Resultado de "Mace Styx" em Todas as categorias

The photographs, under a title that described the image’s contents in the crudest possible terms, were of Kristen. In the bedroom, in our living room, getting into and out of the shower. Even standing before the cooker top, wearing just an oversized pullover and a red thong as she prepared pasta. I felt sick as the implications began to sink in. Not only were these invasive and highly intimate photographs that had somehow made their way onto a public platform, they were photographs that she clearly believed that I had taken and disseminated.

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx.

She closed her eyes. Her house sounded different. She could hear animals scurrying outside, the wind blowing faintly off the treetops and murmuring. It was as if her whole neighborhood was now in range of her ears. Opening her eyes abruptly, she decided she would do something besides eavesdrop on the neighborhood. She picked up her notepad and flipped to the back. She found a pencil and began drawing - nothing in particular. When she had finished, she marveled at it in confusion. It looked like some sort of cave system. Shrugging, she picked up her notepad and began scribbling.

On the first day of my stay, I just spent most of my time roaming about the woods and taking pictures. The selling point of this place was undoubtedly the beautiful nature that was surrounding it. I didn’t use the motor bike since its noise would scare away the animals, and I was able to take some great shots of the gorgeous scenery and its inhabitants. As I was strolling, I noticed some peculiar etchings on the trees that were clearly carved by a human. It was some kind of sigils or characters that were foreign to me.

Feems explained, with the use of a tiny bowl, what the whole thing was about and the science behind how it worked. He never quite got to the point where he explained how in God’s name he had convinced them to let him do it, but we didn’t care. “So, the swimming pool is going to be emptied in the next fortnight, all the pumps replaced to get ready for the big swim meet. So, before they replace everything, I’ve convinced them to let me have a go with the swimming pool to do an experiment.”

A new message. She was glad for a little distraction. Without pausing from walking, she let her fingers skillfully reply to the text. The second she pressed the send button, her music cut back on at full blast, startling her. Her phone slipped out of her grip and slammed onto the street. Wincing, she picked it up slowly, still spooked by the event that had just taken place. Her heart was now thumping rapidly. She practically ran to her street before looking both ways. With each step, her chest tightened.

Perhaps some heavy sheet of twisted metal, the engine or outer frame of his vehicle. He scoured his memory, trying to recall what he had been doing immediately before he had awoken, but the account came back blank. Like the times he had drunken himself into a blackout, he had clearly lost time; where the memory should be, there was nothing - just a blank void, a gap in the recording.

James. Was he inside the house, alive? There was nobody else at the scene of this horrendous crime. James was missing and nowhere to be found. The couple had multiple stab wounds and even bite marks all over their bodies. And their attention turned to suspecting that James was the one who murdered his own parents.

The problem with the area, especially at night, was that it backed onto the woods. This being England, and the wildlife of England being what it is, there was no threat from any animals. There might, on occasion, be the odd stray dog out there, but even that wasn’t anything to really worry about. Yet, several members of staff, who would happily take out the bags full of waste in the daylight, refused to even entertain the idea of going out there at night.

The Reaper did not speak. He did not even move, for what need did he have to chase anyone? Everyone comes to him eventually. Men, women, and gods all are consumed in his ever waiting black. Clive, sighing deeply, turned to look Death in the face. In the form he took for Clive, Death stood around seven feet tall, the hood of his monk’s cowl falling to just above the bridge of the nose, had there been a nose to speak of. Instead, there was simply a hole, a cavernous nothing, like death itself.

She blinked at Sir Farridan’s sudden entrance. He was surprised by how ordinary-looking she was, for a princess - they were supposed to be wispy little things, delicate and ungodly beautiful. Princess Idrun wore a simple white gown, her unruly blonde hair falling down to her hips, a greenish cast to it in the light. How will Sir Farridan rescue a princess who doesn't want to be rescued?

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx. George heaved a great sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “Rebecca...do you recall when your mother was pregnant with Orin?” he asked. “I don’t suppose you do”. Rebecca frowned in thought, then shook her head. “Not very well”, she said. “I would have only been around eight years old at the time. But I remembered she was bedridden during the last couple of months, wasn’t she”? “She nearly died”. George replied, and Amelia visibly flinched".

He looked as if he couldn’t believe what he seeing, and he was both confused and alarmed. He was struggling to explain what he was seeing in English and just decided to convey it with some hand gestures. He showed the two travelers a trace of something that slithered on the ground with a body of at least two feet thick. Jade questioned their guide’s judgement and began to explain to him that what he was describing was borderline mythical. As Jade was explaining, their attention was caught by a sound of rustling in the trees.

I wiped the sweat of my face and the fear that I felt in my dream was translated into reality when I noticed something on my arm. There were marks around my wrist that eerily resembled the exact spot Randy grabbed me. I wanted to fool myself and think that it was just a crazy coincidence, but I could clearly see the mark of his long fingers.

Oliver spoke first, the only one who could initially find their voice and start what they came here to do. “Is anyone here with us?” And just like that, the planchette began to move. Slowly, it made its way to "yes". "Are you the girl they say haunts this bridge?" Charlotte asked. The night around them suddenly got darker, pitch-black, and it got windy, with the sound it made under the bridge sounding faintly like screams. The planchette then moved from "yes" to "no". Nora gasped, bringing her free hand to her mouth, looking at Oliver for comfort.

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx. "I remember waking once from a horrible dream, in which I looked down and saw the clown’s enormous mouth, its massive, wall sized face at the end of my bed and felt myself being dragged...dragged though I kicked and screamed, fighting against the covers. Thrashing and flailing for purchase, closer and closer to the red rimmed mouth, filled with murderous hanging teeth that waited, hungry to chew and devour me as the clown continued to smile".

Most often were those inner thoughts that were full of hate. And just like any other ordinary bloke who obtained such remarkable skill, I used it to gain some practical advantage for my daily needs and leisure. With an ability to hear thoughts, winning on a poker game was a breeze. It was quite handy for picking up women, as well, and it was easy to impress other people by presenting it as some kind of magic or a trick.

"Don’t be a fool! There’s no such thing as aliens, Roxy," Branden said in a tight, strangled voice. "Let’s get Frank out of this damn water." He wrapped his arms around Frank who was now moaning and wailing like a baby. They all surrounded Frank. Gathering their strength, they heaved him up, and as they began to make their way towards shore. They all heard another thunder-like ricochet. But this time, it was multiple ones, and they were undoubtedly fired at them.

As expected, Elly had her head and eyes pointed down at the party. She remained seated on the couch, keeping to her shy self, and refused to mingle with the other students, no matter how hard Hazel tried to push. In Hazel’s mind, her friend had to build some confidence when interacting with others, whether she wanted to or not. Hazel kept on handing her cups of punch which she kept on drinking, since she had nothing else to do. After just a few cups, the alcohol kicked in, and Elly began to finally loosen up a bit.

No one was going to believe anything I said. I had to stop speaking before they started thinking I was crazy. Mom asked about it again later that day but I didn’t want to talk about it. She suggested that it was the stress from the previous day that gave me such a scary dream. I wanted to believe her but it was just too real.