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Another Scary Story

So-and-so’s friend, a girl in her teens, is babysitting for a family in Newport Beach, Ca. The family is wealthy and has a very large house — you know the sort, with a ridiculous amount of rooms. Anyways, the parents are going out for a late dinner/movie. The father tells the babysitter that once the children are in bed she should go into this specific room (he doesn’t really want her wandering around the house) and watch TV there.

The parents take off and soon she gets the kids into bed and goes to the room to watch TV. She tries watching TV, but she is disturbed by a clown statue in the corner of the room. She tries to ignore it for as long as possible, but it starts freaking her out so much that she can’t handle it.

She resorts to calling the father and asks, “Hey, the kids are in bed, but is it okay if I switch rooms? This clown statue is really creeping me out.”

The father says seriously, “Get the kids, go next door and call 911.”

She asks, “What’s going on?”

He responds, “Just go next door and once you call the police, call me back.”

She gets the kids, goes next door, and calls the police. When the police are on the way, she calls the father back and asks, “So, really, what’s going on?”

He responds, “We don’t HAVE a clown statue.” He then further explains that the children have been complaining about a clown watching them as they sleep. He and his wife had just blown it off, assuming that they were having nightmares.

The police arrive and apprehend the “clown,” who turns out to be a midget. A midget clown! I guess he was some homeless person dressed as a clown, who somehow got into the house and had been living there for several weeks. He would come into the kids’ rooms at nights and watch them while they slept. As the house was so large, he was able to avoid detection, surviving off their food, etc. He had been in the TV room right before the babysitter right came in there. When she entered he didn’t have enough time to hide, so he just froze in place and pretended to be a statue.

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Posted by on January 28, 2015 in Horror, Scary

 

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A Scary Story

Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes – one yellow and one green – and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted.

Old Betty’s house was full of herbs and roots and bottles filled with conjuring medicine. The walls were lined with strange books brimming with magical spells. Old Betty was the only one living in the Hollow who knew how to read; her granny, who was also a conjurer, had taught her the skill as part of her magical training.

Just about the only friend Old Betty had was a tough, mean, ugly old razorback hog that ran wild around her place. It rooted so much in her kitchen garbage that all the leftover spells started affecting it. Some folks swore up and down that the old razorback hog sometimes walked upright like man. One fellow claimed he’d seen the pig sitting in the rocker on Old Betty’s porch, chattering away to her while she stewed up some potions in the kitchen, but everyone discounted that story on account of the fellow who told it was a little too fond of moonshine.

“Raw Head” was the name Old Betty gave the razorback, referring maybe to the way the ugly creature looked a bit like some of the dead pigs come butchering time down in Hog-Scald Hollow. The razorback didn’t mind the funny name. Raw Head kept following Old Betty around her little cabin and rooting up the kitchen leftovers. He’d even walk to town with her when she came to the local mercantile to sell her home remedies.

Well, folks in town got so used to seeing Raw Head and Old Betty around the town that it looked mighty strange one day around hog-driving time when Old Betty came to the mercantile without him.

“Where’s Raw Head?” the owner asked as he accepted her basket full of home-remedy potions. The liquid in the bottles swished in an agitate manner as Old Betty said: “I ain’t seen him around today, and I’m mighty worried. You seen him here in town?”

“Nobody’s seen him around today. They would’ve told me if they did,” the mercantile owner said. “We’ll keep a lookout fer you.”

“That’s mighty kind of you. If you see him, tell him to come home straightaway,” Old Betty said. The mercantile owner nodded agreement as he handed over her weekly pay.

Old Betty fussed to herself all the way home. It wasn’t like Raw Head to disappear, especially not the day they went to town. The man at the mercantile always saved the best scraps for the mean old razorback, and Raw Head never missed a visit. When the old conjuring woman got home, she mixed up a potion and poured it onto a flat plate.

“Where’s that old hog got to?” she asked the liquid. It clouded over and then a series of pictures formed. First, Old Betty saw the good-for-nothing hunter that lived on the next ridge sneaking around the forest, rounding up razorback hogs that didn’t belong to him. One of the hogs was Raw Head. Then she saw him taking the hogs down to Hog-Scald Hollow, where folks from the next town were slaughtering their razorbacks. Then she saw her hog, Raw Head, slaughtered with the rest of the pigs and hung up for gutting. The final picture in the liquid was the pile of bloody bones that had once been her hog, and his scraped-clean head lying with the other hogsheads in a pile.

Old Betty was infuriated by the death of her only friend. It was murder to her, plain and simple. Everyone in three counties knew that Raw Head was her friend, and that lazy, hog-stealing, good-for-nothing hunter on the ridge was going to pay for slaughtering him.

Now Old Betty tried to practice white conjuring most of the time, but she knew the dark secrets too. She pulled out an old, secret book her granny had given her and turned to the very last page. She lit several candles and put them around the plate containing the liquid picture of Raw Head and his bloody bones. Then she began to chant: “Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.”

The light from the windows disappeared as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. Dark clouds billowed into the clearing where Old Betty’s cabin stood, and the howl of dark spirits could be heard in the wind that pummeled the treetops.

“Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.”

Betty continued the chant until a bolt of silver lightning left the plate and streaked out threw the window, heading in the direction of Hog-Scald Hollow.

When the silver light struck Raw Head’s severed head, which was piled on the hunter’s wagon with the other hog heads, it tumbled to the ground and rolled until it was touching the bloody bones that had once inhabited its body. As the hunter’s wagon rumbled away toward the ridge where he lived, the enchanted Raw Head called out: “Bloody bones, get up and dance!”

Immediately, the bloody bones reassembled themselves into the skeleton of a razorback hog walking upright, as Raw Head had often done when he was alone with Old Betty. The head hopped on top of his skeleton and Raw Head went searching through the woods for weapons to use against the hunter. He borrowed the sharp teeth of a dying panther, the claws of a long-dead bear, and the tail from a rotting raccoon and put them over his skinned head and bloody bones.

Then Raw Head headed up the track toward the ridge, looking for the hunter who had slaughtered him. Raw Head slipped passed the thief on the road and slid into the barn where the hunter kept his horse and wagon. Raw Head climbed up into the loft and waited for the hunter to come home.

It was dusk when the hunter drove into the barn and unhitched his horse. The horse snorted in fear, sensing the presence of Raw Head in the loft. Wondering what was disturbing his usually-calm horse, the hunter looked around and saw a large pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness in the loft.

The hunter frowned, thinking it was one of the local kids fooling around in his barn.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big eyes fer?” he snapped, thinking the kids were trying to scare him with some crazy mask.

“To see your grave,” Raw Head rumbled very softly. The hunter snorted irritably and put his horse into the stall.

“Very funny. Ha,ha,” The hunter said. When he came out of the stall, he saw Raw Head had crept forward a bit further. Now his luminous yellow eyes and his bears claws could clearly be seen.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big claws fer?” he snapped. “You look ridiculous.”

“To dig your grave…” Raw Head intoned softly, his voice a deep rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter’s neck. He stirred uneasily, not sure how the crazy kid in his loft could have made such a scary sound. If it really was a crazy kid.

Feeling a little spooked, he hurried to the door and let himself out of the barn. Raw Head slipped out of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn behind him. With nary a rustle to reveal his presence, Raw Head raced through the trees and up the path to a large, moonlight rock. He hid in the shadow of the huge stone so that the only things showing were his gleaming yellow eyes, his bear claws, and his raccoon tail.

When the hunter came level with the rock on the side of the path, he gave a startled yelp. Staring at Raw Head, he gasped: “You nearly knocked the heart right out of me, you crazy kid! Land o’ Goshen, what have you got that crazy tail fer?”

“To sweep your grave…” Raw Head boomed, his enchanted voice echoing through the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo. The hunter took to his heels and ran for his cabin. He raced passed the old well-house, passed the wood pile, over the rotting fence and into his yard. But Raw Head was faster. When the hunter reached his porch, Raw Head leapt from the shadows and loomed above him. The hunter stared in terror up at Raw Head’s gleaming yellow eyes in the ugly razorback hogshead, his bloody bone skeleton with its long bear claws, sweeping raccoon’s tail and his gleaming sharp panther teeth.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big teeth fer?” he gasped desperately, stumbling backwards from the terrible figure before him.

“To eat you up, like you wanted to eat me!” Raw Head roared, descending upon the good-for-nothing hunter. The murdering thief gave one long scream in the moonlight. Then there was silence, and the sound of crunching.

Nothing more was ever seen or heard of the lazy hunter who lived on the ridge. His horse also disappeared that night. But sometimes folks would see Raw Head roaming through the forest in the company of his friend Old Betty. And once a month, on the night of the full moon, Raw Head would ride the hunter’s horse through town, wearing the old man’s blue overalls over his bloody bones with a hole cut-out for his raccoon tail. In his bloody, bear-clawed hands, he carried his raw, razorback hogshead, lifting it high against the full moon for everyone to see.

 
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Posted by on January 28, 2015 in Horror, Scary

 

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Eat, drink and be scary…

Eat, drink and be scary,

For on Halloween, we DIE.. 

Scary stories for childen and adults - ARRRGH.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2014 in Halloween

 

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I want to eat your brains

I want to eat your brains

I want to eat your brains,

That’s what I said,

I want to eat your brains,

Until you are dead.

I am a zombie; it’s what I do,

Eating brains all night through.

**********

In the morning,

When I’ m nice and full,

Of lovely brains and blood, so cool,

I will go to bed and sleep it off,

Until the evening when I’ll want some more.

**********

Ghost House

by Robert frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

*

O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

*

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart.

*

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

*

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

*

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

 
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Posted by on October 8, 2014 in Halloween

 

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A Scary Story

A Scary Story

A Scary Story

I found it so hard to get off to sleep last night, twisting and turning under the ‘tremendous’ weight of the quilt. And it was so hot, it was so incredibly hot – I just couldn’t understand it.
It must have been well past one a.m. before I finally dozed off, only to be awoken soon after, by a fear, a terrible sensation that something was in the room with us, something skulking, ready to get me, and to snuff out my miserable existence.
I tried to shout, to scream, to let my wife, Breda, know of the danger we were in, but I
couldn’t make a sound, not the slightest utterance left my startled lips. Then I began
rising, floating out and away from the bed. It wasn’t far mind you, no more than a few feet,
but more than enough to send my already frightened mind racing into startled convulsions.

Shouting, sweating, shaking, trembling with fear I suddenly awoke, having escaped from
this terrifying dream – It was only a dream, wasn’t it?
Breda insisted that it was only a dream. She told me not to be so silly, to go to sleep, that
everything would be all right in the morning. And I tried, I really tried so hard to get back to
sleep, to the good pattern of sleep that I am so fortunate to enjoy. But I was just so
uncomfortable, where neither my right or left-hand side was an option to lie on. The only
way that I could find any degree of comfort was in lying on my back. And that, unfortunately, was where it all began again!
I relaxed and drifted off to sleep, restful sleep, and it was a nice sleep, but so short, so
incredibly short. I had barely lost consciousness when I heard something, something so
very close to my ear, so close I could hear its every word, speaking, mumbling, and
gurgling. I awoke; it awoke me with a start, and for a moment, a brief instant, I thought I
saw a figure, a dark figure, a form skulking away from our bed, to the shadows in the darkest corner of the room. Putting it down to my imagination and perhaps even to the two
drinks that I had enjoyed before retiring, I again closed my eyes and relaxed, returning to
my slumbers.
But it returned, the voice, the speaking, and the mumblings, the unintelligible one-way
conversation awoke me with a start, and once again I saw a shadowy figure returning,
disappearing in the darkest part of the room.

This terrible process, this mocking torture repeated itself over and over again for the
remainder of the night, until the breaking dawn allowed me to asleep proper, and in
safety.
It rang; the alarm ringing so close to my ears told me that I had rested enough, that there
was a whole new day awaiting my attention. Yawning, I dragged myself out of bed, and
putting on my dressing gown and slippers I made my way across to the window, where I
opened the blinds. Yawning again, I inspected the day. It was a cold, dark, grey winter’s
morning. I wished that I had could have returned to my bed, to sleep, oh how I wished.

Something on the floor in the darkest part of the room, where I had seen the frightening
figure returning to again and again, suddenly caught my attention. It was a book. Bending
down, I picked it up; it was the book, the very same book that I had been reading in bed
the night before. But how did it get here? Scratching my head, thinking that was a
question too far, especially since I was so tired, I closed the book and returned it to its
place on my bedside locker. Then I saw its title, and I read it, it said, ‘Short, Scary Stories’.

A Scary Story

 
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Posted by on June 30, 2014 in Scary

 

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Ali – Bonkers

Ali-Bonkers

Ali – Bonkers

It happened two days before Halloween, when Ali was at home, helping her mother to prepare the evening meal.
“Mum,” said Ali, tugging at her mother’s blouse sleeve, “mum, now that Harry Potter has finally gone, you know, I mean how all the books have been finished, I feel like I’ve somehow grown up…Does that make any sense to you?”
It does, and I’m happy to hear it, Ali,” her mother replied giving her a huge hug, “but don’t be in too much of a hurry to grow up, these are the best years of your life.”
“Argh,” Ali yelled, “why does everyone say that, when all that we kids want to do is grow up?”
calming down, getting back to her little talk, Ali continued, “I am a big girl now, mum, and I realize there is no such thing as magic or witches or anything like that. Sure, that Harry Potter was just a great big fairy tale.”
Her mum smiled lovingly at Ali.
After the meal, a light tea, Ali’s parents went down to their bedroom to get ready for their evening out – It seemed to take forever, with so many comings and goings into and out from the bathroom. Finally they were ready, and her parents came into the sitting room where Ali with her brother Paul and sister Laura were watching the television,
“Ali,” said her mother, Jean, “are you sure you will be okay, babysitting for us this evening?”
It was her first time to baby-sit, and Ali, because she needed the money, wanted to make a good impression, so she said as forcefully as she could, “Yes, I’ll be fine. We’re going to have a nice time watching The Simpson Halloween Specials five, six and eight – I think they’re the best ones.”
“If Laura and Paul get frightened, you will turn them off?”
“Yes, yes I promise,” Ali replied, crossing her fingers beneath the large cushion perched on her lap. With that the parents opened the door, got into their car – a huge Lexus – and drove down the road to the Italian restaurant.
Neither Laura or Paul were frightened by the Simpson’s Halloween Specials, they had seen them far too many times to be anyway remotely frightened by them. Happily watching the eccentric, seasonal antics of these characters, all three children relaxed munching crisps and biscuits, chewing wine gums and drinking lashings of Fizzing Fruit Juice drink – lovely.

To begin with, the evening went surprisingly well for Ali, and she really enjoyed it. Her mother phoned up at nine, just to check, and Ali was proud to tell her that everything was fine, and not to worry. That piece of advice, however, was a mistake, a mistake that Ali was soon going to regret…
You see, at precisely nine thirty there was a loud knock on the front door, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
“Now who could that be?” said Ali as she got up from her wonderfully comfortable leather armchair. Unfortunately, after she opened the front door, Ali’s question remained unanswered, because there was nobody there.”
Slamming the door closed, Ali said, “Children playing silly Halloween pranks, I’d guess. Don’t they know there’s still two days to go?”
Opening another packet of crisps, an unusual variety called Blood and Bones that she guessed were made especially for Halloween, Ali popped a few of them into her mouth. “Yuk,” she cried, spitting the crisps onto the floor, “they taste awful.”
Laura and Paul laughed as Ali rushed into the kitchen to get another glassful of Fizzing fruit juice drink to wash the terrible clingy taste from her mouth. “That’s better,” she said as the wonderful fizzing drink washed away the taste of the dreadful crisps.
Looking at the unusual bottle (it was of a green/gold colour) Ali wondered just where her mother had found this wonderful, naturally fizzing drink that tasted of chocolate, mango and vanilla. There was no label on it, only the name of the drink and a palm tree logo in front of a rising sun moulded into the glass of the bottle. Deciding to leave the matter until her parents came home, Ali filled refilled her glass and then returned to her television viewing.
Laura and Paul were still laughing when Ali returned to the sitting room, but this time it was at a sticky situation that Homer Simpson had got into. Sinking onto the soft leather of the comfortable armchair Ali soon forgot all about the knock on the door.
Ten minutes later, another knock interrupted Ali’s relaxation. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
“Grrr,” Ali complained as she pulled herself up from the chair. “I will so crucify them,” she said as she opened the door to see who was there. But, again, there was nobody outside.
Looking to the left and the right, Ali wondered what children might be playing this annoying prank, especially since her parents were out. She even walked as far as the gate, thinking they might be hiding alongside the road, but there was no one to be seen.
“When I get my hands on them, they won’t know what hit them,” Ali hissed as she stepped into the hall and closed the front door behind her.
Sitting into her armchair, Ali tried to return her attention to the Simpsons, but she found it more difficult to relax. It took the Halloween Special # eight, Ali’s favourite, to finally take her mind away from the troubling knocks on the door, and once again all three children relaxed munching crisps and biscuits, chewing wine gums and drinking even more Fizzing Fruit Juice – lovely.
KNOCK. KNOCK, KNOCK.
“I will kill them,” Ai screamed. “I will absolutely kill them!” she shouted as she ran to open the door. She opened it. Ali opened the door so forcefully it almost came off its hinges. This time, however, there was somebody there. Standing outside, his clothes dripping wet, there was a pale skinned wearing a black suit.
“I am so sorry to be disturbing you,” the foreign accented man apologised, “but my car has broken down.”
Staring past him, out into the street, Ali saw no signs of a car broken-down or otherwise, and she asked, “Where is it?”
“It is up the road; that is why I am so wet, from having to walk so far in the pouring rain…”
“But, it isn’t raining,” a confused Ali muttered in reply.
“It is, where my car broke down,” the man insisted.
“May I possibly use your telephone, to call the garage?”
“Don’t you have a mobile phone?” Ali asked in surprise that so well dressed a person might go out without one.
“No,” the man replied, “where I come from, in my county, we don’t have such luxuries.”
Taken aback by this unusual explanation, Ali offered the use of their telephone.
Stepping into the hallway, the man said, “Where are my manners?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I have not introduced myself,” he said. “Please allow me to introduce myself…my name, my name is T Nuoc Alucard.”
“The telephone is there, Mr Alucard,” said Ali, pointing to a small table in the hallway.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he replied.
My Alucard picked up the handset.
Returning to the sitting room, Ali told Laura and Paul not to worry, that it was only someone who wanted to use their telephone. Being so young, her brother and sister saw nothing unusual about that, and their attention soon returned to the Simpsons. Ali, however, listened intently to the man standing on the other side of the door, speaking on the telephone, but despite her best efforts the only thing she was able to hear were faint mumbling. And even that stopped after a short while, leaving Ali wandering if he had simply walked out of the house without bothering to thank her for the hospitability.
The Simpsons Halloween special # eight finished with Laura and Paul blissfully asleep on the couch. Outside, in the hallway, the foreign man (if he was still actually there) stood in total silence.
“What is he doing?” Ali whispered, her ear stuck to the door trying to hear what was happening. But it was no use she heard nothing from the other side – no speaking, no mumblings – nada. Ali had to investigate…
Gathering courage, Ali took a deep breath and opened the sitting room door. Gasping with relief, she found the hallway empty of foreigners, with the front door tightly closed again. Ali opened it, thinking she might see the mysterious man walking away from the house, but she saw nothing.
Closing the door, Ali rambled happily into the kitchen to get the bottle of Fizzing Fruit juice drink.
“There’s only a small bit left,” she said, “so I might as well drink it.”
The green/gold bottle was still in her hand when Ali heard some sounds in the hallway. Frightened, yet trying to be brave, Ali tightly grabbed the bottle and crept out from the kitchen to investigate…
Creeping on tippy-toes, Ali searched the hallway, the bedrooms, bathroom and also the linen closet, but she was unable to find anything or anyone who could have made the noise. Breathing a sigh or relief, Ali was just about to take a swig from the bottle of juice when she hear a noise from the sitting room, a noise like a muffled cry for help.
“Hold on,” Ali screamed as she ran down the hallway. “Hold on, I’m coming,” she shouted as she burst open the sitting room door, with bottle at the ready to brain the unwelcome intruder. But inside the room it was quite, the sitting room was now deathly quiet, with Laura and Paul missing.
Panicking, screaming in sheer disbelief, Ali searched the house for her brother and sister, and this time she searched everywhere. She looked in the wardrobes, her parents en suite, under the beds – even in the huge toy boxes in Laura and Paul bedrooms, but Ali simply could not find them. She could find no trace of her brother and sister. Shrieking in fear for the safety of Laura and Paul, thinking the foreign accented man must have taken them, Ali ran to the front door yanking it open with all the strength she could muster, and then running out, Ali fell…
Everything outside of the house had vanished; there was no garden, no path and no light – nothing. Ali fell into that utter blackness, screaming and screaming and screaming ….
Landing with a small bump, Ali was surprised that it had been so soft a landing. Confused, she opened her eyes to see where she actually was. And now even more confused, Ali stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, the wind chimes by the window playing in the gentle breeze. She smiled. Ali smiled with delight, because having just fallen out of bed meant it had all been a big, bad dream. There was no foreign man, no gaping hole of blackness outside of the front door – everything was okay, everything was just perfect.
Climbing into bed, Ali looked at her digital radio/clock to see what the time was. It was only five a.m. so rolling over she tried to get another hour or two of sleep.
She was asleep; Ali was blissfully asleep when the noise woke her up. A noise, somewhere in the kitchen, had awoken her with a jolt. .
“What was that?” she said, surprised that anyone could be up so early. Ali listened. “Perhaps it’s just something slipping off a shelf,” she said, “yes, that must be it; something falling off a shelf. Sure, mum is always over packing them, isn’t she?
CLUMP.
“There it is again,” Ali whispered ever so quietly.
CLUMP.
“And again,” she hissed even quieter.
CLUMP.
Slipping on her dressing gown Ali moaned, “This is ridiculous.”
Opening the bedroom door, stepping into the dark hallway, Ali set off to investigate.

“Mum and dad are fast asleep, as per usual,” she said as she peeked into their room.
Leaving her parents at rest, Ali glanced through the cracks in Paul and Laura’s bedroom doors. “Sleeping like babies,” she whispered.
Feeling the cold, Ali pulled her dressing gown tighter around her.
CLUMP.
“Now what can that be?” she hissed again as she turned the kitchen door handle.
The door creaked open. Smiling with relief, Ali saw the cause of the noise – Duke; their ever so friendly Labrador dog was in the kitchen.
“Did mum leave you in?” Ali asked as she approached the family pet. It snarled, Duke snarled at Ali. “Why are you doing that, why are you snarling at me?” she asked. “It’s only me, you know?”
The dog snarled even louder, the thick saliva dripping from its long fangs.
Seeing the patio door open, Ali said, “How did that get open open? Duke, did you open it?”
The dog snarled even more ferociously, its eyes glowing red, as the red saliva dripping from its sharp fangs.
“Red saliva?” said Ali, her fears rising by the second. “That can only mean one thing – blood.” Ali screamed and screamed and screamed…
Turning round, Duke suddenly bolted for the exit disappearing into the darkness.
“Mum, dad,” Ali screamed as she ran down the hallway and burst into their bedroom, “Duke…Duke – he’s dripping blood.”
No one heard. There was nobody there. The room, it was empty.
“Where are you? Mum? Dad?” Ali called out, in fear that her nightmare might still not be over.
Bursting into Paul’s room, Ali screamed, “Paul?” but he also is missing.
“Laura?” Laura’s room was as empty as Paul’s.
Where is everyone?” she screamed, “WHERE IS EVERYONE?”
Then remembering the open, patio door, Ali knew that she must shut it. She knew that she must keep Duke out of the house.
Returning to the kitchen, Ali carefully, ever so carefully crept over to the patio doors, which she closed, securing the lock. Then glancing out into the garden, hoping that she might see Duke in a friendlier mood, Ali saw something that put the fear of god into her. Strewn across the wide expanse of lawn, directly in front of the patio doors, were hundreds and hundreds of bones still dripping wet with blood.
Ali was frozen in fright; she was shocked to the core that their dog, their friendly dog, could have done so foul a deed.
BANG! Jake pounded the doors with the full force of his heavy body, his bloody teeth grinding the glass in a ferocious attempt to get some more bones.
BANG. Jake smashed against the doors, he had no intention of stopping.
BANG. Like a dog possessed, like a dog with only thing on its mind, Jake smashed into the doors over and over and over again trying to get more juicy bones.
Pulling a curtain across the patio doors, trying to erase from her mind the terrible change in their dog’s behaviour, Ali hoped the worst might be over. She hoped that the bones, all those bones still dripping wet with blood were from animals and not from her family.
Deciding the give her aunt, Breda, a ring on the phone, to tell her about all the terrible things that were happening and, hopefully, get some help, Ali picked up the handset and began dialling.
“BANG. The handset flew out from Ali’s small hand as the dog – Jake – knocked her flying, pinning her to the floor.
“Hello,” a voice on the other end of the handset said, “can I help you?”
Trying to fight off Jake, Ali pulled at the curtain with all of her might. It and the pole came tumbling down in a muffled thump. Then using the curtain to protect her from the sharp, pointed teeth, Ali tried to fend off the mad dog.
Retaliating ferociously, having to intention of being beaten by a curtain, Jake’s thrashing legs drew it up, around and over Ali.
It was dark under that curtain, and Ali fought with the heavy material for fear she might never get out from beneath it.
A chink, a chink of light crept under the material. Struggling, pulling it back, Ali saw the sun; she saw the morning sun shining in through her bedroom window. And the curtain, sure, it wasn’t a curtain at all; it was really the quilt from her bed.
“Another dream,” Ali said, smiling with relief, “that turned into a nightmare.”
Looking out through the window,, Ali was so happy to see the sun shining in the clear blue sky. Then running into her parent’s room, she shouted with joy, “Good morning to you both, and what a wonderful morning it is, to be alive…”
Yawning, wiping the sleep from their heavy eyes, Ali’s mum and dad stared at her like she had gone stark raving bonkers.
“That’s our Ali,” they said, “ALI – BONKERS!” And with that, Ali laughed. She laughed and she laughed and she laughed.

THE END – or is it?

Ali-Bonkers

 

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Fizzy Cherry Cola

Fizzy Cherry Cola

An Extraordinary Tale

I can imagine you thinking, ‘What’s so scary about ‘Fizzy Cherry Cola?’ To be truthful there is nothing scary about it, but having said that, please look carefully into the picture of the bottle before making your final assumptions…
Well, did you see anything? Did you see all those troubled souls trapped inside the bottle? Did you see the expressions on their poor, pitiful faces, knowing they have no hope of ever escaping it, that the only release they might hope for is that someone happens upon the bottle, and drinks them?
Mr Singe – Gupta – was an old man who had seen many changes over the course of his seventy-five years on this earth. When he was sixteen years of age, his family emigrated from India to the colder climes of England. Along with his parents, brothers, and sisters, Gupta began a new life in a county so different from the hot, tropical one he was used to, and so loved.
Snow; snow was one of the first things the notoriously fickle English weather hurled at the Singe family after their arrival one cold, dark, wet December day. The snow remained stubbornly on the ground until mid-February. Gupta thought it might never melt. Nineteen sixty-three will always be remembered as the year of the big freeze, a time when the whole country came to a standstill.
As the days, weeks, months and years slowly passed, the Singe family settled down well into their new life. Despite feeling homesick for the old ways and the warm sun of the tropics, the each carved out a grand new life for their growing families.
Four years after his arrival in England, Gupta met a beautiful young Indian woman called Sonita whom he fell madly in love with and then married. Two years later, after the arrival of a baby son, Gupta and his wife were about as happy and contented as they could possibly be.
Having opened a shop, a convenience store that became indispensable to the local community, Indian and English alike, Gupta worked day and night to make is a success. Life was good for the Singe family. They looked forward to a long, happy and contented life together.
One day, however, all of this changed, it changed utterly and completely, when a man – a newly arrived immigrant – entered the shop, enquiring if Gupta knew of anyone who had a room to rent.
Happy to help a fellow compatriot find his feet in a foreign land, Gupta said, “I have a flat for rent over my shop.” He pointed upward. “Mind you it is quite small.”
His eyes beaming, the man replied, “Small is okay, if I have as much room in heaven I will be so happy.”
“Would you like to see it?” Gupta asked the heavily bearded man.
“Yes, please,” he replied, offering Gupta his hand. “My name is Ali,” he said, smiling, “I am very pleased to meet you.”
Having returned the greeting, Gupta led him outside to a separate door. Turning the key, Gupta invited Ali to follow him up the narrow stairway leading to the flat.
“It is perfect,” said Ali as he wandered around the three small rooms, then back again to Gupta.
“I haven’t yet told you how much the rent is,” Gupta warned.
“How much?”
“Three pounds per week, with a month in advance.”
The smile on Ali’s face disappeared, and he said, “That much?”
“It is the going rate,” Gupta said defensively.
Buttoning his coat, Ali apologised for wasting Gupta’s time, saying, “Thank you for showing me your wonderful flat, but it is sadly more than I can afford…”
At this point Gupta felt bad, so far removed from the teachings of his religion, to help his fellow man. As they walked down the narrow stairway, Gupta thought about it some more. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he said cheerfully, “I tell you what I will do…”
CONTD

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