#horrorwriter

romance? fantasy? dark romance? horror? crime? something messy you can’t even explain yet?

I swear first drafts are always the wildest stage because everything still feels alive and unfinished at the same time

You are so fucking tired of the potholes. Lately it’s been raining more and more and now it’s pouring down from the heavens with a vengeance, filling the pesky holes in the road and making it impossible to navigate properly. You could kill someone right now with the amount of rage you feel, but you somehow manage to hold yourself together as you barrel down the street. You make a left turn and head into the woods just outside of what used to be your home.

The city is in shambles. The world is going to heal without you, but it has changed so drastically since the return of the demons. You drive haphazardly through the trees as the truck nearly spins out of control multiple times. The radio plays some poppy 80s songs as you wonder how any stations are still active. So much doesn’t make sense, but none of it matters anymore because you’ve lost the only thing you ever actually cared about. They ruined your life. This planet was already dying, you had known for a long time and had been preparing for years. You had always considered yourself to be more cultured and intelligent than the hicks that used to live out here, but you committed fully to your bunker and prep work. What you hadn’t counted on was the weirdness of it all. The impossibility of how events had actually played out. Now your family was dead, and it was entirely your fault. The trees sway in the wind and the leaves darken the sky above you as lighting flashes become your main source of illumination. Though it was supposed to be midday, you could never take vision for granted any longer. Not after how many illusions you have fallen victim to already. You change the station and park the car. Deep in the woods you contemplate your family’s terrible fate as you pull out a pack of cigarettes. Vaping has not really been an option since the beginning of the end. The radio is now playing some pretentious hipster shit. You roll down a window and let the engine run. Some rain gets in and eats away at the mat on the floor, but you couldn’t care less. Your fingers move to your lips as you take a long slow drag, letting the ashes fall to the floor of the truck. Your mind clears and you look around at the filthy vehicle. You’ve got a large pistol lying on the seat next to you and you reach out to cradle it in your filthy hands. This is what became of you. You built a good stable life for yourself, and you were anything but content with it! The gun fits snugly into your palm, as it had just hours before when you tried to defend yourself. The reason you came out here was to go down in a fight against them, but unfortunately you see nothing but blurry trees as it keeps raining. You could have sworn they retreated into the woods, but now you find you’re questioning your own memory. That’s been happening more and more lately. Lightning flashes again. You breathe in another lungful, wishing the smoke would just choke you and be done with it.

Some idiot on the radio starts to introduce the next song. It’s called Lightning in a Bottle. You are just about to change the station, but the irony of the title stops you. It starts playing, and of course it’s some gimmicky indie folk garbage, but it gets you thinking. Your whole life you’ve been trying to make things work. Trying to control the situation despite bad circumstances or being dealt a shitty hand. Many years ago, before you lost touch with the larger world around you, mom had said something that had stayed with you your whole life. She said you were destined for greatness. She could simply feel it and there was no question about it, you were going to do something incredibly special and important with your life. You were supposed to be someone worth being. But here it feels like you have lost the only people you ever helped. No one has ever benefited from your presence in any meaningful way, and it looks like no one ever would. A single tear falls onto the steering wheel as the song continues in the background. It is followed by a river rivalling the downpour outside. You’ve been holding back for an exceptionally long time, and since your loss you have been unable to grieve. You just had to take it in stride, the same way the uncaring universe has taken everything from you for as long as you can remember. Mom died only 6 years ago. Good thing she passed while she still had faith in her dreams for you. You had taken everything from her, you stole her youth, her financial stability, and you drove her apart from your father. Despite her claims to the contrary, you had always known the truth. You blink rapidly but it does nothing to stop your cries. Your body spasms. The song starts to shift and change.

Buzzzing. A persistent and grating buzzing cuts through the sound of acid rain splattering and sizzling on the roof and hood. You attempt to compose yourself but find it impossible. They finally decided to show up. This is where they will kill you. This is where everything will fall apart for good. Their formless bodies will smother you and their mouths and hands will tear flesh from bone and atom from atom.

The world around you starts to spin, slowly at first but picking up speed. The stupid song on the radio seems to distort and the lyrics get weirdly specific. Then the wind outside calms and the spinning stops as you focus and inhale again. Toss the cigarette out the window. Watch its light go out. Feel the world slow down as you steel yourself for a fight. Hands tighten on your weapon, finger on the trigger. These are your hands. This is your last moment, your final stand. Most people aren’t given notice before they die. You’re one of the lucky few who can pinpoint the exact moment. Your perspective changes so much when you’re facing the unknown. The ultimate change. You realize they aren’t going to get you. You realize you always knew it. You realize you won’t let them have the satisfaction. You realize this is what you wanted anyway. You open the door and step out as the music fades into the background, turning robotic and alien. When will that damn song end? Was the world just an illusion? Why are you still stalling? What are you waiting for?

You look around as an incredible wave of peace washes over you. It’s difficult to believe just how calm you are as you squint at the tree line searching for signs of movement. You see nothing as you raise your hands. A flash of light blinds you and the song is finally gone, replaced by nothing. You fall to the ground, leaves and dirt scattering from your impact. Your ears are ringing. Your eyes open and you realize you are lying on your side. Blood is pouring like thoughts out from you. The gun you dropped is too far to reach now and wave after wave of pain starts to radiate from your head, buzzzing out throughout your entire body. You feel something sharp in the small of your back. Why are you still alive? What is this torture they devised for you? Why didn’t your weapon strike true, the way it had struck your only child when you thought she was one of them. Why did it now fail you and leave you unable to move or think as the world fades in and out with each halting breath you take? The pain in your back has gone numb. Not that it matters… Your bullet wound in your skull is enough to give you more screaming nerves than you had ever encountered in your life. You scream and try to get up, only to move a couple inches and fall to your back, looking up at the sky as the rain pours down. You scream again as the acid rain stabs your eyes and blinds you. Colors mix and change and distort like a watercolor painting as you try to scream again. But this time nothing comes out. You close your eyes. The rain eats through your eyelids and gets in anyway. Not even the tears are keeping the rain out. Your skin burns. This is how you will die, alone and unwanted, unable to even take your own life. Then you reach behind yourself and claw at the numbness in your back, pulling a small knife out. Where the hell did this come from? This blessed rusty knife with a red hilt is the kindest thing you have. You hold it above your heaving chest and plunge it downwards. You feel resistance give way and you feel a mild foreign presence enter your skin. But it doesn’t really hurt as all your pain is falling away. You almost feel like you’re watching yourself as you lift the knife out, slide it to a new point in your chest, and bring it up and down again. Again. Again. Now your hands move to your belly and you try again, but this time your arms are too weak. You have a sense of strange tunnel vision, and you see pale glowing eyes surround you. But you don’t care. You got to yourself before they did. A sudden burst of flame and light strikes down, burns away the eyes, and sets you free.

At least, that’s what you saw at the end. Who knows how real any of it was? You’re floating now. Watching it all play out. Alone. You used to fear dying alone, but now you realize you only ever feared the not knowing. This isn’t so bad. This isn’t so bad. This was never all that bad.

Here's a snippet of what's to come! Enjoy the introduction to "Workaholic," which can be ordered from Something Or Other Publishing @ https://soopllc.com/product/Workaholic/

My father was a workaholic. The old man had slaved his days away in the coal mines—proud to be doing his part to fuel Appalachia, but a stranger at the dinner table where my mother always kept a plate ready. They taught me as a child that hard, dedicated work was the path of righteousness, something to aspire to. Be devoted to your employers, and they’ll be loyal to you. Earn your keep and they will reward you. In the end, all I earned was an empty pill bottle and this lousy pickaxe.

The blade was dull when I pulled it from the dark closet, stained with years of rust from neglect. A physical symbol of my labor’s burden, the tool dragged after me, scraping against the rough tile floor of the office where I used to work. Admittedly, I was no longer sure whether the wake of red flakes left behind was corrosion or blood. Despite the bright, shining lights and the bitter silence, I could no longer distinguish between what was real and what wasn’t. My former coworkers cowered under their desks while I shuffled. Quiet, as they had been when they all saw me drowning, and praying to the God that forsook us when I passed. One of the faceless screamed when the tip of the ax crashed through the wall of her cubicle. Removing it decapitated the kitschy kitten poster that bolstered everyone to “hang in there.”

Happy Friday the 13th!! I’m soo happy to announce my blog, ‘Fierce. Fearless. Female.’ has been featured in an anthology titled ‘Horror Addicts Guide to Life 2!! I’m honored to be a part of this anthology alongside some amazing people like Sumiko Saulson, Emerian Rich, and Valjeanne Jeffers. Grab a copy to support your fellow horror addict! 🤪 Calling All Horror Fans!HorrorAddicts.net Press…

Genre: psychological horror, horror, fiction

Status: First draft, 2.7K words.

Synopsis:

When Wynonna Mayfield moved to the town of Winchester she had no idea what terrifying events were about to unfold…

‘The Body’ contains: swearing, blood, death

Excerpt:

Her dreams were filled with unpleasant visions of Clayborne's body, maggots crawling over her wrinkled flesh and worms wiggling in her eye sockets. Her body twisted and writhed on the surface below her as she struggled to wake up from the nightmare. Wynonna shot from the couch with a scream and a hand over her heart.

Wynonna Mayfield had lived in Winchester for a month, and, somehow, she'd already grown tired of it. It wasn't a large town by any means, she had yet to see a supercenter or fast-food chain of any sort, which made it difficult to find activities to fill her time. Originally from the city of New York, famously known as the "city that never sleeps," the silent atmosphere of Winchester unnerved her. Truthfully, she didn't know why she was drawn to the small, sleepy town, especially considering its off-putting history.

Distant ties to the slave trade and even the KKK made it hardly the place a black woman wanted to live. However, she'd somehow fallen in love with its rural qualities. It was often that Wynonna found herself under the scrutinizing gazes of the townsfolk, those of whom always seemed to be watching with beady and disapproving stares. And though she couldn't quite describe the odd feeling she'd had since arriving, it felt almost like a bad situation was always on the brink of happening.

The Goodfellow apartments were by far the best aspect of the town. Built directly on the outskirts of town, hardly any people traveled to and fro, besides the other inhabitants of the building. Those who associated with Wynonna only did so when needed to which, considering the treatment she'd been receiving from white folks since birth, she equated to welcoming her with open arms. Almost all residents treated her respectfully, except for one- Ms. Clayborne.

Clayborne was a spiteful old woman who'd developed a nasty habit of breaking into the much younger woman's apartment. The first few times didn't strike as odd, the woman had only been found taking naps so Wynonna assumed that she was confused about whose apartment it was. However, when things like; hairbrushes, jewelry, and food started going missing, Wynonna knew there'd been no confusion.

One rainy Wednesday afternoon, after finally gaining the courage to confront the old woman, Wynonna knocked on Ms. Clayborne's door with three short, but strong knocks. After a few short seconds, a faint shadow appeared at the bottom of the door, and yet, nobody answered.

"Ms. Clayborne?" asked Wynonna. The shadow remained under the door, the person on the other side not moving a muscle, "I know you're in there. Please answer the door, I need to talk to you." She said, knocking once again.

"Alright! I'm coming." said the old woman, the brown front door opened swiftly causing a gust of wind to hit Wynonna's face.

The young woman smiled with intention, "Hi, I'm sorry to bother you-"

A look of annoyance spread thin across the older woman's thin, wrinkled face. "Yeah-yeah, get to the point." she interrupted.

Wynonna's lips pursed and formed a tight line as she began to make her demand, "Stop entering my home when I'm not there."

Clayborne's weathered face turned bright red, a shade Wynonna had only seen on the angry faces of Sunday afternoon cartoon characters, and after a long pause, she finally spoke, "Who do you think you are? Coming into my house and telling me what to do!"

Wynonna's eyes went wide, not expecting an outburst that big to come from such a small old woman, "I didn't mean to upset y-"

Clayborne raised a pointed finger in response, "You're nobody. Do you hear me? Nobody! Now get out! " She shouted, slamming the door so forcefully that Wynonna's hands rose to protect her ears.

After that blowup, she finally decided it was time to change the locks, and since then it'd been over a week since Ms. Clayborne had successfully broken in. She knew it was only a matter of time before the old hag tried again but she chose to relish in the momentary peace. She'd just gotten off work and could feel the excitement bursting from her gut at the thought of crawling into bed for the weekend. As she neared the front door of the apartment, she noticed that the front door was slightly ajar.

Disbelief was evident on her face as she yelled, "Ms. Clayborne, I know you're in here!".

There was no reply.

Walking further into the apartment, her nose crinkled in disgust, "What's that smell?".

Wynonna looked around the living room and kitchen for expired food, she hadn't gotten the hang of checking the food dates. After a few minutes, her thorough search turned up empty leaving the bedroom as the only other place to look. She paused outside of the door and hesitated at the threshold; the thought of it being a thief not crossing her mind until then.

The air was thick, almost suffocating, and silence stilled in the possibly occupied room. Taking a deep breath she gave the door a push...it didn't open. She gave the door another push, this time firmer, but it still wouldn't budge. With the small amount of courage she had left, she peeked inside. Wynonna's face twisted in horror at the sight in front of her, lying on the floor was Ms. Clayborne.

"Oh my god!" She yelled, frantically squeezing her way into the room, "Ms. Clayborne, are you okay? Can you hear me? " She shook the older woman with force, but the body remained as still as ever.

Wynonna placed two fingers to the skin on Clayborne's cold neck, "Oh my- she's dead!" She stumbled into the hallway and shrank against the wall. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at the woman-the dead woman on the floor. She pulled her phone from her pocket and had 911 dialed within seconds.

The operator instructed her to check for signs of life but Wynonna was too shocked to touch the body again, "I'm telling you, she's fucking dead!" The male on the phone tried to calm her down but to no avail, "Just please get here."

The next person she called was Anne, her mother. The phone rang and rang with no answer; Anne tended not to pick up the phone and Wynonna knew that today wouldn't be any different.

A soft click indicated the answering machine picked up the call, "Mom, something happened. Call me."

Though she didn't want to, she grabbed a blanket from the couch and went back to the bedroom and, without peeking, she laid the garment across Ms. Clayborne's body. Her head suddenly became light as dots began sprinkling her vision. After working a twelve-hour shift and finding Ms. Clayborne, her body couldn't stand the stress of being conscious. The police would surely wake her when they arrived and with that assurance, her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep.

Her dreams were filled with unpleasant visions of Clayborne's body, maggots crawling over her wrinkled flesh and worms wiggling in her eye sockets. Her body twisted and writhed on the surface below her as she struggled to wake up from the nightmare. Wynonna shot from the couch with a scream and a hand over her heart.

Her chest heaved furiously and she looked around the room without reason, it wasn't like Ms. Clayborne would rise from the dead like some kind of a zombie. The clock beside her read 11:50 pm and she wondered where the police were, it'd been over an hour since she called. She paced the hallway outside of the bedroom debating whether or not to check on the body. Though she hated the old woman, nobody should be alone for that long. Not even in death. A peculiar feeling filled her stomach as she slowly opened the bedroom door. Blinking once, twice, three times, she froze.

Ms. Clayborne, who had previously lain on her side, was now on her back. For a few moments, Wynonna's feet didn't move from their permanent spot on the floor until she turned her back to the doorway and crouched on the floor, clutching her chest as it beat harshly against her chest. Clayborne couldn't have moved by herself. The woman had been on her back the whole time, it was Wynonna's mistake, surely a dead body couldn't turn itself over. She was a few minutes into reasoning with herself when the hair on the back of her neck stood like pins.

There was somebody behind her.

She couldn't see them from the corner of her eye, but she could feel their eyes. They watched her intensely, almost daring her to move. Wynonna was terrified; she didn't want to turn around or make any sudden moves yet she knew the person was getting closer. A hand reached out towards her shoulder, their bloated fingers and yellowing nails mere inches- she turned around....there was nobody there. She fell slack against the floor in relief, she had to have imagined it. There'd been nobody behind her and the body hadn't moved, she was paranoid.

The shrill sound of the house phone pulled her from an anxiety-induced trance and she jumped in surprise. She grabbed the phone and raised it to her ear, "Thank god yo-" A voice cut through the line, "Ms. Mayfield?"

"Yes... this is her."

"This is the Westchester police department calling to check on you and the body." She sighed in relief, "Are you coming soon?" She asked.

"Yes, we're sorry about the wait. We'll be there within the hour. Until then, sit tight. " She hung up the phone and collapsed onto the couch with a big huff. Soon enough, she'd be rid of the body in her apartment and all would be well again. Well, besides the fact that there'd been a dead body in her apartment for a few hours. She'd already decided that a move was in her future.

Shortly after the call, she decided to take a bath. The chipped, porcelain bathtub filled with rushing water as she sat on the ledge and ran a bubble bath under the faucet. Wynonna halfway hoped the police would show up before the body started to turn purple but that was a long shot. She felt guilty knowing that the warm and inviting bath awaited her while a cold Ms. Clayborne was one room over and would never get to bathe again.

Wynonna began to laugh. Not because anything was funny but for thinking that the body moved, that Clayborne was dead in the room next to her and that she'd never get to take a bath again. Slowly, that hysteric laughter turned into crying, and then quickly into sobbing. With the events from the night weighing over her mind, she was no longer worried about the body and more because she could feel herself losing her mind.

A thump came from the hallway and silence fell over the bathroom like a thick blanket. Panic flooded her system as another thump vibrated the floor outside. Somebody outside of the door. "Hello?" No answer. "Are you the police?" She cried out.

No answer.

The door frame began vibrating and the hinges shook with violent ferocity. Wynonna's eyes widened as she jumped, falling backward into the wet tub, "Go away!" She screamed, ignoring the soapy water that was now burning her nostrils.

"It's not real. It's not real. It's not fucking real." She repeated while pushing herself out of the now lukewarm water.

As she finally found her footing on the now wet linoleum floor, suddenly the door stopped shaking. She wiped the tears from her eyes and placed her head against the wood door, listening carefully. She could hear slight wheezing on the other side and a clear shadow was present at the bottom of the door, "What the fuck do you want!" She screamed.

"You."

The room went dark, and the door exploded from the hinges with a bang, knocking Wynonna onto the wet floor. She clutched the back of her head in pain, no doubt she'd banged it against the hard material of the bathtub. For a few seconds, the room was quiet, only the sound of her heavy breaths and moans filled the room. Her hands patted their way to the phone in her pocket and she turned the flashlight on, waving it quickly around the room. There was nobody there.

A slick, cool liquid dripped from the back of her head onto the base of her neck. It was quiet and the sound of heavy breathing filled the room...only it wasn't only hers. Though she was still waving the flashlight around, there was nobody in the room, at least not anybody her eyes could see.

Wynonna knew that if she wanted to continue living, she needed to get out of the apartment. As far as she could tell there was nobody in the hallway nor anything blocking her exit and so she pushed herself up from the floor and crept towards the door, eyes peeled for movement. Something followed closely behind her, it was almost like a shadow rather than a person, and its sticky energy filled her heart with a terrible feeling she'd never felt before. Her feet met the wooden floor with harsh pounds, surely they'd be in pain when-if- she woke up the next morning.

The shadow behind her quickened its pace and she could hear its thudding footsteps traveling closely behind her. Finally, her shaking hands gripped the doorknob and she slammed it open, screaming at the shape that appeared before her. A police officer stood at the door, fist raised, ready to knock, "Woah!" He said, grabbing onto her as she fell onto the floor.

Against the officer's shoulder, she turned around to face the apartment behind her. She didn't know what she had expected, maybe to see Ms. Clayborne's decaying body pounding after her? But the apartment was empty.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Wynonna had finally calmed down. The police officer made her a cup of tea and promptly began questioning her about what had gone on before he arrived. She knew that if she told him the truth, he would think she was crazy, so she fabricated a story about sleepwalking. The officer definitely didn't believe her, especially not after seeing the deep gash on the crown of her head, but he ultimately let it go. Nothing else could explain the events of the night.

When the body was gone, Wynonna finally began to feel relieved. She was still spooked but assumed that whatever entity was terrorizing her left with that mean old bitch. Her mother never called to check up on her, but that was expected. The woman was probably busy with her little group of witches. She couldn't bring herself to count the sheer number of times she'd walked into her mother's little prayer group and found them chanting some foreign language over a stack of books. No doubt they were having one of their night meetings, and Wynonna would get a frantic message in the morning asking if she was okay.

After taking the bath she never got to have, in her new doorless bathroom, Wynonna finally had faith that she could fall asleep. She curled up on the couch, not quite ready to sleep in the bedroom, and turned on the television. The light illuminated the room and made her feel less jumpy. Taking one last glance around the room, she closed her eyes.

She tried to force herself to sleep; she was more than tired enough for it, but sadly, sleep never came. She tossed and turned, fluffed her pillow, switched covers, and changed the brightness on the TV, but to no avail, she still couldn't fall asleep. Wynonna covered her face with a pillow and groaned into it loudly. The couch was too uncomfortable, but the only other place she could sleep was in the bedroom.

'There's nothing here anymore, just go.' She told herself as she opened the bedroom door. The body was gone and not a trace of her was left, the room even smelled better. She laid in bed and closed her eyes, slowly drifting to sleep.

Soon and surely enough, within minutes she found herself walking within the dream world. This time her dreams were calm, filled with blue skies and lush green fields, a place she never thought she'd see again after that night. She walked the field with ease, touching daffodils and lavender flowers as she went. The calming breeze felt nice on her cheek....but...somebody was there...a rough finger caressing her cheek all but wrenched her from the dream.