6 Sincerely Spooky Stories in 100 Words or Less
Halloween is upon us, but here in the digital age, it’s hard to find the time to read a short story, let alone a full-length horror novel. Here, then, are six blood-curdling tales for the digital age, each 100 words or less.
Sally’s parents went out for a Halloween dinner, so Sally decided to invite a few friends over. There was some booze and pot, some slasher DVDs, and then the spooky highlight: a Ouija board.
Just gibberish at first and then, to their horror and delight, messages.
S-A-L-L-Y, the board spelled out.
“Who is this?” said Sally.
SALLY OH SALLY
“Are you dead?”
“How did you die?”
“Who are you?”
Sally is still screaming when the police car arrives, and a single officer, cap respectfully in his hands, approaches the house.
Driscoll and Smedley are grave robbers. Their night’s work done, they head to the hospital on a cart loaded with fresh corpses.
No honor among thieves: Driscoll plans to cut Smedley’s throat after they get paid. Driscoll cackles to himself as they traverse the London dawn. He looks at Smedley, thinking: He has no idea.
“Excellent,” shouts Dr. Barron from a casement window as they draw up with their grisly cargo. “You’ve brought me those seven corpses I need!”
” ‘Ere,” says Driscoll. “There’s only six on the cart! You told me—”
“Yeah,” says Smedley, drawing his revolver. “I did, didn’t I?”
They entered the chamber.
Kendall was gripped by foreboding. There was the altar stone with its spiral pattern, carved millennia ago.
Glover shone his torch around the gloom. “The legends say this place makes people vanish.”
“Hard to see where anyone could vanish to.”
“Ten have, over the last 200 years.”
Kendall stared into the spiral carving; as he did so, he felt an awful sense of unease. Suddenly, he saw infinity. The same pattern repeating, over and over, reminding him of something. And then he was remembering, screaming—
They entered the chamber.
Kendall was gripped by foreboding…
The Old Well
I fell down the old well. Fortunately, I wasn’t hurt. At the bottom, there was a skeleton, a horrid thing in the tatters of a summer dress. I was terrified. I climbed out and ran back to the house but I couldn’t find my family, only a man and a woman I didn’t know. I approached them; the man ignored me, but the woman screamed, and then I realized there was something important I had forgotten.
Then I was back in the dark well again, with that horrible skeleton.
What have I forgotten? What was it?
From Room 116 come the sounds of flamenco in the hot Seville night. The clacking of castanets, the shuffle of heels, the melancholy guitar.
“Christ,” says Benson. “For the third night running!”
Before he knows it, he’s out of bed and hammering on the door of 116. “Keep that bloody noise down!”
The noises stop abruptly. The door creaks open.
On the bare floorboards are a broken guitar, cracked castanets and a pair of mouldering high-heeled shoes.
The dust is thick. Undisturbed.
All Benson can hear now is the sound of his own breathing, hard and fast.
Long Distance Call
At the hideout, the phone rang. Trembling, Dan answered.
“Dan! It’s Tony.”
“I thought you were—”
“Just listen. Guess the bank job didn’t go like we planned, huh? Still. At least one of us got away.”
“What are you—”
“Shhh. I had to describe it. This place.”
“Whispering shadows. The sky white with ash. The horizon roars, and the streets are bleached bone…”
“Nobody has a face.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I mean, I expected flames, and pitchforks, laughing devils. Not this.”
“But you’ll see. Soon enough, Danny Boy. You’ll see.”
Cover photo: ifeel_infinite/flickr
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