Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
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    • [Short Horror Story] I don’t have a cat. A cat has me.

      Posted at 2:52 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 5, 2019

      Spooktober Prompt # 5 – Putrid Pets

      “I don’t have a cat. A cat has me.”

      by Penny Tailsup

      –

      No time? Listen to the narration instead!

       

      When I found Jack, I didn’t plan on keeping him. In fact, I thought he was dead.

       

      On my way home from work, I saw a black furry body lying on the sidewalk. I parked my car and walked over to check, finding a cat with a tire impression stamped on its side. Though I didn’t know this cat, I cried. 

       

      It’s always sad when an animal dies. Sadder still, to think about the owner who had to be looking for them. Kitty wasn’t coming back. 

       

      I could’ve left him there, but it didn’t feel right. After wrapping him in my sweater, I drove to the local shelter with a heavy heart. I figured they’d know what to do. When I went to grab the body from the backseat, I was surprised to see a pair of orange eyes blinking up at me. 

       

      The cat had shaken off my sweater and was lounging comfortably. The tire impression was still there, but it looked less serious than I remembered. Instead of questioning it, I was relieved. A lost kitty was worlds better than a dead one. 

       

      After a quick internal debate, I decided to take him home. I figured if no one claimed him, I’d keep him! I didn’t really trust the shelter to re-home him. Not because they wouldn’t try, but because I’d always heard that black cats are less likely to be adopted.

       

      The tread on his fur was apparently superficial; if it hurt, he gave no indication. I brought him to a vet to be sure, blowing a bit of my rent money on this purrfect stranger. Jack, as I came to call him, was a medical marvel. He’d been run over but walked away without a scratch. Apparently he’d just been in shock when I found him, scared stiff.

       

      I put up ‘Found’ posters in the neighborhood and circulated his photos on social media. No one claimed him. All I got was a troll message that said ‘that cat needs to be shot’. I blocked them immediately. 

       

      Jack was unusual. He didn’t really meow much, or play, or cuddle. He didn’t act scared or aggressive either. In fact, he was the picture of serenity. His presence was a calming one. Wherever I was, he tended to be– just out of reach, purring as he watched me go about my day. He was an observer; calmly collecting his Intel from whatever comfy perch he could find. 

       

      I didn’t make much money, so I was usually busy with whatever random side-gig I could muster. As much as I loved Jack, I couldn’t really afford to take care of him. I could barely take care of myself. Yet, finding him felt like fate– I couldn’t oust him for something as petty as money. I’d make sure his bowl was filled before mine was.

       

      I didn’t expect Jack to understand or be grateful. He was just a cat, after all. But I hoped he felt loved and safe with me. I’d really grown to cherish the company.

       

      When the landlord collected rent, I found myself in a pinch. I sat at my computer to budget, and realized I’d have to go without for awhile. I didn’t complain. Who would I tell, anyway? I was alone. Jack was all I had.

       

      The next day, I found an envelope on my desk. It was a bank envelope, the same kind I put the rent money in. In fact, when I opened it up– it had a stack of hundred dollar bills inside. It was my rent money, returned. 

       

      Or had I forgotten to hand it over to John? I don’t think he’d have let me forget, yet the money was still in my hand. Jack was sitting on the back of the couch, watching me. He blinked his gleaming eyes slowly, in that affectionate way that cats do.

       

      “Do you know anything about this, Jack?” I asked with a laugh. He cocked his fluffy head in response, as if he were contemplating an answer. I walked over, reaching out to see if he’d let me pet him. Jack allowed it,  arching his body into my palm. 

       

      He was a beautiful cat; his movements were always so fluid and graceful. Sometimes he seemed more like a shadow, melting and twisting in ways that physics wouldn’t allow. Cats are strange, funny creatures. 

       

      “I’d better call the landlord.” I didn’t want John tacking on a late fee, though knowing him, he probably would if he hadn’t already. Any excuse to squeeze another dollar out of me. 

       

      “No.” Jack said. I looked down at him, surprised by the deep rumbling voice. I must have imagined it. The voice didn’t match the body it came from. 

       

      “Don’t bother calling.” Jack spoke again, his tail swishing in a leisurely way. “I took care of it.” 

       

      I was terrified and confused. My cat, on the other hand, looked completely relaxed. From that moment on, our relationship changed. The dynamic shifted, and not in a way I’d wish on anyone.

       

      “You’ve been good to me,” he said. “I will take care of you from now on.”

       

      John never did turn up to collect the rent. I’d tucked the envelope away somewhere safe. Jack didn’t tell me what happened to him, but the answer came. Jack wasn’t really a talker, perhaps because he knew he’d frightened me. He still watched me go about my day, still purred if I so much as glanced in his direction.

       

      I tried to convince myself I’d imagined that voice; a great, big voice that didn’t belong to a small, furry body. Yet, the knowing look in Jack’s eyes seemed all the creepier with the memory gnawing at me. He wasn’t an ordinary cat.

       

      At dinnertime, I filled his bowl as I always did. I refreshed his water. I cleaned his litter box. I clung to the routine and tried to feel comfort in it… but everything had changed. I could feel it. Jack watched me, but he didn’t stay for dinner. He left. He wasn’t anywhere in the house that I could find.

       

      I thought he might be gone forever, but he was apparently a cat of his word. When he returned, he had something in his mouth. A finger. It was a fat, meaty thing. 

       

      My cat gave me the finger. He put it on the table, expectation shining in his jack-o-lantern eyes. I didn’t know what he wanted, recoiling from the grisly gift. I wanted nothing to do with it.

       

      “Eat it.” Jack said, with a deep rumbling voice. I shook my head ‘no’, horrified.  “Eat it.” he repeated, his tail swishing with impatience. “I have provided.”

       

      “I can’t eat this.” 

       

      “Don’t offend me.” his voice was usually more of a purr, but this time it came out as a growl. “I have provided. Eat it. Eat it, or I’ll eat you.”  

       

      So I picked it up. It was cold and stiff. Dirty, too. I brought it to the sink, running it under the tap like that might make it more palatable. My hands were shaking. Jack purred, pleased with my show of obedience.

       

      “Good girl.” he praised me. “You don’t know how to hunt. I will provide.” 

       

      I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I kept staring at the thing in my hand while the cat waited with smug anticipation. 

       

      “Do…. Do I cook it?” I asked. 

       

      He sighed, “If you must.”

       

      So I dropped the finger in a frying pan with butter. I checked my spice rack, adding salt and pepper. I wasn’t sure what flavors went well with human flesh. I didn’t want to find out, but what choice did I have?

       

      When it was ‘done’, I put it on a plate and stared at it. I didn’t want to eat it, I kept hoping I’d wake up from a nightmare I could laugh about later.

       

      “Go on.” he said.

       

      “It’s too hot, it needs to cool.” I answered nervously. 

       

      “Fine…” he sighed.

       

      Several minutes ticked by, simultaneously feeling like an eternity and no time at all. When my time was up, prompted by the nudging of Jack the black cat, I picked up the finger from both ends. I bit into the meaty digit; eating around it like I was holding a tiny corn on the cob. It tasted like bacon.

       

      I stripped away the meat, keeping my eyes closed the whole time. In vain, I tried to pretend it wasn’t what it was. I cried the whole time. When it was done, I put the bone on my plate and fought against my instinct to vomit.

       

      “Are you still hungry?” Jack asked.

       

      “No,” I lied.

       

      “There’s more.”

       

      Four days of fingers, followed by a thumb. Jack brought me one every day. I had a sickening suspicion that the fingers belonged to John, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t need to know who I was eating. Though the taste wasn’t bad, the knowledge of what I was eating was torture. Jack didn’t seem bothered. It didn’t matter if I cried or begged him, he’d remind me sternly:

       

      “I will take care of you. I will provide.”

       

      The police came to my door, asking if I’d seen John. He was reported missing. I said I hadn’t seen him, knowing the finger bones were still sitting in my trash can. If anyone got too close to the truth, I knew Jack would take care of them.

       

      I could count the bodies by the thumbs. When I got the third one, I knew at least one more person had died. Jack always brought the fingers and thumbs, but I don’t know what he did with the rest. There were no reports in the news about bodies. People went missing, but people had always gone missing before. This was nothing new.

       

      Jack keeps me on a tight leash. He doesn’t let me leave the house without his permission. I still go to work and go to the grocery store, but he follows me. No one else sees him, not unless he wants them to. He knows I won’t tell anyone about him, but he also knows I’ll run the first chance I get. 

       

      I don’t know what to do. Even if I told the police, who would believe me? He’d probably kill them. He’s not an ordinary cat. I don’t know what he is.

       

      Apparently he thinks of me as his pet. I don’t know why he chose me, or if he’s done this to anyone else. When I tried to contact the ‘troll’ I’d originally blocked on Facebook, they didn’t reply. I don’t know if they knew something about Jack, or if they really were just trolling. 

       

      Jack says he’ll take care of me, even if I don’t want him to. He acts like it’s all for my own good, but I think he takes pleasure in my fear and pain too. 

       

      I don’t have a cat. A cat has me.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged cat, cats, creepy, dark, evil, fiction, finger, good deeds going punished, horror, horror art, horror story, original, short stories, short story, spooktober

    • [Short Horror Story] Wishes Don’t Belong in a Bottle

      Posted at 10:21 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 3, 2019

      Originally posted to Reddit

      Spooktober Prompt # 3 – Shallow Seas

      “Wishes Don’t Belong in a Bottle”

       

      When I dropped the first letter into the sea, I didn’t expect a reply.

      I don’t even remember what it said, because it didn’t matter. I figured the bottle would break before anyone would find it; that I’d find myself picking up bits of broken glass when the tide came in. Imagine my surprise when the bottle came back.

      The next day I found it, unbroken and bobbing in the shallows. Empty, but perfectly intact; the lid was still screwed on tight, but my letter was gone. Of course, I could rationalize it at first. It could have been a different bottle. It was unlikely, but still more likely than the idea that someone found my letter and brought the bottle back.

      Anywhere else, an empty bottle on the beach wouldn’t prove anything. However, this bottle was the exact same kind my dad used for his bootlegging business. I found it hard to believe anyone (except me) would waste or lose one of Dad’s empties because my dad charged $10 per beer, and charged even more if he had to give you a new bottle. His customers would bring back the empties so he could refill them.

      That’s why I could believe it was the same bottle I’d dropped into the water, even when I knew it was impossible. I’d stolen the first bottle for my letter, both on a whim and as an act of rebellion. My dad spent his days making beer or drinking it, scraping together a living that way. The ferry would bring everything he needed; the import and sale of alcohol wasn’t allowed, but that didn’t stop him from ordering the ingredients. It was an open secret. Our village safety officer was probably his best customer.

      Most of the villagers would change jobs from boats, fisheries, and canneries as the seasons demanded– except for my dad. He was afraid of the water. Only sparingly would he take his old boat out to neighboring villages across the bay, but he’d never take me. He was afraid of losing me like he lost mom, but I guess he wasn’t scared of losing himself.

      Our relationship was rocky. I felt depressed, angry and trapped. I was tired of washing out the empties only so he could fill them again and again. I felt so alone. There was no one my age around and the only time I could try to make real friends was when I took the ferry to Kodiak without permission. My dad wouldn’t let me go, and everyone knew better than to let me on by then.

      I couldn’t explain why the bottle came back when the letter didn’t, so I tried again. I wrote a little note that said ‘Do you want to be friends?’ and tossed it underhand into the water. The first time might have been a fluke, or maybe someone else really did leave a bottle by accident. I wanted to see if it would happen a second time.

      Dad noticed the second time. Not that I’d thrown a bottle into the sea, but that it was missing.

      “Alex, one of my bottles is gone.” he said when I got home. “Do you know what happened to it?” he wasn’t angry, only annoyed. Getting anything imported took time and money so he hated having to buy new bottles.

      “I dropped it.” I said, which wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t tell him I dropped it into the sea. “Sorry dad. I can take the ferry and–”

      “No.” he cut me off immediately. “I’ll just order a couple cases with my next shipment. You don’t need to go anywhere. I could use more anyway.”

      A fight broke out after that, though it was nothing new. Dad never let me leave, and it wasn’t because I was some irresponsible kid. I was more responsible than he was! He knew it, too. Never denied it. Even so, he would still tell me no.

      After our screaming match, I went back out onto the rocky beach to cool off. I lay down and let the jagged stones bite into my back, staring at the stars and listening to the sea. Mom loved the ocean too. She was still out there, somewhere in the water. I liked to imagine she was still alive, enjoying her freedom. I knew it wasn’t true.

      Sometimes I’d lay there and fantasize about going out with the tide so I could join her. I never did, though it seemed like a good idea on my darkest days. I was young though; I knew this wasn’t going to be my life forever. One day I’d get on the ferry and I’d never come back. Dad had to know that, he could only stop me for so long.

      When it got too cold, I sat back up so I could head back to the house. That’s when I saw the bottle again, the wet glass reflected moonlight. I walked over, half expecting to find my letter still folded up inside… but once again, it was empty. The glass, by some miracle, didn’t have as much as a crack. The cap was still in place.

      No way.

      I pulled out my notebook, tearing out another square. Someone was getting my letters! They were sending the bottles back without replying, but they were definitely getting them. I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but I was excited!

      I wrote out a little note:

      ‘Who are you? Won’t you reply? My name is Alex.’

      I neatly folded it, sliding my message into the bottle with care. Of course, the possibility that it was all a coincidence remained–but I didn’t want that to be true. I wanted to feel less alone. Even though it was cold, I sat down on my favorite rock and watched my glass messenger float away. I sat there for a long time, as if the great mystery of it might be solved… if I only waited patiently enough.

      I was surprised when Dad came to get me. He was stubborn, like I was; he never admitted when he worried, though I knew he did. His rustbucket red truck creaked and groaned so loud that I knew he was coming before I even heard his voice.

      “Alex!” he called out to me. He wouldn’t get too close to the water, though I wasn’t sure if he was conscious of that. He stood out by his truck, hands cupped around his mouth like a makeshift megaphone. “Come on back!”

      I took one last look at the bay. I didn’t see the bottle anymore, though it’s easy to lose sight of something so small in a vast ocean.

      “Only if you let me drive!” I called back. My dad handled his alcohol well enough, but I don’t think he was ever sober enough to drive. As I walked up to greet him, he pressed the keys into my hand and climbed into the passenger’s seat. He never argued over the keys, he knew better.

      “I talked to your aunt,” he said, once the truck was moving again. “She’s coming for a visit. Quincy and Shasta are coming too.”

      “That’s nice.” I answered, but I knew this was just a distraction. He must have called her and asked her to come. He knew if I had visitors, I might stop thinking about leaving for awhile. Still, I’d take what company I could get. Auntie was Mom’s sister, she lived in Kodiak with most of my extended family. I’d be happy to see them.

      We got along well, even though I was never allowed to visit. I was closest to Auntie; she’d send me gifts on the ferry with Dad’s shipments; like notebooks, pens and colored pencils. Auntie knew I liked to write and draw, and that I didn’t have access to art supplies on my own. Dad couldn’t afford to get them for me because his margins were razor thin. I’d be more understanding if it wasn’t because he drank what he didn’t sell.

      “Tomorrow you should go out and pick some berries.” he continued. He hated silences, he was always trying to fill them. “We can make something nice to eat for her visit. I bet everyone would like that.”

      “Sure.” I answered. He didn’t want me anywhere near the ocean, but that’d be quite a feat to manage when we were living in a coastal village. He couldn’t keep me away from the beach, though I knew he’d like to.

      When we got back to the house, he gave me a one-armed hug and held me to him for a second. I pulled away quickly, looking up at him to see what had him so sentimental. Dad wasn’t usually a hugger.

      “You’re just like your mother,” he said. He was smiling, but his eyes were looking a little red. “It scares me sometimes.” he must have been drunker than I’d thought, since he wasn’t usually so forthright with how he was feeling.

      “Mom was a good person, I’m glad to be like her.”

      “I know. I love you both so much.” he refused to use past tense when he talked about her. I did. Not because I didn’t miss her too, but because I had long accepted she was gone.

      “… So, when’s Auntie coming?”

      “The three o’clock ferry. You’re going to have to share your room with your cousins.” it would be a tight fit, but we’d make it work. “I’ll take the couch, so your aunt can use my room.” he said, as if he ever made it off the couch. He always passed out there! Instead of saying so, I nodded. I didn’t feel like starting another fight that night.

      “Sounds good. I’m going to bed, then.” I said instead. “Goodnight.”

      “Goodnight.”

      I went to bed, but he didn’t. I listened to him drink; the soft clink of glass bottles with the occasional slurp-and-sigh. Sometimes he’d talk like mom was in the room with him, but of course she wasn’t. That night was no different. I listened for a little while, it was amusing to hear him talk about me. As if I couldn’t hear, but mom could.

      “I’m worried about Alex.”

      But I was more worried about Dad. He didn’t need to worry about me, but I knew he did. I knew because he said so, just not to my face. I fell asleep wondering what he was so worried about. What reason did I ever give him?

      Bright and early the next morning, I cleaned up the fresh empties arranged by the kitchen sink. I let them dry in the dish rack, listening to my dad snore on the couch. He’d probably wake up around noon.

      I decided to go to the beach. I’d be back before he even noticed. When I reached the shoreline, I found what I was looking for. There was the bottle again; this time it was caught on a cluster of rocks rather than in the water. I walked over, picking it up and examining it closely. It was empty, and the glass didn’t have so much as a crack.

      I pulled out my notebook, this time choosing one of my favorite poems. With care, I folded it into a little boat and carefully managed to feed it through the opening of the bottle. Sure, it bent a little…, but you could still tell what it was supposed to be. A ship in a bottle.

      I waded out into the cold water as far as I could safely go, getting soaked to the bone. I didn’t care. I let go of the bottle, watching it move at the whim of the waves as I slowly backed up towards the shore. I didn’t take my eyes off of it, but nothing unusual happened. I guess this was a “watched pot doesn’t boil” situation.

      Once I was back on the beach, I started to wring the water out of my clothes and shiver. This was Alaska, the ocean was always cold. Dad would probably be pissed if he saw me wet, so I didn’t linger too long. I knew I wouldn’t see anything even if I did. Apparently this message in a bottle was a secret of the sea.

      Part of me hoped that my mother was the one getting the messages, though I knew that was impossible. But was it really any more impossible than what was happening? Someone was reading my messages. Someone was sending the bottle back. Why couldn’t it be her?

      I walked back home. As expected, Dad was still snoring on the couch; he hadn’t missed me at all. I showered and changed into dry clothes, then got ready to go pick wild blueberries. I was looking forward to Auntie and my cousins visiting. To be a good host, I’d make blueberry pancakes for breakfast the next day!

      By the time noon rolled around, I had a bucket full. Dad was awake, and smiled with approval when he saw me with my haul and purple fingers. The ferry would arrive soon, and I’d go pick everyone up. I cleaned up what I could, though the house still smelled like a brewery.

      When the time came, Dad and I headed to the dock. I drove us of course, but Dad wanted to come help load up any luggage or shipments that might have come in. Auntie and Dad had a strained relationship these days, but he was always polite to her even when she wasn’t polite to him. She didn’t approve of his drinking. I didn’t either, so I didn’t really fault her when she criticized him for it.

      “Alex!” I saw her immediately, her salt-and-pepper braid was wind-tousled and frizzy from the trip across the water. It was a windy day. My cousins Shasta and Quincy were there too, looking a little chapped from the wind.

      “Hey guys!” I ran over to hug them. Dad was already grabbing everything he could carry and loading up the back of the truck. The cab only fit two people, so I’d walk back with Shasta and Quincy. Auntie could ride back with dad, so long as Auntie did the driving.

      Shasta was younger than me, and Quincy was a little older– but they were energetic boys. The ‘walk’ home turned into a race that Quincy won. He was in better shape than he had been the last time I saw him.

      “Mom let me start working at the lumber mill.” he told me when I asked. “She’s still too scared to let anyone on a fishing boat, but at least she lets us on the ferry.” he shot me a sympathetic look. He knew about my dad’s fear of the sea.

      “I don’t know why you want to work.” Shasta laughed, “I’m glad I don’t have to.”

      “You’ll want to. Especially when you see women all over me and not you!” Quincy laughed right back, giving his brother a good-natured jab. “Do you have a job, Alex?”

      I shook my head. “No, I just help dad with his business. He doesn’t want me to have a job until I graduate. Even over the summer and spring break, he said I should enjoy the breaks while I still get them.”

      “Makes sense.” Quincy answered, nodding.

      “I guess.”

      “Does your dad’s 3-Wheeler still work?” Shasta interrupted, pointing at the old thing. It was covered by a tarp that used to be blue.

      “Yeah, but the gas is expensive. It’s easier just to walk.” I replied, somewhat dismissive. Shasta looked excited though.

      “Do you think he’ll let us use it?”

      “You can ask?” I wasn’t sure. Dad wasn’t really opposed to using ATVs, just things that cost money or went on the ocean. Having guests over was rare though, so he might say yes. He’d always taught me the importance of being a good host. I watched Shasta run inside, yelling his question. A minute later, he was back with a huge grin.

      “Come on! I’m driving it!”

      I pulled off the tarp and made sure it still had gas in it. It wasn’t really big enough for the three of us, but we’d make it work.

      “…Ok. So… the beach?” I asked. The boys agreed, and we set out. Once we got there, they took turns driving up and down the strip. I left them to it, glad they were having fun but definitely distracted.

      It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.

      This time the bottle was sitting on top of a rock like someone had set it there. It was empty. I picked it up, rolling the cold glass between my hands in amazement. I unscrewed the cap, grabbed the neck of the bottle and then held it to my eye. Nope, nothing. Not even a grain of sand or a drop of water was inside.

      “Whoa! Your dad letting you drink now?” Shasta came running over when he saw me, recognizing one of dad’s beer bottles.

      “No, of course not.” when it came to me, Dad was very responsible. Too responsible. Smothering.

      “What’s with the bottle then?” Quincy hopped off the 3-wheeler and walked over. He was in a lot less of a rush than his younger brother. I debated telling them, but ran the risk of getting made fun of if I did. I was quiet, putting the lid back on and holding the glass carefully in front of me with both hands. Taking a deep breath, I decided… why not?

      “You might not believe this, but…I keep putting letters in this bottle. Then I drop them in the water, and the letters disappear… but the bottle comes back. I mean, it’s happened three times already.”

      “That’s creepy!” I blinked at Shasta’s reaction. I’d expected them not to believe me, or to think it was cool. Creepy? I didn’t feel like it was creepy at all. I felt heard.

      “You sure someone isn’t messing with you?” Quincy’s reaction was more in line with what I expected, but it was still hard not to be defensive.

      “It’d be an expensive way to mess with me, right? Dad charges $3 just for the bottle so that people won’t lose or break them.”

      “I guess.” Quincy said, squinting at the bottle. “Why, though?”

      “I don’t know.” I shrugged. I had a suspicion. I thought maybe it was Mom, but… that much I wasn’t willing to admit.

      “If it’s some kind of magic shit going on, you should try making a wish.” Shasta chimed in. “I mean, what’s the harm?”

      “It’s not magic.” Quincy interjected logically. “It’s a prank, or a coincidence, or someone dropped a whole crate of bottles in the water by accident and you keep finding them.”

      “I guess I’m making a wish then.” I laughed, trying to play it off and act cool. I took out my notebook again, scribbling down something that I really hoped might come true.

      ‘Hi, this is Alex again.

      My cousin said I should make a wish, so… here goes: I wish my dad would stop drinking, or at least let me on the ferry. Either would make me happy. I don’t know if you can grant my wish. I don’t think anyone can, but… thank you for hearing me out.’

      I folded it up carefully. Shasta wanted to read it, but I didn’t let him. Again, I set the bottle adrift on the water. I watched my wish, wondering if I was asking too much. Even if I believed that my one sided pen-pal could grant wishes, it didn’t seem possible that my dad could change.

      Regret hit me like a wave; like a physical blow, I actually staggered back. It wasn’t because I didn’t want my wish come true, it because I didn’t want Mom to see it. Mom would be sad if I told her what was going on with Dad. I had no proof she was even the one getting these messages, but my stomach still knotted up at the thought.

      Before I could pluck it out of the water, I heard my dad’s truck coming up the beach. Auntie had come over to get us.

      “I said an hour!” she called, but she wasn’t really mad. She wagged her finger at us, but we all grinned sheepishly.

      “Sorry!”

      I hadn’t realized so much time had passed already. It felt like it had only been five minutes, but sure enough… it had been an hour and a half.

      “Alex!” Auntie called. “Come ride with me!”

      “Sure!” I started jogging over, trusting my cousins to get the 3-wheeler back safely. I got into the passenger’s seat. Auntie watched me buckle in before starting the truck back up, but she didn’t start driving right away. Instead, she left the gear in park and looked at me with her familiar warm smile. Mom had the same smile.

      “I’ve really missed you, Alex. I’m sorry we don’t visit more.”

      “That’s OK.” I looked at my feet.

      “Well, I want to see you more. So… I’ve been talking to your dad and we decided…” she started tapping on the steering wheel, averting her gaze. I knew that when she said ‘talking’ she really meant ‘fighting’.

      “Well. I decided.” she corrected herself, straightening up in her seat. “I decided that next summer, you’re coming to Kodiak and staying with us. Just for the summer.” she added that last part quickly. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll buy your ticket, and I’ll come get you if I have to.”

      “Really? Dad agreed to that?” the long silence answered the question before she did.

      “… No. But he will. If you act like it’s a sure thing, I’m sure he’ll cave by then. He loves you, he wants to protect you– but he knows he’s going to have to loosen the reigns a bit, especially if he wants to have a relationship with you when you grow up.”

      “I’m already grown up.”

      She laughed when I said that, and I pretended to be offended. Crossing my arms, I tried not to grin. A summer in Kodiak sounded great to me! It couldn’t come soon enough!

      The rest of the ride back was a blur, but I remember that the house smelled like pineapple and honey rather than beer when I walked through the door. Auntie had me sit down, and prepared a big slice of pineapple upside down cake for me. We had cake for dinner, celebrating a birthday she’d missed. She’d brought presents, new art supplies to refresh my collection. Everything was wrapped up with pretty paper and ribbons, too. It was surprising that she’d planned all of this so last minute!

      Unless… dad hadn’t been letting her come, and she’d had all of these things already. He didn’t say a word through dinner, I could tell he was angry even if he wasn’t saying so. At least, he didn’t say anything at first.

      “You excited about next summer?” Shasta asked. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. His mouth was still full of cake.

      “Yeah!” I answered with enthusiasm. That’s when Dad’s fist hit the table.

      “NO.”

      “Paul–” Auntie immediately touched his arm, surprised by his sudden outburst. Dad knocked her hand away.

      “I said no! It’s not happening! Alex, I’m sorry, but don’t get your hopes up. You’re not going.”

      “Maybe we should go have this conversation somewhere else.” Auntie said in as level a voice she could manage, but I could tell she was angry too.

      “Maybe you should leave.” Dad answered, “Get out. Get out NOW. Don’t you dare come over here and make decisions. You know what happened! Yet here you are, trying to be the parent. I’m the parent, not you.”

      I was stunned. The sweet taste in my mouth went sour. I became so angry I was shaking. Standing up from the table, I started walking out.

      “… Figure this out. I’ll come back… when I cool down.” I didn’t want to say anything I’d regret. I was already in tears.

      “Alex…” Auntie tried to stop me. She touched my shoulder, but I pulled away.

      “I’ll be back, just leave me alone for awhile.” I didn’t want to hear them fight. I didn’t want them to fight because of me… but most of all, I wanted my dad to see reason. Couldn’t he see how out of control his fear was getting?

      Predictably, I went back to the beach. This time, I didn’t find the bottle. I didn’t find anything but a chilly wind and a black sea. I searched for an hour before coming back. Dad wasn’t at the house, but I saw the truck was already loaded up with luggage. They’d take the ferry back in the morning.

      “Sorry.” Shasta mouthed when he saw me, but I shook my head. It wasn’t his fault. The only person I really blamed here was my dad. He didn’t come back. In the morning, I dropped everyone off at the dock. I asked if they were really going, but unfortunately they were.

      “We’ll see you next summer.” Quincy told me, “Just work on wearing your old man down. Worst case scenario, we can come here. Don’t worry too much, OK?”

      “Yeah.” but I was going to worry about it. I saw them off and went home. Dad still wasn’t back. It wasn’t like him to storm off and disappear, but that fight had been a doozy. I’d never seen him so angry before. I didn’t look for him at first, figuring he must have really needed to cool off just like I had.

      I went to the beach again. Clearly, my wish hadn’t been granted. For a second in the truck with Auntie, I thought it had been. At least partially. But of course, it’s never that simple.

      I found the bottle, it was in the same place as last time– set on top of the rock I liked to sit on, like someone had put it there. It was empty.

      This time, I took the bottle home without sending a letter. I continued to wait for my dad to come back, but he didn’t. I knew he hadn’t been on the ferry, but he also wasn’t around town. No one had seen him.

      It took me longer than it should have to check his boat. It wasn’t in the shed where it should have been. He must have taken it out on the water, though I had no idea why he would. He had no reason to take it out to town in the dead of night, especially without telling me where he was going.

      I called Auntie, but I did my best not to scare her. Instead of asking if she’d seen Dad, I asked if she’d talked to him.

      She hadn’t.

      That’s when I finally reported him missing. The longer he was gone, the more I worried. I wanted him home. At this point, I didn’t even care about the fight– no matter how ridiculous it was, or how much I hated being stuck in the village… I loved my dad.

      I took the bottle out to the beach again, in a last-ditch effort… I decided to try making a wish again. I didn’t think it would work, but it felt better to do something. I couldn’t wait at home doing nothing.

      ‘Hi, this is Alex.

      I’m worried about my dad. We had a big fight, and I haven’t seen him. I wish he was home. Thank you for hearing me out. Sorry I stopped writing, it just felt weird while he was gone.’

      I didn’t watch my message float away. I knew I wouldn’t see where it went, or who took it. I went home and tried to sleep, but all I could think about was my dad lost at sea. When I closed my eyes, I saw his little white boat being tossed about dark waves. I saw him, terrified, as he was swallowed up by the sea.

      After the nightmare, I knew I couldn’t wait. I took Dad’s truck, foot heavy on the gas the whole way there. I jumped out, leaving the headlights on so they could illuminate my view in the dark.

      Right as I reached the beach, a wave came out of nowhere…I was knocked over and thrown onto my back as the dark water hit me like a punch. As I blindly tried to push myself back up, my hands came into contact with something smooth and icy cold.

      Blinking the saltwater out of my eyes, I knew before I could even see that I’d found the bottle. It was heavy in my hands; I hugged it to my chest so I wouldn’t drop it and scrambled over to my sitting rock.

      Eagerly, I looked down at the bottle. It seemed to have some rocks or something in it? No, that wasn’t right. They didn’t rattle around the glass like rocks would. Weird. I uncapped the bottle with numb fingers, tilting the bottle so I could pour the contents in my hands.

      Whatever it was, it got stuck. The neck of the bottle wasn’t wide enough. I brought it to my eye, looking inside. The glass shattered before I even registered dropping it. Fingers and toes rolled across the rocky beach. Severed and blue, but… unmistakable. I could see nails, and even little sprouts of dark hair. The cuts weren’t clean, they were jagged with loose bits of skin flapping at the ends.

      It looked like they hadn’t been cut off, but… torn. Chewed up, and spit back into this bottle. No. I was still back at home, having a nightmare.

      I had to be.

      Backing away from the grisly discovery, I noticed that more than just a bottle had washed up on the shore. I saw an elbow, an ear, and even a foot without it’s toes. I screamed until my throat was raw. I ran. I slipped and fell repeatedly on the wet rocks. I tripped on my father’s head, mouth agape and filled with water and foam.

      I found my way to town, still screaming and sobbing. I had his head in my hands; it felt like cold clay. Clammy. His eyes were gone, the sockets empty… like they’d been scooped out. I don’t remember what happened after that, I only know that I wouldn’t let go of his head. I wouldn’t stop screaming.

      State Troopers came to town the next day, combing the beach to find everything as it washed up. By then, I was numb. They took his body away in a dozen trash bags. I answered their questions, but I don’t remember what they asked or what I said.

      My aunt came to stay with me while the investigation went on. No one suspected foul play. It was ruled an accident; they said he must have fallen out of his boat. That he might have been run over by another boat. That the sea-life and rough water tore him up.

      I didn’t tell anyone about the bottle. I couldn’t.

      But on my last day in town, before I went to live with Auntie in Kodiak… I brought another bottle to the beach. There was one last message I needed to send. One last question I had to ask:

      ‘Mom? Is that you?

      Please answer me if it is.’

      That bottle never came back.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged alaska, alcoholism, art, bottle, creepy, dark, fiction, horror, nosleep, ocean, original, scary story, sea, short stories, short story, spooktober, story, village life, wishes, writing

    • [Short Horror Story] My Boss’s Latest MLM Really Changed Me

      Posted at 2:17 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 1, 2019

      “Are you going to the Butterfly Party tonight, Kari? I must have missed your RSVP.” Shannon was shameless, as usual. “You are coming, right? It’s going to change your life.”

       

      “Oh!” I straightened in my seat, internally screaming.  “Of course I’m coming! I’m sorry, I thought I responded already.” I hadn’t thought that. I’d just hoped she wouldn’t notice. All of Shannon’s parties were a sales pitch to some sort of Multi-Level Marketing Pyramid scheme. The company and products changed every few months, but the sales pitch stayed the same: these products will change your life!

       

      There’s nothing worse than an #bossbabe who is also your boss. No matter what ridiculous program Shannon got wrapped up in, she had subordinates who couldn’t tell her no. I was no exception. The mass text she’d sent last week had been a barely-decipherable block of emojis and buzz words. I couldn’t even tell what the product was, but it didn’t really matter. Technically, she couldn’t force us to go… but people who didn’t tended to work Saturdays. 

       

      “Great! Don’t forget to bring a swimsuit!”  I had a feeling she knew exactly how unenthusiastic everyone was, she just didn’t care. Julie and I exchanged mutual looks of amusement and defeat as Shannon flounced on by.

       

      Once the boss was out of earshot, Richie walked over to my desk, delighted to announce that he hadn’t been invited. “Looks like this one is ladies only.” he said sympathetically. At least, he was trying to look sympathetic. He was too giddy, having dodged the bullet himself!

       

      “You weren’t invited?” I asked. “I mean, even if it’s makeup or something she’s usually like ‘oh, pick something out for your girlfriend’!”

       

      “I mean, I’m not going to ask why not. She’d probably invite me.” he laughed, unable to help himself. 

       

      “I’ll ask her then!” I threatened, though we both knew I wouldn’t. He raised his hands in mock surrender. I was annoyed, but not at him. 

       

      “Oh no please don’t–”

       

      “.. Oh no.” Julie interrupted, covering her face. She’d gone beet red. It took me a moment to realize why. 

       

      “Oh no.” I echoed. 

       

      “What?” Richie asked, not catching on. I turned red too. If men weren’t invited, that probably meant this was going to be a sales pitch of an intimate nature. Not again!  I still couldn’t look at Agnes the same way after hearing her happily endorse her vibrating purchase. No thank you. Agnes had always been an irredeemable brown noser but she’d hit new lows that day.

       

      “Now I kind of want to come.” Richie admitted, grinning. “Especially since I heard the part about the swimsuits.”

       

      “Ugh, shut up.” I groaned, horrified. He gave a salute before going to bother someone else. The rest of that shift was a dreadful blur; I hated my job, but hated the idea of Shannon’s party even more. There had to be a better way to spend a Friday night, but Shannon couldn’t be blown off without serious professional repercussions. 

       

      Her parties usually took place in her living room, the Butterfly Party was no exception. When I walked in with Julie, our fears were confirmed: the windows were covered and the lights were dimmed. The furniture was covered in plastic.

       

       On the coffee table, I saw the usual vegetable tray and a selection of gas station wines. It didn’t look like enough wine. Agnes was already on her second glass… if the wine stain on her blouse was any indication.

       

      Our host was arranging things on a small covered table, little bottles and purple pouches of whatever product she was peddling. The room smelled like flowers, probably an essential oil from her last “business” venture. 

       

      “I’m glad everyone could make it.” Shannon said, “I know I say this every time, but… this product is going to change your life.”  There were four of us sitting on the sectional in silence; Julie, Agnes, Cindy, and myself. Only Agnes clapped her hands together, somehow managing to muster up the enthusiasm everyone else lacked.

       

      “So, you might have noticed that this party is ladies only.” she continued. Julie and I exchanged looks again. Yes, we’d noticed. The plastic-covered furniture, blocked windows and dark room hadn’t exactly been reassuring. 

       

      “It’s not what you think, I promise. I learned my lesson.” our boss laughed. “I wanted to give all the ladies in the office a spa day to show my appreciation. The first time is free! I have enough product for everyone to try before buying. Plus, I thought it would be a good team-building experience. Did everyone remember to bring a swimsuit? I have a couple extras if anyone needs to borrow one.” 

       

      I was wearing a bikini under my clothes, though it was definitely out of season and I was feeling bloated and fat. Still, like everyone else, I went along with whatever Shannon said. Body issues aside, I felt relieved. I didn’t really mind trying out new beauty or skincare products. Usually I’d buy whatever was cheapest out of the catalog and call it a day.

       

      “Alright, suit up and pair up!” Shannon smiled, excited. “It’s easier to apply the product with a partner. This is a full-body treatment.” Naturally, Julie and I were a team since we were already friends. Everyone stripped down to their swimsuits awkwardly. I was horrified to be the only one in a bikini. I don’t know what I’d been thinking.

       

       “It’s a bit messy, but don’t worry. That’s what the plastic is for! Don’t worry about the floors either, I’ll mop up after.”  Shannon assured us. “We’re going to do Chrysalis Beauty Wraps by Butterfly Beauty and transform ourselves. I hope you’re excited, I know I am. The first step? Exfoliation!” 

       

      A large tub of what looked like dirty sugar went around the room. Each of us were instructed to scoop up generous handfuls of the stuff to ‘prime’ our skin, rubbing ourselves raw with the coarse scrub. 

       

      “This is a nourishing sugar scrub made with organic fair trade sugar crystals.” Shannon explained. “This one has a lovely hibiscus-rose scent. What do you think, Kari?” 

       

      “… It’s nice.” I answered awkwardly, though to me it seemed like a sticky, smelly mess. I knew better than to be honest. “Does this have coconut oil in it?” I pretended I was interested, and she nodded enthusiastically before moving on to Cindy. 

       

      “Don’t forget your elbows, hon.” Shannon chirped, “Get under the suit too. No need to be shy. It’s just us ladies today!” she prowled around the room, giving tips in a syrupy voice. “Scrub in a circular motion.” 

       

      Once she was satisfied with our scrubbing, she brought out a bottle of amber gel. “This is Butterfly Beauty’s Hot Honey Activating Gel. It stimulates your metabolism, tightens your skin, and encourages sweating. The best part is that it also prevents fat buildup in the subcutaneous layers of your skin. This product makes your beach body goals attainable all year long!” 

       

      We were each handed our own “deluxe” sample. I didn’t believe the sales pitch but dutifully began smearing it all over. It was greasy rather than sticky. I’d expected it to be honey thanks to the color, but it wasn’t. Shannon was talking about the ingredients, but I wasn’t really listening. As I smudged the stuff over my arms… it stung, and began to burn! 

       

      “The tingle only lasts a moment.” Shannon assured us. “Push through it, hon! It will be SO worth it.”

       

      Tingle my ass! It hurt! I glanced around the room, the pale faces contorted in pain confirmed that I wasn’t the only one who was suffering. I was starting to sweat too; an itchy sensation prickling everywhere the product made contact. I opted not to lather up under my bikini, despite Shannon’s urging. Fortunately, she was too busy paying attention to everyone else to notice I hadn’t. 

       

      It was an awkward dance of coworkers shimmying around on the floor and furniture, sticking their hands down their suits and trying to maneuver while maintaining some shred of modesty. Julie and I rubbed the stuff on each other’s back reluctantly, that persistent burning itch instantly flaring.

       

      This was not the relaxing spa day Shannon had promised. I noticed that she wasn’t participating either, just passing the products around and making sure we used them. I glared at her, but when she caught my gaze I quickly looked away.

       

      “Relief is coming, ladies!” she assured us. “Two more steps, but this will probably be your favorite part.” she picked up a bundle of purple silk pouches, passing one to each of us. Inside was a sweet-smelling mix of dried flowers, shredded coconut, and some sort of shimmery powder. It was iridescent and pretty, like it belonged in a bowl on the mantle. 

       

      “Press this into your skin. Every inch! The activating gel will make it stick.” I scooped some up in my palm, feeling an instant cooling relief. The pain stopped, though a numb tingle remained. “This is Butterfly Beauty’s Butterfly Wing Potpourri Powder.” she explained, “This nourishing mix will not only perfect your skin, it also has stress-relieving properties.” 

       

      To be fair, the pain going away did in fact relieve my stress. A ripple of sighs filled the room. 

       

      “Don’t crush it, use a gentle pressure.” Shannon instructed, pacing around the room. I sprinkled it on my arms, my stomach, my chest, my legs… pressed the gritty, soft mix onto the greasy mess, and let the relief wash over me. Agnes had abandoned her swimsuit altogether, though she was covered in too much product for the look to be explicitly offensive.

       

      “I could roll in this stuff!” Julie told me. We got each other’s backs. Of course, the relieving effect only mattered in the places I’d put the gel. It felt dry and crunchy otherwise! I couldn’t wait to take a shower and get the messy slop off of me. Whatever this product was, I wasn’t buying it. 

       

      While everyone ooh’d and ah’d from relief and started going for their wine glasses, our boss prepared green sheets to complete the wrap. She called them Butterfly Beauty’s Cocoon Complexion Caressing Sheets. After downing more wine, we took turns wrapping each other in the chalky, clay-like squares.  I wrapped Julia in the stuff and she wrapped me. Shannon said it was some kind of organic dead sea kelp saran wrap, which didn’t even make sense. I wasn’t in the business of arguing with her though, I was just relieved we were almost done.

       

      We were instructed to get comfortable, and we spread out on the furniture while Shannon turned on what she claimed were infrared lights. The room was colored with red light, and we all began to sweat again under the wraps.

       

      Weirdly, the sheets seemed to tighten up and harden. It began to get a little hard to move. The longer we sat, the tighter and harder it became. Getting nervous, I flexed my muscles and twisted in my body in an attempt to loosen the wrap… It didn’t work. 

       

      “Just relax, Kari. Even a worm like you can be a butterfly.” Shannon purred, her voice still syrupy sweet.

       

      “Excuse me?”

       

      “You heard me. You think I don’t know the way you bitches complain about me. The looks you give each other when I invite you to my parties? I don’t even need to sell products. I make good money already. I just wanted to experience … sisterhood! Friendship! To live my best life. All of you…” she pointed a finger at each of us in turn. “All of you want to be miserable. Well, I’m not going to let you.” 

       

      I tried to stand up, but nearly toppled over. I couldn’t move my joints at all. The only parts of us not covered were our heads!

       

      “I’m  a good boss. I’m your friend.” Shannon continued, “I found this company. This transformative product… and they promised it would change everything. That you’d all thank me, and mean it.”

       

      “Shannon, I can’t move….” Agnes whined. “I’ve always liked your parties, but maybe I’m allergic to something in this?” 

       

      “No, that just means it’s working. It’s organic! You can’t be allergic.” Shannon said dismissively. “Sit tight, ladies! It’ll take a few hours, please try to relax. I rented some good movies to watch while we wait.” she popped in some romcom, but I was far too busy freaking out to even notice what it was. 

       

      I struggled to get up; my knees couldn’t bend but I was still able to shift my weight and flail to my feet somehow. It didn’t matter because I couldn’t keep my balance– I fell forward, crashing into the coffee table. Wine bottles shattered, vegetables went rolling to the floor, and I was left groaning. I wasn’t seriously hurt. I felt like I was wearing a full-body helmet!

       

      “See what you did? Ugh. Good thing you’re thin or I’d make you stay there…” Shannon yanked me off the table, inelegantly shoving me back onto the couch. “Now stay put. Hopefully it still works, but I’m not responsible if it doesn’t!”

       

      “Don’t touch me you Stepfordwife-looking bitch!” I screamed back, though my voice came off a little more shrill than intended. Shannon smiled at me, apparently deciding I was all bark and no bite. Probably because I couldn’t move.

       

      “Hold on, let me get you fixed up, hon.” 

       

      There were cracks in the hardened shell that encased my arms, but it wasn’t enough to break free. I still couldn’t bend my limbs, but now I had a glimpse of mottled skin through the splits; I was blistered and discolored, that burning itch erupting visibly, a screaming red rash that even made my follicles quiver.

       

      The pain faded when my boss brought over a fresh Cocoon sheet, wrapping my arm  and covering the cracks. She patted my shoulder, then pulled away from me. I heard her take a few deep breaths, count slowly back from ten… then fix the smile back on her face as she turned back towards us.

       

      “Sorry, I’m not sure where the outbursts came from. I’m not trying to scare you or anything. This is a good product, it’s just not like anything you’ve ever tried before. It’s a little uncomfortable now, but it’ll be worth it.”

       

      “… Have you used it?” Julie asked, her breathing was a little strained.

       

      “No.” Shannon admitted, “Not yet. The company said it was best to wait. Besides, it’s a two person job at least and I need to  get each of you through the transformation first.” 

       

      “What do you mean transformation? This doesn’t seem like any wrap I’ve ever had before. I don’t like it.” Julie replied. “It’s getting harder to breathe. Please get it off me.” 

       

      “This is a meditative beauty experience. Relax. Give into it; shed your cynicism. Let the Chrysalis Beauty Wrap by Butterfly Beauty pull out the toxins and rejuvenate your skin. You’ll have a flawless complexion and a new outlook in no time!” 

       

      The sales pitches never ended with Shannon, even when we were a captive audience. Yet she wondered why we didn’t like her? 

       

      “I don’t care, please take it off… please…I’ll work every Saturday for the next six months. Please.” Julie begged, her voice breaking off into sobs. We’d always hated MLM parties, but the Butterfly Party was on a whole new level. 

       

      “Julie, you’re not being a team player right now. I wish you’d give this a chance and stop lowering morale.” I never liked Shannon, but this was going too far even for her. Instead of admitting this party was yet another bust in a long line of failed ventures… she was doubling down. 

       

      My skin crawled. I wasn’t in pain, but I was sure I could feel a squirming and burrowing sensation everywhere the activating gel had touched. The itch started to come back, but as much as I wanted to… it was impossible to scratch. I couldn’t move my arms, let alone chip away the glistening jade chrysalis. I wanted to curl into a ball and claw at my screaming epidermis, but I was frozen. My whole body was an itch I couldn’t scratch… and that feeling didn’t go away for hours. It had to have been hours, right?

       

      A sensation like static filled my limbs. Unable to move, it was like my entire body fell asleep but my mind was awake. The sounds around me were muffled and indistinct; if my coworkers or boss were talking, I couldn’t hear them. The light of the room tunnelled into a tiny red pinprick in a field of black. 

       

      I screamed. Sharp pains erupted all over my body, like a needle probing every pore. My limbs tried to spasm, but I still couldn’t move.  By some miracle, tiny fissures rippled across the green… cracking the tough prison enough that I felt some of the pressure release. The wrappings began to crumble, falling away in gooey clumps.

       

      Freedom washed over me like a summer breeze, but the feeling didn’t last. My skin began to bubble, twitch and even… tickle. I looked down at my arms and saw fluttering flaps of skin. It took me a moment to realize they were wings; thousands of wings, red and fleshy things. Tiny butterflies. Too many to count.

       

      I watched with repulsed fascination and terror as they emerged from blister cocoons–  they chewed through my skin, widening my pores and leaving me full of holes. They seemed to erupt all at once, taking flight on glossy wet wings with a spray of my own blood.

       

      The pain was excruciating, but I was the only one who was screaming. There was something wrong about that; my bloodshot eyes swiveled around the room. Clouds of bloody butterflies were joining together, ripping out of their hosts. Out of Julie, Agnes, Cindy and I. 

       

      But my coworkers weren’t moving, they were perfectly still. They were smiling, though tears were in their eyes… they just stood there and let it happen– not that there was anything they could do to stop it. I understood then, in some unknowable way… the “transformation” hadn’t worked on me as intended. I still had control of my body and mind, but I sensed intrusive thoughts and impulses that weren’t mine.

       

      Shannon was crying. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. Life as we knew it was over. I should have been dead, but I wasn’t; I was riddled with holes and gushing blood, but that didn’t seem important anymore. 

       

      “I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, “I didn’t know!” blah blah blah, I stopped listening. I didn’t care what she had to say. I picked up my clothes from by the door; I wasn’t feeling confident enough to keep rocking the bloody bikini. Not until the holes healed up, at least.

       

      The cloud of butterflies split in two; one hung around me. I knew they were mine. The others started beating themselves against a window– at least until Agnes walked over and opened it for them. My coworkers weren’t themselves anymore, acting on the will of something else; a fate I was exempt from. It was a shame; though their mouths weren’t moving, I could feel their screams.

       

      Their bodies were moving, but they weren’t in control of them anymore. They were drones, but I was a Queen. I’m not sure if something went wrong or something went right, but I’m not going to argue with the results. Do you know how many MLMs promise you’ll be your own boss? I didn’t expect it to be true. Success is the exception, not the rule.

       

      “Kari, what happened? I don’t know what happened.”

       

      “Of course you know, Shannon. It’s exactly as you said.” she’d promised a transformation. She promised a lot of things, but this was the first time she’d delivered. I walked over to the bloodstained table and picked up the tub of Butterfly Beauty’s Softening Sweet Fair Trade Organic Sugar Scrub.

       

      I turned back to my former boss, smiling. I wouldn’t give her the sales pitch, but I’d treat her to a free demonstration of my new product line.

       

      “The first step? Exfoliation!”

       

      I’m going to throw a Butterfly Party just for her. What better way to start my own downline?

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged antimlm, beauty, butterfly, dark, fiction, horror, mlm, original, scary, short stories, short story, writing

    • [Short Horror Story] A Proposal from Daddy Prince

      Posted at 12:00 am by Penny Tailsup, on August 19, 2019
      Short on time? Listen to the narration!

      When I told Blake I was pregnant, he handed me a blank check and told me to ‘take care of the problem’. He wasn’t the prince I’d thought he was. I took the check but didn’t follow his implied instructions. Instead, I moved to a quiet town in Texas to start a new life with my daughter Sarina.

      Life wasn’t the fairy tale I’d been hoping for. Reality doesn’t pull punches. Romances end, and daughters don’t always know their fathers. Although I tried to pretend everything was rosy, deep down I knew it wasn’t. Life leaves a mark.

      Even so, I was determined to live happily ever after. My heartbreak was secondary. Sarina became my world. Years passed, and I threw myself into the role of a single mother. The money dried up fast, but we got by.

      I never told her about her father, that truth was too painful for a child. I wouldn’t let one cruel “prince” stain my worldview, or hers. I tried to spare her… that was my mistake. She was young enough to believe the fairy tale, young enough that she didn’t need to know anything else.

      The first time she mentioned Daddy Prince, I was curling her hair. Sarina loved curls, she called them ‘princess hairs’— and I was happy to indulge her. I was sitting on her bed, wrapping her long, dark hair into foam rollers. As I snapped the final curler into place, she sighed and hung her head.

      “What’s the matter, Sarina?” I pulled back the covers so she could slip under them, walking over to the bookshelf to choose a bedtime story. As my fingers brushed across bent spines of well-loved books, she sighed again.

      “When are we going to live with Daddy Prince?” I froze in surprise and turned to look at her. I wasn’t prepared to hear her say ‘daddy’. My throat tightened and my eyes started to burn, but I forced a smile.

      “Who is …  Daddy Prince?” hesitation came with every syllable. Sarina didn’t seem to notice; her hazel eyes were shining bright.

      “He’s my daddy of course. He wants us to live with him in his castle.” she pointed towards her wardrobe; it was castle shaped with a crenelated parapet and engraved doors. The closet was the crown jewel of her princess-themed room. I’d found it on the curb, abandoned in one of the wealthier neighborhoods.

      “Mommy, why don’t we live with Daddy?”

      I knew a day would come where my daughter would need answers. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to give them to her. Not yet. My internal prayer smoldered in my chest, but I pushed the thought away.

      Instead of facing what might have been a pivotal moment in our relationship, I changed the subject:

      “Which story should I read?”

      Her sour face told me that she knew exactly what I was up to. She flung herself back into her pillows, crossing her arms stiffly. Redness flared across her forehead as a tantrum brewed, barely restrained.

      “How about Aladdin?” I suggested. Princess Jasmine was her favorite, but this wasn’t enough to cool her temper; she shook her head.

      “… Go to bed, Mommy. I want Daddy to tell me a story instead.”  Her lips quivered, but she kept her eyes fixed on the castle closet instead of looking at me.

      The rejection stung. I leaned over to give her forehead a kiss, which she sullenly accepted. When I made it back to my bedroom, I broke down in tears and let the mascara run into my pillow. As I calmed down and began to drift off to sleep, I heard my daughter laugh and incoherent bits of one-sided conversation.

      “Daddy… why … castle… when… mommy…”

      I woke up to Sarina’s grinning face, her hands behind her back. “Good morning, mommy!” she sounded so cheerful. Groggy, I returned the greeting and offered a sleepy smile as I threw off the covers and swooped down to hug her.

      My hands met something cold and wet. Reflexively, I let go and looked at her closely. The little girl grinned sheepishly and showed me what she was holding. A handful of small, purple flowers; a large clump of wet dirt clinging to the roots.

      “A present from Daddy!” she declared proudly, holding them out to me. I didn’t recognize the flowers, spiky and wet, but it looked like she’d dug them out of someone’s garden.

      “Sweetie, did you go outside before I woke up?” I asked.

      “Not me, the prince.” Sarina immediately corrected. “To cheer you up. You seemed sad.”

      “I see.” I didn’t. “Well, make sure he asks the neighbors permission before going into someone else’s garden, and let me know so I don’t worry.” I didn’t believe her, but I felt so guilty from the night before that I couldn’t bring myself to call her out on her lie.

      “Okay!” she agreed immediately. I took the flowers, they were in bad shape; soggy, sad little things. I decided to let them air out by the kitchen window and told her to wash up. My little girl had mud up to her elbows! She skipped off while I busied myself making waffles. I pulled the rollers out of her hair when she returned, mud-free, before we sat down to enjoy breakfast.

      “Did you like the flowers?” she asked, looking attentively at her waffle as I poured the syrup; she wasn’t satisfied until every square was filled.

      “Of course, sweetie. Any gift from you is special to me.”  I didn’t like the flowers, but I appreciated the gesture. You aren’t supposed to be completely honest with children.

      Sarina nodded with satisfaction. “He said you would! Now can we go live with him?” I nearly choked, setting down my fork and looking at her. Apparently, this conversation was going to happen, whether I was ready or not.

      “I’m sorry honey. We’re going to stay here; this is our home. We can’t move in with him.”

      “Why?” I paused. Like most parents, I was accustomed to the whys of children; that single syllable was the epitome of frustration and dread, but… I’d do my best to answer, as gently as I could.

      “Because I’m not married to him.” I tried to keep it simple. My little girl nodded but was undeterred. Her smile came back.

      “Okay. Well, then get married to him.” in her eyes, this was an easy fix. I shook my head.

      “He never asked me to marry him.” I admitted, “But that’s okay, sweetie. We have everything we need here. I have you, and you have me.”

      “He just has to ask?” the hopeful look on her face broke my heart. It wasn’t that simple. Blake didn’t want kids; he’d made that abundantly clear. I wasn’t about to reach out to him after all these years.

      “Maybe,” I said. Saying ‘no’ seemed too harsh. “But I like things the way they are right now.”

      “He told me he wants to already.” she insisted, “and he gave you a present.” my stomach twisted with a weird flutter of discomfort. Her insistence was genuine, and I found the fantasy disturbing. Do little girls typically dream up princes for their mothers?

      Well, maybe the ones without fathers do.

      “Sweetie, he didn’t propose.” suddenly, I was tired again. I wanted to go back to my room and hide under the covers. I couldn’t deal with any more questions, not even one. As though she sensed this, my daughter went back to her room. I could hear her playing, leaving me to scrub syrup off the table.

      When I went to check on her later, she was standing in the dark and lightly knocking on the castle wardrobe. Tap tap tap, then pausing as if she waited for an answer. Naturally, she didn’t get one. Sarina saw me looking and smiled bashfully.

      “He said he sleeps during the day.” she explained, “but I wanted to tell him the good news.” I assumed she meant ‘Daddy Prince’.

      “What good news?”

      Sarina didn’t say anything, staring so intently at the closet doors that I thought she must not have heard me. I flicked on her bedroom light, which got her attention.

      “Don’t! He doesn’t like the light on.” I decided to humor her and turned it back off. I was a little concerned about the prince character she was concocting. What sort of prince preferred the dark? Then again, she’d said he was sleeping. Kid logic is irrefutable at that age, so I let it go. You learn to pick your battles as a parent.

      Leaving her to her to play, I sat at the kitchen table to pay bills and balance my checkbook. I lived paycheck to paycheck and had to pay things strategically. I could afford to pay late on some bills, but not on others. How nice it would be, if there really was a prince ready to sweep in and take care of my problems. If only.

      Sarina kept to her room. When I went to get her for lunch, she was still sitting in the dark. She’d changed into one of her costume dresses; mint green satin and tulle, with a plastic crown and ribbon-wrapped scepter. Her subjects were strewn about the room, face down: barbies, mostly, but also a few stuffed animals. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about a scene like this… but it was a little odd when the lights were off with the curtains closed.

      “It’s dark in here, honey. Are you sure you don’t want it on?” The only light came from the hallway, a yellow square of light that fell across my daughter’s small form. She beamed at me, clearly having a blast with her game.

      “I don’t want the lights.” she said, “Can I eat in my room? I’m not done playing.”

      “Alright. Come get it. Don’t forget to rinse your plate when you’re done.”  Sarina was usually a bit more energetic, ripping through the house and demanding near constant attention. I was a little unnerved, but also relieved to have a small break. Her preoccupation would enable me to finish my errands and get the house in order, no small feat with a young daughter.

      Sarina skipped into the dining room, grabbed her plate, then paused suddenly. Her dark eyes fixed on the table for a moment, before she looked at me in confusion.

      “Where are the flowers? You said you liked them.”

      “They’re drying out, princess.” I smiled at her, gesturing towards the window. “They were a little wet.”

      “Oh.” she looked disappointed but didn’t say anything else. Plate in hand, she went back to her room. I heard the door close behind her. For some reason, I wanted to cry. I ate my lunch alone at the table, then went to retrieve the flowers. I brought them to the sink; the stems were tangled. Carefully, I worked them apart and rinsed away the clump of dirt holding them together.

      A metallic clink caught my attention. Something had come loose from the dirt and fallen into the sink… a ring? A muddy, tarnished ring. I picked it up, then held it under running water. It was missing a stone, and the filigree band was slightly bent… with a little love it could be beautiful again.

      It looked very old; I didn’t know if it was valuable or not, but it was probably important to someone. I slipped the ring onto my right ring finger so I wouldn’t lose it, intending to find the owner later. I couldn’t help but think about the conversation I’d had during breakfast.

      “Looks like he proposed after all.” I laughed, amused by the coincidence. Of course, my daughter found the flowers with a ring tangled in their roots. I dropped the flowers in a bowl on the table, making a sad excuse for a centerpiece. I didn’t add water; they were wet enough already. Apparently, Sarina’s Prince Charming lived in a swamp.

      Sarina stayed in her room until dinner. By then, the house was tidy, and my errands were done. When I went to get Sarina, the door was closed, and the lights were off. I knocked lightly on the door before opening it, to find my daughter standing at the castle wardrobe. The double doors were open, and she was leaning forward, peering inside.

      I turned on the light, causing her to glare at me. “Turn the lights OFF, mommy!” I didn’t, not liking the tone she was taking with me.

      “Go wash up for dinner. Now.” when she didn’t start marching, I began to count. “1….” she crossed her arms, “2…” she stomped her foot, but before I could get to three the stormed past me– slamming the door behind her.

      The wardrobe was still open, so I walked over to close it. The carpet was wet, soaking through my slippers, squishing with every step. As I moved to close the closet, I saw something. A pale face, crowned with golden curls and forget-me-not eyes.

      “Blake?”

      But my ex was not crouching in his daughter’s closet. There was nothing there, except a selection of dress up clothes and plastic jewelry. The face was gone almost as soon as I’d seen it, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. I closed the doors and stood there for a long moment in silence.

      Dinner was cold by the time I ladled it onto our plates. I didn’t even remember walking back to the kitchen. Sarina pushed noodles around with her fork but didn’t eat them. We didn’t talk. I felt like some part of me had checked out.

      “Mommy?” her voice pulled me back. I looked up to see her smiling at me. Relieved that the storm had passed, I smiled back.

      “What is it, sweetheart?”

      “You’re wearing the ring.” I looked down at my hands, and suddenly remembered the sorry little thing I was wearing on my right hand.

      “Oh, only for safekeeping.” I answered, “I need to find the owner. I didn’t want to lose it.”

      Sarina giggled. “You’re the owner, silly!”

      “I’ll hold onto it, for now.” I answered, reaching over to tousle her dark curls. Her hair was damp, which gave me pause.

      “Why is your hair wet?” I asked. Sarina slouched in her chair and went back to moving food around her plate. “The carpet was wet too.” I added softly, keeping my voice quiet and non-confrontational. My little girl didn’t look up, keeping her head down.

      “Can you tell me why?” she pushed her plate away, getting up from the table and running down the hall. I heard her bedroom door slam moments later. I buried my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths, giving myself a moment before I stood and walked over to the sink to rinse off our barely touched plates. Once the kitchen was clean, I grabbed the rag towels from under the sink so I could blot Sarina’s wet carpet.

      Her door was closed, so I knocked before opening. Sarina was in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin. The lights were off, the closet doors were ajar. My daughter was acting strange, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. I could see her forehead furrowed from the effort as she pretended to be asleep.

      “You don’t want me to read you a bedtime story first?” I asked her softly as I dropped the towels on the floor. Brownish, reddish stains spread across the rags– like murky rust. The smell was bad too, like mildew and rot. “…I’ll rent a carpet cleaner tomorrow. Try not to track in any more mud, it’s hard to clean.” I did my best not to sound angry, but there was a quiver in my voice. I wanted to cry.

      I blotted up the mess as best I could, spraying down the area with carpet cleaner and ruining towels in the process. Muddy carpets shouldn’t have been a breaking point for me, but with my daughter feigning sleep only feet away… I was weak. Why was everything so hard? Every obstacle broke me. I was a bad mother; weak, broken and alone. As much as I pretended everything was alright, nothing was.

      “Mommy.” Sarina spoke softly, startling me back to attention. “I want you to be happy. You’re sad all the time.” I looked up; she was sitting up in bed now. She looked past me, at the closet. The doors were still open, but I didn’t see any phantom exes peering back at us.

      “I know sweetie. I’m sorry, I’m doing my best.”

      “You’re wearing it on the wrong hand.” she answered, flopping back into her pillows and pulling the blankets up to her nose. I didn’t know what she meant, but she closed her eyes again. I stood up, kissing her on the forehead.

      “Goodnight.” my throat felt tight but having a breakdown in her room wasn’t the answer. I needed to get some rest. I was tired, that’s all. I moved to close the wardrobe, surprised to meet resistance. The doors didn’t close.

      “Leave it open. Daddy Prince likes to watch over me.”

      I was too tired to argue and left to take a long shower. The stink of the mud was sticking to me, even when I used my most fragrant soaps. After I was done, wrapped up in the only clean towel, I passed my daughter’s room on the way to mine. As I peered inside, something stopped me in my tracks.

      A white gloved hand, beckoning from the closet… and Sarina’s small hand reaching out to take it, before she was violently pulled into the wardrobe with a loud snap.

      “Sarina!”

      I ran into the bedroom just as the doors slammed shut. I pulled on the handles, alarmed by the deafening silence. My daughter didn’t answer my cries; she didn’t make a sound. When I managed to pry the doors open, the closet was empty. Even her dress-up clothes were gone.

      I screamed, but no one answered. I knocked, but no one answered. I begged, but no one answered. I even crawled into that tight space, closing myself in…but nothing happened.

      The prince in my daughter’s closet had stolen her away. I didn’t sleep, curling up on the wet carpet and waiting for something, anything, to happen. Then I realized something… and sat down to write my story. People will notice we’re missing soon; they’ll probably think I did something unspeakable because the truth is unbelievable.

      The ring was on the wrong hand. She told me this, before the prince took her away. Maybe he was impatient for my answer. He asked me to marry him, after all. We’re going to live together in his castle. Sarina is waiting for me there; she couldn’t wait any longer.

      I can hear her singing now, with a song that erases my every doubt:

       

      Skin as white as bone,

      Lips as red as blood.

      Sitting on a throne

      Made of sticks and mud.

       

      Daddy Prince loves you,

      Daddy Prince loves me.

      …and I’ll love you, too

      We’ll be family.

       

      Don’t look for us.

      But if you must… check the closet.

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged creepy, creepypasta, daddy prince, dark, fiction, horror, nosleep, original, prince, prince charming, short story, writer, writing

    • “It’s Not My Birthday” – Short Horror Story

      Posted at 3:32 pm by Penny Tailsup, on March 22, 2019

      We don’t remember birthdays anymore.

      The technology “remembers” for us.

       

      Some of us barely know our own phone numbers, let alone the birthday of everyone on our friend’s list. Thank goodness for social media, right?

       

      By some unspoken agreement, we play along. We pretend we’re good friends who remember everyone’s birthday. In return, we get the same courtesy; a bare minimum… a ‘happy birthday’ on our Facebook page once a year.

       

      Today, Facebook wished me a happy birthday. So did everyone on my friend’s list.

      Nice, right? Except it’s not my birthday. It wasn’t my birthday yesterday either, or the day before, or the day before that.

       

      Doesn’t matter though; the technology “remembered” and “reminded”. This would all be well and good, if not for the fact that everyone believes it. Every day. Every time.

       

      The first time it happened, I laughed it off. Facebook had my birthday wrong, that’s a first world problem if I’d ever heard one. In fact, it was kind of nice. My profile page was flooded with all kinds of positivity and well-wishing.

       

      I didn’t have time to answer each message, but I made a post thanking everyone and letting them know it wasn’t actually my birthday. I figured things would sort themselves out from there.  More errant ‘happy birthdays’ trickled in, but I was too busy to check and respond to each one.

      It didn’t end with Facebook though. Word travels, apparently. When I got to work, my co-workers ambushed me with a cake and sang the Happy Birthday song. I was embarrassed and felt too awkward to interrupt or correct them.

       

      Luther sent a bouquet of roses. A tidy of pile of presents waited for me in my office chair. This was about the time I thought it was a prank. Even when it was my birthday, I didn’t usually get this much attention.

       

      Assuming my boyfriend was the mastermind, I smiled. I’d expect a prank on April Fools’ Day, I wouldn’t expect it on the first of May. Well played.I decided I’d just go with it; who would say no to a day of cake and presents, anyway?

       

      When I got home, the “prank” continued to play out. My family and friends popped out from behind furniture. They sang Happy Birthday; Luther leaned down for a kiss, and my mother came out of the kitchen with a confetti cake.

       

      “How did you get everyone to play along?” I asked Luther, red-faced but happy. He smiled, apparently pretending not to know what I meant.

       

      “It’s your birthday. Why wouldn’t they?” Oh okay. So it’s going to be like that. I laughed, hugged everyone and enjoyed the party. The last time I’d enjoyed my birthday, I’d been having a pizza party at Chuck E. Cheese. That was a couple decades ago.

       

      All was well, until the next day.

       

      Facebook wished me a happy birthday. So did my friends list. I got to work, and my co-workers crowded around my desk with a sheet cake and sang happy birthday.

       

      “I don’t think I can eat another piece of cake.” I told Debbie politely as she shoved a paper plate towards me. She laughed.

       

      “Oh, honey. It’s your birthday! Besides, it gives us an excuse to eat cake too.” she dismissed my refusal, shoving the cake at me again. I took it reluctantly, setting it down on my desk. Everyone stared at me while I smiled awkwardly.

       

      “Thank you, everyone. Luther will love to hear about this later.”

       

      They continued to stare at me, holding plates of cake and waiting expectantly. I stared back.

       

      “Go on, dear.” Debbie said. “Have the first bite, you don’t want us to feel fat do you?” no one else said anything, silently agreeing. I picked up the plastic fork, cutting off a tiny sliver of cake and having a small nibble. Only then did my co-workers disperse, heading back to their respective desks.

       

      Luther sent another bouquet of flowers. I set the vase of begonias down beside the roses from the day before. I had to rearrange my desk to make room.

       

      When I got home, once again my friends and family jumped out. Mom came out of the kitchen with a chocolate cake. Luther wrapped his arms around me and guided me towards the table, topped with colorful wrapped boxes. More cake, more presents, more Happy Birthday song.

       

      “This is a bit much.” I told Luther, uncomfortable.

       

      “What do you mean?” he asked, “Nothing is too much on your birthday!” I shook my head. I didn’t want to be a jerk about it, but he’d pushed it too far. Having two “birthdays” in a row couldn’t have been cheap. How much was he spending to pull this off? How had he convinced everyone to play along not just once, but twice?

       

      “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. “You don’t like surprise parties?” my fingers were digging into my temple as tension tightened my face. My friends and family were all there, they didn’t sit at the table. They stood there, watching me, waiting with smiles on their expectant faces.

       

      “… We’ll talk later.” I told him. He nodded, and selected a present from the pile. He handed it to me, I stared down at it. The room was suddenly very quiet; when I looked up, everyone was still staring. The smiles began to look a little strained.

       

      “Thank you everyone.” I said slowly. “You didn’t have to.” I didn’t know what else to say. I unwrapped the present, a handmade scarf. My initials were stitched carefully, and the tassels were my favorite color. Actual thought went into this gift. I forced myself to relax, and made sure my thank yous were genuine as I opened each gift. I was overreacting. This whole thing was incredibly thoughtful, I wasn’t sure why something felt wrong.

       

      When the party ended, I cornered Luther. Apparently he was an amazing actor, because he looked genuinely confused when I asked him to let this be the last “birthday”.

       

      “I’m not sure what I did wrong, Felicity. I’m sorry.” he seemed so sincere. I shook my head.

       

      “I know you didn’t mean anything mean. It’s a very nice prank.” I said, “I’m just not comfortable with so much attention, and I don’t want you to waste money.”

       

      “I don’t think it’s a waste at all. It’s ok to let yourself be spoiled every now and then.” he countered, “I’ll consult you first next year. Deal?” I nodded, relieved.

       

      “Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry for making a big deal about it.” we exchanged a few kisses, and he stayed the night. He was still there in the morning when I got the message again.

       

      Happy Birthday from Facebook, and all of my friends. Well. He hadn’t had time to cancel it, right? Annoyed, I shook him awake.

       

      “Luther, can you call off the hounds?” I tried to act lighthearted about it, but I could feel my brows furrowing. He blinked sleepily at me, then sat up and opened his arms for a hug.

       

      “Happy Birthday, Felicity!”

       

      “Enough with that!” I shoved a pillow at him, storming into the bathroom to shower and get ready for work. He attempted to serenade me with the birthday song as I hastily buttered some toast and bounced out the door. I wasn’t having any of it.

       

      At work, my co-workers closed in around me with a cookie cake. They sang the birthday song. They wouldn’t leave until I took a bite of cookie cake.

       

      Luther sent another bouquet of flowers. Marigolds. I  rearranged my desk to fit them next to the roses and begonias, it took all my self-control not to throw them in the trash. I loved Luther, but he’d turned what I’d thought was a wholesome prank into something infuriating.

       

      When I got home, it was just Luther.  Oh good, no party. When he came closer for a kiss, I turned my face away. I was still mad.

       

      “This isn’t funny.” I told him.

       

      “I thought you wanted a more private party this year?” he said, looking confused again. “I didn’t know you were so against celebrating your birthday.”

       

      “I’m not. But it’s not my birthday.”

       

      “Of course it is.” he said. His expression became stony, he stared at me.

       

      “I can prove it’s not.” a cold lump formed in my throat. His expectant look… his crossed arms and tight smile seemed almost threatening. Luther didn’t say anything as I reached into my purse, opened my wallet, and drew out my drivers’ license. I thrust it towards him, but he didn’t take it. I threw it at him, watching it bounce off his chest, but he didn’t move.

       

      I stomped over to retrieve it, picking it up. I read my birthday off the card. “See, it says March third…” no. That wasn’t right. He’d somehow swapped out my license with a fake one? It wasn’t my birthday.

       

      “Yeah. March third. It’s March third.” his tone became playful. “Did you forget your own birthday, silly?”

       

      “It’s not…”

       

      Ignoring me, he started to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. When I walked away, he followed me. I could only get him to leave after eating a bite of cake and opening his present– a ruby necklace.

       

      This kept happening, different days with the same basic patterns. A happy birthday from Facebook, cake with co-workers, flowers and a party after work.

       

      Today is the 22nd birthday I’ve had since this started. I’ve just about given up trying to convince everyone that they’re wrong. Every time I argue or resist, people get this really cold look on their face. They stand there with strained smiles until I play along again.

      This isn’t a prank. I don’t know what this is. I’m scared. Everyone really seems to believe it’s my birthday.

       

      Maybe it’s just the stress, but I swear to god… the fine lines of my face have deepened into wrinkles. Every day I wake up with more grey hairs. My whole body hurts. No one seems to notice that something is wrong.

       

      I’m at work right now. Even while I’m typing this, my co-workers are singing the birthday song. Their voices are low and quiet, eyes fixed on me. I haven’t touched the cake. If I don’t play along, they will stand there and sing until I do.

       

      Who would have thought this song could be so ominous. It’s beginning to feel like a threat. I don’t know how many of these birthdays I can survive.

       

      Happy Birthday to you,

      Happy Birthday to you,

      Happy Birthday dear Felicity

      Happy Birthday to you

       

      …and many more.

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 1 Comment | Tagged birthday, creepy, horror, short story, weird
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