October Contest - Results

And another monthly contest has come to an end. What a great group of entries we had this time 'round, ranging from the downright spooky to the wonderfully tongue-in-cheek. So, who seized the placings this time? Read on, dear reader, read on!



The runner-up is 'Twelve Chimes' by Ezlo Spirit

Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

Eleven chimes. Just one hour to go. Then we all die. Hunted. Become one of them.

To describe the beasts is like explaining the meaning of life. I can tell you only this: the beasts have fangs. Fangs that pierce your skin effortlessly. That’s when you join them. Become them. And there is no turning back.
You do not need to know who I am. In sixty measly minutes, you won’t care. Because you will be screaming, trying to escape me. I’m sorry. I’m oh, so sorry.

* * *


I sit beneath the tall oak tree out in front of my mansion. As I pluck a blade of grass from the ground, a cool, soft breeze rushes by me. I bring my knees in close and curl into a ball. I know the storm is coming. And I’m scared. Very scared.

When I look up, she is standing there. She is a child, about seven years of age. Yet I see wisdom and fear, even age in her dark, hazel eyes.

“Are you afraid?” she asks me. Her voice reminds me of the good and light in this dark, cruel world where all we do is wage war, kill each other, and live in perpetual fear. I nod in reply. “Give me your hand,” she instructs me. I oblige, letting her wisdom flow through me, yet not allowing it in. She pulls me to my feet. I shiver, though whether from cold, fear, or something else entirely I’ll never know.

“Why do come to me, little girl?” I inquire. “Why do you wish to help me when you should be hiding away from the monsters? They are coming.”

“Yes, I know,” she replies, smiling. How could she? There is nothing happy, nothing worth smiling about. The beasts are coming.

She takes me to the park, and we sit down on a bench. “Why do you shiver so?” she asks. I am still unsure how she could be so concerned about me when she should be very concerned about herself. Because the beasts shall come when the clock strikes midnight, and the bell shall toll twelve times.

“I don’t know,” I say. We sit on that bench for a while. Spend our second-to-last thirty minutes alive just sitting there. Breathing. Waiting.

When we finally stand up and she bids me farewell, the clock reads quarter-to. Fifteen minutes, then we all go to hell. Or hell goes to us.

It is deserted. And why shouldn’t it be? Everyone is probably in his or her bed, cowering in fear. I don’t know why I don’t join them. Perhaps it is because the monsters under the bed or in the closet are scarier, more dangerous. But no. That can’t be it.

I bend down and pluck another blade of grass out of the ground. I twirl it around my index finger, hoping for some comfort. The oak tree above me is menacing. Just like my mansion behind me. And just like the clock. Fifteen minutes. The beasts are coming.

I lay back on the grass. The morning dew covering the grass is cold. Though it is not morning. I shiver once more. The next five minutes seem like weeks. For I know that after these five minutes, I’ll only have two more five-minute blocks of time to live. That’s when the beasts come. And I think I hear them stirring even now. Yearning to awaken and feed.

I stand up. I walk down the street. I am alone. The street lamps are out. It’s just me and the darkness. I consider killing myself so I would not become a vessel for a new beast. But no. I am too weak at heart to do that.

As I walk down the lane, I hear only the trees whispering to the calm, cool breeze. Not a cricket chirps. Not child whimpers. Just the trees. And the beasts. They whisper in their slumber. They want to be free.

Ten minutes until midnight, and I continue my silent, cautious stroll down the lane. I pass my church and consider praying for mercy and protection, but not even God could protect me from the beasts. Please, O Lord, protect me from the danger that lurks just around the corner. No.

I walk until I reach the park bench where I sat with the child. I sit down. I look around into the darkness of night and see nothing. But it’s not like there’s anything to see anyway. Just the dark.

I ponder over the beasts. Who would be my attacker? Would it be one of my relatives? My mother was the last one before me. Last night. Her screams as the beasts grabbed her and bit her still ring in my ears. Where did the beasts come from? Stories tell of a door. And beyond that door, a world of evil sits. The door has never been seen, except by a few. It was in a valley in the mountains. People lived there. I feel very sorry for them. Oh, so sorry.

Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

The trees. They moved. The trees. They are shrinking. The trees. They are taking another form. The trees. They are the beasts. They have awakened.

One steps towards me. I gasp. I know that face. That child. I look at the empty space beside me on the bench. I look back up at the beast. I am certain. And I am content.

As the beast draws closer, I close my eyes. Was sitting with the child a dream? No. Then how is she a beast? I’ll never know. I feel oh, so sorry for myself. For the child. For you. For the world.

The beast slowly reaches down and takes gentle hold of my hand. I open my eyes. As I look into the beast’s angry yet sorrowful red eyes, I see apology and pity. Then it lifts my hand up, bares small, razor sharp fangs…and bites me on my hand.

I close my eyes, smiling. And I change. My eyes turn red and I my canine teeth sharpen. And I laugh. An evil, inhuman laugh. And I’m hungry. Very hungry. Oh, so hungry.

_________________

And now, for the winner of the October Writing Contest...

'Dark Road' by Wrath of Pong

Christine was about to leave her house when the phone rang. It was Mr. Higgins, a man who lived two blocks down from her. She hardly knew him, but in a small town like Fort Providence nobody really cared for formalities.

“Mrs. Diehl,” he said. “I’ve heard that you are going to the train station in Ridgeley to pick up your husband. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to give my sister a ride. She has been visiting me, but I am unable take her to the station for the return trip. I don’t mean to be too much trouble.”

“It’s fine,” Christine said. She was uneasy-to have Mr. Higgins bring up the Ridgeley road would make anyone uneasy. “But make sure she is able to leave quickly. I need to be at the station at 11:30 to catch Jake’s train, and its already quarter past ten.”

“She is already packed. I’ll have her meet you at the porch. Thank you.”

Christine said goodbye and set down the phone. As she walked out to her car, she wondered why Mr. Higgins continued to stay in Fort Providence. After all, if Jake had been killed, Christine would have left town long ago. She started the car, feeling sick. Nobody liked to think of Mrs. Higgins before driving a car at night. She pushed the thought from her mind and drove off, reaching Mr. Higgins’ house within a minuets.

A woman stood at the porch. As the car approached, she stood up and walked over to Christine’s car. She looked about mid thirties, and was wearing a bulky blue coat, its hood pulled up in a vain effort to force back the chilly November weather. At her side was a small black suitcase.

“Hello, I’m Sarah.” She said as she climbed into the car. Her voice was strangely flat, without emotion. She was wearing glasses that were darkly tinted, even at night. “I hope it wasn’t too much for my brother to ask.”

“Oh, no. It was nothing.” Christine said warmly. She put the car in gear and pulled out. A slight drizzle began, which soon became a steady downpour. She flicked on the wipers and settled down for the thirty mile drive to Ridgeley. Christine again thought of Mrs. Higgins. She hadn’t known her that well, but her death had still shocked her. Her death was especially horrible, considering she had been a bride…and Mr. Higgins had been so proud of her.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.

“How did Mr. Higgins know I was driving to Ridgeley?” she asked.

The woman took a moment to consider. “He didn’t say. I guess somebody mentioned it.”

Christine thought back. “I think I mentioned it to Eddie, the mechanic. I told him when I stopped by to get an oil change today. Eddie must have told him.”

“Probably.” The Sarah agreed. Once again the car fell into awkward silence. Finally, Sarah broke the silence. “Do you carry a weapon, when you drive at night like this?”

“Why of course not, I-” Christine stopped, thinking a moment. “I suppose your brother believes a woman should. I would probably advocate the same, if I were in his place.”

“Mrs. Higgins death was certainly shocking.” Sarah said, still without emotion. “I was unable to come for the funeral, not that there was much left to bury. Whoever did it was very good with a knife. My brother tells me they still haven’t caught the killer.”

“He’s been staying in town to try to find his wife’s killer?” Christine asked nervously.

“Yes.”

“But that would mean-”

“That the killer is still around.” Sarah finished for her matter-of-factly. “He was even mentioned to the police, by name. However, the police did not find the source credible.”

“You act like you know who the killer is!” Christine protested.

“Of course I do.” Sarah said with a scornful tone. She calmly pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Christine felt a shiver down her spine. In the light of the flame, she saw Sarah’s hands. They were devoid of nail polish. Instead of being rounded, they were square, like a man’s. On the back of the hands there was hair, like a man’s. Sarah was a man.

Christine’s heart began to beat, faster and faster. She needed to get out of here. She saw a light on the side of the road, and faintly remembered there being a gas station being located there. However she was already a quarter mile past when she realized she could have stopped there.

“This is about where Mrs. Higgins was killed.” The woman who was not a woman beside her droned on. Christine began to shake uncontrollably. Ahead she saw a light, a faint red light. She pressed the gas, hoping the stranger beside her wouldn’t notice until she caught up.

“You had your car checked today.” The voice beside her said. “You mentioned to the worker there that you were going to meet your husband in Ridgeley tonight. That wasn’t very discreet. If the killer found out…”

“You…you speak as if someone intended to kill me!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I wouldn’t be surprised at all.” The voice said softly. “There is something up ahead. It looks like an accident.”

There, in the middle of the road lay a motorcycle, the same one used by Eddie the mechanic. Eddie was limping out into the glare of her headlights. If she could get Eddie into the car, she would be safe from the stranger sitting next to her.

She rolled down the window. “Eddie, get in the back seat. I’ll take you to the hospital in Ridgeley.”

“It’s ok. I could drive there if I could just fix up my bike; I just need a little help.”

“I have a pair of work gloves in my case,” the voice beside Christine spoke. “I’ll give you a hand. Mrs. Diehl, if you will just pull up a bit, so you don’t block the road.”

Christine did as she was told. The voice spoke up “Don’t stop the engine. Mrs. Diehl, I am not a woman. I am George Higgins. My wife was killed near here by someone she knew. Shortly before her murder, she stopped by Eddie’s shop to have the car checked. Eddie and I were the only ones who knew where she was going. He must be the killer. I dressed up as a woman to fool him, and he is going to get a surprise tonight.”

The figure drew a revolver from the case. “As soon as I leave the car, drive away. Don’t look back.”

The figure stepped out into the rain, pocketing the pistol. In her rear-view mirror, she saw Eddie. When he saw the figure approach, he straitened, the false limp instantly vanishing. From his belt, he drew an eight-inch hunting knife. Christine’s heart began to pound. Quickly, she slammed her foot on the gas, pushing the pedal to the floor. She raced down the remaining ten miles of road, and her heart did not stop pounding until she reached the train station and collapsed safely into her husband’s arms.

_______________

Congratulations, Wrath of Pong, you get to choose the theme and style for the next contest! Just drop me a PM with your choice and we can get the next contest underway!

Oh, and before I forget, here are the winner and runner-up banners for the both of you, EzloSpirit and Wrath of Pong.





Big thanks to Hylian Z for helping with the revamped banners.


And of course, the contest is what it is because of the strong competition. The rest of the entries were submitted by the following members:

Entry One
Peccadilloes Gone Wrong by Mr. 32

Entry Three
The Dream by Kveldulf

Entry Five
What's With All The Vampires? by SacredSturgeon


Thanks heaps to everyone who entered and I hope to see you all in the next contest, don't forget to tell your friends about it!

Great entries everyone!

Sweet, congrats to the winners