31 Horror Prompts – Response #7

Hey, everyone! I have officially finished a weeks worth of writing prompts, and I have to say that I’m pretty pleased with the results. I know that a few of you are enjoying writing these as well. Today is my response to Prompt Number Seven on my list that is as follows: Write about one of your most frightening nightmares.

I decided to take a dream – one of the very first dreams that I can remember having, back when I was in kindergarden. I shaped it a little differently, but… I hope you enjoy it!

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The Cry of the Innocent

The world was a wash of black and gray, but it had been the only world that she’d ever known, so it was nothing strange to her. She walked, though she didn’t have a real purpose, and she moved, though she wasn’t sure as to where she was going. She only knew that she couldn’t stay still… that to stay still was to accept death.

She wasn’t ready to accept death.

The town came into sight in front of her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, a small sigh escaping her as she looked at the spindly houses, full of darkness. There were no lights in the windows – she wasn’t even certain that there were people who lived there anymore… but she trudged forward anyway.

The first sign that there were people living in the little town was the dirty, littered streets. Garbage, scattered here and there, with small children who had smaller still waists chasing after it as though they could somehow find a meal amongst the debris. Instantly, her heart ached – she’d been a small child once, and a small child with a smaller waist. She’d known what it was to be hungry in a world of black and gray, and she ached to know that the children in front of her had to know that feeling as well.

One child turned into two, and two into a dozen. And soon they were all around her, and all that she could do was look at the small circle of them as they ushered her forward, as though she had some purpose. They ushered her forward to the center of the down, where a great contraption rose high in the square. It was like a gallows, but instead of a hanging rope, there were two cuffs. She wasn’t sure if they were for wrists or ankles, but whatever the children wanted with her – why they had her here in front of the great machine was an answer that she didn’t wasn’t.

Still, their dark and hollow eyes looked up at her expectantly, and she couldn’t simply turn them away. They wanted something, and she could do something to help them. It was obvious… and it felt like her voice was the first sound that had spilled into the town in ages when she finally let the question spill from her throat.

“What do you want?” But it wasn’t an accusation. It was a plea – tell me what you want. Tell me what I can do to help. I need to know.

They still stared up at her expectantly, not speaking. Maybe they couldn’t speak. Maybe they never had before. But one small body left the crowd, and he returned with a dark bottle, with darker liquid that sloshed inside of it. His small hands were filthy, bones covered in flesh and nothing more as they lifted the bottle to her. He looked with expectant eyes, and his small lips pursed.

When she didn’t take the bottle, he thrust it up again, black eyes imploring until her fingers took the bottle out of guilt if nothing else. He smiled then, and his teeth were dingy and broken… and her heart broken for the fact that the children were more ravaged than she’d ever been, and she didn’t see an adult in sight to take care of them.

She was probably the closest thing to an adult that they’d seen in a long, long while… because it was clear that there weren’t any in the town. Where the child had gotten the black liquid, she wasn’t sure. Where the structure in front of her had come from, she didn’t know. She only knew that a dozen tiny eyes were looking at her imploringly and waiting for her to raise the bottle to her lips. With a frown and trepidation only trumped by pity in her heart, she brought the bottle to her lips and swallowed the vicious liquid.

It burned instantly, and it was almost too thick to swallow, like black sludge that meant to coat her stomach and strangle her from the inside out. The little eyes continued to look up at her, black and hungry… and tiny, cracked lips didn’t smile as she waited for whatever reaction they’d expected from her drinking the fluid.

It took a moment for the pain to start – it was in her stomach, though, and it spread through her ribs, through her stomach, up her throat. It burned like bile, but all the more vicious, and she let out a small whimper of pain, looking at the little faces around her.

Only at that sound did they smile… and only at that sound did she see that all of their little, broken teeth were sharp, and their dark eyes weren’t just hollow… they were black.

She tried to step forward, to step out of the crowd of them, but they didn’t let her move. Small arms were stronger than they seemed, and they kept her in place as she pushed forward… they pushed her down when her knees became too weak to hold her in place. Those little faces weren’t so sad anymore – the darkness in their eyes was a malevolence that frightened her, made her feel like something wrong was about to happen.

Her body was too weak to fight it though, and one small frame climbed up the structure in front of her. She couldn’t move her body, but she could roll her head to the side enough to see that the cuffs pulled down from the structure on a rope and that they were made to strap around your ankles. The pain in her gut nearly blinded her to whatever else was happening, though. She opened her mouth, tried to scream… but something black simply bubbled at her lips, and one of the children quickly darted down, a dry tongue lapping at the liquid.

It took ten of the dozen to hoist her into the air, and by then she was internally sobbing from the agony in her stomach, the numbness in her body, but there was no sound to spill from her lips. There was only the pain and one single tear that slid from her eye and fell into the basin that the children carefully positioned beneath her.

She opened her mouth to scream – to try to. To beg. To do anything to make this stop.. and this time, it was more than just a little black liquid. This time, it gushed forward from her stomach in a font. It was sticky, black – it clung to the back of her throat and left her feeling empty on the inside. It spattered hard into the bucket, and the children instantly rushed forward. Greedy fingers dove in and started to lap at the black sludge like cats with cream.

Meanwhile, she felt like her insides were dissolving away – and maybe they were. Her very life was spilling from her lips, and the children stepped back for a moment as another wash of black poured from her throat as she hung upside down, spilling into the basin, feeding the town that she’d pitied.

Those little black eyes peeked up at her, and she saw that the nourishment didn’t make them bright. It made them swirl darker. Their broken little teeth were stained – one more rush of black liquid poured from her throat… and she felt her lungs give out. She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t hear the beating of her own heart.

She couldn’t do anything other than to wonder why this was her fate – why this was how she had to leave this world. A small face looked up to her, stained with that black liquid… stained with her dissolved insides, her dissolved essence.

“Thank you.” The little voice said, but it wasn’t kind. It was the voice of a devil, a demon… and its teeth were black as it grinned up at her, completely aware of her pain, and completely apathetic to it.

One more tear slid from her cheek, and she closed her eyes. The pain in her stomach was fading now… and there was still no beat from her heart.

There was only nothing, stained and sullied with the image of vicious little eyes hidden behind the cry of the innocent.

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So, there we go. That was a little dark. Basically, what I remember of that dream was going to a black and gray town and being fed a poision that made my insides liquify and everything that I was spill out of my mouth… and that’s what the people there ate. I think I’ve actually written about this before, but I give it a bit of a horror twist.

I honestly can’t wait to see what you guys come up with, though, because I’m sure that it’s going to be just as terrifying as that. I find that more often than not, our nightmares are truly telling of what horror is, because our brain isn’t inhibited by the light of day.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

31 Horror Prompts – Response #6

Hey, guys! It’s time for the response to my Day Six Writing Prompt! This is yet again one of those instances in which… well… I might have accidentally made something very akin to the beginning of a novel here. There’s actually 2,000 more words to this, but I cut it so that you wouldn’t have an enormous wall of story to read, because I didn’t think that you’d appreciate it.

Honestly, though, I really enjoyed responding to this, and I can’t wait to see what you guys came up with. I hope that you enjoy what I’ve written!

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Mr. Teeth and Claws

I didn’t know him by his face, but I knew him by his voice. It was rich and full of promise, and a snarl all at once. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I certainly couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d come back to my parent’s house because my Father had just died, and after the funeral, I’d trudged my way up the stairs and to my old room. My mother said that my bed was still there, the sheets fresh, the pillow new. I was moving back in, because she couldn’t take care of everything at the house, including my little brother, on her own.

I was moving back in because I was a terrible son if I didn’t help her – if I didn’t do something to make this a little bit easier on her. I’d lost my father, but she’d lost her husband, her best friend. She’d lost the man that was the most important person in her life…

And all that I could do was move back in and hope that I was capable of making things a little bit easier on her.

I wasn’t sure what I could do – but I would do whatever I could.

It was when I stepped into the room that the voice spilled out; the blackout curtains kept the soft streetlights from shining through my window. I’d installed them when I was sixteen because any light at all kept me awake.

“I thought you’d never come home, Corbin. It’s nice to see you again.”

My eyes widened, and for a moment I thought that my heart stopped in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t heard that voice since I was ten years old, and my father had told me that believing in the monster under your bed was foolish, and I was a big boy. I’d told him to go away, and after a few moments of arguing, he told me that he would.

For now.

But he’d promised me then that we’d see each other again.

I didn’t move to turn on the light. I closed the door behind me, and I felt my breath come in a soft, shaking gasp. “I’ve had a damn long day, I’m imagining this.”

I heard the sheets rustle – he wasn’t beneath my bed any longer, he was sitting on top of it. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could see the vagueness of a large figure, slender and lean, sitting on the head of my bed. “Really, Corbin? After everything that we’ve been through? After how kind I was, leaving you alone after that Father of yours demanded it? And you’re going to treat me like any other beggar on the streets like you don’t know me?” His voice was thick like honey and choking like smoke. It was in my head, wrapping around my thoughts, wrapping around everything that I was so that I took a step forward without realizing it.

“I don’t think so, Corbin.”

His voice was a low growl. A threat, a warning, and his displeasure made very known to me for the fact that I was trying to write him off as a hallucination of my very exhausted mind.

My hand moved to the light switch on the wall, and he tsked again. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Here,” there was a flicker of motion, and a light purple flame appeared. The thing on my bed was all blackness and shadow, but dancing amongst it I could see a very human face peering out at me. He had full lips and dark crimson eyes that flashed with wicked delight at the fact that I was looking at him with wide-eyed horror. I’d seen him under my bed before – a flicker of shadows and teeth and claws.

He was still all teeth and claws, but those teeth were concealed behind full lips and a curtain of dark hair that was the shadows that had always obscured him when I was younger.

“Who are you?” The words came hoarse from my throat, and I couldn’t believe that I was even talking to him. Still, there was nothing that I could do about it – he was real, and on my bed, and more tangible than anything that I’d ever thought possible.

“You used to call me Mr. Teeth and Claws. Or Shadow, don’t you remember?” He smiled again, leaning back on my bed so that I could see amongst the swirl of darkness that obscured his body a lean, muscled frame and an exposed chest. The darkness was like a cloak, and as he stretched back, still holding that purple flame in his hand like a flickering lantern, it shifted and moved so I could see more of his body.

“Those aren’t real names. You aren’t-”

“Don’t say that I’m not real again, Corbin. I won’t ask twice.” His voice was chilled, a snarl, and it froze me in my spot. My eyes widened, my heart beating so violently in my chest that I could hardly breathe around it.

“Okay…” I barely managed to get the words out, but he grinned viciously at me for it.

“That’s better. Now then, why don’t you come over here – we spent a lot of time on this bed, you and I…” His voice curled darkness, as though something had happened that hadn’t. I remember being terrified of his arms reaching out from under the bed, and I remember his dark voice telling me stories all night long about little boys being caught up in the shadows and never returning again. “And now that your Father is gone and his barrier has fallen to shambles, I’ve come back to claim what is mine.”

I’d started to step forward, lured by the warmth of his voice, the curling pleasure that cloaked the daggers… but as soon as he mentioned my father, I stopped.

“What do you mean, his barriers?”

The Shadow on my bed laughed richly, “Did you think that I left because you asked me to? Oh, Corbin, that’s rich. No… no, little boy, my little dreamer.” He raised one hand, and a pale finger that seemed elongated in relation to a normal digit crooked towards me. I felt a pull above my navel, almost as though he was calling me forward. “You belong to me, just as much as I belong to you.”

There was something so damning and final about his words, and I couldn’t help the frown that flitted across my face.

“What do you mean, his barriers?” I asked the question again, though this time, it was far fainter. I had a feeling that something had been going on – perhaps for quite some time, that I hadn’t been aware of at all. It was clear that this creatures reappearance in my life had something to do with my Father’s death… but my Dad had died from a construction accident at work… so surely, the thing on the bed hadn’t had anything to do with that?

“No, Corbin. I never had an influence on his life. Only yours – you and I, we are linked. I am the Nightmare, and you are my Dreamer. He just thought that he could keep you from me.” He smiled then, and it was all sharp teeth and wickedness. He crooked his finger again, and I stepped to the edge of the bed. That hand flew out, wrapped around my wrist.

It was cold.

It burned.

I didn’t understand the wash of sensation that tore through me – it was a mixture of terror and excitement, and it burned and nearly made me faint from the sensation of my heart thundering in my chest.

“S-stop. What are you doing?”

“What I was meant to do all along.” He pulled me closer to him, jerking my body forward until I fell on the bed beside him. I couldn’t ask more questions, though a thousand of them were flying through my mind. “You’re my shadow kissed Dreamer – you can see into our world…. you can see me. It’s your father’s fault, for being half Nightmare himself.”

I still couldn’t speak… and I still didn’t know what in the fuck he was talking about. My father wasn’t a nightmare. His dark hair and eyes had always been kind, and he’d always chased away the shadows–

“Because he didn’t want us to know about you. Do you know how special you are? How rare you are?” The Shadow leaned forward, and his tongue came out, long and smooth. He licked along my cheek, and the saliva left a cool line against my skin that burned just as much as his touch had. “You make a Nightmare strong, you let me walk in the physical world… and he can’t keep me at bay anymore. No, you’re mine, little Dreamer, and together, we’re going to have all of the pleasures of the world.”

He purred that word, deadly like a big cat. I wanted to jerk away from him, but I was frozen under his presence, under the weight of him holding me there on the bed that I’d seen him hiding under so often, heard his voice spilling from.

After the night when my Father had told me that the monster wasn’t real, I’d never seen him again… but I still heard him sometimes when I was trying to sleep – he’d tell me stories, he’d sing me lullabies… his voice was a curse and a gift all at once, because I’d never been alone.

But I’d left him behind as I’d grown, and I never thought that I’d see him again.

“You need to go – Shadows aren’t real.”

His grip on my wrist tightened, and the lick along my cheek turned into a sharp bite against my neck. I almost screamed out, but his free hand came up, covering my lips, stopping the noise from escaping my throat.

“Do you really want to do that? I’m not your little Brother’s Nightmare, but he’s still Shadow kissed. I could still visit him, instead. Your father isn’t here to protect either one of you.”

I thought of Jackson – of his innocent blue eyes and blonde hair… and I thought of this thing touching him, being near him. I instantly shook my head, my eyes shutting tight. Maybe I would wake up from all of this still, maybe it was just a dream.

“A nightmare, Corbin, I’m a Nightmare… and I’m glad to see that you’ve made the smart decision.” He knew before I’d even said it; he was in my head. He’d known when he threatened Jackson that I was going to do whatever I could to keep him away from him. My eyes opened wide, though, the words that he’d said trickling into the back of my mind. He answered again before I could even speak.

“That’s right, little Jackson has his own Nightmare, and she’ll be hungry for the taste of him just as much as I am for your taste.”

“I can’t le-”

“If you cooperate with me, I’ll make sure that she doesn’t touch him… I’ll make sure that no other Nightmare has a presence in this house, in your families life. I’ll keep your dear little Brother safe.” The aching tight grip on my wrist loosened, and he stroked along the side of my face. His voice was still honey, and it made me shiver. I was terrified – not for myself, but for the thought of Jackson having to go through something like this. My Father had clearly thought that keeping me safe from the monster beside me was important enough to seal him away… but I didn’t know how to do that, and he wasn’t here to do it for Jackson.

“I’ll do whatever you want if you promise that he won’t get hurt.”

Dark crimson eyes flared a bright red, and those full lips curved into a wicked grin that flashed sharp teeth that had drawn blood at my neck. “Perfect – with your blood, with your strength and your essence, I’ll be stronger than her. I’ll be stronger than any Nightmare who thinks they can pique their head and show their face here. This is my domain; no Dream or Nightmare will be known any longer.”

He turned to me then, and those crimson eyes were a swirl, cascading, drawing me in. I wanted to fall into that stare if only to escape from the reality of what was happening around me. I wanted to escape everything that was happening…

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So, there we go. More than likely, Mr. Teeth and Claws will end up being a novel. I really can’t help myself. For some reason, I’m terrible at writing short stories.

Still, this is great practice for NaNoWriMo, and I completely encourage you guys to go ahead and do some writing prompts to get yourself revved up for the event!

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

31 Horror Prompts – Response #4

 

It’s that time again, guys! It’s that time for me to post my response to my writing prompt… and I have to say that this one is a big one. I had a lot of fun with this, and I wrote a bit more than I meant to. But, that’s one of my favorite things about writing prompts – you never know if it’s going to spill into something bigger than just a few hundred words. You never know if you’re going to make an actual story out of it!

So, the Day Four Writing Prompt was:

The words on the page were gone – instead, a trail of black ink led to your bedroom door…

And here is my response!

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Cover

The book had been innocuous when Donovan found it at the store. The old shop was one of his favorite places to be; he’d often find himself there after work, browsing the shelves for hours. Sometimes, he’d go to the back of the store, where the spines were covered in dust, and there was no guarantee that you’d even be able to read the title that you were picking up until you gave it a thorough wipe down.

That was how he’d found the book. He’d been climbing ladders and searching the shelves for something truly interesting to take home – the work day had been long and dull, and he’d answered the same tech question fifty times. He’d gone to college for four years and gotten a job that paid well enough for him to have his own apartment in the city… but it wasn’t really fulfilling.

What was fulfilling was looking for a new book in the corner bookstore by his house – what was fulfilling was those moments when he found something worth buying.

It was when Donovan was half up the shelf on a ladder that he noticed it; the spine wasn’t covered in dust like the books surrounding it, as though someone had happened by it recently and found it just as interesting as he did. The black leather was bound with silver, with no trace of a title to give way to what the book was actually about.

Maybe it was the fact that it had no title – maybe it was the fact that it was clearly in better shape than all of the old books around it.

Whatever it was, it was almost like music was coming from the pages, and he couldn’t help himself – his fingers spilling forward to pull it from the shelf, and he was shocked to see that those digits were trembling.

Trembles or no, he snatched it from the bookcase and tucked it under his arm without looking at the cover.

It didn’t matter what it said. He took it straight to the front of the bookstore – when he realized that the clerk wasn’t at the register, he dug into his pocket and pulled out two crisp bills. A twenty – a fifty. Donovan didn’t care. He threw it onto the counter and half ran out of the store, shoving the book into his backpack as though too greedy and protective of it to let anyone else see it.

It was his. He’d purchased it. And now he was going to take it home.

~

With the book hidden away in his back, he thought that he’d forget about it. He knew that he had homework, that he needed to make himself dinner… that he had things that he needed to get done before he could take the time to read. And yet, even hidden away in his bag, he couldn’t help but to continue to flick his gaze to the canvas, as though he could see through it. As though he could see that black binding, and it was calling to him.

He only made it half way through making dinner, and he’d already burned himself twice before he took the pan off of the stove and threw it into the sink. He was walking to his backpack before he could stop himself, and flinging the latch open with wide eyes full of curiosity and wonder.

He hadn’t even seen the title of it.

He didn’t know what the book was about at all.

But he needed to see it.

The leather binding almost felt warm in the chill of his backpack when he wrapped his fingers around the edge of it, and a low hiss of pain poured from his chest as he pulled it forward. The paper had caught his finger and cut. He quickly pulled the book out and jerked his bleeding hand away from it – a spatter of blood fell onto the cover, and crimson stained the page where he’d cut himself. It didn’t matter though – his eyes weren’t for the stains on the pages.

His eyes were for the cover.

There wasn’t a title.

There was just an image.

The man’s face was etched deep into the leather, chiseled like a God and sinisterly beautiful – the only color on the black leather front were two red stones set where his eyes would be.

The book felt like it was vibrating in his hands, and that face seemed to be staring straight through his soul. Donovan’s digits were trembling yet again when he finally flipped back the cover, the weight of it heftier than he thought, almost as though it was resisting being opened. But once he did, his brows instantly knit together.

He couldn’t read the words.

It was some language that he’d never seen, and he’d studied languages while he was in college, between the countless computer and programming classes. He bit his lower lip for a moment, his eyes skimming the words – it wasn’t even anything that he’d heard of before, it didn’t look familiar.

None of it did, but his lips tried to form around the words anyway; they sounded foreign coming from his throat, read aloud with lips having to purse and tongue having to curl to bend around the pronunciation.

His hand came up as he read, and when he came to a name in bold, he stopped for a moment… the pad of his finger traced the word, and he spoke it aloud softly. “Bellan.”

Bellan.

It was the only thing in the book that made any sense – his hand came away from the page and he frowned. He’d smeared crimson across the name from his paper cut – he’d smeared the book red three times now.

“I’ll be back.” Donovan murmured the words softly and pushed himself away from the table. He was going to go and put a bandaid on his finger before he managed to ruin the book entirely with clumsy fingers.

Cool water stung at the cut on his finger, and he was surprised to see that his reflection was pale – it made his blue eyes seem all the bluer, and his dark hair that fell against his forehead and swept over his cheek even darker than usual. The bandage was easy enough to wrap around the cut, and a splash of cool water helped him to catch his breath, to calm down. There was no reason for him to be feeling this way. He’d just read a book…

It had been a strange day.

With a soft laugh he flipped the bathroom light off and went back to his living room – he was going to put the book up,and get his work done.

When he stepped into the room, though, he instantly realized that something was wrong. There was a spattering of black on the table, and when he half ran to the book… the pages were blank.

He frowned, flipping through the paper quickly… there was no ink – no words. It was empty like a journal. With a small noise of protest, he shut the book entirely.

The man on the cover was gone.

His heart was thundering in his chest, catching his breath and keeping it captive without him noticing. The book fell thick to the table, the enchantment and music that had been spilling from it gone. It no longer held his attention captive – what did was the spill of black ink that fell from the table, half smudged into a hand print… and then trailed those foreign words along the white of his carpet, before shifting into footprints…

And spilling into his bedroom.

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So, I actually had to cut myself off with this response, because I realized something.

I’m making a small novel here – at least a decent sized short story. It kind of transformed from something other than a simple writing prompt. When I hit 1300 words, I realized that I needed to pull back. But I promise you, this isn’t the last that you’ll see of Donovan, or Bellan. They may end up making a surprise novel appearance!

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

31 Days of Horror Prompts for October (#4)

Hey, guys! It’s time for prompt number four in my 31 Horror Prompts for October series! I’ve been really enjoying these, and I hope that you guys have, too. Honestly, this is a great way to get warmed up for NaNoWriMo, if you’re planning on participating. I’m super excited about it myself, and I’m actually going to try to slowly ramp up the length of my story responses so that I can get used to writing at length again every day.

So, without further delay, here is today’s prompt! It’s inspired a bit by my thoughts of NaNo, I have to admit!

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The words on the page were gone – instead, a trail of black ink led to your bedroom door…

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So! This can be as spooky as you’d like. I’m personally really excited to explore what I can do with this particular writing prompt, so I may end up getting started on it today instead of tomorrow like I usually do.

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

31 Horror Prompts – Response #3

Hey guys! Here’s the response for Day 3 of my 31 Horror Prompts for October. The Prompt today is a list of words. I always find these to be extremely fun – I’m giving you words… a small setting, and your mind is filling in the blanks.

Night, Terror, Blood, Knife, Shadow, Monster, Darkness, Moonlight, Scream, Killer

You have 10 words… and you only have to use five. But from five words, an entire story can take shape.

From five words, you could turn from a writer into a killer, much like I did in my response!

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An Opera of Blood and Moonlight

I felt like a monster in the moonlight. The sensation of adrenaline was pouring through me, making my entire body quiver, and filling that void that always seemed to open up inside of me. It was something that I couldn’t escape, no matter how many times I told myself that I was done – it was something that I couldn’t control. That need was a living, breathing thing inside of me, that crept out through the darkness and reared its head. Its voice was cultured and refined, though it was truly a beast – it spoke of depravity, the things that it wanted me to do. It made its demands with tea and scones, and it smiled like a gentleman while it handed me a knife.

That need was a thing that lived somewhere deep inside of me. It had for as long as I could remember… though I couldn’t remember that far back. I’d woken up as a thirteen-year-old one day with no memories of who I’d been before. The doctors told me that I’d shown up one day, coming out of the woods covered in blood and thicker things. They hadn’t told me that only part of that blood had been mine.

I still wasn’t sure what had happened – I had no idea what kind of a child I’d been, or what horrors I’d seen during the night that had woken the beast inside of me.

I wasn’t sure if it had been born when I’d come out of the woods, or if it had been with me all along. I would ask it sometimes where it came from, and he would smile at me with charming lips full of sinister intent and shake his head slowly.

He wasn’t going to tell.

He was just going to tell me when it was time to move again.

And it was time. I could feel it tickle and prick along my skin as I stood over the young woman who trembled in terror beneath me. My face was a shadow in the deep hood that I wore, and I’d brought her so far into the darkness of the woods that no one could hear her scream. She’d been asleep, peaceful in her bed, dreaming little dreams of a world where she wasn’t about to die.

The monster in my head had told me that she was the one, and maybe… maybe he would be sated, if I took her for him.

The monster in my head told me that I had to be a killer one more time, or he’d never leave me alone.

It was his smile that spread my lips when she spoke, “Please, I’ll do anything. I won’t tell anyone, just don’t… please don’t!”

And it was his voice that spoke to her, leaning close enough that she could see the dark flash of my brown eyes. Soft, predatory, cultured and smooth. “There’s no point in begging. Though, I’d love to hear the symphony of your screams.”

And it was his laughter that spilled from my throat, joyous and greedy and gluttonous all at once when I swung the knife down and started to conduct the opera that he craved, written in blood and moonlight.

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So, there we go! There’s my response for today, and I have to say that I really enjoyed it. I love getting to shape stories out of something as simple as a list of words! I would adore seeing what you guys did for it as well! Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

This is a great way to practice getting in daily words, since NaNoWriMo is coming up so very soon! Make sure to stay tuned to my blog if you’re doing NaNo, because I’m going to be posting tips and tricks for a successful NaNoWriMo every Tuesday and Thursday!

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

What’s Up October?

So, apparently September is just a slow writing month for me, and that’s pretty okay. I’m still getting my 1k out, and a bit over on a lot of days. But, I’m really excited for the next few months as far as writing goes.

As you all know, NaNoWriMo is in November! National Novel Writing Month is one of my favorite times of year, so I’m extremely excited for it.

I don’t know if you guys remember, but last year I did a 31 prompts for October kind of thing – 31 horror prompts, delivered to you daily for the month of October. I’m going to be doing that again this year (if you have a prompt suggestion and want your blog featured during the month, just drop it in a comment below!) Other than that though, I’m also going to be doing Prep-Tober in anticipation of NaNoWriMo. I’m going to be posting blogs at least twice a week with my own prep tips, tricks, and NaNo advice, so I’m really excited to get to work on that. I think that it’s going to be so much fun.

If there’s any tips or tricks, or anything that you want advice on for NaNo, mentioned it in the comments below. I’ll probably make a few more calls for such, but it’s nice to get a head start.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group

Daily Writing Prompt 2/4/2016

We are getting very close to the bottom of the list! For all of you who have been keeping up with this, great job! Write either a poem or a short story from the following list of words!!!

81. Pen and Paper
82. +
83. Heal
84. Cold
85. Sick
86. Seeing Red
87. Hunger
88. Pain
89. Through the Fire
90. Triangle

I can’t wait to see what you get up!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr

 

Daily Writing Prompt 2/3/2016

I’m getting so close to being finished with this list, and I’m actually a little sad about it. It’s been a lot of fun! But! As usual, write a poem or story with the following list!

71. Obsession
72. Mislead
73. I. Can’t.
74. Confrontation
75. Mirror
76. Broken
77. Testament
78. Drink
79. FUCK
80. Words

I can’t wait to see what you guys come up with! Also, I decided to just do my January Writing Recap on Friday when I do my normal recap blogs! I can’t wait to fill you guys in on how it went, and I can’t wait to see what this prompt helps you to come up with!

 

Until then!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr

 

Daily Writing Prompt 2/2/2016

I’m going to run out of this list soon, but until I do, I’m going to keep on keeping with it! Write a poem or short story using the following list! I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

61. Fairy Tale
62. Voodoo
63. Do Not Disturb
64. City
65. Horrorific
66. Snow
67. Drum
68. Hero
69. Annoyance
70. 67%

Until then! Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr

Writing Prompt 2/1/2016

So, we dive forward into Feb, and I’m hoping that the daily writing prompts become truly daily, instead of every other daily! I will continue on with my trend of a list of words! I’m enjoying it, and I’m nearly through the whole list… so!!!

Write a poem or story based on the following!

51. Sport
52. Old
53. Desecrate
54. Tower
55. Need
56. Biohazard
57. Sacrificial
58. Kick in the Head
59. No Way Out
60. Desert

This should be fun!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr

PS: Probably going to do a January Overall Writing Stat blog tonight or tomorrow! I’m not feeling super hot right now, but I’m so proud of my progress!