# October 2015 - LM - Eyes in the Dark



## kilroy214 (Oct 1, 2015)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS
*
*Eyes in the Dark*​
The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.  

This is a Fiction writing competition, and the prompt is 'Eyes in the Dark.' Pick your own title, write about whatever you want, as long as it's related in some way to the prompt. 

 The Judges for this round are: *bazz cargo*, *Arthur G. Mustard*, *amsawtel**l*, and *kilroy214*
 If you want to judge and I left you out, send me your scores by the deadline. If you're listed here and don't wish to judge, let me know at once (please).

 All entries that wish to retain their first rights should post in the LM Workshop Thread.

 All Judges scores will be PMed to kilroy214. 

All anonymous entries will be PMed to kilroy214.


*Rules*





*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges. Play the prose-poem game at your own risk.
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
*Only one entry per member.*
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word is the standard for checking this. If you are unsure of the wordcount and don't have Word, please send your story to me and I'll check it for you.




*There are a few ways to post your entry:*





If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *Workshop* which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.


Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score. Please refrain from 'like'-ing or 'lol'-ing an entry until the scores are posted.

Judges: In the tradition of LM competitions of yore, if you could send the scores one week after deadline it will ensure a timely release of scores and minimize the overall implementation of porkforking. Please see the *Judging Guidelines* if you have questions. Following the suggested formatting will be much appreciated, too. 

*This competition will close on:*

Thursday, the 15th of October at 11:59 PM, GMT time. 

Scores would be appreciated by Sunday, the 25th of October. 

Click here for the current time.


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## Mr mitchell (Oct 5, 2015)

*The Man And His Dark Eyes *​
When she was young Abby got told to never allow a stranger into her home as a nightmare began with a smile. That night, all alone  with her only child in bed, she opened the door as she heard a frightful knock. Abby saw a man under the scope of the darkness and recognised none of him. In his eyes which were bulging in a lack of light in them as purposely more like the evening sky.


Abby looked around in a notion of madness as to say that why was he here as he stood in the frosted cold as his feet on her welcome mat as his eyes met hers She finally asked, "Why are you on my doorstep?" Her pained expression fell in a lukewarm and inquisitional  glare on her face as she noticed the man gave a stare in return. The whole thing was so unkind that was a cave  that shouted black and cold in them as if the lights went out.

"Look, I came to give you some advice," he said with his eyes still focused. 

"I don’t think I need advice from the likes from you." She knew that people like him polluted like a sip of poison where you drank so much that everything became black, left her in a daze.

In a frail of hopelessness stood alone, she stayed where she was. She had heard stories that there was this stranger was coming into people’s home, being kind, warm until the stranger turned to reveal the true meaning of who he was. 

"You will have to let me explain myself." His smile lit his face up as her separatism shone like a illumination of light. She knew he was serious and she had to let it him in so she moved to the side. He nodded his appreciation as he walked past her. The room felt a breezy like there was a wind pushing passed his face.  settled into the black sofa "So come on then? You said you need to give some advice."

"I supposed I did. You know the stranger that have been rooming around this city and knocking off young vulnerable women with kids in the last two weeks?"

"I’ve heard those stories, yes. Why?"    

"Have you ever thought about those kids who lost their mums? It would riled me if I was you," he said, grinning. She looked like a broken picture that teared up into little pieces, and went white. "Doesn’t he make your skin crawl? It would for me. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen"

She started to realised that she hasn’t been a good host toward him, the abdication of the lack of drinks had must made him think she was rude. "Sorry, do you want a cuppa?"

He brushed her apology away. "It’s fine. Yes please, madam." 

She gone to make him and and her a cuppa in a shrill of whiteness  in the kitchen that caught the gentlemen's eye. Eyes. After she started to boil the  kettle, she heard a sound of heavy breathing like a flutter but in those kind and innocent eyes, the look of destruction and infidelity crossed his mind. It was  all the victims were pregnant not by their husband or boyfriends, but their lovers who waited naked by the bed. "When you were expecting your girl, was it your bloke or your lover?"

"This made Abby dropped her head in shock and turned around to face him. "What? It was my partner’s."
"That man knew all his victim’s secrets. And I know you cheated," he answered as he charged at her and He wrapped his arms around her tight. Shut her eyes as she felt his dirty, foul breath on her neck.
_
This is why you don’t open your door to strangers because you normally end up dead._


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## Harper J. Cole (Oct 6, 2015)

*Last Survivor (649 words)*

How long have I been in here? Three days? More? Too long.

But I can’t risk moving. Not yet.

My home is a metal storage cabinet, four feet wide, two deep and two high. Its surface is uneven; an awkward bump has been jabbing into my right thigh from the minute I crawled in here. Perhaps if I turned onto my other side I’d be more comfortable, but there’s no room in here for that; I’d have to get out, and that I dare not do. Not to stretch my aching legs, not to find the food I crave.

Perhaps I should have played the hero and died trying to save Carter.

The creature dropped right between us as we cowered in the engine room, arguing over our next move in faltering whispers. Pure luck that it was facing him instead of me as it slithered out of the vent. I hadn’t seen it up close for several days – it had been horrible enough then, but it was a nightmare now. Writhing tentacles, a bloated back oozing thick yellow slime, wickedly curved claws protruding from rents in the tortured flesh. A terrible stench of decay, and that screech as it seized Carter ... filled with pain and loathing …

It’s hard to believe that it was once human.

The deck thrums for several seconds, shaking the cabinet. That’s perfectly normal: automated engine recalibration, a computer-controlled process, all part of the ninety minute cycle. The vibrations jolt my swirling thoughts into some sort of order.

I’m dying, of course. Of hunger. Of thirst. There’s no way I can last until the rescue team gets here, if I stay huddled where I am. I need to move, and I will, soon. I just need to wait a little longer, make sure it’s absolutely safe …

No! No more putting it off. I haven’t heard the creature for hours; I have to move now. Now, or I never will at all. I know exactly what I need to do. Engine overload. If I’m quick and efficient, it shouldn’t take much more than five minutes. The ship will be destroyed; they’ll be no risk of that thing getting loose on the rescue ship.

Carter’s screams echo in my mind … he called my name as I crawled out of engineering and left him to his fate. Crawled like a worm.

No more cowardice. I reach out and push the door before my face. It catches for a moment, then swings outward with a creak that echoes like a thunderclap to my straining ears. I freeze, heart pounding, but there’s no answering sound.

There’s not much to see, either. The emergency lighting must have failed while I hid. Fortunately, the engine room has a separate system; a faint radiance is coming from my left. Dead opposite: a corridor, thirty feet long but little more than an empty black maw to my eyes. I see a faint shape amidst the darkness, but it’s just a bundle of wires hanging from the ceiling. That’s been there since Anderson’s ill-fated plan to kill the beast.

I reach an arm through the door, lean my head out. I’m not twelve feet from the engine room door. I can do this. Shifting my weight forwards, I glance up one more time.

My stomach lurches.

There are two faint points of light at the far end of the corridor. An exposed circuit board?

Or something else …

I ease slowly back inside, trembling fingers pulling the door shut once more. I wait for a screech of triumph, for the monster to drag me from my hiding place and end my misery. But there’s only silence.

I settle into my familiar position, terrible images of what it might now look like flashing unbidden through my mind. I know I’ll have to try again.

But I can’t risk moving. Not yet.


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## Arthur G. Mustard (Oct 7, 2015)

*The Devil`s Powder (443 words). Mild content/adult themes.*

*The Devil`s Powder*​ 
The unmistakable ships of the Red Hakor of the East were plain for all to see, as the scattering of drifting clouds were not enough to hide the full moon. Camp fires burnt along the sand, the cold crisp, winter`s air mixed with the strange scents of the foreign invaders and weapons of siege could be seen as they were unloaded.
 
Lomax watched from the walls of CastleTallas. Stood alongside his father, the twenty year old archer would soon taste his first battle. His people had lived here and defended their lands for over five hundred years. Spies had told of this threat from the East and these strangers at the gate were no surprise.
 
Older warriors spoke of the nearing dawn and many agreed the attack would come with the first rays of sun. How wrong they were.
 
Drums pounded, like a heartbeat, becoming faster as the adrenalin rushed. Long silver horns sounded, screaming and screeching through every single door and window in the castle. Hell itself called, telling of the slaughter to come.
 
Burning sticks were put to strange devices they did not know. Roaring like an angry god, they unleashed their relentless destruction. Walls shattered and exploded. People screamed. Wide eyed, they fled in panic. Fire raged, licking buildings and people once safe in the mighty castle.
 
Arrows were unleashed, but did little.Brave warriors rode out on trusted war chargers but the hell fire consumed them, bringing about inhuman screams and the scent of burning flesh. Startled cattle broke loose, causing a stampede and frightened children desperately sought the safe arms of parents.
 
Tall, athletic warriors approached and little resistance was offered. Leather slingshots were whipped above their heads and more of the devil`s hell was quickly released as small pots took flight; exploding on impact, fire now raged and roared in all directions.
 
As the main gate belched open in a mixture of fire, smoke and splinters, mounted warriors followed along with battle hungry foot soldiers. Steel sliced and reddened as the culling began;young, old, men, women, it didn`t matter, none were spared.
 
Lomax looked up at the night sky and remembered his people. His father had been consumed by the flames, which now rampaged throughout the castle, and the cold steel of the Hakor had cut him down.
 
His heartbeat slowed and vision blurred.Screams became less and were replaced with shouts of victory. Lomax had tasted his first and last battle under a night sky. The black powder, the devil`spowder had reduced his people to ash. He had seen all, his eyes had seen all in the dark.


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## kbsmith (Oct 7, 2015)

*Eyes in the Dark*

[FONT=&Verdana]Little by little the wallpaper peels off the walls. In flakes and burnt crisps, revealing little bouquets of flowers on the walls underneath. He stands and runs to the bathroom, grabs his shaving razor. He lunges across the room again to the wall, slides the razor up and across it. Little flakes of red curl up, peeling in tears under pressure of the razor. 

"What is this?!" he shaves the paper.
"These walls should be red! What are these flowers?" he peels the paper until it's clear, only flowers remain. Stacks of blood-red shreds on the floors at his feet.

---

He awakens by the light of streets below, high up on fortieth floor. The windows are vast and crystal clear with lines drawn across them in red sharpie marker. The cityscape expands behind red lettered words like blaspheme: graffiti over masterpiece painting. He lay motionless on soft carpet in a boardroom, reading the message:[/FONT]

  YOU WILL SUFFER MOST

  He shakes his head, rubs his eyes. A genuine nausea has him doubled over in fear. He sprays a silky handkerchief with cleaner; scrubs the words from off the reinforced window. _Someone will see them! They will be terrified!_

  ---

  [FONT=&Verdana]He is driving to work in his small, red Mercedes. He clicks his blinker on and changes lanes. The clouds above are dark and threatening, he continues on to dinner. He reaches the place he desired to eat, but has lost his appetite. He does not stop the car but drives on, as rain begins to fall.

The rain pours so hard and in such large drops that he cannot see where he is going. The windshield wipers work as hard as they can, but they do not clear his sight fast enough. He hits a long, deep puddle much too fast; the car hydroplanes.[/FONT]
  [FONT=&Verdana]
“Oh my god! I’ve lost control!” he barrels off the road.[/FONT]

  ---

  He sits in a psychologist’s office. A piece of paper printed out before him, pencil in his hand.

  “Tell me who Joby is:” softly in a soothing voice.

  He writes feverishly, scribbling, trying to get every word out and onto paper before they are gone somewhere else. Every letter is a chip away from his madness. He is nearly finished, runs an eye across the piece. _Oh no! That makes no sense! _

  [FONT=&Verdana]He erases the words. He scrubs at the words. He wants the words to exist no more.

“Joby, are you ok?”[/FONT]

  ---

  He stares at a mirror. He is not looking at himself; he is looking at a mirror. He takes a towel to his face, and scrubs it hard. It rubs raw. It peels. It burns as he scrubs the skin from his face, friction heat and bloody chunks rolled up like dough.

  He stares at the mirror. Tears run through blood to drop into the sink a thick, sweaty red. He blinks, a flash: in the brightness, he sees himself. He hits his head with all force against the mirror, glass shards in fleshless, gnarled muscle. _Make it go away!_

  ---

  “I think the only solution that I have,” he grips a knife in hand, “is to gouge out my own eyes.” 
  [FONT=&Verdana]
He raises the knife up high above him, ceremonious shouts and tears of virtue. He buries the blade in his face, removing both eyes from their sockets.
“With this, I cleanse those words that have rained a filthy red across the flowered walls and windows of this city! I erase those words forever from my own reflection!”[/FONT]
  [FONT=&Verdana]
Pain so much to bear, he convulses, collapsing to the ground. Blinded, he gropes the darkness: 

“What’s this! Two eyes look back at me!”
“Ever brighter they shine; two eyes in the dark! 
Woe as me! Let me die!”​ 
To his dismay, and mine, those ‘eyes’ in the dark were headlights, and he no longer waits for death.[/FONT]


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## rcallaci (Oct 8, 2015)

*Into the Abyss does Darkness Fall (650 Words)  - language warning-*

Into the Abyss does Darkness Fall 

In the pitch black night I stare into that empty void. I see nothing but the wild imaginings of my mind. The unblinking eyes of those that I damned, killed, maimed, raped and accused, watch me as I squirm in my boots waiting for madness to fall. Those hideous eyes--- that plague me in the dark, sees through the façade that is my life, judge me wanting, and sentence me to swim beside them in the burning rivers of hell. I leap off the cliff and wait to meet my doom… 

As I fall into the abyss and wait for its emptiness’ to consume me the ghosts and demons of my past wrap me in their arms and sing me their wrenched lullaby-

time to suffer-
time to cry-
you will turn and twist
forever in the winds~
while choking on your pitiful sins​
I scream--- but only the dead hear me. I choke on my own vomit, as I fall into the valley of darkness, where total madness swallows me whole… 

……​
I wake up screaming in sheets all drenched in my sweat and piss. I smell of vomit as pieces of it, trickles and drips off my chin. I’m a fucking mess; the nightmares are getting worse and more frequent. They’re so vivid, so real. What the hell is happening to me? I’m afraid to go to sleep, but that’s all I seem to be doing. When I’m awake, I get myself into a drunken stupor so I don’t have to think about those nightmares. I’m beginning to think that those dreams may be real and that monster in it--- is me. No, no, no, no, it’s just a series of nightmares, nothing more; my imagination is getting the better of me. I’m just a middle-aged janitor who works in a rundown old school, not some megalomaniac solder monk leaping to his doom. I grab the bottle of gin on my night table with shaking hands and empty it into my parched mouth. As I drift in and out of my stupor, I can’t help but wonder if I’m in hell or not…

…….​
I drift in and out of madness as I fall deeper into the pits of hell, but I have no abiding fear of it. Madness and reality are just two sides of the same coin. Both of them are perceived with different lenses and their varying tints, and each one shows us the various truths and lies that lie within them. I will embrace them both, and swim in its murky waters.   

I overcome my doubts and fears, and overpower those ghosts and demons that pursue me. I pluck out and chew on those eyes in the dark that judge me. I am alive in the world of dreams and dead in the reality that I made, as the Great Rootermage of the Holy Root. I break through the veil that separates us between multi-realities and dreams, madness and sanity, and learn to navigate safely through its treacherous paths. I have become the Over-Mind and Overlord of all the dead and living lives that I occupy in this multi-universe.

….​
Get out of my head, please, please; get the fuck out of my head. You can’t be real, get out, you’re not me- I’m me. What, what, yes, yes, I hear you, what choice do I have. I’ve become as crazy as a loon, so why fight the inevitable. Darkness is knocking at my door, time to let it in.

The nightmares have stopped and I now know who and what I am. I’ve quit my job as a janitor and now offer my services as a medium and demon hunter. I now see and talk to the dead and always listen to the voice in my head. The End Times are upon us, and I’m a soldier of the apocalypse---Hear Me Roar…


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## EmmaSohan (Oct 8, 2015)

EYES IN THE DARK

(language)


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## Teb (Oct 9, 2015)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ark-Workshop?p=1919370&viewfull=1#post1919370


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## J Anfinson (Oct 10, 2015)

*Eyes (618 words-Adult Content)*


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## Bard_Daniel (Oct 11, 2015)

*Eyes in the Dark (643 Words)*

Adrian and Melanie looked at each other. In their moment, they shared a lifetime. Beneath the lamplight they were almost together as one. Melanie's long soft blonde hair fluttered in the breeze and Adrian's clean-cut face, outlining his sharp Roman features, shimmered in the limelight of the night. Yet, there was a deep groove in the center of the evening, a sharp jagged knife that pierced through night and unfolded it, like a disturbing picture-book.

   "Is everything ready?" Adrian asked.

   "Yes," she answered with a sway of her head. She dug her thumbs into her jeans. "It's complete."

   "Well," he said, running his fingers through his thinning hair. "Now we wait."

   Melanie held their sign. It read: *Homeless. Headed for Colorado. *

   They waited. Adrian still had his father's watch, the one possession that he would part with. Every so often he would look at it, as if he was sure of a certain time that someone would pick them up, even though the watch was broken. Adrian paced back and forward in front of the streetlight Melanie kept track of the time by counting in her head. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into an hour and soon after Melanie stopped counting. 

   The vehicle that stopped was an old Ford pick-up truck. Behind the wheel was a mountain of a man wearing striped white and red long-sleeved t-shirt. He had dark brown eyes and glasses that made him appear, if only a little, less intimidating.

   "I'm going to Colorado. I'll give you a lift," the man said. They both got in. It was a tight fit. The truck was only designed for two people.

   They drove for quite some time without there being any talk. Adrian and Melanie went over the plans they had made in their heads. Their thinking was quite similar. First, they would wait until they were on a quiet stretch of highway. After that, Melanie would fake having to go to the bathroom to make the driver pull over. From there, Adrian was going to take out the knife he had and make the driver fork over his possessions. They would drive the truck to the nearest pit-stop and then abandon it, dissolving into the shadows near whatever town they were close to. They needed to fuel their drug habit and they were running out of options. To rob the driver seemed, at the time, like the reasonable thing to do.

   When it was dark all around on the highway Melanie made her play. The driver began to pull by the side of the road and when he did so Adrian put his hand, perhaps a bit too quickly, into his windbreaker.

   "You know," the driver said when Melanie opened the door. "I used to be in the army." 

   Melanie dissipated into the shadows as the door closed. Adrian hesitated.

   "They used to ship me out to all these places. Some exotic even. Peacekeeping missions, they called it..."

   Adrian still had his hand inside his coat but he did not move.

   "I still remember this one time we were surrounded by sand. Almost by nothingness. It was a dark night, darker than tonight, and it was deathly silent... like it is now. But, all around us, it was like there was eyes. Eyes in the dark... whispering things that we could not hear but that we could see. Sometimes..." he looked directly at Adrian now. "I still see them at night. Sometimes, I can almost hear the whispers of the eyes in the dark."

   Adrian dropped his hand to his side, defeated. Melanie came back a few minutes later and entered without saying anything.

   The two, when the driver stopped at the next pit-stop, disappeared and the driver did not bother looking for them. It was only later on that he found the knife lying, inert, on the passenger seat.


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## kilroy214 (Oct 11, 2015)

*Anonymous entry*

Sex, lies and a Word from our Sponsor


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## ppsage (Oct 12, 2015)

Honey Pot


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## kilroy214 (Oct 12, 2015)

*Anonymous Entry*

Homecoming


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## Crypt (Oct 13, 2015)

*The Truth. (Language, 649 Words)*

Dr.Loomis,

    I wish I could see your face when you discover I've written a journal. I've been at White Pines for 30 years, and never once picked up this book to write, despite the constant urging to do so. Your predecessor Dr.Quinn badgered me for years to record my thoughts, but I always resisted. You stopped trying much sooner, and I was grateful when you did. A journal is a private thing, and I knew these were anything but. Most of the other crazies are aware of your snooping too. Such a deceptive way to gain insight into your patients, Doctor.

When I first arrived here I was a very troubled young man. I was insane. I hated everyone, and my forced incarceration kept me from my work, which was incredibly important to me back then. I never would've guessed that a simple assault charge would become a court ordered committal, and once I was here Dr.Quinn was smart enough to keep me. I tried for years to trick her into releasing me, but she recognized the ruse for what it was.  

I can be deceptive too, Sam. Almost everything I told you in our sessions was a lie. My father didn't abuse me. My mother wasn't a drug addict. I never had a dog named Boots, or a dead friend named Lee. That was all bullshit.        

 The truth is that my problem--the big one--is not a psychiatric one, and is therefore beyond your ability to repair.

The truth is that I am haunted.

It happens at night.
I'll be laying there at lights out, and my eyes will take some time to adjust to the dark, and then sooner or later, they'll appear. Seven sets of eyes, suspended in the darkness beside my bed. Staring. Their varying heights and colors leave no doubt that they belong to seven different people. Their bodies are only shadows, barely distinguishable. The eyes, however, are as clear as day. Even in the dark. As though they were illuminated from within.

Despite what you're thinking, they are not hallucinations. I thought the same at first, but ruled that out years ago. The schizo meds had no effect.
They are real.

They're always in the same side-by-side order. Their names are David, Betty, Darlene, Cecelia, Cheri, Donna and Paul. I don't know how I know that; I just do. I think they might have told me somehow, though they've never spoken.
Their eyes say plenty.
They hate me.
Viciously.

I've tried everything.
Questioning. Anger. Pleading.
And there's never any response. Just seven icy, unblinking glares. They're in my dreams too, though I never really remember those. And I don’t want to.

This has been happening every night for the past 30 years.

I suppose that I kept this secret because I deserved it. The terror that plagues me nightly is a form of penance. I know that now.

I am an old and tired man, and tonight I'll do what they've silently demanded from the beginning. Don't view this as a failure on your part, Sam. You're a good doctor. The other nutcases really like you. And despite my deceptions, I've enjoyed our conversations.  

I want to be cremated.   

You'll find all the evidence you need in the house that I lived in before White Cliff. The address is in my file. Buried in the dirt, directly under the window on the west basement wall. More than enough there to confirm it. When the reporters call, tell them everything. Hell, write a book. Make some money. At least somebody will profit from this fucked up life of mine.

Let them know that the last 30 years of my life were filled with regret, and horror, and that I did not go unpunished.

Let them know that I died a better person than my younger self.

The one they called Zodiac.


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## Riptide (Oct 13, 2015)

*Lingering Love (489)
*
It hurt. It hurt more, and more, and more, and as Jul watched with growing forlorn, it hurt even more. Him, the love of her life, leaving her. She let her gaze wander on his suitcase, then to his deep frown. His eyebrows drew together, irises light blue muddled and murky searching the empty house and its empty rooms.

“I'm sorry, Jul. I really am,” he said. His eyes latched on to hers and he closed them with a heavy inhale. “Bye.” On his exhale he picked up his belongings and left out the front door.

Jul reached for him, but she was too late. The car rumbled to life and he vanished into the growing fog of her dismay. She waited for who knows how long. A draft whistled through the rotting house. Cobwebs draped from the corners like Halloween decorations, and Jul sat in her corner. What was she now? Could she move on? Was it a possibility?

Her body screamed no. Her mind echoed her doom. She sniffled, and whined, and curled tighter into a ball. He wouldn't come back. Not for her.
Jul shivered as the world around her dimmed. Mold grew under the plaster. Damp air hung in every breath she took. Was this it? Her hurt and alone forever with no peace?

Standing on shaking legs, Jul moved to the front door. The threshold had crumbled. Outside her driveway was cracked. The edges of the perimeter wavered in and out. She sighed and leaned into the door, or what was left of it. The tree they had grown together had already died. Her roses wilted in a mesh of brown thorns. She took a tentative step forward. The grass at feet enveloped her toes in mud. Gunky, dark mud. She kept going until she reached the end of her driveway. Waving her fingers through the black void at the end, a gash opened for her. Below Jul, people moseyed to and from places, shoes slapping against spotless pavement, cellphones close to their ears, and suits crisp and tailored just right.

There, in the face of the crowd was the love of her life. She watched him weave through groups of people. His eyes were downcast because of the sun, his lips in constant motion into a cellphone. Jul's heart fluttered and she clutched her chest. Her love was out there. Plopping in front of her gash she watched. He entered a home, hung up his tie, and called out. A woman scampered to him and they embraced. Jul smiled. He had left her years ago after she had died. Now he had found happiness. The sadness from watching him leave their house, leave their lingering love, vanished. He was happy, and she understood finally that she was never meant to complete him. As she watched from the shadows like two peering eyes in the dark, she could finally accept her death and move on.


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## M. Cull (Oct 14, 2015)

*The Discovery (650 words, slightly disturbing)*

*The Discovery (650 words)*

“The darkness speaks to me. And I have ears to hear its words.” 

Emma Rayne blinked. She glanced at her husband John. “Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?” She looked back at the old man who’d rasped the disturbing words at them. He stood, bent and broken-looking, in the darkest corner of the room, whispering softly to himself.

“There’s no other way to get there.” John was scribbling away furiously on a small notepad.  “And, if my calculations here are correct…” He paused, craning his neck to look out the window into the inky night. “Tonight is our best chance.”

Emma turned her gaze back on the old, broken man, who seemed to be trying to crunch himself into the darkest place he could find in the featureless room. He hated light. 

“All right, honey, let’s do this,” John said, snapping his notebook shut and pulling out his phone. “Say goodbye to the rest of the world,” he said as he powered it down. “From here, the honorable Nihilus Gloame will be our only guide.” 

The troubling old man whirled and bared his teeth. “You must not speak my name in the light! You must not!” His forehead was weirdly perforated with a circular pattern of two dozen pencil-sized holes. Not for the first time Emma thought he should be bleeding, but he did not.

Emma inched closer to her husband. “Let’s get this over with.”

Nihilus suddenly stiffened. 

The single light bulb in the room exploded. Darkness swallowed them. A chill raced down Emma’s back.
_
“Yes!”_ Nihilus exulted. “Come! I take you to _deep places!”_

An instant later, Emma felt a rope being thrust into her hands.

“Here we go,” John muttered. 

Vertigo overwhelmed them, and Emma  found herself holding on for dear life as she tumbled madly through oblivion.
_
“John! JOHN!”_ she shouted. Her only answer was a growing pressure against her chest. Pain. She began screaming. 

Then the world straightened. In spite of some remaining vertigo, Emma she realized where they must be. Excitement overtook her. 

“John! Are you OK?” Emma whispered. 

“I’m fine, honey.” John’s voice came to her through the complete blackness. “Emma, do you realize where we are?”

“Yes!” Emma’s whispered breathlessly. “I think I do!” Anticipation rang within her.

Not a lot of people were looking for Atlantis anymore. But Emma and her husband would soon show the world and its doubters. They would see. Everyone would-

The rope in Emma’s hands abruptly gave a furious tug, and she was suddenly hurtling along behind Nihilus. He was screaming, _“Master takes them, master breaks them, master 
takes them, master breaks them!” _

“Let go of the rope, Emma! Let him go!” It was John. Emma didn’t need to be convinced. She opened her fists, then stumbled to a halt on the dusty floor, her husband seeming close behind. 

“Flashlight… get your flashlight out, Emma.”

“But Nihilus…the light-” 

“Nihilus is…” John began, but then stopped. “Wait. Listen.” 

Emma did. 

“John…” she whispered.  “John, it’s too quiet.” Fear suddenly boiled inside her. _Something was wrong._

“Nihilus?” Echoes met silence. 

Fingers trembling, Emma’s hands flipped the switch on the flashlight. 

Nothing happened. 

“Master takes them.” A strident whisper into both her ears at once. Emma screamed. 

The flashlight suddenly turned on, revealing Nihulus. Behind him, an upside-down forest of corpses, all swaying in unison. Behind the broken old man who had been their eyes in 
the darkness, four more exactly like him stood. And together, they spoke. 

“Master breaks them.” 

 Emma and John felt their necks snap within them. All control, all feeling left Emma’s body, and she crumpled to the ground, the flashlight clattering to the floor. In her last moments of life, before joining the aberrant forest, Emma saw Nihilus’s face bend near, the holes in his forehead weirdly shaded. Emma saw something shift within them. 

“Some things were never meant to be found.”


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## Smith (Oct 14, 2015)

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...es-in-the-Dark-Workshop?p=1915275#post1915275


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## joshybo (Oct 15, 2015)

*
Like You (597 words)
by joshybo*​​


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## Ibb (Oct 15, 2015)

*We're All In This Together / 650 / Bad Words, Occasionally / Awesome, Consistently*

 It’s the sort of thing you never expect to happen until it does―that’s my take, anyway. Seems everyone’s inclined to nursing their own. Regardless, I imagine the initial effect―something smooth and blunt pressing into your lower back, followed by someone’s seemingly muffled voice telling you not to move―results in most people the same. You’re not scared at first; only surprised. Then you understand what’s against your back and why the voice sounds muffled. Everyone has their own take; I figure everyone has their own way of handling themselves.

Here’s how I handled it.

I didn’t speak. My hands went up. I was still leaned forward halfway into the backseat of my wagon. He told me to stand straight and I asked him with the same deference I’d give a cop if I could please step backwards to do so. 

“Do it slowly,” he said. 

Then I was upright. My hands remained up. I waited.

“Get away from the car.”

“Which way?” 

He stepped in front of me then; the ski mask looked like something picked up out of a Wal-Mart. I know nothing about guns, their makers, calibers, grips or other anatomical jargon. His was silver and looked like a toy. He waved me backwards with it, guiding me to the rear end of the vehicle. 

“Don’t move.”

He peered into the backseat. There was a duffle bag and, besides it, a nondescript black backpack. Laid across the length of the seat was a flatscreen LG, which I had been laying on its back when the gun pressed my spine. He ordered me back towards him. 

“Slowly,” he said. Then, “Take the bags out.”

I laid them on the asphalt. 

“Open them.” 

Inside the duffle bag was an assortment of folded clothes. In the backpack: a notebook, paper, a pen.

“That’s all you fucking got?”

“That’s all.”

“Turn around.”

I turned around. 

“Drop your wallet.”

I dropped it onto the pavement and kicked it backwards with my heel. I could hear his knees crack as he knelt to retrieve it; a slow, difficult breathing as he knelt. A few seconds passed. There were no lights in the parking lot save the distant luminescence of street-lights bordering the main road. I watched the sky; a cloud crept slowly before the gaze of the moon. 

The wallet landed a few inches right of my foot.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. It was almost a whimper. “God dammit.”   

After a while he said, “Count down from 60, then turn around.”

“Okay.”

“If you turn around before then, I’ll shoot you.”

“Okay.”

“Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I understand,” I said.  

Then I turned around. I figure you never know how good you are at something―never know just how attuned an affinity you might possess―until you’ve tried it. There’s intuition involved; instinct. Maybe luck or maybe fate. He was half-turned, saw me and pivoted. 

“Hey―” 

“That gun,” I said. 

He lifted it suddenly. “Man, what the _fuck_―”

“It’s fake, isn’t it?”

“_I said I’ll fucking shoot―” _

We landed in the leaves. They rustled, flurried, spread. Everything was new again. I struggled between breaths to stifle my excitement, for I’ve always had a nervous laughter and kept giggling, pushing away at his hands. I could smell his sweat and my own. 

_The chair, held by its spine, shatters against the wall. Tremors roll through the fingers upwards into the palms and arms. The legs break apart, rebound and spiral to opposite ends of the room._

_ Audria is screaming. _

Later, after I had dragged him into the nearby wood and covered him under leaves, I returned and found the gun besides the car. I’d forgotten all about it. Afraid to set it off, knowing nothing of its machinations, I picked it up and turned it slowly in my hands. 

I was surprised; it had some heft.

    I think it might have even been real.


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## godofwine (Oct 15, 2015)

Glowing Eyes by Godofwine (650 words)


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