#horror #short story #my short story #scary #story #halloween #creature #creature feature

[vacantavern]

Construction left the roof unprotected from the relentless rain. Though when the ceiling started caving in, we weren’t as upset about the bills we’d have to pay as we were about the fact that we were now unprotected from the thing that lives up there.

#horror #short story #creature #cryptid #scary

[vacantavern]

Some nights, a great heaviness engulfs the neighborhood. Like the air itself is drowning you. Nobody goes outside on those nights.

#horror #creature #mine #story #scary #short story #cryptid

[vacantavern]

My sleep paralysis demon keeps telling me the future.

#horror #creature #mine #scary #story #short story

[vacantavern]

I heard a scream. It sounded like a child. I thought about getting out of my car to help, but the strange, gruff edge of the screaming voice made me hesitate.

#horror #creature #mine #short story #scary #story

[vacantavern]

The things that appear on quiet misty mornings.

#horror #creature #mine #short story #scary #story

[vacantavern]

Every time it rains, the drizzling sounds are always accompanied by a loud moaning and keening. Nobody talks about it, or acknowledges it. We’ve learned long ago that doing so only causes it to acknowledge you in return.

#horror #creature #mine #scary #story #short story

[vacantavern]

When It's Your Fault

Newscaster: People around the country are still baffled about what could have caused the disastrous pile-up that left fifteen dead and many more injured. Surveillance footage taken at the moment of the incident shows the impossible: a car is seemingly flung into the oncoming traffic by an invisible force. The official story is that it was a freak accident. However, some are claiming that it could have been an act of terror.

Mom: What is the world coming to? We're not even safe on our own roads anymore.

Some Guy: Car accidents happen everyday, mom.

Mom: Yeah, but not like that. Look at the footage. The car just flies into the other lane. There had to be a bomb under it.

Some Guy: I'm sure it was an accident.

Mom: You don't know what you're talking about.

Some Guy: The officials agree with me.

Mom: The "officials" are a bunch of liars. Even if they aren't lying, they've been wrong so many times before. I know terrorism when I see it.

Some Guy: So should they put you in charge of national security?

Mom: Don't get fresh with me. And, you know what, maybe I should. I bet I could really get into the head of the whoever who planned this and hunt him down. I've seen those detective shows. I know how it works.

Amorphous Blob: *appears and cuddles up to guy*

Some Guy: *shoves blob away* Get off me!

Mom: You alright, hon?

Some Guy: Yeah, I'm cool. There was just a bug on me.

Mom: You've been worrying me recently. Stop acting so scary.

Some Guy: Sorry, I'm going to my room.

Some Guy: *under breath* Piss off, wad of shit.

Amorphous Blob: TEE HEE. HUMAN, I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR DISTRESS ELICITS A SORT OF TENDER FONDNESS WITHIN MY ICHOR. BUT, YOU'RE MUCH MORE PRECIOUS WHEN YOU'RE HAPPY. SO I HOPE YOU ACCEPT THIS APOLOGY.

Amorphous Blob: I'M SORRY.

Some Guy: *stomps up stairs without saying a word*

Some Guy: *stomps into bedroom, locks door, and lies on bed*

Some Guy: *stares up at ceiling listlessly*

Amorphous Blob: *peers over some guy* DO YOU ACCEPT MY APOLOGY.

Some Guy: *whacks blob with a pillow* I told you to piss off!

Amorphous Blob: NOT UNTIL YOU ACCEPT MY APOLOGY. IF I FIGURATIVELY PISS OFF, AS PER YOUR REQUEST, I BELIEVE THAT I MAY FEEL... BAD.

Some Guy: Good, you should feel bad. You killed fifteen people. More people are probably going to die in the hospital. You've ruined lives!

Amorphous Blob: I'M SORRY, BUT THEY WERE NOT YOUR LIVES, SO I FELT THAT THEY WEREN'T IMPORTANT. IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER, I PEERED INTO SOME OF THEIR FUTURES. THEY WERE TERRIBLY UNINTERESTING.

Some Guy: It doesn't matter if they weren't my lives. It doesn't matter if their futures were uninteresting. They were people. They deserved to live just as much as I do. I get it. You're a fucking weird extra-dimensional thing. You're probably never going to leave me alone. But, can you please just learn some morality? Even the smallest bit?

Amorphous Blob: HUMAN, DO YOU REALLY CARE?

Some Guy: What do you mean?

Amorphous Blob: DO YOU REALLY CARE THAT I KILLED THOSE PEOPLE? YOU SOUND LIKE YOU'RE FORCING IT, SO TO SPEAK.

Some Guy: I'm not.

Amorphous Blob: ARE YOU SURE? YOU SOUND MORE ANNOYED THAN ANYTHING, HUMAN.

Some Guy: Trust me, I'm irrevocably pissed at you.

Amorphous Blob: I'M PEERING INTO YOUR FORESEEABLE FUTURES. IN NONE OF THEM DO YOU CARE ABOUT THIS FOR MORE THAN ONE HUMAN DAY. YOU WERE DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS, YOU KNOW. I ONLY DID IT BECAUSE I'M INFATUATED WITH YOU. PERHAPS, IF YOU STOPPED BEING SO PRECIOUS THOSE PEOPLE WOULD HAVE LIVED. KNOWING THAT, ONE WOULD THINK THAT YOU WOULD CARE MORE.

Some Guy: *flings pillow at blob* Don't you try to turn this around on me. You're the one who manipulates fucking timelines or whatever. You can basically make me do whatever you want!

Amorphous Blob: I'LL ADMIT TO BEING A MANIPULATOR, BUT I CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH. WHAT I DO TO ALTER TIMELINES IS ONLY MEANT TO DRAW US EVER SO SLIGHTLY CLOSER. IN THE END, YOU HAVE MORE CONTROL OVER YOUR FATE THAN I DO. FOR EVERY FUTURE THAT IS FORESEEABLE TO ME, THERE IS AN INFINITE AMOUNT MORE THAT ARE A MYSTERY. YOU COULD EASILY END ANY INFLUENCE I HAVE OVER YOUR FATE IF YOU JUST CHANGED YOUR BEHAVIOR.

Some Guy: Change my behavior how?

Amorphous Blob: BY BECOMING A VIRTUOUS PERSON. IN ALL FORESEEABLE FUTURES, I SEE YOU ABANDONING THE MORALS YOU SPEAK OF. YOU BECOME A VERY BAD PERSON. I SEE US BECOMING VERY CLOSE. ALMOST LIKE LOVERS. OH, HOW IT MAKES MY ICHOR QUIVER.

Some Guy: Well, how the fuck do I stop myself from becoming a bad person? Should I volunteer?

Amorphous Blob: *appears behind guy and softly caresses his cheek* I DON'T KNOW. I ONLY SEE BAD FUTURES. AND YOU HAVE A LOT OF BAD FUTURES.

[vacantavern]

When You're Depressed and Have Nothing Worth Living For

Depressed Guy: Life doesn't have any meaning to me anymore. Everything is so empty now.

Psychiatrist: I see.

Depressed Guy: The worst part of it is, there's no one to talk to. I don't have any friends, and the thought of meeting new people scares me. I know it's dumb, but I just think they'll end up hating me.

Psychiatrist: Ah, I have just the thing! *passes depressed guy a book named "1,800,999,999 TOLL FREE!! Numbers to Call If You're Lonely."

Depressed Guy: What's this?

Psychiatrist: It's the book I give to all of my patients. It works miracles. 100% success rate! Take a look inside of it later today and you'll be set! *winks*

*later*

Depressed Guy: *sighs and opens up book*

Book: Depressed? Lonely? Well, don't be! If you're sad, there are millions of people out there willing to talk to your FOR FREE! Just try calling one of these numbers: 1-800-000-001, 1-800-000-002, 1-800-000-003, 1-800-000-004, 1-800-000-005...

Depressed Guy: What the hell is this? *flips pages*

Book: 1-800-567-289, 1-800-567-290, 1-800-567-291, 1-800-567-292, 1-800-567-293...

Depressed Guy: This is just a bunch of phone numbers. It doesn't even tell you what they're for. How is this supposed to help me? *sighs* Whatever.

Depressed Guy: *dials a random number*

Rep: Hello, thank you for calling Darkheart Pharmaceuticals' customer care line. I'm your representative for tonight. How can I help you?

Depressed Guy: Hello, I'm depressed. Your number was in a book for depressed people, so I decided to call it.

Rep: I'm depressed too. Morbidly so.

Depressed Guy: Oh, so you're depressed. Interesting. Why?

Rep: I'm supposed to act like Mike, but instead I act like Eric everyday and it reflects poorly on me in the workplace.

Depressed Guy: Hey, my name is Mike.

Rep: Really?

Depressed Guy: Yeah. Uh, are you doing anything later this week.

Rep: Just work.

Depressed Guy: We should meet up. Maybe talk about our depression.

Rep: That'd be nice.

*rep and depressed guy trade contact details*

Rep: Thank you. You have a nice day too. *smiles as she hangs up*

New Guy: *rolls chair over* Wow, you're smiling?

Rep: *immediately stops smiling*

New Guy: I've never seen you smile before. You should smile more often!

Rep: I can't talk to you. I have to be prepared for calls or I risk being like an Eric. Please leave me alone.

New Guy: You know you don't have to be prepared. It's not like there's any supervisors around watching you.

Rep: *gasps* I can't believe you! You're Eric to a T! Stop speaking to me! *pushes new guy's chair away*

New Guy: *internally* Why is everyone around here so fucking boring?

*new guy's chair hit something and falls over*

New Guy: Oh fuck! What did I run into?

New Guy: *watches as cartoonishly long and gray, corpse-like arm retracts from the floor and into a air vent*

*glowing yellow eyes peak from the air vent*

Someone: Todd is it?

New Guy: What the fuck are you!?

Someone: Language please. You're in the workplace.

New Guy: S-Sorry. What are you!?

Someone: I'm Mr. Darkheart. Your boss. Stop goofing off and get back to work. *opens third eye* Or I'll fire you!

New Guy: *wakes up at desk* AAAAAAH!

Rep: Please don't yell. It's an Eric-like behavior and some of us are actually trying to do their jobs.

New Guy: I'm at my desk? But I was just...

Rep: You were sleeping. You're not paid to sleep. Please do your job.

New Guy: I fucking hate this place.

Rep: Don't swear!

*air vent blows feathers in new guy's face*

[vacantavern]

Community College Clubs Are Just Getting Weirder

Furry 1: So, new guy, what brings you to the Anthroclub?

Dude: I don't know. I didn't know what it was, so I was interested. Nothing wrong with trying new things.

Furry 2: I think you're going to COME *puts unnecessary emphasis on come* to like it. Haha, nya~ *licks hand*

Dude: ...

Dude: You guys don't like wanna bang animals do you?

Furry 1: Absolutely not! We enjoy anthropomorphic art, and characters here. That's why this club was made, so people who share that interest can meet here without feeling embarrassed.

Furry 2: As for me, well, I think ferals can pack quite a bite. If you get the gist of what I'm saying. Haha, nya~ murr. *gets visibly sweaty*

Dude: ...

Furry 1: *quietly sips coffee*

*awkward silence*

Dude: I think I should go.

???: Not so fast!

*man in an incredibly high quality fursuit walks into the room*

???: Greetings, newcomer. I'm the president of Anthroclub. You can call me Java Wolf.

Dude: *quickly scoots chair to the back of the room away from java wolf* .............................hi.

Java Wolf: Haha, what's the problem? Haven't you ever seen a fursuit before? You're not scared, are ya?

Furry 1: Java, our newcomer hasn't been exposed to the world anthros before. He's a bit confused as to what it is.

Java Wolf: Ah, a greenhorn. That's no problem. *walks up to dude, leans uncomfortably close to him* We'll make a furry out of you yet.

Dude: *can see java wolf's eyes staring unblinkingly from inside of the fursuit's mouth* I want to go home.

Java Wolf: You are home, son.

*an hour later*

Furry 2: I think we should give his fursona really wide hips! *draws wide hips on poorly draw goat boy on the blackboard*

Furry 1: He doesn't need wide hips! The newcomer doesn't even have wide hips! *erases hips*

Furry 2: Everyone loves wide hips! We need to make them extra wide! Also, let's make that bulge more visible! And short-shorts! And six nipples!!! Oh, you can't forget some stomach chub!!!!! HOW COULD I FORGET THE SEXY COWBELL COLLAR!!!!!!!!

Furry 1: Fucking quit it! *erases entire picture* This is why no one joins our club.

Java Wolf: *clap clap* Okay, you two. Club time's up.

Furry 2: Aw, man. I was having so much fun ~nya.

Furry 1: You make life a living hell.

Furry 2: You're boring ~nya. See you guys next week!

Furry 1: Bye.

Dude: Yeah, whatever, so-long, bye!

Java Wolf: *stands in the way of the dude* You're not going anywhere, buddy. Take a seat.

Dude: Listen, man. I don't like your weird fucking club. I want to go ho-

Java Wolf: *forces dude into a seat* SIT. DOWN.

Java Wolf: *sighs and sits across from dude*

Java Wolf: *pours a mug of coffee* You wanna know why they call me Java Wolf?

Dude: ...

Java Wolf: I'll take your silence as a yes. It's because I live life like it's a rush. *pours searing hot coffee into fursuit's mouth*

Dude: ...

Java Wolf: I like living on the edge like each day is my last. I used to do a lot of extreme sports. Then I started getting into street fights. I even dabbled in drug dealing a bit. Now I like to hold random people against their will. You ever hear the legends of the nasty old wolf locals tell around these parts?

Dude: ...

Java Wolf: *walks up to the dude and presses a razor sharp claw against the dude's neck* New rule: when I ask you something, you answer it. You ever hear the legends of the nasty old wolf locals tell around these parts?

Dude: T-Three-eye'd-wolf?

Java Wolf: Yeah, that wolf. I'm that wolf. *third eye pops open on the fursuit* And I'm getting tired of just holding people against their will, if you get what I'm saying... you need a ride home?

Dude: No. I'm fine.

Java Wolf: Oh, then I'll be seeing you next week. Same place, same time. See-ya-round, pal. *walks out of room*

Dude: *just sits there*

[vacantavern]

YOU CAN'T BE TRUSTING THAT SHIT THEY PUT ON THE MARKET

Shop Owner: Welcome!

Customer: *stumbles around with a fresh bullet wound on head* Where am I?

Shop Owner: My shop.

Customer: What kind of shop?

Shop Owner: *looks around* ...I don't know.

Customer: *touches wound* Ouch! I need help.

Shop Owner: Oh, there's no help for you.

Customer: What do you mean?

Shop Owner: You're dead.

Customer: I'm not dead.

Shop Owner: You have a bullet in your head. You're dead. This is the afterlife.

Customer: This is a joke, right?

Shop Owner: No, for some reason whenever anyone dies, they all come to my shop first. If only I had something to sell, I'd be loaded. I guess the dead don't really need things, though.

Customer: I thought being dead would be more elegant.

Shop Owner: Nah, you're the same except with all of your death injuries. It makes it really hard for some people to get around.

Customer: Are you dead too?

Shop Owner: No, I've been here since the beginning of everything.

Customer: It must be boring living in this tiny shop for all of existence.

Shop Owner: *shrugs* You get used to it.

Customer: *leaves shop and walks into a vast wasteland* Whoa, it looks like everything stretches on forever.

Shop Owner: It does.

Customer: What's out there?

Shop Owner: Everyone and everything that has ever died.

Customer: Where am I supposed to go?

Shop Owner: *shrugs* It's up to you.

Customer: *covers eyes as she looks up into the gray sky*

Customer: *turns to look back at the store to find it gone*

Customer: *walks for an immeasurably long time through the wasteland*

Customer: *runs across a flower stand manned by a little girl covered in burn wounds*

Little Girl: Wanna flower?

Customer: Sure. *reaches for flower*

Little Girl: *points at the sign on her stand* That'll be one dollar, please.

Customer: *digs in pocket, pulls out a crumpled bloody dollar, and drops it in the little girl's hand*

Little Girl: *place flower in the customer's bullet wound* Thank you for your business!

Customer: *continues on her journey*

Customer: *comes across the ruins of a temple* What could this place have been?

Monk: This is what is left of the temple of the Exalted Ones, my dear.

Customer: Ah! Where the hell did you come from?

Monk: I was always here, dear. Now come. I have much to show you.

Customer: *follows monk into the ruins*

Monk: This hallowed temple was once dedicated to my lords, the Exalted Ones.

Customer: They sound boring.

Monk: Far from it, dear. They were beings who transcended life, death, and time. They had stepped past the duality of mortality, and walked the path of trinity.

Customer: What's the path of trinity?

Monk: No one knows, dear. Because anyone who does most likely doesn't end up in this place.

Customer: So, this afterlife, is it hell?

Monk: I think it's more like limbo.

Customer: Does everybody go here?

Monk: Yes, I think so. *sighs* It makes all those years I spent alive and dedicated to my religion feel like a waste. I spent my entire life in isolation, hoping to unlock the secrets of the path of trinity. I learned nothing. I died alone and ended up here, more alone than ever.

Customer: I trafficked human organs on the black market.

Monk: That sounds gross.

Customer: It was, but I made so much money. I had like two houses and I wasn't even twenty-five yet!

Monk: I bet it caught up to you.

Customer: Nope. I'm pretty sure my dad killed me.

Monk: *gasps* Your dad!? What happened?

Customer: I don't know. He always had anger issues. I don't really want to talk about it. Hey, want my flower? *pulls flower out of bullet wound* I spent a dollar on it.

Monk: You spent a dollar on that thing? They grow all over the wasteland. You just have to kick up some sand and you'll find tons of them.

Customer: Shit, really?

Monk: Yeah.

Customer: That fucking little bitch scammed me... *crushes flower*

Monk: ...Want to make out?

Customer: Yes.

[vacantavern]

When You Cross Paths

Host: *sleeps peacefully*

Flesh Mass: *hangs over her, knife raised in the air, ready to kill*

Host: *shudders in her sleep*

Flesh Mass: *drops knife*

Flesh Mass: *internally* I can't do this.

Flesh Mass: *put on clothes, steals a pack of cigarettes from host, heads downstairs*

Mom: What are you doing up?

Flesh Mass: *glances at mom*

Mom: I asked you a fucking question. *grabs flesh mass by the shoulder*

Flesh Mass: *forces her off* Don't touch me!

Mom: *slaps flesh mass*

Flesh Mass: *punches mom and shoves her to floor* I said don't touch me. I'm not your daughter.

Flesh Mass: *leaves house and wanders around town aimlessly*

Flesh Mass: *prepares to smoke a cigarette* Fuck. I didn't grab a lighter.

Flesh Mass: *sits on a bench, chewing on her cigarette*

Some Guy: Get off of me!

Amorphous Blob: ONE CAN'T RESIST TOUCHING YOU. YOUR SKIN IS SO SOFT, SO MALLEABLE. *crawls on top of guy*

Some Guy: Fucking quit it! You're heavy!

Amorphous Blob: I'M SORRY, BUT ONE CAN'T RESIST! ONE CAN'T RESIST!

Some Guy: *notices flesh mass watching him* Oh, hey!

Some Guy: *pushes amorphous blob off of him* What's up? I'm just...

Flesh Mass: *chews on cigarette* The fuck's that thing?

Some Guy: What thing?

Flesh Mass: *points at amorphous blob* The yellow slime thing.

Some Guy: You can see it!?

Amorphous Blob: YOU CAN SEE ME?

Flesh Mass: *chews on cigarette* Yeah. You got a lighter?

Amorphous Blob: I CAN'T SEE ANY OF YOUR FUTURES... WHAT ARE YOU?

Flesh Mass: *pictures co-host killing her, pictures the thing in the hazmat suit eating her other selves, swallows cigarette* Just a girl.

Amorphous Blob: *cleanly slices through flesh mass's neck in instant*

Some Guy: Jesus! Why'd you do that!? Where'd you go!? Don't just disappear on me now! *looks at flesh mass's dead body* You can't just leave me here like this! You said you're supposed to come out when I want you to, so come back out!

Some Guy: *looks around to see if there are any onlookers*

Some Guy: *spots a street camera* Shit!

Some Guy: *runs off in a panic*

Flesh Mass: *body comes back to life*

Flesh Mass: *spits up blood and gasps for air as pair eyes begin to form in her rapidly healing neck wound*

[vacantavern]

Art Should Reflect Your Soul 🖌

Curator: *awoken by rapid knocking at the door to her gallery*

Old Man: *desperately knocks at the door, carrying a large covered painting*

Curator: *yawns* We're closed. What is it?

Old Man: Is this the gallery with the hole?

Curator: Yes.

Old Man: Thank god, I'm in desperate need of it.

Curator: Did you not hear me say that we're closed?

Old Man: It's of great importance!

Curator: Important enough to wake me up in the middle of the night?

Old Man: It's a matter of life and death!

Curator: *sighs* Come in.

Curator: *leads old man the the hole room* So, what do you need the hole for?

Old Man: *uncovers his the painting revealing it to be a stunning portrait of a young man*

Curator: Goodness, it's beautiful! Did you paint it yourself?

Old Man: Heavens no!

Curator: Well, who painted it? Whoever did it is a master! An absolute genius!

Old Man: I've no idea. It appeared at my doorstep one day and it has been ruining my life since. You wouldn't believe it, but I'm only 27. It's draining my youth away.

Curator: Sounds far-fetched.

Old Man: Not as far-fetched as a hole that permanently destroys all forms of art! That's why I'm here. I can't get rid of this painting. I've thrown it away, shredded it to pieces, burned it to ash, locked it in a container and shipped it to remote regions at great expense. No matter what I do it comes back to me. Your art hole is my last chance of escape. Please, let me toss it in.

Curator: Hmm, I don't know.

Old Man: Why not? Do you want money? I'm very rich. I'm willing to pay whatever you want to let me get rid of this... thing.

Curator: No, no, it's not that. It's that the hole is already paranormal. Much like your painting, the hole just appeared in my gallery one day. It sucked up all of the art, and ruined my livelihood. If it wasn't for the novelty of the thing, I doubt I'd be making any money. I can't even hang a child's scribble in here without it disappearing. I figure if what you're saying is really true, tossing your painting into the hole could have some sort of bad reaction.

Old Man: You've no way of knowing that.

Curator: True, I don't.

Old Man: Good, then you've no reason not to let me toss the painting in.

Curator: I don't like taking risks. Your painting is very beautiful. You should show it to more people or sell it for a nice sum of money. Live out the rest of your days in luxury.

Old Man: Have you not been listening to me? I'm rich! I've no need for luxury! I want to live! Are you telling me to just sit around wait for this thing to kill me!?

Curator: No, you're misunderstanding me. I-

Old Man: *smashes painting over the curator's head and pushes her into the hole* It... It's gone. But, I feel no better.

*a hand grabs the edge of the hole*

Young Man: *climbs from out of the hole*

Young Man: *dusts himself off* Wow, I thought I'd never get out of that thing.

Young Man: *spots the old man* Hey there, gramps.

Old Man: *backs up against the wall* This is impossible.

Young Man: Thanks for letting me out of that painting. Oh, and no hard feelings about what I'm about to do. *places hand on old man's forehead*

Old Man: *body rapidly ages and deteriorates into a dried husk of a corpse*

Young Man: *adjusts suit collar* Feels good..

Young Man: *confidently strides out of the gallery*

Curator: *climbs out of hole* There's just a bunch of muck down there. Gross.

Curator: *spots the old man's dusty corpse* Oh my god! It's hit me. If this place can no longer be an art gallery, I'll make it an archaeological museum! Genius! I'm a genius!!

*months later*

Old Man's Corpse: *propped up in front the museum with a sign that says "Opening July 13th"*

[vacantavern]

Nothing ever grows in my back yard

Nothing ever grows in my back yard. Every time I try to plant something, even though I care for it meticulously, it soon withers and dies. No matter what plant, flower, or tree, they all die. Even the grass dies, sickly yellow patches interspersed with thick weeds covered the entirety of the yard. There was one weed in particular that bothered me to no end. It looked like a small tree, surrounded by tall crabgrass. The tree-like weed had a strange, whiteish stem. The branches grew in strange, sharp angles, and no leaves grew on it. It usually got about up to my shoulders before I had a chance to yank it out. But not matter how many times I pulled it, it always grew back. Finally, after many months of battle, it had grown too big for me to pull out. Its trunk thickened as its branches stretched higher than my roof. After that I reluctantly gave up and let it be. The rest of the yard was more concerning anyway.

I thought perhaps my soil was bad, so I started doing research on how to restore it. For an entire summer, I worked to bring my yard back to life. And it seemed to be working; the new grass was growing in, the trees and rose bushes I planted were taking root. Even the tree weed looked to be finally dying. Though unfortunately, this wonderful luck lasted all of two months.

One afternoon, after coming home from a very long day, I went to check the progress on my yard. Everything was dead. My roses, shriveled and brown, littered the ground around the bush. Even the leaves had all fallen off. Only dead sticks remained, reaching up in a desperate attempt to live. The grass was all yellow or brown, completely devoid of life. Shock and horror turned my blood to ice. How had this happened in less than a day? It was impossible. Unless someone poisoned all of it, maybe. Just as my mind began racing over who the culprit could be, I spotted something stark white in my periphery.

I shot my gaze over to the tree weed. It had doubled in size. It stood at least twenty feet high. Its white trunk probably stretched the width of three people standing side by side. Branches shot out everywhere. Thick, dark maroon leaves hung off the tips. Along the tree ran thousands of small red and purple veins that looked eerily like a human circulatory system. I glanced down to see the roots had grown so large they breached the surface of the soil halfway across the yard.

Unable to comprehend what I was seeing, I went back inside. Later that night I searched the internet for any possible answer, finding none. I thought of calling a professional out. Even though it might be costly, maybe they could shed some light on the situation. I toyed with that idea for the rest of the night, but frankly, I was too tired to do anything about it. I was just done with my yard. I had been working so hard to fix it for so long, I just felt like giving up at that point.

The following day I cupped my hand over the side of my face as I walked past the sliding glass doors to get breakfast. I was so upset that I couldn’t even handle seeing it in my periphery. In the middle of my delicious soggy cereal meal, a knock sounded at my door. The knock sounded two more times in quick succession on my way to get it. “I’m coming!” I shouted. Swinging the door open a little rougher than I intended, I glared at my neighbor, Leslie, standing there, fist raised for yet another knock. She smiled wanly and lowered her hand. “Hi, sorry to bother you. Do you know where Hunter is?” Her voice contained thinly veiled panic. Hunter was Leslie’s ten year old son. “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him. Is everything alright?” Concern replaced my earlier irritation. Dark spots ringed her eyes. She looked like hell. Her kid was missing? I began mentally preparing to get ready to join a search. “He went out to play ball yesterday evening and didn’t come back. I called him in for dinner and he didn’t answer. So I searched the whole neighborhood and I couldn’t find him. I haven’t seen him since around five yesterday.” Tears began flowing down her face as she spoke.

I glanced behind her to see her husband knocking on the doors of the other neighbor’s houses. “I came home from work at around six yesterday and I didn’t see anything. Have you called the police?” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Yes, they’re going around searching too. If in 24 hours we still can’t find him, they’ll put out a missing person’s report.” She broke out into sobs then. “Alright, give me ten minutes. I’ll help.” I said. She thanked me through bleary eyes before I shut the door and quickly threw on my clothes.

The search went on all day and for part of the night. We recruited quite a few other concerned neighbors on the search as well. People were driving slowly down the streets, calling Hunter’s name out of their windows. We canvased the nearby parks while the police searched inside the schools. Hunter was nowhere to be found.

Days, then months passed, and there was still no sign of the boy. Hunter’s photo haunted me from every street post. The police investigation was going nowhere. And after a while, the police stopped looking for a living child, and began searching for a body. I spent my days off consoling Leslie and helping in the search. I was exhausted, but if there was a chance to find Hunter alive, I wasn’t going to give up. He was just a child. One morning, as I trudged to the kitchen in a daze, sleep deprivation causing me to drag my feet, a flash of white caught my eye through my sliding glass doors.

Through all of the commotion, I had completely forgotten about my dead yard. I don’t know what drove me, but for some reason I felt compelled to go outside. My blood turned to ice, dread pooling in my gut as I approached the sickly tree weed. The silence of the yard was almost like a vacuum, sucking up sound as it was made. I came to a stop a few feet in front of the tree. The red and purple veins seemed to pulse and move up close. All the hair on my body stood on end as I looked up to study the branches. I don’t know how I missed it that first day. It stood out so clearly now. My eyes burned, my chest tightened. Because there, tangled in the high branches, was a baseball.

#horror #short story #scary #horror story

[vacantavern]

Junji Ito Long dream/ sueño largo

[vacantavern]

Brazilian viral video recorded at a public school in the state of Paraná, a fire hydrant door slamming alone at the end of a corridor.