Mini Horror Stories from College

- October 8, 2023

          Very quick post, but I wanted to do this ahead of Halloween time, which happens to be my favorite holiday. This month, I will be posting some updates on my next graphic novel “Beating Heart” and on November 1st will be my blog post chronicling my October.

       Throughout the last two months I have been in college for creative writing and these two stories below are some ones that I wrote recently and I don’t plan on getting artwork for. You will see in the near future, a new section on my site for short stories in prose with artwork from guest artists. Without further ado, here are two short horror stories that I wrote from September and October. 

Short Story #1: Exorcist Friday

        I remembered why I needed a new jacket because the rains ripped through it, inherently soaking my upper body. I was extremely cold from the rain and simply wanted to go home, as it was Friday after all. Friday the thirteenth in September, which is a day that still dawns on my conscience. School ended much earlier than expected because the water drains were accidentally shut off, leaving me at home with my three parents and twelve siblings.

         “I’m going to watch The Exorcist,” said my oldest sister Joanna, who had been fuming about this movie for the past two weeks. Joanna’s excitement level was extraordinarily high for the film because she believed heavily in the supernatural and curses. I never saw a film in the horror genre before; therefore I begged for her to let me see it with her. We sat down in our theater room with kettle corn popcorn and sprite cans in our hands. The popcorn was so hot that it was burning the roof of my mouth, but the pain was something that I had not a single thought about because the opening credits started. 

          The opening sequence started off on a bad foot, creating a sick feeling in my stomach. “Can I leave please, I don’t want to watch this anymore,” I said, with trembles echoing through my voice. My sister assured me that it was my idea to watch it and I didn’t give the movie a chance yet, so I stayed in my seat. My blanket slowly crept over more of my body as the minutes of the film increased. Everything was dying down for a bit in the movie, after brief moments of terror until the scene happened that changed my life. 

         Regan, the main character in the film, who was demonic at this point had sat up in the bed. I could hear the crunching noises in her neck and the disgusting look on her face brought fear to my eyes. She turned her head in a full three hundred and sixty degree turn with a devilish grin. I could feel that it wasn’t a film anymore because it felt like Regan’s eyes were staring into my soul. “I can’t watch this anymore, please turn it off,” I begged. The thoughts racing through my mind were that I would become haunted, that I would become possessed by the devil. 

        “Quit crying and being dramatic,” said my sister, who was heavily invested in the movie. 

         “I’m going to get possessed too, the devil’s coming for me,” I said. She paid me no further attention, and I took that cue to race upstairs with tears dripping down my face. I hid underneath my bed for the next eight hours alone, and no one came looking or opened my bedroom door. It was around midnight and finally I thought my sister was coming to comfort me when I heard a knock on the door. I was wrong, desperately wrong because the door creaked open and I saw no foot enter the room. 

        I closed my eyes, only hearing the sound of something creeping across my room. The closet door opened, and I realized that the devil was looking for me. I scrunched up tighter because it went silent and I tried my best to breathe without noise. When I opened my eyes because I thought it was gone. I saw her, it was Regan in front of me, except she wasn’t grinning like the film. She had a look of concern on her face. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” said my sister’s voice. Regan’s face slowly went from demonic to Joanna’s face over the course of seconds. I felt relieved, and Joanna offered me her hand. She assured me that it was just a movie and everything would be alright. She turned on The Wild Thornberry show to get the horrific thoughts out of my head, although I do not believe they will ever go away. 

Short Story #2: The Powder

         Annually, after this 1920s Oklahoma storm, horses and cars become unsafe to use. Instead, diligent travelers must walk the cruel roads to get to their destinations. 

        Bright orange sun rays shine for seventy miles against this stretch of uneven pavement. Little towns populate at five mile intervals for the few who need to walk this path. The smell of the earthly, dry powder starts to slowly corrupt into each walker’s souls.

         When the dry powder begins to intensify so does the walker’s corruptions. Some begin to reach for sharp instruments, others begin to reach for their guns. The little voices inside their heads grow louder, increasingly demonic and they engage in violent actions upon themselves. They don’t stop until they take their very last breath in life. The little voice of corruption becomes ever filled with excitement as more walkers fall into the depths of this pavement’s layer of dry powder.