Short Stories

Short Stories

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    Josiah the Carrot Stick

    New England is even better! *cough* because I’ve totally been to both South Carolina and California…



    Poulet Frit

    Part 2: The Child

    Everyday I see her, the lady with the red on her hands. Whenever I walk home from school with Daddy, I point her out. Daddy says she’s just a normal lady, waiting for someone to pick her up. He says that she probably just got off of work. But everyday, while walking past, she stares at me. Sometimes, when we go out for dinner, we walk past the same lamp post, and she’s still there…staring at me. Mommy doesn’t seem too concerned about the lady, either.
    This afternoon, on the way home from school, she was watching us walk again, this time though, she smiled, and I noticed blood oozing from her mouth…Daddy didn’t believe me. When Mommy got home and I told her, she didn’t believe me either.
    Now, as I hear them screaming downstairs, I don’t believe them. They have been doing it for the past couple nights. I don’t believe it’s them…I think it’s the lady trying to get me out of my safe bedroom. Whenever I call for Mommy and Daddy, the screaming stops, and Mommy says to go to sleep.

    Poulet Frit

    Part 3: The Monster

    2 am, every night, its my job to pick her up. She thinks I’m a hero. She thinks I love her. She thinks I have saved her every night for the past few months. I wish I could stop, but I can’t. This was my sentence, serve her for eternity. Although, she doesn’t know I am being forced to help her.
    She gets upset that I wait so late, since she gets off at 4 pm. She doesn’t get that humans don’t take kindly to faceless freaks.
    She always has me drop her off at a different child’s house each night. There, she does terrible things. I’m supposed to wait outside for her, though for the past couple nights, I’ve been going to another child’s house.
    I found a way to mimic her ability of making the sound of the parents screaming. This child in particular, she has been planning its demise for a while.
    I can feel when someone is going to become important, and this child will save a ton of lives. So, I torment the child, to teach it to ignore the noise, to teach it to stay in its room, safe from her.
    I don’t understand why, but she can’t hurt adults. Which means, this child only has to survive ten more years.
    I always leave right before she’s finished at the other children’s homes, so she won’t know. If she ever found out, I would be dead.
    She gets in, covered in the child’s blood. She complains about being too full from over eating. I wish I could save every child, every family from such a heartache.
    People think just because I have no face, that I’m the thing of their nightmares. When in reality, it’s the things that look normal that are the real monsters.

    Poulet Frit

    Part 4: The Darkness

    “The only survivor,” they called me. Years and years ago, I was attacked by what people called “The child eater.” I only ever knew her as the lady that stood next to the lamp post.
    When I turned 18, I decided to hunt her down. I follow the trail of missing child reports and bodies that she leaves behind. I’m always two steps behind, until recently.
    After several years of work, I finally tracked her down to a city up north. Several dozen children have gone missing in surrounding communities for the past year. I have reached out to the families. They are reluctant to speak to me, since I’m not law enforcement. The ones that do, report nothing out of the ordinary.
    Every night I drove around, looking at every lamp post.
    About two months ago, I found the right lamp post. I parked my car where she couldn’t see it, walked near her…I don’t know what I was planning on doing. I couldn’t get close to her though. Something stopped me, right where the light and the darkness met. But, she could feel me there.
    I returned each night, as soon as night hit, until the green car picked her up. It made her paranoid. My goal is to make her trip up, so she makes a mistake, and gets caught.
    I will do this until the day I die, if need be. I may be incapable of saving the children, but I can at least make her scared.

    Poulet Frit

    Part 4: The Darkness (rough draft. Option #2)

    “Lone Survivor”…that’s what the news called me. Years ago, my parents and I were in a car accident…and I lost them. It was a relief, though.
    For 8 years, the lady by the lamp post tried to get me out of my room.
    I was relieved when my parents died, as the lady had no more reason to torture me. I felt guilty about being relieved, but it made her leave.
    When I turned 18, a mere 2 years after the accident, I vowed to hunt her down. She wasn’t going to hurt another child…not if I had anything to do with it.
    I followed news reports to a small town up north. She leaves a trail of bodies wherever she goes. I hate to admit how methodical she is…it’s almost admirable.
    One day I found her. Standing under a lamp post…at midnight. I parked my car a few blocks back and walked towards her. I couldn’t wait to kill her, but once I got close, the light cast from the lamp post stopped me…like a ring of protection. Her demeanor changed immediately…she could tell I was there, ready to kill her as soon as the light flickered…but it never did.
    I have been back every night since, waiting for the opportunity.
    She cannot keep doing this, but if I kill her, is it justified? Will it feel as good as I think it will? Plunging my knife into her abdomen and watching the life fade from her eyes, sounds so good, but will that even kill her?

    Josiah the Carrot Stick

    Hmm… I’ll have to read those later.

    Brooke AC

    I wrote a poem on distracted driving yesterday for a scholarship competition, and Kristen asked me to post it (but she hasn’t read it), so here goes nothing:
    “Four to One”
    The car was full of laughter,
    Of happiness, and cheer.
    The father driving down the road,
    His children sitting there
    In the seat behind him,
    Their voices rang quite clear.
    “This was the best day ever,
    We love going to the fair!”
    The mother, turning in her seat
    Smiled at her children’s faces,
    But suddenly, they felt a blow.
    Dad had no time to brace his
    Wife or kids as a car rammed
    Into his side of the SUV.
    It came from out of nowhere;
    There wasn’t time to turn before he
    And his family were hit
    Off of the highway into a ditch.
    They barely screamed before
    Unconsciousness brought pitch
    Black darkness to them all.
    When he awoke, dazed
    Blurs with voices small
    And distant dragged his
    Body from the crunched vehicle.
    He started to take it in:
    The unbearable pain, the fear, and all
    Of a sudden, he thought of his family.
    Their names he started to call,
    But he stayed still upon the gurney,
    And in the ambulance,
    As he regained his strength,
    His frantic thoughts advanced.
    Eventually, those around him
    Had to explain the terrible news
    That though he was going to make it
    In his body broken and bruised,
    His wife and kids were not the same;
    They had a darker fate than he.
    For through the horrible crash,
    Their bodies were crushed completely.
    They lost their lives.
    The man lost his heart.
    In a split second,
    His life torn apart
    By the driver of the car
    Who, intoxicated, lost control.
    A family went from four to one.
    Never again will it be whole.

    Poulet Frit

    My word, it was beautiful written though. Just…my heart…yep it’s over there on the floor…


    Me. I’m….I’m not crying. I don’t cry. I’ve just caught something in my eye.

    Person: Oh really. What did you catch?

    me: TEARS!!! (lunges for tissues)

    Poulet Frit

    I didn’t cry…I was just sweating through my eyeballs!!

    Brooke AC

    I… thought I had told you what the scholarship was for, Kristen… I guess I forgot ?
    But thanks, y’all!

    Poulet Frit

    I don’t think you did…

    Brooke AC

    Oops ???

    Poulet Frit

    It’s a really good poem

    Brooke AC

    Thank you!
    (I wonder how it would be if I actually spent a decent amount of time on it. I don’t write that often, except for talking and writing my own thoughts and ideas.)

    Poulet Frit

    You should!

    Brooke AC


    Brooke AC

    The next new thing I would try to start would probably be Youtube

    Poulet Frit

    Youtube is cool!!

    Josiah the Carrot Stick

    You toob, think that website is cool?

    Awkward Potato

    I love your poem, Brooke!! I *sniff* totally didn’t cry…my eyes just leaked.

    Josiah the Carrot Stick

    Hmm… I wonder if I have Gamestop Anger Clinic on this computer…


    Hey Brooke! You should keep a little journal. I did that for a while (back when I had way too many things bouncing in my head.) Just wrote a scribble a night. I stopped because I was starting to repeat myself XD

    Josiah the Carrot Stick

    However, if you lost the hypothetical journal, you would be in diary straights.

    Brooke AC

    Thank you, Potato!
    And Dawn, I do have a journal! I kept up with it pretty much every day last summer, too! I haven’t written in it for a while, but I also have a sticky note open on my computer that I write in whenever, and I eventually move that to a document I can save. I love being able to look back at it!

    Josiah the Carrot Stick

    I can’t think of the write pun to use here…


    Maybe you should subSCRIBE to a pun master, like the EntrePUNeur or Pun Diddley.

    Brooke AC

    By the way, Kristen, I finally read your story! It’s really cool! It’s creepy, but I like it!

    Poulet Frit

    I’m glad you liked it brokee

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