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Blinker's Window [Horror]

Merc

Problematic Shitlord
V.I.P.
I must have been possessed yesterday because I wanted to write a scary story and in one hour, I came up with this (one hour from idea to finish). Obviously it's not edited much so don't get finnicky. General comments would be nice!


-----------------------------------------------

When I was young, my favorite place in the house was the basement.

As you descended the stairs, there was an open room to the left and right. On the left was my dad's work bench decorated with various wrenches, screwdrivers and boxes of nails, bolts, screws and anything else necessary to keep our rickety house in the woods together. Towards the back of that room was a tiny almost closet sized space just big enough to fit the washing machine and dryer and beyond that, a door leading to a small space with the basement doors leading outside to the back of the house.

However if you were going downstairs and took a right, you'd pass into my little realm. Complete with a 32 inch TV (enormous and state-of-the-art to my eleven year old self), futon, boxes of toys and my menagerie of what are now considered classic gaming consoles such as Super Nintendo and Genesis, my basement was my sanctuary. Whenever I had bad days or felt alone I could envelop myself in my own private little world and be what I wanted and do what I wanted. I'd fall asleep to cartoons and wake up to birds chirping just outside the ground level window at the very top corner of the room. This was my room and it's what made me happy. Unlike most basements that most kids talk about, mine wasn't scary. I knew the noises the furnace made and there were rarely strange noises or scary moments despite the fact that I had quite an active imagination, more than most I believe.

This would change over the course of a single night, a night that would change my views of life and forever cripple my psyche. Some people say you need the fire to temper the steel, that the heat is a good thing. Well this wasn't a case of something not killing me and making me stronger. To this day, I'll never know what it was, just that it came to visit me.
And me alone.

Johnny Quest was on. Not the old one, I hated that one. The newer one, "The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest". I was quite an adventure junkie as a kid having seen Indiana Jones way too early in my life. Needless to say, my fantasies and daydreams involved myself or other figments of my imagination traveling to strange and foreign places and doing standard 'adventure stuff' like fighting off mummies, finding treasure and epic escapes from dangerous locales which would explode shortly after my own or my characters' exit. It was kind of late and I was getting sleepy and I drifted off. Now just to illustrate a bit further, as you stepped into my humble abode, the room was a square. In the farther right corner was my futon across from the TV. On the left wall, there was nothing but white painted walls and to the right were my toy chests and other shelves with assorted knick knacks.

I awoke slowly and with a strange feeling. Nothing sinister or foreboding, just . . . strange. I felt like someone was calling me somewhere so I sat up in bed and looked around. First, my TV which was still on but now showing an older show I wasn't familiar with. My eyes panned to the left and my eyes settled on a sight that would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. As if chiseled out of the wall, a passageway was now open in the plain whiteness as if scratched and dug away by dull cutlery. The borders were scraped and scratched almost as if by finger nails and passageway itself was black as coal and deeply, deeply uninviting.

One of the things that I would learn about in only a few years that related to this fear was of black holes. For me, it wasn't the concept of shadows and the dark that scared me, it was what they hid and swallowed. Being in a dark room was frightening not because I couldn't see anything, but it felt like a presence to me, something sinister that was holding on to me. I don't really know how else to explain it, the image of a deep black like night time shadows or the center of a black hole would swallow my sanity and cripple my confidence.

I felt drawn to it, like whatever was calling me was in there and I needed to be there too. Against my better judgment, I felt myself moving out of bed. I was in a t-shirt and sleeping shorts, summertime sleepwear. The light cloth made me feel vulnerable and in some childish way, edible. There was a monster in there and it wanted me and for some reason, I needed to see it. I simply needed to see it. Then I saw a set of white eyes in the thickness of the shadows. Fear slid its icy fingers around my throat and chest and the air began rushing out as if trying to escape the heavy blackness itself. Nevertheless, I continued on and I hoped that my body would start sharing some of its confidence with my mind because I was at the peak of breaking. The white eyes would blink occasionally, adding an animalistic tension I couldn't fathom.

As I made it over the threshold I felt the air grow cooler and my surroundings somehow became a bit more visible, as if little candles were floating just out of the corners of my vision. The single set of white eyes remained at a distance as if whatever thing they belonged too kept moving backwards in stride with my moving forward. The darkness was also selective, the progressive brightening was only in my immediate area, as if these invisible lights were only around me. My surroundings were exposed and my breaths became ever shorter and more tense. Rusted pipes, fencing and steel as if my furnace had stretched itself out over an entire room. That was another thing, the passage was quite narrow. I could reach out and touch the sides of the room at any time although it was not something I would have attempted as the fencing was covered in broken, sharp ends and the pipes were bleeding steam and a strange dark brown liquid in places, like blood mixing with the rust. I could also see vents and larger pipes high up and I thought I was beginning to hear voices and whispers coming from them. Some of the horrid pipes even stopped right near the walkway and ended, leaving gaping holes some of which dripped with the strange bloodlike mixture. Once again, the eyes in front of me blinked, I imagined if it had a tongue, it was probably licking its lips in the dark as its very presence felt simply evil.

My pulse was unbelievably fast. If my blood were oil, I could have powered a Ferrari at top speed. Yet my feet were dancing to the tune of the alluring, white eyes slowly creeping away from me, my feet moving low and slow almost shuffling. Nothing in my imagination could have prepared me for this. The hall was narrowing even more and I swear I was beginning to see hands coming out of those rogue pipes in the ground and the whispers were growing. Then the eyes stopped and my feet kept moving. As the ethereal lights moved with me, the whispers turned to growls and the shapes in the pipes were hands. Terrible, disgusting hands with loose flesh hanging off and dried blood clinging to the exposed bones. They made awful scraping noises as they tried to escape the pipes. My imagination ran wild, trying to think of what those hands could possibly be attached to, my frazzled mind conjured up images of zombie-like things with five foot arms, trapped beneath my feet and growling in protest of their imprisonment.

Come . . . closer.

It was the creature, thing, whatever it was. It's voice was what I could only describe as the essence of every deep-rooted fear of mine. Low and raspy, but almost cheerful in its apparent duty to lure people from their slumber and into its disgusting chambers. But at the same time, it was high pitched and seemed at the same time like a scream. It truly was a noise I could never reproduce but once again, something I could not erase from my mind. At this point I truly began fighting this sensation of movement. It was more my curiosity or so I thought but once I began resisting I realized the thing had considerable control over me by now. It blinked again.

Then its face shown dimly in the humid room and I couldn't shriek loud enough. The white splotches were not eyes, but glowing spots on each of its palms and it was not blinking, but flexing its thin shadowy fingers, eagerly anticipating my closeness. The face was comprised by pale flesh with two large caverns where its eyes should have been. The brown liquid was dripping from its sockets and its mouth was cavernous and black like its lair. Like its fingers, the teeth seemed sharp and pointed but as if they were made of shadows. It was hunched and its back had spikes sticking out of it and each one was adorned with a body part. I saw a heart, a lung, and even recognized a liver, something I learned in health class only recently. My face was thick with sweat and my heart was beating so fast that my legs had begun to shake even against the will of the creature. I had stopped moving only a few yards from it and we sat in a gripping tension for what seemed like hours.

I didn't know what it wanted.

It breathed its terrible deep and pained breaths and its mouth contorted into a sort of smiling. It continued to flex its hands as if they were hungry themselves. Everything it did made my body shake more, my confidence slip further away and my hopes die a little more.

It wanted me to fall.

For some reason it couldn't grab me, it wanted me to collapse, to give up. It could get me only if I gave into it. For the first time I felt myself beginning to gain a bit of control back. I managed to pull myself back one step.

No . . . closer.

It didn't work, I still pulled myself backwards somehow. The creature seemed indifferent despite my success in denying it. Another step. Then one more. Then a fifth. I was doing it, no matter how long it took, I would get away and I'd never come back. I'd be back in bed, away from this terrible place. The rotting hands stretched and stretched but still could not reach me, my supple flesh a clear tease to them. Suddenly I stopped and with what seemed like no effort at all, I was pulled violently forward, the creature smiling more and more as I slid towards it.

I said . . . closer.

And with those last words it dove at me. I've heard of people dying of shock or fear and I don't know how I didn't because it landed on my chest, knocking me to the ground and the wind from my lungs. It's hand was firm around my neck. There was no skin, it was as if the shadowy hands were powerful jets of icy cold air. The creature screeched and growled and then opened wide as it dug its teeth into my face.

Shooting up in bed I screamed so loud I popped a blood vessel in my face. I jumped out of bed and scrambled around confused and terrified. Tripping over a few toys and even banging my head on a shelf, nothing stopped my fear-filled tirade. My parents came rushing downstairs and did their best to calm me down. I was bleeding from my tumble around the room and I couldn't take my eyes off of the blank space on the wall where the passageway used to be. My screams would not leave, it was like I was in a fit. I was a boiling kettle and there was no way to stop the steam except for patience and time.

An hour later I sat in another bed, bathed in that dim sort of sickening, sterile light hospitals have. My parents were waiting with me for the doctor. They were clearly frightened and thought I had had a psychotic episode.

Did I?

A tall man with brown hair and square glasses stepped in. He did a few basic things doctors usually do, like my temperature, heart beat, etc. My parents had been pacing around the room. My mother was staring out the window thirteen stories below at the bustling late night city. Dad stood by the door rubbing his head, no doubt wondering how he could have raised such a son. I was embarrassed and ashamed. Clearly my imagination had taken over and I was unable to deal with it. What would they do to me?
The doctor leaned in and whispered to me.

"I said . . . closer."

My heart shot up into my throat and my hands clenched the bed as his eyes emptied like pools of muddy water and his mouth ripped open wide, shadowy fangs exhaling rusty blood.
 

Merc

Problematic Shitlord
V.I.P.
Please?

I'm going to write some more horror eventually, I'd like responses!
 

Crouton

Ninja
V.I.P.
It's well written but I never really found it scary, maybe just a bit on the eerie side. Although I personally have never been scared of monsters, I've always found humans much more scary. If I were you I would try and steer clear of typical horror conventions such as the setting of this story. How many horror films/books/TV series in the past have been set in rickety old houses in the middle of the woods? Quite a few I would bet.

People seem to be more scared now of new and fresh horror ideas. Take Paranormal Activity for example. One of the things that made that film so scary was the fact that it was just set in a normal home in a normal populated suburb. The same type of home that you or I could easily live in. This adds an element of realism to horror when people can relate to the setting.

I like the ending with the doctor being the monster, it wasn't too cliched and I didn't really see it coming. Is this something that is going to remain a short-story or do you want to develop it into a longer piece?
 
Last edited:

BrinkOfExistence

Registered Member
Just to let you know i'm not a writer or have anything to do with writing, anything i say is purely opinion and any suggestions i make will only make the story better for me.
When I was young, my favorite place in the house was the basement.

As you descended the stairs, there was an open room to the left and right. On the left was my dad's work bench decorated with various wrenches, screwdrivers and boxes of nails, bolts, screws and anything else necessary to keep our rickety house in the woods together. Towards the back of that room was a tiny almost closet sized space just big enough to fit the washing machine and dryer and beyond that, a door leading to a small space with the basement doors leading outside to the back of the house.
In the second sentence you use the word 'you', i'm sure you meant to use the word 'I' just need to check for these things otherwise they make the story confusing.


However if you were going downstairs and took a right, you'd pass into my little realm. Complete with a 32 inch TV (enormous and state-of-the-art to my eleven year old self), futon, boxes of toys and my menagerie of what are now considered classic gaming consoles such as Super Nintendo and Genesis, my basement was my sanctuary. Whenever I had bad days or felt alone I could envelop myself in my own private little world and be what I wanted and do what I wanted. I'd fall asleep to cartoons and wake up to birds chirping just outside the ground level window at the very top corner of the room. This was my room and it's what made me happy. Unlike most basements that most kids talk about, mine wasn't scary. I knew the noises the furnace made and there were rarely strange noises or scary moments despite the fact that I had quite an active imagination, more than most I believe.
I feel you should remove the names of the consoles, when i see the names i don't imagine what they are like in the story i simply remember them from my own life and feel like i've been taken out of the story, everything else seems good so far.

This would change over the course of a single night, a night that would change my views of life and forever cripple my psyche. Some people say you need the fire to temper the steel, that the heat is a good thing. Well this wasn't a case of something not killing me and making me stronger. To this day, I'll never know what it was, just that it came to visit me.
And me alone.
Seems ok.
Johnny Quest was on. Not the old one, I hated that one. The newer one, "The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest". I was quite an adventure junkie as a kid having seen Indiana Jones way too early in my life. Needless to say, my fantasies and daydreams involved myself or other figments of my imagination traveling to strange and foreign places and doing standard 'adventure stuff' like fighting off mummies, finding treasure and epic escapes from dangerous locales which would explode shortly after my own or my characters' exit. It was kind of late and I was getting sleepy and I drifted off. Now just to illustrate a bit further, as you stepped into my humble abode, the room was a square. In the farther right corner was my futon across from the TV. On the left wall, there was nothing but white painted walls and to the right were my toy chests and other shelves with assorted knick knacks.
Again using real names i feel like i'm taken out of the story and brought into my own life, there's nothing wrong with making up names or just simply describing the genre of the film/cartoon. This is just how I feel it may be different for others.

I awoke slowly and with a strange feeling. Nothing sinister or foreboding, just . . . strange. I felt like someone was calling me somewhere so I sat up in bed and looked around. First, my TV which was still on but now showing an older show I wasn't familiar with. My eyes panned to the left and my eyes settled on a sight that would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. As if chiseled out of the wall, a passageway was now open in the plain whiteness as if scratched and dug away by dull cutlery. The borders were scraped and scratched almost as if by finger nails and passageway itself was black as coal and deeply, deeply uninviting.
(underlined) perfect example of what you should of done in the last paragraphs, now i have to use my imagination of what this would look like in the story rather than use a memory of my life. I like the second half of the paragraph, nice suspense building.

One of the things that I would learn about in only a few years that related to this fear was of black holes. For me, it wasn't the concept of shadows and the dark that scared me, it was what they hid and swallowed. Being in a dark room was frightening not because I couldn't see anything, but it felt like a presence to me, something sinister that was holding on to me. I don't really know how else to explain it, the image of a deep black like night time shadows or the center of a black hole would swallow my sanity and cripple my confidence.
This paragraph completely kills the suspense of the last one and not in a good way, like in books and films when suspense is built there are typically 2 outcomes either 'aarrggh that scared the sh*t out of me' or 'phew nothing there' yours did neither i was left with 'oh ok'. i'm not sure how you could change this but perhaps just removing it or placing it somewhere before building the suspnse would improve it.

I felt drawn to it, like whatever was calling me was in there and I needed to be there too. Against my better judgment, I felt myself moving out of bed. I was in a t-shirt and sleeping shorts, summertime sleepwear. The light cloth made me feel vulnerable and in some childish way, edible. There was a monster in there and it wanted me and for some reason, I needed to see it. I simply needed to see it. Then I saw a set of white eyes in the thickness of the shadows. Fear slid its icy fingers around my throat and chest and the air began rushing out as if trying to escape the heavy blackness itself. Nevertheless, I continued on and I hoped that my body would start sharing some of its confidence with my mind because I was at the peak of breaking. The white eyes would blink occasionally, adding an animalistic tension I couldn't fathom.
This would be great if used right after the paragraph before the last one. (underlined) suspense killer. Again i like the building of suspense in the second half of the paragraph.

As I made it over the threshold I felt the air grow cooler and my surroundings somehow became a bit more visible, as if little candles were floating just out of the corners of my vision. The single set of white eyes remained at a distance as if whatever thing they belonged too kept moving backwards in stride with my moving forward. The darkness was also selective, the progressive brightening was only in my immediate area, as if these invisible lights were only around me. My surroundings were exposed and my breaths became ever shorter and more tense. Rusted pipes, fencing and steel as if my furnace had stretched itself out over an entire room. That was another thing, the passage was quite narrow. I could reach out and touch the sides of the room at any time although it was not something I would have attempted as the fencing was covered in broken, sharp ends and the pipes were bleeding steam and a strange dark brown liquid in places, like blood mixing with the rust. I could also see vents and larger pipes high up and I thought I was beginning to hear voices and whispers coming from them. Some of the horrid pipes even stopped right near the walkway and ended, leaving gaping holes some of which dripped with the strange bloodlike mixture. Once again, the eyes in front of me blinked, I imagined if it had a tongue, it was probably licking its lips in the dark as its very presence felt simply evil.
(underlined) unecessary recommend removing it. I like this paragraph i can paint a really good picture with the descriptions you provide.

My pulse was unbelievably fast. If my blood were oil, I could have powered a Ferrari at top speed.Yet my feet were dancing to the tune of the alluring, white eyes slowly creeping away from me, my feet moving low and slow almost shuffling. Nothing in my imagination could have prepared me for this. The hall was narrowing even more and I swear I was beginning to see hands coming out of those rogue pipes in the ground and the whispers were growing. Then the eyes stopped and my feet kept moving. As the ethereal lights moved with me, the whispers turned to growls and the shapes in the pipes were hands. Terrible, disgusting hands with loose flesh hanging off and dried blood clinging to the exposed bones. They made awful scraping noises as they tried to escape the pipes. My imagination ran wild, trying to think of what those hands could possibly be attached to, my frazzled mind conjured up images of zombie-like things with five foot arms, trapped beneath my feet and growling in protest of their imprisonment.
(underlined) This should be removed or re-worded without the use of ferrari or the reference of blood being like oil, it just doesn't fit.
(bold) Remove

Come . . . closer.
Don't forget to add " for speech

It was the creature, thing, whatever it was. It's voice was what I could only describe as the essence of every deep-rooted fear of mine. Low and raspy, but almost cheerful in its apparent duty to lure people from their slumber and into its disgusting chambers. But at the same time, it was high pitched and seemed at the same time like a scream. It truly was a noise I could never reproduce but once again, something I could not erase from my mind. At this point I truly began fighting this sensation of movement. It was more my curiosity or so I thought but once I began resisting I realized the thing had considerable control over me by now. It blinked again.
Good. no problems.

Then its face shown dimly in the humid room and I couldn't shriek loud enough. The white splotches were not eyes, but glowing spots on each of its palms and it was not blinking, but flexing its thin shadowy fingers, eagerly anticipating my closeness. The face was comprised by pale flesh with two large caverns where its eyes should have been. The brown liquid was dripping from its sockets and its mouth was cavernous and black like its lair. Like its fingers, the teeth seemed sharp and pointed but as if they were made of shadows. It was hunched and its back had spikes sticking out of it and each one was adorned with a body part. I saw a heart, a lung, and even recognized a liver, something I learned in health class only recently. My face was thick with sweat and my heart was beating so fast that my legs had begun to shake even against the will of the creature. I had stopped moving only a few yards from it and we sat in a gripping tension for what seemed like hours.
(underlined) I really like this part
(bold) try a different word like protuding or something else.


It wanted me to fall.

For some reason it couldn't grab me, it wanted me to collapse, to give up. It could get me only if I gave into it. For the first time I felt myself beginning to gain a bit of control back. I managed to pull myself back one step.

No . . . closer.

It didn't work, I still pulled myself backwards somehow. The creature seemed indifferent despite my success in denying it. Another step. Then one more. Then a fifth. I was doing it, no matter how long it took, I would get away and I'd never come back. I'd be back in bed, away from this terrible place. The rotting hands stretched and stretched but still could not reach me, my supple flesh a clear tease to them. Suddenly I stopped and with what seemed like no effort at all, I was pulled violently forward, the creature smiling more and more as I slid towards it.

I said . . . closer.

And with those last words it dove at me. I've heard of people dying of shock or fear and I don't know how I didn't because it landed on my chest, knocking me to the ground and the wind from my lungs. It's hand was firm around my neck. There was no skin, it was as if the shadowy hands were powerful jets of icy cold air. The creature screeched and growled and then opened wide as it dug its teeth into my face.
The 2 sentences underlined contradict eachother, unless you state somewhere inbetween that the character gave in

Shooting up in bed I screamed so loud I popped a blood vessel in my face. I jumped out of bed and scrambled around confused and terrified. Tripping over a few toys and even banging my head on a shelf, nothing stopped my fear-filled tirade. My parents came rushing downstairs and did their best to calm me down. I was bleeding from my tumble around the room and I couldn't take my eyes off of the blank space on the wall where the passageway used to be. My screams would not leave, it was like I was in a fit. I was a boiling kettle and there was no way to stop the steam except for patience and time.

An hour later I sat in another bed, bathed in that dim sort of sickening, sterile light hospitals have. My parents were waiting with me for the doctor. They were clearly frightened and thought I had had a psychotic episode.

Did I?

A tall man with brown hair and square glasses stepped in. He did a few basic things doctors usually do, like my temperature, heart beat, etc. My parents had been pacing around the room. My mother was staring out the window thirteen stories below at the bustling late night city. Dad stood by the door rubbing his head, no doubt wondering how he could have raised such a son. I was embarrassed and ashamed. Clearly my imagination had taken over and I was unable to deal with it. What would they do to me?
The doctor leaned in and whispered to me.

"I said . . . closer."

My heart shot up into my throat and my hands clenched the bed as his eyes emptied like pools of muddy water and his mouth ripped open wide, shadowy fangs exhaling rusty blood.
The ending was pretty good i liked the twist with the doctor.

It's generally a good short story with a decent build of suspense unfortunatly the suspense never led to anything, I enjoyed the descriptions of walking down the hallway and practice makes perfect :D
 
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