I'm new to /lit/, but I've been writing for a while.

>>9701770e
it sounds like you're ready to enter the spiral if you ask me

Link?

>>9701780
I'll see if I can post it here in parts. it's under 800 words.

Nah, we have critique threads for self-important people with no discernible talent

OP here. here goes.

Caroline’s newspaper route went the same way it always did. Pull up to a house, toss the paper on the driveway, pedal past. There was one house that she stayed at for a few minutes more though. Mrs. Wethers. The sweet old lady invited her in for lemonade the first time she had seen her, against her better judgement the girl went inside to take haven from the sweltering summer heat, plus a refreshment was her requiem from dehydration. Ever since then, she would stop for a few minutes and have a small snack, or even just chat with the elderly woman.

Her cookies were one of the biggest things that Caroline would look forward to, around a month ago Mrs. Wethers had decided to try out baking again.

“I haven’t done it in ten years, but I think I’ve still got the touch for it!” She said with a kind smile. The first time around the cookies were a bit weird. The mix of chocolate chip and raisin actually tasted better than she expected, but it had a weird aftertaste to it. After several times of trying the cookies, she had found a name for the aftertaste. “Mungy”. Mungy tasted like a combination of jello and expired mushrooms, thank god it lasted for a fraction of a second, despite it being strong. Caroline usually washed it down fast, and most of the time she could barely even notice it, having gotten so used to it.

When Caroline got home though, things would always get weirder. Sometimes her stomach would hurt a little, other times she just felt.. Sick. It was easily explained with the reason of her eating too many sweets, but even when she only had one or two of the baked goods, it would still happen.

“Maybe it’s just the heat getting to me.” She mumbled to herself one day, brushing the oddity away. What it didn’t explain though, was how the sick feeling made her skin crawl. Not figuratively, but it felt literal. Like there was something under her skin moving around. When she would look at it though, she saw nothing. Maybe the heat really was getting to her, but Caroline had never heard of hallucinations like that happening to someone suffering from heat exposure.

Over the course of days it got even worse though. She’d scratch at her arms and sometimes legs, frustrated at the ghost feeling. Her mother started to notice, asking if she’d been bitten by any bugs and offered an itch ointment.
(1/2)

>>9701852

Caroline made her way down the neighborhood on one side, pedaling on her bike. Her legs burned and itched, it was hard to ignore it. Trying not to reach down and scratch at it was difficult, but she didn’t want to fall off her bike and eat pavement. Paper after paper was tossed onto driveways and lawns, a house in the distance giving her some hope. Pedaling faster, Caroline sped off towards the old woman’s home. Within minutes she arrived. The kickstand of her bike came down as she stepped off and walked to the door. Her knock was met with a familiar voice.

“Come in!” Mrs. Wethers called. The door opened and showed off the living room of the cozy home. She panted and sat on the faintly musty armchair she usually did. “Are you alright? You don’t look too good.” Caroline looked at her and nodded quickly. A cup of milk and a few cookies were placed on the coffee table in front of her, the old lady taking a seat in front of her. After a few minutes the cookies had been downed, the milk filled glass now half full.

Caroline got up and exhaled. For a moment she felt better, before a dreadful feeling smothered her whole body. Her skin crawled. Bumps formed right under the surface. Mrs. Wethers watched with a smile that crept along her wrinkled face. The bumps began to move and wriggle, a wave of searing pain spreading. She looked at the old woman’s grin.

“Don’t you just love the secret ingredient?” One of the wriggling bumps bursted open as a small black head of carapace glistening with blood. A scream started to leave Caroline’s throat, but was soon stopped by a bustling rush of tiny black bodies violating her throat. She fell over and gagged, Mrs. Wethers stepping closer. “ Come, my children.” She said. For a second her face changed, the skin growing hard and black. It reverted back, the wide grin on her face joyfully plastered on her face.

I don't usually read horror stories,so I'm sure I won't be the best critic but here goes. The ending seemed unsatisfactionary to me,because through the whole story I was really curiuos about what the hell was the old lady putting in those cookies. While reading I was making little assumptions like maybe she is putting little bits and piecies of someones corpse in the cookies,trying to get rid of evidence that way. But in the end we it was only refered as a 'secret ingedient'. If you could work this out I'm sure the story would be great. As for writting error or mistakes,there seemed to be a few awkward sentences,but I can't say for sure sine I'm not a native english speaker.

This is a lot more gothic sounding than horror. Gothic literature is commonly about the unspeakable, and is about building tension toward the climax. With horror it would be paramount to really go into detail about the blackness' look and feel as well as using more sensory devices. I'm not very experienced, just trying to help out a lil

>>9702707
I agree with this.

I would add, when you're writing genre fiction, the reader knows generally where you're going, and your job as a writer is to throw in a few curveballs and twists. (The form of this story is somewhat along the lines of Little Red Riding Hood.)

Here, it was clear Mrs. Wethers was setting up the girl for a bad end -- and so that end came, quite predictably.

How could you have switched things up and made it more interesting? Maybe if, somehow, Caroline was setting Mrs. Wethers up. Dunno. Alternatively, the end could be made more viscerally horrific: "Come, my child," she said, as she leaned in, her face becoming a hard, black carapace. Ropes of drooling slather swayed from her jaws as she bent over the struggling girl as if to kiss her. Then her jaw disarticulated with a grunt, and she took the screaming child's face into her mouth. She sucked on it with a groan of pleasure, dismounted, and spat the eyeballs on the carpet. "For desert, my pretty. And now the main course." She bent again to the head, spread her jaws, and took it into her mouth. Caroline struggled against her, beat at her body with her hands, but her blows were weak, her strength fading. The old woman appeared to suck on the head, in pleasure or agony, for almost a minute. Then she shifted position, bore down and gripped it harder, finally crushing it between her jaws, like a child crunching a very hard gumball. Meanwhile, hundreds of spiders had crept from Caroline's body, and stood now arrayed in ranks, as if awaiting further instruction.

Try again. Read some Ray Bradbury or Richard Matheson short stories. Check out Stephen King's story "Gramma," which is very simple but effective. Note how he sets up the situation, how he handles the pacing, beat by beat, the growing unease, without giving away too much, and then finally the payoff. It's like a tutorial on how to write a basic, simple horror story.

Although the posted story doesn't quite come off, I sense a spark there -- a spark that can only be cultivated by writing again, and again, and trying to get better.

>>9702825
You don't know what you're talking about

>>9703097
how come? can you elaborate? I want to improve

>>9701852
>>9701859
Google 'comma splice' and try to avoid doing it.

You've generally avoided the common mistake of using over-complex language, except
>a refreshment was her requiem from dehydration
which is clunky as hell and makes it apparent that you don't know what 'requiem' means.