Category: short

Length: Short

Day 6: Made camp in satellite control tower. Found gun in
desk. I should weld the door shut after I fix generator. Don’t trust myself not
to open for Daniel.

Day 9: Generator working. Power low. From the tower I spot
Seekers in surrounding wheat fields, walking who knows where. Satellite shows
dozens more. I thought I spotted Daniel’s red baseball cap in town 30 miles
out, but image grainy. No sign of Hiders. No sign of anyone untouched by the
sickness.

Day 12: Saw a Hider running in field today, Seeker following
close. He got caught on perimeter fence. He begged, “Please, Diana. You’re
sick." 

She smiled like a child at play. "Ready or not,” she
said. “Here I come.” reminder: weld door shut.

Day 15: Generators at 30%. Pretty sure I spotted Daniel on
satellite 20 miles out. Was up all night crying. How does the sickness pair
Hiders and Seekers? How does it know who it hurts most to run from?

Day 17: Definitely him. 12 miles and closing. Generators at
12%. Should conserve power, but I can’t. I know he’ll kill me, but it comforts
me to watch him.

Day 19: Generator dead, but no matter. Daniel is 6 miles away.
Still haven’t welded door shut. Why not? Maybe the sickness is a game with
rules we must follow. Can Hiders kill their Seeker? I practice loading the gun.

Day 20: I’m watching Daniel approach through binoculars. Looks
too thin, too pale, smiling all wrong, but I can’t look away. The gun is
loaded, oiled. I can hear him on the stairs, now at the door. 

“Ready or
not,” he says. I raise the gun, but I’m not sure who I’m pointing it at.
Oh my boy, my sweet Daniel. Here I come.

Credits to: Rock-Paper-Cynic (story)

Length: Short

Day 6: Made camp in satellite control tower. Found gun in
desk. I should weld the door shut after I fix generator. Don’t trust myself not
to open for Daniel.

Day 9: Generator working. Power low. From the tower I spot
Seekers in surrounding wheat fields, walking who knows where. Satellite shows
dozens more. I thought I spotted Daniel’s red baseball cap in town 30 miles
out, but image grainy. No sign of Hiders. No sign of anyone untouched by the
sickness.

Day 12: Saw a Hider running in field today, Seeker following
close. He got caught on perimeter fence. He begged, “Please, Diana. You’re
sick." 

She smiled like a child at play. "Ready or not,” she
said. “Here I come.” reminder: weld door shut.

Day 15: Generators at 30%. Pretty sure I spotted Daniel on
satellite 20 miles out. Was up all night crying. How does the sickness pair
Hiders and Seekers? How does it know who it hurts most to run from?

Day 17: Definitely him. 12 miles and closing. Generators at
12%. Should conserve power, but I can’t. I know he’ll kill me, but it comforts
me to watch him.

Day 19: Generator dead, but no matter. Daniel is 6 miles away.
Still haven’t welded door shut. Why not? Maybe the sickness is a game with
rules we must follow. Can Hiders kill their Seeker? I practice loading the gun.

Day 20: I’m watching Daniel approach through binoculars. Looks
too thin, too pale, smiling all wrong, but I can’t look away. The gun is
loaded, oiled. I can hear him on the stairs, now at the door. 

“Ready or
not,” he says. I raise the gun, but I’m not sure who I’m pointing it at.
Oh my boy, my sweet Daniel. Here I come.

Credits to: Rock-Paper-Cynic (story)

Length: Short

Madam Tawona wasn’t your ordinary Psychic. You wouldn’t find
her name in any phonebook, or the name of her shop on google maps. No, Madam
Tawona made certain to stay away from those places. She knew that they would
bring nothing but misfortune to her, because… Madam Tawona specialized in
causing people’s murders. Soon, I would be her client.

The building
was a basement in the middle of downtown Atlanta. Homeless men sat drinking
near the shop’s entrance, turning me off for a second, but not for long. Upon
arrival, and payment, Madam Tawona asked me 2 questions.

“Who you want
dead? How you want them to die?” He was a business partner. Nothing more,
nothing less.

“A man named
Albert Cole.” I paused and looked around her shop. “As for how, you seem…
creative, enough to come up with something.”

After we were
done, Madam Tawona wrote something on a piece of paper, put it into an
envelope, and said “Open when you want. Is how he dies.” I took the envelope
and drove home.

Three days
later, Albert broke into my house and emptied a handgun in my direction,
missing every shot. I ran like hell behind the nearest wall, then made a bee
line for my bedroom. There was a phone inside, I could call the police.

“I know about
the psychic; she told me everything!” Albert screamed madly.

I locked my
bedroom door, grabbed the phone, and called the cops. Out of ammunition, Albert
started kicking my door. The operator said that help would be there soon. Still
scared, I opened up the death letter, hoping to see ‘shot by police’ written
inside.

“Murder Suicide.”

Credits to: DvaCannotCrouch (story)

Length: Short

Madam Tawona wasn’t your ordinary Psychic. You wouldn’t find
her name in any phonebook, or the name of her shop on google maps. No, Madam
Tawona made certain to stay away from those places. She knew that they would
bring nothing but misfortune to her, because… Madam Tawona specialized in
causing people’s murders. Soon, I would be her client.

The building
was a basement in the middle of downtown Atlanta. Homeless men sat drinking
near the shop’s entrance, turning me off for a second, but not for long. Upon
arrival, and payment, Madam Tawona asked me 2 questions.

“Who you want
dead? How you want them to die?” He was a business partner. Nothing more,
nothing less.

“A man named
Albert Cole.” I paused and looked around her shop. “As for how, you seem…
creative, enough to come up with something.”

After we were
done, Madam Tawona wrote something on a piece of paper, put it into an
envelope, and said “Open when you want. Is how he dies.” I took the envelope
and drove home.

Three days
later, Albert broke into my house and emptied a handgun in my direction,
missing every shot. I ran like hell behind the nearest wall, then made a bee
line for my bedroom. There was a phone inside, I could call the police.

“I know about
the psychic; she told me everything!” Albert screamed madly.

I locked my
bedroom door, grabbed the phone, and called the cops. Out of ammunition, Albert
started kicking my door. The operator said that help would be there soon. Still
scared, I opened up the death letter, hoping to see ‘shot by police’ written
inside.

“Murder Suicide.”

Credits to: DvaCannotCrouch (story)

Length: Short

WARNING: This is an emergency message, broadcasting on all
frequencies. Please, follow the following instructions and act accordingly:

The scientific community has just
warned of the detection of a strange phenomenon that seems to be affecting the
population. The exact details are unknown for now, but it is known to cause
extreme alterations in personality. The first discoveries suggest that this
phenomenon is extended through the use of language.

Please follow the following
instructions and act accordingly:

  • If you are at home and live alone,
    close all doors and windows and disconnect all communication devices, such as
    telephones, radios or computers. Televisions must also be turned off at the end
    of this message.
  • If there are more people in the
    house, move away from each other as much as possible, with each person standing
    in a different room and cut off from the rest. DO NOT MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO
    COMMUNICATE WITH THE REST OF PEOPLE FROM YOUR ENVIRONMENT.
  • If you hear voices coming from
    outside, block the sounds IMMEDIATELY with everything you have at hand. Do not
    try to understand what the voices are saying. Do not try to communicate with
    the voices. Do not try to repeat what the voices say. Do not try to write what
    the voices say. We repeat: Do not try to understand what the voices are saying.
    Do not try to communicate with the voices. Do not try to repeat what the voices
    say. Do not try to write what the voices say.
  • Follow the instructions below and
    act accordingly. Follow the instructions below and act accordingly.
  • If you feel attracted to some type
    of written content, such as books, magazines and posters, move away as much as
    possible from the object. Do not try to read the object. Do not try to
    understand the content of the object. Do not try to understand the content of
    the object. Do not try to understand the content of the object.
  • If, in cases of urgency, you need to
    communicate in some way, keep alert if you notice any alteration in your words.
    Some of the symptoms detected so far are redundancy. Impossibility to
    understand what is being said. Repetition.

Please follow the instructions below
and act accordingly.

WARNING: This is an emergency message, broadcasting on all
frequencies. Please follow the instructions below and act accordingly.

Credits to: Yaru2585 (story)

Length: Short

WARNING: This is an emergency message, broadcasting on all
frequencies. Please, follow the following instructions and act accordingly:

The scientific community has just
warned of the detection of a strange phenomenon that seems to be affecting the
population. The exact details are unknown for now, but it is known to cause
extreme alterations in personality. The first discoveries suggest that this
phenomenon is extended through the use of language.

Please follow the following
instructions and act accordingly:

  • If you are at home and live alone,
    close all doors and windows and disconnect all communication devices, such as
    telephones, radios or computers. Televisions must also be turned off at the end
    of this message.
  • If there are more people in the
    house, move away from each other as much as possible, with each person standing
    in a different room and cut off from the rest. DO NOT MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO
    COMMUNICATE WITH THE REST OF PEOPLE FROM YOUR ENVIRONMENT.
  • If you hear voices coming from
    outside, block the sounds IMMEDIATELY with everything you have at hand. Do not
    try to understand what the voices are saying. Do not try to communicate with
    the voices. Do not try to repeat what the voices say. Do not try to write what
    the voices say. We repeat: Do not try to understand what the voices are saying.
    Do not try to communicate with the voices. Do not try to repeat what the voices
    say. Do not try to write what the voices say.
  • Follow the instructions below and
    act accordingly. Follow the instructions below and act accordingly.
  • If you feel attracted to some type
    of written content, such as books, magazines and posters, move away as much as
    possible from the object. Do not try to read the object. Do not try to
    understand the content of the object. Do not try to understand the content of
    the object. Do not try to understand the content of the object.
  • If, in cases of urgency, you need to
    communicate in some way, keep alert if you notice any alteration in your words.
    Some of the symptoms detected so far are redundancy. Impossibility to
    understand what is being said. Repetition.

Please follow the instructions below
and act accordingly.

WARNING: This is an emergency message, broadcasting on all
frequencies. Please follow the instructions below and act accordingly.

Credits to: Yaru2585 (story)

Length: Short

Could Thursdays be any worse? So close to the weekend, yet
so far. This day is dragging on and I keep getting email after email from
blithering idiots at corporate prattling on about “Our Mission” and
“Quality Improvement,” scheduling meetings right when I need to get
an important project finished.

As if right
on cue, I get a ding.

Attention Staff: We regretfully
inform you of the passing of Trevor Haverford yesterday evening. More details
will follow with a fund link for his surviving family.

Wait, what?
But I feel like I just saw Trevor this morning, his cheery self in the break
room smiling and inviting everyone to yet another BBQ. I stare at my inbox,
waiting for a follow-up saying it’s a prank.

Nothing.
Fuck. How could they announce this in an email? Alexis couldn’t come out and
talk to the office personally? Has anyone else checked their inbox?

Thankfully,
in walks Trevor with a cup of coffee. So this was just a prank. I wave him
over. “Hey, have you checked your email yet?”

“No,
why? Announcing another meeting?”

“Dude,
just read it.”

Trevor sighs
and turns to his computer. My heart pounds while waiting for his reaction.
After several seconds, I realize I’m holding my breath. I exhale and peer
around the wall.

“Trevor?”

“Hey
Sam, what the fuck is this? A sick joke?” He squeaks out weakly.

Before I
could answer, my computer dings again.

Attention Staff: The previous email
is retracted. Trevor Haverford is alive. Kelsey Langeley passed yesterday. More
details to come. Here is a link to a fund for her family
.

“Trevor,
check again. What is this?” I whisper. I don’t hear anyone else talking.
Has anyone else seen this? What is management doing?

The door
opens and in comes Alexis, accompanied by a police officer and a woman I
recognize from HR.

Alexis clears
her throat. “Everyone, may I please have your attention. The company is
under a cyber attack. The criminals are sending spyware emails to try and gain
access with links to funds claiming staff here is deceased. Please do not click
on the links or open any more emails.”

Oh, that
explains it.

Until my
email dings again. I quickly steal a glance while Alexis answers questions from
my coworkers.

Attention Staff: Alexis Williams is
part of a criminal attack on this company. Please cease to listen to her.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Please support
Kelsey’s family. There is no cyber attack. Please resume work duties. Ignore
Alexis.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Kelsey and Trevor
were murdered. These things are imposters. Please hurry to the nearest exit
without drawing their attention.

I inhale
sharply and look at Trevor. He’s staring at me, his eyes cold and empty of
their usual cheer.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Samantha Freudigman
is responsible for the attacks. She killed Trevor and Kelsey. Stop her from
leaving
.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Ignore Alexis. Stop
Samantha. Please donate to Kelsey
.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Run.

“Don’t
move.” Trevor whispers.

Ding.

Credits to: QueenSkittlez (story)

Length: Short

Could Thursdays be any worse? So close to the weekend, yet
so far. This day is dragging on and I keep getting email after email from
blithering idiots at corporate prattling on about “Our Mission” and
“Quality Improvement,” scheduling meetings right when I need to get
an important project finished.

As if right
on cue, I get a ding.

Attention Staff: We regretfully
inform you of the passing of Trevor Haverford yesterday evening. More details
will follow with a fund link for his surviving family.

Wait, what?
But I feel like I just saw Trevor this morning, his cheery self in the break
room smiling and inviting everyone to yet another BBQ. I stare at my inbox,
waiting for a follow-up saying it’s a prank.

Nothing.
Fuck. How could they announce this in an email? Alexis couldn’t come out and
talk to the office personally? Has anyone else checked their inbox?

Thankfully,
in walks Trevor with a cup of coffee. So this was just a prank. I wave him
over. “Hey, have you checked your email yet?”

“No,
why? Announcing another meeting?”

“Dude,
just read it.”

Trevor sighs
and turns to his computer. My heart pounds while waiting for his reaction.
After several seconds, I realize I’m holding my breath. I exhale and peer
around the wall.

“Trevor?”

“Hey
Sam, what the fuck is this? A sick joke?” He squeaks out weakly.

Before I
could answer, my computer dings again.

Attention Staff: The previous email
is retracted. Trevor Haverford is alive. Kelsey Langeley passed yesterday. More
details to come. Here is a link to a fund for her family
.

“Trevor,
check again. What is this?” I whisper. I don’t hear anyone else talking.
Has anyone else seen this? What is management doing?

The door
opens and in comes Alexis, accompanied by a police officer and a woman I
recognize from HR.

Alexis clears
her throat. “Everyone, may I please have your attention. The company is
under a cyber attack. The criminals are sending spyware emails to try and gain
access with links to funds claiming staff here is deceased. Please do not click
on the links or open any more emails.”

Oh, that
explains it.

Until my
email dings again. I quickly steal a glance while Alexis answers questions from
my coworkers.

Attention Staff: Alexis Williams is
part of a criminal attack on this company. Please cease to listen to her.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Please support
Kelsey’s family. There is no cyber attack. Please resume work duties. Ignore
Alexis.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Kelsey and Trevor
were murdered. These things are imposters. Please hurry to the nearest exit
without drawing their attention.

I inhale
sharply and look at Trevor. He’s staring at me, his eyes cold and empty of
their usual cheer.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Samantha Freudigman
is responsible for the attacks. She killed Trevor and Kelsey. Stop her from
leaving
.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Ignore Alexis. Stop
Samantha. Please donate to Kelsey
.

Ding.

Attention Staff: Run.

“Don’t
move.” Trevor whispers.

Ding.

Credits to: QueenSkittlez (story)

Length: Short

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM

Recently, my wife has started making
me hamburgers for dinner. And by that, I mean that she’s been making me
hamburgers almost every night for the past month. At first, I thought it was
kind of charming. Home-made hamburgers, home-made up to her grinding the beef
herself in a little grinder she bought some time ago but never had the chance
to really use. 

After the fourth night in a row of hamburgers, though, it
quickly stopped being quite so charming. I brought it up with her that eating
hamburgers this often can’t be healthy, but she simply waved my concern away,
telling me that she made sure to get the healthiest cuts of beef for us. Of
course, the plain fact of the matter was that, after two weeks of eating
nothing but hamburgers had passed, I was getting very, very tired
of it.

Regardless,
though, my wife seemed to enjoy it. She was discovering new and creative ways
to make the hamburgers every night, and even if I got tired of it after a short
while, she at least managed to make each hamburger dinner different in smaller
or in larger ways. I couldn’t deny that it was pretty good tasting meat, too,
so it at least had that going for it. Even though I had my issues with it,
then, I let my wife make hamburgers as much as she pleased, especially since I
hadn’t seen her this excited for something she was doing in quite a long time.

I
should get something out of the way right now, though. For as long as I’ve
known my wife – going on about five years now – I’ve never seen her get
seriously injured. She might slice her finger while chopping vegetables, or she
might bang her arm or leg against something really hard, but I’ve never seen
any real sign of those things having happened an hour or two afterwards. She
always puts a bandage or some kind of ice compression pad on the injury, of
course, but I’ve always found it strange how I can’t see any cut or bruisers by
the end of the day.

By
the time I get home from work, the hamburgers are usually already made – if not
the whole meal, then the patty itself is formed up and cooking on the grill. I managed
to get off work early, today, and I decided to come home and surprise my wife,
and maybe help her out with the dinner if I could. After all, it wasn’t fair
that she had to make the hamburgers all by herself every night, and maybe if I
helped cook them, I could learn to love them as much as she did, herself.

I
think you might see where this is going, by now.

Since
I wanted to surprise her, I made sure to park my car a few houses down the road
so that she wouldn’t hear me pull into the driveway. I quietly walked up to the
house, and peeked in through one of the front windows that looks side-long into
the kitchen. As I did, I saw something that made my stomach churn, and it took
every ounce of self-control I had to not hurl right there on the lawn.

My
wife was shoving her own hand and lower arm into the meat grinder, barely
wincing as her flesh was ground into strings of meat that strung themselves out
onto the plate in front of the grinder. Blood splattered up a bit, but it
looked like she had some sort of towels or something to keep it from flying all
over the place. I suppose I would have suspected something the first night if I
came back to my kitchen covered in blood. 

Either way, I watched in horror as
she continued to push her limb into the machine, losing more and more of her
body as she went. Eventually, she pulled her arm out, and what I saw next was,
perhaps, even more horrifying. Right there, before my eyes, her arm started to
grow back. In less than a minute, everything was right back to what I was used
to: A perfectly normal arm and hand, not looking at all like it had just been
put through a meat grinder. And yet, the ground “beef” was still
there on the plate, the “beef” that I knew would be cooked up into
the hamburgers both her and myself would eat later on for dinner.

I
must have stepped on a branch or something, because my wife twirled around to
look through the window in my direction. I think that I had managed to duck out
of the way quickly enough that she didn’t see me, but I didn’t take any
chances, and quickly retreated back to my car. I drove the opposite way from my
house, figuring that I could take refuge at a coffee shop or some such until
the time that I normally get back home.

I’m
so confused. I want to believe that maybe I was just imagining it. That maybe
she was just putting normal cow meat into the grinder, and I just couldn’t see
properly at the angle I was looking in from. But her arm. Her hand. I saw them,
missing, a bloody, mutilated stump where the grinder had stopped. And I saw
them grow back, grow back and looking like nothing had ever happened. It must
have happened. There’s no way it didn’t. The image was too vivid, too ingrained
in my head for it to not have been real.

It’s
been about an hour now. I’m supposed to be back for dinner soon. I’m not sure
that I can eat those hamburgers tonight.

At the same time, though, I’m
worried about my wife. I don’t want her to think that I don’t like her cooking.

Credits to: MissBrainProblems (story)

Length: Short

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM

Recently, my wife has started making
me hamburgers for dinner. And by that, I mean that she’s been making me
hamburgers almost every night for the past month. At first, I thought it was
kind of charming. Home-made hamburgers, home-made up to her grinding the beef
herself in a little grinder she bought some time ago but never had the chance
to really use. 

After the fourth night in a row of hamburgers, though, it
quickly stopped being quite so charming. I brought it up with her that eating
hamburgers this often can’t be healthy, but she simply waved my concern away,
telling me that she made sure to get the healthiest cuts of beef for us. Of
course, the plain fact of the matter was that, after two weeks of eating
nothing but hamburgers had passed, I was getting very, very tired
of it.

Regardless,
though, my wife seemed to enjoy it. She was discovering new and creative ways
to make the hamburgers every night, and even if I got tired of it after a short
while, she at least managed to make each hamburger dinner different in smaller
or in larger ways. I couldn’t deny that it was pretty good tasting meat, too,
so it at least had that going for it. Even though I had my issues with it,
then, I let my wife make hamburgers as much as she pleased, especially since I
hadn’t seen her this excited for something she was doing in quite a long time.

I
should get something out of the way right now, though. For as long as I’ve
known my wife – going on about five years now – I’ve never seen her get
seriously injured. She might slice her finger while chopping vegetables, or she
might bang her arm or leg against something really hard, but I’ve never seen
any real sign of those things having happened an hour or two afterwards. She
always puts a bandage or some kind of ice compression pad on the injury, of
course, but I’ve always found it strange how I can’t see any cut or bruisers by
the end of the day.

By
the time I get home from work, the hamburgers are usually already made – if not
the whole meal, then the patty itself is formed up and cooking on the grill. I managed
to get off work early, today, and I decided to come home and surprise my wife,
and maybe help her out with the dinner if I could. After all, it wasn’t fair
that she had to make the hamburgers all by herself every night, and maybe if I
helped cook them, I could learn to love them as much as she did, herself.

I
think you might see where this is going, by now.

Since
I wanted to surprise her, I made sure to park my car a few houses down the road
so that she wouldn’t hear me pull into the driveway. I quietly walked up to the
house, and peeked in through one of the front windows that looks side-long into
the kitchen. As I did, I saw something that made my stomach churn, and it took
every ounce of self-control I had to not hurl right there on the lawn.

My
wife was shoving her own hand and lower arm into the meat grinder, barely
wincing as her flesh was ground into strings of meat that strung themselves out
onto the plate in front of the grinder. Blood splattered up a bit, but it
looked like she had some sort of towels or something to keep it from flying all
over the place. I suppose I would have suspected something the first night if I
came back to my kitchen covered in blood. 

Either way, I watched in horror as
she continued to push her limb into the machine, losing more and more of her
body as she went. Eventually, she pulled her arm out, and what I saw next was,
perhaps, even more horrifying. Right there, before my eyes, her arm started to
grow back. In less than a minute, everything was right back to what I was used
to: A perfectly normal arm and hand, not looking at all like it had just been
put through a meat grinder. And yet, the ground “beef” was still
there on the plate, the “beef” that I knew would be cooked up into
the hamburgers both her and myself would eat later on for dinner.

I
must have stepped on a branch or something, because my wife twirled around to
look through the window in my direction. I think that I had managed to duck out
of the way quickly enough that she didn’t see me, but I didn’t take any
chances, and quickly retreated back to my car. I drove the opposite way from my
house, figuring that I could take refuge at a coffee shop or some such until
the time that I normally get back home.

I’m
so confused. I want to believe that maybe I was just imagining it. That maybe
she was just putting normal cow meat into the grinder, and I just couldn’t see
properly at the angle I was looking in from. But her arm. Her hand. I saw them,
missing, a bloody, mutilated stump where the grinder had stopped. And I saw
them grow back, grow back and looking like nothing had ever happened. It must
have happened. There’s no way it didn’t. The image was too vivid, too ingrained
in my head for it to not have been real.

It’s
been about an hour now. I’m supposed to be back for dinner soon. I’m not sure
that I can eat those hamburgers tonight.

At the same time, though, I’m
worried about my wife. I don’t want her to think that I don’t like her cooking.

Credits to: MissBrainProblems (story)