link to previous submission thread:
link to discussion thread:
Hi, /x/ is making a free ebook type thing, but we need more original stories. submit your own short stories here.
>no greentext please.
yeah, just post the stories here - wikis too complicated especially since its not just an /x/ book wiki.
also no more talking as to not waste space for legitimate submissions/reposting stories.
discussion thread here:>>14833388
Also i have saved all the OC from the old thread, currently have it on my computer, i won't post it all here (to save space) but if original OP or whoever decides to actually make this thing once we're done appears i'll send it them via email or something? Also i might start editing/cleaning all submitted stories so that there book ready unless anybody objects to this?
I meant about /pol/
I have been meaning to do some editing, but I've been lazy. If you want to take a shot at it, I say go for it, and then maybe I can double-check your edits.
I was always the type who took life for granted. I never really thought much about the future, just lived from day to day. I went about my business in blissful ignorance of the world around me. I won't say there were no bad times, but I weathered the storm as best I could and moved on.
Then, one day there was a terrible accident. I can't even remember what happened, exactly, just that I felt like I was being crushed. I closed my eyes, I don't know for how long, and when I opened them again, I felt like I was floating. I looked down and saw what looked like my body. It was so big. How did I get so small? I didn't have very much time to dwell on that, because I was trying to tear my eyes away from the sight of my mangled corpse and focus on the nearby surroundings. Where was I? It was so dark. And then I spotted a pinpoint of light off in the distance.
I realized I must be dead. That had to be it, right? So naturally, I started to "drift" toward the light, trying to grow accustomed to this new feeling of floating in the air. As I got closer to the light, however, I started to hesitant. I felt uneasy for no discernible reason. Then, as if to encourage me, I heard a large, booming voice proclaim "Walk toward the light."
What choice did I have? I headed for the light again, but once more, that eerie, uneasy feeling crept over me. Something about this felt wrong. The closer I got to the light, the more I sensed some sort of force, some strange and terrible power surrounding it.
The voice came again. "Walk toward the light." It was trying to guide me, why should I not listen? Where else was there to go in this gloomy darkness? Back to my broken shell of a body? Again, I floated toward the light. I could feel the energy coming from it now and the intense brightness nearly blinded me. Still, I edged closer. And then I heard a sound I will never forget and felt a pain throughout my entire being. There was a sharp, loud crackling noise, then a faint sizzle. My vision and my hearing began to fade, but just before my senses left me completely, I heard the voice again. It was laughing.
"That's the fifth one already! Can you believe it?!"
Another voice replied "They fall for it every time."
"Hey look, here comes another one."
Everything went silent as I plunged into the darkness.
Reposting coz i had to edit it to make sense.
For years now, I have lived in fear. Not fear of ghosts or monsters under the bed, but fear of them, and, ultimately, fear of becoming there victim. I know about them, and I'm going to tell you. They're ruthless, they control the entire world, from the transport systems to the banks. How do I know this you ask? Well, it wasn't easy, I had to research, I had to meet crazy people, hell I'm pretty sure I even saw one of them before, in person. Up in New York, behind this old, derelict superstore, lord knows what he was doing there, I ran for it straight away, make no mistake. Its rare y'know, to see one I mean, because there pretty easy to recognize if you do. There tall, about seven foot, and they wear these black suits, that are all baggy and wrinkled. I never got to see the face when I saw one, just the back, but all the rumours and legends are pretty specific if you know where to look. Their faces are said to be gaunt and slender, with waxy skin and bright blue eyes. They are generally bald, although some have been reported to have lank, shoulder length blonde hair. There skin is said to look like a poorly fitting mask, loose over the skull. The stuff of nightmares I tell you. They talk funny too, like they don't really know the language.
So yeah, although it has been somewhat exciting, chasing these leads and uncovering lost legends, I mostly wish I could go back to when I knew nothing of them, because now, I'm pretty sure they are on to me. Everyone who hears about these things ends up dying, sooner or later, but before they get me, I'm putting this out there. Jacob Grenn, who runs the fish shop were I work told me a fella was in there looking for me earlier, strange bloke, he said, something off about him. That was an hour ago, now I'm waiting, I keep seeing them out of the corner of my eye, but I know it's no illusion, there here. So if your reading this, your in danger, but now you know, spread the word, we have to free ourselves. The net is closing in on me, but you, you have time so get out there but if you would liked to no more please come to my home at 341 oakfeld drive moreno valley california we could discuss them and talk about them I will be waiting to see you thank you
I got a true story.
I sneaked down the stairs to listen to my parents argue, not because I liked it, but because I was curious. My mother hears a creak on one of the steps, she yells up the stairs "Go back to bed, Anon", I quickly run to my bed. A few hours later I hear a noise, I sneak out again to listen. The house is pitch black, I hear absolutely nothing... I walk back to my bedroom but on the way there I notice that my parents bedroom door was open, I took a glance into the room... That's when I see him. Horsehead. I see a naked hairy man with a body similar to "bigfoot" but he had the head of a horse. I freeze in terror and close my eyes, upon reopening, Horsehead is gone. I rush to my room and go to sleep.
This is about the thing that constantly appears in my dreams.
I call him the Doctor. He is a tall white colored creature, that wears a doctors coat and a tissue that covers his face. His hands are long and bony. I've never heard him speak, and not once has he tried to hurt me, but I can't say the same for others.
Most of these dreams start off by showing a person during a typical day in their life. Then, during some part or their routine, they see a glimpse of the Doctor. They think nothing of it.
As they continue, the world around them begins to turn black and white, and they are 'transported' into a very 20's like city. They always find their way into a large, wooden hotel, where a party is taking place. Inside the party, there is an older woman that is smoking a cigarette in one of those cigarette holders. She is wearing a black dress and a white cap and on her neck is a beautiful diamond necklace. Her hair is short and she has a mole on her left cheek. She laughs and says, "You really shouldn't be hear, hon." The. she coughs and wheezes. The person never listens.
The person continues out of the room and find a flight of stairs that look out of place for a hotel in the 20's. They go up the stairs until they reach the top, where lightning strikes and they fall. At this point, their heart begins to beat so hard that I can feel it. They stand up and express that they want to go home, but blocking their path is the figure of the doctor. The person screams in horror of the sight and scrambles to open any of the hotel room doors that covered the walls. However, the doors that were once there, had turned into decals.
The person screaming, bangs on the painted doors, begging for anyone to help, but their pleas reach no ears. Then, they will turn around to see that, the doctor had vanished. Covered in tears, the person will dash down the steps and make it back into the room where the party once was held, only to find nobody there. It was if they all had vanished. The person makes their way over to the table where the woman once sat, where her cigarette is still smoking. They find her necklace on the table and are compelled to pick it up. The ground shakes, and you can hear the woman lauging. The person falls to the floor and puts their hands over their head and screams for everything to stop. A hand touches them, and the person turns to face them. Instead of another person, it is a puppet with eyes that shine blue. The person hits the puppet away and scrambles out the exit. Sobbing, the person runs through the town, crying out for help, only to find that nobody is there.
At this point, the dream can end two ways.
1) as the victim is running, the puppet grabs their leg and the person falls. They struggle to try and escape, but cannot. The doctor then appears, and supposedly murders the defenseless victim. It never shows what happens, all you can hear is their screams
2) The person looses all hope, and gives up. They will find the doctor in front of the hotel and plead with him to make everything stop. He then walks up to the person and puts his hand on their cheek. The person will fall. As they struggle to breathe, the doctor will lean over them. He lowers his napkin, showing that he has eyes. The eyes are a glowing blue, just like the puppet. As the person's gaze meets the doctor's, they will begin to turn into the same puppet that they had seen before.
Then I wake up, and it happens again the next night
Definitely, that was the reason for the book. To have a bunch of OC compiled in one place, and have something that we could all be proud of. Finally, an /x/ project that's going to be finished.
Just moving this here, posted it in the wrong place originally:
When I was a child, fairies existed. I didn’t just believe in them; they were there, a reality that I never thought to question. I suppose other children of my temperament would have had imaginary friends, but my mother had spoiled me all my short life with tales of magic and wonder and pixie dust, and so I had my fairies. I didn’t call them that at the time, but looking back, that’s the best way to describe the small folk who played among the forest of crystal green bottles my grandmother collected and displayed on a large vanity in her room. I don’t know how many times I sat alone in that room, or how long each vigil lasted. It may have been often, or only a handful of times, but my earliest and most distinct memory is of watching them my fairies dance through the afternoon sun as it came into room and was reflected in the crystal and glass bottles becoming a maze of light. No other moment in my memory can compare to the clear and simple childhood joy of that golden afternoon.
They never spoke, not that I recall. At the very least, I never understood them. Neither were they interactive. They played together and I watched them. You would have thought they didn’t notice me if it hadn’t been for the occasional wave or giggle. They seemed to be delighted by my observance of them, but indirectly so. Once again, I saw no strangeness in this. I was a child, a child with a vivid and vast imagination, with little context for what reality consisted of. It didn’t seem odd that my fairies didn’t seem to come from anywhere or go anywhere when they were finished frolicking. They were simply there, suddenly, as if they always had been; when they left, it was as if they’d slowly faded away. You would, though, be hard pressed to state exactly when.
The strangest part looking back are the lengths of time which these memories seem to cover. I must have sat still and quietly watched those little fairies for hours. I was a different sort of child, I’ll admit; a lonely kid who didn’t mind loneliness. I had a large, loving family, and still managed to keep entirely to myself. All the same, I was a child, and even quiet children can easily become fidgety. So it seems odd that there were no feelings of restlessness or impatience; just a hazy contentedness to simply watch. In fact, there is a very dream-like haze to those memories, and at times I’m tempted to simply write them off as such. Beautiful and precious dreams perhaps, but still only dreams. Strengthening this idea, is the fact that my family never mentions what would have looked like very strange behavior, but that can be explained by the fact that I was a very private child and talked little even to them. It could very well have seemed entirely normal.
It feels wrong, though, to write off a whole chapter of my childhood as merely being dreamt. It’s bitter to think that the most memorable parts of being a child occurred while I was asleep. My family only lived in my grandparents home for a couple of years, and I continued to watch the fairies throughout that time period. They were always in that same room, and only ever among the harlequin paradise created in the midst of those sunlit bottles. These memories remain powerful, and young as I was, startlingly clear. I remember very little else from that period of my life. While I know I’d be frightened if I were to experience such things now that I’m older and, maybe, wiser, I sometimes wish I could see that magic again. Even now, whenever I come across an old bottle, I get a little tingle and can’t help but think of it as anything but magical.
cite your sources, cause imma be honest with you bro youre giving off an "im mad and have a vendetta vibe" thats leading me to believe ur the guy from other thread.
no need to be upset, this is a safe enivoronment bro just stop bein so aggressive. its a waste trust me. u should write a story. might ease your nerves
Dr. Gibbous' last performance.
The streets were deserted, and the night was cold. There isn't much to do in the small desert town of Luna, in mid-western America. There are no cinemas, playgrounds or swimming pools, and there is only four shops. There is, however, a theatre. The theatre is generally closed, although I was lucky enough to catch a performance on this night. It was the last performance of the little-known magician, Dr. Gibbous.
If gossip is to believed, Dr. Gibbous was the best thing to ever come out of the town of Luna, and that isn't saying much. Dr. Gibbous was a drunk by day, and a sub-par magician by night. The locals often saw him around town, drinking, and muttering to himself. He had dark skin, with gaunt eyes, and a wispy, silvery beard. He walked with a stick that was a cut up old curtain pole. Needless to say, the locals didn't attend his show often. Luna isn't the type of place to attract tourists, so the doctor's shows were often performed to nothing but empty seats. Eventually the theatre stopped opening, and the locals guessed he had moved away, or died.
I found myself in Luna after setting out four hours late on a truck-driving delivery. Deciding that I couldn't continue through the night, I pulled into the quiet town. I stopped my truck in a lay-by, just across from a small trailer park. I settled into bed above the cab, but soon realized I couldn't bare to spend another second in the stuffy, uncomfortable truck. I headed out into the night, pulling my coat tight around me. I quickly realized there was nothing of interest in the small town, and began to head back to my truck.
But then I noticed the theatre. The building looked like a typical theatre, with arched windows and a red brick exterior. The posters on the outside were old and tattered, and several of the windows were broken. Despite this, the door was open, with light streaming out into the street. Intrigued, and with nothing else to do, I crossed over, and entered the building. The lobby was deserted, and the red carpet was frayed and tattered. I noticed a figure inside the ticket booth, and so I walked over. The window to the booth was dirty and dusty, and I could see almost nothing of the person inside.
'Uhh, what's showing tonight?' The booth operator let out a dry laughter, and then spoke with a gravely voice.
'We've got you a treat tonight good sir' His tone was mocking as he continued on. 'The greatest show in the whole wide world, The fabled, Dr. Gibbous, delivers his once in a lifetime final performance'
Annoyed by his attitude, but not enough to walk out, I paid $10 and headed towards the double doors, just past the booth. The doors were stiff with age, but I soon had them open, and stepped through, into the theatre itself. The theatre was small, and dark, with about fifty or so rows of chairs, facing a small stage at the front. I noticed the figures of a few more people sitting in the rows, so I wasn't alone. I peered closer as I noticed none of the figures had moved. Moving down the isle to get a better look, I realised that the figures weren’t people, but mannequins. I seriously considered turning around and leaving but then, as if reading my mind, the ancient red curtain parted, revealing the doctor himself, leaning on his cane on the center of the stage. He looked frail, but when he spoke, his voice was powerful. I took a seat beside a mannequin.
'Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I welcome you to what will be, with great regret, the last show of me, Dr. Gibbous.' He spoke as if addressing thousands, but caught my eye as he did so.
The show began, and, much to my disappointment, it was not as exciting as he made it out to be. An hour passed and Dr. Gibbous announced that his next would be the last trick of the evening.
'Alas, we have come to the final illusion of the evening, and for this trick, I will need a volunteer from the audience!' He looked around, as if pondering who to choose from a large selection. Of course, his eyes, inevitably, came to rest on me.
'You sir! Join me on the stage and do me the honour of participating in my final trick!' Reluctantly, but with little choice, I made my way down the isle, and slowly approached the small stage. Dr. Gibbous looked down at me, but did not speak, as I climbed up onto the stage. He turned to the 'audience' as I shook his hand.
'Well it seems we've certainly got the right guy for the job!' He winked at the empty seats. He retrieved a length of rope from the back of the stage, the rope was attached to something up in the rafters.
'For this last trick, I will disappear from mid-air! And that is the last the world will see of Dr. Gibbous!' He tied the rope in a loose knot around his mid-section, and then motioned for me to pass him a large sheet which lay on the stage.
'Now, I will wrap these sheet around me, so that I am obscured from view, and then, this kind gentlemen here, will pull on the rope and hoist me into mid air, where I will perform my greatest trick.'
He spread his arms wide for the empty theatre, and then, after pulling the sheet around himself, nodded to me. He was completely shrouded in the sheet as I tugged on the rope, pulling him up toward the rafters. A hand came up within the sheet, signalling for me to stop. A muffled voice came from within the sheet, probably exclaiming that this was his finest hour.
The lumps that were his hands moved to his mid-section, and seemed to adjust the rope. Moments passed as he continued to wrestle with the rope and I began to think he was unable to complete the trick. Suddenly though, the rope slipped and his body fell, quickly, downwards. I moved forward in an effort to catch him, but the body didn't fall. I looked up, realising what had happened. The rope had came loose around his body, but had caught around his neck. Dr. Gibbous' body danced, manically, suspended from the ceiling. I ran back to the rope and quickly lowered him to the ground, hoping to save him. I rushed back to the body and pulled off the sheet. But it was not Dr. Gibbous that lay inside, it was a smiling mannequin.
The lamp in the corner flickered then went out, and Matt Somerset began to cry. He sat very still in the center of a worn grey sofa, shaking softly. His deep, broken sobs filled the silent, garishly lit room. All around him was an odd assortment of differently sized lamps and haphazardly plugged in night lights. There was no decorative theme to these; they were there for a strictly utilitarian purpose. In one corner a large lamp’s bulb had burned out, and though it was only a slight difference in lighting it frightened Matt deeply. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on.
He hadn’t eaten or drank in what seemed like day. His stomach roared in protest and his tongue felt stiff like a dried out sponge. Every muscle in his body was on fire, aching with fatigue. Despite his hunger and thirst - despite the hellish situation he now found himself in - there was one thing John desired more than anything else in the world. Sleep. He just wanted the comfort of a warm bed and a soft pillow. To have these things though, would mean his death. To sleep would be to let the darkness in.
On the other side of the room another light began to flicker softly. It was a children's night light, a small smiling blue moon. As the bulb went out, an ice cold chill shot through Matt’ fear soaked body.
So this is how it ends," he thought. "Alone in the dark." He was giving up and knew it. He could no longer hold on, and even if he could, it was quickly becoming obvious it would do no good. Several rooms in Matt’s home were now completely unlit, and the darkness seemed to seep out of them slowly. Inarticulate screams and hellish whispers echoed through the darkened rooms. Though he couldn't understand the language the meaning was clear. His end was coming, and inevitable.
t had been several weeks ago when he had first heard the whispers, and at that time, they had come only at night. Matt had been concerned when he first thought he heard faint sounds coming from the deep shadows in his bedroom, but once the sounds began to remind him of voices, he believed he was going mad. And then things had seemed to escalate so quickly; the murmurs grew each night in both clarity and volume. He tried to block them out, hoping beyond hope that they would just go away. It wasn’t until he started to see glimpses of what was speaking that he went to see a professional.
"So you believe that something is speaking to you at night, Mr. Somerset? Something that lives in the dark?" the psychiatrist had asked him calmly, as if it were a very natural thing.
"Yes...well, no. It's THE dark, doctor," replied John. "Or at least, I think it is. Or as if something is using the darkness..." His voice trailed off and he stared at the floor. He had looked very pathetic, small and lost. There was no way to explain what was happening to him that made any sense. How could he possibly explain something so far beyond his comprehension? For the voices had begun to fill him a comprehension of a dark beyond the dark, to see, as if through murky water, an underlying blackness that undulated in a way that was almost organic. It was only visible at the corners of rooms, in the darkest shadows. It seemed to be probing for a way in. And it was alive. Matt knew this instinctively, in the same way he knew that this “thing” had always been there, living in the dark places, feeding off the light. It was only now that he was becoming aware of it that it was returning the favor and seeking him out.
Then one night, he woke in a cold sweat to a dark room and the remnants of a shattered light fixture scattered across his bedspread. The horror he had previously only caught glimpses of seemed to have broken through whatever had been separating it from reality and now stretched, clearly visible, along one wall. It spread rapidly along the edges of the room like mold, unashamed in its corruption of reality. From within its depths the voices rang, loud now and chanting. Almost angry. Matt had been paralyzed by the sound. He hadn't known what to do. He simply lay in his sweat, staring in fear and shock. All he could do was scream inside his head: scream that this wasn’t possible, that it wasn't happening. He stayed that way until morning, the sunlight through the window finally driving the dark away.
He had begun to buy the lights then: Night lights, lava lamps, desk lamps. Anything and everything he could find that would emit light. Beautiful, pure light that drove the darkness and the madness away. He had filled his home with them, and he had felt safe. The darkness had been conquered; the voices quieted. Sometimes, though, it was almost as if he could hear them just beyond the reaches of consciousness, scratching behind the walls of reality and trying to break through. This was the only way John could describe what he felt, and what he heard. Still, those small moments of uneasiness were a blessing compared to the nightly torments he had endured before the lights, and so he was almost grateful for them.
From then onward, it was a nightly struggle of will for Matt to keep the darkness out. Even with his home well lit he had to work to keep the dark away, for it still had power; John’s lightbulbs were very short-lived. They would burn out inexplicably or - more dramatically - burst in small pops of sparks and shattered glass. When the lights were gone, Matt could do nothing to drive away the dark. Each time this happened it seemed to seep closer, filling more of the room.
Matt’s sanity was saved only by the sun. During the day he didn’t have to worry about the dark or voices. He was safe. His sleep schedule flipped, as he was no longer able to sleep at night. Luckily, Matt worked as a freelance designer over the internet so his work hours were flexible enough to accommodate this change. He still dreaded night, and often felt sick as he watched the sun go down. Still, he felt confident he could hold his dark stalker at bay. He had regained a semblance of control over his life.
This did not last long. He began to notice the dark seeping into every aspect of his life, even during the day. Shadows seemed to be thicker, voices echoed out from the empty buildings he passed on the street.. Sometimes, when returning from shopping or some other errand, he would notice a creeping darkness in an alleyway or in the shade of a building’s stoop. Then he would run home and try to pretend that it was simply the stress of his nightly ordeals getting to him.
Then, what might have been several days ago, Matt noticed that morning was taking an abnormal amount of time to come. The clock stated the time as nearly 10 am and still there was no sign of light outside. His stomach clenched tightly when he noticed this, dreading what it might mean. Standing, he had walked towards the door, his palms sweaty, and opened it with a deep breath.
There was nothing. No moon, no stars, no street lights. Beyond the small patch of yard illuminated by the porch light, the outside world no longer existed. He had closed the door slowly, feeling cold, and then turned and walked toward the coach. He had sat there, barely breathing, and begun to wait. He had been sitting here that entire time, unable to eat or to sleep or to drink, feeling the darkness closing in around him. Even then, he had known it was over. Still, he resisted, too afraid to just give up. Now he was far too sleep deprived and dehydrated even to care. He adjusted himself to a laying position on the sofa. A loud popping as somewhere another light bulb exploded didn’t brough np reaction from Matt. He closed his eyes, looking into the red-tinged dark. In that moment, he no longer felt any fear. Just a relieved welcoming. Matt Somerset slept.