Horror Bites

IMG_0635.JPGSo you may have noticed that i’ve been absent for a while, if you’re counting its been about a year since the last Horror Bites post. Not going to go into details about the why or wherefores at this time but this will be the last Horror Bites from Officemango.com

I will let those of you who have stuck by me (assuming I have any left lol) I will be starting a new sight and will fill you in on all the madness that has been going on in my mind,

Anyway I didn’t want to simply kill this site without a last final fling and with the lovely Leslie providing a great picture I thought why the hell not. No word limit this time, just make it scary and try not to go for the obvious slash and hack. Post your tale in the comments and have fun.

glass

Can’t wait to read them

Kisses Laura

 

 

 

 


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About Laura Jamez

On the journey to becoming an author; blogging my journey; lover of all things horror. Thank you for taking the time to read my blog; please feel free to comment. I'd love to hear from you. Please feel free to follow me on Twitter or visit my Facebook page.

7 thoughts on “Horror Bites

  1. Here’s my little story (I’ll post it on my blog, too):

    The Best Policy

    “Ah, Miss Fischer. Please come in.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Nethergate. And thank you for allowing me this interview. Until recently I had no idea your institute, or the museum, existed. A chance to write an exclusive story on this contribution to our city’s history is certainly welcome.”
    “Our small organization, more like a social club to be honest, has existed for centuries,” Mr. Nethergate said while offering a seat to his guest, “but the museum is new. We’re hoping to use it as both an educational tool and to assist in raising funds. We were surprised anyone in the media had heard of it, which is one reason we extended an invitation to you. Would you like some tea?” Mr. Nethergate gestured towards a small ceramic pot on a tray.
    “Oh. No, thank you. I’m fine. I could tell you weren’t expecting my call. It was only through a conversation overheard by chance that I knew how to contact you.”
    “I see. Where did that take place, may I ask?”
    “It was at a meeting of the city’s historical society. A few of people were discussing the fate of some of the older buildings in this area. I happened to be near enough to catch your name and a location. They stopped talking when they saw me. As a reporter, I was intrigued.”
    “I understand.”
    “And I’m the only reporter you’ve granted an interview? I must say I’m flattered. Why only me?”
    Mr. Nethergate sat down behind his desk. “We are a rather reclusive group, Miss Fischer. We don’t interact with the outside world a great deal. Our associates and staff are generally referred to our group by—well, let’s say, from those who support our teachings.”
    “That would explain why I hadn’t heard of your group before, though not why I was invited.”
    “On occasion, I do read the local papers. I remembered a few of your stories. I believe you make the effort to portray events truthfully. That is not always the case with newspaper reporters.”
    “I try. When I do have to provide an opinion, it’s important that it be an honest and unbiased evaluation of events. I think the readers deserve that.”
    “Yes! Exactly!” Mr. Nethergate stood up, smiling. “An honest opinion. That is what we are hoping you’ll provide, Miss Fischer. An honest opinion.”
    Miss Fischer smiled. “I’ll certainly try.”
    “Would you like to see our facilities now?”
    “Of course.”
    Mr. Nethergate opened the door to the office and indicated they should go to the left. A long hall stretched before them, with arched supports disappearing into a dimly lighted ceiling.
    “As you can see, our building is quite old, but it does set a wonderful mood for our museum.”
    “Yes, the museum. You never stated its purpose. What sort of items do you display?”
    “If you are familiar with the local history, you know this city has a rather dark past.”
    “I do have some knowledge of it, though that was centuries ago. Does it cover that period?”
    “Indeed it does,” Mr. Nethergate said as they walked deeper into the maze of corridors. “It is a collection of implements used for torture during that period.”
    “Torture? Isn’t that a bit gruesome?”
    “Perhaps to some. But we feel it is important to document those times.”
    “I suppose I can understand that. Something like the displays in the Tower of London?”
    Mr. Nethergate nodded. “Yes, I believe that would be a suitable analogy. But our museum is more than glass cases full of old things.” He stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a small window at eye level. There were no signs indicating what was inside. “Here we are.”
    “So you’re adding your own twist to the idea?”
    Mr. Nethergate smiled. “An interesting choice of words, Miss Fischer. We want our museum to be more than a pretty store room. We prefer a more hands-on approach for our exhibits.”
    “Hands-on?”
    “Yes. As you can imagine, many of these devices were designed to crush bones, tear the skin, or rip the flesh. But we have encountered a great many whose purpose has been lost to time. We are attempting to rediscover how they were employed. Please,” he added, opening the door.
    As she stepped in, her entry was encouraged by an indelicate shove. He pulled the door closed before she could regain her balance.
    “What are you doing? Let me out of here!”
    Hands reached out from darkness, grabbing her arms and shoulders. Her unblinking eyes remained fixed on Mr. Nethergate’s face peering through a small opening in the door.
    “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Fischer. As I’ve stated, we are a reclusive organization. We wish to remain that way. Still, we would appreciate your opinion on the use of these devices. I’m sure you understand our curiosity about their effectiveness.”
    As the hands pulled her backwards, Mr. Nethergate continued to smile.
    “An honest opinion, Miss Fischer. That’s all we ask. Just an honest opinion!”

  2. Walking down the high street, Jemma might as well have been invisible as people barged past her. If they could have they would have walked right through her, never lifting their heads as they chatted on mobiles. Couples didn’t even drop their hands, expecting Jemma to move because she was on own; a lesser human being because of this. To rub salt into her already smarting wounds, she saw, through a cafe window, friends all huddled around a table, laughing and chatting over their lunch. With her ex. She must have missed the invite for that, knowing full well there wasn’t one. Her insides knotted in betrayal.

    She arrived at her uncle’s house, drenched in anger. It dripped from her like water from a tap, seeping into the wooden flooring. The walls loomed high around her as the room darkened and was suddenly cold.

    “Keep your emotions in check,” her uncle Peter shouted from the basement. Jemma stomped down the wooden stairs doing no such thing. “The house is responding to your mood, Jem. Negative energy is building. You know what happens when negative energy builds.” All the time he spoke, he never looked up from his task, polishing a caliper with tiny circular movements. Satisfied, he placed it back in the display case, alongside other weird looking implements that Jemma thought wouldn’t look out of place in a demonic dentist’s lair or in a sadistic surgeon’s theatre. She imagined segments of skin being peeled carefully from the restrained, very lucid and alive body. Uncle Peter turned and faced Jemma, a frown etched deep across his forehead. “You want it to return don’t you?”

    “He, not it. He doesn’t like to be called it. He has a name. He understands me. He doesn’t let me down. He notices me, cares what I feel and think.”

    “It feeds off your emotion, Jem. It does not care for you. You can’t control it once it builds his strength. Come back to me, Jem, come back to the now, think of a happy time, a happy place.” As he spoke the room grew dark as the glaring strip lighting flickered. “Come.” Uncle Peter placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her to the stairs. But the door above them slammed shut. Still the lights flickered, casting jumping shadows across the walls.

    “He’s here.” Jemma stood firm, raising her head, stiffening her body in a show of strength and defiance. She refused to be afraid, clinging to her words of trust for the visitor.

    “What’s it saying?” Jemma’s uncle seemed to shrink next to her as he clung to her, his eyes darting around the room that now was unfamiliar to him.

    “He said he understands my desire, understands my needs. He says he’ll make it all better.”

    “Jemma, please, stop th-” He flew across the room, hitting the wall where he crumpled.

    Jemma didn’t run to his aid. “He says he won’t hurt you if you leave me alone. You must leave me alone, Uncle.”

    “But Jemma. Your heart is good. Please stop the darkness before it consumes you.” Uncle Peter’s display case of polished tools rattled above his head sending vibrations through the wall into his body. He huddled, covering his ears from the deafening noise, then his head as his fears were realised. The case crashed down. Splintered shards of glass pierced his shirt then his skin, drilling deep into muscle, then bone. But it wasn’t enough to kill him. That was the display case, balancing precariously on his head, the corner buried deep in his skull as the contents spilled around him. A lone trickle of blood picked up momentum as it reached his forehead, running down his nose, his lips and dripping from his chin onto his shirt.

    Jemma tilted her head as she studied Uncle Peter. “I thought there’d be more blood.”

    “You want more?” His voice was clear now, not just in her head.

    “You know what I want. Are you strong enough to leave the house and do it?”

    “I am now, thanks to the sacrifice of your Uncle. I’ll miss him but we were never going to get along. He was too pure of heart. I think I’ll find a good use for his tools though.”

    “Good. I want you to make them suffer, make them hurt like I hurt, make them swim in their own blood. Make the selfish bitches scream and beg for you to stop. Then go after him. He wants to have my friends, well he can join them.”

    The black mass was now human form, sweeping across the room, picking up the calipers, jagged scissors and pliers. He then stood before Jemma. “I will never leave you. I will do as you ask.”

    “That’s what I was hoping.” She watched as he disappeared through the wall, her heart completely black and now completely his.

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