You should prepare yourself, for this one story is but a true story. It happened to me a year past, and to this day i still have grotesque dreams of that horrific night. You see i was never-actually the one to scream at terrifying movies, panic at sundering mazes, or even the professional haunted houses you often may glimpse. Due to this people fond me such a bore when it arrived next to Halloween time, because no matter what i never found or seemed to get scared of these necessities when all my friends joined and had an unsure mood, i laughed and said, “Come on guys, the worst thing in there
would be a few mice. With all of us there — what’s the worst that could happen?” Read on if you like it.
Daniel Brady, who looks like around twenty years old even though he has already lived in the world for over three-hundred years. He still has his young figure just like the day when he changed into a vampire. He is a handsome man with a pair of blue eyes.
White Fairy Fox
Created by Judy F. Liu
This is a romantic love story;
This is a bloody killing story;
This is a story of vampires, werewolves, zombies and a white fairy fox from Chinese myth.
Writer, David Wiener, who moved to a small town called Lily Valley, which was located in a beautiful secluded valley. It looked like a heaven in the world.
David was curious about everything, so he sneaked into the restricted area of the town, which was a thick forest. He heard the sound of running and the howling of animals.
David Wiener walked forward very carefully, and saw a pack of wolves were chasing a white fox…
I’m 17 now , my name is Crystal Moore , and this is about my life being abused, my mom died when i was 14, my life was perfect then, but then i got very depressed, my dad started drinking and smoking, and hurting me. I cut myself, and had to wake up very early to leave before my daddy tried to hit me, I stay at a run down park all day, until i know or i hope my dad is in bed. I get bullied at school, and then later get raped, and end up being pregnant, everyone called me a whore, but my dad doesn’t know and hits me in the stomach causing the baby to die, my dad eventually stops drinking when i turn 17, but i get taken away, my dad fights for custody back and by time i hit 18, my life is back to normal.
The Rider, a wandering mercenary, comes upon a blighted town and is asked by its Prince to go to the mountain and destroy an ancient evil. He destroys the Prince instead, believing him to be the source of the town’s curse, only to discover that in doing so he has aided the release of the evil under the mountain.
My ambition has always been to write the next Gormenghast, my inspiration the pointlessness of so-called demonic possession. What might it be like, I wondered, if such interference actually had a purpose.
This is a short story featuring the Redcliffe werewolf pack and told by Sally Frost, pack lieutenant and NHS nurse…
For years I’ve lived the life of a high school student free of fear, but one night that changed and my life went from normal to crazy it was filled with powers, conspiracies, death, and love. the only thing i want now is to go back to the way it was, before it all happened – mysterious journal, DATE-5/7/14
A dream both inspired the title and the chapter I am currently writing now. I hope you enjoy it. Nearly 4,500 words. Please remember, this is beta and still yet to be edited.
The creaking. It is all that I can focus my mind upon. The constant creaking of the rocking chair against the floorboards. Back and forth, back and forth, day and night; in its own solemn way as though weeping, sobbing through the hours.
No one dares venture the stairs to the forgotten room, the carpet of dust an impenetrable psychological barrier as though a constant reminder there has to be a reason no one has ventured for so long.
Oh how we used to ponder what truly lay beyond those doors, fear far overshadowed this desire for knowledge however, so we used to play games- tricks as such. We would stand in the courtyard to the large manor and stare at the attic window, straining our eyes for a glimpse of the horror which lay within, and, upon dissatisfaction, would hurl stones upon the glass (never enough to shatter, just enough to make a satisfying cracking sound and bounce back to the ground below.) Never was a response gained, and as winter drew nearer, the game lost its appeal. December rolled around bringing with it bitter cold and a foreboding snow-shower falling thick and fast settling a layer of uncertainness upon the town. It is the great fear of the unknown in which we shy away from most, not knowing why lies beyond. The day it happened was about mid-December and the house was decorated most festively, candles were lit and stocking were hung above the lit and roaring fireplace. Oh how I used to love sitting in front of that fire, watching the auburn flames licking the hearth in a greedy manner, the colours morphing most beautifully from raging auburn to a dribbling yellow and eventually fading into a wilted grey. I had spent the day in town for a catch-up with some of the gang, Sarah, Ben, Hannah and some of the usual lot. We had left rather late, being caught up in each other’s company, and it was as I left Ben at the mouth of the woods that I realized how dark it was becoming. I lingeringly watched him make his way up the path to where his house lay at the end, and stared with fright at the rigid barrier which lay before me. Blackened like cinders the silhouettes stood against the night sky, their spindled braches intertwined in a disconcerting manner. They gripped each other tightly, menacingly like gnarled fists shaking angrily at the sky. This web of branches created a canopy above my head, and as I walked I could feel my features sliding in and out of focus as they shattered the moonlight upon my face. Frosted branches paved the floor beneath my feet, and I fearfully stumbled my way deeper into the forest, my shallow ragged breaths the only sound to break the roaring noise of silence. I could feel my hair had tumbled loose from its braid and was hanging heavily and hinderingly upon my shoulders, pulling me back, the usual dirty blonde practically luminescent beneath the moonlight. A fierce winter wind ripped angrily at my body, violently biting my face and tugging ragingly at my clothes. I daren’t slow. My footsteps were becoming louder with each step I took yet the hot pulse of blood thrashing through my body was that fragment louder. I felt it pulsing faster and faster, hotter and hotter with every step and I quickened to a run, it felt oh so warm against the cold winter air. My coat was named ‘perfect-white’ yet my complexion was positively ghost-like in comparison. I focused on the sound of my feet, the creaking they made upon the branches littering the floor. The creak, creak, creak creak.
I ran for five minutes solid until a soaring pain of shot through my chest and I was forced stop and take breath. I focused on the continuous creak of my footsteps. It was then I realised I was no longer moving. Creak creak, creak creak…
Those sounds which seemingly haunted my every move. The moon shrouded behind a cloud, the trees ground their branches together in a gut-wrenching way and the wind whistled and howled, louder and louder the sounds grew, yet not loud enough. I broke into a sprint with all my energy and courage, a deep sick feeling clawing the pit of my stomach. I ran and ran into the darkness, my feet stumbling and stumbling, falling and falling…nothing…
Creak creak, creak creak. I rock back and forth upon the rocking chair, my gnarled fingers clutching the solid wood in a bountiful attempt to somehow control my existence. Since the dreaded fall, oh so long ago, which paralysed me from the shoulders down, I have been confined to my chair. Stuck in a bout of time. I peer out of my window from watering blue eyes, my hair resting warmly against my shoulders, and I ignore the stones thrown against my window, the taunts and shouts from below. I focus on the young girl with transcendent locks and a white coat, and try to warn her, yet no sound can escape my lips. I shake my hair and dry my tears, passing my days in the only way I can- rocking back and forth, back and forth. Creak creak, creak creak.