WEP-October Horor Fest-What Scares You?

 

Hello again everyone! Long time no see! Yeah, I had good intentions to post more often this year, which I clearly have not done. What can I say? Life frequently gets in the way. I have not written nearly as much as I intended when I set goals for myself at the beginning of the year. I'm sure I'm not the only one of us in that boat.

I definitely didn't want to miss the Halloween WEP event, though. Halloween is one of my favorite times of the year. However, when I sat down to write for this prompt, the traditional type of Halloween story I expected to emerge did not. The horror for me turned out to be much more existential. What scares me most? A complete lack of control. What may happen to us that is beyond our ability to prevent?

Anyway I hope you enjoy my little contribution.

They Did Not See

On a small blue and green world three quarters of the way down a spiral arm of a generic galaxy, several billion people milled about its surface, each individual preoccupied with their own brief lives and concerns.

               On any given day, millions were suffering from a lack of resources. Not enough money, not enough food, not enough power to advocate for their right to exist with dignity. Others had enough to eat, but they still fearede ending up on the streets, barely able to afford the most basic shelter.

               Millions of those people, on a given day, mourned the loss of someone close to them, via either death or estrangement. The pain gripped them at their core, threatening to consume them.

               And on this tiny world teeming with life, nature was often unrelenting. The ground frequently trembled. Mountaintops erupted with molten rock. Wildfires scorched wide swaths of the earth. Storm clouds swirled and unleashed destruction. Many perished or lost their homes. They lost hope. What was washed away in a single day could take years to rebuild and repair.

               Amidst it all, these mortal beings reached out and supported one another. They uplifted and inspired. They strove to make whole what had been broken. Despite all odds and adversities, they worked together to make life better.

               Yet, what these mortal beings did not and could not know, an event occurred decades before they were born. This event, more than 150 light years away, reached out across the dark chasm of space. Twin high energy beams stretched in opposite directions, one of them aimed straight at the little blue and green world.

               Scientists upon this world would have, had they seen this coming, called this event a gamma ray burst. They also would have said that such an event was highly unlikely to ever impact their planet. Yet science was an ongoing enterprise, and those scientists had not yet formed a complete understanding of the risks they actually faced. And unfortunately for them, they never would.

               It happened so quickly, those who were vaporized from the surface of their small world never even had the chance to wonder at what was killing them. Just a momentary sense of shock before all went dark.

               The planet continued to spin in the eons that followed, but the character of this world was forever altered.

Word Count: 391

FCA

WEP October Challenge: The Scream

It's October, and that means it's time for another WEP challenge. This month's challenge is inspired by another famous piece of art, THE SCREAM. Perfectly suited to this time of year, I think.

This time around, we're asking members to try their hand at writing their own taglines for their entries. You can find mine at the end of the post.

Here's my entry. I hope you enjoy it!

Cries in the Night

 

I jolted upward, cloth constricting me as I struggled to sit up. My heart raced as I cast my eyes desperately around me, the inky darkness making it impossible to see.

 

Nothing was familiar. I’d been asleep, but I wasn’t in my bedroom. My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to make sense of anything.

 

“What was that?”

 

The words, spoken directly into my ear, nearly sent me flying out of my skin. It took a moment to process and recognize it. “Vanessa?”

 

“Of course it’s me. Who else would be in here with you?”

 

That’s when it all fell back into place. I was in a tent with my best friend, my body trapped in a sleeping bag. We’d chosen to go camping together so we could get some time away from our families for a couple of days. Having turned freshly eighteen, we were both technically adults, but living at home meant we still had to follow other people’s rules. It was nice to get out on our own for a little while.

 

At least in theory. A panicked late-night awakening hadn’t been a part of my plans. “Yeah. Sorry. Forgot where I was for a minute.” I ran my hands through my sweat-soaked hair.

 

As my breathing returned to normal, I turned my attention to Vanessa. My eyes were adjusting somewhat to the darkness, so I could distinguish the ghostly outline of her face. Her eyes were wide, and her shoulders were as tense as I’d ever seen them.

 

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

 

Vanessa’s mouth dropped. “I heard something. For crying out loud, it woke you up!” Her words came out like a harsh whisper, urgent and incredulous.

 

A noise had woken me, then. That made sense, though I failed to recall it. “What was it?”

 

Vanessa bit her lower lip. “It sounded like a scream.”

 

My body froze. Surely a scream hadn’t wrested me from my slumber. We were pretty deep into the woods. It took the entire day to hike out to our campsite. There shouldn’t have been another soul for miles.

 

I’d almost convinced myself that Vanessa had been mistaken when it came again.

 

“Help! Somebody help me!” The scream tore through the night like a blade.

 

It was a woman’s voice, and the terror in her plea sent my heart racing again. She sounded breathless, like she was running for her life. Was someone or something chasing her? How nearby was she? Her voice sounded too close for comfort.

 

Vanessa cursed under her breath. 

 

“What do we do?” I asked, scarcely loud enough for her to hear.

 

For a brief moment, I thought of movies where the heroes ran into the line of fire and saved the day. People who risked their lives to save others in distress. Part of me wished to be that kind of person, but the larger part of me was too terrified to budge from my spot.

 

Vanessa seemed to be of a similar mind. She put a finger to her lips, pleading for me to remain silent. Meeting her eyes, I could read her thoughts so clearly they felt like my own. We were unarmed. If we went out there to confront the unknown danger, we could easily end up running for our own lives.

 

“Help!”

 

I sucked in my breath. That was definitely closer. Vanessa and I stared at one another, both of us coming to the same realization. We were in danger. I thought of the campfire we’d lit outside. It was down to embers when we turned in for the night. Would someone see it? Would the screaming woman see our campsite and seek help from us? Would the person or animal pursuing her see it?

 

Part of me wished I could huddle in my sleeping bag and hide myself from the world. Another longed to run. I dared do neither for fear of making a sound.

 

Several long moments passed as we both strained to hear. The snapping of twigs and crunch of underbrush was audible by that point.

 

Don’t come this way. Please don’t come this way. My silent recitations played on a loop in my mind as I waited for disaster to strike.

 

Then the sounds of fleeing footsteps began to fade, and the next strangled cry was more distant than the last.

 

Vanessa and I waited in silent terror until long after the screaming had stopped.

*     *     *

 

Three weeks later, a couple out on a walk stumbled across the body of a woman. She’d been stabbed more than thirty times and her head had been severed. The location was less than an eighth of a mile from where Vanessa and I had been camping.

 

My blood ran cold when I saw the news reports. I wanted to reach for my phone to call Vanessa, but I couldn’t move. That was the screaming woman. It had to be. What was her name? Who killed her, and why? Could we have possibly intervened and saved her, or would an attempt have merely gotten us killed too?

 

I imagined being in her shoes, fleeing for my life, alone and afraid, while two people hid away nearby, too scared to do anything but wait until it was all over.

 

My hands began to shake violently, and I barely made it to the bathroom before the nausea overtook me.

Word Count: 896

FCA

Now here's my tagline: Two girls, alone in the woods, face the choice to help or hide when an unexpected danger approaches.

Have a great October everyone!

WEP/IWSG October Challenge-A Matter of Principle

Hello everybody! I hope you're having a wonderfully spooky October. My boys sure are. My husband has been taking them out to haunted houses on the weekends, and they've been loving every minute of it!

Here's my entry for the joint WEP/IWSG Challenge, and I hope you enjoy it!

A Matter of Principle

The doll lay spread eagle on the oak, its plastic blue eyes reflecting the light from the golden swing arm lamp. It wasn’t the same kind of illumination one could expect from an operating room, but Hazel supposed it would have to do.

The porcelain face, made to look just like someone Hazel had once called her best friend, sent chills down her spine. The level of resemblance was uncanny. She didn’t know how the doll’s creator did it, and frankly, she didn’t care to find out. There were a lot of details surrounding the manufacturing process that both bewildered and terrified her. The price also came quite high. A year’s worth of salary, in fact. However, having spent so much money on this endeavor didn’t unsettle her quite so much as the sense that she’d also given away her soul in the exchange.

Hazel had a voodoo doll when she was a kid, though it looked nothing like this one. It came in a box of assorted items that her parents picked up at an auction. She tested it by swiping a piece of hair from her older sister’s hair brush and tying it around the doll’s neck. After she inserted a tiny sewing needle into the doll’s knee, a shriek tore through the house. The sudden pain had caused her sister to tumble down the stairs and tear a ligament. Surgery and months on crutches followed.

The power of that moment astonished her. She placed that voodoo doll on the shelf, and there it gathered dust. Years passed before she pulled it down again. A boy got too handsy at a party, leaving her to run out crying with a torn dress and a whirlwind of rumors to follow her remaining days of high school. That boy spent months going through physical therapy after an intense pain caused him to crash his car.

That doll helped her inflict suffering when needed, yes, but this time it wouldn’t have been enough. Not for what Hazel had in mind. The pain inflicted this time had to be deep and permanent to match the betrayal she felt. Friends didn’t go behind your back and steal your husband from you. They didn’t try to lay claim to the family you’d worked so hard to build. They didn’t smile, offer flaccid apologies, and flaunt your children around town as if they had birthed them instead of you.

No. Friends didn’t do things like that, and such traitors didn’t deserve any mercy.

“It’ll all be worth it,” Hazel whispered to herself as she took the X-Acto knife in hand. She brought the knife’s sharp point to rest against the doll’s chest. She took a deep breath before pushing it in. The soft material that composed the doll’s torso parted easily beneath the blade, revealing the stuffing within. It looked like the typical cottony substance that could be found inside many children’s toys, except this stuff had been dyed beet red. She continued the single deep incision, bringing it all the way down to the groin.

Hazel was shaking when the lifted the knife again. She hesitantly grasped some of the soft red stuffing and rubbed it absent-mindedly between her fingers. Would that be enough? It had to be, right?

She shook her head. There was no sense in coming this far to leave any room for uncertainty. One quick flick of her wrist cut the dolls neck. She jumped back when the head separated from the body entirely and landed with a soft thud on the brown rug.

*     *     *

The local news was awash with the horrifying details the next day. A woman was brutally disemboweled and decapitated. A frantic boyfriend woke to find her dead and called the police.

Hazel watched those news reports with rapt interest, though she ensured her daughters never saw them. Knowing that the woman who’d they’d affectionately called their Auntie Karen all their lives had died was traumatic enough. It got even worse for them when no fingerprints other than their father’s could be found at the scene. Though his story never changed, and no murder weapon was ever found, police concluded that he was the only one who could have possibly committed the crime.

Sure, Hazel hated to see her girls cry, but she couldn’t simply lie back and take it. It was a matter of principle. Her so-called friend had to pay for what she’d done, and her ex-husband would suffer in prison for what he’d put her through.

Hazel locked the doll away in her safe beside all her other most valued possessions, hoping she would never have need for such dark magic again.

Word Count: 781

FCA

WEP Halloween Challenge: Youthful Frights vs. Adult Fears

It's time for the WEP Halloween Challenge!  This challenge is all about Childhood Frights vs. Adult Fears.  The goal is to show how a childhood fear can turn into an adult one, whether real or imagined.

To start the fun you can:

1.    share a favorite frightening tale, movie, novel, photograph or painting that will leave us quaking in our boots

2.    in a short paragraph describe how it scared you, and why it did and or still does today

3.    then you can:

a.    submit your own scary piece, 1000 words or less, in any format or

b.    share a photograph or painting that captures the horror you've felt.

Not many movies scare me, but one that I watched recently certainly had me on edge the whole way through.

The Babadook kept me uncomfortable.  I don't want to give too much away for those who haven't seen it, but I started out worrying that the little boy was going to hurt himself or someone else.  He insists he sees this monster that no one else can see, and he acts out in frightening ways.  That fear switches when his mom visibly starts to lose her mind, and I spent the rest of the movie terrified that she was going to hurt her son. The tension was killer, and I think the fact that I have kids of my own made it more intense.  The atmosphere of the movie was also perfect for the story it was telling.

Okay, on to the second part of the challenge.  I hope you enjoy this little piece of flash fiction I wrote!  Or, more accurately, I hope it scares the daylights out of you.  I'm not a horror writer, but I did my best.

Boogeyman

The boogeyman is real, and he’s standing outside my house.

Creak!  Creak!  Creak!  The wood protests as the stranger paces back and forth on our porch.  The sound sends chills down my spine.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  He raps on the door each time he passes.

“Daddy, why is he doing that?” Emily whispers in my ear.  Her thin arms are wrapped around my neck, and she’s trembling so hard she can barely hold on.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”  I hold her close as I’m transported back in time to the days of my childhood when I feared the boogeyman was coming for me.  I used to cling to my mother and father the exact same way.  Now I’m supposed to be the protector, and I can’t escape the fear that I’m going to fail.

This faceless stalker has been after my family for weeks.  It started with notes slipped into the mailbox and under the door.  The messages were only vaguely menacing in the beginning.  “I’ve seen you around.”  “You have a lovely family.”  Things that seemed creepy mostly due to the anonymity of them.  They soon grew more aggressive.  “I’ll make you scream.”  “I want to know your family from the inside out.”

The police didn’t seem all that concerned.  “It’s probably just a prank,” the officer told me.  “There’s no specific threat, so there’s only so much we can do.”

They might believe the disemboweled cat I found on my porch when I got home from work today is a more tangible threat, but I have yet to report it.

I should have reported it.

Now I feel helpless.  I am a child all over again.  My older sister Courtney used to tell me horror stories about the boogeyman who came in the night to collect frightened children.  “Mark, I know that you broke my roller skates,” she said.  “You know what that means.  The boogeyman is going to come get you.”  Or “Mark, you threw your peas in the trash and told Mom you ate them.  You know what that means, don’t you?”

The things I told myself as a trembling child, huddled in the dark, come right back to me.  The boogeyman is coming to get you.  You deserve all the bad things he’s going to do to you.  Mom and Dad are upset, and they won’t protect you.

What did I do wrong now?  How did I bring this upon my family?

The thought is ludicrous, of course, but it burrows its way under my skin and makes a home there.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

“Hello.  911?  Yes, there’s someone outside our house, and they’re threatening us!”  My wife Caroline’s voice is higher in pitch than normal, but she’s holding herself together.  She crouches down beside us, and Emily lets go of me to cling to her instead.

I stand and scan the area.  There are no guns in the house, but I need to find some way of defending us.  That’s my job.  If I can’t protect my family, what good am I?

I find my old baseball bat in a closet and go to stand near the door.  All the while, I’m running through possible courses of action.  Should we go out the back door, or are we safer here?  Should we hole up in a hidden room?  That might eliminate our hope of escaping.  So many options, and none of them feel right.  There’s too much uncertainty.  One wrong decision and I doom us all.

As a child, I felt certain that my parents could protect me from anything.  Now I wish that fiction had been true.  I wish I could live up to it.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

“Mommy!”  Emily is sobbing even harder.

Caroline shushes her softly, then says something to the operator.

Creak.  Creak.  Creak.

As the dark-clothed boogeyman passes the window, I see the glint of some kind of weapon.  Though I don’t know what it is, my heart speeds up even more at the sight of it.

I take a deep breath.  My fingernails dig into the wood of the bat.  My breaths come shallow and quick.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

“It’s going to be just fine.”  I don’t know if the words are meant more for them or for me.  It doesn’t matter, because they have no substance.  They’re nothing but tissue paper.  Pleasant enough at first glance, but translucent and easily shredded.

Creak.  Creak.  Creak.

“Please tell them to hurry,” Caroline begs.

Another glint seen through the window.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

My heart pounds in my ears.  I wish it were loud enough to drown out all the other sounds.  I wish I were brave enough to go out there and put a stop to the nightmare.  I wish I had someone to comfort me and convince me everything will be all right.

Creak.  Creak.  Creak.

I’m losing my mind.  I imagine my family being torn to pieces.  I can see the blood on the floor.  If that happens, it’ll be my fault.  My failure.

Tap!  Tap!  Tap!

Tap!  Tap!  Tap!

The change in pattern jars me.  That isn’t good.  Not good at all.

TAP!  TAP!  TAP!

“Daddy!  Make it stop!” Emily screams.

TAP!  TAP!  TAP!

I have to do something.  I can’t let it end like this.

Then I hear the sirens.  The red and blue flashing lights filter in through the curtains.  I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

The sound of pounding footsteps tells me our terrorizer has fled.

“It’s okay,” I say, dropping the bat and running to embrace my family.  “We’re fine.  It’s over.”

I don’t know how much time passes, but I haven’t yet let go of my wife and daughter.  One of the officers is standing in our living room, and I must still be out of it, because I don’t recall letting him in.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hanson.  The guy got away, but we’ll do what we can to protect your family.”

It isn’t over after all.

Word Count 997/FCA

Spooktoberfest: Infection

For those who would like to read my post for Celebrate the Small Things can find it HERE.

The awesomeness that is Spooktoberfest is made possible by Jackie @ Bouquet of Books and Dani @ Entertaining Interests.

For those who are interested in joining up, here are the details!

Requirements:

1. Follow Cover Girls blog if you don’t already. It will be reciprocated!

          And on Twitter: @covergirlsdj

You can also follow our individual accounts: @jackiefel & @danibertrand

If you have a Twitter account, please feel free to use the hashtag #spooktoberfest14

2. Your Flash Fiction piece cannot be any longer than 300 words. Sorry… that’s part of the challenge.

3. You must use the MANDATORY 5 words listed below…

      (You may use any variation of these words as you like.)

              chill

            cocoon

            commotion

            curse

            virus

4. Post your Flash Fiction piece any day from Friday Oct 24^th thru Tuesday, Oct. 28^th.

5. It’s a blog hop, so… hop around to other participating blogs and leave them some awesome comments.

6. Have fun.

Your flash fiction piece can be scary, comical, romantic, or whatever you choose, just be creative! You can use pictures to set the scene and/or a song to set the mood.

The winners will be posted on HALLOWEEN, Oct. 31st!

Jackie and Dani will each choose a winner. That’s right – two winners!PRIZES: Each winner will receive a $25 e-giftcard of their choice.

My entry is exactly 300 words.  What can I say?  I have a hard time restraining myself sometimes.  It took longer to cut my story down to 300 words than it did to write the first draft, but since that's part of the challenge

Infection

It’s dark because I can’t open my eyes.  I try again, but they’re stuck shut by some kind of slimy goop.

“The test subject Amy Rohan is 10 years old.  She will henceforth be designated as Patient 8347.”  The voice is deep.  It’s a man, and he sounds even more unfriendly than my neighbor Mr. Horace.

There’s a commotion to my left (commotion was our vocabulary word in school last week).  It's the rustle of fabric.

“The injection’s ready.”  This voice is softer, a woman’s, and her words send a chill through me.  They’re going to give me a shot.  I hate shots.

A pain in my left arm makes me jump, but I can’t move far.  Straps are holding me still.  My eyes are watering, but the tears can’t get out.

“The experimental serum was administered at 1430 hours,” the man says.  “8347 started exhibiting symptoms of the Hillson virus 48 hours ago.  We hope to ascertain whether the serum, in combination with immersion therapy, can be effective at this stage of infection.”

My heart squeezes painfully.  Mom's called Hillson virus a curse since it took Daddy away.  If I’m sick now . . . is Mom sick too?

A piercing squeal startles me, and I’m moving.  My stomach flutters, and I know I’m going downward.  Something cold and wet hits my skin.  It’s too thick to be water, and it smells like floor cleaner.  My eyes are still closed, but it’s getting darker somehow.  My heart speeds up as the wet stuff flows over my face.

Holding my breath, I wish I was cocooned in my blankets at home.  Mommy would read me a story.  I’d be safe there. 

Soon my lungs are burning.  I need to breathe, but if I do . . .

I gasp and the icy sludge fills my chest.

The Bloody Valentine Blog Hop

Happy Valentine's Day!  Today I'm marking the occasion by participating in A.F. Stewart's The Bloody Valentine Blog Hop!  It's a hop to showcase love gone wrong.

I decided to write a piece of flash fiction.  It's definitely lacking the normal warm and fuzzy feelings that many people associate with this particular holiday.  I hope you enjoy it!

Until Death

Steph’s eyes traveled across the ceiling, noting the way the soft moonlight played across the hills and valleys in the plaster.  The digital display from the alarm clock cast a faint red hue over the bed, and Steph’s thoughts darkened when she was reminded of the time.

4 AM.

Nothing good can ever happen at 4 AM, she thought bitterly.

A faint gurgling sound disrupted the brief quiet, marking the beginning of another cycle of torment.  Steph glanced at the sleeping form beside her.  Martin’s mouth hung wide open in his slumber, a trail of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth.  She suppressed a shudder as she surveyed the disgusting sight.

He used to be so handsome, so charming.  What the hell happened?

The answer to this question was, of course, obvious.  Once she had a wedding ring on her finger, his entire demeanor changed.  It wasn’t an immediate change.  Oh no.  It snuck up on her bit by bit.  He stopped complimenting the way she looked when they went out for date night.  Then their date nights became increasingly infrequent.

He forgot their anniversary.  I was so sure he’d remember my birthday at least, Steph thought as she clenched her hands together until her knuckles were as white as a skeleton.  What I didn’t anticipate was him remembering, only to buy me a waffle iron so I could have the great honor of cooking his breakfast.

The gurgling had grown much louder, rising like a wave about to break against the beach.  This fact was made more irritating by the fact that Martin always insisted that he didn’t snore.  Steph often wondered how he didn’t wake himself up with his cacophonous nocturnal nasal symphony.   

At the crescendo, Martin choked mid gurgle.  For one blessed moment, he was silent.  That was, until his breathing passage cleared once more, allowing the horrendous sounds to resume.

If he keeps it up, he’s eventually going to drown in his own fluids!

Steph pondered this for a moment.  For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why this would be an undesirable thing.

He complains about my cooking.  He insists I don’t clean thoroughly enough, but he won’t help me either.  He never tells me happy Valentine’s Day, let alone gets me a gift.

That woeful thought brought Steph’s eyes back to the table.  Beside the clock, bathed in red light, was the half-eaten bag of candy hearts.  She’d purchased them in the hopes that Martin would see them, and that he might think to make some kind of romantic gesture.  A small gift.  Or a compliment.  Anything would have done, really.

No.  Instead I get to lie here sleeplessly, listening to you snore and wait for the ‘until death do you part’ section of the vows to become a reality.

Rage began to burn in her veins.  I deserve better than this!  I wanted so much more out of life, and this is all I get?

The decision wasn’t a conscious one.  Before Steph knew what she was doing, the bag of candy hearts was in her hands, and she was straddling the sleeping form.  “Good night, sweetie,” she declared as she clamped one hand roughly over his nose.  The other hand tipped the bag so the little chalky candies poured into Martin’s gaping cavern of a mouth.

His eyes flew open immediately.

“Oh, so this is the way to wake you up,” Steph said thoughtfully, more to herself than anyone else.  “That’s good to know.”

The gurgling had turned into full on choking as the candy completely blocked his airway.  Candy hearts filled his mouth to the brink, spilling out everywhere, tumbling over his lips and onto the bedspread.  His nails raked at her wrists as she firmly held him in place, one hand atop his throat, the other still covering his nose.  Blood oozed out from beneath her fingers, indicating the she must have damaged his nose in her fervor.

Interesting.

His eyes bulged, both terrified and pleading, but this only fascinated her.  She hadn’t seen any kind of strong emotion from this man in a long time, and she fixated on his horrified expression with an almost childlike wonderment.

She continued to watch as his attempts to dislodge her grip weakened.  Then he ceased struggling altogether.  His eyes were still wide, but they no longer saw her.  They were vacant, even more vacant than they had been while he vegged out in front of a football game.

Steph sat back for a moment, looking down at the candy hearts that rested near Martin’s blue lips.  Smiling faintly, she selected two white ones (the kind Martin hated most of all) and went to the bedside table to get a pen.  A red pen.

On the blank side of each heart, she carefully wrote in her own little message.  When she was satisfied with her results, she placed a heart atop each lifeless iris.  The first read UNTIL DEATH, and the second completed the familiar phrase with DO US PART.

Steph sighed before collapsing back onto her side of the bed, hoping that she’d be able to fall asleep before dawn.

Spooktoberfest: Subscribe

It's time for Spooktoberfest!  Thanks to Jackie @ Bouquet of Books and Dani @ Entertaining Interests for hosting this fun event once again!

In case you don't already know what this event is and what the rules are, check one of their blogs for the details.

Image courtesy of Jackie.

Subscribe

The basement is lit only by a kerosene lamp on the workbench, the illumination pooling faintly on the damp floor.  The lighting for this film low, but as a filmmaker, I have to think about atmosphere.

Okay, the setting is cliché, but it can work.  Besides, the atmosphere, while important, isn’t my gimmick.  If I want to take my filmmaking to the next level, I must take risks.  You, my future audience, will appreciate the payoff. 

I will blow your mind.

You won’t see the usual unearthed skeletons or killer in a mask.  People expect it.

People who see me in real life would never expect me to make horror films.  I’m a petite teenage girl.  I dress in normal clothes.  No one would ever guess that I’m obsessed with creating scenes of death and dismemberment. 

I defy expectations.

My YouTube channel has 90,000 subscribers.  It takes dedication to accomplish this.  I’ve gone through buckets of fake blood, and I’ve spent countless hours testing spray paints to see which ones will produce a convincing metallic gleam on a wooden axe head.  And FYI, creating a realistic rust effect on a wooden surface is no easy task.

The front door closes with a distant click.  My actor is here.  I hope he’s up to par.  A shortage of acting talent has been a problem.  Some people are downright wretched at conveying the proper emotion.  Come on people!  You know what it’s like to be terrified, don’t you?  Emote!

The basement door opens, and Nathaniel descends the stairs.  The carpet on them is stained red and black from my endeavors.  “Hey Rachel.  First one here, huh?”

“Oh, no one else is coming.  You’re the star,” I reply sweetly.

He quirks an eyebrow.  “I thought you said . . .”  He stops when we hear the lock on the basement door slides into place.

Yes, our basement locks from the outside.  Thanks for that Mom.  You’re so supportive.

“Camera’s rolling.”  I gesture to the tripod where the red record light glows softly.  Then I retrieve the axe from the wall.  Light reflects off the surface as I lift it high.

“That looks real.”  Nathaniel’s voice is wavering.

“It is real,” I explain.  “You see, quality actors are rare, and setting up the scene is so tedious.”

His eyes go wide.  “Umm, I don’t think I can . . .”

“Show me you’re afraid for your life.”

Now he’s emoting!  Quivering lip, heavy breathing.  Nathaniel delivers a performance as he scurries for the stairs.

I catch him quickly.  One swing and the blade sinks into his skull with a dull crunch.  It sounds different from hacking into watermelons, which is how I practiced.  The splatter effect is similar, though.

The brain peeking out through the wound is the icing on the cake.  Beautiful.

A few flecks of blood dot my hands.  I’d better wash my hands so I can get to my computer.  I have a video to upload.

100,000 subscribers, here I come!