About Us

We are a group of several aspiring writers, who thought it would be fun to get together and challenge each other on a monthly basis. Judging is done by adding the total number of stars up and dividing by the total number of votes, so having the most stars or most votes doesn't necessarily mean you win, it's the overall average. Whoever wins gets to pick the subject matter for the next session's short stories. Please read each story and vote them all appropriately. The voting boxes are to the left of the page and are marked by story title. If you would like to leave a comment simply click on the story title above each entry, but please keep them constructive. Again, thanks for reading and I hope that everyone can get as much enjoyment out of this as I have.

User Directions

TO WHOEVER VISITS THE SITE WITH AN INTENT TO HELP, WE WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU VOTE ON ALL STORIES RATHER THAN JUST THE ONE YOU LIKE MOST. RATE ALL STORIES BASED ON HOW MUCH YOU LIKED THEM EACH. IN THIS WAY WE CAN GET A MORE ACCURATE TALLY FOR JUDGING THE WINNER. THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR TIME AND VOTES, WE APPRECIATE IT VERY MUCH.

Contest Subjects

December's subject was chosen by myself and is... "A large stone was found in the middle of a field in Iowa."

The first subject for January was chosen by Sgt. Hubbard and is... "A locked box is left to you in a will."

The second subject for January was chosen by myself and is... "A person is found in the desert with amnesia."

The first subject for February was chosen by Stan Weiss and is... "The baby sitter is snooping and finds your many passports, each with a different name."

The second subject for February was chosen by T.J. Reed and is... "Rewrite a classic monster, ghost, horror story in a modern way and include the story as the title so we know what you have rewritten."


Thursday, March 22, 2012

Frankenstein

Frankenstein

Frank stood on his wood plank porch watching the rain fall in sheets. His creation was out in the world, escaped the night before after bringing it life. The Beast, as many were already calling it, was not meant to harm the innocent that it had been hunting. No, Frank merely wanted to create the greatest friend a man could have; a dog of his own. Through a series of surgeries and electric shocks, Frank had brought seven dogs back from the grave and back into the land of the living. He did not know that what he was doing was bring seven hounds from hell and unleashing them on the unsuspecting community. He had spent the last 12 hours listening to his police scanner; their radio traffic telling a terrifying tale of a cat and mouse game that was taking a life every two hours. It was out there. Frank just had to wait for it to come home.

Frank looked into the lightening streaked sky and spoke in a calm voice; as if he was talking to an old friend.

“Lord? Boy I think I screwed up bad.”

Frank laughed and took a drag from his cigarette.

“I’m sorry for what I am Lord. I know this isn’t what you wanted of me. I am sorry about that little girl from over on Millers Street. I sure didn’t want what happened to her to happen and I know you know that. I played God and I know I need to pay the price. Just bring him back here please. I will fix what I have wronged. Please…”

As if God had heard Frank’s prays, the beast leapt from the darkness. Frank was knocked from his feet as the 120 pound beast struck him in the chest slamming him hard on his back. His creation immediately began snapping its jaws, trying ferociously to latch its teeth around its creators face. Warm salvia fell freely from the misshapen mouth and slid across his face. The smell of death and decay was strong; fighting for his life Frank drove his thumb into the monsters eye. A shriek of pain escaped its mouth and scrambled from Franks chest.

Frank did not hear the many shots from the police man, nor did he feel the pinch of pain as the lead pierced his body. The blinking blue and red lights shined wickedly through the large drops of rain that fell on his face.

Next to him, his creation, his attempt to create the ultimate Man’s Best Friend, lay staring pleadingly into its creators eyes.  The pleading asking Frank, Why? Why did you bring me back this way? Why did you make me the way that I am? For something that was considered so murderous, so vile and nightmarish, the softness in its eyes showed to Frank, there was still that hope of a Man’s Best Friend hiding in the shadows of the beasts soul.

Their blood flowed from their wounds and mixed together in the miniature rivers leading across his broken porch.

Frank reached out and ran his hand across the top of the beasts head and behind its ears. Slowly he began to scratch and in a soft voice said, “Good dog. I’m sorry boy.”

Vampire Story?

                                                                   Vampire Story?

Vee stood recessed in the shadows and looked out at the chaos as it unfolded. She thought about how beautiful war was. It was a canvass to an artist who loved to paint in red and in that she had no rival. She thought about the centuries that had past and her happiest times were spent in a war zone of some kind or another. It allowed her to operate right out in the open. She had lived as a goddess adored by many. Living as a demoness and being feared by thousands was more pleasurable. Once, she even lived among the humans as one of them. She really had bathed in the blood of a hundred virgins. She had impaled her enemies on stakes after skinning them. Of course, the great thing about creating history is also being able to rewrite it. In lore there were no evil lady vampires, but in truth she had been the lone evil vampire. She was the first and usually only one. She mainly created prodigy so as to enjoy hunting them. That was her greatest joy. Besides, the blood was more potent than human blood. Sort of like a vampire aphrodisiac. She also had writers write that vampires could not exist in sunlight and around crosses. Sure she would get an awful sunburn if in direct sunlight for any length of time but she would not burst into flames and if she wore a cloak or something, then no problem. She handled crosses all the time. Also, the stories made it seem like vampires existed everywhere but there were just a couple in the whole world. She hunted most of what she created. Yet there was one that had eluded her. She had made a wise choice in turning him. Yes! Bruce was still out there somewhere but someday she would find him and destroy him and his kung fu. The thrill of the hunt was always so exhilarating to her. However because of the stories she persuaded men to write she would never be suspected of being a vampire. If men only knew that they just had the power women allowed them to have, their heads would explode. Oh exploding heads, now that does get me all excited Vee thought.

As it turned out, an exploding head got Vee’s attention back to the moment at hand. She loved the playground that Iraq had proved to be. She was watching as some American troops were closing in on some terrorist. Of course, the terrorist had set it up as an ambush but the American troops were too cocky to see that. All the more fun for her. She leapt from her perch to the roof top below and tip-toed to the window at the other end of the building. She quietly moved inside to find a spineless whining man screaming into a cell phone about being surrounded by the infidel Americans. She simply stepped in front of him reached down inside his pants and gripped his scrotum then slowly began to twist and pull. He screamed a blood curling wail and flailed his hands and arms about like a fish on shore. She smiled as it began to stretch like it was on a rubber band and then heard it snap as it pulled free of his body. His mouth was wide and bellowing to his god for mercy so she shoved it in his mouth then used the stretchy part to wrap around his jaw and head and tied it shut. Then she sat down on a chair and watch to see if he would choke or bleed to death first. Mainly she preferred to watch his eyes as he went from frantic to panic and finally to acceptance. He bled to death first, she must not have got it in his mouth far enough for him to choke, but hey it wasn’t her fault he had so little. Oh well, on to the next bit of fun. She heard an explosion downstairs so she decided to go check it out.

As she entered the room, she stayed in the shadows and walked across the ceiling. She saw an American soldier on the floor with his legs blown off from the knee down. Three Al-Qaeda or whatever they were standing around him kicking him and flinging insults at him that he no doubt couldn’t understand. The soldier tried to reach for his gun but it was just a little too far out of his reach. Clinging to the ceiling by her feet she uncurled out of the shadows and firmly grasped one of the Al-Qaeda’s heads in her hands and then swiftly spun it around and off his shoulders. Blood spurted from his neck and she vanished back into the shadows as the other two began hysterically shooting in her direction. She let them empty their clips and then she leisurely stepped out of the darkness and eviscerated one of them from belly button to throat. She had turned to the other but the soldier had found his gun and shot him right between the eyes robbing her of her fun. She giggled however, for that was an impressive shot. She looked down at the soldier’s name tag. “Reed“, it just kind of rolled off her tongue as she said it and then she grinned at him. He blinked a couple of times and then asked her “are you going to eat me now?” She chuckled and then asked him “what do you think I am a monster or something?” he blinked a couple of more times and said “well you sure in hell aren’t special ops.” She laughed even harder and said “I like you Reed but I am a vampire and I only drink blood I don’t really eat people.” He gazed into her eyes and stated “cool, but please call me T.J. all my friends do”. Vee looked him up and down and thought for a second. Then she cut her wrist and said “T.J. you remind me of Alexander the only man I ever loved and he really was great. Since I regret killing him I am going to do you a favor and let you drink my blood.” T.J. then blinked rapidly and whispered “that’s freaking awesome, so am I going to be a vampire too?” Vee just shook her head no. “That sucks” T.J. bellowed. As she lowered her wrist to his lips T.J. drank it in big gulps. Vee forced her blood into his legs and then reconstructed them. She winked at T.J. as he wiggled his toes and said “I bet you didn’t know vampires could do that, did you?” “Sweet, I can’t wait to tell my buddies and write about this” T.J. shouted. “Oh I am so sorry T.J. you won’t remember any of this or even this mission, no you can’t. You will remember getting hit over the head and nothing else. When you wake up you will only want to write about zombies and deaths because that’s so cool.” “Zombies and deaths so cool, zombies and deaths so cool” T.J. recited over and over as he fall into a deep slumber.

Vee watched as the medics hauled T.J. off and a sense of peace fell over for which she hadn’t felt in along time. She smiled and didn’t feel much like chaos anymore tonight. But then something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It was a young girl maybe 10 or 12. Well what would a little dessert hurt on a night worth celebrating she contemplated to herself.
No one could understand why Reed talked about zombies and deaths when he woke up or where his boots and shocks had gone too. But most just figured war messed with people in different ways. Besides, who knew what he saw out there. War was hell and they figured Reed had seen hell first hand. T.J. woke from his dream with one word on his lips “awesome".

Attack

Attack

17 November, 1945
Capt. Isadore Michael Crunch, Agronomy Division, USAR

The war has been over for months, but we’re still fighting it here. There’s no longer a defined enemy, and we’re not digging foxholes and aiming at anything in particular, but we are still fighting the war nonetheless.

Now that our boys are coming home again and we’re not spending millions of dollars a day keeping them overseas, the big wigs have started throwing money at the science geeks, prodding them for bigger and better weapons for the next war.

Always thinking ahead, they were.

So I guess that’s why I’m here, stuck out in the middle of the desert miles from anywhere, watching these idiots play games with their new toys. The way things have been going, it looks like we will probably blow ourselves to kingdom come before a new enemy rears it’s head.

I knew I should have retired when I had the chance. Dammit…

So the eggheads said they developed some new kind of bomb. Something along the lines of the A-bombs we dropped on Japan, but more and less destructive.

That was their exact words “more and less destructive.” One of the scientists, a strange completely bald man with thick glasses, tried to explain it to me. “It’s an anthropophobic weapon. As Sartre said ‘Hell is other people.’ My bomb creates heaven on earth.”

When I gave him a blank look, he said “It destroys the enemy and not their stuff. Then we can move in and take their stuff afterwards.”

That was the most coherent sentence I had ever gotten from one of those pencil nibblers.

The General in charge of the whole operation hadn’t been seen in months, but apparently he was on his way in for this test. So everybody was walking on eggshells, running back and forth and making sure everything was absolutely perfect. There was a constant line of jeeps and trucks running back and forth from the blockhouse to the bomb itself, which was almost ten miles away.

The last time I had seen general John Kellogg Mills he was a small round man with exactly three hairs plastered across the top of his shiny pate. I saw now as he stepped out of his staff car that he was still small and round but now had a spiky bristle of sparse hair growing in patches all over his head. Like someone had taken the bristles out of a hairbrush and jammed them into his scalp.

And since he stepped out of the vehicle without his hat on, I assumed that he wanted everyone to see his new growth. Much to the General’s dismay, neither I nor the scientists paid it much heed.

But luckily for the General’s ego, his new entourage did nothing but pay attention to his hair. He’d acquired a pair of dubiously Middle-European types that were so “Totenkopf” that if I would have had them in my sights two months ago I would have cheerily put a bullet right between their eyes. I assume that they were a man and a woman, strictly because they referred to each other as “Hansi” and “Greta”, but I wasn’t putting any money on the bet either way.

Neither of them could just walk. They pranced or something. Like some kind of cross between ballet steps and a goose step.

I’m not really all that prejudiced, but something about those two made me slightly sick at my stomach.

Those two fluttered around General Mills like a pair of hummingbirds at a Coca Cola factory. Constantly touching and massaging his scalp and applying creams and ointments to the bare patches in between. Hansi even had a special silver hairbrush connected to a battery unit that glowed blue at times with electrical sparks in between the bristles. He was constantly flicking it through the sparse growth on the General’s head and crooning like he was tending to a sleeping baby.

That little goose-stepping fairy prince even tried to use that thing on me. Just as we were heading into the bunker as they started the countdown I felt a tug on my hat from behind.

“Ach! You haff such a nize head uff hair, Mein Herr! Let me show you what my little friend can do for you too!” And he raised that ridiculous electrical contraption towards my head. Without even thinking, I snatched the sliver brush from his hand, breaking the wires. Whipping around like I had a grenade in my hand, I leaned back and threw the thing as far as I could over the sandbags and deep into the blast zone.

As I walked into the bunker he was screaming something about that brush belonging to his mother. I paid no attention and went inside. Behind me I could hear the other one yelling something. It sounded like “Hansi! Kommt back, leibchen! Hansi!!!”

“Where the heck is he going?” One of the scientists pointed through the tinted widow of the bunker. The Generals eyes went wide as we all watched that fool racing deeper into the test zone, his white lab coat flapping behind him.

“There’s only seconds left!” I shrugged.

“One less pompous Prussian pigeon in the world. No great loss.”

Behind me Greta sniffed and wailed “But we are Swiss!”

Ah. Oh well. My mistake.

“Look!” someone yelled.

In the far distance we could see Hansi standing in the field, holding the silver hairbrush high above his head in triumph.

Suddenly the world erupted in blue light. Even through the tinted windows we had to shield our eyes. There was a rumbling noise and all of the sudden it felt like my chest had been replaced by a metal coffee can full of marbles rolling up a staircase. It was the oddest sensation.

And just as quickly it was over. An eerie quiet settled over the bunker as we all took stock of ourselves. A quick inventory to make sure nothing important had fallen off.

“Mein Gott! He’s alive!” Greta cried, pointing.

Sure enough, Hansi stood up again, shaking off the dust and raising his hairbrush in the air.

“Is is just my imagination…” mused general Mills, “Or has he gotten taller?” Sure enough, from the distance it looked like Hansi was now about seven feet tall. The General rubbed his eyes and muttered “Must be a trick of the perspective. That light made me feel funny.”

Someone else yelled “Holy snap! Look at that!!!”

Hansi’s whole body was surrounded by a blue corona. An aura, like his hairbrush had short circuited or something. And as we watched he suddenly glowed brighter and twitched hard and grew larger! And again! And larger! He was about twelve feet tall and getting bigger!

As we watched him grow we saw the expression on his face change as well. At fifteen feet he just looked confused. By twenty five feet he began looking really annoyed. When he hit forty feet he looked really pissed off. And when the final growth spurt came he turned to us, his eyes blazing with blue light and a look of homicidal rage twisting his features horribly.

Reaching down he picked up an entire deuce and a half truck in one hand and threw it about a mile downrange. He roared in anger and rage and swung that awful hairbrush, which had grown with him and was now the size of a school-bus, like it was a battle axe.

Great summed the whole thing up in one horrified and entirely unnecessary exclamation.

“Mein Gott!” she cried. “It’s the Attack of the Fifty Foot Wyman!!!”