Welcome to Spooky Techza Week 2025!

Soon.

1. Stalker/Slasher 2. Trasformation/Frankenstein 3. Hellfire/demons 4. Apothecary/Cottage 5. Carnival/Clown 6. Cowardice/Crossroads 7. Alive by midnight/Dead by dawn

Guidelines

Post these year's prompts under #techzaspookyweek2025 or #emduospookyweek2025 for platonic works, if you prefer.

Well however you've decided to meet your fate- to you who are already here, and to those who'll come later- we won't blame you.

I believe this year it's your turn to begin the meal, dear.

And when thrown in the cold, lost in a never ending wood, and you see a light, you live a little longer. the night passes in a blur, and by the time you're aware enough to understand nothing you'd pick ever truly mattered, you're far too late to do anything about it.

Don't feel foolish, many others have made the same mistake. We may not have lead you here, but we know that, caught between a rock and a hard place, there's only so much you can do.

We're gracious enough hosts to allow you to cling to the life you so desperately wish for a little while longer. We give you shelter, for a time. Peace, for a time. Whatever things you meet here either came before you or uninvited- we'd grant you respite, if we could, but we can only do so much.

Though I must admit, fear certainly gives you a wonderful flavour.

But don't fret. Oh, don't fret. It will be quick, for the one that watches over this land is a merciful Lady – most of the time.

Sway your weary body; let darkness consume your every sense. Let your head become blissfully shallow; no thoughts, no worries.

The more confused you are, the tastier you get.

Sweet dreams~

It will stay silent. A cold death. Much slower than the last one. It will not paint the forest red and orange with a dangerous fire, but it will die like everything around it.

In a dark, cold, and lonely abyss.

What brought you here tonight? What paths did you take that left you, poor soul, upon our door? They must have been many- have you stopped to considered all of them yet? Have you found out where you made the mistake? Was it a day ago? A month? Or can you trace this back years?

-And yet you could have turned right instead of left at the fork in the road just beyond the forest. You could have never entered. We couldn't have stopped you.

I suppose her woods are enough to make anybody mad enough and send them running, this late. But are we really any better an ending? What were you looking for, this far into the server? Though we'd be lying if we said we're disappointed. Whatever keeps bringing you to us, we'll be grateful nonetheless.

There's only one more decision to be made. When the door locks and you accept this wasn't ever as safe as it seemed from those creatures outside - what are you going to do? Wait, cower? We much prefer you stay and wait for the inevitability, but escaping is always an option.

Tonight, the Trespassers strive to maintain a positive attitude. There's a joke told. The sound of another's too-hurried laughter pierces. It is not very effective. Out here, nothing ever happens. Their noises appears to be absorbed by the walls, dying before it reaches the corners. They can hear It. Faintly They continue to try, nevertheless. It's safer to laugh than to be silent.

It pays attention. It never fails to listen. At some point, nobody can recall what was amusing. All they know is that stillness hurts.

One of the travelers swears they see movement in the reflection of a window: a painted smile, too wide for any human face, gliding just behind their own. Another finds the furniture rearranged in a perfect ring, as if the room itself expects them to take their places and play along. The books are weird and the paintings? Oh, one could almost swear they a saw a little wink.

It is delighted with the games. Best yet, their prey is finally sensing there is something wrong.

Oh, how fun it will be once time is due. Tick. Tack. The cucoo won't take much longer~

In the basement, something cracks underfoot.

There. Crystal litters the floor, shimmers in the moonlight. What little can be seen of the floor beneath the sea of glass is stained, and evidence of the broken items can still be found among the walls. Some scattered bottles may still be found whole on the shelves. Though their contents are obscured by layers of dust, brilliant colors shine through. But who would dare try them now?

A single brewing stand remains unbroken with three bottles inside it, left brewing. The chests in the room have tipped over: roots, eyes, plants, powder; they mix with the shattered bottles. Little of it, if anything at all, can be salvaged.

How unfortunate. Perhaps it could have been of use.

Just who had lived here, really? Far, far from any other sign of civilization. Alone, lost in the tundra, who could have possibly needed this much of anything at all? Surely there was enough here to last a lifetime.

What a shame it's all gone to waste. Even if there's nothing of use, with little to no other shelter to find for chunks on end, at least these cabins are safe enough from the monsters and weather to those who come across it.

It came to our knowledge that there are some much interesting things being shared across the wind. A thousand little voices and beady eyes. Corvids do remember, after all.

Say, why don't you sit back? Relax? Oh, there is so much to do. We are not even halfway through!

Why don't you open this and see what awaits you on the other side? If you dare...

The night deepens, drawing the air tight with a suffocating heat that rises from the earth itself. The wind, now a twisted breath, carries the faint scent of sulfur. It remains still, patient, as ever. Its silence stretches like a stretch of flame, curling, licking at the edges of the tundra. There is no sound but the occasional snap of splintering wood as the tresspassers make their way closer. Closer. Closer.

It is not in a hurry. Not yet. The prey hasn’t reached the right threshold, the moment when the bones are ripe for crushing.

The travelers are unaware, stepping closer, their hearts beating with a mixture of dread and curiosity. They feel it, but they do not yet understand.

The game is beginning.

They don't know yet, but those aren't just homes; they're hells of their own making, holding doors to something older and deeper that lurks behind the walls and under the flooring. Something that was reawakened shortly after its original owners departed for a place beyond the reach of the horizon.

The prey is unaware that every action they do is being tracked and evaluated. Tonight, It won't kill; instead, It will let fear linger. Until there is no way out, they will allow the uncertainty to fester in their veins and allow the hopelessness to set in. The dance is lengthy and drawn out. Terror is the marinade, and fear is the flavor. It will feast when they are sufficiently mature.

But not yet. For now, the silence will hold. The flames within the walls will burn hotter still, but not enough to claim them - at least not yet. The flames will whisper, like distant voices calling to them. It will be just enough to keep them close. Too close. It will be the quiet moments between the screams, the heavy breaths before the final act. And It will wait, ever patient, ever hungry.

Because, there is still time. Still much fun to experience.

It wasn't that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that foundations of the buildings had shifted. The shelter in the tundra had been abandoned for longer than anyone had lived in it, that much is true, but the cabins were young yet. They still are.

What brought about the change? Perhaps it was the owners, their absence. Entities, energy, meddling with that which they left behind.

Perhaps the buildup of bodies and parts that have rotted in the floor brought about what made them a Thing; grated through and eventually, consumed- turned flesh that now cements the walls. Its oil finish coats the wooden frames with life: once an amalgamation of bodies, turned whole.

Had they always been dormant, awaiting for an unfortunate soul to cross their threshold and perish in it to wake them?

...

The stillness of the night clung to the ruins, the remnants of ash and charred wood scattered across the ground like the bones of a long-dead creature. For months, It laid asleep - its walls crumbling, its once-proud windows now dark, devoid of the eyes that had once peered into the world. But now, beneath the suffocating silence, something stirred. A pulse; soft at first, like a whisper through the floorboards, as if a faint tremor of life returned to Its long-ignored joints.

The floorboards groaned, stretching after a long slumber. The smell of dampness and decay filled the air where fire had once scorched. The wind began to stir, but it was not the same wind. It carried with it a new chill, a promise of something darker, something... hungrier. Slowly, the charred beams groaned under their weight as the roof creaked, shifting back into shape with a low, aching sound. Like a waking giant, the cabins stood still against the cold, dark tundra. Its oppressive trees cornering from all sides.

Then came the whispers, faint at first, like the rustling of dry leaves at the edge of a forest. Voices. Soft at first, rising like steam from the earth. They approached, unaware, their footsteps as light as shadows upon the dirt. It felt them - each tentative footstep. Each sigh. The familiar pulse of life.

Trespassers.

They were drawn to it, to it, to the cabins' pulse like moths to flame. How the houses had waited for this. Waited for the return of those who would feed it once again.

The old familiar weight of their presence pressed against the walls, and It stirred with anticipation. Closer now. It could feel the heat of their bodies as they crossed its threshold, the air thick with their unease. Their hearts beat in time with the creaking floor, and their breath quickened with every step. They would stay. It was only a matter of time.

And so, as the travelers crossed its threshould, the cabins began their stalking. It had woken. It had risen once more. Yet another year.