Table of Contents
Beneath That Night by Akshat Tripathi
That’s All It Takes by Andreas Vilk
The Night Howler by Anya Utting
The Fates Foretold It by Aubrey Pollock
The Banshee by Dana Camejo
A Ceiling of Rouge by Esther Norris
The Graves Beneath the Waves by Ginevra Mirgone
The Moon is High by Göktürk Yaşat The Perfect Day by Ildiko McGee
Footsteps by Jasmine Zolman
Trespass by Joshua Fillimore
Refuge for the Damned by Josh Taylor
Beware the Mist by Lukas Higham Hace
The Night of the Furry by Nathan Horan
Out of the Forest by Olivia Vandermeulen
Now I Can Be You by Oskar Kloeve
The Dastardly Dentist of Death by Peya Mwanyangapo
A Train Journey by Taketo Ichioka
Nathaniel Drablow by Violet Thor
We Walked Too Far by Zaim Banza-Mulongo Nyembo
Beneath That Night
By Akshat Tripathi
Such a gloomy night
And I had been full of fright I’d wished for the twilight
I sensed she’d been selfish and spooky
Her eyes, red, and full of malevolence
The ominous fingers, pale and creepy
She’d stolen the moment, and I lost my relevance
Such an evocative moment
She’d entered my puzzled mind
Her presence was enough to haunt you With actions contrasting from being kind
Her heart of demons
The quiet hisses which I’d heard, acting so sinister I’d been petrified in the moment I felt like a lone, lost visitor
She’d strolled forward with her pale skin outshining any other Just astonishing it was, just astonishing it was!
Her eyes were cold, her smile was thin
It felt like darkness dressed in skin
She looked at me- I couldn’t speak, Creep, so calm, so still, yet death did sneak.
Then I figured it out, she wasn’t weak!
She was a woman in the town, which had every part of her speak… and creep.
That’s All It Takes…
By Andreas Vilk
I was blithely doing my daily grocery shopping when I suddenly noticed an odd-looking woman She was unusually pale, with hypnotising eyes Dressed entirely in black, with long black hair, she looked like someone straight out of a Gothic novel. At first, I didn’t pay her much attention to her and assumed she was just another regular shopper.
But the longer I looked at her, the stranger she appeared Her posture was unnaturally straight, as if a plank were supporting her back Her hands were colourless, almost like there was no blood flowing through them, and her skin shared the same ghostly hue Her face started looking more distorted and uncanny the longer I looked at her. Still, I didn’t believe in ghosts or anything paranormal, so I simply shrugged it off and continued shopping.
Later when I was loading my groceries into the car, I saw her again She was across the parking lot, staring at me menacingly. A chill ran down my spine. I felt a creeping sense of unease, though I remained sceptical and stubborn. I focused on loading the groceries into my car and tried to ignore her. When I looked up about 30 seconds later, she was gone. Gone without a trace
I was driving home, trying to calm myself after the unsettling experience, when suddenly she appeared right in front of my car. I slammed into her before I had time to react. My heart stopped. I was shocked and horrified, thinking I had just killed someone.
I pulled over and jumped out of the car, panicking and looking everywhere for her But there was no body No blood No sign of anything Then I saw her again, standing a few metres back, just watching me. Silent and still. My heart sank. Suddenly, the creature started slowly walking towards me.
I froze as she slowly walked toward me Her movements smooth, almost like she was gliding I wanted to run, but my body wouldn’t move She stopped a few meters away, staring The air started to feel colder
“You noticed me,” she whispered. Her voice was clear, like it came from somewhere inside my head I shook my head, heart racing “I didn’t mean to " She smiled It wasn’t friendly “That’s all it takes.”
Then she turned and walked away, straight through the traffic. I stood there, baffled. Eventually, I got into the car and drove home But now, every time I'm driving my car, I think about that incident And sometimes, I think I still see her there
The Night Howler
By Anya Utting
After some time, the trees along the path grew taller and untidier, the ground less well trodden and coated in fine mist, and the air stale with the rotten stench of fear. I knew I should’ve stuck with the group, but it seemed as if the forest was calling out to me longingly and hopefully I wandered for hours, unsure of my next move until I found a clearing and decided to take a break and gather my bearings This certainly wasn’t what I signed up for when I was given the opportunity to win “A QUARTER OF A MILLION POUNDS”. My supplies had nearly run out and dawn was on the horizon. I had been up wandering aimlessly all night. I certainly wasn’t able to sleep though, as I was still riding high on that adrenaline burst.
Hours passed and I felt myself getting drearier by the minute - I would most certainly starve and die out here But, soon after, a miracle occurred Large muscular arms, hairy and rough but embracing, scooped me up and lifted me out of the depths of my exhaustion. Like an angel sent from above, surely taking me to my final resting place. I wasn’t able to open my eyes wide enough or with satisfactory clarity to catch a glimpse of my – thought to be – saviour Eventually I passed out and slept peacefully for I don’t even know how long, but time enough to recharge and become aware of my current surroundings.
A shack. Made of wood. There were tools in the corner alongside a rusty bucket used to catch frequent drips from the neglected ceiling. I was lying on an old sodden mattress, supported precariously by a broken old metal bed frame Still unable to move my body, my eyes darted around panicked and distressed wondering how I had been transported here. And then, a voice.
“Awake now, are we?” said a gruff and coarse voice, booming but not necessarily menacing I slowly shifted my gaze to the table of the shack where a large dark figure, as dark as the night himself, was seated.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. After taking a long hard look at this thing, I came to the educated conclusion that it, was not human It was looking right at me and talked to me as if one of my own, yet its appearance deceived At the end of the table, he sat, his body hairy and dark and large. His ears were pointed and his nose greatly resembled a dog’s.
I did not know whether to run or interact with this beast But I was completely frozen, in a state of shock, completely paralysed. And then, once again, he spoke.
“You looked as if you’d been walking for miles Completely wiped out you were when I picked you up just on my way home”
There was a long pause and I didn’t reply.
“Well, I best be off. We’ve got a busy night ahead of us.”
I thought to myself bewildered, ‘we’? Just then, he stood up and made his way to the door I flinched as he walked past me; he came across as so large and beastly, it was almost impossible not to feel afraid. He opened the creaky wooden door and simply left. There were so many questions left unanswered, so many conclusions I was yet to come to. And then, I heard it. I heard him. A shrieking, bone-rattling howl One like you’ve never heard before Loud and deep, it shook the trees in the surrounding forest and all four walls of this rickety old shack It left a ringing and hollow feeling within me.
I knew at that moment; I had to get out of there...
October 7 , 1994 th
The Fates Foretold It
By Aubrey Pollock
As I walk home from my evening of revelry with my friends out on the town, I hear dark heavy footfall receding into the distance in front of me. I think it must be a figment of my imagination as I have been walking alone down a desolate road for a seemingly endless period, struggling, with no saviour in sight. Trudging on semi-delirious from lack of food or drink
I pass by a small dingy booth slotted in between two imposing buildings, a dim light echoing from the grimy windows surrounded by deepest black. I double back, intrigued at who else could possibly be awake at this hour, and in my curiosity, I do not notice a decrepit sign hanging by the roadside reading in slanted font: “Miss Mara’s fortune readings, enter at your fate’s risk ”
The moment I set foot onto the threshold, a shrill, out of tune bell rang out signalling my arrival followed by a rustling of papers and a knock on my knee. I stare down in disgusted awe at a small shrewd figure crouched amongst a muck of papers and used tea bags Before I have a chance to comprehend what has happened a high voice announces, “Miss Mara will see you now” and the loud creaking and groaning that accompanies it makes me feel uneasy at the prospect of whoever this mystery figure was.
The room is completely encompassed wall to wall with books of all shapes and sizes, frayed and tattered as if read many times over, and in the centre of the room there is a small wingback chair and on it, a tiny, shrivelled woman with a gaunt face, poised on the edge, reading a book
“I’ve been expecting you, the fates foretold it…” utters the woman.
The Banshee
By Dana Camejo
Running and panting through the woods, escaping my old life, dashing from home, tripping over small rocks: nothing blocks my mind Until I stop I search my surroundings, realising I’m not in my hometown anymore The wind is playing a haunting tune in my pale ears, and the trees ominously dance along. I’m in a forest. However, this does not look like the forests I’m used to seeing - shrubs and plants stare at me through the private night. I erase the grim view from my mind and continue walking but this time I’m stepping ever so quietly making sure no one can hear even the slightest rumble in my stomach, seeing that I have not eaten for days. I’ve turned into a cat, my eyes able to see in the eerie darkness and my ears ready to hear any rustle coming towards me.
Just then I hear something, something strange, something out of the ordinary My reflexes allow me to see the thing moving in the distance I can’t make out what it is, the fog covering my eyes I can’t see The sinister sounds keep growing, as if someone is calling for help, wailing in the distance. My adrenaline kicks in and I start racing through the thick white fogs. I run for what feels like 20 minutes, until I can finally make out some glowing golden eyes. Something in me blocks my movement Not allowing me to continue searching the creepy thing that used to stand a few metres from me
The grim atmosphere creeps up into my body as the heebie-jeebies crawl in and out through me Mist appears in front of me almost lurid in the moonlight Out of nowhere a cackle goes through my now red ears. BOOM!
Something appears in front of me, something strange, something out of the ordinary A woman? Who looks in distress? She doesn’t say anything, matching the vibes she radiates, her long white silky hair contrasting with her ripped and ragged sapphire cloak placed around her body. Her eyes are… familiar? Like I’ve seen those golden eyes before, but disturbingly red blood drips down like she had cried for days I examine her once more allowing the moonlight to glisten on her, revealing the thin pale skin stretched around her bones. Her nails look uncut, growing far, and she has no shoes, allowing me to see the worn-out feet digging into the ground.
She says nothing, but I feel fear - not from her but for her
A Ceiling of Rouge
By Esther Norris
He’s here again. He’s one of the regulars but none of the girls want to serve him. They say he’s into biting, hard blood oozing, gnawing that creates a deep aching in your body. It’s been a quiet night, she’ll be hungry
She has been waiting for me to serve this one, she says - his folds of fat and bulging stomach are perfect. I remind myself to act, to be seductive, to make him want. But I can’t. I swallow but that doesn’t much help my dry mouth. My tongue, like sandpaper, utters the words, “Hello, Sir”. His gaze lands on me, a slight smirk coming upon his lips, chapped and pale He was happy it was a new server so he could unleash more of his fantasies Biting
My eyes glare at the rusted door of the room, yellow age marks plaguing the cold iron. I think about when I will leave. I part my legs and position my arms above my head, trying to be a seductress, like her The man crawls across the floor, draped with rouges and corals, soft heart pillows with odd stains, I hate it
“The name’s Darrell…”
The other girls told me about this, how he uses a different name each time. We don’t know why, considering the government was obliterated years ago I think he likes to put on a different persona, for each time to be a worser version of himself
“It’s Daphne.” It’s not. I lost my name years ago when we lost our rights. Our names went with them. I have different personas, different sides of myself adjusted to their clients = submissive, scared, they all have their preferences.
I slide my pants off letting the stained, aged fabric brush the hair on my legs She says they’re like a dense forest; the other girls told me that we used to be socially obligated to shave, but not anymore. The men aren’t here for our legs.
“Put your hair into a braid, make it French”
Of course he wants roleplay I am one of the client favourites for that, she always says I am good at acting. I pull my pants up, comb through my hair with my fingers grabbing hair to create a braid. The braid.
“I’m taking them off,”
His hand squeezes my cheek, forcing my lips to fold and plump up Trying to mimic the face of an infant. Rough fingertips walk down my back, tracing the outlines of my body, dancing with my curves. His chapped lips come to my stomach and his hands mould my thighs His grip tightens and then, it stops
I wait a few minutes, staring at the ceiling of rouge, thinking of the girls before me, pondering on the actions of this man, Darrell. Maybe he was tired? Did he get all that he wanted and nod off; they sometimes do that.
Moist, hot sweat cools into a musky damp layer of pain and pleasure Thinking he was sleeping, my legs inch away, slowly, taking time to not disturb him Innocence runs along his face as the overwhelming sickly red retreats from chin, cheeks, nose Until he is a blank canvas.
He is not sleeping. Arms, legs and head become heavy, weighing me down. Struggling, I slither my way out from under his grip and tilt his head towards me I glare into his eyes; deep soft brown orbs stare back at me Once the eyes of love, of hate, of anger, now just empty spheres of salty blood.
I keep them open. She says she likes them to see their end, how their hatred for women circles back, how women can bring life into the world as quickly as they can take it away
The Graves Beneath the Waves
By Ginevra Mirgone
Along the cliffs of Camogli town, Where seagulls shriek and fish frown, The sea once whispered soft and low, But now it roars and blows.
A graveyard rests above the tide, Where silent souls in peace abide, Watched waves for years in ghostly grace, Till earth beneath began to collapse.
The rock cried and cracked, As tombstones tumbled and smashed, One by one, a different soul crashed, Down in the dark blue sea.
The sea, it claimed the dead once more, And pulled them through its haunted door. Now shadows drift where coffins sleep, In watery graves so cold and deep.
The Moon is High
By Göktürk Yaşat
the moon is high, the wind goes wooo shadows like ghosts do too the door goes creak, the floor goes snap something’s walking — it's a trap
candles drip like blood so red whispers come from walls instead eyes in mirrors, cold and wide they look at me — got no place to hide
I run fast, heart goes bang something close, I feel its fang this house is mean, it’s full of pain i want to leave — but it keeps me again
The Perfect Day
By Ildiko McGee
(The Antichrist Is Coming)
I stumble out of the bar begrudgingly as I hear distant booing chase behind me. ‘It’s not fair’ I think as I tighten my jaw after I nearly trip over the uneven concrete that had been slowly chipping away after all these decades I barely manage to catch my footing as I let out a shaky “It’s not fair!” My breathing becomes unsteady as my sadness turns to a sudden rage. I had worked so hard to get this gig and for it to be trampled by spectres of the night who claim the bar as their refuge disgusts me to my core. I refuse to give up and stop.
“I’m supposed to be a star God damn it!”
I curse out all sorts of profanities into the grey New York sky as I slip into the alleyway just behind the bar, immediately noticing the foul stench from all the leftovers, drinks and probably the spew from all the lifeless alcoholics who have nothing better to do than drink, get lost, and repeat As I slump down onto the cleanest looking crate I can find, I rest my head against the decaying walls and stare up into the sky I note that the weather seems to be threatening to rain as the sky before me displays all sort of shades of grey and melancholia. I shut my eyes, dejection washing over me, letting the feeling of abjection sink into me.
“I can help you"
What?
Something lighter softer threads through the stillness A voice
An innocent unknown voice I furrow my brows as I very clearly do not want any help. Not now. Especially not now. I let out a breath through my nose as I roll my shoulders back in discontent. I barely manage to get out a small “No…” as I fantasise about an American pop star life, with all the glitz and glamour and fame This is pathetic I’m pathetic It giggles.
“But I can help you Don’t you want my help?” bargains the unknown figure in a sing song tone that somehow manages to soothe a part of my tense body In grave annoyance, I groggily roll my head away from the sweet calm voice.
“What…?” I mumble. “Why are you so persistent about helping me? Listen here damn it, I don’t need it nor want it so go skip back to your perfect little life with your perfect little family!”
“Sure.. I will go skipping back to my perfect little life and my perfect little family. But don’t go crying when you miss the chance of stardom. Isn’t that what you want? A star’s life?” What?
I shoot my eyes open at the mention of ‘stardom’ I slowly turn my head, averting my gaze to face the unknow entity that has been occupying my attention for the past few minutes. To my dismay, it is a child. A small child, perhaps age 8 or 9, looking up at me with a fair, wrinkled face with big, doelike, diamond blue eyes holding naivety and….
I don’t know I don’t really know
There is something behind them. Whether it’s iniquity, malice and vindictiveness, or virtue, purity and integrity, I cannot tell. Maybe I just drank too much during my gig. Perhaps I’m just.. drunk.
Anyways, she has beautiful, blonde, voluptuous curls put into two low pig tails tied up at each end with a big bow made out of a soft pearly coloured She stood with a battered-up teddy bear too, adding more to the innocent façade she wore.
“Stardom?”
My breath catches as I think of how this little girl could possibly know my desire for stardom My need for stardom She has done it now She has got my attention now. I’m far too drunk and far too lost in my own reverie to not throw away my shot.
“Can you help me with stardom? Can you guarantee my stardom?” I choke out as the hope and longing for my dream take over
“Your stardom? Of course I can guarantee your stardom ”
“Wait, really?”
Footsteps
By Jasmine Zolman
As I scan the black, empty space for some kind of light, I touch my brown, short hair and straighten my glasses. The air is thick - damp - full of the smell of wet grass and something metal, like dried blood. My fingers trace the wall, as I make my way down to a deserted aisle lined with rows of broken, old chairs. They're coated in dust and splinters stick out where backs have collapsed, and faded cushions have duck feathers frilling at the seams The aisle is lighted faintly by a few dim candles, their flames flickering intensely as if a breath was blowing them The wax drips onto the cracked floorboards that are lifting off the ground, each drop sounding loud in the silence. I step slowly, with each step making a ghostly creak from the boards beneath me. Exhaling my hot breath into the cold air to create a mist, I begin to listen closely to my surroundings - murmurs of the wind whispering in all corners of the room
I continue to walk down the aisle, but then I stop mid-step. I realize that I am no longer able to hear just the sound of my own footsteps.
There are other ones, thumping heavily behind me The floorboards creak once more, although not from my steps My heart races and the hairs on my arm stand on end As I step ahead to walk and notice where the noise is coming from, my white knit top gets caught on a rusty door handle on a dark, maroon door. I tug, but before I can free myself, the footsteps stop. A drop of sweat goes down my forehead.
And then - I feel it A hot breath, on my shoulder The kind of breath that is not from a living person
Although I am scared, I slowly turn. I'm met with a pair of ghostly, white eyes glowing in the darkness. The old man who stands in front of me is stumpy and he’s definitely over ninety, if he's alive His back is hunched, and he wears an off-white priest's robe that has been worn in, along with a similar shade short hat tilted on his head In his hands, he holds a rusty, gold cross necklace - its chain tangled around grubby fingers Silently, he lets go of the cross and places his wrinkly, cold hand on my shoulder. His skin is pale, as if he’s sick. He looks dead.
I try to move forward, but fear fills me I’m paralysed staring at his wasted face I stand there staring, as he collapses to the ground to his knees in front of me and creates an ear bleeding shriek. The shriek echoes through the church walls and then, with one final breath, he is dead before my very eyes. Blood is seeping from his head into the cracks of the floorboards. His dark, thick blood drips until there is none left.
I'm stuck there, out of breath, staring at a priest’s dead body
I wake up suddenly. My bed is drenched with sweat, and I’m quite taken aback after what I just saw. Thank goodness, it was just a nightmare. Right?
But then - I hear the sound again The thumping of feet on the kitchen floor below
Trespass
By Joshua Fillimore
Apparently, there had been many reports of kids and teenagers trespassing into the church during the night. There were many complaints from the people that lived around, about strange sounds coming from inside the church As a result, I volunteered to work night shifts
It was my third day when I realised that there was one strange rustling sound coming from the vault at the same time every day. It was now the fourth night, and it had happened again.
Curious, I silently crept over to the large double door that led you to the vault, but as I was going to open the door, from just behind the door I could hear murmuring and rustling meaning something was moving in there.
It suddenly became silent I slowly opened the creaky, rusty door And behind that door was a little child I was extremely shocked, I thought it was a trespasser, but this couldn’t have been any kind of trespasser This odd looking creature was in the deepest black robe and had a vermillion shade of red running down the child’s cheeks. Maybe they needed help…?
I called out to offer help, but the child stood there very tall and straight and not a word slipped from their lips I was scared but not for myself, for the child I asked them, “Where are your parents?” but still not an answer. Maybe this child was very shocked?
I went to go and see if their parents were outside looking for them but as I peeked my head outside the double doors there was a rustling noise coming from behind me I jumped and turned around The child was gone I felt I was in a dream; this was weird as this kid was about 6 years old. They also looked odd - they had a bright pale white skin, an unhealthy look. I thought I was maybe hallucinating until the very next night…
At exact same time I returned back down to the vault to see if that child had returned. As I reached the doors I stopped, I wanted to be as quiet as possible so I could run in and catch the child off guard, but once again all I could hear were the bats of the night and that unusual hissing sound again
I busted into the room, but nothing was there. As I turned around to leave the room, I thought I saw an odd shadow in the corner of my eye Once again it was the child - it was just its clothes that blended in with the night I approached it and again asked the same question “Why are you here?” but still no response The child just stared at me; it was sort of creepy.
The look was a look of death, there was something very off with this child. Its long clothes looked very out of fashion, and they had look very run down I felt very uncomfortable and slowly turned around to leave the room But as I went to close the door behind me the child was there standing four feet away from me I had no idea what this child wanted but it wasn’t good.
I sprinted back up the stairs to get away, but I slipped. As I slipped, I turned to face the child with my back on the stairs However, when I looked at the child it wasn’t moving it stood there but continued to look at me In shock, I quickly got back up and ran up the broken stairs and escaped the church.
That place was definitely haunted, and I think it’s safe to say I shall never return…
Refuge for the Damned
By Josh Taylor
I first saw him after exploring the Sanctum of the Crimson Masque, the old monastery on the outskirts of the village It was originally used as a place of prayer and a refuge for the damned or those exiled from society. It has since been abandoned and has fallen into disrepair, vines twisting around and strangling the pillars.
I was there to expel a group of teenagers using it as their hideout On the way out, in the corner of my eye, I saw a shadowy figure sneaking into one of the rooms Must have been another teenager, I thought Carefully treading over the rubble and vines, I made my way to the shaded doorway. The room inside was dark, illuminated only by the doorway which I was now blocking.
I clicked on my torch and called out, “You’re not supposed to be in here The building is going to collapse!”
Silence. Then, a faint giggle that seemed to bounce off the walls.
I stepped further in, lighting up the darkness before me as I walked I turned one corner Then another And another Crunch! The light dipped to the floor, where something cold and pale lay beneath my boot - a human finger, snapped cleanly in half beneath my weight
I stumbled backward instinctively, the beam of my torch swinging wildly along the stone walls The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, each corner twisting deeper into the Sanctum, further away from the outside world
The giggle came again, softer this time, but closer. I steadied my breath, raised the torch, and pressed forward. The air grew colder with each step, and moisture dripped from the ceiling. Then I noticed it: faint symbols etched into the walls. Masks with mouths wide open, silently screaming, warning me not to go further inside this labyrinth
At the end of the hallway, a doorway loomed - half-rotted and barely hanging on its hinges. I nudged it open with my boot. Inside, the chamber glowed with a strange red light that had no clear source. Shadows danced across the floor and ceiling, stretching out their fingers as if reaching for me
And there he was
Not a teenager. A tall, thin figure draped in crimson robes. His face was obscured by a maskporcelain white, cracked, and smeared with something dark. He didn’t move. He just watched me
Then he raised a hand, and the world seemed to collapse in on itself. The walls twisted up toward the sky like vines. Noise drilled into my head. Not voices. Not words. Just noise. Crawling into my ears, burrowing into my mind.
Beware the Mist
By Lukas Higham Hace
On a nice Sunday morning, I (Hugh Marks) was having my morning jog. It was cool a bit too chilly for my liking but the fog had just risen, letting the sun warm me up just enough to stop me from shivering As I kept jogging, I saw a police car next to the church and a policeman trying to calm a priest down I kept jogging past, not knowing what was the matter, until I saw some bricks and broken glass and a golden-painted cross, snapped in half, on the ground beside the church Only then did I realize something was indeed wrong
As I looked up, I could see a broken window and a damaged wall. But most importantly, the cross at the top of the church had been replaced by a large flag with a blank white background and bold, bright red letters that read:
"Beware, the mist will take over all."
The flag was so big it could be seen and read from over 300 meters away. Without hesitation, I rushed over to see if there was anything I could do to help. The priest looked me up and down, then glanced at a cross in his hands and asked me in a way I couldn’t refuse:
“Could you climb up and remove that horrible flag and put this cross in its place? I have a Sunday school class in just half an hour”
I thought for a moment, but not wanting to disappoint my local 75-year-old priest, I said enthusiastically, “Anything for you, Father.”
I scanned the church, looking for possible ways to get to the top. I started by climbing up the left side of the church wall, using the tall grave tombs beside me as a boost I was able to grab the ledge of a window, then heaved myself upwards until I could stand on the window ledge. After all that heaving, I paused for a break to catch my breath, then continued up the church.
I groaned as I clutched the small ledge at the top of the window and gathered all my strength to pull myself up, as only the tips of my fingers could reach the ledge My fingers were slipping, so I swung my right leg up and caught the ledge with my shoe. With the help of my foot, I managed to roll onto the roof of the church
Once I stood up, I carefully gripped the tiles and slowly started crawling up the roof. When I reached the top, I quickly tried to remove the flag, not realizing how much time I had spent scrambling up the tiles. I had to remove the flag fast, but the flagpole had been sealed in place it looked almost like it belonged on top of the church and had always been there
I got annoyed and tugged hard at the flag, and to my surprise, the fabric ripped off the pole. Now that the flag was off, I decided to just use what felt like a mile's worth of tape to strap the cross onto the pole as a temporary solution
Meanwhile, the policeman had gone off and fetched a tall ladder to make it easier for me to come down. As I was descending the ladder, a dark figure caught my eye. I could see someone a little way into the grass field next to the church, where the fog still lingered And then, with a bird flying by right in front of me, the figure vanished
The Night of the Furry
By Nathan Horan
I’m a tortured artist with little to no money who has been goaded by wealthy slave owners to make paintings for them to sell I have been tasked to visit an old, derelict mansion of theirs that hasn’t been lived in for more than 30 years and paint pictures of it. I’m walking up to the massive stone monolith that is the mansion when I notice that all the windows are barred shut. I continue forward through the door and then I hear a loud sound of metal clanging. I turn around to see that the door is closed, I run up to it to try and open it but it’s locked
With seemingly no way out, I decide to explore the house The walls are in a terrible state with the wallpaper peeling off, visible damp spots and dripping coming from somewhere so I would assume that the roof has been worn down significantly by heavy rainfall. The corridors have a lingering scent of decaying wood and dead animals But I hear a faint howl that appears to be coming from a large wolf-looking creature standing on a tree not far from the mansion The main room consists of a minor seating area right in front of two curved staircases leading to the same mid-floor area with a large, tinted glass window. I go up to the window to see what the creature might be but by the time I get there it’s already gone. The moon has just gone down now, during what seems to be an abnormally long full moon phase lasting two weeks by now Only a few minutes later I hear a knocking sound on the door Knowing that I wasn’t supposed to come back until tomorrow at 6am, I wonder who it might be
The mysterious individual somehow manages to open the door even though it was locked, albeit making a resounding metal-breaking noise. As he walks in, I hear the sound of claws scratching against the old floorboards, the sound of fur rustling due to the cold draught of wind that seems to linger throughout the mansion It casts a long shadow, possibly taller than the door itself As it opens the door I can get a clear look at it, but it’s just a human An ordinary human with long, spiky, silver hair that hasn’t been washed in what seems a lifetime. They’re wearing a shredded navy shirt and ripped jean shorts, it’s immediately visible that they come from a family of very hairy people as they seem to have thick body hair almost everywhere As I stand there it looks at me, a hard gleaming stare that feels like they’re looking directly into my soul Its mouth is drooling as if I’m its prey although it soon stops as it realises how odd it looks They come up to me, shake my hand and say with a solemn low pitch-voice “Welcome to my home, I’ve been expecting you”. It catches me off guard, I was told that this house had been abandoned for decades but suddenly someone lives in it. They then proceed to ask me if I want something to drink but I politely dismiss it as I don’t know what they might put in it
The creature leaves, sits down in another room and starts reading a book, none that I would recognise as I’m not a big reader myself. Then I remember what I came here to do, so I take off my backpack and take out my art supplies. It feels like I’m still forgetting something although I’ve double checked everything. I think to myself what should I draw first. Nothing in this house is worthy of drawing so, I wonder why I’ve been sent here There must be something to draw, maybe I could get a look at that wolf creature from just a while ago I might have to wait a while since it hasn’t showed up in a while but I don’t mind since this home doesn’t seem so bad.
My back starts to ache from the long trek that I took to get I here so I look around for comfortable place to rest I hear music coming from a room so I slowly approach the door being careful not to make a racket. I try to open the door in a subtle manner but I’m interrupted by the awful, constant sound of the door creaking. I decide to just enter casually instead, hoping the creature won’t attack me. Expecting something to happen, I stare at the creature but it doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with me, content with its book I wave at the creature to see if it cares at all and it, as expected, just looked at me with a look of irritancy and disapproval It gestures at me to sit down so I look around for a comfortable spot. The creature is sitting in a vintage-looking armchair towards the right of the room. There’s a sofa in the middle of the room with its back facing towards me, right in front of it there’s a dimly lit fireplace. Towards the left of the room there’s a kitchen area with several knives lying around and a faint smell of burnt food All the cushions are half shredded with strands of fabric and stuffing scattered throughout the room The seats are arranged in a lousy manner with no attention to symmetry and springs sticking out in multiple areas I go around the sofa and then sit on it, pull out my sketchpad and start to draw a rough but recognisable outline of the room. The creature looks over at me and says, “Don’t bother trying to draw anything in this area of the woods nothing good comes of it” Slightly startled by it I wonder what he might have meant I pretend to ignore it and continue drawing but I experience a brief sinking feeling followed by my whole body stiffening and my grip on my pencil starting to falter.
I wake up. I have no memory of what just happened. I look down. My neck hurts. There’s a mirror I look at my reflection There are hand marks on my neck My hands ache as well My head starts to turn I can’t feel the floor anymore I can’t see
I can’t breathe.
I feel a sudden rush of adrenaline, I’m instantly hyper-aware of my surroundings, it feels like I just jumped off a cliff only to realise I’m still alive I’m slowly regaining my calm, my hearing starts to come back, I can hear the sound of fur rustling beside me and distressed talking I look to my right and I see the creature It looks distressed, its talking but I can’t hear him or I’m not listening, I have no idea, I can hear him talking but my brain is not interpreting it. I close my eyes for what feels like forever. I open my eyes, I can understand him. “wh.. r.. w. h… e am ?” I try to talk but the words won’t come out of my mouth “w a hw t j j st h h p en d” It feels like I’m suffocating in my own words I think I can hear the creature saying, “Let’s get you some rest,” but I’m not sure I feel someone picking me up but then I fall asleep
I wake up again, I’m lying on a bed. I have a headache and I have no idea how I got here. I remember that I came here to draw so leave the room and head down the stairs to go get my backpack, hoping that I put it somewhere I can remember before I went to bed last night I notice that it’s not actually day though, When I look outside, it’s pitch black I’m not one for waking up early which is weird, huh I look around the lobby and see a clock on the wall, but of course it doesn’t work, what was I expecting? Something seems different about the house compared to when I arrive. I go into the living room where the creature was sitting before and I see it making a cup of coffee with an old hand-grinder. It looks at me with a somewhat blank expression, not yet fully awake I want to go on my morning walk but I remember the door is
locked so I ask the creature to let me out The creature pretends not to notice me so I repeat the question but get no reply The creature finishes making his coffee and then sits down on one of the kitchen counter stools. The house isn’t very warm but I doubt the creature minds considering the amount of body hair it has. To be honest I don’t know why I still call them a creature, they look just like me. I go up to it and ask it for its name. The creature responds with, “You can call me Anthony”
I suddenly hear a loud clanking noise followed by a creak The room gets slightly colder than before so I would assume that a window has been blown open by the wind. I don’t think much of it and decide to go back to my room. When I enter the main hall, I notice the front door is open. There’s a strong wind coming from the door, so much so that when I wave my hand it starts to generate lift I attempt to walk outside with the strong wind blowing in my face
I leave the house and start walking forwards I feel the temperature start to plummet The wind starts to change direction and get stronger the further I walk. It starts raining heavily followed by a thick fog suddenly surrounding me. The rapid change in direction of the wind starts to disorient me but I can make out a trace of light in the distance As I walk further the light begins to grow brighter and brighter until I am almost in reach of it
I finally arrive at the light and I see a door right next to it. Using all my force, I manage to heave it open, run in and shut it. I’m completely exhausted, why on earth did I do that? I realise something that makes me completely freeze. This is not the same house. In fact, this doesn’t seem to be a house at all Upon further inspection I can make out several rows of seats, an altar in the far end of the long room, a crucifix hanging on the wall, candles, tainted windowsI must be in a church I walk up to the altar and see a corpse collapsed on the floor to the right of the altar.
Several hours later, the storm outside has not subsided one bit. The church has a damp atmosphere as if it hasn’t been taken care of in decades All the structures in this area seem to be in the same desolate state The rows of seats are all wet for some reason and the wood has insects living in it. The grey stone of the church has many holes in the mortar allowing heat to escape.
On the altar is a copy of the bible opened to Exodus 33:20, reading “No man shall see me and live” I’m anything but reassured by this and I decide to just close the book hoping that’ll do something I want to make my way out of here as soon as possible but the storm is still going outside.
The door suddenly breaks open revealing Anthony. He runs up to me and says, “We need to leave now” I follow him out of the church, the storm still there He manages to lead us back to the house and shuts the door firmly behind us He mutters the words that I can barely make out as, “I should never have opened that door”
Out of the Forest
By Olivia Vandermeulen
Prologue
In a northern forest the dark, misty night fell and with it came a wreckful vampire murdering his victims left and right by drinking them alive. Both the place and the creatures there were uncouth. Tina had a wife and 3 children, Sophie was pregnant, Lina just got engaged, Tara had a sick mother, Alina just had a child. Nonetheless they were delicious; they gave the vampire enough strength to move at inhuman speeds and great strength Day began to break and the vampire had to hurry into a dusty cave to avoid the burning sunlight
Sarah had gone for a quick morning jog out in the forest when she came across the terror. She was astonished and motionless, until she heard something inside an ominous cave. She slowly entered the frightful place only to see her child covered in blood Dead Or so she believed
She shrieked and cried at the body, in denial that her only child was dead. However, she quickly felt relief when eyes burst open, only for him to rip her throat out and munch away on her jugular vein, ultimately causing her beheading
He thought carefully about why this foolish woman would believe he was her son as he was 504 years old. Yet, he only looked 17.
The next night no one was in the forest, no frat parties, no sneaking out, late night walks, nothing His tummy began to grumble It was time to head into town
Chapter 1
Andrew was more than concerned he was holding back tears. His mother was missing since her morning jog yesterday. Could it be that she was so furious due to him losing his grandfather’s watch 3 days ago. That she just took off? No that couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t
Nightfall came and he couldn’t wait anymore. He went into town and searched every bar, restaurant and ringed every doorbell, until he was finally on his way to the police station to report that his mother was definitely missing. However just before reaching the street of the station he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw someone, no not someone Himself
It was his exact mirroring yet much paler, deathly pale in fact Almost like a deceased person. The moon light lit up his face and he could see the blood beneath his chin, he was wearing an all black Victorian suit with his grandfather’s watch in his hand. Had this strange person who looked like him stolen his watch? Why did he look like him? Was he some long lost twin? Or relati- he didn’t even have time to say the last question in my head as the doppelgänger spawned in less than a second in front of his eyes He leaned in Andrew was taken aback, terrified and horrified is how he felt Yet, he smiled Why? Why would he sit there and smile at Andrew like an absolute weirdo. Andrew wouldn’t do that so why would he, if they looked exactly alike?
Now I Can Be You
By Oskar Kloeve
One dark night, Elanor stood beneath the gloomy sky, clad in black with a tight grip on her umbrella as she arrived and had her first look at the crumbling house her sister had lived in Her twin sister, who had passed only recently due to a sickness from living in the cold, dark environment for too long.
They were once close but became distant towards each other as Esme fell in the shadow of the “perfect sister” and became quieter and in some way hidden, growing a sinister hatred for Elanor But for Elanor, she loved the attention from everyone She was the star, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now Esme was gone. Or so Elanor thought
The funeral had been brief, cold, with few to no guests The place alone was enough to scare any neighbours, so it made sense. Old faces were spotted, like Carl, the boy who lived two houses away, or Miss Nancy, who had aged greatly but still had the same emerald green eyes and soft smile.
Then a man with a dark suit and tie came up the drive with documents in his hand Arriving ten minutes late, the few that were still there all stared at the man. A sudden difference in noise from quiet to silent as he announced the will urgently. Though strange, people must have thought he just wanted to get out of the eerie estate, and you could not blame him: thick fog, dark woods, wet swampy ground and crumbling stone with lichen covering all
Oddly enough, his words were, “And the will goes to Elanor the estate and money and all Miss Esme had ever owned.”
Elanor, now not sure if she had heard it right, looked around at the people staring at her as a feeling of guilt emerged from her body She sat on the steps of the house and waited for the guests to leave
Sure enough, soon after the guests departed, Elanor stayed behind. Something was pulling her deeper into the house a whisper, almost like a dream. Was it her own mind instructing her or playing tricks? She had to find out.
She wandered the dark halls, her steps echoing on the old wooden floors with an occasional creak of the wooden planks The house whistled and shrieked in the wind, and yet when she closed the windows, it didn’t stop She started questioning was it just the wind?
"Elanor..."
She spun The voice sounded like hers but fainter, colder
“Elanor…”
She turned a corner and froze in disbelief
At the end of the hallway stood a woman in a torn dress Her back was turned, slightly hunched over.
“Who is it?” Elanor called, followed by, “Are you lost?”
The woman stepped out of view Elanor followed, afraid As she slowly walked down the hallway, Elanor started hearing crisp whispers
"You always had it good..."
"But now..."
"Now I can be just like you."
Doors slammed The air grew colder And it became harder to breathe all around her now And then she saw her.
Esme
Alive, but wrong Her eyes were empty Her skin, a light pale gray She grinned and malevolence radiated from her
Elanor stumbled backward, gasping for air. Esme took a few steps closer.
"Now I can be you," she whispered again, voice layered over Elanor's hard breathing Elanor stepped back as Esme followed with a syringe with a cloudy liquid inside Elanor, at the door, shaking it violently, begged her sister not to before glancing back. Stab.
It was too late, as she whispered, "Now I am you"
The Dastardly Dentist of Death
By Peya Mwanyangapo
The dentist’s office was dark and silent, except for the faint hum of a drill echoing from the back room. Dr. Morwen’s eyes gleamed behind cracked glasses as he sharpened a tool that hadn’t been cleaned in years. The air smelled of rust, fear, and something far worse.
The patient sat still in the old chair. The leather was ripped and felt sticky. A hand grabbed their shoulder. It was colder than a normal hand. "No medicine to stop pain," Dr. Morwen said, smiling. His teeth looked sharp and strange. The door shut by itself, even though no one touched it.
A Train Journey
By Taketo Ichioka
“Why is it me..?”
I just finished saying that, when I guess I got my consciousness back, based on the endless bumping feeling of the track, but why was I saying that? Was I dreaming?
For the next ten minutes, I sat there, zoning out from the body if it was even possible. In my cold, moving seat, I decided to just have a walk around, to see if anybody, anyone, anything was here with me, to brighten up the emotionless feeling Standing up felt like I was doing a heavy squat, even more difficult with the train rattling on the track making it feel like I was on unsteady floor, just slowly, slowly creaking apart
I was walking as steadily and slowly as I could imagine, just going through the aisle of seats, still nauseous, some parts of my sight blacked out, but I kept going The hope of finding anything in this soulless tomb-like carriage Then I saw a hope in the dimly lighted seats Something was sitting there There was a head sticking out from the seats, covered by a hood.
“Hello..?” I said while slowly making my way. I didn’t notice but I’d been walking for longer than Suddenly, it stood up, turned around, until I noticed he was a young man with a face more emotionless than a Belgian winter’s rain but leaking malevolence, wearing a dark-coloured hoodie, with a hood up just far enough so that I couldn’t see his eyes His mouth looked rather blithe. He also had a neck warmer, with a nasty, bloody scar design. He just gave a smirk, barely noticeable under the dark. Then the light flickered.
My heart stopped, as a shadow skipped, and my mind slipped away with a swift pop
Now as I stood in front of the young man, a shadow leaked, reeled and sealed me inside a shadow sphere. All this time I’d been standing, I could not move any part of my body, just my eyes, looking around. I felt warm but frozen, feeling the shadow closing. The feeling of the worst was becoming true The size of the sphere did not stop shrinking, soon it was touching my skin, but it surprisingly didn’t hurt
Nathaniel Drablow
By Violet Thor
‘Are you sure the marshes are safe Miss Rose?’ I asked, for about the fourth time that crossing
‘Yes Nathaniel, so long as the mist is gone, and the tide is low’ She sighed for the fourth time in reply.
‘I wish Auntie came with us,’ I spoke.
The nurse stirred in her seat slightly, she didn’t like her much ‘Your mummy wouldn’t like that Nathaniel, you know she doesn’t like her leaving the house’
I scrunched my nose at the word ‘mummy’ because Miss Janette said that she wasn’t my mummy, so I believe her, because why would Auntie lie to me? She loves me dearly Miss Janette said that she was going to take me away from the marshes and away from ‘mummy’ I hate the marshes I hate mummy
I turned in my seat to gaze at my home, the neatly trimmed hedges and the grand iron gate door, the dark gardens and the dull grey of the walls. As I gazed at the swirling spires of Eel Marsh House, I looked in my window, searching for a familiar face, my eyes darting around the sill There, there she was, as she had always been, waiting for me to come home I waved excitedly at her, and she waved back to me
‘Come Keckwick, you can go faster, can’t you?’ Rose said to our driver.
‘Sorry ma’am but seems the mist is disagreeing with us today,’ he responded gruffly
‘The mist???’ I said, remembering what the nurse said previously.
‘Don’t worry dear, we’ll be alright, it’s just a little foggy out, that’s all.’
I nodded uncertainly, and kept my eyes trained on the house, the house that was slowly descending into the mist, my gaze becoming more and more murky as the fog intensified, until I could see no more. All my vision would allow me to see was the milky whiteness of the air around me, encompassing our little pony trap in a prison of clouds.
I turned to my nursemaid Her jaw was taut, and her eyes were filled with fear She was urging the reluctant Keckwick to keep driving despite our predicament Keckwick agreed cautiously, as he had carted us down this road many a time The tarmac was almost indistinguishable from the muck of the marsh. I began to wonder if we were even going the right way. I voiced my concerns and Miss Rose shot them down, insisting we were to remain going forward.
That’s when it happened.
The pony lurched to a halt, the trap along with it Keckwick urged the pony forward but to no avail, they were trapped in mud. Calmly Keckwick told us we were stuck. I began to whimper, as the pony started thrashing, desperate to rid itself of its muddy grave, Rose pulled me close and began to pray. Keckwick told us to get out, but we didn’t move.
‘Get out damn it!’ he called frustratedly ‘We’re going to drown out ‘ere if we don’t leave’ ‘God will save us,’ Rose murmured mid-prayer He stared at her, dumbfounded.
‘You’re crazy!’ he said, as he clambered out of the trap.
The moment his foot hit the muck, he began to sink, the mud dragging him down like quicksand I screamed as I saw his waist go under He grunted as he persevered through the slush Soon his chest was covered in the sludge, but he was close to what I assumed to be the causeway. Then the mist started to swallow him up, I do not know if the muck or the mist had got him, but what I do know is that I heard a bellow and a gurgle, then no more
I began to cry, I didn’t want to die, Mummy was going to miss me, and Auntie was going to take me on adventures, I didn't want to miss them! The silt began to creep its way through the bottom of the cart, Miss Judd stopped praying and began sobbing, screaming for this to stop, for us to wake up and for our nightmare to be over. She held me close as the soil began to reach our feet, I struggled to free myself, wanting to follow Keckwick, wanting to try to live, but her arms were far stronger than mine, holding fast to my scrawny body The silt was up to our knees now, I was screaming for her to let go of me, kicking and prying at her arms She gave way and clutched herself, like she was trying to hold herself together by pure force.
I gazed out at the thick vapour encircling me, I whispered a quick prayer and jumped into the murk of the mud Immediately I started drowning In my desperation I had neglected to remember I couldn’t swim I slowly started sinking, as I floundered around in the muck I was crying out for Mummy, for Auntie, for anyone really to come and get me, to save me. The mist began clearing suddenly, as it often does, I could begin to see the outline of Eel Marsh House, its intimidating walls and sturdy build. Oh how I longed to be inside those walls. I could make out the edge of the causeway, but its thin pavement was many metres away, we must have veered far off the path
I inched my way along through the ooze, I was up to my shoulders in mud, my ears filled with the screams of my nursemaid, I turned back, just in time to see her head disappear. The screams ceased, leaving me in a void of silence, only filled with the sound of my own panting and grunting as I attempted to force my way through the muck I could see the edge of the causeway, just barely a metre away, my shoulders were now under, my arms dragging sluggishly behind me, slowly pulling me under Until now I had never known my heart to race or my skin to crawl, but now, slowly being pulled under this icky grave of muck and soil.
My death was now imminent. My neck was submerged in the grimy quicksand my head disappearing rapidly I whimpered sadly, wanting to be wrapped in my mother’s arms rather than being engulfed in this swirling circle of madness I felt the slime creep up my face Then my nose went under. Darkness. I was terrified. All I could think was it would all be over soon. I would soon see Mother and Auntie in the afterlife.
We Walked Too Far
By Zaim Banza-Mulongo Nyembo
We should never have been that deep in the woods. The grown-ups always said the land past the dodgy iron gate was sick, that things grew twisted where no light touched grass. But we were children. And children don’t fear stories the way they should.
Peya and I had walked too far from the orphanage, chasing echoes from the outside and weird dreams The air turned colder as the sun sank behind a forest of skeleton trees, and then, rising from the mist like a forgotten god, we saw it. The cathedral.
The walls were cracked, the roof sagging like a broken back. Ivy attached to every stone, and the stained-glass windows glared like bruised eyes, red eyes The great doors, to our surprise, were open Not forced Inviting us in
Peya said nothing as we crossed. Though I felt his hand tighten in mine. He was always braver, but not now.
Inside, the air was dead It didn’t move Dust fell in slow motion swirling through beams of failing light The pipes were broken, and the painted saints on the walls had long since wept their colours down into nothingness. There was no sound except the faint drip of water. Somewhere far off, echoing like a ticking clock.
And then He was there
We didn’t see him arrive. One moment the whole place was empty, the next, beneath the shattered chandelier, he stood weirdly still. A clown. Or something wearing a clown’s skin.
He was dressed in old, very old clothes A faded orange suit with puffed sleeves and dark colours, with big buttons that looked almost like food Around his neck, a yellow ruff His shoes were oversized and green, distinguished despite the rot around him
Above him, from the rusted chandelier, hung a single red balloon. It bobbed gently, though no wind blew
“Peya,” I whispered, breathing heavily The clown tilted its head.
Its face was a spooky mask, smeared with old white greasepaint, the mouth stretched in a terrible grin not joyful, not even cruel. HUNGRY. The lips were painted red, though I was certain the paint wasn’t paint. Around its eyes, black sockets bled into blood, and the eyes within them were bottomless, inhuman, grand
It didn’t move
But it watched
Very carefully
Looking at every movement
But was motionless.
Its fingers twitched at its sides, too long, too slow, like a spider in the air The light didn’t quite touch it The shadows curved strangely around its body
I couldn’t breathe. Peya reached for my hand again I hadn’t noticed I’d let go and clutched it so tightly it burned his hand.
“We should run,” I said
But we didn’t. Because something in the cathedral shifted. A hum. A pulse. As though we had stepped inside something alive, and now it had noticed us. The balloon creaked above him, and the grin seemed to widen.
“We shouldn't have come,” Peya said, his voice thin “No,” I whispered back “We were brought ”
And that was when the clown moved.
Just a step - a slow, intentional step forward. The sound of it was wrong Too soft Too wet
And Peya - brave, loyal Peya whispered again, more to himself than to me: “It sees us”
And I realized then, deep in my marrow, that it always had. I turned around and from the corner of my eye, I saw it The same thing that had been staring at us But in another direction
I turned only slightly, afraid to draw its full attention but enough to glimpse what my peripheral vision was already screaming about. There was another.
In the far corner of the cathedral, half-swallowed by darkness and vines, stood a second figure Identical, yet not This one was taller, thinner, its neck elongated like some awful marionette. The same grotesque make-up smeared across its face, but the smile oh God the smile was wider, splitting nearly to its ears. Its balloon was black, pulsing as though alive, the string gently coiling like a snake.
It stood still. Perfectly still. But its head twitched in tiny, unnatural jerks, as though trying to suppress spasms And I understood, in a way words can’t explain, that we weren’t looking at two creatures No We were trapped between different faces of the same thing
Peya whimpered Not cried whimpered, like an animal cornered in the dark
The first clown took another step. Slow. Wet. Purposeful.
The second one mirrored the movement, but in reverse, gliding backward across the cracked floor as though rewinding time, its head cocked at an unnatural angle
The cathedral groaned, beams creaking overhead, dust swirling like tiny insects dancing in a beam of weak light.
I tried to pull Peya back toward the doors But they weren’t open anymore The great doors were gone
Only black stone now. Seamless.
No exit.
“Peya,” I gasped, “don’t look at them”
But he couldn’t not look His eyes were fixed on the first clown as it raised its hand fingers unfurling like the legs of a dead spider, pointing directly at him
And then… it spoke.
A voice like silk dragging over broken teeth.
“Peya We’ve been waiting”
How did it know his name?
“No,” Peya whimpered. “No one knows me here.”
The clown giggled a wet, wheezing noise that echoed too long in the cathedral. The second one joined in, its own laugh like a broken music box slowing down
“We know you”
“We know you both.”
“We know what you left behind.”
“We know why you ran”
The walls around us shivered, like the whole cathedral was breathing in time with its words I felt Peya shift beside me, pressing his face into my arm.
The shadows behind the clowns lengthened. Changed. Began to take shape. Thin shapes. Tall shapes Dozens Maybe more They peeled away from the walls like old paint, eyes opening in places no eyes should be Watching Always watching
Peya’s hand was slick with sweat in mine. He couldn’t move. Neither could I.
Then the clown’s voice softened, almost kindly.
“Come closer, little ones It's so very cold where you’ve come from”
The second clown began to glide forward, and the others behind it started to twitch and crawl.
They weren’t going to wait much longer “RUN,” I whispered hoarsely
Peya didn't move. So I yanked him. Hard.
And we ran
But not towards the vanished doors. No towards the side. Toward a small, crumbling archway behind a fallen stone pillar I had seen it flicker in the light before the thing spoke
The shadows shrieked behind us. The balloons bobbed, strings whipping like tendrils in a wind that didn’t exist.
The clowns came after us not fast worse: patient Like they knew there was nowhere safe
But still we ran Into the dark Into the ruin Into whatever came next
Because behind us, in the cathedral, something bigger than the clowns was beginning to wake up.
