The 50 Dollars or Less Antique Shop

Eric and his girlfriend Mary had always known about the 50 Dollars or Less Antique Shop that was in the older end of town but they had never been in it. Today they finally decided to look into it when they heard some of the stuff is worth a lot more than what it’s sold for. They went in and looked around. Not a lot out of the ordinary. But this antique doll set that Mary was eyeing eventually caught Eric’s attention too. She told him that it was worth a couple hundred bucks so they decided to buy it and resell it. They take a few pictures and then post it online for selling.

The next day a man from the next town over comes by and pays $250 for it. They give him the dolls and he drives off. For two days everything seemed normal. But then he came back and gave them the dolls and told them to keep the money. He then drove off as fast as he could. Confused Mary and Eric look at each other. Then later they post it again.

Another person buys it but two days later the same thing happens. They ask him why he wanted to return it and he frantically said “I don’t want it anymore, just keep those away from me!” He runs over to his car and they ask him to wait but it’s too late. He drove off in a hurry.  They decide to just put the dolls in one of the storage garages. They go home and wonder what made them want to return the dolls.

In the morning they turn on the radio in the car while heading down to the store; when they hear something tragic. The owner of the storage complex had hung himself late in the night. They look at each other and then drive to get the dolls. As soon as they get home they put the dolls in the basement and get out their camera. They set it up to tape all night and they go to sleep.

When they wake up they go down and switch out the memory card. He turns on his laptop and they watch the video together. Nothing happens so they fast forward the video. They slow down right before midnight. At the time-stamp for midnight he could have sworn the largest doll blinked. Eric pauses the video and rewinds it; this time nothing.  Had he just imagined it? Surely not he reassured himself as they watch the rest of the video.

Mary goes out for a walk while Eric stays and researches different types of spirits. The spirit that seemed different than the rest was the one awaked by blood of a relative. These were said to be so rare that there’s no known way of getting rid of them. They were different than most other types of spirits. Most spirits haunted an area or an item. These would exist only where the blood relatives of the person who died had lived at one point. He read a story someone said about a spirit trapped in her apartment that left when the previous resident came to tell her how to fix the issue with the faucet. He read other stories similar to this one and was so caught up in reading them that he didn’t hear the front door shut.

Mary had come home. She asked if he had found anything of interest where he replied “no, not something believable.” They went to make some dinner and discussed what might have happened with the dolls. When they were going to bed the temperature in five rooms of the house were colder than the rest. Five. There were five dolls too.

In the morning they wake up and check on the dolls. They weren’t where they had left them. They go to make breakfast and to their surprise; the dolls were sitting in each of the five chairs at the table. They quickly pick up the dolls and drive them to the dump. They were truly in shock now. Their previous disbelief had disappeared. They went to the antique shop in search of answers.

The owner was the oldest person in town. They asked about the previous owners of the doll. He looked with a smile “why you were.” Mary looking shocked asks “me?” And the shop owner nods. Eric asks “what are you talking about?” The shop owner says “this shop burned down nearly fifty years ago. Killing me along with it. The things in here were items the towns’ people had sold to me over the years. But now the dead come for vessels to the world of the living. The dolls you bought seemed to be possessed by the family in ‘your’ house. When really you were the intruders in the house.” Both Eric and Mary asked at the same time “how did we die?” The shop owner replied “you died together in a car crash. Haven’t you ever noticed that you’re together almost all the time?”

Then at that moment a pale skinned little girl with a flower in her hair walks in through the door holding one of the antique dolls. The shop owner says “the flu has had many tolls this year.” 

By: Kylan Walker

Hell's Night

Why do people do bad things? Is it because they get some kind of gain from it... or do they just do it because they feel like it? Everyone does bad things for some reason or another. But when someone does something bad enough will it not impress the devil himself?

On a warm night a prisoner lays in his cell tossing and turning. He is not aware of the fate that Hell has planned for him. He awakens from his frightful slumber breathing heavy. He pulls a picture of his daughter from under his pillow. Staring at it he remembers her funeral. The family he knew for years who were the liveliest of folks seemed like strangers in their dark mood. When they were to finally bury his daughter he closed his eyes wishing that when he opened them he would be back at home, admiring a finger painting she had just made. But he knew that when he opened them she would still be dead.

A tear drops from his eye onto the picture of her, he wipes it off quickly so as not to damage it. He tries to go back to sleep but the prison guard knocks on his cell.

“Hey Freddy you having trouble sleeping?”

He responds “Yeah”

The guard takes out a yellow pill container and pops out two small pills.

“Here’s some Benadryl it should help.”

“Thanks.”

He holds out his hands and catches the pills, taking one at a time.

“Why did you help me?” He asks.

The guard responds with “Well – you don’t fight with the other prisoners and you seem like a good person at heart.”

“I killed my pregnant wife because I was afraid I’d lose another child.” The guard looks down and then walks away.

As Freddy drifts into a deep slumber he begins dreaming again. In time his dream ends but he does not awaken. Instead he finds himself surrounded by fire. “What hell was this? Or is this Hell?” He says loudly. He begins walking forward into a darker cavern where to his surprise he sees movement other than the flames dancing high above him. “Hello?” He shouts. Then being greeted by a thundering voice saying only this: “Follow me.” Freddy knew he had no choice but to follow this tall shadowy being.

After some time has passed and many caverns traversed he begins to realize this being that he is following is Lucifer himself.

Freddy then stops and asks “Why do you want me?”

“Because you possess the evil I desire.”

Freddy then confused says “But I regret killing my wife, I feel guilty about it!”

The being then makes a hollowing laugh. “We both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t enjoy what you did. Take a look around it’s your home now, destroy the souls of whomever you desire.”

They come up to a door with the words pyro-masochist written along it and Freddy touches it and shrilly jumps away from the heat. The being then pushes the door open revealing a long corridor of metal caskets along the walls with fire surrounding them giving some edges a red hot glow. Each casket having three holes; two for the eyes and one for the mouth.

Freddy then looks closer at a few caskets seeing that the lips and eyelids of every soul in the caskets had been burnt off. Revealing long yellow teeth and piercing eyes. Throughout the corridor a psychotic laughter could be heard out of nearly every mouth accounted for. Freddy then notices one that is not laughing. He is intrigued with this and walks closer. “Why are you not laughing?”

He coughs for a second then says in a raspy voice “Sometimes we enjoy pain because it reminds us of our last happy moments.”

Freddy then walks out and meets back with the being. The being says “Guilt is a type of pain.”

Confused for a second he asks “Why does that matter?”

The being walks past him and says “You felt guilt when you couldn’t save your daughter from pneumonia. Seeing her alive was your last happy moment.”

The next morning a coroner packs Freddy’s body into a body bag and wheels him away on a cart. One of the paramedics says “He died of a heart attack in his sleep.” While writing it onto his report. After finishing his report he finds the picture of Freddy’s daughter in the corner of the pillow and picks it up. One of the cops looks over his shoulder and says “That was his daughter, when his wife got pregnant again he was afraid he would lose his next child so he killed them both. A half hour later came to the station and confessed.” After the cell is cleaned up the few police officers and paramedics leave for their respective duties.

By Kylan Walker 

The Seven Murders of Markus Flair

One stormy evening a young man sits at the side of his mother’s bed weeping. His worst fears become true as he checks her heartbeat – nothing. She was dead, her age and sickness had caught up to her. The young man Markus calls the paramedics and they confirm that she is gone. He drives back to his apartment. He finds his girlfriend Sarah waiting for him drenched by the rain. Markus greeted her and invited her in. “I can’t.” she said. “I just wanted to let you know its over.” She added. As his heart sank all he could ask is “why?” She responds with “you were too attached to your mother; you were never there for me!” She then walked off in fury.

A year later Markus wakes in his room drenched with sweat and his face pale. He says “it’s only a dream Markus, calm down.” He looks over at a picture of his dead mother and begins to weep. “Today’s the day.” He says in despair. He then gets up and proceeds to get dressed. When he’s done he stares at the picture of his mother with worry.

He walks out of his apartment, walking down the road, until he sees a yard with a mother and child. He watches them for a while. His sadness and pain turns to anger. He walks up to the mother where she asks “can I help you?” He just stares at her for a minute then pulls out a knife he had concealed and he slits her throat. The son begins to cry and he stabs him. Markus walks out of the yard in a hurry.

Markus had walked down to the diner his mother took him to every Sunday when he was a child. He looked inside, staring at the table with the seat that faced the paintings. This is the seat he had always sat at. The young girl sitting in the seat had no idea he was watching her. He waits until she steps into the restroom; he walks in after her. As she’s about to close the stall door he forces his way in and chokes her; his grip firm and sturdy.

Upon leaving the diner he notices a couple holding hands. He follows them at a distance. After a few blocks travelled they stop. They begin to kiss. Markus catches up to them and stabs the boy. While the girl is in shock he covers her mouth and stabs her. He runs away quickly as he hears voices coming. A scream pierces the air and Markus looks around and runs in worry.

As he gains distance from the body he walks to his ex-girlfriend’s apartment. He sees her with another man. As they kiss each other goodbye and the man walks away Markus bumps into him in the parking lot. He stabs him but misses any fatal parts of his body. He takes a swing at Markus and they wrestle to the ground. Markus quickly grabs the handle of the knife and pulls upward. Blood rushes out as he dies. Markus gets up to go after Sarah. Now dizzy and weary.

He takes the spare key under the mat of Sarah’s apartment and unlocks the door. She turns around seeing Markus covered in blood; she drops her food and screams. As Markus runs toward her she runs into the kitchen and grabs a knife. He runs at her and takes a stab. They both stare into each other’s eyes shocked for a second. Then Markus looks down and sees Sarah’s knife in his stomach. He falls over and with his last breath says “I’m so sorry.”

By Kylan Walker

Letters From Lady Death

August 6, 1987

My dear Will,

I know it has been some time since your passing. Just past two years. I often stare at the night sky wondering if one of those glimmering stars is you staring back. Have I not seen the change of the moon more than twenty four times? I often think of you while staring at it. Some nights the white of the moon is the same as that in your eyes. Others it resembles the tan of your skin. Oh how I miss our talks. The way you would go on about the most pointless of things; yet I still listened.

I no longer listen to music for it is not the same as your singing. I miss you dearly. May my heart find comfort I knowing we will be together soon?

August 10, 1987

Dear William,

I know not why I feel your presence around me like my very shadow following me.  I visited the place of our first encounter today. The tear trickling down my cheek dried off quickly in the warm summer’s heat. I wish I could write more, but I must stop in fear of crying myself into an eternal slumber.

August 11, 1987

Dear Will,

I would assume you think it silly that I write to you though you are no longer living. But I feel that someday we will be together out in the stars somewhere that we know not of yet; at least in the living world. And maybe if you are not watching me, then at least you may get my letters I wrote for you. I just want you to know that I am alright and that you are still a part of my life. I hope wherever you are, that you are safe my dear Will.

August 12, 1987

Dear Will,

Today marks four years since we first met; that day I instantly knew I was in love. I saw a happy couple today they reminded me of us, at least until your passing. But seeing them happy saddened me with jealousy. Is that wrong of me to do? I just wish that was us, I wish they were the ones who had to suffer from loss. I guess that is wrong of me to do. But I suppose we all have done something like that in our lives haven’t we?

August 13, 1987

Dear Will,

I don’t think I can take it anymore. I wish there was a way I could see you again. I’m afraid of dying but I want to be with you so bad, wrapped in your arms again. It angers me that I can’t be with you. It angers me that others don’t have to feel our tragedy. Take care Will I hope wherever you are that you find happiness without me.

August, 16 1987

Dear Will,

I’m sorry for taking so long to write this letter, but I had to take care of some stuff. I know you’ll forgive me. I’m crying as I write this though. I got so angry that I, I, killed someone. I did it for you Will! For us! I had to. I couldn’t bear letting them have what we don’t – life. I needed to do this Will. You’ll forgive me though, won’t you?

August 17, 1987

Dear Will,

I thank you for forgiving me. While I was waiting for your reply I went out of the house to the town. No one even knows the couple I killed is missing. And thank you for visiting me last night. I know it was just a dream but I know it was you trying to speak to me… and the love we made was just like it was when you were alive. But anyways that’s beside the point. I found who I will kill next. Their happiness is an issue for us.

August 18, 1987

Dear Will,

Tonight I will redeem our life, at least in the short term. I know you will enjoy it. It gives you a thrill when I take a life doesn’t it? Otherwise you wouldn’t reward me with such passionate love after I do it. That is the reward I seek after each kill; your love and your bodily presence.

August 19, 1987

Dear Will,

I’m so sorry. I can’t handle the guilt of taking a life even if the reward is you. I will take my life tonight so you can’t make me kill anymore. I just need you to know I’m sorry.

August 20, 1987

Dear Will,

I’m sorry I tried to take my life; I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m nearly drowning in my tears Will! I’m sorry! I’ll kill for you again. Just please don’t hurt me.

August 21, 1987

Dear Will,

I could not clean the evidence thoroughly. For there was someone knocking on the door. I’m confident we will not be caught though. The love you gave me last night was amazing. I’ll kill again for you tomorrow morning

August 22, 1987

Dear Will,

Please visit me again. I killed for you again. Please give me the love I require to be happy. I’ll continue writing this after I see who is knocking on the door.

*The previous letters were found at Mariam Brennans’ house on August 22, the following is a police report describing what happened.*

On August 22 the police were questioning everyone who came into contact with the victims preceding their death. After a collection of data and stories we went to visit Mariam Brennan’s house to ask her about the people she might have seen with both victims. One of the officers knocked on the door and she opened up revealing a ghastly pale face. She ran back inside grabbing a kitchen knife and swinging it furiously. We went in and carefully detained her, and called for backup. She was detained as one of the officers opened a door revealing a room with the preserved dead body of a William Thatcher who was reported missing two years ago. The letters in the evidence file depict what appears to be an imaginary life she had with the body. After an extensive background check we learn Mariam had been institutionalized as a teenager for necrophilia and strange delusions which she was supposedly cured of. In the drawers we find the preserved and stuffed genitalia of multiple missing men over the past few years. 

By: Kylan Walker 

The Bust

Awake I lay

I hear the guns go off

The situation so fray

As the bullets begin to spray

Awake I lay

Lost in the sound of sirens

Only at the beginning of the day

Stuck in my home I must stay

Awake I lay

Chaos outside my home

The gunshots bray

A lone bullet gone astray

Awake I lay

A sound like a whip

For my safety I pray

But with my life; I pay

By: Kylan Walker

From Under My Bed

Strangers under my bed

I was told they were all in my head

Darkness comes

Out of the silence –hums

Coming from the visitors under my bed

I rest in a place of thought

Somewhere between my dreams

Somewhere I am alone

But yet feel so at home

I arise from my partial slumber

My thoughts a bit humbler

I then hear a sound

And I look around

It was my clock

That infernal tick-tock

But something deeper

Like a deadly reaper

An utter silence I hear

A sound that brings me fear

That near-silent hum

Of the strangers under my bed

I knew they were not real

But it’s like they knew what I feel

Their hums crawling into my skin

Like they could reach through the cloth of my bed -- that was so thin

…Just waiting for the moment

To finish their torment

To end my life in an instant

The only thing protecting me was the tick of my clock that was so distant

I hide under my covers

Wrapped up over me so fast

You’d think it was two lovers

And still the hum of my visitors amassed

I looked into the shadows

Dark eyes aglow

The form of a face I see

That oddly looked like me

(And at that moment) I realized that the monsters under the bed

That I thought were in my head

Were really me instead

A part of me I thought was dead

By: Kylan Walker

Memories

Slowly, slowly I crawled. Out of the pit from which I had been cast. The daylight had nearly blinded me. When my eyes regain focus of the world surrounding me, I notice green hills encompassing me for miles. I get up and stand; my legs limp. After a short while I regain the strength to walk. I continue walking among the path I set for myself when I come to a stop at the base of a tree. I look up and see a lone bird precariously perched among its branches. I look closer at it. It was a robin. As I stare at it I noticed something, it was gazing back at me! I dismiss it at first and continue walking. After I had gone a few miles I look around. Strange I thought, there had been no sign of civilization, or even life – except for that bird – for miles.

Realizing I may not find any other person for a long time I decide to set up a camp. I look up in the sky to determine how long I had ‘till dark. To my surprise the sun had not moved since I had left the pit. What world had I entered? I asked myself.

I am getting tired by this time. I find a fair sized tree and sleep in the shadow it casts. When I wake up I look around; nothing has changed. The sun brightly shines suspended in its position with the world encircling it. Had I been in a dream? I wondered. No I couldn’t have been. For I had dreamt of that horrid pit from which I had come from.

Then where was I? What reality had I entered? I stand up from where I had been laying and I begin walking off in the direction I had chosen preceding my sleep. After travelling a couple miles I noticed something. Perched on the tree was that lone robin, standing perfectly still. Staring at me as it had before. I continue walking among my path I had chosen for myself.

Beads of sweat formed on my head over time. My mouth became parched. I climb the nearest tree I find in hopes of seeing water. I notice a shining glimmer among the distance. I drop from the tree and run towards it. To my surprise I find a small circular pool of water. I take some water in my hands and place it up to my face. After I feel my thirst has been quenched I continue my walking seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I lie in the shadow of a tree and try to get some rest.

In my sleep I hear voices. I recognized these voices! They were the voices of my tormentor! My tormentor from the pit in which I had crawled out of. He was speaking of me. To whom I did not know. In hushed voices I hear “when we feel enough pain, we become numb. At this point we would be invincible if not for one thing! We’ve nearly reached the point of death by this time. But some say that emotional pain can bring us into something much darker. Soon we are no longer able to feel ourselves; we are no longer who we once were.” I realize he was talking to me. I open my eyes and look around. I was back in that dark pit. The only light I see is that of a furnace. My tormentor whose face I cannot see, notices me eyeing the furnace. He walks towards it pulling a rather long knife from amongst the hot embers. He puts it against my forehead; a slight hiss is heard as the hairs near the knife are singed off.

I awaken from my dream. Beads of sweat roll from my face. I feel the still singed hair falling onto my forehead. I am hungry. I figure the robin must have some source of food so I start paying attention the vegetation; nothing for miles, but then, I find a bush. It’s unlike any bush I have ever seen before. The flowers are a mix of pink and red. The leaves are almost triangular, dark green with a spotted yellow underside. Dotted amongst the branches were tiny blue berries that formed in small clusters. I pull some of them off. Fragile they nearly puncture in my hand. I place them in my mouth and begin eating. Their sweet juice flowing through my tongue. As I step away from the bush I look behind me; that lone robin - perched among the branches of the tree overshadowing me - was staring at me as he always does. He was staring at me! What did this bird want? I try to jump at the branch in an ill-fated attempt to scare away the bird.

I walk away from the tree, still staring at the bird. After the bird has become a small speck in my vision, I turn around. I reach a hill and began trekking up it. I reach the top. I look on for miles, still not a single sign of life other than that lone robin. I don’t know why it freaked me out – the robin staring at me that is. When I was younger and I felt alone, a robin visited me even in my darkest of times. It was my only friend sometimes as a kid. Then one day it stopped showing up by my window.

I go to rest under a tree. In my sleep I dream of the pit again. My tormentor is unbinding the ropes that held me to this chair. I get up feeling limp. My tormentor places a finger in a still open wound in my shoulder. I scream falling to the ground. Too weak to move; I watch as my tormentor walks towards the chamber door. Pulling out what looks like a body. Most of it is destroyed. My tormentor drags it close to me. My eyes widen in horror as I see the face of my mother; her ashen face still barely twitching from whatever tortures my tormentor had given her.

I awaken from my slumber screaming! A tear forming in my eye, I look up as I wipe it away. I see the lone robin staring back at me. I couldn’t stand moving I was too sad. I curl myself up and try to get back to my sleep. I don’t even care that the robin is stalking over me.

As fate should have it, I fall back to sleep. But fate can be a cruel mistress. And I am haunted by another horrid nightmare! Things are different. The room had been illuminated by candlelight. My tormentor whose face is still masked from my vision finishes what he had been telling me earlier. I assume he tells this to all his victims before he finally ends their lives. He says in a soft voice: “when we feel enough pain, we become numb. At this point we would be invincible if not for one thing! We’ve nearly reached the point of death by this time. But some say that emotional pain can bring us into something much darker. Soon we are no longer able to feel ourselves; we are no longer who we once were. And sometimes when the pain becomes unbearable, we put ourselves in a world of dreams and old memories, with nightmares of the reality we face.” 

By: Kylan Walker