Horror Bites #15

They don’t listen.

Time after time they’ve been warned of building on sacred land. But we have been ignored. Our heritage trampled. Our resting place desecrated.

Distant rumblings above us vibrate our fragile bones as rats scurry, no longer able to gnaw at our rotting flesh as we rise from eternal sleep.

Earth crumbles, our ancestral home falling around us. We are their dead. Do they not wish for peace for their dead? Was the suffering we endured through death not enough? Faint voices echo through the mound, punctuated with laughter.

Pinpricks of light seep through the once rich, organic soil; rich from blood that fed this land for centuries. Fed us. Now, the arteries have been severed, filled with cold concrete while asphalt burns.

As one, we claw our way towards the surface, their voices clearer, their smell . . . A new feeling engulfs us . . . a ravenous hunger urges us.

Guttural groans unconsciously escape our rotting lips, reverberating  around us, through us . . . above us.

The tools stop. The laughing is no more. But we hear them, their beating hearts, their blood coursing.

Pounding feet throb inches above our heads as clay falls, revealing daylight. We reach up, our arms flaying for flesh, screaming only enticing us further to rise.       

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Written for Office Mango, Horror Bites, challenge 15. Hosted by Laura Jamez  

#HorrorBites Carriage Three

The train arrived on platform five. But despite the overcrowding, coach three remained empty.

   “What’s the deal with that empty coach?” Ryan asked.

   “People disappear.” Ben replied.

   “You believe that?”
   “It’s not a case of believing, it’s just not worth disproving. I mean what if it’s true?”

    “There’s only one way to find out.” The train stopped and Ryan made his way to carriage three, ignoring the pleas of Ben and commuters. He opened the door, peered around the carriage and stepped in, walking along the carriage before slumping into a seat. He laughed and waved at the worried faces staring back at him as they crammed into the rest of the train.

   The train reached it’s destination and passengers disembarked, congregating around coach three.

   “Why doesn’t he get off?” Ben asked.

   “He can’t,” the driver replied. “He belongs to carriage three now.”

   “That’s where you’re wrong,” Ryan bragged. “I’m right here,” he said, grabbing Ben’s blazer. But his hand swiped right through him.

    “What happens now?” Ben asked.

    “By the time the train pulls out, he’ll be gone.”

    “No! I’m here!” Ryan screamed, reaching out to Ben but passing right through him.

Ben watched in silence as Ryan hammered on the train doors, screaming for escape. Tears streamed down his pale face, now contorted with fear as the carriage lights dimmed before plunging the coach into black.

    The lights flickered on. Ryan saw carriage three full of people.

    “You need to get on,” a girl said, standing next to him on the platform. “You need to take your seat.” Ryan looked upon her, confused. “You’re dead Ryan. We’re all dead in carriage three and it’s our job to ride for eternity.”

    “See,” the driver said to Ben. “All gone.”

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Written for Laura Jamez' Horror Bites over at Office Mango.

    

#HorrorBites Challenge A Bag Of heads

“Weirdo,” was the usual  greeting for Sasha as she walked through the school corridors. All she wanted was for someone to call a best friend. But she was alone.

   Luckily, Sasha found a way to have friends.

   Her dolls.

   They travelled with her everywhere.

    Until the school thug, Tony, decided that today he was going to be extra mean. Not content with kicking Sasha’s bag across the hall, he decided to empty it all over the corridor. Deafening laughter followed as Sasha’s dolls tumbled out for everyone to see. Red with rage, Sasha tried to ignore the laughter as she bent to pick up her dolls but not before Tony picked one up and pulled off the head, copied by Ryan and the rest of the gang until every doll was headless. Ryan threw a head at Sasha as the gang walked off, their laughter echoing in Sasha’s ears.

    “I’m so sorry Michelle,” Sasha said softly to one of her dolls. “I’ll fix this.” She placed the dolls in her bag and left.

     Once home, Sasha fixed up her dolls. 

But the magic had gone.

     The next day in school, the halls were peaceful. Tony wasn’t one to hunt without his pack but Sasha approached him.

    “Fancy kicking my bag around today, decapitating my dolls?” She delved into her bag and pulled out a doll.

     Tony blanched.

     “This is my new doll  . . . Ryan. He makes a fine doll don’t you think? While he’s like this, I can bring him back to life but if you do this,” she pulled off the head. Tony wretched, “he’s always going to be just a doll. Shame, for Ryan . . . and you.” She threw the head back in her bag with the rest of Tony’s gang, biding her time for their leader.

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Written for Laura James' new #HorrorBites challenge over at Office Mango

Thursday Threads Will it Come Back?

The shrinking candle flickered against the onslaught of darkness. It wasn’t romantic now in the old, stone cottage as the storm raged and the sea crashed against the cliffs. With the battery dead in her laptop and phone, Kirsty had nothing to occupy her other than the small orange flame that hungrily devoured the candle.

The door flung open. Kirsty let out a scream as the howling wind swirled around the room.

“It’s only me. Chinese as promised,” said Mark cheerily, slamming the door shut. “Locals say the power often goes out up here. I got a few more candles too.” Kirsty relaxed in the warm, comfortable glow.

Rapidly, a chill descended around them, candles snuffed out, swamping the room in darkness. The wind swirled around Kirsty’s legs. She couldn’t speak as the candles suddenly lit; revealing a shadow; a figure standing by the door, looking out.  

“I see it too,” whispered Mark.  The door flew open and the figure drifted out. “Come on!” Mark followed to the edge of the cliffs, mesmerised by the shadow, his candle not blowing out in the wind.  

“Look!” Kirsty pointed out to sea where a light bobbed erratically towards the rocks, watching in silence as the light changed direction and the glowing of the candle faded.

“What was it and will it come back?” Kirsty asked, walking back carefully, directed by the light from their cottage.

“Who knows but one thing is certain Kirsty, lives were saved tonight.”

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Written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads over at The weird, The Wild and The wicked.