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[Writers Corner] Horror Story Time (Short Stories)

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Post time: 11-11-2019 13:19:53
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Hi everybody,
Welcome to Horror Story Time. Here in this thread you can share short horror stories. We will not limit the words. But read below rules carefully before posting.


Rules:
1. Must be a short horror story otherwise it will be deleted.
2. No thanks type replies allowed. Only share stories.
3. If you like a story rate the post.
4. If you have any question PM me. Don't ask here.
5. Best stories will be rated with 5 Karma.
6. You can share your own experience here.
7. Must include the original source with your post. If you don't want to share source then share the name of the original author.


Very simple rules to follow. I hope everybody will share stories and have fun reading others stories.




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Post time: 12-11-2019 06:47:21
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Edited by mircteryx at 12-11-2019 06:50 AM

“Instant Messaging”

It all started on the 14th night of march, the night of my parents’ 20th wedding anniversary.

It was a wonderful, sunny day, if memory serves. Surprisingly warm for before the beginning of spring. The beautiful weather was perfect for the atmosphere of the day—being married for twenty years is obviously a momentous occasion, so my parents had booked a table at our favorite Italian restaurant.

Of course, this was a formal occasion, so I had my best suit on. It was 5:33, and I was just straightening my tie when my phone went off—I’d received a message. That’s strange, I thought, that never happens. I checked the message: It was from my mum. It was quite a jumble of numbers and letters, but through the vocabulary stew I could make out the legible phrase: “Please help me.” It should go without saying that this worried me greatly, so I immediately replied, “Are you okay?” Just as instantly, I got another text which read, “Oops. Pocket text!” I signed with all the relief I had and continued to prepare myself.

A few minutes later, I received yet another message, this time from my dad. I checked the text, and once again it was a massive mixture of letters and numbers, with the phrase, “Please help me” concealed within. Creepy though this was, my dad was always a joker, so I presumed he was just joking around, until I was sent another text saying, “Oops. Pocket text!” Now this sparked panic. Pure, unmistakeable panic. Exactly half a minute passed when I received the exact same message from my sister. This could not be coincidental. It just couldn’t.

In a state of sheer anxiety, I started to run to the restaurant. I made it about a quarter of the way before I was stopped by a police officer. “Main road’s closed,” he said, “Huge car crash.” This was the exact moment I realized just what had happened. I demanded to see the wreckage, a request I’m surprised was allowed. When I got there, it wasn’t the remnants of the car that caught my eye, not the flames billowing from the destroyed vehicle. No, I was horrified to see the lifeless corpses of my mother, father and sister. I asked for the estimated time of their deaths—all three of them were killed instantly by the collision at 5:32. (Source)

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Post time: 12-11-2019 19:56:45
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GREEN FINGERS: BY R. C. COOK:

GREEN FINGERS: BY R. C. COOK:

WidowBowen was getting old. She wasseventy-five, perhaps, or eighty. No one in Breth Common really knew. But then,it didn’t really matter. She looked the same trim little person that she hadalways been, even while her husband, Ernest, had been alive, and he had diedten years ago.
            Thelittle gray stone cottage on the hill lane up to the common was half hidden bydamson trees from the road, and wrapped snugly, as if in a woollen comforter,by the flowering creeper which grew up beside the door. The round hawthornhedge at the bottom of the garden by the road was neatly trimmed and lookedlike a long green sponge roll.
            Attimes, the villagers expressed surprise and a little pride in the old lady whenthey saw how well kept the garden still was. It was a lot of work for an oldwoman, and a house-proud woman at that. Widow Bowen would just smile when thebaker remarked on how strong and green her shallots were growing, or when NurseFoley called up from the road, with her laughing red face, to say that thebroad beans looked a picture. Widow Bowen would say, and her blue eyes wouldtwinkle, “I think I must have green fingers. Everything grows well here.” Andshe thought she was being rather modest at that, for she could not rememberanything that had not grown for her when she planted it.
            
FOR FURTHER READING SEE FILE ATTACHED:

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Post time: 16-11-2019 10:52:48
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ROOM WITH A VIEW:
HAL DRESNER:
His frail body covered by blankets and cushioned in six of the thickest pillows moneycould buy, Jacob Bauman watched with disgust as his butler set the bed traybefore him and opened the curtains, drenching the room in morning.
            “Wouldyou like the windows open, sir?” Charles asked.
            “Youwant I should catch a cold?”
            “No,sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”
            Jacobshook his head, tucking the napkin into the space be­tween his pajama top andhis thin chest. He reached to un­cover the breakfast plate, stopped and lookedup at Charles, who was standing like a sentinel by the window.
            “Youwaiting for a tip?” Jacob inquired sourly.
            “No,sir. I am waiting for Miss Nevins. Doctor Holmes said you were not to be leftalone at any time, sir.”
            “Getout, get out,” Jacob said. “If I decide to die in the next five minutes, I’llring for you. You won’t miss a thing.”
            Hewatched the butler leave, waited until the door closed and then lifted thesilver plate cover, revealing a single poached egg, looking like amembrane-encased eye, resting on a slice of toast. A miserly pat of marmaladeand a cup of pale tea completed the menu.
            Ach!Jacob regarded the food with distaste and turned to the window. It was aglorious day outside. The great lawn of the Bauman mansion lay green and evenas a billiard cloth, inlaid with the gleaming white gravel of the horseshoedriveway and dotted here and there with small bronze statuary, a flirtatiousgoddess cloistered in cherubs, a wing-footed messenger, a grim lioness incongress with her cubs; all very hideous but all very expensive. At the leftend of the horseshoe, outside the small brick caretaker’s cottage, Jacob sawhis groundsman, Mr. Coveny, kneeling in examination of an azalea bed; to theright of the driveway, before the prohibitive iron spear gates, the doors ofthe two-story garage were open and Jacob could see his chauffeur polishing thechromium grill of Mrs. Bauman’s blue convertible while talking to Miss Nevins,Jacob’s young day nurse. Beyond the gate the outer lawn stretched unbroken tothe road, a distance so great that not even Jacob’s keen eyes could distinguishthe passing cars.

read full story in the file attached:


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