Web Master

He led her to a picture perfect representation of your stereotypical haunted house. Run down and derelict. Even the weather was causing a kind of ground fog that added to the spooky vibe. So why then did she follow him side?

The air was musty, and everything was covered in a blanket of dust, giving the impression that no one had lived here for years. The ceiling was covered in what at first looked like cob webs, but they were damp and in clumps like seaweed. The place sent a shiver down her spine.

“Are we supposed to be here?” she asked with nervous suspicion.

“Of course,” he replied whilst gesturing with his hands and bending his fingers.

At first she was unsure as to what he was doing, but it wasn’t long before she noticed the ceiling webs moving to his commands. They were dropping in long strands, then making their way back up again.

“Okay you’re freaking me out now,” she said turning for the door. “I’m going to leave.”

With a swift downward swipe a large clump of the wet unknown mass fell upon her knocking her to the floor. He stood over her smiling, moving his hands so as to control in some way the heavy weight that was pinning her down.

“What are you doing? Please! Let me go!”

“I can’t do that,” he replied with a sinister tone. “The family are yet to dine.”

No sooner had the words left his lips, he gestured to the ceiling once more. A large beetle type insect began to lower itself upon a strand of the web moving to the commands being given until it was lingering an inch above her right inner thigh. The short skirt she was wearing offering ample amounts of exposed flesh.

“Why?” she cried out. “Why are you doing this to me?”

With a snap of his fingers, the beetle lowered the final distance, sinking its twitching mandibles into her skin causing her to scream out in searing pain. No sooner had it bitten, he gestured for it to return to the ceiling once more.

Within minutes the wound began swell, blisting with a milky white fluid clearly visible beneath. The same milky white as the wet clumps on the ceiling. Moments later the wound exploded sending a stream of the web like strands up onto the ceiling, also causing her to scream in pain once more.

“Embrace it,” he smiled. “Your sacrifice is giving birth to new life.”

Her screams became much louder, much more full of fear as she could do nothing but watch as another beetle began to descend towards her face.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Word/Genre Challenge #6

The word for this challenge was:
Tongs, and genre: Sci-Fi.

“Romeo Oscar One Five, do you receive, over?”

The intercom returned nothing but silence, just as it had done every time the same question had been asked for what had been a hour.

RO15, less formally known as Research Officer Jacqueline Miles, had transported aboard the strange floating ship escorted by a security team in the hopes of discovering if, or what, occupied the vessel. Attempts at communicating proved unsuccessful.

The information reported back, up until the point of radio silence, had been that the ship had been abandoned, with all escape pods deployed, though there was an uneasy sense of not being alone.

“Romeo Oscar One Five, do you receive, over?”

Several minutes past in silence, until a definite buzz of interference came of the intercom. Again the question was asked,

“Romeo Oscar One Five, do you receive, over?”

Another more sustained buzz replied, this time however, interjected with a croaky gargling female voice.

“Capsule…..fluorescent glow…..closer examination…..tongs smashed it…..unleashed a ghost.”

“Romeo Oscar One Five, can you repeat. Communications breaking up. Did you find something?”

“It’s found…..”

What followed was a horrifying scream, the last communication with RO15, Jacqueline Miles.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Word/Genre Challenge #2

I opened up to my FB friends and family once again to offer me a single object and a genre in which to fit it in. Second up:

‘Jellyfish’ in paranormal genre.

“So you say you’re being haunted by a creature that floats in midair, with long tendrals hanging from a gelatinous disc like body!”

“Exactly,” confirmed Mr Habernathy, physically shaking. “It appears from nowhere, its long snake like arms, or legs, seem to want to latch onto my head. Probably wanting to feed on my brain.”

The witch hunter quickly flicked through pages of an old worn tome, stopping only when he’d found the required page.

“Quite so it would seem. Come along, we must not dawdle.”

Mr Habernathy stood startled and still shaking, “You are going to exercise it right?”

“On the contrary my good man, we’re going to feed it.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The jellyfish like entity, or Mind Flayer as they’re referred to in arcane writings, was exactly where Mr Habernathy had last seen it, floating above his cooking pot warming itself on the flickering flames.

“Oh you’re a beauty!” gasped the Witch Hunter in awe. He approached cautiously, removing his hat in the process.

Long tendrals began to reach out as he got near, clamping down as he allowed them to touch his head. Once connected, the once translucent feelers began to shimmer an iridescent cacophony of colours.

Several seconds later and the entity disappeared, leaving the Witch Hunter stood motionless, eyes dormant of any emotion.

“Are you okay?” called out Mr Habernathy, who had been hiding, but watching from the otherside of the partially open door.

“Quite,” came the reply. “And you would be? In fact, where am I, and what’s that above your head?”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Within Dark Shadows

Her almost whispered calls 
Break the silence of the night 
The scent of sweet perfume 
Carries gently upon the breeze 
And yet she herself 
Remains shrouded within the night 

Like the spider on a web 
She waits to lure her prey 
That one hapless soul 
The stories haven’t reached 
Tales written in the lore’s of time 
Warning of such as her 

And there will be one too 
Following the haunting sound of her voice 
Filled with curiosity to venture 
Deep within the dark city shadows 
And just as the cat in stories old 
They shall never see another day

Copyright: authorchrisbrown 

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Night Visit

First, there was nothing.

Then there was pain, like a knife cutting deep into the very fabric of my chest and moving down towards my stomach. My eyes flung themselves open but I could see nothing. Everything was black.

I felt my insides being twisted and pulled, as if my very core was being removed by unseen hands. The pain was now unbearable and my eyes closed drifting me away to nothing.

Time passed in limbo, feeling and sensing nothing. Then my eyes opened.

I was in bed, in my room. Just as I remember before falling asleep. There were remnants of sweat on my brow and a dull ache in my chest. I looked down to see nothing but a very fine scar, about the width of a hair running the full length of my body.

What had happened? How had it happened? Was I awake in a dream or dead and remembering? Outside it was still dark, and I’ve never been more afraid of it than I was right then.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Old times sake

Tom began to rouse from his slumber conscious of a weight bearing down upon the lower half of his body, and a slight searing pain across his chest as if sharp manicured nails were being dragged across it. He tried to bring his hands up to his eyes so as to wipe the sleep away, but found them restrained making them impossible to move. The more he tried to open his eyes and adjust to the light, he found all he could see was darkness.

“Blindfold eh?” he said, smiling broadly. “Kinky!”

The pain to his chest increased, and although just about enjoyable, it made him wince that little bit more. As he did so, the weight shifted in a rise and fall motion causing him to become almost instantly aroused. Faster and faster the tempo increased until he could resist no longer. Arching his back he groaned loudly as he allowed himself to let go.

A voice whispered sofly, almost at a whisper. “You were amazing,” before trailing off into nothing. The weight had vanished, his arms could move again and sight returned to his eyes.

Tom looked over to his wife to find her blissfully asleep, the duvet tucked tightly around her. “What the fuck?” he whispered, rubbing at his chest. It felt wet, yet warm to the touch. Curious he made his way to the bathroom to investigate. It was blood, his blood, and it was smeared across his chest. Hastily he looked at himself in the mirror. There across his chest were four words deeply engraved.

“For Old Times’ Sake”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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An early Halloween tale

“All Hallows’ Eve. Ghosts and goblins my arse! Any of those little bastards come knocking on my door and I’ll show them the true horror of Halloween.”

Tom Rankin lived a solitary life, never venturing further than the threshold of his own front door due to his loathing of interaction with others. Ever since he was persecuted as a child for allowing the class hamster to die whilst in his care, he has shunned any form of social interaction. Some say he keeps the stuffed animal on the hearth above his fireplace; however this isn’t true, and the whispered assumptions only add fuel to his hatred towards others. It is in fact pickled in a jar that sits on his bookcase.

He stood watching hatefully out through a narrow slit in the curtains, waiting for any poor unsuspecting child to wander up his garden path uttering those blood curdling words, “Trick or Treat”

* * * *

“Why did you have to bring your brother? He’s getting way more candy that we are!”

“I know, but my mom forced me.”

The three boys, dressed in makeshift ghost costumes from old sheets with holes cut out for eyes, worked their way from house to house in a bid to collect as much candy as they could possibly fit into their pillow cases. The trouble was, one of the three was smaller and used sticks to walk on account of his knees pointing inwards. He also had a curve to his spine causing him to always look like he was bending over. The other two boys believed this was the reason he was getting more candy than them, sympathy.

“Hey I know why don’t we get your brother to knock on scary old man Tom’s door? Bet you he won’t!”

“He’s retarded, not stupid!”

“Then I’ll dare him, no double dare him.”

Unseen by the arguing ghosts, a young boy covered by an old white sheet took his first awkward stick assisted steps up the path to Tom Rankin’s door.

* * * *

Tom watched from his concealed vantage spot behind the curtains muttering to himself,

“The little bastard!”

He ran to the front door in readiness of the inevitable knock that would shatter the peace and quiet he coveted so dearly.

Pressing his eye up against the spy hole, he waited, and waited. The young boy wasn’t the fastest of walkers at the best of times, and to be hampered by the covering sheet only slowed him further. It was much like the speed at which pumpkins are sold after Halloween.

Eventually there came the sound he’d been waiting for,

“Knock knock!” went stick on wood. “Trick or Treat” called a young male voice from the other side of the closed door.

The door flung open instantly and a deafening roar, so loud it stopped two ghosts who had been previously arguing in their tracks, erupted from the dark shadows from within the house.

“Cool roar Mr Rankin!” said the small child in front of him.

“That didn’t scare you? How did that not SCARE you?”

“Because it’s Halloween, everyone tries to be scary. Yours was a good roar though. Trick or Treat?”

“How about this?” he said stepping out of the shadows. “Does THIS scare you?”

The small child strained his head up from his usual downward gaze so as to see exactly what was supposed to be so scary, it was the face of a man that for so long had not been looked upon by another living soul. It stared at the boy with eyes full of hatred, teeth yellow and stained gritted through a snarl formed by dry chapped lips.

“Awesome makeup Mr Rankin!” the boy began excitedly. “But no, not scary,” he finished in a dry unimpressed monotone voice, his gaze returning back to the path below his feet.

* * * *

“What, is, he, doing?!” exclaimed one of the two ghosts that had been previously arguing, their full attention now locked on the youngest ghost stood talking to whoever was on the other side of the open door.

“I don’t know, but it looks like he’s talking to someone,“ said the other.

The two boys moved inch by inch closer to see if they could get a better look at who it was the younger boy was talking to. Given that stories were rife about Tom Rankin being either a cannibal or vampire, the nervousness they portrayed was understandable, and yet the prospect of actually seeing with their own eyes the enigma that was Mr Rankin, they continued to subconsciously shuffle forward towards his door.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“The price of cheese perhaps?” He punched his friend in the arm. “How the hell should I know?”

There ensued a flurry of exchanged punches between the two of them, distracting them just long enough so as to fail noticing the youngest ghost wander into the house and for the door to then shut behind him.

* * * *

Tom guided the young child from the shadows of the hallway into a candle lit room off to the right. It was filled with a plethora of antiquated furniture and curiosities, all of which were covered with a layer of dust only marginally younger than the items it covered.

“Young man you intrigue me. First you walk where others fear to tread, and then you gaze upon a face without being filled horror that I myself have become fearful of looking at. How?”

The young boy struggled momentarily to remove the old sheet that made up his Halloween ghost costume. Once free he paused and looked up at Mr Rankin,

“For most of my life people feared I would never walk. Now I can, why would I allow fear from preventing me walking somewhere? As for your looks, spending most of my day looking at the ground beneath my feet anything I choose to look upon I do in wonder and awe.”

Tom sat himself down in his favourite armchair,

“That is a rather complex physiological outlook for one so young. With an outlook on life such as yours, you’ll grow to be an astute member of society.”

The young boy returned his gaze back to the floor, trying hard to conceal the tears that had begun to form in his eyes.

“I should be going,” he spluttered as he stutteringly moved his way back into the hall.

“Why are you crying?”

Now out of the house and with Tom hiding once more hiding in the shadows, the young boy lifted his head once more,

“We are very much alike Mr Rankin. We are both looked upon by others as different, and yet I pity you.”

“You pity me?”

“Yes. We may both be shunned, but unlike you, I choose to battle the demons in others and do my utmost to adapt to the world around me. You Mr Rankin, you hide from the world and have allowed the demons that were once others become your own.”

For a moment there was silence as the young boy returned to his brother and friend, but was then shattered by a booming voice from within the house,

“AND STAY AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!”

The door slammed shut almost shaking it from its hinges. The young boy refused to speak of what he’d seen behind that door, nor did he again visit the house. Mr Rankin returned to his armchair with one thought pulsing through his thoughts.

“It must be a heavy head to carry, being so wise and yet so young.”

* * * *

There have been rumours that Mr Rankin had taken to venturing outside his house under the dead of night, but these remain unconfirmed. As for the young boy who once dressed as a ghost, he still hasn’t spoken of that night nor has he returned to the door of Mr Tom Rankin.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown 

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The Lake

The idea seemed like a good one. The night was still as hot as it had been during the day, so a chance to cool off with a late night in the lake appealed greatly. The three brothers headed off quietly and quickly so as their parents wouldn’t have a chance to stop them. Parents always had a way of spoiling fun.

The sound of the water lapping against the rocks could be heard from a good distance as they walked along the dusty track, but there was another noise mingling with it that couldn’t be recognized. They approached at a cautious pace.

The closer they got, it became clear there was a strange almost glowing fog lingering over the water and the strange sound was that of blades on ice. It was coming from a strange couple seemingly ice-skating across the unfrozen lake. They were dressed in what the boys thought were victorian attire and they were mesmerized they their ethereal presence.

The two skaters continued their dance across the lake until they were but a few feet from the three brothers. The pair looked straight at them and where a smile first graced their ghostly faces, it soon turned to sneers bearing fangs like small sharp daggers and their appearance in turn changed to haggard rags.

Snapping immediately from their trance, the three brothers screamed in terror and fled for their lives. They never returned to the lake, neither by day or night, nor did they speak to others about what they had seen. It was a secret they carried with them always.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Night of its Return 

I had just started to remember

What it was to fall asleep

To rest through till morning

Without interruptions

With no reasons to being scared

But just as sleep was taking me

I felt again the gentle pull upon the sheet

Then that touch upon my leg

Cold and vice like in its grasp

All I could do was scream to let me go

Trembling full of fear

I thought this nightmare had been over

But once again it had returned

The bruises around my ankle

Proof this was never just in my head

Copyright: authorchrisbrown 

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