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Weekly Contest #377
My name is Ceasar Finch, and I’ve been dead for eighty-three years. I’ve lived happily in the old Victorian house on Sycamore Lane. Well, technically I died there, and then continued living there in a less heartbeat-oriented fashion. The house belonged to me, then my son, then my granddaughter, then my great-granddaughter, and now apparently to my great-grandson. His name was Mark. The day he arrived with his family; I watched from the upstairs landing. “Look at this place!” he said, carrying boxes through the front door. “Four bedrooms, ori...
Weekly Contest #365
I wasn’t supposed to hear the rumor. I wasn’t snooping, eavesdropping, or lurking like some hallway cryptid. My locker, like everything else in my life, was refusing to cooperate as I tried to open it. The lock jammed, refusing to turn. The tug I gave it resulted in it becoming stuck. I yanked with all my might, and the metal door responded with a groan, like a malfunctioning automaton. Suddenly, a distant, unfamiliar sound caught my attention. “Did you hear?” Jenna whispered, her voice so low it sounded like the opening narration of a susp...
Weekly Contest #307
I should have known something was off the moment I stepped into the exam room at Hawkins University. This science laboratory was not the usual sterile classroom. The walls were damp stone, glistening faintly with moisture. Heavy black curtains blocked any trace of sunlight, while the weak, flickering lights overhead seemed powered by a failing generator. In the center of the room stood a single desk and chair, accompanied by an obsidian-black headset resting ominously on the desktop. I could feel a strange flutter to my heart as my nerves w...
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