Tag: horror

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Ceremony (Fiction)

Two men in ceremonial robes and wearing the traditional paints ran down the hallway. Between them, they dragged a naked girl. She bit and fought with every ounce of strength to be let go, but they overpowered her, faith giving them endurance.

At the end of the hallway, there was a railing, her last chance to be free. She jumped forward and kicked backwards off of it, throwing the three of them backwards by a few feet. They stumbled and one let his grip slip from her arm.

She punched the other in the face, and he lost his grip. By this time the other had recovered, grabbing her arm before it could throw another punch. She tried to punch him with her other arm, but he snatched it out of the air and shoved her forward and to the ground.

The other man spat blood and stood back up, reaching for an arm again as the girl went limp. They dragged her back to the railing, a crowd below and spread out into the distance cheered. Beneath them was a large vat of turbulent liquid, orange yellow and red, the colors and consistency of lava.

Heat rose in waves while several other men and women in ceremonial robes tended the fires under and around the vat. Sparks flew as the sacrifice’s body drew near, as if the liquid was alive, as if it were waiting for her to fall in.

The men took a breath, she took another chance, suddenly struggling again. They tightened their grip, a grim expression of determination on their faces. She spit at those below, but a fireball rose from the vat, vaporizing it before it could hit any of the faithful.

They grabbed her legs from under her, lifting her over the rail. She flailed one last time, making them slightly lose their balance. She managed to grab the rail, but they were quick to regain their footing and throw her over.

She banged against the side of the walkway and held on, fire rose beneath her. One of the men pried her hands from the metal bar, and she grabbed back on a different spot, slipping lower, but not falling.

She held on for a few more seconds, staring into the eyes of one of her killers. He held a grim determination, the look of an indoctrinated priest. Her atrophied muscles failed her, and she finally fell. A look of surprise and fear showed on her face for the first time, replacing the anger that kept her fighting this long.

He snapped out of it and reached for her at the last second, but it was too late, and she plunged into the vat, a flash of pain showing on her face before she became invisible in a puff of steam.

Originally written Sep 18, 2012. Edited, today (and then again on 2024-10-02). Hope you enjoyed.

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Restless (Fiction)

(This post has been imported from an old blog of mine.)

A heavy cloud layer, lightning and thunder, the pitter-patter of rain. It was a dark and stormy night. A summer storm though, it wasn’t that cold, I lay down with nothing more than a sheet half on.

A small red pinprick of light comes from my left eye, or should I say, where my eye used to be. The other is closed, I am trying to go to sleep.

I used to be scared of the dark. Lightning flashes, showing off the jagged scar across my right cheek. It looks fresh, but is nearly a year old. Thunder booms. Not anymore.

More quick flashes, my back has claw marks raking down either side. These look fresh as well, but are just as old. Blood doesn’t seep from them anymore, but they look like they should. Thunder booms. I’ve learned there are things much worse to be afraid of.

I am always trying to sleep, but I never get there. It’s strange, if you’d asked me ten years ago if having part of your brain replaced with technology, if that part was still you, if you were still the same person, I would’ve said no. Stranger still is the feeling of having a part of you that is not you, but still is you.

It was five years ago when that happened, a bomb, gunfire, who knows what, something blew away a chunk of my head. I was lucky they’d said, they had been able to repair the damage, replace the section that wouldn’t grow back, including an eye.

I don’t remember much of what happened while I was in the hospital. When I finally remembered who I was before, I couldn’t recall what it had been like to not know. Going to bed that first night had been strange. I feel asleep, but a piece of me was still aware. I felt almost like I hadn’t fallen asleep until I woke up, I could remember staring off into space with one eye all night, but at the same time I felt well rested.

The next night I’d dreamed. I could remember the dreams with startling clarity, I still remember them. Half of me isn’t me but is me, and I’m always awake. That’s why I’m always trying to go to sleep, and never quite make it. Sometimes I want to bash out the electronic eye, sometimes I want to bash out the whole thing. Most of the time it was comforting to be able to wake myself up in an instant if there was danger.

Until a year ago, when I got those scars. Now it’s sleep I fear. Normally it can’t be seen, but tonight the flashes light it up for anyone watching. Blood begins to leak from my back, from my face, spiraling in crazy patterns and slowly crawling over my body until it is covered in black ichor.

The organic part of me is gone, replaced by something else, but I still see for a moment longer as I am lifted from the pillow by a body that is not mine. The blood flows over my eye, but I still hear. I don’t know why they included a microphone, my ear was still there, worked better than new after their surgery. I’m still not sure if I’m thankful for that or not.

Because I hear screams.

So if you’re wondering where that came from, the night before last when I was trying to go to sleep, I imagined myself with strange scars and a robotic left eye trying to sleep, thinking about how the technological part is always awake, imaging through flashes of lightning you see black blood running out of the wounds.

I saw this scene as an ad for a movie, and wrote it that way when I thought to write it down yesterday at lunch over the course of about half an hour. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed, especially the last line, my favorite. Originally was gonna be titled “I Hear Screams” but that would’ve given away the whole point of the story.

I’m looking for feedback on this one, because I have no idea where to go with it from here, and I do want to go somewhere with it. So please, any and all comments, questions, suggestions, complaints, rambles, general nonsense welcome.

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Nathaniel’s Ground

I believe this may have been written shortly after I first played The Great Machine: A Fragment, based on how it is written. I would highly recommend playing that game before reading this. They are only loosely thematically related, but that game is.. to put it simply, one of the best games I’ve ever played.

An hour ago, the forest had been full of birds twittering and creatures rustling through the undergrowth. Now it was deathly silent, the only movement the wind and a small group of humans down a small path.

An hour later, they encounter a huge rusty wheel, the curved blades of it slowly moving the air. A giant fan. It slowly turns in front of them, dangerous to pass through, but moving slowly enough you could make it.

They want to go around it, as there is a weak sense of evil about it. Unfortunately, the fan is walled in, leaving them no choice than to pass through. At least the land beyond the fan was normal, a regular continuation of the forest.

As they pass through, pain greets the young adventurers, and the true nature of the land beyond is revealed. Twisted bodies of the humans that had come before line the path. Blood and gore make up the landscape. Carnage stretches to the horizon.

There is the sweet smell of cherries, disturbingly fresh, not the smell of decaying mass as it should be. Perhaps the scariest part, the half-destroyed and maimed bodies beneath, they are moving, not dead, not alive.

The adventurers now walk across the pool of bodies, but they slowly fall away from their duty, and ache to join the damned below. Their clothes are ripped off, their flesh is shredded, they join their new brothers.

This little story of doom was generated from a script I wrote that takes a list of ~240 words and randomly chooses ten, which I then turn into a coherent sentence with my twisted mind: Nathaniel’s dreaded ground filled with carnage and ether, past his fan.