Tag Archives: horror stories


The streetlight flickered as I walked underneath it. I heard somewhere that they do that randomly to let the bulbs cool down or something, but it scared me nonetheless. I looked over my shoulder and it was still there. Still following me.

I picked up the pace a bit, trying not to tip it off that I knew it was there. It looked like a small child that would dart from shadow to shadow. Every once in a while it would stop in a darkened doorway or behind a bush and just giggle. That fucking giggle.

Continue reading Teeheehee

Infection, The Map Part 13

I lie in the hospital bed coming in and out of consciousness. I’m aware enough to catch the doctors and nurses repeating one word: infection. My side burns and throbs as it feels like poison is ripping through my veins. Whatever the creature did when it clawed me, it’s kicking my ass. I can occasionally see Gaby reading the book as she sits next to my bed, leg in a cast. Each time I drearily open my eyes she’s there. I try to reach out to her but my body does not cooperate.

My dreams have gotten increasingly restless. I find myself in a vast underground city. The angles are strange and it hurts when my eyes try and follow the lines of the cyclopean buildings. The walls of the ruins are slick with some kind of ooze that glows ever so gently, dimly lighting the entirety of the city. It stretches further than my eye can see.

Continue reading Infection, The Map Part 13

H.P. Lovecraft and Podcast Update

Some things to watch out for: we officially launched the YouTube channel here the other week, and now we’re currently finishing up our second story.

One of the things we also plan on doing are some public domain stories, specifically H.P. Lovecraft coming up.

Continue reading H.P. Lovecraft and Podcast Update

This week, on ‘Ghost Seekers!’

The green light on the recorder flicks on.

“Is there anyone here with us tonight” the man asks. He is sweating and probably looked even worse than normal in that nightvision camera they always use. The camera man swung around capturing the other two people with them. Another man and a woman looked on to the proceedings, occasionally casting their gaze to the ceilings as though ghosts would flock to the great arched heights like birds.

“Yep,” I say. I saw this show before. I’m surprised they haven’t faked anything so far this episode. Really is interesting to see how they film even if they have no idea what they’re doing.

“What’s your name?” the woman asks. She’s cute and must be a new addition to the show. Last time I had a chance to watch it was just the two guys, the fat one and the skinny one. Like Abbott and Costello meet the ghosts. Unless they already made that movie? Shit. Now this is going to bother me. You really do learn to take Google for granted.

“Tom,” I sigh. This is the third time this month I’ve answered that question.

“If you can, speak into the green light, it will let us hear you,” says the skinny guy.

“I know what a tape recorder is,” I say. They always give the dumbest instructions. It’s never like, ‘say the winning lottery numbers.’ Always, “what’s your name, are we alone here.” Why even ask that question. If someone is answering you clearly you’re not alone.

“Are you alone here?” The cute woman again. She seems very dedicated and in to the whole situation. I bet she wants to be an investigative reporter or something and this is her big break. Good for her.

“No,” I say.

Who’s here with you.

“Who’s here with you?” the fat guy asks.

Hah! Called it!

I look over, Jeff gives me a thumbs up and a big smile. Grim grinning ghost he is not.

“Jeff,” I say. I wish I could check the time but I didn’t wear a watch the day of the accident. Can’t beat myself up over it, hindsight after all. Jeff is just excited because there’s another team here. The last one he tugged on a guy’s sweater and brushed some poor teenage girl’s hair. The guy screamed, she fainted, and Jeff fell over. After that he couldn’t stand up for two days, he was so weak, but it’s all he will talk about anymore. Not like we get CNN or anything, so that’s the closest we get to current events. This just in, Jeff is clearly going to try again.

Everything is so rote now. They pull out the meter, I wave in front of it, they shit themselves when the green lights dance across the surface.

You know, maybe the show is fake and we’re the first to actually respond. I mean, we haven’t seen any other ghosts since the accident. Restoring some 14th century castle, you’d think there would be some creepy dead princes or something wandering around. But nope. Me and Jeff, brothers in arms since 2005.

What if we’re flukes?

“How did you die?”

“Stop asking such personal questions! Jesus that’s rude,” I say. Jeff shoots me a look.

“What, I didn’t ask her about how she plans on dying! ‘Oh, you and your asshole friend fell off some scaffolding, spoooooky.'”

“Are you a King? Or a Queen?” Jeff mumbles something into the recorder. Yes Jeff, haha, I get it, I’m the queen. Thanks, prick.

The skinny man stops the recorder and plays it back. Here we go, these guys have a camera crew, they seem legit, let’s hear those melodious pipes of mine.

‘Are you alone here?’ – static –

“It said ‘help me!’ I heard it!” says the fat guy.


Graves, The Map Part 12

Gaby and I walk across the grass, the grounds of the asylum now pitched in darkness. We slowly begin making our way towards the old hanging tree, our flashlights and lantern off. Its silhouette is highlighted against the brighter sky making finding our way just a matter of dodging thorn bushes and fallen logs. When we get there it’s easy to see why it’s still known as the hanging tree. Torn and shredded lines of rope still hang from the dead, thick branches. They sway in the wind like morbid streamers.

Continue reading Graves, The Map Part 12

The Wendigo

So it has been confirmed. Myself and the other members of ItsInTents.com are going to be winter camping in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Right now it’s -2 Fahrenheit up there, with 4 inches of snow on the ground.

It’s going to be awesome!

Some of you may remember me mentioning the farm (farmhouse pictured above) in past posts, because it truly is one of my favorite places. It’s welcoming in the summer during the day, and eerie at night. It gets so dark up there, and the fields so open, that your fire can be seen for miles. One year a friend of ours brought up a thermal scope. Thermal scopes pick up traces of heat and render them into visible images. This was a military grade scope, and the landscape lit up all around us at night with the terrain definition of the fields and distant buildings that are lost when sitting by the firelight. It really does bring home just how alone you can be up there and how empty the fields are.

Continue reading The Wendigo

Capsule 7

“Welcome to the Davidson Mark 2 Space Survival Capsule! In case of emergency, fasten harness securely and pull the red lever!”

The tinny voice came through the speakers again. It was a woman’s voice. A voice too damn cheery for what could become a floating tomb if they never found you.

I’ve never been a lucky man, and I thought my transfer to the Liberty would be an exception. Finally get off-world and see the stars. Seemed like the only way to get out there was on a Coalition ship, and in peace time this was a no-brainer assignment.

I’m a shield technician. The heat and radiation kind, not the fun weapons kind. Those guys get to sit on the bridge and scream dramatic updates. “Kinetic shields at 47% Captain!” The Environmental Shielding team gets to say quietly “Shields holding on approach to Star A24-667f.”

Captain Denton never visited us like he did the weapons team. That’s where the promotions were, but that just meant we were able to be a bit more… lax with our standards.

“Welcome to the Davidson Mark 2 Space Survival Capsule! In case of emergency, fasten harness securely and pull the red lever!”

The damn recording again, this time a little slower. Liberty’s emergency power must be failing. The old Chicago-class ships weren’t exactly known for their robustness. We were built for planetary bombardment, dropping big kinetic rods from space to devastate cities. Pinpoint targeting lasers. Nuclear smart bombs. Stuff like that.

We weren’t meant for scientific expeditions so I don’t know what the hell Command was thinking. Sending us this close to a previously unstudied star. We had no idea what kind of solar activity to expect. They didn’t even tell us in Environmental Shielding we were doing anything but cruising through the black. They probably told the Weapons Shielding team. The bastards.

Oh god, I see someone moving through the clouded view port. Poor guy will be dead within a minute.

So we were playing cards, right? And no one tells us whats up. Redundant shield generator 3 goes offline. Now, if we were on one of those new class battle cruisers, like the Avenger, the computer would’ve fixed it. On the old Chicago-class ships, you needed to climb through a tube for ductwork and electronics, breathing coolant that would shorten your life by years unless you wore the rad suit. If you wear the rad suit, you get tangled in the cables and cause more problems. They never thought to give us simple respirators, or the ability to shut off the coolant without having to shut down the engines for a day.

Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So the next hand we wager who has to go flip the breaker. It was the least important bet at the time. I was already up 3 months worth of credits, never been that lucky, so I counted my blessing when breaker-duty was the hand I lost.

“Welcome to the Davidson Mark 2 Space Surv-” and there goes the recording. The capsule’s generator doesn’t even start unless you detach from the ship.

So there I was, on a winning streak when I decided I’d reset the breaker after I lost my next few hands. Needless to say, it wasn’t for some time. I’m usually a shitty poker player, but my god, you feed some of these boys some jury-rigged distilled moonshine and they lose all ability to play.

I can only imagine what was happening on the deck. The Shields Officer probably ignored the small red light on his console as they stared at the approaching star. Anyways, that’s why we had 1 and 2 shields, right?

There’s Denton, smug in his Captain’s chair while all of a sudden the star chooses that particular moment to flare. And I mean fucking flare. I’d wager it was some kind of record but I imagine the Science Officer won’t be around to tell anyone about it.

First shield just pops instantly, the backup starts to weaken, and I see she’ll break no matter what.

Wait, was that something else? Goddamn grime, can’t see a thing out there.

Well, I grab my credits and run. There’s no way to stabilize the shielding after that big of a hit. We’re going to be toast in minutes. Our emergency alarm is offline. Tom was supposed to fix that yesterday. I breeze past some others before I think to hit the next ‘abandon ship’ alarm box.

The Captain never gave the order until I was in the pod, and by then they were walking dead men. See, the escape pods are built with the understanding that you need a shit-ton of materials to protect from radiation since you lack shields. Shuttles, fighters, and capital ships at least have rudimentary shielding, so more material is set for ablative armor and the like. Radiation shielding is usually an afterthought thanks to the redundancies.

With the third shield we may have made it through this. But we would have anyways if they deemed fit to send the Wanderer instead right? That was their goddamn job! I don’t know if this was some kind of PR Navy cruise where we demonstrated even our orbital weapons cruisers could do peace time shit, so that’s not on me. They never should have approached the star without talking to us anyways. At least then we would know to be sober.

I slam the door shut on the pod and lock the bolts. Shield 2 gives way and radiation floods the ship, killing nearly everyone instantly. I admit, I was crying so hard I couldn’t see the red handle to disconnect the pod. I finally find it, pull it, and… nothing. I shove it into position and pull it again. And out comes that cheery fucking voice.

Through the shielded view port I can see people stagger and collapse as a fire rages out of control in the escape bay. No one makes it to another capsule.

I check my engineering manifest and find a note from the life support team. Capsule 7 is offline. Explosive bolts have been removed, and should have been reinstalled two days ago.

My heart drops. If I can get out quickly enough, maybe I can make it into 6 or 8 before the rads and heat from the fire gets me.

I pressed the button to open the door and nothing.

Wait, no I definitely see movement out there. Maybe a rescue team? I pound on the metal door with my wrench, they have to be able to hear that!

This damn capsule is stuck in a computer loop. Since it hasn’t blown its explosive bolts, it won’t shift to its own power. Once you’ve pulled the handle, it thinks it has blown the bolts and doesn’t let you open the door into space. But you’re there. Stuck in limbo. Without a redundancy.

Thud thud thud

Knocking on the door back, yes!

I strain to see the rescue team. Their lights aren’t penetrating the carbon build up on the glass from the fire. The Captain did something right after all. He must have activated the emergency jump beacon.

I see a spot begin to clear on the window. They’re writing something!

I scream for help, “I’m a survivor! Please get me out!”

A shriveled and burnt finger appears and begins to write.

“No survivors.”

The power fails, and I hear the sound of tools hitting the metal door.

Now we are all sons of bitches

Alright kid, I have a story for you. You buy me another round and I’ll tell you. You ever hear of one of the nukes we lost? I mean the US Air Force lost nukes. Yeah, in ‘68 a B-52 bomber was flying over Greenland. Goes down, crash landing. Conventional bombs go off throwing the nukes on board every which way. Story goes that all of them are accounted for but one.

Big cover up, Denmark got into some shit because they let us keep our nukes in Greenland just a year after announcing they wouldn’t. Some radiation got released.

Anyways, we didn’t lose that nuke. Big thing to say right? I know, I know, you need the facts. Goddamn reporters won’t let someone tell a good story. So, in ‘68 I was part of a tactical fighter squadron based out of Thule Air Base in Greenland. That’s where the bomber was from and where our recovery efforts started. You can find my service record if you look hard enough. Anyways, last chance to duck out of this. I had a lot of men in suits and sunglasses tell me I never saw anything, but I don’t have a family so I don’t give a shit anymore.

Continue reading Now we are all sons of bitches

Horror Haiku’s

A friend of mine suggested on my last post trying horror haiku’s. It was a bit tougher than I expected, but I came up with some results that satisfied me. Not sure how scary they are though, but they were definitely fun to write!

I could feel pounding

As I tried to hold closed

The bloody door

She climbs in to bed

My wife talks about her day

She’s been dead four years

I throw the shovel

A hand grabs me from the dirt

The dirt was too light

The man changes form

Toothed mouth and sharp long claws

Silver does the trick

The man pulls his knife

Tonight she will be his prey

Her claws go unseen

Any other mediums you all would like to see? Let me know and I’ll give them a shot! Sorry I haven’t been writing as much lately, but I’ve been working on my outdoors website, ItsInTents.com. Check it out if you have the time!

More 2 sentence horror stories and some housekeeping

First off, I have some news. Myself and some friends have created another website! ItsInTents.com, dedicated to camping and outdoor reviews and news. This way I’ll pull some of the stuff I’ve written that doesn’t fit why I created this site to begin with away and publish it to a more proper location. Please check it out! It’s sparse now, but growing a bit each day like the horrible parasite that has replaced your tongue.

Anyways! Back to horror 2 sentence horror.

A beautiful girl winked at me at a funeral yesterday. I wouldn’t have been horrified if she wasn’t in the casket.

I had never ridden in a stretch limo before. The trunk isn’t nearly as nice as I imagine the rest of it to be.

The anesthetic had kicked in but I hadn’t fallen asleep. I could feel it wear off as I wiggled my finger unnoticed by the doctor, who was too engrossed in preparing the bone saw.

I actually live in the attic. I’m sorry it had to be this way, I thought you and your husband had left for work.