Latest News

Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #4

Happy Saturday, Spookies!

Welcome to another round of the scary writing prompt game. Again, here's how it works: I'll announce the prompt, then you guys post a 1-2 paragraph response in the comment section. At the beginning of each round, I'll share my favorite bit from the previous week's entries before announcing the next prompt.

So last week's entries were awesome, just as I suspected they would be. Reading through them was a serious blast and I loved seeing where you guys took poor, poor Todd in his quest to get away from (or conquer) the creepy woman outside on the field. The entry that caught my eye with its creepy descriptions and morbid ending was written by an anonymous participant.

Great job, Anonymous!

My favorite snippet from Anon's entry:

"The door slowly opened. Todd lowered his arms, unshielding his eyes and gazed upon the woman. Her bare feet were dried and bloodied, her dress unkempt and rotting. Her throat was cut wide open, a large ragged wound trickling black blood down onto her dress. She coughed, making that horrible gurgling sound, as blood gushed from the wound down onto the wooden floor..."

Eeep! Love those descriptions! Who's ready for found four!?

Without further ado...

Today's prompt is:

Explain the nature of the creepy graveyard pool. What is it? What does it do?

Originally from

Release the Hellhounds!
Amy Lukavics

Amy lurks within the forested mountains of Arizona. When she isn't reading or writing creepy stories, she enjoys cooking, crafting, and playing games across many platforms. She is the author of Daughters Unto Devils (Harlequin Teen 2015) and The Women In The Walls (Harlequin Teen 2016).

Posts by Amy

website twitter instagram tumblr

  • Blogger Comments
  • Facebook Comments


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. I wandered through a forest of gravestones, some depicting avenging angels with upthrust swords, others simple steeples pointing toward the heavens. At the edge of the cemetery was the reflecting pool, its surface still as glass. I bent down and splashed my face with the cool, clear water.

    Grasping blindly at the hem of my shirt to wipe my face, I open my eyes, and my reflection stares at me through a blur of wet lashes. But it isn't me. The children in the water wear clothes from a hundred years past -- they're staring at me and smiling -- and thick rivulets of blood begin to seep between their lips and dribble down their chins...

  3. "You're right," said Josh. "That is seriously weird." He waved his arm. The first reflection followed his movements; the second simply stared up out of the water. "It's got to be some kind of, you know, illusion."

    "There's nothing special in there, though. I've looked."

    Josh glanced at the rows of tombstones behind them. "Other people have seen this too?"

    "Yes. People say the second reflection is supposedly you at the moment of your death."

    "Come on, man, this is freaky enough already," said Josh. "Anyway, that doesn't make sense: my second reflection isn't any older, and he's wearing the same clothes as I am right now."

    "Yes," he said, as he drew something from his pocket. "It's funny how often that happens."

  4. I AM BLOWN AWAY RIGHT NOW. Wickedly excited to read more! Frankie and

  5. “Here, let me show you,” she said.

    She held onto my arm and led me to the water’s edge. The sky pooled grey in the water below, deep and dangerous. I looked back at her, afraid of its depths.

    “Don’t worry,” she soothed, tightening her grip. “I’ve got you.”

    I relaxed a little. Her grip was firm upon my arm. There was no way I could slip and fall. I closed my eyes and reopened them, calming myself before I could finally manage words. “I—I don’t see anything.”

    “You’ll have to look closer.”

    I leaned over the pool’s embankment, but still, I could see nothing more than our reflections in the murk.

    “Lean farther. I will hold you.”

    Her fingers dug into my flesh until the skin under her grasp was white and pulsed with each heartbeat.

    “I don’t think I can,” I told her.

    “No, you can.”

    I nodded. She was right. I could. She tightened her grip once more. I allowed her to counterbalance my weight, and I leaned over the embankment and into the water below.

  6. The little girl fussed with her dress and shuffled her feet; she couldn't hold still. This was dreadfully boring she thought to herself as her mother softly held her hand, listening to the preacher man give his sermon. The preacher man went on and on as the girl fidgeted and squirmed. She pulled her hand from her mother's, an act that would go unnoticed, and went back down the grassy hill towards the large reflecting pool sitting at the bottom.

    She slowly strolled over, staring at the cold shallow reflecting pool, the water calm. She stood at the edge, staring down into her own reflection, staring back into her eyes. She can hear her mother now; crying as the preacher man is getting on with his wisdoms and sayings. She doesn't see the Other's eyes staring back into hers, her cold, dead eyes, fixated on her eyes, vibrant, alive. The little girl fussed with her dress as she stood there, thinking about her wailing mother. She stared at herself, her reflection in the pool, not HER'S of course, she thought to herself; her reflection.

    "Just one now," she said as she cracked a little smile.

  7. “We enjoyed your singing,” says Celia, cuddling her cat as we sneak away from the funeral.

    “Thank you. You and your cat have great taste.” I chuckle and pat her cat’s head when we arrive at a circular pool beside two gravestones carved with Celia’s family name.

    Celia glances behind her shoulder then shrugs. I notice that she’s been doing this for the past half hour as if someone is following us. But there’s no one around.

    “What a beautiful pool,” I say, walking towards the edge.

    “It was made for mother when she died,” she says. I nod remembering how Celia survived a mysterious accident that killed her family.

    I look at the water and notice something odd.

    “I don’t have a reflection,” I say. I swallow and take a step back.

    “It only reflects those mother loved in life,” says Celia. She glances over her shoulder again. “We appreciate you coming here with us.”

    I reach over so that I can pet her cat again.

    “Thank you both - “ I stop. The cat is no longer in her arms. At the corner of my eye, I see it dashing off behind a tree leaving us alone.

    “We like your perfume,” Celia says, smiling.


    Then I notice her reflection on the water. But there is another reflection hovering beside Celia’s - identical to her’s except there’s a black hood on her head. As if her head is scratched out by black ink.

    “Who’s that?” I whisper. My breath catches as the hooded head in the reflection turns in my direction.

    “That’s my twin - she’s always with me.” She looks over her right shoulder as if there is someone there. “She died suffocating. Like this- ”

    Everything turns black.


Comments are moderated on posts two weeks old or more -- please send us a tweet if yours needs approval!

Item Reviewed: Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #4 Rating: 5 Reviewed By: Amy Lukavics