This a thread where we will share our macabre/mysterious short stories. Being university students from different countries, we have never seen eachother, yet we found something in common which made us friends. That something was the love for obscure writing and poetry.
We hope our stories can inspire you.
(maybe Kali will add something here later)
Meanwhile, enjoy!
We will post about once a week, feel free to comment and discuss our creativity here!
What is this we feel when a train passes by at twilight? Its warm lit windows beckon, and they invite you to go - but where?
I think I know the answer.
Imagine this ethereal desire is fulfilled and this train magically stops to let you in. You enter to take your place (it's an econom class train). An old man is your companion, he acts pollitely but doesn't introduce himself or generally say anything. When the train proceeds moving, he crosses himself. The train keeps moving for a long time, people eat, go to sleep, wake up again, but it's still dark. Most of them speak very little and very quite.
The old man drinks tea and smiles at you paternally as if to say "if only I was as young as you are...''
You look out of the window: the night must have lasted for a whole day now.
Then, suddenly, a female conductor stops by your place and looks at you as if to say "you gotta go, fellow, it's your stop". You stand up and follow her to the exit. The train stops for a second just to let you out.
You are standing in a meadow. The train departs silently behind your back, and when you turn around, even the rails are gone. It's dawn.
Sorry for not posting before, I was trying to translate some other story, but the main points in it were lost in translation so...
And also, forgive any spelling/grammar mistake (or correct me, but, please, politely)
And she walked, wandering, in the middle of the darkness. She could feel the shadows’ glance; they were too scared to come closer to her. Every now and then, she fell down, but, erratically, and as if she were a somnambular, she stood up and went on walking, slowly, very slowly.
She was only wearing a dark grey nightgown, while her feet hurt themselves with the little rocks on the ground. But she didn’t feel a thing, at least no physically. She still feared the darkness, therefore she walked with her eyes closed, so that she couldn’t see the monsters that scared her and that tortured her exhausted mind.
The shadows laughed at her every time a shiver ran through her body and she felt the presence of one of the many monsters among her. The one that scared her the most was the one which more recurrently appeared. It was the only one who dared to walk in front of her. Because of this, if she, in a moment of distraction, opened her eyes, the first thing she would see would be the monster’s face.
For some reason, she thought that if she didn’t see the monsters, they would not attack her. That’s why she walked so slowly, while the darkness embraced her. She is still scared, so she whispers to herself: “they are not real, they are not real” and she finds some solace, but can’t stop feeling more sadness as she repeats the phrase.
One day, she falls down and opens her eyes. Then she sees the monster’s face, near, too near, inexpressive, but frightening. And she starts crying, silently; her teardrops roll down her cheeks and she can’t stop them. She cries because she knows she won’t keep walking, looking for an exit for her nightmare. She cries because now she is at the mercy of the monster and now she can’t close her eyes again to, finally, awaken.
And I'm paralyzed. I know my own world is crumbling down and, still, I can only think about you. My own darkness is trying to blind me, but I still manage to look at you. Yours may be less dark, but it’s what’s coming next that worries me.
I’m able, somehow, to escape from the darkness and see the people around me. But I’m alone. Everyone has left. Maybe it’s because of me? Maybe people are tired of trying to fix me? Or maybe they’re all the same, unable to see the sanity within the madness. I’ve reached a point in which I honestly don’t care, but then I see you again. You’re fighting your demons, trying to escape from the shadows. You’re brave, but that doesn’t mean you’re not scared, and I can see that in the way your eyes shine.
You can’t see me, but I still want to help you, so I pick up a candle and light it up. I put it on the ground and push it towards you. You see the candle and stop fighting, in order to pick it up. You try to see where did it came from, but you see through me. Then you vanish, and I’m more alone than before.
I know it was just a dream, but I wish I could’ve helped you more in real life. I wish I wasn’t paralyzed.
