The Stare

He would always stare at the same house every time we walk past it. It was as if he’s waiting for someone inside to acknowledge his presence. Questions of confusion always seem to arise as I walked behind him. Why is he staring? What motive does he have by doing this? Would those that live in the house think that he’s a stalker waiting for the right moment to strike? Is there something special about that particular house that intrigues him? Or is he simply staring at it out of pure want or desire? If that’s true, then it’s the weirdest desire I have ever seen and I know desire. I’m friends with the Devil after all.

One afternoon, I decided to take a stroll around the neighbourhood sans powers. As I turned the corner, I saw him walking ahead, his head turned as he stared intently at the house. When he disappeared from sight, I made my way toward the house, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. The house doesn’t look like much, with it’s faded yellow paint and a roof covered with moss. The yard was covered with weed and wildflowers, and some small shrubs along the edge. Raising a befuddled eyebrow, I once again attempted to deduce the reason why the mystery person takes pleasure in staring at the structure every time he passes by. Changing back to my normal self, I let my curiosity take charge, leading me toward the residence.

I raised a hand to knock on the white, wooden door. A shave and a haircut. I then waited for a few minutes, thinking that whoever’s inside will come to answer the door. After a short while, I remained standing outside, my Pegasus wings outstretched behind me. Coming to the conclusion that no one is home, I turned on my heel and walked back along the narrow pathway toward the sidewalk. Just as I was about to step on the sidewalk, the door of the house opened, and an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch. She appeared hagged and her clothes were starting to fall apart at the seams. The only striking feature about her is her light blue eyes that appeared unseeing.

“Hello,” I said, turning around to face the woman. “My name is Asanashia Renoir, I live around here.” The woman looked me up and down and said in a gravelly voice, “What’s a girl like you doing in this part of the neighbourhood?” Feeling like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar, I explained to the woman that I’ve seen a strange man walk past her house and he would often stare at it as he was walking past.

“Oh, him,” the woman said with a hint of recognition. “He’s my son. Though it’s odd that you would see him.” At her words, my mind became more confused than it ever had. “What do you mean?” I asked. The old woman then said, “My son has passed away for many years, I guess that he missed me and wants to come home but can’t because the dead cannot interact with the living.” My eyes widened as I absorbed her words. I saw a fucking ghost.


Vampiric Verification

Oh, my Goddess. I bloody hit send. This is officially the worst mistake of my entire immortal life. How could I hit send without checking things over first?!


“Time to see what is on in the wonderful world of television,” I said, flopping down onto the couch with the remote in my hand. I pressed the power button to turn it on and when the screen lit up, a local news anchor appeared. She began rattling off various news stories when one of the headlines caught my eye: Mutant Vampires Are Real.

My eyes went wide as panic coursed through my veins. Holy crap on a frigging cracker, what have I done?! Turning up the volume, I listened intently to the news report, my heart racing wildly in my chest. “There had been a strange sighting near the park this morning when a couple of joggers saw what appeared to be a 6’7” female with cat ears on the top of her head. Large angel-like wings protruded from its back. The creature was startled by the joggers as it tried to take flight. The latter recalled seeing a pair of white fangs as they described the encounter to the police officer that arrived shortly after.” A photo then popped up on the top left-hand corner of the screen and I could see the outline of what the witnesses had said, a tall female with cat ears and wings. Fuck.

I barely heard the rest of the report as the news anchor continued on. “Some are saying that it’s like something out of the X-Men movies while others say that it’s an entirely new species of humans. If the latter is to be believed, then are these genetically enhanced creatures real? How long have they been secretly living among us? Do they have powers? Are they good or bad? We will hear from Dr. Kentin, the leading expert on the supernatural, after this short break.” A commercial for a famous makeup brand then came on the screen, but I paid it no mind as I turned off the TV.

“They saw me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “They fucking saw me!” My Pegasus wings wrapped around me as if to offer comfort. I put my face in my hands as I groaned in exasperation and self-loathing. I was always careful about exposing my true form when interacting with humans. Whenever I go out, I would conceal my features with a spell that made me appear more human. “I have to figure out a way to reverse this,” I said, getting up from the couch and made a beeline for my bedroom.

I then quickly typed an email to Lucy, telling her to collect on a few of her favours at the news station in Las Vegas. I explained as much as I could about my family history so that Lucy can do some damage control before things really get out of hand. I skimmed over it and hit the “send” button. I then realized moments later that I didn’t send the electronic missive to Lucy but to Dr. Kentin, a scientist at the university who’s bent on proving that creatures like me really do exist. A loud dinging sound snapped me out of my reverie as I picked up my phone. Notifications were appearing one after the other as people tweeted about the news report. Shutting off the device, I threw it onto the other side of the couch and put my face in my hands again. Looks like I won’t be leaving the house for a while.

Soul Pumpkin

Jaqueline has always been an artist. Her parents often said that her artistic ability is a God-given gift. She often painted, drew and sometimes carved things out of wood or soapstone, but she never attempted to carve a pumpkin.

“It looks weird,” she said with a pout. “What do you mean? It looks great!” Her sister exclaimed, unable to tear her eyes away from the orange gourd. “It’s like it reflects your soul!” Her sister whispered, still mesmerized by the jack-o-lantern. Jaqueline let out a small sigh before picking up the pumpkin. “I’ll just go put this outside.” She said, pushing the backyard door open with her left hand, her right balancing the pumpkin.

Once she got the door open, she set the jack-o-lantern down and before she turned to go back inside, she paused to look at the thing she had just spent hours creating. Two hollow almond-shaped eyes stared back at her with two thin eyebrows above them. A small isosceles nose and a wide, jagged smile completed the design. I suppose it’s alright for a jack-o-lantern. Jaqueline mused. Though it’s not exactly my best work. She thought critically as she turned and went inside the house.

“Hey, do you think I could take another look at that pumpkin again?” Her sister asked a few minutes later. Raising a confused eyebrow, Jaqueline replied, “Sure, I guess you can, but it’s just a jack-o-lantern. I’ll throw it out once Halloween is over.” Her sister let out a loud gasp. “Tell me you did not just say that!” At this, Jaqueline’s eyes widened as she tried to comprehend her sister’s outburst.

“What’s gotten into you, Mary-Anne? It’s just a face carved onto a pumpkin! Why are you getting so worked up over it?” Mary-Anne huffed and said, “It’s not ‘just a face carved onto a pumpkin’ Jackie!” She shouted. “It’s an artistic masterpiece that expresses the very essence of your identity and personality!” Mary-Anne finished, hoping that her younger sister would see her point.

“Alright, I’m not going to argue with you,” Jaqueline said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “If you say it’s an expression of my identity and personality, then that’s what it is.” Mary-Anne smiled widely, content that her sister agrees with her. “I’m going to get more decorations from the attic and then we can really start putting some Halloween flair in this place!” Mary-Anne said excitedly.

After her sister left, Jaqueline stared at the medium-sized pumpkin that she had bought a few days before, the words from the sister’s conversation replaying in her mind. “I suppose it does reflect me in some way. I did carve it after all.” Just then, the pumpkin began to glow and the scary visage morphed into an exact likeness of Jaqueline. The latter stared at it, her eyes round like saucers. Then something happened that made Jaqueline fall onto the carpeted floor with a thud. The pumpkin spoke in a voice that sounded like her own: “Your sister’s right.”

Left In Pieces

He didn’t know what came over him. I suppose you can say that after the first time he did it, a thrill surged through him, making him feel things that he had never felt before. He then did it again and again, each time with different people. Though the task is always repetitive, he didn’t seem to mind as he revelled in the pure adrenaline and the sheer pleasure of it all.

People often gave him weird looks or avoided him altogether because of what he does, but he doesn’t care. If no one will bring him before a judge and jury, he can do whatever the heck he wants. He could even get away with murder if he wanted to and no one will be the wiser. That, my dear readers, is exactly the thing that he is planning to do.

He’s always had the urge to take a life. No matter if it’s animal, insect or human. If the impulse arises, then he will act on it, no questions asked. If he could tell you the number of kills that he has, he would, though that might take a while because it’s a really long list. Trust me, your eyes will go wide with complete and utter shock if you knew how many people and living things that he had brutally murdered.

One night, he was at it again. This time, it was a family of four in a small town near a large city. He told the father that he was driving from one city to another and couldn’t find a motel. The father, unsuspecting of his motives, generously offered that he could sleep on the couch for the night and can continue his journey in the morning. He thanked the father profusely for his kind heart and entered the house. Later, when the entire family was asleep, he got up from the couch-bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. Finding a meat cleaver in the drawer, he went up the stairs to claim his victims.

First, he went into the children’s room and quickly ended their little lives. He almost didn’t go through with it as he gazed upon their angelic sleeping faces. He then dismembered the bodies and left the kids’ bedroom, making his way into the masters where Mom and Dad are. The wife died first with a swift chop to her neck and the husband met the same unfortunate end. He then dismembered each of their bodies, sending blood splatters all over the walls and ceiling.

When he was done, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and went back downstairs. Opening the fridge, he took out a bottle of ice cold beer and opened it, taking large gulps of the light amber liquid. Just then, he saw a little girl standing in the doorway, her eyes large and innocent, laced with a hint of fear. An evil sneer appeared on his bloodied face and asked, “Do you want to be chopped up into pieces, Little Girl?”

The girl didn’t answer right away, instead, she stared at him with two lifeless ocean blue orbs. “I’m already in pieces,” she said in a soft voice. “That’s what you did when you killed me.” As soon as the last word fell from her lips, the man screamed as though he had gone insane, dropping the bottle of beer onto the hardwood floor with a loud clang. Suddenly, he stopped screaming and picked up the meat cleaver as if he was in a hypnotic trance and started hacking away at himself until he too is left in pieces.

The Red Postbox

There’s a story about a dedicated mailman who delivers letters to everyone in town. He would take them from a bright red post box and carefully put the letters in his large leather bag. Then he’ll walk down street after street, hand-delivering the missives to their intended recipients. It wasn’t until his mysterious death a few months later into the new year that people stopped getting their mail delivered by him. 

One sunny afternoon, a new postman came to collect the letters from the red post box. He was a strapping young man fresh out of high school. Figuring he could earn a few bucks during the summer holidays, he applied for a position at the local post office. The young man opened the post box with a master key that the post office had given him. When he unlocked it, he was shocked to find it empty.

I’m the only person that has the key to the post box. He thought, trying to deduce what happened. Unless someone broke into the post box, there’s no way for them to get the letters inside. Closing the door of the post box, the young postman left the town to head back to the post office to see what else he could do before his shift is over.

The same thing happened over the next few days. The postman would discover that the post box is empty and he still had no idea who’s responsible for taking the letters. “I have to get to the bottom of this or else I would lose my job.” The young man decided after shutting the post box door. As he made the journey back to the post office, a plan began to form in his mind.

That night, while everyone had gone home, the young postman quietly walked down the sidewalk along his designated route. He then stopped dead in his tracks and hid behind a wall, slowly peering out to see what’s going on. There, opening the post box is another mailman. It was too dark to see what he looked like but the encounter made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The young man then waited until the other postman had gone before emerging from his hiding spot and walked in the direction of home.

When he told his supervisor what he saw last night, the supervisor then proceeded to tell the young postman the story of his precursor. “It is said that after he passed away he still comes back to town delivering letters to all the residents like he did when he was alive.” A chill ran down the young man’s spine as the supervisor went off to deal with other important things. Still frozen from the shock, the young postman held on to his letter bag as if his life depended on it, thinking to himself that he will never work at the post office ever again.

Behind the Wheel

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. That the late hours that he had been pulling at work had finally caught up to him. The woman standing at the edge of the sidewalk was wearing a beautiful light pink sundress and her hair was blowing in the late afternoon wind. He couldn’t see her face as it was hidden underneath her straw hat but he is sure that she is a sight to behold. Snapping out of his reverie, he stopped beside the woman and asked if she needed a ride anywhere.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she said. “Thank you, kind sir, for helping a lady in need.” A surge of pride rose from within him as he gave the woman a charming smile. “Anything for a pretty lady.” He said before unlocking the passenger side door for her. The woman gracefully got into the car and buckled her seatbelt. He then pulled out from the curb and after driving a few blocks, he turned to the woman beside him. “So where are you headed?” Silence met his inquiry as the woman stared straight ahead. Figuring he’ll try again later, he continued to drive until he was outside city limits. When he turned to ask the woman where he should drop her off, he stomped on the brake so hard, he lurched forward. The lady was gone and he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out where she went.

Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared in front of his car, only this time, her straw hat had disappeared. Staring at him is a slim, hourglass-figured woman with flowing dark brown hair and half of her face was badly burnt. His eyes went as wide as saucers, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The woman smiled beautifully at him, well, with as much beauty as a woman with half a face could, in gratitude. He could have sworn he heard her whisper “Thank you” before fading into the wind, leaving him in the middle of the empty highway. A few minutes went by before he managed to pull himself together. Making a U-Turn, he drove straight back into the city with one destination in mind: a bar filled with alcohol.