A Horror Story - The Town's Secret

“Where on earth have you been? I have been worried sick!” Mrs Di Laurentis looked worried as Wren walked in with a brown paper bag overflowing with groceries. “Mum, I’m almost 18! I can handle myself!” and started stocking up the fridge.

                        

That afternoon, Wren left a note on the kitchen counter that he was stepping out about some college application and headed out to meet Toby Cavanough. They took the bus number 27B to Riverdale College. As the driver turned into Walner Street and drove past the houses, the boys couldn’t help noticing Mrs Marin sitting by the porch, sipping her iced tea. She had snow-white hair and the iciest blue eyes with which she cast them a spine-chilling glare. Her gaze was fixed on them, even if the bus faded into the distance. They looked away.

                        

“Hi, I’m Spencer Hastings, a senior here. I’ll be helpin-” the skinny girl in a blue sweatshirt paused a moment without finishing her sentence. Wren observed her lower lip quivering and immediately pointed to a different senior in a different table.

                        

“Hi, I’m Emily Fields and I will be helping you with your college application,” said the girl at the table. She looked a little frightened but still advised him anyway. Wren wondered why they were all so afraid of him. As he was leaving, Wren heard Emily talking to Spencer about some kind of sign and what had happened 18 years ago.

                        

What happened 18 years ago was history in the small town of Riverdale. It was never really clear, but Wren had enough. He wanted to know what happened 18 years ago that made the whole town shut up. He and Toby tried to figure it out and even asked their own parents but no to avail. They just changed the topic.

                        

On the way to Toby’s house the next morning, Wren saw police outside of Mrs Marin’s house. Her corpse, which had a stab in the stomach, was being carried out into a minivan for investigation. Wren tried to ask Officer Holbrook to let them see the house but he wouldn’t let them. “It’s not important,” he shrugged. Wren managed to sneak in the house and saw that there were signs drawn on the walls messily in blood. “She must have done this when she was murdered! This was the sign Spencer and Emily were talking about yesterday,” Wren thought to himself.

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Two days later, Wren woke up to a birthday banner and breakfast in bed from his mum. “Happy 18^th Birthday!” she said as she kissed him on the forehead. He thanked her and had some quality time with her till the evening. Mrs Di Laurentis said that she had to go for a work dinner with her boss and staff.

                        

Wren was really bored that night so he decided to clean up the house. He took all the boxes filled with books and placed them in the attic. Once the attic was filled up, there was no more space to keep things so he went down to the basement, which he had not been to for years. As he carried the heavy boxes into the crammed, damp basement, he heard loud chants. He tried to hear where they were coming from. He stumbled upon a lid of a trapdoor. “I didn’t know we had a trapdoor,” he thought to himself. He opened the lid and walked down the old, creaky wooden steps.

                        

The moment he stepped in, he saw that it had been transformed into a dimly lit chamber. He saw his mum, Officer Holbrook and nearly quarter the small town sitting in a big circle with the sign Mrs Marin drew on the walls of her home the night she was murdered. There was also a big fire at the edge of the chamber. The moment they acknowledged Wren’s presence, silence fell across the room. “You have finally come,” Mrs Di Laurentis boomed. “We have been waiting for you for 18 years. Now is finally the time!”

                        

Wren was confused. “18 years ago, we created a monster from this symbol, you, and you terrified all the people in this town. This whole town agreed to never tell anybody about this, and if they did, they would be settled, like Mrs Marin,” she snorted. Wren was shocked. He now understood why Mrs Marin would always stare at him, why Spencer and Emily was so scared of him and even why Officer Holbrook didn’t allow him to go in the house.

 “To keep you under control, every week we had to chant together to this powerful symbol. After 18 years, exactly on your birthday, we will have to sacrifice you to the God of the Symbol. Come, my child, come to me,” she bellowed as everybody got up to grab him. Someone managed to get hold of him and nearly pushed him into the fire…

                        

Wren woke up with sweat dripping down his neck, his head drenched with sweat and throbbing, his heart pumping so fast. “Thank God that was just a dream,” Wren thought. 

He felt thankful and relieved… until he heard chanting coming from below.

                        

A Thriller Story: FRESH OUT OF THE OVEN

Jeffrey stared at the almost-empty cash register as he was about to close the accounts for a day. "It's amazing how people can ditch our talk-of-the-town cupcake overnight for some silly franchised doughnuts!'' Jane complained, staring at the unsold dainty cupcakes neatly staked on the brass shelves. 

Jeffrey tried to comfort Jane, "Things won't be so bad after all. Tomorrow, we will be getting a cheque from Mrs. Johnson for her daughter's party- " and they hear a loud thud followed by a cry. The couple rushed to the back. 

Everything seemed normal, so they called it a day.

The couple were in early the next morning. It was their last, best shot to recover the business. The bills were already choking them and they were two months behind on their shop rent. They had even let their seventeen-year long serving kitchen helper go.

Jeffrey turned on the mixer while Jane stirred the fruit and nut soaking in wine. Suddenly, the mixer jammed the machine made a strange noise when Jeffrey tried to clear it with a long wooden spatula, a few strands of hair and a torn piece of  cloth emerged on the surface and gestured Jane to come over.

It was a boy who was barely five or six, laying dead in the chocolate cake batter. He was already partially blended. The couple stared at each other, dumbfounded. After a moment's consideration, they agreed to put moral judgements aside and proceed with the baking. Jane convinced him, ''What they don't know won't hurt them."

The next morning, the phone was ringing off the hook. Compliments and new orders were pouring in until finally, Mrs Johnson walked in with a contented smile, ''People are raving about your nutty, chocolate cake."

The couple then realized that they needed to add their "special ingredient" to make extra bucks. Jeffrey would kill the victim and Jane would bake the mix. Day by day, Jeffrey lost his morals and ruthlessly became a cold-blooded killer.

On the night of Halloween, Jeffrey waited for a unsuspecting child to pass by in a corner at the back of the shop. The moment finally came and Jeffrey wasted no time in stabbing the poor child to death. He did not even take a moment to admire the adorable child in a oversized Pikachu costume with a hood covering his entire face.

"Here, this one was a little tough," Jeffrey said as he handed Jane the body. "Make sure you remove the access costume and hoodie, I'm off to bed now."

The next morning, as Jeffrey walked into the tiny shop, he heard loud wailing. He walked into the kitchen to find his wife weeping next to the body of the child Jeffrey killed the day before. Then he realized something. "It's all your fault! It's all your fault our son is dead! I'm reporting you!" Jane screamed. 

Jane and Jeffrey got into a huge fight. Jeffrey slightly pushed Jane but she tripped over the lifeless body of her son and fell towards the mixing pot, spinning with rage. Before she fell into the batter, she managed to grab Jeffrey's shirt and he fell in the mixing pot with her.

The news was all over the town the next day that the best-selling cupcake store was closed down because authorities found traces of the two bakers in the batter and their child lying dead on the ground. The detectives came to a conclusion that they must have committed suicide.

However, no one ever found out about the real story and the "special ingredient" that they used...

A Little Piece of Rasputin - A Short Story

Something was amiss. I felt my hair standing on ends and a peculiar tingling sensation all over my body. It felt like an electric pulse. In the background, I could her Ms. Stanford scolding, “Don’t touch that!” but she was too late, I had already done it. Her voice faded and I felt myself transported to a whole new place.

The relic was irresistible and placed in a clear, unsealed, glass casing. It belonged to Rasputin. I was tempted to touch it, and so I did. Little did I know that it was a horrible mistake to touch the reputed pendant of the evil, Russian monk.

I was in a dark place, being transported to someplace I did no know. I had a bushy, long moustache and beard and I was wearing all black. For a moment, I realized that I might had been Rasputin himself. Was I? I could hear two men speaking in a language which I could strangely understand; it was Russian. They were discussing something about a river and the sentries not being there.

The car was moving very fast and I was engulfed in excruciating pain all over. My stomach was twisting and I had trouble breathing. I could barely move with my body bundled up in a scruffy, itchy and dusty rug.

The car pulled over and the two men dragged me out and tossed me clumsily into the icy, cold river. The intense cold gripped me and I tried to swim afloat. My arms were stretched out and my eyes were tightly shut.

The next thing I knew, I was back in the museum, standing where I stood before the whole journey had begun. Ms. Stanford was standing beside me, looking crossed. I tried explaining, but she wouldn’t listen so I made her touch it too. From her expression and bodily movements, I could tell that she would no longer doubt when she returned.

On the school bus back home, Ms. Stanford sat next to me and whispered into my ear, “No one will believe us…”

Mount. Vesuvius - A Short Story

“Ouch!” I screamed when a small plank hit me hard on the head. I was confused and dizzy. I looked up… and that ‘s when I saw the majestic Mount. Vesuvius erupting. Thick plumes of smoke and sky-high fog was emitted from it’s core. I gaped in awe.

It fell like a deja vu since just a few minutes ago, Mr. Montgomery and I were staring at the painting down the school library hallway. It was surreal.

Here I was staring at it in real life. Mr. Montgomery was lying face down by a giant boulder. I ran to his side, calling out his name and I could not have been happier when I saw his fingers moving weakly. I helped him to his feet and by that time, we could see Vesuvius leaking tiny streams of lava. There was chaos all around; some were running with their precious belongings, some with their pets and some just looking delirious.

We started to dash in the opposite direction, away from Vesuvius who was now raging with fury. The air was densely laden with toxic fumes and we were choking and gasping for air at the same time. Mr. Montgomery had difficulty catching up with me. He gave an apologetic smile and mocked,” I shouldn’t have had that burrito for breakfast!”

When I looked back, hope was slipping away as the lava gathered speed and engulfed us. I prayed that it was just a bad dream and sealed shut my eyelids helplessly.

There was a blinding bright light and I bumped onto something hard. “Ouch!’ I screamed. When I came to, a pang of relief swept over me. We were back at school! My first instinct was to look for Vesuvius and a gentle smile flashed across my face when I saw it safely secured under the frame and back into the painting.