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Ghosts, and Murder, and Candy, oh my!

Discussion in 'Contests' started by Cecilia_Agnarsson, Oct 2, 2015.

Please choose your vote for the Halloween contest!

Poll closed Nov 1, 2015.
  1. Category 1 Entry #1

    4 vote(s)
  2. Category 1 Entry #2

    4 vote(s)
  3. Category 1 Entry #3

    4 vote(s)
  1. Cecilia_Agnarsson

    Cecilia_Agnarsson Wolf Princess Administrator

    Likes Received:
    Twilight Town
    Local Time:
    1:58 PM
    Happy October everyone! To celebrate the season, we’re excited to announce and open ANH’s first official contest.
    • There are two different contest categories. They are one entry per person, but you may participate in both if you wish
    • Entries will be accepted at any time until Oct. 23, 11:59 PM EST and are to be PMed to @Cecilia_Agnarsson. The entries will be added to the contest thread anonymously. (This means your username will not be displayed with the entry.)
    • Once all entries are in, anonymous voting via poll begins Oct. 24th and ends Oct. 30th at 11:59 EST.
    • Winners will be announced on Oct. 31st and will receive a contest winner medal and forum recognition via the notice bar.
    Contest Category 1:
    The genre is horror. Using the picture below as your location, write a short story about a murder or haunting that occurred there.

    Contest Category 2:
    Create a character inspired by your favorite Halloween candy! All submissions to be PMed to @Cecilia_Agnarsson.
    Thanks to @Nameless for the contest suggestion.

    Entry form:

    Character’s Name:
    Physical Description:
    (Descriptions only. You may include categories such as clothing, height, weight, hair color, notable features such as wings, tails, etc.)
    Personality: (you can include categories such as habits, addictions, talents, turn-ons/offs, fears, likes & dislikes, etc.)
    Background Information: (This is the character’s history. Where are they from? Who is their family? What is their life all about?)
    Other Information: (This is where you would include anything else about the character not previously listed, such as supernatural powers, weapons, pets, etc.)
    Theme song: (optional)



    Category 1:


    Sitting up in the rafters of the old abandoned shed I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as yet another couple of teens wondered about. They were your typical couple, the jock boyfriend and his annoy whinny cheerleader girlfriend. It was almost to cliché to be allowed.
    I was about to scare them off myself so I could get some peace and quiet when I noticed the ghost of a little girl sitting quietly on the pile of tires in the back corner.
    She was a pretty little thing, shrouded in all white, that had been murdered here a few years back by some deranged relative. She didn’t like talking to us other spirits but she was always up for a good haunting. A ghoul after my own heart.
    My attention was drawn back to the couple as the girl complained rather loudly.
    “Oh come on Matt this place is totally lame. Can we like, just get out of here? You know I don’t do creepy.”
    How the place could be lame and creepy at the same time I don’t know. Teenagers have always confused me.
    The stupid jock boyfriend, Matt apparently, laughed and waved her off.
    “Aww come on babe. Its not that bad and you know I’ll protect you from anything.”
    Oh was that a challenge if I ever heard one. The little ghost girl was more then up for it to. She smiled cheekily and winked at me before disappearing from sight. I chuckled at that point, this was going to be great.

    The girl rolled her eyes at the boyfriends declaration turning to primp herself in a bit of broken window. Suddenly the little girl reappeared, in the window her wide eyes staring at the teen wordlessly.
    The scream that teen let out was the loudest and most shrill I have ever heard, it was classic. Her boyfriend was at her side in seconds asking what was wrong and holding her close.
    “I saw it! I saw a ghost. It was in the window looking right at me.” She cried clinging to Matt’s jacket. Matt wasn’t looking so convinced though. The little girl had disappeared again the moment the cheerleader had screamed leaving her to look the fool.
    “Stacy there is nothing there. You cant go screaming like that over nothing. If we get caught here we would be in serious trouble.” Matt scolded her gently. It was almost sickening.
    I could see Stacy getting geared up to let Matt have it when the stool behind then flew through the air hitting the wall across from it. They jumped a mile and clung to each other for dear life frozen with fear.
    Next the old broken tricycle began to move back and forth. Its squeaky wheels would have given anyone goose bumps under normal circumstances but with everything else that had happened the reaction was priceless.
    “No way. Fuck this we are out of here.” Matt declared grabbing Stacy’s arm and running for the door.
    My little ghost friend was one step ahead though. Slamming the doors in their faces she locked them. Both teens were yelling and screaming rattling the doors trying to get them open. It was heard not to laugh at their panicked expressions.

    That’s when the little ghost fully showed herself to them. Allowing the deep slash marks to reappear in her arms and throat to seep blood she began to cry and wail calling for her mother. It was a masterful performance or should I say rendition.
    Stacy screamed yet again plastering herself against the doors as Matt went to ram into them once more.
    Suddenly without warning the doors opened sending both teens sprawling out into the sunlight. They scrambled to their feet and took off running leaving me and the little ghost in fits of laughter.

    Four 40-watt bulbs hummed to life after years of slumber. Was it a fire? Or flooding? The grimy wood didn’t show any signs of distress. The metal frame of the old garage was in near pristine shape, save for the cobwebs and dust blanketing the iron beams. It could have been something with the right amount of elbow grease. Not a full-fledged auto body shop, but the kind you found in crumbling neighborhoods. The ones old men owned and operated, sipping from a can of beer with every turn of the wrench.

    “Can’t fix a radiator sober.” My old man was fond of saying that, the lush. Even when his liver was failing he still invited his old veteran buddies over to secretly slam down bourbon and wax poetic about the “Mezzicans” and “Jiponees” taking their jobs. It was no wonder mom left him.

    “Fuck sake!” Trina exclaimed, half of her exclamation lost in a cough. I told her that this place would be an asthmatic’s worst nightmare, but her craving for an adventure overpowered her weak lungs.

    I’d been urban exploring for months now, tackling the dilapidated office buildings scattered across the city or homes seized by the banks. Those foreclosed homes were always my favorites. The remnants of a life destroyed by greed and unfortunate consequence. I always took a souvenier from those places. A dusty teddy bear, a picture in a shattered frame, a ratty suit torn to shreds by moths or feral raccoons. Memories left behind by teary-eyed families, stolen by some fucking kid with too much free time.

    “So what’s the story on this heap?” Trina brushed away a stray strand of spider silk that had gotten caught in her dark chestnut hair. “Some fucking garage used by a group of pervs or something?” She gestured to a poster on the south end of the garage. It was a large picture of a naked woman held up by long strips of duct tape. I imagined that if one were to remove the poster the spot behind it would be just as it was on the day the structure was built.

    “You wish, my dear.” She hated it when I called her “dear”. We had tried a serious relationship three times and failed just as many. Some of the remains of our last attempt still lingered. “Sadly, no wild pagan orgies here. This was just some POS I saw coming back from the Springs yesterday.”

    I’d always been keen to stay on the lookout for spots I wanted to “reclaim”, as the lingo went. I had been in Colorado Springs the day before, scouting for any old buildings set for demolition. With no luck there I began my lonely trip back home when I saw it. Out in the middle of a field just off of I-35 stood a solitary building, wooden exterior blasted by the high mountain winds and warped by the dry Colorado winters. Truly nondescript save for one key element.

    The high wooden walls of the building were bare, but it was obvious that no care had been shown to the walls in ages. But heading northbound on the interstate revealed a large, runic symbol on the southern wall. It looked ominous even int he middle of the day with nary a cloud in sight. I’m just an urb-ex hobbyist, not an occult specialist, but I knew from the get-go that this wasn’t some graffiti the local hayseeds put up.

    It was dark, almost imperceptible if you were just passing by doing 75 mph. The symbol started as a long, vertical line that branched off into two arms at the peak. Almost like the letter “Y”, but the arms drooped down, like time had worn down any hopes the stick figure had had. At its base was one horizontal line, perpendicular to the vertical line, with another horizontal line running parallel below it. The rune itself was a dark burgundy, like someone wanted it to be seen yet still hidden from unwanted eyes. Hard cheese for them I was always on the lookout for the strange and out-of-the-ordinary.

    It was so enchanting that I went against my own rules of preemptively scouting a location before entering in full gear. The list of “what could go wrong” is near endless in regards to this brand of exploring. Rotting wooden floorboards, missing weight-bearing columns removed by demolition crews, taken off the job early when the finances ran low, feral dogs… Everything and anything could kill you in an abandoned structure. Especially if you ran into squatters.

    Trina had begun to busy herself by rifling through a pile of old tires near a metal gas can. “So you find junk like this every time you go looting?”

    “It’s not looting, Trine,” I probably sounded more offended than I actually was. “It’s reclaiming what someone else has left behind.”

    “So none of that ‘leave only footprints’ garbage?” Her smirk was hard to resist.

    “This isn’t the fucking Rainbow Gathering.” There was a small child’s bicycle resting to my left. I inched towards the front of the bike, placing my hand over the handlebars. It was covered in a soft layer of dust. I could almost see the ridges from my palms in the handprint left behind when I pulled away.

    There was an old work table tucked away in a corner of the shop with what looked like a binder of yellowed pages. Receipts? Oil change records? A post-modern grimoire? Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be nothing more than a large collection of photocopied Chilton manual pages covering an array of vehicles from the late-70s to the mid-90s. Some pages were more dog-eared than others, but not something worth taking as a trophy.

    “HOLY SHIT!”

    I almost threw the binder instinctively int he direction of Trina’s voice, but when I turned to face Trina she was nowhere to be found. The corner she had once occupied was now bare. All that remained was the pile of forgotten tires.


    “Down here!”

    I cautiously edged my way over the large trench in the middle of the garage. This was definitely a personal garage. No professional would be caught dead using anything less than a hydraulic lift to get under a car in this day and age. An engine block hung precariously at the head of the trench, opposite the wooden stairs Trina used to descend into the inky black abyss below.

    Trina’s face was illuminated by the LED light of her cellphone. The whites of her eyes could have practically washed out her irises and her jaw was agape with fear and disgust. “Trevor… This, this is-” She vomited before she could finish her sentence. By the time I had descended the rickety stairs, Trina was in tears, fresh bile and saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth. “The photos…” She covered her mouth, trying not to throw up a second time as she pointed to a small metal box filled with scattered pictures. Trina handed me her phone so I could see what had had such a profound effect on her.

    Dozens of Polaroids were messily stacked in the box, although very few of them showed any signs of age or deterioration. The handful of pictures Trina had found lay on top of the rest, black square up. I reached down and snatched them up and felt my stomach drop instantly.

    Naked women all mutilated in terrificly violent ways graced each and every snapshot. Decapitations, amputations, heinous acts of sexual violence all signed with an all too familiar signature. Regardless of whatever degree of torment had been inflicted upon these women, their torsos were all intact but marred by a large “Y”-shaped symbol with two horizontal lines beneath. It was the symbol on the side of the garage, carved into the bruised and bloodied flesh of countless women. I felt my stomach heave, but only a dry cough escaped my lips. “The fuck is this twisted shit?”

    “I want to go home, Trevor, I want to go home.” Trina had pulled her knees up against her chest now, leaning up against the side of the trench’s high wall. “I don’t fucking care what the hell else is in here, but we need to get out of here now.”

    Before I could agree with her, something broke the uneasy stillness in the air. It was a cacophony of animalic chittering mixed with the sound of metal scraping against metal. I tried to shine the phone’s light in the direction of the noise only realizing too late that it was coming from all around us. Something had us surrounded. Suddenly, I heard Trina scream as pale, long-fingered hands gripped her shoulders. Then the world went black.

    I awoke staring up at the ceiling, my vision slowly regaining focus. The engine block was now directly over my head. I tried desperately to move my arms and legs only to feel them bound by something wide and resistant to any amount of force I tried to exert. I could still move my head, however, and found that my limbs were tied down by heavy leather straps. I was lying on a huge square of wood which had been placed over the trench in the middle of the garage.

    “Brothers! Rejoice!” A sick voice boomed in the small space. I craned my head to look down towards my feet and was greeted by a semi-circle of robed figures clammering around- Trina. My god, Trina was tied to a large wooden “X” that had been set up by these nutjobs. A red bandanna was tied over her mouth and I could see her frantic eyes pleading with me, “I want to go home.” The source of the voice, another hooded figure, was standing next to Trina. The robes on this one were gilded with jewels an intricate gold pattern. The high holy of the loony bin. “Tonight, my brothers, not only has providence provided us with another sacrifice, but it appears that our redeemer has blessed with a Witness!”

    The robed figures cheered, two of them sliding back towards me. One of the figures veered off to the side of the garage and placed his hands on a rope, knotted over an anchor. What were they doing? Was I the “Witness”? What were they going to do to Trina, my dear, sweet Trina.

    “Now brothers, join me as we begin the ritual! First, the exsanguination…” I watched as the speaker drew a shiny silver dagger from his robe and plunged it deep into Trina’s stomach. Her eyes widened and I screamed with every ounce of energy I could muster as I saw Trina’s dark red blood spill onto the dusty floor of the garage. “And now,” The speaker continued, “The Witness may be disposed of!”

    The figure near the anchor on the wall pulled on the end of the rope, undoing the knot. I could hear the twine rub up against itself before I looked up and saw the engine block descending.

    I was babysitting for the friend of a friend. I watched as the little girl played in the yard, playfully shouting to her imaginary friend before she parked her bike in her dad’s garage that he used to work on cars.

    “I know, let’s play hide and seek!” She singsonged as she walked out, “You hide first!” I hesitated for a moment, but didn’t see any reason to object, she had allowed me to sit under the tree studying for the last hour as she had entertained herself. I glanced up into the deadened branches of the tree as the creaked and groaned against the garage roof.

    Sarah started to count aloud as I scanned around for a place to hide, but the yard was a relatively open area. She was counting, hands over her eyes as she leaned against the apple tree so I couldn’t climb up the branches without her noticing. I turned to the relatively small garage, with a shrug I stepped through the open door quietly, and glanced around.

    There weren’t many spaces for a relatively tall 50 Kilo 18 year old girl to hide. I debated crawling under the workdesk that was right next to the open door, but that’s where the sunlight was streaming and Sarah might complain if I hid somewhere too obvious. Sarah was about halfway through her count to fifty now, I had wasted a lot of time. I looked up, considering hiding up in the cross beams where the roof but instead of crossbeams I saw a multitude of pipes. I looked around and noticed the pit in the floor presumably so her father could work on the underside of the cars that came into his care. It would work, and she ought not to have any reason to complain about me taking it too easy on her.

    There was a small clean tarp spread across the floor and I walked over to it, laying down in the middle and curling the edge over, hoping that I looked like a giant wrinkle instead of a teenager under a blanket.

    “45.. 46… 47… 48… 49… 50!” I heard her chime delightedly, “Ready or not, here I come! Is she in the yard Matilda?”

    My hairs stood on end as a sudden gust had the deadened apple tree branches keening as they scraped along the roof of the garage. Sarah looked, chattering away to Matilda as she went. I felt goosebumps as Sarah stage whispered to Matilda and I could have sworn I heard someone whisper back. I tilted my head towards the stairs, able to glance out of my hiding spot without being seen thanks to the dark shadows that would obscure me.

    She continued looking, her whispers drawing nearer until they stopped altogether. My breathing was quiet in the stillness, and I peered towards the stairs then a movement directly above me caught my attention. I jumped, kicking a metal tool and a second later Sarah came bounding down the stairs beaming, “FOUND YOU!”

    “You scared me, kiddo.” Sarah grinned and I tried not to let her see how thoroughly she’d startled me.

    “It’s my turn, it’s my turn!” I nodded as she bounced on the balls of her heels, “Promise you won’t peak? Cross your heart and hope to die?” I grinned and nodded, marking a little X over my heart.

    “I’ll count be the tree.” The sun had nearly set as I stepped outside, the majority of the colors bleeding away to the west. I could see the full moon, barely visible as a white orb as I closed my eyes and leaned against the tree counting slowly. I heard a clatter, a clash and the breaking of glass my eyes popped open as I looked towards the doors, “Sarah?” I was only halfway through my count and I pulled away, “Are you oka-”

    “No peaking!” She shouted, it went against my better instincts but I hurried through my count and went inside the now dark garage.

    “Sarah?” I asked tentatively, looking around. My gaze drifted up to the rafters then back to the floor, searching for the source of the noise, “Sweetheart, are you okay?” A suppressed giggle echoed around the empty space letting me breathe a sigh of relief. If she was giggling, she had to be fine. I checked the hiding spot I’d just vacated but she wasn’t there, my attention shifted to the large pile of haphazardly strewn tires. I could see the fringe of the white dress she’d been wearing, and not far from the tires was a stool, the shattered remains of a glass jar and what appeared to be a paintbrush lying in a small pile. That would be a quick and easy cleanup after we finished our game. I tugged the fabric, “Found you!”

    “No, I’ve found you.” It wasn’t a child’s voice that answered, but as I whirled around it was a child’s face that I looked into. In fact, it was Sarah’s face, but her dressed was splattered in blood, it dripped from her hands and the large shard of glass she held.

    “What did you do Sarah, let me see. That needs to be bandaged right away.”

    She laughed, and the laugh seemed to melt the small fragile body away, “Sarah’s gone, you can call me Matilda.” I screamed as the blackened figure engulfed me.

    I don’t know how many years it’s been… Every day she makes me play this damned game, and every day she rips me apart piece by piece. She says I’m her favorite toy, that I scream louder than the others. I don’t know what others she’s referring to, I’ve never seen anyone. It’s just me and her in this little hell. I’m trapped here, she won’t let me leave. I don’t know how many years I’ve been dead.

    Occasionally, Sarah whispers to me, apologizes for her role in my entrapment. She explained once that she had been a victim, a sacrifice; she was just as trapped as I was, but she had been an innocent and so the demon could use her but not torture her.

    “Found you.” The dark voice hissed, and I screamed as the pain seared through my chest.

    Cross my heart and hope to die,
    I swore I wouldn’t tell a lie.
    Demons play and demons cheat
    every day my soul is reaped.
    All of this, because I peaked.

    Category 2:
    No entries for Category 2
    Last edited: Oct 24, 2015
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