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Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #6

Happy Saturday, Spookies!

Today's post marks the sixth month of the scary writing prompt game, and I have a special announcement to make in honor of the fact that there are actually participants (lol!) I had an inkling this feature would be fun, but I really had no idea how awesome and enthusiastic many of you would be, so to thank you all I've decided that from this round out, the names of all participants will be collected for a big draw at the end of the year.

The three randomly selected winners of the drawing will receive special spooky prize packages courtesy of yours truly! (If you want to post anonymously, no problem! Only named entries will be included for the drawing at the end of the year.) I will still be featuring snippets from my favorite entries each month, but that doesn't have any effect on the draw. Hooray!

So, without further ado, 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.

Last month's question asked participants what their favorite type of horror was, and the overwhelming response seemed to be that psychological horror takes the cake amongst our Spookies. I absolutely loved Robin Moran's comment about the Blair Witch Project in particular-- I had never considered it a psychological horror, but Robin's assessment sure gives an interesting and equally terrifying take on the movie:

"My favourite psychological horror film has to be The Blair Witch Project. There's no explanation as to whether the events were due to something paranormal or whether there was a murderer in the woods. The film focuses on the students increasing fears. Maybe their growing insanity?"


This week's prompt:

Describe the scariest dream you have ever had. 

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).

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  1. A awoke with a start. I swear, if my little sister woke me up one more time! “For the last, time, there are no ghosts in our closet!” I said, or I would have said if I didn’t scream instead. A massive jaguar stood on her bed, ripping her flesh open with its teeth. There was blood. A lot of blood. I ran from my bedroom, tripping on the Barbie doll corvette. I scrambled to my feet, but the jaguar didn’t care about me. It had already found its prey.

    I fled to my brother’s bedroom, screaming, “Jacob! Help! You’ve got to help!” I would find no help there, because there was already no help for Jacob. A gorilla was propped over him. When it turned towards me, I only had time to see its matted and reddened fur before flinging myself out of Jacob’s room.

    My parents were no better off. Two large jaguars were tearing into their bodies. I ran. I needed to find help. I opened the front door of the house. A rhinoceros barreled down at me. It lowered its head. Just before the point of its horn met my chest, I woke up (for real, this time).

  2. I'm in my own home, alone and everything normal. But then I start to notice strange little things. The creak of a door opening. Patter of footsteps above me. But why are these things happening? I'm the only one here.

    A door swings open and even though I don't see anyone or anything standing there something clicks in my mind. Something *is* there, invisible, and it's here for me. I can sense it coming closer and I don't wait for it to appear. I try to run but it's a chore to move my legs fast enough. They feel like bricks and I'm desperately reaching for the front door but I'm moving so slowly. If I could just get out... Sometimes I can't even run. I fall and suddenly it's like I'm glued in place, trapped and unable to move. Sometimes it's a monster, sometimes it's a ghost. But every time I have this nightmare it's heading straight towards me.

    Fortunately I don't have this nightmare anymore but when I was kid I was plagued by this dream!

  3. I had several bizarre dreams as a child, but one that sticks clearly in my mind now topped them all. One night I dreamed I was at home and in the downstair's bathroom. It's a tiny room with a commode, a sink and a window. Just five feet beyond the bathroom's door was the backdoor leading into the garage (which we used regularly instead of the frontdoor). I'm sitting in the bathroom, no longer using it but not yet gone, when two men walk by the window. I don't recognize them, but I know that they're dangerous. I think to warn my family that they are coming, but I can't get up. I can't move and my voice has left me. I hear the backdoor burst open and my family comes scrambling in screaming and running through the house. The buzz of a chainsaw passes and my little sister screams. I'm afraid and I'm praying, but I still can't open the door. I can't do anything except listen. Once all is quiet I wake up.

    I had that dream twice in the same week, but it wasn't as scary the second time because I knew how it would go and that there was nothing I could do to change it. And here's where it gets weird.

    That morning after the second dream, I was downstairs playing by myself. Everyone else was outside. I suddenly got the urge to pee really bad, and had to use the downstairs bathroom because it was closest. I didn't think of the dream again, though, until I was through and sitting; staring out the window. I shuddered at the memory, but no one walked by. I was ready to leave but hadn't gone yet. I felt it wasn't time so I kept looking out the window. That's when the backdoor burst open and my family came scrambling inside. Someone yelled, "Run! Run! Get down!" as something buzzed past and my little sister screamed. There was thudding and screaming and scrambling down the hall. I couldn't help anyone. It wasn't that I was afraid, but that I knew it was not my place to open the bathroom door. I didn't move or speak because I didn't in my dreams and felt I wasn't supposed to, but I prayed and I worried. The screaming went on and on. After things died down, I slowly emerged.

    No killers had gotten in or anything. Come to find out, everyone was running from a wasp. But it was a wasp none of us (even our dad, who'd lived in those country backwoods all his life) had never seen anything like it. It was black like a dirt-dauber but built like a red wasp and 3 inches long at minimum. So big that I had heard the buzzing of its wings when it flew by the bathroom. I saw its body after the fact, still trying to sting in death. If I'd come out of the bathroom, I would have been stung. I was never the fastest kid and was of the kind to resign to death rather than fight. It was by God's grace I stayed in that bathroom. No one was harmed.

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    The room is dark and cramped as I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The four of us are sharing two beds; the two others are on a bed to the left, the beds pushed together, nearly touching but slightly lower. I shift to my side towards them, a man and a woman, thinking they are asleep but he is awake and staring at me as the woman sleeps with a wide smile on his face. Is he taunting me ? I thought, as he laid his hand on the woman's shoulder, eyes still frozen on mine, glaring at me, as if to mock me, saying look who I am with and how pathetic are you that you are not ? Eyes still locked on mine, he pushes on the woman's shoulder, rolling her slowly towards me as I uncomfortably back away. He keeps pushing her, rolling her, inching her closer and closer as I bump into the person behind me. The woman is completely limp as he rolls her; It's impossible to tell if the woman was just sound asleep or dead. I shot up and scrambled off the bed, staring at the woman, at the man, as he rose from the bed, eyes still locked on mine.

    Although you couldn't really tell where "he" was looking anymore. His face was featureless, like it was mangled off and then smoothed out, reconstructed using whatever flesh was left to fill the holes. The demon, as it would have to be described, dashed towards me, whipping around me faster than I can see, as I stumble backwards and fall into the bathroom, quickly slamming the door shut as the demon wails and screams, throwing things at the door. On the bathroom counter were knives, more akin to cutlery than hunting and a loaded gun with a single bullet in it. A little girl was huddled in the corner, shaking. What is a little girl doing here ? I thought as I told her to stay here and hide. I grabbed the knives from the counter and swung open the door, throwing them quickly and ducking back into the bathroom as the demon threw a barrage of broken furniture and debris. I picked up the gun and fired it, quickly discarding it and retreated back into the bathroom. The demon stumbles around; his shrieking and wailing turning into a horrifying moan. I grabbed the last knife on the counter and stepped out of the bathroom. The demon is standing in the middle, the others unmoved in their beds motionless, holding his stomach as blood poured from the wound, knife sticking out of him. The room started to turn; Horrible shimmering flesh grew from the bookcase, encasing it, as it shifted and squirmed and pulsed. It was pulsating fast, like it was reacting to the demon's pain, still struggling to stay standing. I plunge the knife into the flesh and rip through it, cutting downward, spilling fluids and liquids and awfulness onto the floor. The demon screams again and flies towards the adjacent door, like he was being sucked out, slamming into it and liquefying into the same flesh as the bookcase, spreading to the floor and ceiling, encasing the door. I stumble towards the middle of the room and let out a sigh of relief, when an old woman's voice, a horrible, raspy voice, rang in my head. "You better get away," she said. I dive away as the demon flies out from behind me, just missing me. The demon quickly turns around, and I feel myself stopping, hanging completely frozen a few feet above the ground. "Too late," the old woman's says, as the demon flies around the room, getting faster and faster with each pass while I stay frozen unable to talk, unable to move, unable to scream. I quickly close my eyes as the demon flies into me, my body unmoved, as he digs into my stomach; eating me, consuming me, possibly just trying to get through me, digging to the other. The shrill voice of the old woman taunts me to open my eyes, to see the demon wrack my spine as it splinters and breaks apart. Her voice rambles on but all I can feel and comprehend is the pain, her words utterly lost to it. All there is now is the pain.


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Item Reviewed: Writing Horror: Scary Writing Prompt Game #6 Rating: 5 Reviewed By: Amy Lukavics