's 2018 Horror Write-off:


Submitted by Grimtalon

               The camera wobbled as it was set on the ground.  The show host’s disquieting laughter still echoed, though he was off-screen.  “Eh heh heh heh…” He walked back into the shot, a rope in hand. “It’s true, folks…heh heh heh…the ghosts are very real.”  He limbered up his arm and tossed the rope high above, over a rafter…

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               …and as the moon rose, he felt himself twisting, changing, becoming something no longer human, something unnatural…

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               … “No, you fool!  Not the drain!”

               But it was too late, and the viscous fluid had already splashed into the water and began to bubble and grow…

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               I’m running out.

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               Item #: SCP-12539

               Object Class: Keter

               Special Containment Procedures:  SCP-12539 is to be kept in Section [REDACTED] of Site [REDACTED].  All personnel within 5 km must wear full hazardous material protective gear at all times.  Within 2.5 km, the addition of…

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               I have to keep going.

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               … and though I followed these tracks from one sunrise to the next, never did I grow closer to the beast who could have created such impressions, such polypous protuberances as it used for locomotion being unseen by one who would count himself as sane; and yet I must follow…

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               I have to write.

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               … “but you didn’t come here for the coffee, now did you, sweetie?”

               Her voice was like a drug.  I felt myself losing what control I had.  I made myself focus on those teeth, those fangs of hers.  If I slipped too far, she was sure to get me…

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               I hate it all, but I have to write.

               I shove the keyboard away, lean my elbows on the desk and my head into my hands.  I’m shaking. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

               But I have to keep going.

               I walk into the bathroom to check.  The thing is there, wobbling in the bathtub.  I can’t focus on it for very long, as it shifts and blurs and changes.  I feel my mind going if I watch. Sometimes it kind of looks like an octopus, sometimes a frog, sometimes a mobius strip.

               While I stand there, it reaches one (arm? tentacle?) out and drags it across the detritus on the floor.  Bits of book covers are scattered like confetti. It plucks a piece of a Peter Straub cover, carries it to its (mouth? orifice? pore?) and dissolves it.

               I’ve given it every book I could.  Every horror paperback I could find at the thrift store.  Every old EC comic I had collected. Every single creepypasta I could print.  All the posts on r/nosleep, all the weird tumblr comments, all the SCPs, everything creepy or horrifying or spooky, and it needs more.

               I have to keep writing.

               I can’t let this poor baby starve.