Tales of Terror

[.: Meri :.]

​

Spoiler: Lullaby

Bertha beamed as she held up her new music box. It was handmade, carved from a pretty, light-colored wood. The lid was even delicately painted with an elegant floral design and a violin. ‘I’m so happy I moved to this island.’ She’d already made so many new friends, and while she’d thought for a while that their island representative hated her, this proved her worries wrong.

Like her, he was probably just shy, and struggled talking to new people. She was afraid she’d upset him somehow, but if he was mad at her, or hated her even, then there was no way he’d make a beautiful gift like this for her.

She set it down on her nightstand and carefully wound it before opening the lid. The gentle notes of K.K. Lullaby met her ears. It was already pretty late anyway—she grabbed a nice book and decided to wind down with it and her new music box (just for a little while) before she went to sleep.


She woke up in a cold sweat the next morning. ‘It was just a dream, just a dream—’ she reassured herself. She didn’t normally remember her dreams, but the thought of her dream-self being chased by a scorpion was still fresh in her mind. Her legs were so slow and so heavy, then she’d tripped, and—

Bertha shook her head and took a few deep breaths. As she exhaled, she heard a faint noise, like a series of light, rapid taps on the floor. She froze. The sound was so quiet she wasn’t sure she heard it at all, and it was silent now. ‘Relax, it’s just your nerves...’ She turned to hop out of bed only to hear the faint tapping again. It sounded like it was coming from underneath her.

Her heart raced again. Swallowing, she leaned over the edge of her bed, and there in the shadows was an even darker silhouette. She squinted, unable to make out exactly what it was.

The silhouette hissed, and now she could clearly make out the shape of pincers and a stinger raised menacingly.

She screamed and bolted upright, pulling her covers up to her face. ‘I need to get out of here, but I can’t get out of bed with it under there! What do I do?!’

Her answer came from her front door as her neighbor, Tom, flung it open. “Bertha?! What’s wrong?!”

“U-under my bed, there’s…!” she stammered, and right on cue, the scorpion skittered out into the open. Tom spotted it instantly and narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, so you wanna mess with my neighbor, huh, you little punk?!” Tom whipped out his net. Accepting his challenge, the scorpion hissed and charged. Bertha covered her eyes with a yelp, unable to watch. Furniture crashed, there was more hissing, and finally—"Gotcha, you creepy jerk!”

Bertha peeked out from between her hooves. Tom brandished the captured scorpion in victory from atop her tipped-over couch. She sighed in relief.

“Alright, Bertha, I’m gonna go hand this trespasser off to the Nooklings, so he won’t be bothering you anymore. Take care now!”

Bertha called out her thanks as he headed out. “I must’ve heard it moving around last night, and I guess it made it into my dreams…” she murmured to herself. Just to be safe, she glanced under her bed for any other unwanted guests before making breakfast.


She wanted to thank their representative again for her lovely gift, but no one had seen him all day. ‘I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll just thank him tomorrow.’ Night had fallen again, and her mind couldn’t help but wander back to the scorpion. She checked around her bed (and even under her pillow) just to be safe, then wound up her music box. With nothing but a peaceful lullaby and warm thoughts of a new friend in her head, the night would surely be kinder to her.

An uncomfortable heat and bright light roused her from her slumber. The sounds of K.K. Lullaby were replaced with crackling and snapping, and as Bertha opened her eyes, she was overcome with horror.

Her home was engulfed in flames.

Fire cut across the carpet in front of her as she tried to run to her door. She spun around, looking for another way out, but the thick smoke made it hard to see anything. She heard panicked voices outside and tried to call for help, but her lungs only filled with more smoke. She fell to her knees, coughing, desperately trying to get enough air to just call out to them…

She gasped and was suddenly back in her normal room. In fact, she was still in bed. ‘...Another dream?’ The only bright light was the sun shining through her window, and the air… smelt a little like smoke.

Now fully awake, she looked for the source of the smell. There on her coffee table was a fallen candle, still lit, the wood beneath it blackening. Grabbing her pillow, she dove for her table. Smothered by the pillow and the weight of a hippopotamus, the small fire died instantly.

“This is… getting kinda weird now…” she whimpered.

Before she knew it, she was standing outside their representative’s door. She didn’t want to seem unappreciative, but...

Hesitantly, she knocked.

No response.

She tried a few more times to no avail. ‘He’s probably just out somewhere. I’ll run into him at some point.’


…No one saw him that day either.

Now when she looked at her music box, she could only think of fire and scorpions. ‘I’m probably being silly, but… I think I won’t listen to it tonight.’ Leaving the box untouched, she let the crickets outside sing her to sleep.

It was still dark when she awoke from a dreamless slumber. Louder than the crickets outside was the soft melody of the music box. She slammed the lid shut, and the familiar lullaby it played for her was cut short.

“Okay, there’s no way I’m sleeping near this thing anymore!” Bertha shoved the music box into her bag and ran outside. She knocked on their representative’s door again and again, but only silence answered her.

Her chest tight with panic, she hurried to Tom’s house and banged on his door. Immediately there was a startled yelp from inside, followed by faint grumbling and the sound of an object crashing to the floor. Tom angrily muttered something she couldn’t make out. Finally, the door opened. “Urgh… what is it?” he grumbled and rubbed his eyes.

“I-I think my music box is cursed… my nightmares keep coming true, and I wasn’t going to listen to it tonight, but it started playing by itself, and…” Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued, until she couldn’t take it anymore and broke down sobbing. Tom looked panicked.

“Agh, stop cryin’, it’s okay, it’s okay—we’ll figure something out, okay?!”


A cup of tea later, Bertha felt calmer and began to discuss the music box with Tom again.

“Gaah, I don’t remember what you’re supposed to do with cursed objects… burn ‘em? Hit ‘em with an axe a buncha times? …Or is that just gonna release whatever’s in this thing?” Tom eyed the music box, now sitting on his table, with suspicion.

“Wh-what are we gonna do?” Bertha whimpered.

Tom took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m gonna stay up with this thing and make sure it doesn’t try anything funny. You’re going to go home and get some sleep. Assumin’ you don’t have any more weird dreams—and if you do, call me, or Isabelle, anybody—then we’re gonna take it to Katrina first thing in the morning and ask her what to do.”

“O-okay,” Bertha set the cup down and started to leave, “be careful, Tom.”

“Don’t you worry about me, kiddo! Ain’t no way I’m gonna lose to some dinky little music box in a fight.”

Her walk home was uneventful despite her fears. She crawled back into bed, pulled the covers over her, and closed her eyes again. Though her mind was full of worries, all of it was soon enveloped in a lilac mist and a soothing scent.

Bertha woke up somewhere else, somewhere hazy beneath a sky full of stars. An elegant and oddly familiar tapir stood nearby. Though Bertha felt like she knew her from somewhere, she couldn’t remember from where exactly.

“Welcome back, Bertha. I was beginning to worry—you have not visited the dream world in a few nights. I hope you are not neglecting sleep,” Luna says.

“Um, your name is… Luna, right?” Bertha asked based on a feeling, and the tapir nodded. “I’ve been sleeping, but I keep having nightmares that manifest in real life. I think it’s because of this music box someone gave me…”

“I see… if your dreams are not truly your own, that would explain why I have not seen you here. Would you like my assistance? If you visit this music box here with me in your dreams, I would be happy to consume the source of these nightmares.”

Bertha didn’t entirely understand what she meant, but didn’t question it further. “If you don’t mind, then… please.”

“Very well. Please allow your thoughts to focus on the music box… what it means to you… where you last left it…” Luna’s voice sounded farther and farther away, and Bertha closed her eyes.

When she opened them a moment later, they were in Tom’s house. “Huh–wha—Bertha? Luna?! Oh, don’t tell me I went and conked out after talkin’ all big…!” Tom began, but the music box interrupted him. Its lid opened, and a slow, distorted version of K.K. Lullaby began to play.

Luna smiled softly. “I will take things from here. The two of you may not remember this tomorrow… but you may rest assured that this music box will not trouble you again.”

Bertha’s surroundings faded around her, and the sound of the music box grew distant, until she was left in quiet darkness.


She woke up the next morning to birdsong and early morning light. She felt more rested than she had in days, and like before she received the music box, it had been a dreamless sleep. She got ready and went to see Tom.


The two of them stared down at the music box.

“Y’know… for some reason, it’s not creepin’ me out like it was yesterday,” Tom crossed his arms.

“Yeah, I get what you mean… the air around it feels lighter, almost.”

“…You still wanna take it to Katrina?”

“I know we probably should, but… I don’t know. It’s like… in my heart, I feel like it’s not necessary anymore.”

“Sooo… if the curse is broken now, d’you still want it?”

Bertha shook her head vigorously. “Oh heavens no.”

“Well, in that case…” Tom took the music box outside. He set it down in the grass a small distance away from his house, and pulled out his axe.


From then on, Bertha enjoyed peaceful, dreamless nights, just as she had before. Though she never got to ask their island representative why he gave her that music box… she had a bad feeling she already knew the answer.

She wasn’t really familiar with the subject (except from what she’d read in fantasy novels), but it seemed to her that meddling with curses would be a dangerous thing. She hoped their representative was okay, wherever he was, but…

…he never did show back up.

 

[Yanrima~]

Here's my entry which is written in the style of a typical creepypasta, enjoy!

The Cursed Video Game called "Super Tortimer".​

To the one who reads my notes here, let me tell you that my name is Marshal and I have to break the curse that this wretched game has casted upon me. No matter how hard I want to beat the game, the game just wants me to lose. No matter how skillful I got, the levels became harder and impossible to beat. It is like the developers of this game hated my guts. I began losing myself into the cruel world that this game have brought me. I have lost my grip on what I hold dear.

All that I remember now is that I went to Re-Tail a few years ago, I was looking for some games to play on my hand-me-down console. Video games were too expensive for me back then, so I resorted into buying secondhand items at Re-Tail. That changed when I saw a game cartridge that is just priced at 100 bells. It's like there is hope for me to afford video games. It's like paradise.

100 bells for a single game cartridge? What a steal!

The game cartridge looked normal, except the tape that was written "Super Tortimer" over the colorful, yet faded sticker label. I have 500 bells at that time and I have 100 bells to spare for the game, the rest of the 400 bells went into paying Tom Nook's loan and groceries. I proceeded to buy the secondhand game and went up to Reese for payment. Reese looks mildly concerned yet intrigued about my purchase.

"That's "Super Tortimer". I've heard that the game is extremely impossible to beat that the game itself was "cursed" because of the impossible difficulty that no one had beaten the game and most of them are driven mad. Are you sure with your purchase?"

Being as desperate as I wanted a new game to play within my budget, I responded in confirmation:

"Of course I'm sure, I don't care about the silly curse legends. I just wanted a new game to play!"

Reese became convinced about my determination, I handed her 100 bells and she gave me the purchased game. I thanked her and left the store along with the newly bought game.

I went back to my house with all the groceries and a copy of "Super Tortimer" in my hand. I was tired from walking outside to shop, so I booted up my console. I popped in the cartridge and the title screen popped up. The game looks harmless, I don't see what's cursed about it. Of course, that was just my first impression of the game before the inevitable.

I created a new save file and started the game. The game's levels in the beginning were relatively tame, I cleared each and every level in the first four worlds in a breeze. Only for the game to increase its difficulty around world 5, I began my focus with tension as I perform precision jumps in each platform. Each and every move became crucial like I was fighting for my life. World 6 is where things go on a downward spiral for me. The levels became extremely difficult and the platform layout became randomized instead of the scripted levels as seen in the first four worlds. As the levels get harder, it became more frequent that I fail the level because of the miscalculated jumps, randomized platforms, or randomized level design. Because of these circumstances, I became enraged but determined to beat the game. With each and every retry, I failed in every single attempt. I wanted to beat the game so bad, I have lost countless hours of sleep. As hours passed, I soon felt the need to sleep but there's nothing in my mind than the fact that I have to clear the level.

"C'MON GAME, JUST LET ME FINISH THE LEVEL!!!!" I yelled.

It was Four in the morning, yet I still can't get through the level. I began cursing the game, and it's randomized levels. My hatred for the game grew into a grudge that won't leave me. I tried smashing the controller, but my inner conscience told me that it won't do any good because I might lose the controller in the process.

Later at five in the morning, my sleepiness soon caught up with my pent-up stress from trying to beat a single level. My eyes grew weary and I soon headed to bed. It was Saturday in the morning and it was my day off. Because of that, I soon let go of my stress knowing that I don't have to worry about work. When I slept, I began dreaming about being in a Super Tortimer level...That is if it was a dream to begin with. It wasn't a dream, but a nightmare. In that nightmare, I was attempting to go from one platform to another. Only for me to fall of the ledge of the platform. The fall felt so real that I slept on the floor.

It was nine in the morning, I woke up on the floor. I can't stop thinking about the game so I went to the computer search up information on how to beat the game as a last resort. So, I went up on my chair and began searching up more information about Super Tortimer. There wasn't much search results or no complete playthroughs for the title so I resorted to logging in forums. I posted a discussion thread about Super Tortimer. Surprisingly, the reply posts popped up in no time. One of the replies went into detail about the game:

"I've heard that Super Tortimer is a game that is released in 1993 that is said to revolutionize the game difficulty and the level change depending on the player's skill. Although, the game's reputation didn't last as there were cases of game players driven mad that they lose past memories or they have bad luck inflicted onto them which resulted in losing streaks whenever the players compete in competitions. Because of the complaints, the game company pulled the game out of shelves and recall any remaining copies in 1994. Most of the copies were destroyed, yet only the few 3 copies survive."

I typed in the reply, saying that I own a copy of the game. Knowing of that information, the user warned that I shouldn't play that game too much. It was at that time, that I ignore their advice and became more intrigued about the game. I need to know why the game is "cursed". I have to know. At the same time, I have to beat the game. I have to tame this beast of a game.

I proceeded to boot up the game and the save file again, I became more determined than ever to clear the harder levels. I have spent countless hours trying to perform precision jumping and platforming tricks. I was almost at the end of the level, but the game finds a way to stop me from reaching the end. The moment of rage returned to me from last night. The very thought of stress over a game haunts me. It's like I want to beat the game, and I also felt like I was "cursed" in a way. The cursed game destroyed my life, I have lost my grip with reality. Hours later, I finally made it to the homestretch. As soon as I reach the end checkpoint, the game glitched. And my mind went blank as a result.

I was hopeless.

I can't beat the game, I have lost my enjoyment in playing the game. I began questioning where did I go wrong. I felt like redemption and a chance to return to normal is out of reach. My eyes closed again, and I was in a dream once more. The dream was just a vast body of water with the sky as bright and hopeful as the end of the game.

A voice of a bearded man with a blue hat suddenly reached out to me:

"Young one, you must let go of your anger. And seal away the cursed game for good. The only way to break its curse is to seal away the game to the wishing well. Meet me there once you've wake up."

The voice resonated with me so I fell into deep sleep. Later, I woke up remembering what the mysterious man said in a dream. Because of the words, I went to dress up and head out with the cursed game in my hand. Then, I reached the place which was the wishing well. The well is basically a mossy fountain in front of an old, huge tree. I proceeded dropped 1 bell in the well, only for the bearded man from the dream to appear.

"Ah, young one. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Farley and I'm here to help you break the curse. I was the one who reached you in a dream. I've witness your determination, but I must steer your determination into the right direction. I've witness your resolve in taming such curses. But, this curse is too much for you to handle."

I began to understand the grave consequences of tempting fate. I understand now that this curse is a far greater one than what I've thought. I nodded in agreement with Farley, so I handed over the cursed game onto his hands. Farley became determined to break the curse.

"Stand back, young one! My power can destroy curses but it is dangerous for a mortal animal like you to handle."

I obeyed his orders and stood away from the cursed game. Farley raised his staff and the glowing aura soon surrounded him. The game cartridge's dark aura started emerging. But, Farley's purification magic began cleansing the curse. The light blinds the forest with the glow that curses have feared. The curse was soon lifted from me, Farley shouted:

"Begone, cursed game! You shall not harm anyone who played the game anymore!"

The pillars of light surrounded the cartridge, creating a barrier that contained the curses. The orbs of light began dissolving the game, one by one. It is like the curse is truly lifted and I was purified. Later, I was a bit exhausted so I laid down on the tree. Farley went and sit down beside me. I thanked him for saving me. I wanted to do something for him in return so I went back to make a meal for him. Later, both Farley and I share a few stories and I brought my meal to share with him. I was happy that I met him in a dream.

Years later, I got a better paying job and paid all the loans. But, I still visit Farley in his wishing well. And we became good friends despite having bad memories about the cursed game. I have learned my lesson in which I got what I paid for.

The most memorable moment is the fact that Farley brought me a brand new game to play. It was a calming video game this time.


word count: 1,862

 

[LadyDestani]

Does this mean that I can’t write a story heavily inspired by true events?

Hi @Muna!

First and foremost, this is a creative writing event, which means I would expect fictional creations and/or embellishments to be included in your completed story. However, many writers, including myself, draw upon real life as a source of inspiration, so you won't be penalized or disqualified for using some grains of truth.

An example might be a family heirloom passed down through generations that always felt creepy to you. If you wanted to write a story about that very real item and embellish its effects to create the curse, that would be acceptable.

Referencing an existing item that is widely known and rumored to be cursed would not be acceptable. If you have additional questions or want to run a specific scenario by me, feel free to PM me!

 

[BetsySundrop]

Also, is the wordcount website making fun of me??

sob I tried my best ok? xD

No, the site explains it somewhere. It's the reading level that is recommended for the reader of your story. No reflection on your writing skills at all - which are awesome btw. I love your story!

 

[Firesquids]

Gather around the campfire friends, and make yourselves comfortable while I will regale you with a frightening tale of intrigue!

There was a strange energy on the wind that night as two young friends had decided to go on a camping trip to a nearby abandoned island. They approached the foggy beach and hauled their small boat inland. After some time they found a nice flat spot on the edge of the woods to make camp for the night.
“I’ll set up the tent.” one of the children proclaimed, “You go search for some firewood.”
Reluctantly the second child agreed, “Fine, but I don’t know why we didn’t just bring firewood with us”
“Because it would have taken up too much space on the boat, besides, gathering firewood is one of the best parts of camping, I’d do it myself but I wouldn't want to take that from you. It’s already getting dark, you’d better hurry!”
The child was not happy about venturing out alone into the woods, but they were even more apprehensive of a night without a fire, so they set off. They made their way through the increasingly thick trees as the sounds of clanking tent poles faded into the distance. They gathered a number of small twigs, but were not able to find any substantial pieces of wood nearby, so they begrudgingly trudged on into the thicket. Soon they came upon a bundle of small sticks, “That’ll make good tinder” they thought. The twigs were held together by thin mossy strands, it was impossible to tell if it was the creation of man, or had been naturally formed. A closer look revealed that it appeared to be in the form of a small doll, resembling their friend back at the campsite. “Huh” they briefly mused, and without another thought, they tucked it under their arm with the rest of the twigs, and ventured onward. By this point the fog had grown so incredibly thick that it had become very difficult to see trees that were only a few feet ahead of them, and the child had tripped over so many roots and rocks that they no longer knew which way they had come from. Their stomach ached and rumbled “Just great. Now I have no idea where I am and I’m starting to get hungry, I knew this was a bad idea”. They searched around for any landmarks they had passed to orient themself, but no matter which direction they turned, nothing looked familiar. Their mind wandered to their favorite dish, mom’s homemade stew and suddenly they could smell it! They were so hungry and disoriented that the thought never crossed their mind that maybe they shouldn’t be following strange scents in the woods. Maybe it was their friend and the smell could lead them back to the campsite! So follow the scent they did. Soon they could see a halo of warm light in the distance, maybe their friend had grown impatient of their return and had been able to find some wood for the fire! “Great! They got the fire and dinner started!” The child quickened their pace, the promise of a warm fire and hearty stew was too much to resist, and it smelled so good! In their haste, the child’s foot caught up on yet another tree root and they fell to the ground, their gathered twigs scattered ahead of them, and the strange twig doll rolled away, stopping when it hit the base of a tree. They quickly grabbed the twigs they could see, reached for the doll, and then paused when they saw it. Something was different, the doll no longer resembled their friend, but now looked eerily similar to themself. A chill ran down the child’s spine, “I need to get out of here!” they panicked. They started sprinting toward the light in the distance but quickly noticed that it was getting closer unusually fast, the light was not their campsite after all, and it was coming for them! They child switched directions, now heading away from the light as fast as they could, but to no avail, the fog around them grew brighter with each step. The smell on the air that had been so appetizing before had been growing stronger and stronger, to the point where it was overwhelming, and started to turn sour and rancid. “there’s no need to be scared” a small voice whispered, the child grimaced and looked down at the doll within their gasp “you’ll be with your friend soon!”. They screamed and threw the doll back at the light behind them and bolted off into the darkness. Somehow they made it to the tree line and could just make out the fabric of the tent laying flat in a clearing, no sign of their friend anywhere. They ran straight past it and to the boat, desperately tugging it back to the shore and hopped aboard. They were out on the water before they dared turn around to see the faint light fading back into the woods. In the morning they worked up the courage to return to where the island was, but nothing was there. They were sure this is where they had sailed to the previous night, but there was no sign of land, or their friend anywhere. All they managed to find was the strange doll floating in the water.

Spoiler

Just to be clear, the doll is not possessed, it is a lure through which the unknown entity disorients and tracks their prey.

Post automatically merged: Oct 28, 2024

Gather around the campfire friends, and make yourselves comfortable while I will regale you with a frightening tale of intrigue!

There was a strange energy on the wind that night as two young friends had decided to go on a camping trip to a nearby abandoned island. They approached the foggy beach and hauled their small boat inland. After some time they found a nice flat spot on the edge of the woods to make camp for the night.
“I’ll set up the tent.” one of the children proclaimed, “You go search for some firewood.”
Reluctantly the second child agreed, “Fine, but I don’t know why we didn’t just bring firewood with us”
“Because it would have taken up too much space on the boat, besides, gathering firewood is one of the best parts of camping, I’d do it myself but I wouldn't want to take that from you. It’s already getting dark, you’d better hurry!”
The child was not happy about venturing out alone into the woods, but they were even more apprehensive of a night without a fire, so they set off. They made their way through the increasingly thick trees as the sounds of clanking tent poles faded into the distance. They gathered a number of small twigs, but were not able to find any substantial pieces of wood nearby, so they begrudgingly trudged on into the thicket. Soon they came upon a bundle of small sticks, “That’ll make good tinder” they thought. The twigs were held together by thin mossy strands, it was impossible to tell if it was the creation of man, or had been naturally formed. A closer look revealed that it appeared to be in the form of a small doll, resembling their friend back at the campsite. “Huh” they briefly mused, and without another thought, they tucked it under their arm with the rest of the twigs, and ventured onward. By this point the fog had grown so incredibly thick that it had become very difficult to see trees that were only a few feet ahead of them, and the child had tripped over so many roots and rocks that they no longer knew which way they had come from. Their stomach ached and rumbled “Just great. Now I have no idea where I am and I’m starting to get hungry, I knew this was a bad idea”. They searched around for any landmarks they had passed to orient themself, but no matter which direction they turned, nothing looked familiar. Their mind wandered to their favorite dish, mom’s homemade stew and suddenly they could smell it! They were so hungry and disoriented that the thought never crossed their mind that maybe they shouldn’t be following strange scents in the woods. Maybe it was their friend and the smell could lead them back to the campsite! So follow the scent they did. Soon they could see a halo of warm light in the distance, maybe their friend had grown impatient of their return and had been able to find some wood for the fire! “Great! They got the fire and dinner started!” The child quickened their pace, the promise of a warm fire and hearty stew was too much to resist, and it smelled so good! In their haste, the child’s foot caught up on yet another tree root and they fell to the ground, their gathered twigs scattered ahead of them, and the strange twig doll rolled away, stopping when it hit the base of a tree. They quickly grabbed the twigs they could see, reached for the doll, and then paused when they saw it. Something was different, the doll no longer resembled their friend, but now looked eerily similar to themself. A chill ran down the child’s spine, “I need to get out of here!” they panicked. They started sprinting toward the light in the distance but quickly noticed that it was getting closer unusually fast, the light was not their campsite after all, and it was coming for them! They child switched directions, now heading away from the light as fast as they could, but to no avail, the fog around them grew brighter with each step. The smell on the air that had been so appetizing before had been growing stronger and stronger, to the point where it was overwhelming, and started to turn sour and rancid. “there’s no need to be scared” a small voice whispered, the child grimaced and looked down at the doll within their gasp “you’ll be with your friend soon!”. They screamed and threw the doll back at the light behind them and bolted off into the darkness. Somehow they made it to the tree line and could just make out the fabric of the tent laying flat in a clearing, no sign of their friend anywhere. They ran straight past it and to the boat, desperately tugging it back to the shore and hopped aboard. They were out on the water before they dared turn around to see the faint light fading back into the woods. In the morning they worked up the courage to return to where the island was, but nothing was there. They were sure this is where they had sailed to the previous night, but there was no sign of land, or their friend anywhere. All they managed to find was the strange doll floating in the water.

Spoiler

Just to be clear, the doll is not possessed, it is a lure through which the unknown entity disorients and tracks their prey.

Oh whoops, I just noticed my title got cut off!

"Frightful Island"

 

[BetsySundrop]

A Stake in the Game​

Boots anxiously paced through the path of carnival gaming booths, squeezing his last ticket in his claws, kicking through piles of crunchy fall leaves on the ground.

The sun blazed the last of its color across the sky and night would soon arrive, which left only a few hours before the carnival closed.

I have to win something, Boots thought. I can't just lose every game.

But so far, Boots had indeed lost every carnival game he'd played. His poor, competitive soul was weary and dejected. Katrina had foretold that this night would go very differently.

"I guess she can't be right all the time," Boots sighed.

A sharp pain suddenly struck his foot. As he hopped on the other foot and tried not to swear, he caught a glimpse of something shiny in the leaves.

What in the - stake? Yep. A shiny, golden, tent stake.

Maybe it came loose from one of the tents, I'll turn it in to someone later, he decided.

Boots tucked the stake into his pocket, and decided to go ahead and use his last carnival ticket on the duck shoot game, resigning himself to yet another disappointing loss.

"My man! My favorite customer! Here to try your luck again?" This was the same guy that had witness his earlier losses. Great.

"Have to use my last ticket somewhere," Boots replied.

"Well, step right up and shoot a duck! Knock down 3 for a small prize, 5 for the big prize! Good luck!"

Boots lined up his first shot - and the duck went down!

"Hey you actually got one!" The carny exclaimed in surprise. Suprise morphed into shock as Boots continued to shoot down duck after duck.

"That's 5 out of 5 for the big alligator here! Nice shooting! Pick your prize! Anything in the booth!"

Boots only had eyes for one particular prize. "I've got a real good feeling about this. I'll take the bundle of tickets, please, so I can play more games."

And play more games he did, winning every single game!

I just had to find my groove, Boots chuckled to himself. I knew I was a winner! Katrina was right after all!

The scent of funnel cakes and popcorn soon convinced him to take a munchie break from all the glorious victories, but then he was right back at the games.

Hours later, with a giant bag of tickets (the only prize Boots ever picked), Boots decided to call it a night and headed toward the carnival gates.

The night seemed colder as he moved away from the intense lights of the gaming booths. Boots shivered as he felt a chill run up his spine. Reaching the gates, he stepped through and looked up -

- and found himself standing in front of the duck shoot booth.

"Hey! Here to try your luck again? Keep that winning streak going? Another 5 out of 5?" The same carny took his ticket, which he handed over in a daze.

"I guess I am," Boots responded helplessly, his body moving automatically. He felt like he was in a dream. "I was leaving to go home and suddenly found myself here."

"Well of course!" the man exclaimed. "You can't leave when you're on a winning streak!"

Boots decided to enjoy the winning streak and stepped up to take aim at the ducks.

Another 5 out of 5, of course, and more tickets, and more winning! The basketballs all went into the oval hoops. The rings fell perfectly in the crooked ring toss. The water hit the targets spot-on, and all of the balloons popped.

Boots enjoyed winning, but he was exhausted and ready to leave - again. Feeling a good bit of trepidation, he approached the exit gates - again. And as he stepped through the gates he looked up-

- and again found himself in front of the duck shoot booth.

This isn't possible! Boots was a bit panicked. It's not real! But it certainly was possible and very, very real.

"Hey! You're back again! Can't leave while you're winning, eh?"

That's it! Boots thought. Maybe I can leave if I lose.

With renewed energy, Boots put his plan into action - he would lose on purpose, which if on purpose didn't really count as losing, and he would finally be able to go home.

So he aimed too high at the ducks, threw the basketballs straight up in the air, and aimed his watergun at the prizes.

But no matter what he did, he still somehow won every single game. And no matter how many times he tried to leave, every time he stepped through the gates, he found himself in front of the duck shoot booth - over and over and over again.

He felt like he'd been stuck inside the carnival for an eternity, with no hope of ever finding a way to free himself, trapped in an endless loop of winning, when winning didn't mean much anymore.

I miss my farm. Boots sniffled to himself. I miss my home. Winning is fun, but winning isn't everything.

"Wait!" Thunderstruck, Boots suddenly remembered the rest of Katrina's foretelling. He would win and win, all night long, and he would realize that winning isn't everything!

"I realize!" Boots shouted with joy. "I realize it now! Winning isn't everything!"

Laughing loudly, he made his way to the gates. I should have no problem leaving now, he thought confidently, as he stepped through the gates -

- and found himself standing in front of the duck shoot booth.

"Hey fella, are you OK?" the carny asked him. A different man this time.

Boots felt tears on his snout and realized he was crying. "Oh, I'm ok," he assured the man, drying his tears on his sleeve. "Just a bit of trouble."

"You and me both," said the man. "I had a tent stake pop loose and go missing and can't find it anywhere. I've been looking for hours!"

"A tent stake? I found one of those!" Boots exclaimed, pulling the tent stake out of his pocket. "This must be yours."

"That's it!" The man gratefully took the stake from Boots and declared, "for finding my stake, you can have a free game! Feel like shooting some duck targets?"

Boots didn't have the heart to refuse the reward, so he accepted. He stepped up to the booth, lined up his first shot, and missed!

I missed!

He missed!

And he kept missing.

"I missed them all!" Boots whooped happily.

"You sure did," the man said, amused. "Do you want another free shot?"

"No!" Boots yelled. "I mean, no thanks," he chuckled. "I have a whole bag of tickets here, and I should try to get home soon."
Home! He might be able to go home!

"Hey that's a lot of tickets. Would you like to turn them all in for a prize? You can pick anything," the man offered.

And so it was that Boots found himself at the gates of the carnival, ticket-less but holding a giant stuffed cow, trying to build up his courage. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and-

- and found himself outside the carnival gates. The curse was broken. He could go home!


Elsewhere... Katrina covered her crystal ball and closed her eyes, relieved that Boots had managed to free himself from the cursed carnival stake. High stakes, indeed, she snickered.

Spoiler: Story idea

Had the idea of an item in the carnival that cursed someone to always win, but never be able to leave as long as they were holding it.

I wanted to extend the time, like have Boots really trapped in a time warped carnival dimension, for years and years, but i didn't think i could do that and fit it into wordcount lol.

 

[LadyDestani]

I've loved reading all of your stories so far!

This is a gentle reminder that this event ends on Thursday, October 31st at 11:59pm EDT! That's in just 47 hours, so if you're planning to enter you've got a little less than 2 full days to finish your submission and post in this thread. Happy writing!

 

[Xara]

Spoiler: Fey

Kiki’s earliest memory is of the key locked in her mother's office cabinet.

She had just barely been able to see it from behind the sunlight reflecting off the glass panes—a once gold skeleton key that now looked like it had centuries of rust on it. The bow of the key, a metallic skull, remained miraculously unrusted.

“Mama, what is this key for?” She had asked, not for the first time.

She heard her mother’s footsteps approach behind her first, and then her exasperated sigh.

“Kiki, how many times do we have to talk about this?” Her mother had asked, also not for the first time. “It unlocks something.”

“Unlocks what?”

Her mother hadn't answered her; instead, she had placed her paws on her shoulders and gently ushered her out of her office, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

It had been so backwards to her—the concept of locking up a key. Kiki had continued to ask her mother about the key often, and her mother had continued to refuse to give her an answer. Her mother, surprisingly, had never gotten fed up with her insistent questions, but looking back years later, Kiki would realize that every time she had brought up the key, her mother had always looked more and more sad and worn out after. She would shut herself away in her office after every question, and when she would emerge a couple hours later, her black fur would be a tad bit more grey, and the wrinkles in her skin would be slightly more prominent.

The closest to an answer Kiki got from her mother was when she was 10, and she had broken into her mother's cabinet while she was home alone. Her mother had taken to locking her office door once Kiki had gotten tall enough to reach the knob, but Kiki's claws had finally grown long enough to pick the lock. The locked cabinet had been no match for Kiki smashing one of the glass panes with a rock; behind the pane stood the key, on full display and easily accessible for the first time.

Kiki had been enthralled by just the sight of the key not hidden behind glass. It had looked even more rusty up close, but the skull had twinkled in the sunlight brighter than anything she had ever seen before, and Kiki couldn't fathom why her mother would keep such a unique key locked away.

Without thinking about all the reasons why she shouldn't or how her mother would be home soon, she had reached out and taken the key into her grasp.

That's how her mother found her. Kiki doesn't remember hearing the front door open and close, or her mother calling out to her, or her footsteps coming up the stairs. She doesn't know how much time had passed between her picking up the key and her mother standing in the office's doorway, but she remembers her mother's eyes on her, then on the glass on the floor, then on the cabinet, and then—the key.

Her mother's expression had morphed into one so full of grief and terror it made Kiki feel sick to her stomach. In an instant, her mother had practically flown to her, ripping the key out of her grasp with a roughness so unlike her. The terror on her face had been so palpable still.

"Kiki, what have you done?!" Her mother had shrieked, but it sounded awfully close to a cry. Kiki's eyes had welled up instantly, her bottom lip trembling, her whole body vibrating with shame.

Her mother's body had shook even more violently than her own. She had opened and closed her mouth as if she had been at a loss for words, and all that came out in the end was a gasp. She had slowly looked down at the key now in her own grasp, and Kiki's gaze had followed her. The skeleton had twinkled at them both, almost as if it were mocking them.

The last thing Kiki remembers is the look of resignation that had settled on her mother's face and how it had felt so much heavier than her terror. Her mother hadn't let go of the key or even looked at her, but she used her free paw to guide her towards the door.

"Mom, I'm sorry," is all Kiki could get out before her mother had shut the door.

Kiki found her body in her office the next morning, the key still in her grasp.

She had died in the night.

Her mother had always told her that her curiosity would send her to an early grave.

~

Kiki is 23 when the key finds her again.

She's never stopped thinking about it; the ghost of its weight in her hand and the memory of it in her mother's lifeless grasp haunt her every breath and every dream, but her curiosity about it died with her mother.

She hasn't told anyone about the key, or about the last time she saw her mother alive, or about how the key had been in her mother's hand when she found her and gone when the paramedics arrived, or how she hasn't seen it since.

"Do you know about mom's skeleton key?" is on the tip of her tongue during every conversation she has with her dad, but she remembers her mother and the way she looked at her and the key and the way it looked in her limp, dead hand and—

She never asks.

Until she comes home from work and finds it on her bedside table.

Her gaze lands on it the moment she opens her door, and she freezes. It twinkles at her in greeting, despite no light hitting it, and suddenly she's 10 again and standing in front of her mother's office cabinet, glass at her feet and a key in her hand, and her mother's looking at her with such unadulterated terror and—"Mom, I'm sorry"—and then... and then...

She rushes across her room, grabs the key, and bolts downstairs.

She finds her dad sitting in the kitchen, his gaze snapping up when she bursts in.

"Kiki, wha-"

She holds up the key, trembling. "Did you put this in my room?"

He looks from her to the key back to her again, confused.

"No," he says. "I've never seen that before."

Her breathing picks up, and she has to look away before she starts crying. She wants so badly to tell him about the key and her mother, and how she's certain she disobeyed her so badly that it killed her, but when she opens her mouth again, only a gasp comes out.

The key is burning her palm. Her gaze turns back to her dad when he shifts in her peripheral, and—

"What the he-"

The glowing orange letters suddenly floating above his head blind her. The key in her grasp burns as strongly as the letters' light, and she has to squint to read them:

1 day, 10 hours, 33 minutes, 0 seconds

Kiki blinks. And blinks again. Every time she opens her eyes, the countdown changes.

1 day, 10 hours, 32 minutes, 59 seconds

1 day, 10 hours, 32 minutes, 58 seconds

"Kiki, what's going on?" her dad demands.

She jolts. She can barely make out his bewildered expression beneath the light, but she knows she's worrying him. She has no idea what's happening, or what the countdown above his head is, or why or how she's seeing it, but something within her screams at her not to tell him.

"I'm just tired," is what comes out. "I remember where the key came from now."

He blinks at her, concern and confusion still seeping from his gaze. If she stares long enough, it morphs into her mother's gaze, full of terror and grief.

She shakes herself slightly and sends her dad what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Long day at work, that's all," she promises, inching out of the room. "I just need a nap."

~

Kiki dreams.

She finds herself in a foggy graveyard, damp earth beneath her feet and goosebumps kissing her skin. Even amidst the fog and the haze of sleep, Kiki knows where she is.

She'd know her mother's resting place anywhere. She knows this dream.

Before her is a singular tombstone. Marbled grey and pristine with youth, like her mother's funeral had been just yesterday and not 13 years ago. She slowly approaches the stone, knowing that behind the fog is her mother's name.

The fog dissipates.

Kiki
Beloved friend and daughter
2001-2024

She startles backwards, slips, and falls to the ground.

She knows this has to be a nightmare and that the events of her day are just messing with her even in sleep, but the terror in her bones feels so real. She's never felt more awake.

"You just couldn't leave the key alone, could you?"

Kiki's breath shudders at the sound of her mother's voice from behind her. She turns, expecting another cruel surprise, and lays eyes on her mother for the first time in over a decade—scared but alive.

"Mama," she cries, and launches herself off the ground and into her mother's arms.

Her mother hugs her for a moment, tremours coursing through her body, before pulling away. Kiki looks up at her, confused.

"You need to know about the key," her mother tells her. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you better."

"Wha- now?"

"Yes, now."

"Did you put it in my room?" Kiki asks. She immediately wants to take it back when her mother's expression turns horrified.

"Goodness, no!" she cries. "All I wanted was to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

Her mother sighs.

"The key tells you when people will die. You just have to hold it for a minute, and suddenly there's billions of countdowns surrounding you," her mother pauses. "I didn't see yours. I couldn't."

Kiki blanches. "Why did you have the key?"

"My mother," she explains. "who got it from her mother and so on. I saw what it did to her and my grandmother their last days—the fear, the delirium, the death. She told me the key was a curse, and she made me promise never to let anyone touch it before she died."

"I don't understand..." Kiki starts. "Wouldn't it be a gift knowing when your loved ones will die? So you can make the most of your time with them?"

Her mother smiles sadly at her. "You're not supposed to know. The universe doesn't want you to know, and so it fixes that."

"Fixes it... how?"

Her mother's eyes drift to the gravestone behind them, tears welling up in them. Kiki's blood runs cold.

"I'm so sorry," her mother tells her. The fog grows thicker. "I love you."

I'll see you soon.

~

Kiki startles awake, sweat pooling in her sheets, her heart pounding. She glances around her bedroom in the darkness, panting. She looks for something amiss, finds nothing, and yet she's not comforted.

I'll see you soon.

Her mother's words echo in her head. Surely it was all just a nightmare after the events of... everything. Right?

Still, she holds her breath as she reaches for her compact mirror. She can barely make out her reflection in the dark, but she doesn't miss the countdown glowing above her head.

0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes, 59 seconds

0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes, 58 seconds

~

Her dad finds her in her bed in the morning, the key in her grasp.

He checks her pulse, paw trembling, and feels nothing.

The key twinkles at him.

word count: 1,940

the most words I've been able to write in months.... this has killed me goodnight ​

 

[VillageDweller]

Was fun writing this one with the prompt! Here's my story: "My Beautiful Reflection".

Spoiler: story time!

My Beautiful Reflection
​

Packed to the brim, the mildly popular antique shop on Grand Old Oak Street opened its doors for another day of business. It was filled with ornate mantelpieces, fantastically painted children’s toys from bygone eras, as well as some luxurious (and majorly expensive) chairs and cushions which had been kept in pristine condition.

The owner, a gentlemanly type named Geoff, who always wore a cashmere brown suit and had an impeccably groomed salt and pepper moustache, had run the shop for many years, and had enjoyed quite the success. He’d never had any major problems, but there was one item that always made its way back to his shop. He’d hung it back up on the wall the night before, when it had been left on the counter with a note just saying ‘please I don’t want this any more, I don’t need a refund - just please take it back!’ along with a scribbled signature he couldn’t make out. Geoff remembered the previous buyer was a young woman with long, curly brunette hair, but when he checked the security cameras, it was an elderly lady with a serious hunchback who had brought it back. He assumed it must have been her grandmother with a striking resemblance, and while he would’ve happily given her a refund, he had to ponder for more than a moment, as this was the third time this mirror had returned to his shop. The purchasers themselves never brought it back, it was always a relative. They never wanted any money back, the second time, the buyer’s mother was practically insistent on wanting nothing to do with it anymore, and wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

The man stared at himself reflected back in the mirror. His moustache had an even glossier sheen than usual, and his hazel eyes had a distinct twinkle in them. It gave him a pep in his step, and heard the bell gently ring as his first customers came in, and the distraction pulled him away to attend to them.

Josephine was new to the area. She’d moved to the town after a quarrel with her mother, who only had her best interests at heart, but she hadn’t seen it that way for a long time. Now, she felt like a free woman. In her mid-twenties, Josephine’s baby blue eyes had developed some crows’ feet as a result of stress, along with some faint wrinkles. Her ginger hair shined in the sunlight, though some greys had made an appearance recently.

Her new apartment was lightly furnished, but she’d been using her phone for about a week now to check her appearance. Now, Josephine was on the hunt for a mirror, which was about as much excitement as she wanted right now. She’d seen good reviews of the antique shop online and had high hopes she’d find something she’d like there. She stepped in, happily surprised by the ringing bell, and was amazed by everything that lay inside. Rococo-style furnishings and elegantly decorated antiques were a feast before her eyes, and her eyes glowed with wonder as she made her way around the store. Near the back, she found exactly what she was looking for - the neat collection of mirrors hung up on the wall. And the one right in the middle was perfect! Josephine traced the golden-brown frame with her hands, noticing the patterns and craftsmanship. The price tag was within her range too. What sealed the deal though, was when she looked at herself. She wasn’t sure how, but her reflection’s face had smoother skin, and only a couple of grey strands were present in her otherwise vibrant hair. Even her eyes were a brighter blue than usual. She couldn’t help but think she looked truly beautiful in this mirror, and she had to have it.

Josephine went to the counter to pay, but he’d left a note, ‘OFF TO LUNCH - BACK SOON’. There was nobody else in the store, and she’d been there for a little while now. Luckily, she’d got cash on her, so she carefully took the mirror off the wall after leaving some notes on the counter, and left with a cheery disposition thanks to her beautiful new mirror.

Josephine had no other mirrors in her home thanks to her recent move, as she wanted a completely fresh start. So, she hung it up where it would get the most use, in her bathroom, bringing a touch of class to the otherwise un-noteworthy space. She stared at her reflection once more, slightly taken aback by the beauty staring back at her, but extremely pleased nonetheless. For the rest of that week, Josephine went around various shops in town, picking up new things for her new home, and becoming antiquated with some of the locals. Whenevershe returned home, she’d make sure to check herself in the mirror, to see if she really was that beautiful. And she was. Every time.

Some weeks passed. Josephine had made friends at the pottery class she’d signed up for, and often made an appearance at the local pub when it was karaoke night. She felt more confident than ever, especially when she knew how good she looked.

Thursday evening. Before she went out that night, Josephine checked herself in the mirror like usual. Her hair had grown longer, her nails were perfectly manicured, and the blues of her irises were such a deep hue, it almost looked like they’d been painted on. She went to take a picture of herself, and the mirror reflected her beauty. Though, she noticed the skin on het hands had started folding, but it didn’t look like that in the mirror. And when she took a selfie, it looked like she had far more greys than before, not less. A faint scar had developed between her eyes. But the mirror didn’t show this. Maybe there was something wrong with her phone. So, Josephine deleted the picture - it must just be a glitch. Right?

The days carried on. Josephine found herself looking in the mirror more and more, captivated by the amazing woman who looked back at her. Flowing bright locks, glowing smooth skin. She looked perfect, but she didn’t feel perfect. Josephine started going out less. She felt more tired recently, putting it down to the excitement of a new life just catching up with her. Her legs had slowly started developing spots, which she tried to cover up with leggings, hoping it was just a temporary issue.

It was a breezy mid-summer evening. Plenty of the town's inhabitants were out and about, enjoying the sunset and going out for the night. Juniper and her friends had just finished their weekly pottery class, after crafting some wonderful (and some not-so-wonderful) clay dinnerware. They hadn’t seen their new friend Josephine in a while, and the class felt markedly quieter without her usually loud laughter.

One middle aged woman, with aged skin, sun spots and frazzled salt-and-pepper hair, walked swiftly past the girls, three heavy shopping bags weighing her down. Nobody recognised her.

Josephine got home. She went straight up to the mirror. She was still beautiful. She was still beautiful, wasn’t she?

She was. In the mirror.

The next day, Josephine woke after a rough night. Cracks of morning light crept in through the floral curtains, and she reluctantly opened her eyes. There was a pain in her neck. A crick from laying poorly during the night. As she reached back to ease the tension, a clump of hair came with her hand. Grey, matted, thin hair. Horrified, she started feeling her hair and more clumps easily fell from her scalp. Brittle and faded strands. Aghast, Josephine went to look in the mirror. In her reflection everything was fine. Why did she look fine? Better than fine? She looked perfect. But her hair was coming out in clumps. She was in pain. She didn’t feel right anymore.

Josephine looked down at herself. Her skin was that of an elderly woman. She was covered in spots and boils she had been ignoring for a while now. And the aches and pains in her joints and bones had persisted for more than a few days now. What had happened?! Everything was going so well, but now, she felt like a woman older than her own mother. Could it be.. the mirror?

Quickly getting dressed, Josephine raced to the antique shop as far as her ageing bones could take her. The dull ache deeply rooted in her body had started to make itself known, but she pushed on. Maybe the shopkeeper would know what was wrong. So she bathed in the door, looking for the man who could help her. Nobody at the counter. Josephine whipped her head around, looking for anyone else. That’s when she looked at the collected mirrors on the wall. The only person there wasn’t her. It was a grotesque, emancipated lady who may as well have been a living corpse. Her eyes had sunken into her skull, her skin both as thin and as white as paper. A body reduced to ash, and a soul reduced to nothingness.

Josephine let out a blood chilling scream. This couldn’t be her. But she knew it was. The hair. The skin. Her eyes. They’d lost their glow. This wasn’t her. But it was.

The decrepit woman flew out of the shop, back to her home, climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom. She took one last look at herself in the mirror. Perfection. For a moment, she felt truly beautiful again. Then, without any more hesitation, she ripped it off the wall, scribbling a note, and left before she could wait another moment.

Geoff came out of the storeroom at the back. He’s been rummaging for a particular item a customer had asked him to check for a few days ago, but to no avail. He heard the bell ring as the door closed with a swift breeze. He caught sight of something not quite human running past the window, giving him a sudden chill. On the counter, someone had left something behind with a note, again. It had been smashed to pieces.

“I’m sorry.
-Josephine”

Word Count: 1708, 1711 with title

 

[roseflower]

Spoiler: My entry

The cursed game​

On the last day of the Haunted Carnival Rudy decided to finally stop by. It was a very gloomy day, and the atmosphere was kind of dreary, but he thought that it would be a great exercise, both physically and mentally. Also it didn't rain, so what's stopping a strong cat like he is! Or so, he thought... He entered the fairgrounds and wandered across the various tents and attractions, not many people came that day... then he realized he was actually the only one.
While he wondered why the other villagers didn't come, he listened to the strange upbeat music that was playing.

"Oh yeah, I can run around and won't bump into anyone, what a greeaat traiiining!", Rudy tried to lift his mood and then spread his arms and did his favourite "airplane" play. He jumped around and danced along the attractions, took a ride on the ferris wheel, all alone - he couldn't see far because it got really foggy and it got darker - thick black clouds covered the sky. Rudy came all the way to the orange and black striped tent at the end of the fairgrounds. There was a sign that read "Fun and games!".
"Wah, sounds fun...?" he got curious and decided to go in.

When he tried to enter the tent , he stumbled and fell over something. "Ouch!", he hit the ground tail first, then got up and noticed that he stumbled over a grey object! It looked like a game cartridge, a heavily used one, with lots of stains and a corner was broken off - but there was no sticker or label, so he couldn't tell what game it was. Rudy picked up the game cartridge with his paws and looked around for its owner. Did someone drop it? But there was no one here. He got curious - maybe it was an awesome sports game that was played a lot, which would surely explain all the signs of heavy use...?!

Rudy decided to enter the tent, but alas, it was abandoned and only two cardboard boxes were left. He went to investigate them, the first box was empty but in the second one was a tiny machine and he noticed it had a screen and looked like a game console, he turned it around and also found a slot. Could the game cartrigde fit in? He excitedly inserted it and it made a click sound!

Suddenly the game started playing on its own without even pressing any buttons, Rudy blinked and he found himsef in a pixelated game world, on a racetrack! The command said Run! and he started running like a robot, not on his own will - the game made him run endlessly and he got really scared! Rudy was exhausted but couldn't stop running, it was an endles running track, and then when Rudy just couldn't move anymore he got to see a Game Over screen and fell to the ground!
Rudy woke up back in the tent, his whole body hurt really badly and he was barely able to stand up - his paws were scuffed and there was some blood! He threw the game away and ran out of the tent as fast as he could! All worn out and in shock he wondered if the game was cursed...and what happened to its previous owner...?

 

[Sheando]

I went in kind of a weird direction with this one! Hopefully it's okay--I based my entry off the rules stating that the cursed object can be either owned or used by the person it affects. I ended up using the curse to explore the idea of rest as a hoarded resource, as something one can feel entitled to at the expense of others. An unsustainable false rest, the sort that can't extend to other people in your community as well, the kind which ultimately dulls your capacity for empathy. In keeping with my inability to write anything lighthearted and chill for this website.

Spoiler

At two o'clock in the morning, you step outside, taking care to close the front door softly behind you. Wouldn't want to wake your roommate.

You don't have anywhere to be, not really. Maybe you'll walk around the corner to the park. The low-hanging fog makes the whole world feel as if it's huddled close around you, ghosts just out of reach listening for your footsteps approaching.

You shake your head. Just being dramatic.

It's colder than you expected, so you pause at the sight of a bench butting up against the sidewalk. You hadn't really paid much attention to this bench before, but tonight you notice the little golden plaque screwed into the top plank.

May whoever rests upon this bench be shielded from the cares of the world.

You sink down onto the bench, letting out what feels like the longest breath of your life. A weight settles on your shoulders, like an invisible blanket pressing against you, shutting out the chill.

You sit, and you sit, and you sit. Your feet go entirely still. Your eyes close. Even better, your mind slows its constant spinning, like the fog has draped over your thoughts, too. You can't bring yourself to stand up until the pink of sunrise peeks above the horizon.

Somebody before you had to have stood, had to have walked away and left this marvelous resting place behind. Perhaps someone will come after you, too, and rest. That thought makes it a little easier to walk away.

...​

Throughout your whole opening shift at the cafe, you can't stop thinking about the bench, about that phantom warm blanket draped over your shoulders.

Usually you wouldn't leave Leslie alone behind the front counter during the morning rush, but you keep ducking into the back, stealing a few moments here and there to lean against the wall and breathe. You could close your eyes right now. You could fall asleep.

...​

That night you can't stop yourself from speed-walking down the street, just in case someone else is having the same thought you are. But no, there's the empty bench. You shiver with relief as you sit back down. The world is so small here. Just the cold glow of a streetlight far away on the opposite corner. Just the rustling of a bush somewhere at your back.

This might be a good time to message Lynn back, you suppose. Except that sounds like a lot of work, since she sent you something to read—some article about girls being banned from education . . . somewhere. You can't remember right now. Anyway, it's not like she sent you the article so you could personally do something about it. It'll just make you feel sad. And guilty.

You slide further down the bench, lean over, pull up your knees so you're lying down. This is real rest.

...​

Driving away from the bench behind every morning is the worst part of your day. At least, it had been the worst part of your day until now, when your roommate interrupted you in the middle of tying your shoes

He's been talking for at least five minutes. His sister recently had a baby. She's having a hard time in a small town. Her in-laws don't like her. Blah blah blah.

The things he's saying just aren't interesting. You were supposed to be resting right now. The hard part of your day is over. It's weird how Harris keeps talking, keeps gesturing, like he really expects you to care.

Finally, you have to cut him off. It's embarrassing how long you waited. Embarrassing for him, at least. "Look, I've got to go out."

He has the nerve to look offended, mouth half-open, eyebrows furrowing down. "Have you even heard a word I've said?"

There's nothing to say to that, so you just duck out the front door with your coat in your arms. You'll put it on while you're walking.

...​

You miss a couple of shifts here and there. Nothing important. The gravity of the bench keeps pulling you under. Your limbs grow heavy, your mind drifts off, like floating just outside yourself. The invisible blanket pins you down. You can sort of remember the loose threads of your old life, the way you were always chasing after someone or something. Scheduling a dinner date with an old friend. Covering a shift for a sick coworker. Reading about some new war, some new disease. Combing through the recycling to pick out the bottles Harris keeps forgetting he can't recycle.

It had all been so heavy, you realize. Keeping track of other people, other places you haven't even seen. Ridiculous way to live. Everything real is here with you now: the hard lumber against your spine, the breeze ruffling your hair, the curl of your toes inside your shoes.

Every once in a while you open up your message thread with Lynn, but it's so exhausting. You can't think of a good reason to explain why you haven't read the article, and you can't figure out how to respond in a way that makes it sound like you have read the article, and after a few days you resent Lynn for sending it to you. Doesn't she know you have a life? Who has time to think about other people's problems like that? It feels sort of selfish of her.

You put the phone back in your pocket and lie down.

...​

There is a new worst thing, and it is here, now: a woman in a gray peacoat sits on the bench, one ankle crossed over her knee, chatting on the phone to some senseless voice. One arm extended across the back of the bench like she's claiming the empty half, too.

Of all the places in the city to sit, to talk on the phone. She came to your neighborhood, sat on your bench. Your bench!

You were born here. Well, near enough, anyhow. And you stumbled upon the bench, and you did all this work finding it and sitting down on it and leaving everything behind to cling to it. Nobody else could possibly understand.

You step forward. "Excuse me."

She jerks her head up, gives you a wary once-over.

"This is my bench."

"Look," she says into her phone, "I'm going to have to call you back. Somebody's trying to talk to me." She taps the screen and the phone goes dark. Finally, she gives you her full attention. "This is . . . your bench?"

Based on her facial expression, she doesn't understand. Just as you predicted. Maybe you can explain. "I live here. I just walked here. From my house. I come here every day to sit. I need you to move."

She squints at you. "But you have a house?"

You're starting to lose patience. "Of course I have a house."

"Well, feel free to sit on your porch, then, or your balcony or whatever you've got."

Your heartbeat thuds in your chest. The problem is she isn't real, she isn't real but she's sitting there, she thinks that you could be resting on your front steps or in your own bed. It's not the same. Of course it's not the same. It doesn't really count as resting if it's something anyone can do. This bench is special, it's yours, it's understood by you in a way that means you deserve it. If she deserved that seat she'd understand why you need it, why you can't let it go.

You take a step closer and grip the back of the bench.

"Whoa," she says. "Step back."

In a flash you see yourself grabbing at the collar of her coat, pulling her off the bench, moving her aside. Something about the image feels . . . off-putting, somehow. An unfamiliar pressure inside your ribs.

She's still staring at you. "Take one more step and I call the cops. This is a public bench."

Your breath feels erratic. You can't let this happen again. Maybe you can sleep here overnight from now on.

The woman stands abruptly. "Can't even make a freaking five minute phone call." She swears under her breath and hurries down the street.

You practically leap onto the bench, curling onto your side, resting your head on one arm. Now the universe is right-side up again.

You'll have to act tonight. Sleeping here won't be enough. Maybe you can dig up the posts. This is an older bench, without the cement foundation around the legs. It will take time, of course. And you'll have to carry it all the way home. But at the end of it, you can enclose your bench behind a locked door and you won't have to worry about anyone bothering you ever again. You'll be free.

 

[faerie]

Spoiler: Your Future Has Already Been Written

A gentle breeze blew through the colorful fall trees. Katharina was basking in all the beauty that surrounded her under the large oak tree on the edge of town. Her stare followed a leaf as it gracefully danced its way to the leaf-covered ground below. A shimmer in the grass caught her attention a few inches from the fallen leaf. She brushed aside the leaves that covered the shimmering object to reveal a black crystal pen.

Katharina picked up the pen, holding it to the sunlight. To her disappointment, it appeared as though it were completely out of ink. Someone must have tossed this, she thought to herself. Perhaps Cyrus could refill it, as it would be a waste of such a beautiful, uniquely crafted pen. She placed the pen along with a few of her belongings in her bag and set out for home.

The night was falling fast as she raced home. The air grew colder with every moment of daylight lost. Why had she forgotten her flashlight of all nights? Why did I also stay out so late? She reached into her bag in hopes of finding her flashlight. A faint glow emanated from the bottom of her bag. Perhaps I didn’t forget it, but unfortunately forgot to turn it off, she thought to herself as she rummaged hastily through the contents of the bag. Upon grabbing the light, Katharina felt a sensation of energy flow from what she thought was the flashlight but was the crystal pen. It glowed brightly against the now starlit night sky. Feeling the warmth radiating from the pen, Katharina became startled and tossed it to the ground. She suddenly felt like a fool and reasoned that the pen was probably crafted from a star fragment, which would explain the glow and warmth. Realizing she was mere minutes from home, she grabbed the pen to light her way and hurried home.

Upon entering her home, she began examining the pen further. She noticed text was now appearing on the pen, but she could not make sense of it. Dare I try to write with it? Is this worth the risk? What would I even write? Maybe a wish would suffice since it was once a star fragment. Several thoughts swirled in her mind. In an instant, the pen wrote the words in glowing stardust on its own.

I wish

Now filled with terror, she shut her eyes and wished.

"I wish I had the foresight to never have picked up that pen in the first place."

She slowly opened her eyes to the view of the beautiful fall afternoon she had experienced earlier. Had she been dreaming this whole time? It was more of a nightmare that she was happy to be over with. Her eyes trained on a leaf dancing gracefully to the ground when a shimmer in the grass caught her eye. She brushed aside the leaves to reveal a crystal ball. She felt drawn to it. Upon touching it, her future flashed before her eyes. She was now bound to foretell others' futures. She could now see the words in the crystal ball that were once inscribed on the pen.

LLA SWONK LATSYRC EHT!

"You may be right, little crystal, but now Katrina sees your undoing as well."

 

[corlee1289]

Ankha and Lucky decided they would visit the Spooky Carnival that was recently set up at the nearby plaza for the upcoming Halloween festivities. There were cotton candy stands and other delicious treats awaiting for them. Lucky smelt the popcorn long before they arrived and was most excited to get a warm buttery bag of popcorn. Ankha was most excited for the sticky red candied apples.

"HELLO FRIEND! STEP RIGHT UP TO TRY YOUR LUCK!" cried Redd standing at his little booth.

Warily, both Ankha and Lucky approached his booth and eyed the vendor suspiciously. They had visited him once before when he was selling art on his boat at the unofficial port and had unknowingly bought counterfeit art.

"HELLO! HELLO! Would either of you like to try your luck today? It only costs a 100 bells each! You won't know what you're missing until you get it!"

Ankha was undeterred and confidently agreed she would attempt her luck. Lucky pleaded for her not to, they had been duped by Redd before.

Redd greedily took the bell and Ankha pulled out a numbered ball.

"THIRTEEN!" cried Redd. "WHAT A LUCKY NUMBER ON THIS DAY!" Redd produced a small black pen to Ankha. "This is a very useful and lucky pen to use! May you never run out of ink!"

Ankha took the pen without any hesitation and walked away with Lucky besides her. It didn't seem too bad of a prize and would be a useful item to use. She was just thinking how she could use a new pen and before she realized what happened, Ankha fell down face first into the hard ground.

"Are you okay?" asked Lucky, who helped her get up and dusted her off. "What a weird thing for you to fall down. This is the first time I have ever seen you fall down, usually your cat reflexes prevent such a thing from happening."

Ankha took out her pen out of her pockets to examine if it had been broken. Thankfully, it had not been. Lucky took the pen into his paws to check if the pen was scratched. The pen ink exploded on Lucky, colouring his white bandages.

"OH NO!" exclaimed Lucky. "My bandages are all ruined! I'll need to go home and change them. This was my favourite one! It's all ruined now! I'm not even sure I can get all this black ink out of them."

"We can go home after to change. No one is going to notice the ink stain on you since it's already so dark out, besides, it adds to the ambience of the spooky season," Ankha replied helpfully.

But weird and unlucky things kept happening to the two of them. The balloon that Ankha held in her paws suddenly got caught in a tree and it was impossible to retrieve, even with the help of nearby villagers. The bag of buttered popcorn Lucky had a hole in the bottom and it all tumbled out. They thought perhaps it was a series of unfortunate events one after another.

"Ankha, I think the pen you got from Redd might be cursed. We haven't had luck since you've gotten it." whispered Lucky.

"Don't be silly, Lucky! There are no such things as cursed objects!" explained Ankha in a huffy tone.

The last straw came to Ankha when she went to bite into her red candy apple and fanged tooth got caught in the sticky caramel. That was it! In all her life, never had Ankha got a fang stuck in an apple. It took much help and persistence by Lucky before her mouth became free of the apple.

Fuming, Ankha grabbed Lucky's paw and they marched back to the vendor. Ankha thrusted the pen to Redd and demanded he take back the pen. It had caused her nothing but pain and misery in the short time she had it. She would know, her knees still hurt from the fall earlier and the fang that got caught in the candied apple still throbbed in her mouth.

"NO REFUNDS!" cried Redd. Ankha explained she didn't want her bells back, but for Redd to take back the accursed object in her paws. "Well, if you're sure you don't want it." Redd said mischievously. Ankha agreed and relinquished the pen.

Feeling lighter, Ankha and Redd walked away from the vendor to head to the carousel, when there was a distant cry by Redd shouting "THIRTEEN!"

Ankha and Lucky looked at each other wide-eyed before they continued heading to the carousel, without either of them falling.

Word count: 762 words

 

[Mr.Fox]

Spoiler: A Bone To Pick

'Are you kidding me right now?'
'What?'
'Get that out of here!'
'But look how perfect it is! It's like it's been polished!'
'I don't care! Who brings a bone home?'
'I thought we could-'
'Where'd you get it?'
'What?'
'You heard me. If you got it where I think you got it you're asking for trouble.'
'You're way too superstitious.'
At this point I decide not to tell her that my back has been hurting since I got home. I assume it'll just add fuel to an already hot fire.
'I'm hungry, I'm gonna go grab us some food.'
'Bring that thing back where you got it or don't bother coming back...'

I leave home irritated. It's my place too, why shouldn't I be able to have things I find interesting? That's it. My mind's made up. I'm just going to hide it in the bushes until I can convince her otherwise. I lay it down gently where I think it'll have good coverage. I take a step back, and it looks good! Time to grab some food.

I'm debating what I want to eat as I'm walking. I definitely want something I haven't had in a long time. As I'm pondering this I notice a pain coming from one of my nails. I look down to inspect the situation and notice it is completely outlined with blood. I find this mildly disturbing as I don't recall injuring myself. Before I can investigate further, the entire nail just falls off. As gross as it is, I decide that since it's just a tolerable stinging pain I'm still going to grab the food and I'll deal with whatever's going on with my nail later.

I usually find chicken so bland, but have come to the realization that I haven't had it in ages, so now I'm craving it. In fact, I'm craving it so intensely now that I start salivating. I run my tongue along my slippery smooth teeth...and notice a difference. My front tooth is suddenly very loose. I stop dead in my tracks. I know I shouldn't but I can't help examining it with my tongue. A few wiggles more and *pop*, and I can feel my tooth just laying on my tongue. I spit it out along with a small amount of stringy blood. What the hell is going on? It looks like a perfectly healthy tooth! I flick my tongue back and forth through the new gape in my teeth, getting a slight metallic taste each time. I decide this is just too much, and begin to head back home.

As I'm backtracking, I begin to notice little clumps of hair on the ground. At this point I'm frankly scared, and too nervous to check if it's mine...though I'm fairly confident it is. My only thoughts are to get home as quickly as possible, so I decide to take a shortcut down a nearby grassy embankment. Maybe 5 or 6 steps down the hill I step into a hidden divot and roll my leg. I lay there for a moment just thinking. What is going on with me today? This has got to be one of the worst-, and then it hits me. SHE WAS RIGHT!

I get up knowing what I have to do, and begin limping home as fast as I can. Once nearby, I head into the bushes, grab the forsaken bone, and make for the burial grounds. The entire way there, I don't even know to whom or what I was talking to, but I just kept repeating
'ImsorryImsorryImsorry', hoping that in some way my repentance would be enough.

Her back was turned to me once I got home.
'Did you get rid of the bone?'
'....yes.'
She turns smiling, but her contentment is immediately replaced with panic.
'WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?'
'You were right! I should never have taken it!'
'Here. Let me get you cleaned up.'
I show her all my newfound wounds, but I'm exhausted and all I want to do is lay down. I turn to go rest, and tell her I'll be back in a bit.
'You should at least wash...oh no, babe...'
'What is it?'
'Your tail is missing...'

 

[LadyDestani]

I've loved reading all of your stories so far!

This is a gentle reminder that this event ends on Thursday, October 31st at 11:59pm EDT! That's in just 47 hours, so if you're planning to enter you've got a little less than 2 full days to finish your submission and post in this thread. Happy writing!

Apparently, I can't be trusted with telling time at the moment. As of NOW there are just under 2 full days to complete your submission. The deadline listed is still correct, but my calculation was off by a whole day. And not one of you corrected me!

 

[MrBox]

Spoiler: Entry

Crying.
Again, with the sound of stifled crying.
... And, again, the ugly sound comes from me.

A boy sits on his home's back step , unable to go in. He has the key, but he doesn't feel like going in. He had a bad day at school. Then again, lately his days are always like this. No matter how many times he gets picked on, he can't get used to it. They used to be his friends. Warm tears run down his face as he wipes them with clenched fists.
I don't want to cry anymore! He shoots up, deciding to take a walk. It's better than moping around. He walks through his backyard, towards his fence and leaves the area.
As he's walking through his neighborhood, he's questioning where it all went wrong. As he's walking down familiar streets, he wipes his eyes again. He looks up and the sight almost makes him stop the tears. On his familiar route was an unfamiliar sight.
It was a shop.
He blinks.
Was there... always a shop here?
It must be new.
He steps closer towards the shop but stops. No, he shakes his head. He should go in. He needs a "pick me up".
The boy enters the shop, not sure if this was entirely the right choice. It was dark, musty and just plain creepy. As he's second guessing himself and decided against this decision- a smooth voice comes from behind the counter.
"Welcome in."
The boy jumps in his skin but manages a hello.
Now that he's said his greetings- he feels too awkward to leave. He decides that he'll just look around for a little bit and then leave. .. Regardless of his feelings, the items in the shop are eye catching. Selling things from old books, a bunch of knickknacks, dolls, and...... a ring.
The ring is a shiny silver, decorated with an ornate design. It has a jewel in the middle- black .. almost red. He looks at it. He's oddly drawn to it. He touches it.
"Beautiful product, isn't it?" The voice is right behind him.
The boy now yells in surprise. He didn't hear the salesperson move. When did they move?!
"Ah.. ahahaha..... yeah." The boy sheepishly laughs. The boy takes a peek at the salesperson, they're tall.
They make eye contact. The boy looks away immediately. The salesperson gently chuckles and picks up the ring gingerly.
"You know, boy, I haven't been open long. But I can feel this ring wanting to go with you. If you allow it, it will grant you what you desire."
"I don't... I don't have money."
The salesperson laughs and hands him the ring. "It's yours. If you do not feel fit for it, return here."
Slap!
The ring falls to the floor.
"Go-Goodbye!" The boy practically runs out of the store. The boy runs down the street and heads back home.
What was that all about... His parents as warned him not to talk to strangers and to take anything from anybody. Although, maybe he should've. It was a nice ring. In the middle of his thoughts, he gets interrupted by a yank. He falls onto the grass. He looks up to see his friends.
"What was that for?!" He yells, with a shaky voice. Why did he have to see them again, twice in one day? He starts to move, getting up from the ground.
His friends sneer at him. "You just look like you weren't reflecting on your actions. Are you actually even sorry?"
The boy blinks in astonishment. His face changing from astonishment , rage and then disbelief. He shakes his head and starts to walk away from them.
His friends did not react to that kindly. They start yelling- giving the boy the cue that he needs to run. So he ran. The chase is cut short as his friends catch up to him, shoving him towards a tree making him scrape the skin off his elbow.
It's clear that there isn't going to be a conversation. There's only yelling and violence.
During the tussle, the boy sees it.
The ring from the store. It fell out of his pocket.
He can't even process why it's here as the fight is escalating. But it calls out to him.
Wear me.
Put me on your finger.
Now!
Without a second thought, he equips the ring.
It came slow. The heat that welled from his finger. It felt all too familiar. It was the same heat that fell from his eyes not too long ago. The boy's movements became rigid yet still trying to fend off his friend's attacks. The boy's breathing , raspy. Non-stop sweat producing out of his skin and his iris's unable to stop shaking.
At this point, his friends stopped their actions. They could feel something wrong from the boy. They looked at him.
"Uh... h-hey..."
Nervous.
"Wha-"
The boy that stood before them looked strange. His pupils, now thin slits- his teeth, sharp. His fingers turning into points. A deep hiss rattled from the throat of the boy. Time was moving like honey and at the same time, like a turbulent sea. He has the power to make them feel the pain he felt ten fold. The scales on the back of his neck began to rise- his throat, clicking.
He stared at his friends. They looked scared.
Does he actually want to hurt them? What does he actually desire?
The boy had already chosen to spit fire at them- unable to take it back. He changes his target from his friends to aim for the sky. His friends yell, scrambling back.
When they opened their eyes, the boy was gone.

 

[Muna]

The Cost of Ignorance​

Pol, a young self-taught Mage, had just returned from the Annual Magic Conference. What an exciting two days it had been! He'd learned so much, bought the coolest items, and even made new connections with fellow Wizards - all of which would come in handy in the future. He already had a plan for his next experiment: a curse! Curses were the latest trend in the magic world, quickly gaining popularity among ordinary folk, who often turned out to be surprisingly envious and vengeful. Pol had seen many strange curses at the conference: creepy dolls, big and small, beautiful necklaces, cubes with eyes, and even a monkey's hand! But you needed a real monkey to make one, so that option was off the table. For now.

The best part about curses, though? They were incredibly expensive! And he needed to make back the money he'd spent at the conference, which was basically all he had.

"Curse making it is!" said Pol, pulling his grandma's old grimoire from under the floor.

✪

Rad knocked on the door, harder this time. He stood on the threshold of the Mage's house, whose services he frequently used. Today he wanted to expand the capacity of his shiny new metal chest and pick up some vermin-repellent talismans. They had exchanged messages few days before, the Mage was supposed to be home.

When no answer came except silence, Rad stepped back and made his way to the side window. Although he was tall, he still had to pull himself up to see inside.

"Well, that explains a lot," Rad muttered after peering through the glass for a moment. Then he lowered himself, walked back to his cart, and returned to the door.

"Guess it's my lucky day," he said swinging his axe and crashing through the door. Inside, the mage lay lifeless on the floor, his skin scorched and red. "Did you really have to play with fire?"

✪

Asta was in awe. The table was covered in many magnificent items, some strange, but those didn't matter as much. Stones, vials, roots, feathers, amulets, rings, earrings, necklaces, fancy clothes. But the most fascinating and beautiful was a semi-transparent golden sphere, shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow from within.

"If you really didn't kill anyone, then it's fine, I guess," she said to her husband as she finished bandaging the fresh burn on the inside of his hand.

"I already told you I didn't," Rad replied, annoyed. "I bring you things we could make a fortune on, and you accuse me of murder."

"If it's stolen, we could get in trouble too! I'm just being cautious and you're already getting mad, as always," Asta said, rolling her eyes. "We need to hide everything and sell it piece by piece. Let's start with…"

She didn't get to finish because Rad suddenly doubled over and vomited on the floor. With blood. There was some shouting after that, but eventually Rad ended up in bed, feeling very unwell. Naturally, Asta had to clean up, sort all the valuables, and stash them behind the clothes in the wardrobe. Only the sparkling sphere remained in view, it was simply too beautiful to hide.

When Asta went out to fetch the kids, she felt a wave of dizziness herself.

"Maybe the food was spoiled," she thought. It wasn't.

✪

When the boy on the horse broke through the trees, he finally saw the wooden houses. He urged his horse onward.

"Help! Help!" the boy shouted as he reached the healer's house. He almost fell off the horse and instantly ran to the building. The door opened before he could knock.

"What is going on?" asked the old man.

"My family… no, the whole village!" The boy shook his head, his eyes unfocused and blurry. "Half of my village is dead, and the rest is sick. I was told to bring help. They—"

Suddenly, the old man slammed the door shut. The boy stood in shock.

"...What? No! You need to help us! Please!" He tugged at the door handle.

"Step away from the door. I need to protect myself first," said a voice from behind the door. "What are the symptoms? Speak loudly so I can hear you!"

"Uh, first they get very tired! Then they start puking! And then it’s just blood they’re puking! They're unable to stand! And then the burns appear! Fire burns, but there's no fire! They cry and scream in pain—"

"Burns without fire?" The door opened again, revealing the healer in a black, pointy mask, looking quite intimidating.

"Yes! It's awful!"

"Then it's magic, not sickness. We need to find a Mage."

✪

It took some time, but when they returned, no one was left alive. All the bodies looked similar - discoloration of the skin and severe burns. The Mage quickly determined that it was in fact a curse, a very powerful one. He cast a temporary barrier around the village.

A few days later, several High Wizards arrived to investigate. They discovered that the curse had broken the barrier, allowing the destruction to spread to the plants around. The source of the curse was identified: the golden, glowing sphere. They attempted to destroy it, but their efforts failed. The sphere was taken for testing, and during that time one of the Mages died, while a few others fell ill but fortunately survived.

In the following months many powerful Wizards tried to destroy the cursed item, but it proved to be impossible. They only managed to break the sphere into smaller pieces, each still possessing deadly properties. It was even worse than before. At least they learned how to protect themselves from the harm, but the damage done was irreversible, even with healing magic. Still, lives were lost during those experiments.

Ultimately, it was decided that the remains of the sphere must be contained behind the strongest known barrier in a vast area. And so it was hidden deep beneath a mountain, so no one could ever find it. The village was also enclosed within the barrier.

The Wizards attempted to recreate the cursed sphere, but they failed. No one knew the recipe or who had originally created it. The old grimoire belonging to Pol’s grandmother is still there, waiting in the empty shack beneath the floorboards.

✪

But do you want to know the actual terrifying part? Objects with similar properties exist in real life, right here on Earth. There have been incidents. If you’re brave enough look up the tale of Goiânia 1987.

 

[oak]

Gaston's Key

Spoiler

Gaston's new house was a humble place. He had just moved to the island of Usagi and was already getting comfortable in his small home. Tom Nook had passed along the house key when Gaston made his purchase. It was an odd looking key and appeared to be quite rusty and old. Gaston made a mental note to give the key a good clean once he got home and unloaded some boxes. Luckily he didn't have much furniture to unpack. Once he was inside his new place, he hung the house key up on a hook by the door. This way he thought he would never misplace it. Gaston did a little sweeping and dusting and then decided to go out front and get started on the garden. He walked over to his front door and reached for the house key on the hook but the hook was empty. How odd, Gaston thought to himself. He had been sure to put the key in a safe spot. Maybe he accidentally swept it up? He went and checked the trash can he had dumped his floor dirt into but it was empty. He was quite surprised to have lost his key so fast. It was almost like the old rusty key had vanished like magic. He checked under all the boxes and even in the cupboards but could not find it. He sat down on the couch frustrated. "I suppose I'll have to go ask Tom Nook if he has a spare", Gaston thought to himself. He got up from his seat and looked towards the front door. Gaston couldn't believe his eyes. There was the little old house key sitting on the hook. He walked over and held the key in his hand, squeezing it to make sure it was real. Maybe he had just been tired from the move and got confused. What other explanation could there be? He remembered he had planned to clean up the rust on the key once he got home. He took it over to the sink and gave it a good scrub with some soap and a sponge. Lots of rust and dirt came off revealing a beautiful clean key. He held the key in his hand and looked at all the details closely. Up at the top there was tiny writing that Gaston could barely make out. "Always Wear Me", was engraved into the metal. "Maybe the old key doesn't like when I leave it behind on the hook", Gaston said out loud to himself. He never wanted the key to disappear again so he needed to find a way to keep the key with him always. He might lose it if it's just loose in his pocket. Instead he went digging through his boxes looked for some string. He pulled out a long piece of twine and thought it would make the perfect necklace. He tied that old twine around his house key, turning it into a necklace. He placed his new necklace around his neck and let the key hang down over his shirt. "Now I'll never have to worry about losing my precious house key again" Gaston thought proudly to himself. The mysterious and magical key was safe, for now.

 

[Flyffel]

The story of how the hat of the aide-the-camp returned home​

To me, Trieste always felt like a city from a different dimension, like a city that is partially stuck in its glorious past, significantly upping the macabre atmosphere of Vienna - the city I live in - and combining it with that of an Italian port city.

Now, I am not comparing Trieste to Vienna for no good reason! Trieste used to be a part of the Austria of the Habsburg monarchy for hundreds of years. Even though they are quite far apart, the history of the two cities is tightly linked. Without Maria Theresia, the matriarch emperor of Austria in the 18th century, Trieste would look very different today.

Why am I telling you about Trieste? Well, I have to set the scene, as the context is here of importance!

You need to know that I love antique furniture and curiosities, and in the city of Trieste, you can find these for cheap. There are a lot of shops selling vintage and antique stuff, and whenever I visit, I love wandering the city, checking out as many of these stores as possible.

Last year in October, I found a small antique store which I hadn't noticed before. I marvelled at the offerings, and I especially liked a record player with an image of a dog listening to his master's voice from another record player. After evaluating what was up on offer, I decided to buy a hat. The hat struck me as particularly cheap, even though it was clearly a real antique, and exceptionally well made. There was no way I could resist it for just ten euros!

The hat was made of black silk felt, and it had a patterned gold braid trim. Inside it had a white silk lining, completed with a brown embossed sweatband. On top of the hat you could insert a massive, particularly impressive bouquet of green dyed vulture feathers. A real treasure!

Once I exited the store, I decided to wear the hat, and walked around, feeling as fly as ever!

Back in Vienna, I placed the hat on top of a drawer, and left it there for a couple of months. One day, on a whim, I took the hat down, and decided to wear it.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, with a policeman and a policewoman on top of me, restricting me. To my utter shock I was inside Schönbrunn palace, the famous summer residence of the Habsburg monarchy!

I couldn't remember anything that had happened between me putting on the hat and the situation I just described. However, I was told the following:

During the middle of the night, I ran up the stairs to the terrace on the outside of Schönbrunn palace. There I broke a window and jumped through it into the famous Great Gallery. Of course this sounded off an alarm that went straight to the local police station, which isn't very far away.

From the Great Gallery, I ran into the personal apartments of the emperor, screaming things such as: "We are under attack! We are under attack! My emperor, what shall we do?! My emperor, what is our response?!"

That is when the police arrived and pinned me to the ground, and in that process the hat had fallen off my head.

I tried to explain this to the police officers, but of course they didn't believe me. I begged them to put on the hat, hoping that it would have a similar effect. The officers were reluctant, not taking me seriously, but since I cried begging, the woman decided to put the hat on. Right after that, she screamed: "My emperor, we are under attack!" In pure disbelief, the policeman took the hat off the other officer's head and wore it himself: "My emperor, your response?!"

As the policeman started screaming, reinforcements just arrived, and they all looked mortified.

Since my break-in was clearly caused by a cursed object, the issue was swept under the rug and I got off the hook.

As for the cursed hat... Do you know what an aide-de-camp is? In the Habsburg monarchy, the aides-de-camp were the personal military assistants of the emperor. Apparently, the hat belonged to one of them back in the day...

Now, I don't know why this was decided, but if you were to visit Vienna as a tourist, you could see the aforementioned hat in the Aides-De-Camp Room in Schönbrunn palace. However, I heard that the hat was glued on a wooden mannequins head, so no cleaning staff could fall for the temptation of trying it on...

 

[Flaming_Oceans]

Spoiler: entry

Grandma's Wind Chimes

The wind chimes I got from my grandmother didn’t particularly look any different from any other wind chimes made from cut class, but ever since I hung them outside my door on the porch, strange things have been happening.

It started with the voices.

Whenever I walk through my door, I also pass by the wind chimes, and on windy days I swear I can hear the sounds of what I can only guess are voices. Whispers. But they sound so... Faint? No, it’s more than that. They sound far away. I thought I was crazy at first, but as weeks went by, the more sure I was.

“Come..us…waiting…” is what I heard one time. It felt like I only heard parts of a full sentence though. What does this mean?

A month flies by and the voices eventually start appearing even when the weather is not windy. I also feel way more sluggish. I can never seem to sleep right, even if I’ve managed to sleep for 7-8 hours, I wake up feeling utterly exhausted. The headaches I’ve been experiencing have also been strange. Aside from that, what’s even stranger is that the wind chimes started to make that tinkling sound on their own. I first heard it on a quiet afternoon while reading a book in the living room. It was a nice, sunny day so I had my windows open, and I could clearly make out the sound of glass hitting glass, as if there was wind, but there wasn’t even the slightest breeze. How? I even went to check, and the wind chime was moving on its own. That’s when the whispers ring in my head. This time there are multiple voices, at least 2-3.

“You…. safe…”

“Danger… you’re…”

“Break… don’t…”

My heart starts beating and my head is pounding. The urge to just toss the wind chimes is somewhat tempting, but I remember my grandmother making thee from scratch when I was younger. Am I going mad? I felt so sure about the voices, however the few times I had friends over, they never seemed to notice anything amiss. They never reacted like there were voices too, and the wind chimes didn’t move when I had other people over. Had I made this all up?

On the first day of fall, I woke up with a pain in my temple. The bags under my eyes are quite prominent when I look in the mirror. I sigh and make my way downstairs, and that’s when I see a figure at my door. Except they’re... Glowing. Somewhat translucent. Their flesh looks brittle and deathly pale, and there is no life in their eyes. I’m paralyzed as it makes its way down the hallway. It phases through the door with ease, its lifeless gaze locked on me. All I can do is watch in horror as it makes its way towards me. It seems to merge into me, or at least attempt to, because that’s when I fight back. I hear the ghost make a sound. It’s ghastly and impossible to tell if it’s trying to say something, or if it’s all just nonsense. But I don’t care. I break into a sprint to make my way towards the wind chimes, which have been jingling this whole time, but the ghost seems to stop me. It raises its arm and I’m once again frozen, though not fully. I’m right above the wind chime and I’m slowly moving my arm up to grab it. The ghost makes more sounds, clearly trying to prevent me from touching it, but I prevail. Once I have the wind chime in my hand I immediately smash it to the ground. The ghost fighting me immediately evaporates into thin air, and the wind chime releases a bunch of wisps… There is a sound eerily similar to human screams and moans when it shatters on the ground, and a green light radiates from the broken pieces for just a second before fading away.

I swallow a lump in my throat and try to compose myself before cleaning up the mess. I’m sorry grandma, but keeping something sentimental was not worth risking my life for.