A horror story...

Discussion in 'The Coffee House' started by lifeisashedog, May 16, 2008.

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  1. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    Guyz, let's write a horror story! I'll begin, you add... :idea:


    The night was wet and foggy...
  2. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    The clock in the old gothic church tower struck midnight. John was staring numbly through the dirty window of his little room...
  3. 2-D

    2-D Well-Known Member

    watching the storm, he witnesses a bolt of lightning strike a tree in the little square outside his house, the flash of thunder that illuminated the sky cast a brief light showing a caped figure flying in the sky.....
  4. man

    man Well-Known Member

    this was not the first time he had seen something out of the ordinary in his life, but, little did he know it would be the last time...

    (duuu, duuu, duuu, daaaaaaaaaaaa!)
  5. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    ...at the same time in a similar small room on the other side of Atlantic, Claire rose from a couch and sat in front of the computer with a half-empty bottle of vodka of vodka in her shaking hand. She logged into chat, entered a room with a strange name "triggering subjects" and typed:

    TrainHunter1111, r u still here??


    PillCollector666 pokes TrainHunter1111


    John, where r u?



    (to be continued...)
  6. Terry

    Terry Antiquities Friend Staff Alumni

    John sat transfixed as a sardonic face floated outside his bedroom window.
  7. famous.last.words

    famous.last.words Forum Buddy

    Could it be a dream? a memory lost coming back to reignite the fear? or was this reality, a place Johns mind hadnt been for so long.
  8. Esmeralda

    Esmeralda Well-Known Member

    A bolt of fear shot through John as the icy fingers of death encircled his heart, squeezing, squeezing...
  9. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    The deep black nothing opened in front of his eyes, engulfing him with its endless cold horror. Confused clips of memories flashed through his panickly buzzing mind, like pieces of a broken mirror. The steel grip around his heart was getting stronger and stronger...

    Then suddenly everything stopped. Like his brains would calculate all the possibilities, concluded that there is no solution left and automatically shut down. John was instantly filled with overwhelming peace. He did not hear the glass cracking under the weight of his body. he did not feel the cuts on his hips and arms when he fell through the broken window. The storeys slipped in front of his eyes in infinitely slow motion and the hard black street beneath seemed a whole lifetime away.

    And he knew. Everything was clear to him like a fresh morning sunshine after the night storm. He saw all the crooked ways and twists of fate that brought him to this last point of no return.

    And he realized what happened last summer in that chep dirty hotel room on Ibiza where he never should have entered...
  10. Esmeralda

    Esmeralda Well-Known Member

    Sitting on the stiff coverlet in that cheap hotel room made John feel seedy. He had watched enough CSI to know that were he to look at the bed and walls with the aid of a black light, he would probably never stop showering. Just the thought of it made him feel itchy and sick. Of course, he wouldn't even be here had it not been for a matchbook handed to him only 30 minutes ago by a voluptuous and slightly drunken woman at the bar across the street with the express instructions that he was to meet her here, in room 297 as soon as possible. Not one to be impolite, John was only too happy to oblige. Now, as he sat there, the last remnants of sunlight cast about the room, he was starting to have second thoughts. Then he heard a knock at the door.
  11. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    ...Soft murmurring of the waves slowly penetrated into John's frozen mind. He began to feel chilly breeze on uncovered skin of his arms and legs. The first rays of morning sun began to tickle his eyelids, shut hard like their owner would instinctly try desperately to avoid some unthinkable horrible realization this morning is about to bring.

    "Is everything okay with you, sir?"

    The beach guard was a spanish man in his fifties, big like a wardrobe but with a look of wisdom and compassion in his eyes, which have seen gazzillions of helpless drunks in last 30 years since the crowds of swim-drink-and-fuck tourists have first infested virgin shores of his native island.

    John rose his aching head and looked around. He was lying in the middle of a dirty, deserted beach, wearing nothing but his underwear. He was trying to recollect what happened last night, while the beach guard took him into his jeep and delivered him back to his bungalow one mile away - but with no use. Everything was blurred, no clear image could shine through his dizzy head.

    In front of his door there was a sheet of old newspaper and John picked it up. First he couldn't make sense out of the strange letters, that seemed like the russien alphabeth, until he realised he is holdin damn paper upside down. Trying to correct his mistake he turned it around and caught a glimpse of the back page of the paper sheet. In that moment he was thunderstruck with a view that made his blood freeze in his veins and let him know perfectly clear that he is not playing Michael Jackson in this movie.

    Yes. There was a big photograph of that voluptuous and slightly drunken woman in the newspaper...
  12. Esmeralda

    Esmeralda Well-Known Member

    He was able to recognize the woman not from her face, but from the tattoo of a baphomet on her exposed shoulder, a tattoo that he remembered from the previous afternoon at the dive bar across the street from the motel. He was struck by the sickening thought that not even the woman's parents would have been able to identify her from her face, for even in the grainy, black and white newspaper photo he could see that her face appeared to have been literally torn off, pieces of flesh still clinging to an almost entirely exposed skull. She lay on the ground, limbs sprawled in unnatural positions in what appeared to be a wooded area. He could see that a perimeter had been set around her body using tape marked "crime scene".

    The headline read "Unidentified Woman Found Murdered". John vomited into the sand to his left and tried to piece together the events of the previous night.
  13. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    But suddenly even more horrific enlightment flashed through his buzzing neurons. The newspaper sheet he held in his shaking hands was old, very old. It was wrinkled, dried and yellow like it was lying in the open air, exposed to sun and rain for ages. He peeked into the corner of the page to see the date.

    It was the 8th of august 1979.

    The woman she saw last evening was dead and chopped to pieces for more than quarter of a century now.
  14. BioHomocide

    BioHomocide Well-Known Member

    John still a little nauseas released his grip and the old dirty newspaper slowly drifted to the floor. He stood over it like he had seen a ghost, maybe he had seen a ghost. Countless thoughts raced through his panicked mind, then all of a sudden the newspaper flashed and a bright light struck him violently causing him to stumble to the floor. Slowly voices started to shout his name as he crawled franticly to the wall. "JOHN!"...."JOHN!" over and over again the voices screamed his name, but John was helpless, he couldn't see anything, the only thing he could do was cower like a wounded animal.

    After a full minute of screams the bright light slowly faded. John noticing the reduction in light uncovered his eyes and looked around the room. "What the fuck was that?" John yelled. "Where did those voices come from?"

    Shaken, John rose to his feet and walked towards the newspaper. As he got closer he could notice that it had changed color, from a dirty yellow to a clean white. It was almost like he had gone out and bought the newspaper himself. "This makes no sense..." John reached down and picked up the newspaper. "This can't be right!" After re-reading the Headline he realized that the author was him... it was his name. He was the one who wrote that article. He hadn't seen it before due to the decay, but now that the newspaper was new again he could read every word.

    (lol it took me forever to write this crap. I'm sorry if my addition sucks.)
    Last edited by a moderator: May 31, 2008
  15. lifeisashedog

    lifeisashedog Well-Known Member

    The report said that the woman's name was Rebecca Wolfenstein, she was 29 years old tourist from Israel and she was found in a room 11 of a brand new hotel on Playa Drive 11 (Yes, the very sleazy old hotel room that John was in last night). The receptionist said to the police that she returned to the room five minutes after midnight, alone and slightly drunk and that her body was found by a cleaning lady (currently in a mental hospital because of shock) at 9 am. The police investigators said that she has been drugged with chloroform and then her throat was precisely cut to keep her alive yet disable her to scream. "She was dieing slowly" said the police chief Juan Martinez Garcia "and I promise i will find the killer if I have to stalk him to the end of the world."

    The article was signed: John Peterson

    But how? He wasn't even born on the date the paper was published. He entered this cruel world on 8th of May 1980 ... nine months later.

    And now John remembered how his mother and father once showed him the photos from their honeymoon. In the summer of '79. On Ibiza.

    Ooooooooooooooh, shit!
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