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Somewhat49
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Somewhat49
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Made a new thread inspiried off of MageGreyWolves since I didn't know if Mage wanted to keep it his/her stories only or not.

Basement Monster

âDad! Dad! Thereâs a monster in the basement!â
âWhat does it look like?â
âIt was carrying a keyâ
The father froze, memories of his past flashed before his eyes and he said.
âWhat is the monsters name?â
âGrey Retriever, why did you ask that question?â
The father broke into tears now, and sat down facing away from his son.
âDad itâs going up the stairs! Itâs coming up from the basement!â
The slow steps up the stairs turned into a sprint.
The Father fainted in horror.

He woke up next in a bed, but it was not his bed.
It was too nice and big.
Looking around the bedroom he realized what happened was not a dream, but a reality, he would be rich now, all that he has to do now is enjoy life.

He started to cry again.

  • 16 Replies
MageGrayWolf
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MageGrayWolf
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I'm glad I was able to inspire you.

pangtongshu
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pangtongshu
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The biggest thing with the story...everything is incredibly sudden. There was an immense lack of build-up within the story, and each thing was spitfire which leaves the reader confused as to what exactly is happening.

It seems you are trying to go straight for the "scary part" of the story, and are missing what actually makes a story eerie/scary..which is the pace/build up.

metalplastic
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metalplastic
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Well...it's a short horror story so...I guess that's okay.

Bluydee
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Bluydee
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how does he know the monsters name?

Somewhat49
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Somewhat49
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how does he know the monsters name?

Well the boy was told the monsters name, and the dad met the monster before.
TopRank_
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TopRank_
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Jan. 16

its been three days since anyone's eaten. Olivia asked me today if we were going to eat Prince Charles. the creatures outside still haven't found us, but most of us wouldnt care if they did.

Jan 18

Peggy sleeps for most of the days now. She does it to disappear, i know it. Her hair is falling out, and her lips are blue. the same is happening to olivia. I dont know how much longer we can hold out. there are only 5 of us now. we Olivia found Austin swinging from a hook in the closet. he must have hung himself during the night. I dont blame him.

Jan 19

we ate the dog. we had to. Olivia was asleep when we killed it, and we didn't tell her where we got meat. She's 4 years old tomorrow. peggy stays asleep. we are beginning to accept that the things outside are demons. they defy gravity, run up walls. murder and destroy everything and everyone. we can't do it anymore.

???

I have lost track of time. Gregory died in his sleep. we dont know how long until the sun comes back. maybe weeks.

???

we ate gregory.

???

Olivia asked me if we were going to die. I told her it would be over soon. that the things outside would go away.

?

I killed peggy and olivia. I couldnt let them stay in this world anymore. I saved a bullet for myself, but the gun jammed. I tried to fix it, and now I can't put it back together. why me? No way to move the 4 bodies. we all share the room.

they are going to break into the boiler room soon. theyre almost through the door.

Pieguyme
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Pieguyme
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Not quite a "Short" story, but I came up with this on the spot. Therefore, it will be worse then most of my terrible writing attempts.

The Case of Mr. Jennings

As he ran through the woods, the man kept looking behind him to make sure that those things weren't following him. Checking again, he saw that they were still there. "I'll lose them in this cave," he said to himself. As he looked out the entrance at the things running past, he remembered....

July 15th, 1943.

"Captain, it's your turn to go on patrol," said the flight leader. Just weeks before, Wilson R. Jennings had joined the RAF, hoping to look after his cousin, but ended up in a different squadron. As he climbed into his Hurricane Mk II, Wilson noticed that his victory marks- 10 of Jerry's fighters he had scored since arriving-were missing. Shrugging it off, he started his engine, rolled down the tarmac, and soared into the skies.

About 20 minutes into his flight, Wilson spotted a Panzer column advancing towards what he knew to be an underground unit's HQ. Banking to left, he dove on the tanks. By the time the lead panzer blew, his twelve 7.7mm Vickers machine guns were overheating. Pulling out of the dive, Wilson radioed the tank's position to a nearby yankee artillery emplacement. Knowing he could put one more marker on the nose of his plane when he returned, Wilson did a half-loop and headed home.

His victory was short-lived, however. On his way back, Wilson spotted five Messerschmitt Bf. 109 E-3's diving at him. Immediately, he pulled the stick back, and opened up on the lead 109. He laughed as it burst into flames, only to watch in horror as it pulled up and swung onto his tail. The other four followed suit. "Blasted Jerries!" Jamming the stick into his stomach, Wilson looped over his pursuers.After finishing his loop, Wilson had put himself directly behind the 109's. Almost afraid of what would happen, he fired into the German fighter right in front of him. This time, his rounds hit home, and ignited the 109's fuel tank. The explosion launched pieces of aircraft into Wilson's flight path. Narrowly avoiding several pieces of the 109's prop, he pulled up next to the remaining 109's. Noticing he was out of ammunition, he looked over to salute the enemy, for they were truly worthy adversaries. To Wilson's surprise and horror, he saw not a young German flyer in the pilot's seat, but a half dead, disgusting, corpse. To stunned to do anything he watched as the other pilots-also these "things"- saluted him. Quickly he pulled away and sped back to base.

"Wily, you seem disturbed," said the Squadron Leader. "Anything odd happen up there today?" Not wanting to talk about it, Wilson responded that everything had gone well, talking about the two victories he won. "Nice shooting, chap."
The two talked the rest of dinner about past flights. When the pilots turned in for the night, Wilson still couldn't get his mind off the odd occurrence of the day. Finally, he dozed off for the few hors he could.

The next two years went by almost without incident. The only appearance of these living corpses had been when Wilson was shot down over Hammelburg in 1945.

A routine flight they told him. It'll be a milk run they said. Not any more. At the end of '43, Wilson had been transferred to a heavy bombardment group. On his most recent mission, a Focke Wolf 190 A-5 had torn of both wings of the Avro Lancaster he was in. The lone survivor, Wilson had been on his way to the famed Luftstalag that helped downed flyers escape.

On his way into town one day, he was stopped for an identity paper check by three Gestapo men. He calmly gave them the false papers issued to him. Then he saw their faces. By now, they looked as if all the flesh on their faces ad melted off. Their skeletal grins were the most terrifying thing Wilson had ever seen, and that was saying something. He began to run, but was quickly grabbed by two Wehrmacht guards. He was turned over to the Gestapo, and shoved in a car. Before long, they arrived at a camp. Not a POW camp, but a camp out in the woods. As he looked around, Wilson noticed the torn uniforms of RAF and USAAF flyers lying around. One of the things grabbed him by the collar and tied him to the makeshift table. One can only guess what they were planning. Then it hit him. He hadn't slept for three days. Surely he could just take a little nap. No harm there...

Wilson woke up the next morning, and noticed a bustle of activity. After ducking behind a fallen tree, he noticed something rather odd. There were hundreds of U.S. and Royal British soldiers taking care of normal camp duties. Suddenly, a voice behind him said, "Awake I see. Must've been out for several hours. We were about ready to call it quits on you." Nervously, Wilson asked the man, "W-where am I?" The answer came as a horrible surprise. "You're in England, buddy. Where did you think you were, Germany?" The man gave a smile and helped Wilson to his feet. Shaking Wilson's hand, the man introduced himself. "Lieutenant James William Jennings. My brother and I are in the RAF. And you are?" To shocked to speak, Wilson stammered, "I-I don't know." James looked confused at this, but told him to not worry, that he would let Wilson sleep in his brother's bunk. At the mention of his brother, James looked depressed. "He was shot down over Germany three weeks ago. I have been contacting Stalag 13 and the Underground everyday since his plane was reported missing." He then had a sudden change of attitude. "Call me J.J. Everyone does. I'll let you freshen up a bit before I take you to the Squadron Leader." Left in the barracks to think, Wilson wondered a few things: (1) Why were those things in Germany trying to kill him? (2) How did he end up in England? and (3) What should he do now? He dismissed the first one as unimportant. The second one he decided he didn't want to know. The third one was troubling him, though. Then it came to him. He would come up with his backup ID card he always left in between his bunk frame and the pad he slept on. Was it there? YES! He would tell the officers who he was, and then request to be discharged. After all, Wilson R. Jennings was the top ace in the RAF.

His encounter with the CO went exactly as planned. Within hours, Wilson and J.J. were on their way to London. While driving with the radio on, a exciting news bulletin was announced: "ATTENTION ENGLAND! THE WAR IS OVER! Yes folks, only 5 hours ago, the Western allies met the Red Army in the center of Berlin." The two stared at each other in silent joy. They rode the rest of the way home celebrating the hard fought victory over the Third Reich.

The two brothers established a law firm, as had been their post-war dream. Over the years however, Wilson had turned into a bit of a psycho. His wartime experiences had taken their toll. Or so everyone thought. Really, "they" had come for him. And one night, they got him....

1953

As he cautiously glanced outside, Wilson knew that the things chasing him now were the same things that had chased him 10 years ago. They were getting close now. He couldn't fight them like he used to. Knowing what he had to do, Wilson picked up a heavy tree limb and waited for "them."
When they came, Wilson R. Jennings, England's top ace, the World War Two hero, charged his otherworldly foes.

MoonFairy
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MoonFairy
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Well I was called here, so here I am. I'm not gonna try to be harsh, but please take this feedback as constructive criticism.

As your average run-of-the-mill reader, I have absolutely no idea about the plane or gun lingo. You are very detailed when describing them, but you mention the names too much and it kind of makes me frustrated since I don't have an image of it in my head. This would probably be great if your target audience was filled with people who knew these terms, but I think I speak for a large portion of users when I say we don't get it. So when you're talking about something you know a lot about but the general population might not, try to avoid using the names of each specific plane or gun.

The "horror" factor in your entire story was very short lived. It didn't really scare me at all, it just left me asking questions on why is this undead person considered scary. If you want to show horror, focus on describing the scary details more than just a sentence or two. Try to talk about the FEELING of terror that he felt when he saw these things, how it unsettled him and etc.

Why did he just suddenly fall asleep? That was randomly thrown in there and I'm sure that you could have tied it in better. It made me stop reading just to wonder why the heck it happened, and that is NOT what you want the reader to do. Especially in a suspenseful story, you want it to build up gradually, not make it halt.

Why are both of their names Jennings? In the beginning of the story you said he had a cousin, but then J.J said he has a brother? Is Wilson supposed to be the brother or is there no relation at all? That's a very open ended thing and it again made me stop reading to wonder why. At the end you reveal they are brothers, but in the start you said they were cousins. Make sure to fix these small details before you post. And you said the brother was shot down 3 weeks ago... why wouldn't his brother recognize him? That doesn't make much sense...

Then you end it very abruptly. There wasn't much horror in it at all, which is kind of a bummer.

I think with some more practice that you could write very very well. You have your own style and that is crucial. But you need to work on making it 'readable', and the flow. You tend to ramble for a while then randomly throw in new information and that breaks up the flow, big time. But keep writing! I'd like to see more!

sourwhatup2
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sourwhatup2
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Well...it's a short horror story so...I guess that's okay.


Short doesn't have to mean a few lines.. Short can be a few paragraphs, enough to get the build-up and tell a little of the background. That's why pang stated out a few things.

I agree everything was way too abrupt and out of no where. There was a lack of story telling, it could be way better if you spent your time trying to build up the actual story.

I think with some more practice that you could write very very well. You have your own style and that is crucial. But you need to work on making it 'readable', and the flow. You tend to ramble for a while then randomly throw in new information and that breaks up the flow, big time. But keep writing! I'd like to see more!


THIS.
IceClaw247
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IceClaw247
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It was a dark and windy friday evening. Louisa and Gerald were upstairs in the dark on their computers. The click click sound of the mouse as they browsed Armor Games, whilst outside the wind howled, trees creaked and crows crowed...when all of a sudden a ZAP...and the WiFi, cut, out, forever...

Blackbeltr0
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Blackbeltr0
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Oh oh I know this one;
And then they felt an erie Cold coming closer and were touched by a hand, a very cold hand, almost... A CLAW

sourwhatup2
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sourwhatup2
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...and the WiFi, cut, out, forever...


OHHH MY GODD The horror! DDDD; Get the LAN Cable! Get the LAN Cable!!
Riptizoid101
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Riptizoid101
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DoGz aRnT tHE oNLy tHinG thAt CAn LIcK haNDS....


Plot twist, she has a cat.

My scurry story-

A faint mellow glow from Dylan's flickering lamp was the only thing straining to keep the book he was reading just barely readable. In his small bedroom, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of his antique blue clock ticking and his faint breathing, along with the sound of page turning every now and then. Though he kept busy, his mind was not at all engrossed in the read. It was just something to keep him awake, to keep busy. It was just five days ago that he started hearing whispering within the walls and beneath the old wooden floorboards.

It's been happening ever since he moved into the new house, which his parents had gotten for a price that could be considered stealing. He didn't know why the price was so low, but it didn't matter much at the time anyways so he didn't probe into it. Dylan just simple thought and joked, 'Maybe there's a rat infestation or something?', which he thought was confirmed when he was woken up by strange soft sounds originating from the walls. But in the next day, they got louder. And again in the next, until he could even discern a few words like 'your doom tonight...' or 'down your spine...', which created cold sweat whenever he thought about it. Dylan brought it up with his family on the third day, to which they replied with a puzzled look, "What sounds?"

After four days, whenever he was alone in his room and wind poured and banged on his windows outside, he could hear footsteps outside of his bedroom door and intense rattling along with it. He felt piercing stares in the darkness and the whispering walls were loud enough to make it seem as though someone was breathing down Dylan's neck as he slept. Dylan tried softly humming a cheerful song, but had to pause every now and then to swallow the built up saliva, which was accompanied by shutting his eyes tighter and tighter each time. He heard his door creak open ever so slowly and something entered it, to which Dylan tried to ignore and feigned that he was asleep. However, the rattling abruptly stopped after that, and Dylan, who had gone without sleeping the whole night, searched his room at sunrise for what had entered. However, there was no sign of anything. At all.

Now it was the fifth day, and Dylan was on edge. In the dead silence, Dylan's ears were open to detect any and all sounds. His heart was beating like a drum that could've echoed throughout the house. The floor was occasionally creaking by themselves, as if some apparition was walking. There was no rattling, no whispering, nothing but the monotone ticking of the clock and Dylan's beating heart, assuring him that he was still alive. He waited and waited throughout the night, expending much of his energy trying to stay awake in the loud silence. He looked at the time. "2:10 AM..." Dylan said to himself. Young bags were forming under his bloodshot eyes and he was yawning more than he could concentrate to read now. "Only a few minutes..." he mumbled to himself before drifting off to take a light nap.

He was jolted awake by the sounds of rattling and knocking on his bedroom door, accompanied by the whispering he heard all those nights before. The lamp was strangely off, and after a few moments of fiddling with the switch, he cursed to himself, realizing that the light bulb had died. The door knob was being handled roughly, but unable to be open due to the lock Dylan had put on his door as a precaution. He swallowed his saliva and wiped off the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve, before calling out with a strained voice "W-Who is it?!?". Like an orchestra, all of the sounds came to a sudden stop, and after what felt like a millennium, there was just a simple knock on the door.

Dylan slowly rolled off his bed and walked towards the door, each step activating the harmonious floorboard creaks. He faced the door, heavily breathing and heart about to jump from his chest, when he unlocked the door and slowly opened it while shutting his eyes tightly...

...

...

...

...

...

...
AND A SPOOKY SPOOKY SKELETON POPPED OUT! BOO!

------------

Footnote-
Yes, my story was supposed to have an anticlimactic ending. That was the point, if you didn't get it. And sorry if I disappointed you with that kind of ending, if you really wanted a bone chilling (huehuehue puns) campfire story. But eh, I couldn't let the opportunity get away. Hope this made you laugh as much as it made me while writing. Cheers.

~Sir Riptizoid101
sourwhatup2
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sourwhatup2
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Awwww mannn I was so into the story too! ****. Nice job though I liked it and I did laugh at the end xD

pangtongshu
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pangtongshu
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DEAR GOD WHAT THE HELL RIP?!?!?!?1 SERIOUSLY LIKE SOME KIND OF WARNING MAYBE BEFORE SCARING SOMEONE LIKE THAT?!?!?!

Great no sleep for me tonight this is awesome.

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