Short Horror - Tumblr Posts

A Creepypasta I posted on Nosleep: I worked as the janitor of my community pool. I don't think I want to go back there.

Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/g2tl5g/i_worked_as_the_janitor_of_my_community_pool_i/

The Corner of the Window

The child jolts awake to a vase shattering on the floor. Muffled yells of his parents vertebrate from outside the door. He sighs as he switches his lamp on, knowing sleep is not there for him tonight. Maybe it’s time to make mommy and daddy stop. He walks out of his room, careful not to trip on scattered articles of clothing and toys.

His ears pick up the sound of something scratching the corner of the window. Scratch, scratch, sounds like a branch. No, the only trees are across the street. His eyes adjust to the glare of the hallway light. Stabbing his eyes like knives, another crash echoes from the living room.

A roar booms from his father’s mouth. The child screams.

“Mom! Dad! Stop! Please!”

He races down the stairs to the living room.

“Mom, please just stop. I want you to stop fighting. Just stop.”

The child pleads, with tears in his eye, "stop.”

His dad weeps as he clutches the gash on his head. Blood forms a puddle on the floor, the child backs away, as his mom storms into the kitchen. His dad mouths two words.

“Go back to your room.”

The child nods and trots to his room. His eyelids weigh on his eyeballs, wanting to close. He shuts the door of his room, the scratching continues. It always happens when his parents are arguing. He curls up on his bed.

There is silence, maybe they finally stopped. He creeps down the stairs into the living room. From the stairs, he sees his father lying limp with a knife sticking out of his neck. His mother heaves in front of the body. The child bites his lip. As his mother turns to face him.

He darts into his room. His mother’s footsteps thump up the stairs as if she is a beast from hell. He slams the door of his room shut.

“I wish they could just keep doing it.” He tells himself, as his eyes release a waterfall of tears.

A deep voice whispers into his ear. “Open the window.”

His mother marches down the hall at a rapid pace.

The child’s fingers fumble the locks. Click, he pushes it wide. The warm summer air floods into his room. Just as his mother bursts in, knife in hand. A hand with long, slender black fingers extends from the window and wraps around the child.

“Stop you monster! You made me k-.”

In a waft of dead leaves, her child vanishes into the darkness. Never to be seen again.

Art: By Edgist A

Story: By Edgist A

It’s not a normal day

Jamie awakes to the snarls of the approaching zombies. From a distance, he can tell they’re in the hallway of his floor.

“The alarm is blaring. I am late for work,” he tells himself, stuttering each syllable. He hastily slips into his pants, fumbling with the zipper.

“OW!” His zipper has caught the dong.

"Get out of here. They heard you." Jamie mutters.

In a strident bang the door of his apartment slams onto the ground, as zombies swarm the room gnashing their teeth.  

He grabs his Bug-Out bag, throws the window open.

The zombies face the creak of the window hinge. Then they scramble over, knocking furniture over.

“I need to get my car.” He hops out of the window. Just as the zombies throw themselves at him.

Jamie grasps a pipe. Watching the zombies toss themselves three stories below. “There is no gasoline in the cars anymore.”

Jamie swings his free hand onto another pipe. He climbs to the roof. He looks down to see zombies climbing after him. He kicks one in the face. Another snaps at his ankles. Jamie hoists himself over the anti-suicide railing.

As his blood races, he tells himself. “I am in a mad rush in traffic. It is a Monday.”

Jamie dashes towards the ledge of the roof and leaps. He lands and rolls. He gets onto his feet and continues sprinting. The zombies are a few yards behind him.

“My boss is angry,” Jamie huffs.

Jamie leaps onto another rooftop. He slides down a house’s roof and pounces onto another. He looks behind him, panting and inhaling the smokey air. Watching the zombies following his exact movements.

“Shit, they are learning how to chase.”

He continues his flight. It’s been half a year since the Covid-19 mysteriously mutated into the zombie virus.

Jamie has spent six-months burrowing in his apartment as chaos erupted around the world.

Jamie leaps over an alley. Then he plummets. He clings onto the side of the roof as the zombies bare their black teeth behind him. Jamie’s heart pounds in his chest as the zombies disappear from view. He looks upwards.

A zombie roars into his face. Jamie slips. “I am at my office talking about cat videos with that hot accountant chick.” He assures himself with his delusion as he falls.

Thump! He lands in a pile of ancient rubbish. Roaches crawl onto him. Jamie shrieks as the zombie falls towards him. A loud gunshot shakes him to his core. The corpse of the zombie, missing half of its head,  flops onto him.

He blinks, hoping everything is a nightmare and he is living out his normal life. A gloved hand reaches out to him.  Jamie clutches it, feeling the first human warmth he has felt in months. He climbs out of the stinking bin. Two people covered with blood-stained scarves, with heavy hoods obscuring their faces, stare at him.

“We are the marauders. Welcome to the gang.”

“Um… I am late to work.” He stutters in awe, looking at the first people he has seen in a long while.

People laugh. He stares down at his feet.

The person on the left says. “There is no job to go back to.” He has the gruff voice of a middle-aged man.

The other person, a girl, says in a softer tone, “Should we take him back to base?”

“No, this guy doesn’t even know where he is. We can’t add crazies into our ranks.”

“I know. I am just coping,” Jamie affirms.

Jamie thinks, “It’s about time I let go of the delusion. Things will get to normal.”

The girl cheers, “C’mon let’s get going.”

Jamie smiles as he follows them into the desolate city, one foot behind finally not alone.

Here is a taste of my writing.

(gif by : Caterpie)

Imagine, it's 11 at night on a cool summer night. The tree outside your window makes shapes on your wall from the bright moon. The shadows dance with the cool breeze, as the leaves shake together making their own night time songs. Your room fan brushes it's sweet cool soft wind kisses into your face. You take your phone, and press the power button to make the screen go black; it does. As you put the device away for the night, a small elegant sigh leaves your beautiful lips. You roll to lay on your back, allowing your eyes to scan your room once more. Your eyes make contact with the dancing shadows, you become entranced by their smooth movements. The way the shadows jump across the walls makes your eyes heavy. As your vision slowly turns black; and you fall into the sweet embrace of slumber, everything is peaceful.

As you fell into the embrace of slumber, a smile graced your lips. Though later into the night, you were awakened, not by anything in particular, but you just woke up. But, frighteningly when you attempted to tug yourself upright, your feeble tries were of no use. When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out. All you could move were your eyes. As your tired eyes scanned the room, you noticed: there were no more happily dancing shadows. No more soft windy kisses, no more warm embrace, no more night time leaf music. It was silent. Your eyes moved from your wall to a corner, when your eyes met two small pin prick holes for eyes, that vibrated the color of blood. It's mouth, permanently agape with rows of teeth lining each other, cramming in to get a spot. It's mid spine meets the ceiling, making it hunch over. It's body reminded you of the sad thin Christmas trees nobody wanted to buy. It's fingers were of needles. Your non-existent breath hitched. It's chest raised and fell as if it were breathing. But it wasn't. All it had was a dried out sad heart, that would do anything to feel complete again. There were no words, just thoughts shared with the beast through simple eye contact. It knew what you had done... It came to collect your debt. And collect your debit it did...

As the morning raise skimmed over your face gently, you slowly raised up. In a panic frenzy, you rip off your night blankets and run to the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror a mortified shriek left your dry lips. Touching your now sunken eye sockets, your fingertips met your newly pin pricked eyes.

You know what you did, you had to pay. After all, the body has yet to be given a proper burial, and that bloody knife has yet to get cleaned.