The Shortest Horror Story I Could Think Of

A friend of mine emailed me a short-story writing challenge along with a few examples. The theme was short horror stories. 

The stories were supposed to be limited to two sentences, but I wasn't able to think of anything scary in two sentences that didn't seem derivative (i.e., "I tried to lay the large floral arrangement gently upon the casket, but in my grief I dropped them with a loud thump. Then I suddenly realized...the thump had come from inside the casket.") 

So, using 5 sentences, I came up with this:

"C'mon Duke, fetch the stick! Get the stick boy! That's a good doggie!" 

As Duke came running up the gently sloping hill I could see he had once again picked up a stick other than the one I had thrown for him. As he got closer I realized that it wasn't a stick at all...it was a human forearm, hand still intact, dripping fresh blood from the elbow joint where it had been torn off.

Duke trotted directly to me and dropped the arm. Looking up with a malicious gleam in his eyes he spoke, "I guess I'm not such a good doggie after all."

All You Ever Think About Is Sex

All You Ever Think About Is Sex, 8" X 8 & 1/2", Sharpie accent highlighter on paper, August 2013 

Robert Graves & I Meet In A Bar

I have never known a muse

And for that I am angry

Not once have I had 

A motivating factor 

Present itself to me

Those sisters, daughters of Zeus

Have yet to see fit

To pay me a visit

So I have made it a point

To never call out in vain

Any of those unpronounceable Greek or Roman names

It's easy to imagine

Michelangelo or Da Vinci

Consorting with those nymphs

Shamelessly plundering inspiration

From that treasure trove of ideas

There were nights I lay in bed

Hoping beyond all hope

That one of those lovely goddesses

Would hit me square across the forehead

With a bucket full of insight

Or at least a taste of Calliope's pen

The Trap

He said
Tell me your most intimate secrets
And I'll tell you mine
She said
Promise me you won't get scared and run away
And that everything will be fine
He said
Don't be silly I'm not afraid
To lay it all out on the line
She said
Well, since you brought it up
There was once...this one time
He said
Go on, I can take it
There is no unpardonable crime

She sat back and laughed

Maybe We Are Happier That Way

 

The conversation turned into a war of words

About whether choices people make

Are choices at all

The question was asked

Why would anyone choose to be alone

The answer that I had I chose not to speak aloud

Maybe we aren't lonely

Maybe we just like to be alone

Sometimes our own company is all we need

 

There Are Subtle Differences

The difference 

Between a stupid mistake and

A foolish decision

The Stormy Afternoon That Scared The Cat

In the afternoon the sullen clouds create a mosh pit in the sky as the power-punk percussion of sudden thunder tears apart the firmament like mongrel puppies fighting over an old shoe. Delinquent winds chase newspapers down the debris-strewn alley as overfilled trashcans huddle together in an effort to fend off the fury of the choleric gale. 

Umbrellas ripped from the struggling hands of scurrying commuters peal and wheel down the boulevard like wayward tumbleweeds in search of a barbed-wire fence to rest upon while the slaphappy windshield wipers of a thousand drowning cars keep a steady rhythm for the legato beat of the slurring rain. 

Birds huddle together in thick bushes close to the ground, chirp-chirping their dismay over the spastic bursts that snap familiar branches off of homesteaded trees and send toiled-over nests crashing into the unforgiving gray of the concrete-covered city.  

Pig iron heavy clouds smother the empyrean horizon like a moth-eaten old flannel blanket that has been used to collect the spillage from oil changes and greased gearjoints, looming like castrated Conquistadors waiting their chance to unleash years of harbored resentment and rancour against the oblivious inferiors inside their thin paper and glass-walled fortresses.  
  
And then the cable goes out. Damn.