's 2018 Horror Write-off:


Submitted by Jac R. B.

"I grow tired of this body."

Many years ago in a small house on a hill there lived a man.

Or perhaps they were not a man, they could not decide anymore, not that they could be bothered to think about it.

Theyve been alive longer than anything else. Before anything they stood and watched.

Alone. Watching.

They watched men and women grow to meet him and wilt and rot away.

It tore at him, but soon it did so less.

He watched as the world rose and fell around him.

He did not care, he knew it would continue.

He was just tired.

Then the day came when the first child arrived.

They entered, uninvited. A protrusion and agitator of rule in his boring world of seclusion.

He had only one thing to say.

"I grow tired of this body."

He told a child who came to meet him, barely paying them any attention.

"Please, take my eyes. See the world for its truths."

And without any further words from either the man gave the child his eyes.

They left without words, and they saw the true machinations of the world.

They saw the inner workings of the thoughts of man and beast alike.

They used this to their advantage.

They became rich, powerful.


As the once Child acquired more they saw those around them as little more than possessions to be used as they pleased.

They were blind to what really mattered in life, and so they withered away.


The man in the little house on the hill simply sighed.

"I grow tired of this Body."

And to a second child he might not have even noticed had they not stumbled on the way in, addressed him clumsily.

He quickly requested silence and uttered only half heartedly,

"Take my hand. May it hold your future."

The child who stumbled took it, understanding.

With it, they paved their path in life easily.

With it they seized every opportunity, they took everything by the hand.

But the man, in his rush to be rid of himself had forgotten to give The hand that gives, and so the child could only take.

They took from those who they knew and loved.

Used them until there was nothing left and moved on.

They took every opportunity.

They took and took until there was nothing left and no one would give.

And so they withered away.


The man in the little house on the hill simply sighed.

"I Grow Tired of this Body."

The last child coldly darkened his door.

He might not have noticed had this not let in such a nasty draft.

The last one addressed him calmly, Coldly.

He was slow to quiet them, and he simply said,

"Take my Heart, i have nothing else to give. May it warm you forever more."

And so the last one cradled it gently.

From then on they were quick to warm to people.

They knew how to speak with kindness and tact.

They were a warm spot in a cold room to whom everyone came around.

They attracted so many cold people.

The last one did their best, but they did not understand.

You shouldnt set yourself ablaze to keep others warm.

This is what did it, their heart shattered, in cinders.

They felt such a great pain as others used them, and they let them because they cared.

And yet, The cinders still burnt.

The shattered heart still beat.

It was this that made the man pause.

He had not felt such a thing before, though his heart was no longer his, he still felt it.

He felt it shattered to pieces, grown back twisted and crooked, but still warm, still beating.

And so for the first time in none knows how long he left his chair, and sought out the last child.

They were broken, and hurting.

It did not take eyes to see this.

They needed Help.

And so he gave them his hand.

Their heart was broken.

And he told them it was not their burden alone anymore.