Hey guys this is the first 5 chapters of a short story I am writing. Lmk what you think. Thanks!

Intro

It was over. No this can’t be. It just can’t. I squinted, trying to make out something in the darkness. I went to stand but my legs weren’t responding. I tried to crawl but my arms wouldn’t listen. I went to talk but my mouth forgot how to open. I was starting to think I was going crazy. And then I heard it. “Welcome to the beginning of the end”

Chapter 1
Lucifer
Torment. Ah, what a word. Since the beginning I have been assigned the task of eternal torment. Ironically some would view my existence as tormenting itself, but that’s not how I see it. After my long fall from the top I was left with two options. Continue my rebellious nature and stand for what I believe in. Or give into the “Almighty one.” I’ve already come so far to where I only saw the rebellious road as a real choice. Many different kinds of torment. But personally I believe that the best form of torment comes down to two finalists, two true contenders if you will. They are psychological and physical. The question that has haunted me since the beginning is which one is better to break a soul. Which one is better to guarantee someone an eternity of the worst kind of suffering imaginable. I have tortured souls for as long as I can remember. I have seen the worst of the worst and the best of the worst come through my doors and into the depths of my kingdom. I have always been pleased with the way they have been punished, but alas there is something that I feel is missing. Almost as if there is a clean cut and all powerful way to torment those who are placed at the feet of me. I’ve thought about this tirelessly. But to no avail am I able to come to a definite conclusion. So I have decided to do something about this phenomenon I have been faced with. The souls of those who already reside in my kingdom, are far too broken to be of any help to me. I do not want to wait for a newcomer or experiment on one of my own. No, none of that. I have decided to capture a living soul. One with little to no wrongdoings. A person who has endured some pain themselves but never inflicted it on others. After careful consideration, a man by the name of Luther Bellows has been crowned by little helper.
Chapter 2

Luther
My legs had been revived but my arms still refused to cooperate. Speaking still wasn’t an option either, although I was able to manage a few small grunts if I really tried. The chair he had set me in reminded me of my childhood. A hard worn out cushion and soft cloudy armrests. It felt like days since I was dragged down the corridor and chained down. I should feel hungry, even thirsty but I wasn’t not at all. The smell of the room had a mustyness to it, like a basement that took in rainwater. The air felt moist and hot, like you were in a dessert and rainforest mashed together. The darkness seemed to grow by the day and I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to see light. A part of me had begun to enjoy the darkness. Before I could give the darkness another thought a bright flame sparked just inches from my face. The intense light temporarily blinded me. I instinctively reached to cover my eyes, forgetting that my arms and brain no longer wanted to work as one. When I could finally see I was able to make out a figure I could barely describe. His legs were withered, arms as well except they seemed almost toned unlike his skin to bone walkers. From his knees up a black cloak covered the rest of his humanoid body. His shoulders were narrow but broad, and his torso resembled an hourglass. When my eyes finally were ready to meet his own they were unable to. Instead I saw my father. Not just his face but him. I watched as he finished the rest of his drink and then proceeded to smash the empty bottle over my mother coddled in the corner. I went to scream at him to stop and my voice finally remembered its duty to me. “No, get away from her”, I yelled. But it didn’t sound like a 38 year old me. It sounded like a 10 year old me. And that’s when I realized that what I was seeing wasn’t just a depiction of my father, it was a memory. Before I could process what was going on or ask any questions, the flame flickered out, the figure stepped back and the cell door slammed shut.
I must have dozed off at some point. I woke up and found myself in the same chair he had left me in. My whole body was sore. My limbs were still getting used to being able to function properly. The images of my father were still burned in my head. I had worked so hard and so long to try and erase that day from my mind, but in all honesty I was never really successful. The pain of it had slowly faded but would always be ignited when I saw something that triggered them once again. A drunk man in a tv show, a broken bottle on the sidewalk, whatever it may be. I was mad and scared. One where the fuck am I and two who or what the fuck was that thing I saw. This was the first time since I got here I was starting to feel emotional again. Whoever he is, how and why did he show me that memory. It made me feel like the scared little boy that stood in the corner and did nothing but scream, never actually doing anything to protect her. My train of thought was suddenly hit head on, as if a building had fallen onto the tracks and the conductor failed to break in time. I felt a  sharp shooting pain that started in my right ankle and shot up all the way past my knee. I was chained to the chair, unable to move, unable to reach for my leg, if my arms even permitted me to. Suddenly the whole room was engulfed with light which was shooting from flame lit candles that spread along the dark brick walls. I looked down to see a snake with its fangs sunken deep into my leg. I screamed and writhed in agony. The snake remained locked into my leg for about another 15 seconds. Then it vanished as if it had never been there to begin with. The flames all distinguished at once. I sat there, tears running down my face, gasping for air, and my leg still throbbing as if the snake was still on it. My shackles suddenly broke and my arms came back to me. I pulled my knee close to my chest and held onto my ankle, rubbing it, moving it, doing anything to ease the pain that seemed endless. Then I heard the same voice again. “Now!” The door flew open and the last thing I remembered was being dragged out of the room by figures I was unable to make out.
Chapter 3
The Conference of Candles(Luther)
The room was impossible to look at all at once. The ceiling seemed higher than the clouds and a bright red theme was scattered along the walls. Candles were set along the floor, on tables, and the walls. There must have been hundreds of them. I was thrown down at the start of a long aisle. It led to what appeared as a sort of throne. I looked back for the men who had carried me in but it was as if they had been absorbed into the shadows. I shifted my attention to the throne and made the most painful eye contact of my life. It was as if I was feeling all the hatred, anger and sadness in the world all at the same time. I tried to look away but I was unable to. I felt like I was being drawn into the red eyes and when I didn’t think I could take it anymore it stopped. The fiery eyes went out like a falling ember and I was now met with pure black pupils. I still felt the anger in them but now not as strong, as if the owner of the eyes had turned down the power. Then I heard the voice again. This time it was calmer though, almost more human like. “Come, sit.” I began to walk down the aisle, my legs shaking worse and worse with every step closer to the throne. There was a gold chair sat in front of him and with a wave of his hand I was directed to sit in it. I obliged and sat. He appeared differently than our first encounter. He was now draped in long red cloth. He looked like he was wearing an oversized bathrobe made out of window curtains. Gold streaks ran along the robe and there was an image in the middle. It looked like a pentagram, only if you were looking at it upside down. There appeared to be some sort of animal’s head in the middle of it. A dog, a cow, a sheep, a goat maybe? There was a word spelled out in what looked like Hebrew. I was unable to make any of it out but I had a feeling it wasn’t a welcoming word. I was overwhelmed with thoughts. Some the same as my earlier ones, including where I am, who this person is, and why I am here. New ones arose also. Part of me sensed this being wasn’t human, not like me. Some sort of God or existential being, but not one I could ever see myself following. He spoke once again. “Luther, so pleased to have you here.” I didn’t respond and I think he could sense me wondering what to say and also if I was even permitted to speak. “Are you happy you’re here Luther.” I responded, “Where is it that I am?” He paused, and then let out a soft chuckle, “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own time. Tell me Luther, why did you not save your mother from your father?” And just like that I was once again my younger self. I felt the same feeling I did when my little sister sat across from me at the group home asking me why I didn’t save mommy. “Don’t mention my mother”, I responded. “You weren’t there when she needed you the most. You failed her and you are forced to live with that fact forever.” I was growing angrier by the second. “Stop it”, I said. “You had no idea what it was like. No idea what he was like.” “Oh but I do Luther, I know exactly how James Bellows was. I know how he would drink, I know how he would cheat, and I know how he would abuse you and your family.” Wait I thought, how does he know my dad’s name, and how does he know everything about him? “Who are you?”, I demanded. He smiled, “Another thing I will let you discover yourself”. So he won’t tell me who he is or where I am. What the fuck is going on? “We will talk again soon Luther.” And just like that the two men were back at my sides and began dragging me back to the room they took me from.

Chapter 4      

The candles burn
I was placed back in the spiked chair. I forgot about the spikes but was rudely reminded when I attempted to sit back. I could feel the warmth of the blood running along my skin. I dozed off eventually after my eyes couldn’t take it anymore. When I awoke I was no longer alone in the room. There was now a table in front of me. I sat across from the man on the throne. Standing next to me was one of the men who had carried me to and from my room the night before. Looking at the face of the man standing I was still unable to fully comprehend him. A dark shadow covered a majority of his head. Only a pale white chin was visible. “So Luther”, the throne man said,” today we will be playing a little game.” “What kind of game?”, I asked. “You’ll see.” The table was empty but suddenly a candle and a wooden stick appeared in the middle. I was stunned by this but I figured asking questions was now pointless. “ So Luther, I would like you to choose one of these items.” I was confused, “Choose them for what?” He responded, “Don’t think Luther, just choose.” I chose the candle. That was a mistake. Once I had appointed the candle as my object of choice, the stick was taken off the table by the cloaked man beside me. A cloth was wrapped around my face, diminishing my sense of sight and returning my eyes to the darkness. “And begin”, the man said. Pain. That is the only word that can describe the feeling I went through. The candle was thrust onto my neck, I attempted to squirm, move, do anything to end this torture, but my head seemed to be asleep, almost locked in place. I screamed while the rest of my body thrashed around like a shark in the deep depths of the ocean. I begged for mercy, begged the man to stop, but I was met with no reply. Until finally, “Enough.” The candle went out and my sight returned to me, only blurrier than before due to the immense amount of pain I was enduring. “How did that feel Luther?’, the man asked. “Are you fucking crazy? What the fuck are you doing to me? What do you need from me?” The man smiled, a joyful smile, as if he enjoyed watching me suffer, enjoyed watching my crazed mind respond to his methods. “I need an answer Luther. How did that feel?” You can’t win with this guy. He ignores half the shit I say and sticks to his own agenda like gum on your shoe. “It hurts ok. It fucking hurts. What did you expect me to say, that I enjoyed it?” “I didn’t know what to expect Luther, that is why I asked the question. Now tell me this, what hurts more, reliving that horrid memory of your father or being burned by my flame?” What kind of question is that I thought to myself and then prompted to Mr. Throne. “What kind of question is that?” “It’s a simple one Luther. It is also one that requires an answer.” “I don’t know, ok, I guess the candle. At least that’s what the burning sensation on my neck is telling me.” The man laughed, “Ah, Luther, I forget how you humans do amuse me.” You humans? He said those words smoothly, as if he himself wasn’t human. This was something I had already thought of myself but now it appeared confirmed. I decided to keep this intel to myself, incase he summoned anymore torture tools to the table. “ But alas”, he said, “You deserve all that is being done to you and things will become much easier when you come to terms with that fact.” I was too stunned to respond. He took the silence as a sign that our meeting had concluded. Him and his companions exited the room, slamming the door which sent vibrations all along the bricks. I deserve this, he said. What did I do to deserve any of this? I couldn’t think of one single reason. As the hours went on the burning sensation still stung but began to simmer down. I eventually drifted to sleep and once I woke, I wish I could have stayed asleep
Chapter 5
Lucifer
I sat on my throne, twisting a knife through my fingers and back again, through my fingers and back again. The flames along the walls let out faint and untimed cackles. One of the few things that brought me a sense of comfort. I continued to twist my knife while thinking about Luther. Ah, Luther, Luther. He is a very interesting man. I enjoy his anger, which goes hand and hand with his outbursts. It angers me that he was unable to give me a clear answer on which experience was more painful. I believe he only picked the candle because it was the most recent thing he had endured. That was my mistake. After all he is only a human. I must give him time to recover from each form of torment before discussing with him which one was worse for him to go through. He had expressed thorough emotions for both of the encounters. The snake attack was merely for my amusement. I had earlier decided to not factor that into my findings. When presented with the memory of his mother being brutally beaten he screamed, attempted to protect her (though physically impossible) and ended the session with a face full of tears and eyes full of hatred. He also expressed mercy when he pleaded for me to stop showing him the image and begged for it to end. Similarly during the candle burn, he cried, screamed for me to stop, and expressed anger in our conversation after the burning had taken place. From what I could tell he showed the same three emotions during each encounter. Deep down inside of his consciousness he knows which event was harder for him to go through, but he is not yet ready to decide which one it is. So until he reaches that point and satisfies me, I will “sadly” have to continue putting him through immense pain. Our next meeting would not happen until the following day. He slept for long periods of time, most likely longer than he realizes. I believe his rest is important for this experiment and for its results to be displayed as accurately as possible. Like I have said before, he is only a human and he will need his rest to go through what he is about to go through. He still has no idea how his suffering will affect the souls of those to come, forever and ever.

Hey guys this is the first 5 chapters of a short story I am writing. Lmk what you think. Thanks!

Intro

It was over. No this can’t be. It just can’t. I squinted, trying to make out something in the darkness. I went to stand but my legs weren’t responding. I tried to crawl but my arms wouldn’t listen. I went to talk but my mouth forgot how to open. I was starting to think I was going crazy. And then I heard it. “Welcome to the beginning of the end”

Chapter 1
Lucifer
Torment. Ah, what a word. Since the beginning I have been assigned the task of eternal torment. Ironically some would view my existence as tormenting itself, but that’s not how I see it. After my long fall from the top I was left with two options. Continue my rebellious nature and stand for what I believe in. Or give into the “Almighty one.” I’ve already come so far to where I only saw the rebellious road as a real choice. Many different kinds of torment. But personally I believe that the best form of torment comes down to two finalists, two true contenders if you will. They are psychological and physical. The question that has haunted me since the beginning is which one is better to break a soul. Which one is better to guarantee someone an eternity of the worst kind of suffering imaginable. I have tortured souls for as long as I can remember. I have seen the worst of the worst and the best of the worst come through my doors and into the depths of my kingdom. I have always been pleased with the way they have been punished, but alas there is something that I feel is missing. Almost as if there is a clean cut and all powerful way to torment those who are placed at the feet of me. I’ve thought about this tirelessly. But to no avail am I able to come to a definite conclusion. So I have decided to do something about this phenomenon I have been faced with. The souls of those who already reside in my kingdom, are far too broken to be of any help to me. I do not want to wait for a newcomer or experiment on one of my own. No, none of that. I have decided to capture a living soul. One with little to no wrongdoings. A person who has endured some pain themselves but never inflicted it on others. After careful consideration, a man by the name of Luther Bellows has been crowned by little helper.
Chapter 2

Luther
My legs had been revived but my arms still refused to cooperate. Speaking still wasn’t an option either, although I was able to manage a few small grunts if I really tried. The chair he had set me in reminded me of my childhood. A hard worn out cushion and soft cloudy armrests. It felt like days since I was dragged down the corridor and chained down. I should feel hungry, even thirsty but I wasn’t not at all. The smell of the room had a mustyness to it, like a basement that took in rainwater. The air felt moist and hot, like you were in a dessert and rainforest mashed together. The darkness seemed to grow by the day and I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to see light. A part of me had begun to enjoy the darkness. Before I could give the darkness another thought a bright flame sparked just inches from my face. The intense light temporarily blinded me. I instinctively reached to cover my eyes, forgetting that my arms and brain no longer wanted to work as one. When I could finally see I was able to make out a figure I could barely describe. His legs were withered, arms as well except they seemed almost toned unlike his skin to bone walkers. From his knees up a black cloak covered the rest of his humanoid body. His shoulders were narrow but broad, and his torso resembled an hourglass. When my eyes finally were ready to meet his own they were unable to. Instead I saw my father. Not just his face but him. I watched as he finished the rest of his drink and then proceeded to smash the empty bottle over my mother coddled in the corner. I went to scream at him to stop and my voice finally remembered its duty to me. “No, get away from her”, I yelled. But it didn’t sound like a 38 year old me. It sounded like a 10 year old me. And that’s when I realized that what I was seeing wasn’t just a depiction of my father, it was a memory. Before I could process what was going on or ask any questions, the flame flickered out, the figure stepped back and the cell door slammed shut.
I must have dozed off at some point. I woke up and found myself in the same chair he had left me in. My whole body was sore. My limbs were still getting used to being able to function properly. The images of my father were still burned in my head. I had worked so hard and so long to try and erase that day from my mind, but in all honesty I was never really successful. The pain of it had slowly faded but would always be ignited when I saw something that triggered them once again. A drunk man in a tv show, a broken bottle on the sidewalk, whatever it may be. I was mad and scared. One where the fuck am I and two who or what the fuck was that thing I saw. This was the first time since I got here I was starting to feel emotional again. Whoever he is, how and why did he show me that memory. It made me feel like the scared little boy that stood in the corner and did nothing but scream, never actually doing anything to protect her. My train of thought was suddenly hit head on, as if a building had fallen onto the tracks and the conductor failed to break in time. I felt a  sharp shooting pain that started in my right ankle and shot up all the way past my knee. I was chained to the chair, unable to move, unable to reach for my leg, if my arms even permitted me to. Suddenly the whole room was engulfed with light which was shooting from flame lit candles that spread along the dark brick walls. I looked down to see a snake with its fangs sunken deep into my leg. I screamed and writhed in agony. The snake remained locked into my leg for about another 15 seconds. Then it vanished as if it had never been there to begin with. The flames all distinguished at once. I sat there, tears running down my face, gasping for air, and my leg still throbbing as if the snake was still on it. My shackles suddenly broke and my arms came back to me. I pulled my knee close to my chest and held onto my ankle, rubbing it, moving it, doing anything to ease the pain that seemed endless. Then I heard the same voice again. “Now!” The door flew open and the last thing I remembered was being dragged out of the room by figures I was unable to make out.
Chapter 3
The Conference of Candles(Luther)
The room was impossible to look at all at once. The ceiling seemed higher than the clouds and a bright red theme was scattered along the walls. Candles were set along the floor, on tables, and the walls. There must have been hundreds of them. I was thrown down at the start of a long aisle. It led to what appeared as a sort of throne. I looked back for the men who had carried me in but it was as if they had been absorbed into the shadows. I shifted my attention to the throne and made the most painful eye contact of my life. It was as if I was feeling all the hatred, anger and sadness in the world all at the same time. I tried to look away but I was unable to. I felt like I was being drawn into the red eyes and when I didn’t think I could take it anymore it stopped. The fiery eyes went out like a falling ember and I was now met with pure black pupils. I still felt the anger in them but now not as strong, as if the owner of the eyes had turned down the power. Then I heard the voice again. This time it was calmer though, almost more human like. “Come, sit.” I began to walk down the aisle, my legs shaking worse and worse with every step closer to the throne. There was a gold chair sat in front of him and with a wave of his hand I was directed to sit in it. I obliged and sat. He appeared differently than our first encounter. He was now draped in long red cloth. He looked like he was wearing an oversized bathrobe made out of window curtains. Gold streaks ran along the robe and there was an image in the middle. It looked like a pentagram, only if you were looking at it upside down. There appeared to be some sort of animal’s head in the middle of it. A dog, a cow, a sheep, a goat maybe? There was a word spelled out in what looked like Hebrew. I was unable to make any of it out but I had a feeling it wasn’t a welcoming word. I was overwhelmed with thoughts. Some the same as my earlier ones, including where I am, who this person is, and why I am here. New ones arose also. Part of me sensed this being wasn’t human, not like me. Some sort of God or existential being, but not one I could ever see myself following. He spoke once again. “Luther, so pleased to have you here.” I didn’t respond and I think he could sense me wondering what to say and also if I was even permitted to speak. “Are you happy you’re here Luther.” I responded, “Where is it that I am?” He paused, and then let out a soft chuckle, “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own time. Tell me Luther, why did you not save your mother from your father?” And just like that I was once again my younger self. I felt the same feeling I did when my little sister sat across from me at the group home asking me why I didn’t save mommy. “Don’t mention my mother”, I responded. “You weren’t there when she needed you the most. You failed her and you are forced to live with that fact forever.” I was growing angrier by the second. “Stop it”, I said. “You had no idea what it was like. No idea what he was like.” “Oh but I do Luther, I know exactly how James Bellows was. I know how he would drink, I know how he would cheat, and I know how he would abuse you and your family.” Wait I thought, how does he know my dad’s name, and how does he know everything about him? “Who are you?”, I demanded. He smiled, “Another thing I will let you discover yourself”. So he won’t tell me who he is or where I am. What the fuck is going on? “We will talk again soon Luther.” And just like that the two men were back at my sides and began dragging me back to the room they took me from.

Chapter 4    

The candles burn
I was placed back in the spiked chair. I forgot about the spikes but was rudely reminded when I attempted to sit back. I could feel the warmth of the blood running along my skin. I dozed off eventually after my eyes couldn’t take it anymore. When I awoke I was no longer alone in the room. There was now a table in front of me. I sat across from the man on the throne. Standing next to me was one of the men who had carried me to and from my room the night before. Looking at the face of the man standing I was still unable to fully comprehend him. A dark shadow covered a majority of his head. Only a pale white chin was visible. “So Luther”, the throne man said,” today we will be playing a little game.” “What kind of game?”, I asked. “You’ll see.” The table was empty but suddenly a candle and a wooden stick appeared in the middle. I was stunned by this but I figured asking questions was now pointless. “ So Luther, I would like you to choose one of these items.” I was confused, “Choose them for what?” He responded, “Don’t think Luther, just choose.” I chose the candle. That was a mistake. Once I had appointed the candle as my object of choice, the stick was taken off the table by the cloaked man beside me. A cloth was wrapped around my face, diminishing my sense of sight and returning my eyes to the darkness. “And begin”, the man said. Pain. That is the only word that can describe the feeling I went through. The candle was thrust onto my neck, I attempted to squirm, move, do anything to end this torture, but my head seemed to be asleep, almost locked in place. I screamed while the rest of my body thrashed around like a shark in the deep depths of the ocean. I begged for mercy, begged the man to stop, but I was met with no reply. Until finally, “Enough.” The candle went out and my sight returned to me, only blurrier than before due to the immense amount of pain I was enduring. “How did that feel Luther?’, the man asked. “Are you fucking crazy? What the fuck are you doing to me? What do you need from me?” The man smiled, a joyful smile, as if he enjoyed watching me suffer, enjoyed watching my crazed mind respond to his methods. “I need an answer Luther. How did that feel?” You can’t win with this guy. He ignores half the shit I say and sticks to his own agenda like gum on your shoe. “It hurts ok. It fucking hurts. What did you expect me to say, that I enjoyed it?” “I didn’t know what to expect Luther, that is why I asked the question. Now tell me this, what hurts more, reliving that horrid memory of your father or being burned by my flame?” What kind of question is that I thought to myself and then prompted to Mr. Throne. “What kind of question is that?” “It’s a simple one Luther. It is also one that requires an answer.” “I don’t know, ok, I guess the candle. At least that’s what the burning sensation on my neck is telling me.” The man laughed, “Ah, Luther, I forget how you humans do amuse me.” You humans? He said those words smoothly, as if he himself wasn’t human. This was something I had already thought of myself but now it appeared confirmed. I decided to keep this intel to myself, incase he summoned anymore torture tools to the table. “ But alas”, he said, “You deserve all that is being done to you and things will become much easier when you come to terms with that fact.” I was too stunned to respond. He took the silence as a sign that our meeting had concluded. Him and his companions exited the room, slamming the door which sent vibrations all along the bricks. I deserve this, he said. What did I do to deserve any of this? I couldn’t think of one single reason. As the hours went on the burning sensation still stung but began to simmer down. I eventually drifted to sleep and once I woke, I wish I could have stayed asleep
Chapter 5
Lucifer
I sat on my throne, twisting a knife through my fingers and back again, through my fingers and back again. The flames along the walls let out faint and untimed cackles. One of the few things that brought me a sense of comfort. I continued to twist my knife while thinking about Luther. Ah, Luther, Luther. He is a very interesting man. I enjoy his anger, which goes hand and hand with his outbursts. It angers me that he was unable to give me a clear answer on which experience was more painful. I believe he only picked the candle because it was the most recent thing he had endured. That was my mistake. After all he is only a human. I must give him time to recover from each form of torment before discussing with him which one was worse for him to go through. He had expressed thorough emotions for both of the encounters. The snake attack was merely for my amusement. I had earlier decided to not factor that into my findings. When presented with the memory of his mother being brutally beaten he screamed, attempted to protect her (though physically impossible) and ended the session with a face full of tears and eyes full of hatred. He also expressed mercy when he pleaded for me to stop showing him the image and begged for it to end. Similarly during the candle burn, he cried, screamed for me to stop, and expressed anger in our conversation after the burning had taken place. From what I could tell he showed the same three emotions during each encounter. Deep down inside of his consciousness he knows which event was harder for him to go through, but he is not yet ready to decide which one it is. So until he reaches that point and satisfies me, I will “sadly” have to continue putting him through immense pain. Our next meeting would not happen until the following day. He slept for long periods of time, most likely longer than he realizes. I believe his rest is important for this experiment and for its results to be displayed as accurately as possible. Like I have said before, he is only a human and he will need his rest to go through what he is about to go through. He still has no idea how his suffering will affect the souls of those to come, forever and ever.

Chapter One: Lost Fork
Some memories dry up and blow away. Others cling to the ribs like a second skeleton. The worst of them stay sharp long after the names have gone dull, and the kind ones thin to smoke whenever I reach for them. Age has been no help in sorting one from the other. Still, there are days I remember all too well, and I have lived long enough to stop pretending I would rather not.
I was born in Lost Fork in 1950, to loving parents and a town that held its children close. My early childhood was easy in the way childhood ought to be. Doors went unlocked. There was not a traffic light for miles. Everyone was more family than friend, or so it seemed to me then. But a place is always more than what a child can see of it, and I did not learn how far Lost Fork's story ran until I had fallen a long way into it.
There are people who would not approve of my setting this down. I find myself glancing over my shoulder as I write. Some things have a way of watching. Still, someone ought to leave a record, in case a stranger someday needs one. I cannot say how it might help, and I have no answers to offer. I can only tell what happened and how it looked to me.
Lost Fork is like any small Southern town: quiet, comfortable, slow. It sets God, family, and country on nearly equal pedestals. The old people said the town was founded on a gravel pit and a salt mine, though the timber has always been the real wealth. The population hovered around seven hundred when I was a boy. Now there may be four hundred left, every one of them descended from families that have been here for generations. Newcomers do not settle in Lost Fork, and they would not be welcome if they tried. The rare outsider who did arrive seldom stayed.
Billy Morgan was one of them. He was the first to teach me that some of our ways did not want explaining. But I am getting ahead of myself, and I should begin with him.
Summer, to a small boy, is something close to enchantment. It runs on without end, gold and slow, and everything in it seems possible. The Morgans moved into the house across the street during the last week of school, a family of four, friendly and warm, the kind of neighbors a mother hopes for. Billy's older sister, Susan, if memory serves, had dark hair and freckles. She was a couple of years ahead of me, and she was my first love, though she never knew it.
Billy was a good boy, a little loud and brash but never unkind. He liked to bend rules rather than break them and had nearly mastered the art. I took to him at once, and from the first day we were partners in every sort of trouble. We explored the abandoned buildings in and around town. We rode our bikes down WPA Road to pick blackberries and honeysuckle. We set off firecrackers during choir practice and bore the consequences together. It was the best summer a boy could have asked for, and as it began to wind down, I never suspected what it was winding toward.

Chapter Two: The Hollow
It was a Monday. Billy had heard from some older boys at church about a stand of trees in the pasture behind the building. They had called it creepy, which was all the invitation we needed. Nothing in Lost Fork had ever been truly creepy, only old and bad-smelling. We had already explored the mansion across the railroad tracks and even camped in it. A clump of trees seemed a poor rival.
We rode to the church and set out across the pasture. The grove could not be seen from the building, but walking straight back would bring us to the creek, and the trees had to be somewhere along it. Billy fairly hummed with excitement. To me it was only trees and another field. To him, everything was an adventure, and the world looked enchanted through his eyes.
We crossed like boys who had not yet learned to count hours. Halfway over, the ground rose into a gentle swell before sloping toward the water. We climbed it and stopped.
It lay off to the left and below us, and at first it looked like nothing at all. A hollow where the creek cut through, with trees on both banks drowned in kudzu. The vines hung in a thick, green blanket that seemed to swallow light and sound. I remember that the afternoon had been full of noise, locusts and wind and our own breathing, and that standing there, I could no longer hear any of it.
Then a breeze stirred the leaves, and I thought I heard a whisper. I told myself the heat was playing tricks, that it was only wind in the foliage. I looked at Billy, and he was already looking at me. Neither of us said a word. Neither of us needed to.
The wind turned and began to blow from behind us toward the trees, and the whole hollow seemed to draw a breath, the way a person gulps air after too long underwater. The hair stood up along my neck. It was the feeling of being noticed for the first time by something that had been waiting very patiently to be.
I took a step back, and that was when the smell reached me. Honeysuckle first, thick and sweet, and beneath it blackberries and blueberries, a whole collage of sweetness, too much of it, too ripe. It was so strong that I realized I had stepped forward again without deciding to.
Behind us, a man's voice asked what we boys thought we were doing out there.
We spun around. It was Pastor Jones, who must have seen us from the church and followed us out. He looked from one of us to the other and asked again.
Billy answered for us, saying we had only come to see the hollow of kudzu. The pastor's eyes stayed on us a few seconds longer, then moved to the hollow. His expression was not angry or disappointed. It was discerning, as though he were weighing something I could not see. After a long silence, he told us gently that we ought to go on home. He said it with the quiet patience of a man who knew something we did not.
I asked, not understanding any of it, whether we might take a little of that fruit with us. It smelled so good.
He looked down at me then, and I shuddered in the heat. I have shuddered at the memory many times in the decades since. Then his face softened, and he told me the fruit was not good for me. He smiled when he said it. Even as a child I could tell the smile was a thing he had put on.
When we hesitated, he laid a hand on each of our shoulders and turned us back the way we had come. I looked behind me only once. The sweetness was gone from the air, and so was the strangeness, as though someone had closed a door. I do not remember whether Billy looked back. I have since come to believe he did.
We rode home in silence. We said our goodbyes, or perhaps we did not. I cannot remember.
I spent the afternoon at chores and helping Mama with supper: sweet cornbread, fried chicken, lima beans, and cream corn. I had all but forgotten the hollow by the time Daddy came home. He came in more serious than usual, kissed my mother, and sent me out to take out the trash and check the mail. I had already done both. In those days a boy did not say so, and my father knew I had, which meant he wanted a word with my mother alone.
I went out and played with our German Shepherd, Max, until Mama called me in. We said grace as always and began to eat, and it was some time before I understood that I was the only one eating. My parents were watching me.
I have never been able to describe the look on their faces. There was love in it, and concern, and something that might have been fear.
After a while my father said, very calmly, that I was never to go near that hollow again, and he asked if I understood. I did not answer at once. I was thinking of the whisper, the smell, the pastor's hands on my shoulders. He asked again, and this time there was something close to desperation underneath the calm. I said yes, sir, and heard my voice stumble. I looked to my mother, but she was studying her plate as though she meant to hide behind it. I would have sworn she was holding back tears.
I asked him why. I had not meant to. The word was out before I could stop it.
My father was a loving man, but in our house a child did not ask why. Yet that evening, for the first and only time in my childhood, he neither corrected me nor grew angry. He only looked at me and drew a long breath. He said I was too young to understand, that all I needed to know was that it was not safe for me there, that I could get hurt.
It was the pause before that last word that raised the skin on my arms.
He said there would be no more talk of it. Then his voice lightened, and he said I should finish my supper and take my bath, because he meant to take the next day off work and carry me into the city. A smile crossed his face. It seemed genuine, but something moved behind it, and I could not tell what.
I ate. I bathed. I went to bed far too early, excited, because we almost never went to the city, and when we did it meant ice cream or baseball cards. I fell asleep thinking that in the morning I might ask if Billy could come along.
I never got the chance.

Chapter Three: Magnolias
The years between boy and man are tumultuous ones. They bring a flood of change to the mind and body and spirit, and a confidence worn proudly and warily at once. Lost Fork seemed to sense this in its young and, at times, used it against them. The town had a way of drawing a person inward rather than outward, and by fifteen I had learned to accept most of its silences without question, though I had begun to keep a few of my own. What I had yet to learn was that Lost Fork kept traditions, and that they were best left to themselves.
In early April, I stumbled into one.
I was out past dark, against my better judgment and my mother's wishes. A girl named Darlene Pruitt had taken to smiling at me in a particular way, and I had taken to walking past her house at hours when I had no business passing anyone's house. That night I was headed home along Creek Road, cutting across the old Tatum property, when I heard something.
I thought at first it was singing. It was low and unhurried, the kind of sound felt in the chest before the ears make sense of it. I stopped walking. The night was warm and the frogs were loud along the water, but threaded beneath them was something else. Voices. Women's voices.
They say curiosity killed the cat. It did not kill me, but it did something.
I moved closer, almost against my will, with that same prickle rising along my neck, as though my body had understood something my mind had not caught up to. Upstream from the hollow, the creek ran wider and shallower, and in spring the water was clear enough to count the stones on the bottom. Magnolias crowded both banks, enormous old trees with roots that reached into the current like fingers. In April they hung heavy with white bloom, so low over the water that the place felt roofed over, sealed off from the ordinary world.
There were nine of them, maybe ten. It took me a moment to know them in the dark and the strange pale light. Mrs. Aldridge, who taught Sunday school. Darlene's mother. Hattie Broom, who had to be eighty and made the finest peach cobbler in the county. Clara Tatum, who was perhaps seventeen and whose family owned the ground I was trespassing on.
They stood barefoot in the shallows, dressed in white, some in gowns and some in plain dresses, and each held a single magnolia blossom. They were full flowers, wide and pale, the kind that bruise brown at the edges if looked at too hard.
One by one they set the blossoms on the current, carefully, with something like reverence. And they were speaking, though the word does not fit. It was too rhythmic for conversation and too quiet for a hymn. I could not make out any of it. Whatever they were saying had not been meant to carry.
The blossoms drifted downstream.
Toward the hollow.
I stood there longer than I should have. I know that now. At the time I told myself I would watch a few seconds more, and then those seconds became more seconds, the way they do when a boy is looking at something sacred for the first time. I was not afraid. I felt something else, though I have never found the right name for it, a low, uneasy pressure somewhere beneath the ribs.
I was lost in the sight of them when one of the white figures turned in my direction. It was Clara.
I froze and tried to become part of the brush.
After what felt like a very long time, she lifted a finger to her lips and shook her head, slowly. People talk about blood running cold, but that has never seemed accurate to me. It was more as if the night itself had leaned in. I believe she was smiling. Everything felt wrong at once, and the urge to run became nearly unbearable. Nearly.
Then she turned her face downstream, toward the hollow, and did not look at me again. She never let the others know I was there. I have wondered for sixty years why she did not.
I had overstayed my welcome, and I went straight home.
My parents were waiting. I was scolded severely and confined to the house for a week. I took it all to be about curfew until my mother said, almost to herself, that it was not safe this time of year. It meant nothing to me then. Only later did I understand she had been speaking of what I had seen.
The next afternoon I came in from after-school chores and heard voices in the kitchen. I rounded the corner and stopped.
My mother barely acknowledged me. Her whole attention was on the girl at the table across from her. Clara looked up and smiled, and I still feel that smile in my spine. I am an old man who has seen a great deal, and there was something wrong with it.
She said she had only dropped by to have a word with Mama, to let her know she ought to keep watch over me, because some of the girls around town had taken a real liking to me. I glanced at my mother. Her face had drawn tight. She said she would keep a close eye on me and thanked Clara, but there was no gratitude in it, nothing warm or welcoming. My mother was the kindest woman I have ever known, and in that moment I did not know who she was.
Clara rose, thanked my mother for her time, and walked to the door. There she paused and wished us a wonderful evening, and she smiled again, the warmest smile I have ever seen on a human face. It took me years to understand that some people keep two faces, the one they have and the one they show, and that Clara Tatum wore hers better than anyone I ever met. I saw fewer troubling things in Vietnam than I did in that kitchen.
My mother said nothing. I did not move for a long while. At last I told her I had seen something the night before.
She drew a deep breath, as though she had been holding it all day. She told me, quietly, that I had not. It sounded less like a statement than a wish. I had not seen anything, she said, and I never would, not around here. She asked if I understood.
I nodded and said yes, ma'am.
We never spoke of it again.
I did not understand then, and I am not sure I understand now. But for the second time, and not the last, I learned that Lost Fork had secrets, and that it is best not to go digging in the ones you are not ready for.

Cult of Null, Chapter 2: Lord Null: Rituals are for the weak minded believers, I am living proof soon to die as we all do, but the present will remember because the past will be the archives.

Tonight is Halloween, and no one will question a crowd in the dark. I already set the attraction, and when the lights go out, the fog will do the rest. We take one adult, and anyone who knows too much will not leave.

Dave Rains, Missy Cloud and Henry Norman, I choose you to come with me.

Lord Null walks to the back, takes off the Lord Null suit and puts on a creepy Ringmaster clown suit so he would blend in with the rest of the haunted houses.

Lord Null climbed into the doctor's old truck. Behind him, three members in clown suits followed and took their seats without a word.

They had not been chosen at random. Back at the hideout, the rest of the cult had been given their medication, a heavy dose that left them dull-eyed and quiet. These three had been spared it.

They were the most stable Null had, mostly orphans who had become patients, the ones he trusted to stay calm when the night turned bad.

The engine coughed to life, and the truck rolled out toward the woods.

Cult member (Dave Rains) (clown Suited): Lord Null I will forever be in your favor for saving me from the death experiences doctors nearly put me through, I starved because of them while I saw others flee to start a cult.

Lord Null: I take care of all, No more needless abuse from former leaders nor doctors for those who were left behind, as they never knew how to take care of the mentally insane like I do.

As they drove down the woods the sky became dark orange, yellow and midnight blue as the sun was setting.

Missy Cloud (clown suited): Mister Null, I don't recall you ever having a vehicle.

Lord Null (ringmaster suited): I don't. This belonged to one of the doctors. He keeps his eyes on the road.

Lord Null: back when the old leaders were still around The doctors were so afraid of us that they stopped coming. When one goes missing, people assume he quit or ran. Nobody ever learned what happened to this one. But I did. I killed him for his keys, burned the body and everything that could name him, and buried what was left.

Lord Null: I never worried about DNA. I have a system for that, and it has never failed me. The police still can't say whether Lord Null is one man or many and neither could any of you, but I have my... let's say suspicions.

Lord Null: And I won't be spoiling that tonight.

Cult member (Henry Norman) (clown Suited): (stares out the window): I hope I can get help (he said under his breath) 

Lord Null looked in the rearview mirror looking at Henry then Lord Null pretended as if he was fixing his interior rearview mirror

Back at the minivan at night: Hoss: Hey Donnie

Donnie (Agent 2): Yeah?

Hoss: Do you know where the last attack happened?

Donnie: How should I know? He looks at the scientist What's your name?

Hoss: Donnie you already know my- oooh my bad.

Scientist (Khalid): It's all good Hoss… the name is Khalid

Donnie: My other question is where was the attack on the news, it looked to be in a place we never been?

Khalid: The attack was no concern, It was escaping safely that was on my mind, The attack was at the insane asylum where most of us were killed.

Donnie: Insane asylum? That’s not what was shown.

Khalid: I was unaware of a second attack so I can't give you a reliable answer, only the answer I know, but I do remember where the broadcast was, but I was so shaken… I did not want to look back at the carnage caused.

Donnie: What about you Zain? I've heard you were once part of this cult

Zain: (gritting teeth): Do not remind me.

Donnie: I was just asking a question.

Zain: I don't want to talk about it ANYMORE!!!, I'm done with the cult, I want a new life but I can't magically go back in time to stop my stupid self from joining.

Donnie: Zain, you were afraid and the past cult members manipulated you.

Zain: THAT’S NOT THE POINT, I hear how Lord Null talked about how stupid they were and it only made me feel dumber for being manipulated by stupid people.

Donnie: Zain I'm sorry you feel this way but none of us can change the past, only the present and what we do now, Zain let me tell you something I used to steal, lie and run from the law everyday, I was a criminal way before I was an agent

Zain: You were?

Donnie: Absolutely.

Hoss: (snickering) I know this isn't a good time but remember when you got caught by a security guard in disguise? We found you wrestling with the man til we got there.

Donnie: Yeah yeah, laugh it up… not my smartest moment.

Zain: looks down at his hands and looks back at Donnie and smiled I guess we both did something dumb didn't we?

Donnie: We sure did buddy, even this guy points at hoss

Hoss: can't deny it.

Zain: takes a deep breath I can give you the places we've attacked.

Hoss: That would be very helpful and don't worry Zain, You can start fresh today and we will be there to support you and talk with you when any trauma comes up.

Zain: thank you hoss, that means a lot… takes another deep breath calming down now I know where the cult is based. The problem is that I only know where they used to be: the asylum. Lord Null used to be there with us til 2013. In 2008 He killed the leaders, then wiped out the rules they set and took it over, continuing where it left off. We unnerved the doctors so badly they refused to intervene. There were more of us than them, and they feared for their own safety and I don't blame them for wanting to do their job correctly. By the time Null recruited us, we had already been driven insane and he wanted to make sure of it a second time.

Everyone went silent.

Donnie: maybe we could revisit the asylum

Hoss: Maybe…

Ash: (reading behind the newspaper Null scribbled on to write his message): The old cult seemed to have been more outside than inside the asylum, We can gain evidence there.

Hoss: Alright (turns the car back around and heads towards the asylum as the sky darkens) but if anyone tells me to go in you would have to drag me because at first I thought it was a guy in a costume… that was not a guy or costume.

Zain: I will show you the outside secret compartments, only the old leaders items are there but none of Null's stuff.

Hoss: didn't say anything as he continued driving to the haunted asylum

At the Horror Nights Attractions.

Missy Cloud (Clown Suited): "Should I start up the attraction mister Null?”

Lord Null (Ringmaster Suit): Only when I start the power, You can be the first inside to welcome guests”

Lord Null walked out to the entrance, turned on the haunted house, and stepped to the front, the animatronics started howling, talking, screaming and laughing while the props rattle for effect.

Lord Null (Ringmaster Suit): "STEP RIGHT UP! STEP RIGHT UP TO THE HAUNTED CIRCUS OF YOUR NIGHTMARES! DON'T BE SCARED, WE'RE HERE TO MAKE YOU LAUGH AND SCREAM.

Somewhere near, a family sits on a bench.

Mother: Josh, are you sure Johnny can handle haunted houses?

Josh (Dad) I'm sure Johnny will be fine Brenda, Besides this is fun.

Johnny (son): Jumping for joy PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!

Brenda (Mother): Alright honey just be careful ok?

Johnny: Thanks mom kisses his mother's cheek and takes his father's hand Come on dad.

They walk towards the entrance.

Josh: Woah son, careful you almost fell.

Lord Null (Ringmaster Suit): Oh I see we have a father and son here, Welcome to the horror nights attraction. First time you've been?

Josh: Well this is our third time here, Johnny couldn't wait to step into this specific haunted house, so we've been waiting for this moment.

Ringmaster Lord Null: pulls back the curtains step inside and witness a world of terror.

*Lord Null pulls back the entrance and Josh steps in first, then Johnny and strobe lights strobe for a second when suddenly everything stops only To flicker near a spot where an animatronic dog shoots forward on a track snarling and growling while its head violently moves, shaking a scientist's dismembered hand.

Missy Clouds comes forward as she holds a chain pretending the dog almost got loose to attack.

Johnny: BAD DOGGY!!!

Missy jerks the chain back as the animatronic yelps.

Missy Cloud: Oooh he is a sweetheart he won't bite…. Much, She laughs as she resets the dog behind a curtain with it yelping

Josh: Son, it's ok.

Then he gets a good look at the hand as she is resetting the animatronic dog by pulling the chain up

Josh: well… they did too good of a job with the hand, Must be… body horror fans I hope.

People enter behind them and Josh sees

Josh: Come on son let's not hold up the line

Then Josh holds his hand and pulls back the next curtain to reveal an empty surgeon-like room.

The curtain fell shut behind them, and the music died with it.

The room was lit by a single swinging bulb. Its light rocked across tiled walls streaked with something dark. A scare actor lunged out of the shadows, screaming bloody murder, and brought a cleaver down on the foot of a shrieking animatronic strapped to a table. The scream never repeated. It was too human, and it rose and broke exactly the way a real one would. The foot came away with a wet sound, and the skin stretched over the machine's leg hung in loose, pale folds.

On the far side of the room, someone in a stained apron stabbed again and again at the eyes of a severed head, steadily and patiently, as if it were a chore.

Johnny's grip tightened on his father's hand. Then the ceiling opened. A zombie animatronic dropped from its hiding place and stopped inches from his face, jaw swinging and eyes rolling.

Johnny screamed, and his heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat.

"Get behind me, son," Josh said, stepping in front of him. "I think this is a bit much for you."

The passage ended at a dead end. On the floor, painted in flaking red, was a single word: ENTER.

They stepped onto it, and the wall behind them groaned and began to turn. Black dust sifted from the seams. The wall carried them around, and the lights went dark.

A clown stood in the new room, perfectly still, facing away from them. They waited. Nothing moved. Josh let out a breath.

The clown spun around and screamed, a raw, full-throated howl that bounced off the walls. Before Johnny could breathe, the wall lurched and carried them away again as the bloodied clown screamed for help.

The wall opened onto an outdoor carnival, strung with dead bulbs and sagging banners. Clown actors ran in every direction, screaming, tripping, and crawling through the dirt. Some were bloodied, and the blood looked wet. Overhead, a sign was spray-painted in dripping letters: CARNEVIL, with the word EVIL scrawled over the IVAL.

Josh took a long, slow breath.

Johnny: "Daddy, these clowns look like normal clowns."

Josh: "Buddy, I don't know if you're truly ready for this one."

Johnny: "I've got my father I'll be fine”

Josh chuckled, though it came out thin, and they walked toward the haunted circus and they kept walking until he reached the curtain, peeling it back.

He had seen that Mutilated clowns were everywhere. Insane-looking figures moved among them, chopping at some and shooting others, terrorizing them in their own circus. The air was thick with screaming and the smell of copper. In the very middle, on the floor, lay Dave Rains in a clown outfit.

"HEEEEELP! HELP US! AAAAAAAAH, AAAAAAAH!"

Josh couldn't believe his eyes. He pressed a hand over his son's face and walked faster.

"Johnny, don't look, okay? I think this is too intense."

At the end of the carnival, Josh and Johnny entered a New room.

Robed figures stood in a ring with their heads bowed over the body of a dead clown. Candlelight shook across their hoods, and their voices rose in a low, steady drone.

"May fun die in the hands of the cult."

"May fun die in the hands of the cult."

"May fun die in the hands of the cult."

"We offer nothing but fun to die."

Not one of them looked up as the two passed.

But when they almost passed one turned around and said “you are next”.

The next room was lit with soft, cheerful lights, and somehow that was worse. A rollercoaster car sat in the center, and in it was the sculpt of a mother with her head badly bruised. Beside her sat her child, grinning and thrilled, with no idea that his mother had stopped laughing long ago.

A hand-painted sign sat beside them saying: The last words were her laughter.

Johnny caught a glimpse before Josh could stop him.

"I don't want that to be my mommy," he said, in a very small voice.

"I agree, bud. Let's get outta here, I think you had enough horror for tonight."

The final stretch was a narrow bridge lined with thick glass. Behind it, in the dark, something struck the pane. Thud. Then again. Thud. The real remains of the scientists slammed against the glass, one after another, pale shapes flung from the shadows with no rhythm at all. Josh walked fast with his hand on his son's shoulder and kept his eyes on the exit.

At the very end, one clown animatronic hung alone in a pool of weak light. It sniffled, and its painted eyes glistened.

"People were so scared of us," it said, its voice trembling. "But we were never the monsters. We just wanted to have fun." Then a knife came out of the wall and Johnny was spooked as it was stabbing the clown making the clown cry in pain.

It shed a tear and went still.

Johnny: "I feel bad for the clown," Johnny said.

Josh: "I do too, bud."

They stepped out into the cold night air. Josh stopped on the pavement and let his breath shake out of him.

"Not doing that one again. Especially not with Johnny."

Brenda rose from her bench as they came toward her.

Brenda: "Did you have fun?"

Josh looked back at the entrance, where the lights flickered and the screaming went on, and shook his head slowly.

Josh: "Oh, it was definitely something, alright. Kid friendly? Far from it."

Brenda: Since when were you concerned if a haunted house was kid friendly?

Josh: Usually never, I just come here to get scared not psychologically attacked.

Back at the minivan- arrived at the Insane Asylum.

The engine ticked as it cooled. Hoss stepped out of the car and turned to the positive robot waiting beside him.

Hoss: "We need your help, Ash."

Ash: "I'll go, but I want to help my brother."

Hoss's jaw tightened. "The negative robot?"

Ash: "Yes."

Hoss: "It's risky and I will tell you no, too risky to lose any evidence." He glanced toward the asylum, then back at her. "If you go in there, I'm afraid they'll try to drag you back."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take for someone who's like a brother to me."

Hoss held a gaze a moment longer

Hoss: No, Khalid you stay in the van and watch her do not let her in there under any circumstances.

Khalid: Will do.

then shook his head and ran towards the group. Ash climbed out and crossed the yard alone, breathing in and out, slow and steady but Khalid stopped her

Khalid: Ash no, I agree with them on this one

Ash: he is like a brother to me Khalid, I thought you would understand.

Khalid: I do understand.

At the side of the insane asylum with Hoss, Zain and Donnie are inspecting the area but the evidence were not hard to find with zains help and memory from being a cult member back when the old leaders were still there

Zain: I found a few you might want to see, But I suggest we carry the evidence to the van, this place gives me an awful feeling.

Hoss: Right on it.

They run up the hill and load the evidence to the minivan gaining a total of 9 evidence, as they made their way up to the van they loaded the stuff up in the front to back seat

Donnie: I have a good feeling we might know who this Lord Null guy is… I hope so Atleast.

Zain: I have doubts.

Hoss: We have gained a ton of evidence tonight thanks for your help

Door: Creeeeeeak.

Donnie: SHH!!! You hear that…

Door: Creaaaaaaaaaaaaak

They look over their shoulder to find the negative robot has opened the door without being right at the door

The negative robot stood in the middle of the room, shaking violently, anger rolling off its frame in waves.

Negative Robot: (Static) I am- Jaco-Mar-Gabri-joh-freddy-Jason-Myers-Gabb-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH- then silence

They bolted toward the Mini-Van as Khalid ran towards the driver seat picking up Ash in the process putting her in the front with him, as he puts her in he quickly put it in reverse and forward to get everyone. 

They all reached the van quickly, getting in as fast as possible, Hoss's stomach dropped as he realized what they were dealing with.

Khalid stepped on the gas and the van starts rolling

Hoss: WHAT IS THAT THING BEVAUSE IT SURE AS HECK WAS NOT A NORMAL ROBOT ANYMORE.

Khalid: I'm just focused on getting out of here.

Hoss: Fair.

As they were driving fast The negative robot came at them, impossibly fast, and slammed into the front of the van. Metal screamed. The whole frame lurched.

Its voice crackled through the dark, broken and warped.

Negative Robot: "We... static... are... static..."

The static cuts out

The robot seemed to power down for a moment and everyone seemed unsettled but trying to take deep breathers until it looked up, there was no more static when it spoke again, the voice was clear and cold.

Negative Robot (Legion): "LEGION."

Khalid froze in fear then hit reverse and forward as the robot stood there shaking with every single soul in the insane asylum fighting over piloting one body making them able to escape*

Back at the Horror nights attraction:

The fog came in low and thick from the fog machines, swallowing the circus lights one by one until the haunted house was a throat of black when all the power was turned off . Guests laughed at first, then stopped laughing when they realized the dark wasn't part of the show.

Andrew: Is this supposed to happen? Did the lights cut out or is this for dramatic effect?

Then he sees the fog beneath him as she shined his phone light

Andrew: Come on guys this isn't funny anymore, I just came here to get scared and you are all doing abit too well haha.

Behind the animatronic clowns, three figures moved in green-lensed goggles. Missy Cloud's hammer was a soft shadow at her hip. Visitors vanished between one scream and the next, and only some of them ever came out the other side. The ones who didn't would be props by morning but hidden in the heavy fog from the fog machines.

Near the exit, a boy stood alone beside a fake gravestone, crying. He had slipped his father's hand in the dark, and in a crowd this thick, no one noticed one more lost child.

A clown knelt in front of him. It was Missy Cloud, her paint smiling wide, her voice soft.

Missy Cloud: "Hey, little man, are you lost? Your dad is looking for you. Come on, we'll go find him together."

Nearby, Josh pushed through the fog, shouting his son's name. Dave Rains stepped into his path, wearing his best worried face.

Dave Rains: "Sir, are you looking for a boy in a green jacket? One of our staff found him. He's okay. Come this way, it's the staff area, I'll take you to him."

Nobody looked twice at a clown guiding a frantic parent toward a door marked STAFF ONLY. This was a haunted house, and half the doors were part of the show.

The door closed behind Josh with a heavy, final click. The room was bare and windowless, lit by a single swinging bulb. Josh saw Johnny first, sitting stiff in a chair with Missy's hand on his shoulder. Then he felt the hands on him: Henry on one arm, Dave on the other, a strike across the back of his skull, and the floor.

When Josh woke, he was strapped to a chair under the bulb, his chest strangely numb. He couldn't see the thick bag of blood sewn beneath his shirt, or the steel plate behind it. His phone was gone. Out here, it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

The door banged open. Missy brought in the boy and bound him to the chair opposite. Lord Null, still in his ringmaster suit, crouched to meet the boy's eyes.

Lord Null:"Watch," he whispered. "Is this your father?"

He stood, and the blade flashed in the bulb's swinging light.

Josh felt the knife punch into his chest. There was no pain, only pressure, then warmth soaking through his shirt, running down his stomach and pooling in his lap. He gasped. Every instinct told him he was dying. Null dragged the blade across once more for the boy to see, and the bag split. Red poured down the chair legs and spread across the floor.

The blood wasn't Josh's, and the blade never went through the plate. But the boy only saw the red, heard the awful rattle of his father's breath, and something in him went very quiet.

The screaming stopped. His eyes stayed fixed on his father and didn't blink.

Lord Null straightened and smiled. Josh believed he was dying. The boy believed he had watched it happen. One performance had broken them both, and the circus had two new members.

Lord Null: "This is how you recruit two at once hopefully. May it fail or succeed, we will see."

Then he stepped back into the fog, just like the other three members, as the haunted house rolled on and the crowd screamed at things that weren't real.

Far down the corridor, a phone screen glowed. Henry Norman stood in a corner by the back door, watching it.

Then right after Lord Null leaves the child to stare at his father “Bleeding out” when in reality it was the blood bag, But neither knew about the bag, Just pure shock.

And then Lord Null went into the heavy fog along with Missy and Dave Rains as they all three had their thermal goggles willing to kill any who were catching on.

Andrew: Why do I hear screaming? He shines his light again only to be met with a sharp pain in his ankle that couldn't be seen as the heavy fog covered it and Lord Null murdered Andrew then turned to Norman and asks

Lord Null: "Norman. Why aren't you doing anything?"

Norman answered with his fist. It sank into Null's gut with a crack that didn't belong to a skinny man, and Null folded, the breath leaving him.

Norman stared at his own hand. "How? You're a bodybuilder. I'm nobody."

Null laughed, still bent over. Then he straightened slowly, as if pain were something he was only borrowing.

Lord Null: "Not nobody. Black hole mind." He tapped his temple. "Everything falls in: fear, pain, every little detail. Nothing climbs back out except strength, but it's not normal strength, It's strength that would give you the ability to harm anyone stronger than you Norman, you are like me Norman.

Norman: "I'm nothing like you."

Lord Null: "You hit like me."

Norman: I know for a fact that Lord Null never seems to know about a truck until you, So whoever you are, I believe Lord Null is one main guy and it's YOU.

Lord Null: you are the smart one, But now I can't let you go Norman.

Norman swung again. Null caught the fist mid-air and drove him to the ground

Lord Null: "I am your leader, Norman, and now I'm your death. You could harm what heals. Kill what's immortal. And you threw it all away."

Lord Null lifts Norman up by the throat

Lord Null: Just for this moment, You could've treated all what is supernatural as if it's regular flesh, Just as I can with Interchangeable spirits.

Lord Null cuts the throat and squeeze as more blood flows from the opened wound

Lord Null: May I take care of whoever else witnesses.

He crawls back under the Heavy fog as Norman's Lifeless body bleeds

The moon hung low and bloated over the town of Hallowville, Oregon, bleeding a sickly orange light across the frost-dusted fields. It was Halloween night, the one time of year when the veil between the living and the dead supposedly thins to a translucent shimmer; but for seventeen-year-old Layla, however, the "spooky season" wasn't just a vibe—it was a heritage.

Layla stood before her mirror, adjusting the brim of a tall, pointed orange hat. Her black hair, dark as a raven’s wing, cascaded down her shoulders, providing a sharp contrast to her bright orange witch costume. 

The dress was a heavy, floor-length velvet that swished around her ankles. She tightened a thick black belt around her waist, smoothed out her green and orange horizontal striped socks, and stepped into her black ballet shoes. With her gothic makeup—heavy kohl and deep purple eyeshadow—she looked like a creature born from a Tim Burton sketch.

There were rumors about Layla. The local kids whispered that when she was twelve, she hadn't just been scared of the Boogeyman; she had hunted him down and ended him.

Layla never confirmed it, but the way that she carried her old wooden broom—not like a prop, but like a weapon—suggested that she knew things that other teenagers didn't.

"Layla! Hurry up! The party’s gonna be dead before we even get there!" Her friend Sarah yelled from downstairs.

Layla grabbed her broom and headed out. She was joined by Sarah, John, and Chloe. They were all dressed in cheap store-bought costumes, laughing and clutching bags of candy.

"Hey!" John said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Instead of taking the main road to the gym, let’s take the shortcut through the Old Miller place. You know, the turnip farm?"

"The Jack Turnip farm?" Chloe shivered. "My grandpa told me that people go missing there."

"It's just a farm, Chloe." Sarah scoffed. "Besides, we’ve got the 'Boogeyman Slayer' with us, right Layla?"

Layla felt a cold prickle at the base of her neck, and said,

 "We should stay on the road. That place feels…wrong."

Unfortunately, the trio was already veering off the path, fueled by adrenaline and the rebellious spirit of the night. Layla had no choice but to follow them.

The farm was a wasteland of gnarled vegetation. Rows upon rows of bloated turnips sat in the dirt like buried skulls. As they reached the center of the field, John began to laugh, jumping into the air and bringing his heavy boots down onto a large turnip, crushing it into a wet, white pulp.

"Take that, Jack!" John shouted.

Sarah and Chloe joined in, kicking and stomping the crops, laughing at the carnage.

"Stop it!" Layla hissed, her grip tightening on her broom. "You don't know what you're doing!"

The laughter died instantly. A heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud echoed from the darkness of a nearby shed.

Out of the shadows stepped a nightmare. He stood seven feet tall, draped in a tattered black trench coat that billowed like smoke. Below the coat, heavy, mud-caked boots crunched the gravel; but it was the head that froze their blood. In place of a human skull sat a massive, rotting turnip. Two jagged holes had been carved for eyes, glowing with an intense, supernatural amber light. A jagged slit served as a mouth, leaking a foul-smelling mist.

In his right hand, he dragged a rusted, six-foot scythe.

"Jack Turnip!" Chloe shouted, her voice breaking.

The entity didn't speak. With a speed that defied his size, he lunged. The scythe whistled through the air. Before John could even scream, the blade found its mark. 

Sarah and Chloe tried to run, but the mud of the turnip field seemed to rise up, catching their ankles. Within minutes, the field was silent, save for the wet sound of Jack Turnip cleaning his blade on his coat.

Layla stood frozen, the bodies of her friends lying amidst the ruined turnips. A cold, white-hot rage began to boil in her chest, drowning out the fear.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Layla said, her voice dropping an octave.

Jack Turnip turned his glowing gaze toward her. He tilted his vegetable head, seemingly amused. He raised the scythe, pointing the tip at her throat.

"I know what you are, Jack!" Layla snarled. "I know where you belong!"

Layla didn't run. She charged.

Jack swung the scythe, a blow meant to decapitate her, but Layla dropped low, her ballet shoes sliding through the dirt. She swung her broom, the wooden handle clashing against the metal of the scythe with a shower of sparks.

The two engaged in a brutal dance across the field. Jack was a force of nature, his strength supernatural, but Layla was nimble. She used her broom to vault over his swings, kicking out at his knees; but physical strength wasn't going to win this. Jack grabbed her by the throat, his gloved hand squeezing. He lifted her off the ground, the amber light in his eyes flaring.

Jack opened his jagged mouth, preparing to harvest her soul.

"My turn!" Layla gasped.

Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from Layla’s palms. The "props" of her costume began to glow with an ancient power. She wasn't just a girl in a costume; the rumors were true. She was a practitioner of the Light.

"Lux Aeterna!" Layla screamed.

The light hit Jack Turnip full in the chest. He shrieked—a sound like grinding metal and rotting wood. The black trench coat began to burn away into ash. The turnip head cracked, the amber light turning to a sickly green as the magic of the underworld was purged by Layla’s purity.

A rift opened in the mud beneath him—a jagged, glowing maw leading straight to the abyss. With one final thrust of her glowing broom, Layla pushed him back.

"Go back to hell, Jack!" Layla shouted.

With a final roar, Jack Turnip was sucked into the earth, the ground sealing shut behind him with a deafening thud.

The silence that followed was heavy. Layla stood alone in the center of the ruined field, her orange dress torn and stained with mud. Her friends were gone, and the weight of her solitude pressed down on her. She felt stronger, her magic humming through her veins like high-voltage wire, but the victory tasted like ash.

Layla walked back to town in the early hours of the morning, her broom trailing behind her. She reached her small, secluded house on the edge of the woods. No lights were on. No one was waiting to ask how the party was. She lived alone, a guardian in the shadows.

As she stepped onto her front porch, Layla’s eyes drifted to her small pumpkin garden. There, sitting perfectly in the center of her prize-winning pumpkins, was a single, fresh turnip.

Pinned to the top of it with a rusted nail was a scrap of black fabric. Layla picked it up, her hands trembling. Scrawled in dark, wet ink were the words:

“This isn't over, Layla. I'll be back next Halloween.”

Layla looked out into the darkness of the trees, a cold shiver racing down her spine. She clutched her broom closer. The war had only just begun.

The End.

ACCESSING ADA DATABASE...

LOADING....

FILE FOUND..

AUGUST 15, 1959

We managed to recover a few pictures during a recent expedition in Moburn, and have brought them back to study. It's very interesting seeing more of what the city looked like before the nuclear incident. Many of the pictures were of the city, but the ones that caught our interest the most were the last four pictures. The following pictures were photos of Ms. Rennie, the Clock Man, and a family that had recently moved into the city.

It's very interesting getting some insight of what life in the city felt like, especially with the machines themselves.

While our scientists were examining the pictures, they happen to notice a few anomalies, especially with the last two. The first one in question is the little girl and the Clock Man. While everything seems normal, we managed to catch someone lurking in the curtain behind them. Based on earlier descriptions and incidents, this entity is more than likely the one that team REDACTED had encountered last year on Logan Street. At first, the Clock Man seemed to be the only one that felt out of place, but our scientists recently informed that another of the pictures has recently changed while they weren't looking. The family picture was perfectly normal at first. While examining the picture, multiple anomalies were discovered.

Majority of the family's faces were found heavily distorted and the entire picture was in color negative.

At first, it appeared that this was the only few changes in the picture. But after taking a closer look, we discovered that the entity from Incident 005 was also on that photo, although it is very unnoticeable.

At this moment, we are unsure why the pictures have changed. Many of the scientists in our sector debated that it could be some sort of infection that the entity has. Given the changes with Miss Williams, she has supported the working theory, as well as being completely nonverbal. It is unknown why the entity has chosen to show itself now after months of no contact.

We will be addressing the current situation in a meeting this coming September.

JACK VUKOVICH

Tomorrow will not come because the war has already started.

Don't you see?
Don't you see the thousands of soldiers outside your door?

Commanded by The Dragon.
Commanded by...

No.

This isn't the time.
That name can't be said.

Must go, protect yourself.
And be wise now.

I recently published Graves, the first novel in my Keller & Archibald series.
It’s a dark crime thriller set in the fictional small town of Millhaven, Iowa, where a landscaper named Ethan Graves has spent years hiding something beneath the ordinary life everyone thinks he lives.
When human remains begin surfacing, the investigation starts pointing toward a much larger pattern—and toward a man who has been quietly working toward a very specific number of victims.
The story follows investigator Sarah Keller as she gets pulled into Millhaven and a case involving missing people, black roses, a ghost orchid, and a buried history that keeps getting worse the deeper she digs.
I wanted Graves to feel like a collision between a serial-killer procedural, Midwestern noir, and small-town horror. It gets pretty dark, but the focus is as much on the investigation and the people caught inside it as it is on the killer himself.
It’s also the beginning of a larger series, with Keller carrying the consequences of what happens in Millhaven into the books that follow.
If you like bleak crime fiction, damaged investigators, rural settings, and killers who are hiding behind completely ordinary lives, Graves might be up your alley.

(Hallo, das ist mein erster Text weshalb ich nicht wirklich weiß ob er gut ist aber das wird schon. Bitte entschuldigt auch die Rechtschreibfehler falls welche drin sind)

Es ist ein nasser Herbsttag. Eigentlich wie jeder andere. Oder nicht? Eine Freundes Gruppe von drei Personen mit den Namen Leon, Lukas und Max sitzen in Zimmer von Leon. Alle drei sind 16 Jahre alt. Sie lieben es verlassene Gebäude zu erkunden, Rituale zu machen und auf kuriose Webseiten zu gehen. In Moment besprechen sie wie sie in das verlassene Krankenhaus in ihrer Stadt kommen können. Leon bekommt von seinem kleinen Bruder Justin eine Nachricht auf das Handy in der steht "Hey großer Bruder ich freue mich dich schon wiederzusehen wenn du morgen wieder kommst!" Leon schreibt eine kurzantwort und schaltet dann sein Handy aus. Sie sind aufgeregt und planen wie sie das machen können. Max der wenigstens ein bisschen vernünftig ist sagt zu Lukas und Leon: „Hey ich weiß nicht ob das eine gute Idee ist. Ich habe ein schlechtes Gefühl dabei vielleicht sollten wir das doch wann anders machen?“ Er hat ein komisches Gefühl dabei aber die anderen hören nicht auf ihn. Sie packen ihre Taschenlampen und Energy Drinks in ihre Rücksäcke und gehen los. Als sie durch die dunklen nassen Straßen gehen lachen sie noch und machen Witze. Was soll schon passieren? Lukas sagt zu Max mit einem leicht spöttischen Grinsen: „Komm schon Max! Du bist ein Weichei, es wird nichts schlimmes passieren.“ Lukas stimmt mit einem Lachen zu. Sie wissen noch nicht was sie erwartet. Sie erreichen das Krankenhaus und machen noch Späße. Sie holen ihre Taschenlampen raus und stellen zu aller Überraschung fest das die Tür unverschlossen ist. Sie gehen rein mit eingeschalteten Taschenlampen. Es sieht dafür das es verlassen ist noch ziemlich neu aus. Die Elektronik funktioniert zwar nicht aber es sind noch Akten, Medikamente und alles andere da. Aber es sieht so aus als hätte man es in Eile verlassen. Sie gehen zusammen durch die Gänge. Bis sie etwas bemerken.... Max ist weg. Leon und Lukas denken erst er würde sie nur veräppeln aber als sie paar mal seinen Namen rufen bemerken sie dass das kein blöder Scherz ist. Max ist weg und sie wissen nicht mal mehr wie lange eigentlich. Sie rennen panisch durch die Flure und rufen seinen Namen. Leon bleibt irgendwann in Flur stehen als ihn etwas schreckliche bewusst wird. Er hatte es erst jetzt bemerkt. Er hat seit ungefähr ein paar Minuten Lukas Stimme beim rufen nicht mehr gehört und auch keine Schritte mehr. Er ist alleine und hat keine Ahnung wo die anderen beiden sind. Er atmet schwer durch die Nase. Dann bemerkt er den Geruch. Nicht nur Desinfektionsmittel sondern auch etwas metallisches. Blut. Frisches Blut in diesem verlassenen Krankenhaus. Er schaut sich um. Alles viel zu still. Er versucht nicht zu hyperventilieren und sinkt an einer Wand herunter. Es ist ein Alptraum. Ein schrecklicher Alptraum. Er steht mit zitternden Beinen auf und geht weiter. Er bemerkt obwohl angeblich der Strom nicht funktioniert das eine Kamera oben in der Ecke mit einen roten schwach blinkenden Licht leuchtet. Er wird beobachtet. Er erstarrt. Er weiß nicht ob das gut oder schlecht ist. Dann fällt seine Taschenlampe zu Boden. Von hinten hält ihn jemand ein Chloroform getränktes Tuch vor Mund und Nase. Er wird bewusstlos. Als er wieder aufwacht wird er von grellen Licht geblendet. Er hat höllische Schmerzen. Er schaut auf seine Hände und ist entsetzt. Er sieht grüne blutige Schuppen an seinen Armen und Händen. Aber das was ihn noch mehr entsetzt ist dass er Metall Fesseln an Handgelenken und Knöcheln trägt. Er trägt auch nicht mehr seine normale Kleidung sondern ein Krankenhaus Hemd. Er setzt sich mit einem stöhnen vor Schmerzen auf, lehnt sich an die Wand und schaut sich um. Er sieht Lukas und Max. Lukas hat einen Knebel in Mund und schreit dort vor Schmerz rein. Sein Gesicht Tränen überströmt während er elektroschocke über ein Gerät bekommt was an seinem Kopf befestigt bekommen hat. Max liegt halb lebend am Boden. Er sieht aus wie ein fehlgeschlagenes Experiment. Ein Auge durch ein Adlerauge ersetzt und falsch aussehende Flügel angebracht. Ein Mann mit Laborkittel und Brille kommt rein. Er sieht aus wie ein Arzt. Er hat eine Spritze in der Hand. Max versucht sich zu wehren aber es bringt nichts. Er bekommt die Spritze. Es stellt sich heraus dass es nicht irgendein sondern ein Wissenschaftler. Lukas bekommt die elektroschocks wegen einen Experiment wo sie versuchen ihn telekinetische und telepathische Fähigkeiten zu geben. Es tut höllisch weh. Die Wissenschaftler versuchen die Jungs zu Waffen zu machen um Sie später an Terroristen zu verkaufen. Sie werden wie Laborratten behandelt. Bekommen irgendwelche Abfälle zum Essen und Wasser in Näpfen. Ein paar Tage später oder vielleicht auch Wochen oder Monate zeigt einer dieser Wissenschaftler ihnen die Nachrichten in dem er sie mit einem Beamer an die Wand produktziert. Die Nachrichten die über drei vermisste Jungen sprechen. Leons kleiner Bruder weint in den Nachrichten. Das schlimme ist dass sie nicht mal mehr wissen wer sie sind oder wer sie einmal waren. Im ersten Jahr vergessen sie ihre Namen. In dritten Jahr werden sie aggressiv verrückt. In fünften Jahr tötet Max das erste Mal und in 10 Jahr verschwinden immer mehr Kinder und Jugendliche in der Nähe des Krankenhauses. Max, Leon und Lukas sind zu Tötungsmaschinen ohne Erinnerungen und ohne eigenen Willen geworden und haben die Ärzte umgebracht. Die Jugendlichen die das Krankenhaus betreten sterben. Gerade ist ein neuer Jugendlicher das Krankenhaus eingebrochen und geht durch die Gänge. Er sieht eine alte verrostete Taschenlampe auf den Boden in einem Flur liegen. Die Taschenlampe die die drei Freunde damals hatten. Als er sie auf heben will kommt Leon auf ihn zu gestürmt. Leon will ihn gerade zerfleischen als er innehält. Der Jugendliche sieht aus wie er damals. Braune Haare, grüne Augen, gebräunte Haut, sommersprossen und der gleiche beschissene kleidungsstil. Er bekommt heftige flashbacks. Es ist irgendein Jugendlicher sondern Justin. Er versucht seine Programmierung zu wiedersprechen aber als Justin weg rennt wird sein Tötungsinstinkt geweckt. Er rennt ihn hinterher und zerfetzt ihn mit seinen scharfen Krallen. Dabei zerbricht ein Spiegel der mit Blut voll getropft wird. Leon fällt auf die knie. Als er sein entstelltes Gesicht sieht weint er. Sein Gesicht von früher scheint ihm für einen kurzen Moment zurückzublicken. Er erinnert mich an Leon und Lukas. An die Nachrichten. An seinem kleinen Bruder den er gerade nach 10 Jahren wieder gesehen hat und getötet hat. Er hat das zerstört was ihn damals am wichtigsten war. Er kann einfach nicht mehr und nimmt sich eine glasscheibe mit seinen zitternden Händen, seine Schuppen glänzen. Befleckt mit Justins Blut. Er schneidet sich mit der glasscheibe selber die Kehle durch. Leon liegt da. Seine Augen schließen sich als er noch mal auf die zerfetzte Leiche von Justin schaut. Max und Lukas sterben später als ein Polizist sie von ihren Leid erlöst. Der Fall landet wieder in den Nachrichten mit der ganzen Geschichte während Leon, Lukas und Max sich oben im Himmel obwohl sie so viele Menschen Leben genommen haben wurden ihnen Gnade gegeben weil sie es nicht freiwillig gemacht haben und Justin ist auch da und wird wieder vereint mit seinem Bruder Leon. So lernten sie ganz am Ende das wenn man zu viele Risiken eingeht und nicht vorsichtig genug an unbekannten Orten ist man sich ungewollt verändern kann aber es manchmal nur eine Person braucht dass das vergangene ich wieder zurück schauen kann.

A rural horror story told in the style of EC Comics (Tales from the Crypt, etc.). Just some pulp horror fun for you to enjoy.

It's a short story that is around 3,700 words.

My Substack:

https://jdkraft.substack.com

YOUNG KAIHA
Kaiha-
[She paces the room and lets out a frustrated scream]
FLASHBACK, 1197
FADE IN:
EARLY JUNE, NOT S CLOUD IN RHE
SKY, DUN IS ALMOST
BLISTERING.)
[YOUNG KAIHA ANF KAIHAS MOTHER ARE AT ANGELS REST RIVER]
[kaihas mother pushing her into the water]
KATHAS MOTHER
"Youre doing great angel"
[kaiha splashes around and smiles]
Young KAIHA
"Mama im doing it!"
Young kaihas foot gets stuck on a rock in the creek
"MAMA HELP!"
"MAMA help!"
KAIHAS MOTHER
(SCORNFULLY) YOU KNOW KAIIHA,, THEY USED RO TEST IF WOMEN HAD THE DEVIL IN THEM BY TYING ROCKS TO THEM AND THROWING THEM IN A BODY OF WATER» YOUNG KAIHA
(Screaming terrified) MAMA!
FADE OUT.
(....)
FADE IN:

YUMI
"Kill him"
KAIHA
Backing away
youre hot 2e a no mama said
YUMI
(Curious, eerie) "not real?"
she smiles and kaiha notes that it is far to wide (She tilts her head and all of a sudden they are underwater)
KAIHA
[Gasps]
« NO! MAMA! »
YUMIS VOICE AND FACE SHIFTS INTO THAT OF KAIHAS MOTHER
FADE OUT.

The Good Help - Book 2 of the Rambling Rose Series is available NOW!!! Paperback and hard cover coming soon.. https://www.amazon.com/Good-Help-Book-Rambling-Horror-ebook/dp/B0HMYZCS2B

​

Guess what, I finally posted? In case you somehow missed the title in big, bold letters, it's my Halloween featured story for the month. Now, it's been a little while since my last upload, but I had to deal with a bunch of horse shit. Hopefully, that's all resolved. To make up for it, this story is on the really long side.

We're talking sixty-nine (heh, and yes, I am very immature) hundred words. That's the equivalent of two of my higher word count posts in one. This tale features a character readers familiar with my work will recognize. This was a lot of fun to write. I do want to get out at least one or two more stories before the month is over.

In the meantime, assuming you are a high enough tier on The Shadow Box Archives Patreon, check out my featured tale through the link below. If you want to read it for free, just wait a week. Also, assuming you don't use generative AI, check out our website. Artists and writers are welcome. Plus, we don't allow any of that machine learning garbage. That's all for now. I hope you all are having an intriguing Spooky Season.

https://www.patreon.com/posts/172678411?utm\\_campaign=postshare\\_fan&utm\\_content=android\\_share

The smoke of empires climbed into the blue, where once a quiet, silver shadow grew, but mortal hands, consumed by pride and hate, began to forge the instruments of fate.

They tore the earth to feed the iron forge, and poured their fury down the mountain gorge, until the spark of total war was struck, and fields of green turned into burning muck.

The weapons roared with terrifying sound, A thousand suns exploded on the ground, and thermal energy began to rise, In choking columns to the heavy skies.

The heat of millions dying in the night, Ignited physics with a deadly might, It pushed the atmosphere beyond its bound, And broke the seal on ancient, holy ground.

Deep in the crust where silent ages slept, Where calcified, forgotten horrors crept, A forty-foot god waited for the spark, Entombed within a deep, protected dark.

Xul-Kiri rose upon two lanky arms, Unfazed by human cannons and alarms. The thermal peak had cracked his stony shell, To release a blinding, horizontal hell.

God has awoke from mortals nuclear hell...

For as he stood, a terrifying spark Began to burn away the safe and dark. The true sun opened up its massive eye, And bleached the blue completely from the sky.

The clouds evaporated in a flash, And ancient mountain peaks turned into ash. The shadows vanished from the stone and grass, The ground became a sheet of searing glass.

Xul-Kiri radiated solar fire, A living furnace and a cosmic pyre. The surface of the earth began to run, dissolving in the fury of the sun.

The dirt and stone were melting into slime, A liquid grave at the end of time. His twenty-five-foot sphere began to glow, As rivers boiled in the plains below.

The plasma rolled in waves across the mud, And mixed the melted iron with our blood. Then from his base, the nested tentacles Unfurled like twisted golden spectacles.

They warped the gravity of earth and air and lifted up the monster sitting there. He soared into the bleached, chaotic white, q flying mountain of radioactive sunlight.

And opening his standing vertical maw, He shattered every known terrestrial law. The rows of grinding teeth began to shake, And caused the pillars of the sky to break.

He let out one loud, mind-destroying shriek, That tore the language from the brave and meek. A cosmic frequency of pure despair Ripped through the atmosphere and filled the air.

It drove the mortal race to max insanity, And brought an end to all human vanity. They clawed their bleeding eyes out in the white, And threw themselves into the burning shining light.

As Xul-Kiri soared above the floor, of a dissolving world that was no more of the mortal lore.

You're walking into the void

The fear around you and in front of you

Fear of the unknown

Do you see the wall of the house

It's still dark all around

Why do you see without light?

It feels like you're walking down a familiar street.

There's no one around, just emptiness

Do you hear the sound of the abyss

Suddenly fear sounds in your head

Do you realize that you're walking on bodies?

You're running trying to get away from them

But they're everywhere.

Fear has taken over you

Your body doesn't listen to you

You're like a cockroach trying to escape from here.

All your thoughts are telling you to save yourself

But at the same time they say that there is no way out

My ears are starting to ring.

Tears start to form in my eyes

You press your palms to your eyes.

So I don't have to see where you are

You start screaming and crying.

Something grabs your leg

Have you seen what it is

Your legs think faster than you do

There's nowhere to run

But they know they need it.

You wake up.

Your whole body is trembling with fear.

What did you see?

Your thoughts start to mix up.

But only one remains.

Maybe this is death?

You take a knife.

And you start cutting your hands.

You feel cold.

But you’re sure of your actions.

You drive the knife into your chest.

It doesn’t hurt.

You feel like you want to sleep.

You’ll find out the truth.

But you’re still alone.

i'm currently writing a gothic horror novel set in a mansion in newcastle, england in the 1830s. the story centers around a female main character with her husband playing an important but supporting role.

basically, the fmc has this final confrontation with a humanoid monster. it is set in a hothouse/conservatory that is an important location to the monster in the book. in one of the earlier scenes, i established the monster using a pair of garden shears to make flower arrangements in that conservatory. i had planned to use the same shears to give my fmc a weapon to stab the monster in the final fight.

the problem is, i just wrote another fight scene between the fmc's husband and the monster's minion in which he defeated the minion by setting him on fire using a candleabra. now i feel like there are just too many convinient weapons in my book. but also, these are normal people in a very normal setting, so other than with everyday items, i don't know how to arm them to fight against supernatural forces.

advice?