Wishing a sensational spooky season to all!!!
It’s the right time of year for everybody to curl up in front of the TV and watch Nightmare Before Christmas. A recent re-watch of the Sing-Along version opened my eyes to just how fast most of the songs really are. If you’re up for the challenge, give it a try.
October’s Story Stones session was guest facilitated by Joel Stoneburner (also a guest contributor to this blog). To celebrate the season of scares, we had two horror themed prompts.
The first was “Gothic”. I’m talking Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven), haunted houses, things that go bump in the night. After talking about what makes a gothic piece (big buildings, isolation, person in distress, supernatural happenings), we all gave it a go to create our own pieces of Gothic horror.
If you’re a fan of Poe, I’d also recommend a watch of The Fall of the House of Usher on Netflix (yes, it has some jumpscares and can get a little gory). But it is fantastic.
The second prompt was “Creepy Pasta”. I am a huge fan of creepy pasta fiction. With roots in internet anonymity and even urban legends, Creepy Pasta brings a sense of realism to spooky stories. Australian writer Tom Taylor (I want to say this was in 2018 or 19, but I think it’s still found in a google search) created a twitter thread about his stay at a cabin in the woods. His thread comprised of messages, pictures and videos, all creating a story world of him being haunted in this cabin. I’d recommend giving it a read if you can find it. A similar thread, called “Dear David” (by Adam Ellis) takes us on the story of Adam being haunted by the ghost of a deformed young boy. Like gothic, Adam’s story ends with a sense of ambiguity. Again, give it a read, if you can find it, and if you’re willing to be a little scared.
Thank you for the chance to facilitate, Michael, maybe I’ll do it again same time next year.
Without further ado, please see some of the fantastic pieces created at the October Story Stones session.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
#1
Martha was sitting beside her grandmother she’d been there all day and was exhausted by her bedside vigil, yet she could not let herself rest or close her eyelids. No, she wouldn’t. There was an eerie sense of roboticness, the way the nurses all went about their rounds. As if on autopilot. And it definitely didn’t help that the main power had been cutting in and out all day. Not that it took long for the back up generator supply to kick in. But still. The storms. Everyone had been saying they were to blame. No emergency helicopter landings today Martha thought as another bolt of lightning flashed through the sky outside of the slits between the flimsy blinds that were coving the windows.
Between the unrhythmic beeping and bleeping the corridors echoed with whispers. Not many of the patients had visitors. When Martha had first walked in, accompanying her Grandmother, walking alongside the trundle bed as it was being wheeled in a frail old man in about his eighties grasped at her, grabbing her, almost clawing her, he had such a pleading look in his eyes, almost of panic, his mouth moved as if trying to speak, trying to give her some urgent request or perhaps a warning. His mouth was parched so dry and his tongue flicked up and down. “Lights” or something like that was all that Martha managed to make out before a nurse whisked him away and told Martha to pay him no attention. Despite his appearance and erraticness there was still something about him that Martha felt like she needed to listen to, or to look out for, even if she didn’t have much to go on.
Initially the first couple of days were humdrum and almost boring in retrospect. This was a great outcome, compared to what would follow. It took Martha a little while to pick up on the inconsistencies and the oddities of the place. She’d been in hospitals with her Grandmother before, of course. Each one had its own little quirks. Especially in the staffing. This one seemed so normal, so much so that it was unnerving. And by the third day Martha was finally able to put her finger on it. That no one had personality. No one had quirks. It was almost mechanical. Unfeeling. The nurses would tell her to go home and rest and that everything would be fine. But they said with a smile that was almost on the verge of being a leer, a little bit too much teeth were shown and Martha couldn’t’ quite shake the feeling that if she did leave then something awful would happen to her Grandmother.
The other thing that Martha noticed was the strange coincidence of the patients being moved when the power outages occurred. It was almost as if the staff planned it this way, so that whatever it was they were doing could be done under the veil of darkness. Martha knew rationally that this observation made her seem deranged, after all who can control the weather? the lightning? But she had definitely heard the trundle beds being wheeled around in the blackness and the muffled tones of the nurses talking as the beds moved further and further down the corridors to who knows where for who knows what.
#2
Tess had moved into the Academy, despite its reputation. And yes, it held paranormal finding activities there. Once a month and she thought they were a pain. Afterall, they were walking and wandering around in her own backyard! But that was part of the rental agreement. Being a historic trust building, and not all of it was hers either. Just a simple room and a kitchen and a balcony, with the toilet being down the outer veranda with a section of a room in between for a Milliner. The tours used to ask her is she had seen anything, heard anything unusual. Desperate to have their interests confirmed. She didn’t mind disappointing them. It was a simple matter of fact for her. Nothing happened. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
As time passed and she’d settled into her new abode, she invited her family over. She timed it on the day of the opening to the general public so that they could see it and explore it and learn of its history. It was like stepping back in time, a living museum. Ancient wooden structures, lace haberdashery details and black and white photos. Oh, if only the walls could talk, what stories would they tell? Even in broad daylight interested visitors would ask about ghosts, as they had heard the stories. Again, being such a bore, no, no, nothing. May be she should have played with them, given them a titbit, but that would have been a lie.
When it was school holidays, and after being mostly isolated in her abode for far too long she invited her much younger cousin Siloh over for a sleep over. It was a special occasion as Siloh was starting to grow up and become more independent, so these opportunities for catch ups were far and few between. It’d been like camping almost. Talking and spending time together, eating when hungry. Not set routine. No agenda. When evening rolled around a makeshift bed was made for Siloh, close to Tess’s own and then the two of them stayed up half the night gossiping until they both eventually feel asleep. In the morning, after breakfast and even more chatting Siloh turned suddenly to Tess, as if struck by a sudden memory. “Did you see that girl last night?” “What girl?” asked Tess. “Surely you must have seen her? she came in and tugged on my foot and kept asking me to play with her?” “No, I most definitely did not see her”, “oh” said Siloh, slightly confused. In the end the two of them decided it must have been a particularly vivid dream. Until the next time, the paranormal exploring tour came and the inevitable question came up “You ever heard or seen anything love?” So now Tess could legitimately say “well not me, but when my cousin came to stay, she said she heard a girl, a child come and ask her to come out and play and she felt her tugging at her foot.” “How old is your cousin?” asked a seasoned paranormal explorer. “Twelve” replied Tess. “Then it was definitely one of the child ghosts, they only visit the children”. Tess didn’t quite know what to make of it all, because it had all seemed so very real to Siloh, especially when she’d been there with her too. And since Siloh never came back to stay there again nothing ever liked happened again.
Written And Published With Permission By: Margaret
Cold Case: Text Messaging Transcript
Cameron: Do you like scary movies?
Eddie: What is this? Scream? Where are you?
Cameron: lol, no. Serious question.
Eddie: Yeah sure. Who doesn’t?
Cameron: Lots of people.
Eddie: Anyway, where are you? Thought you were sneaking out?
Cameron: I am. Long driveway. You know this.
Eddie: You need to move closer to the city.
Cameron: I like scary and all but what really gets me are the urban legends. You know the stories around the campfire.
Eddie: Who camps anymore? Come on, Cameron, it’s getting cold out here.
Cameron: My favourite one takes place along a dirt road much like the one I live on. These two people are travelling along the road when suddenly a car pulls up behind them suddenly turning their lights on.
Eddie: OMFG, Cam, what timing! This car comes up over the hill with their brights on and passes by. I think seeing me scared them cuz they turned them off. Think they turned their lights off entirely. WTF?
Cameron: LOL so you have heard this one?
Eddie: No way? Hurry up I’m starting yo get nervous.
Cameron: Good. Told you urban legends are scary. Some thing happens in this story, too, except the car turned its lights off on purpose.
Eddie: WDYM?
Cameron: So they’re driving along and they get a hole in their tire and pull up under a tree. One gets out to change the tire. The other stays in car with lights on listening to the radio.
Eddie: Who listens to that anymore?
Cameron: This is an old story.
Eddie: I can tell.
Cameron: Anyway, the announcer announces a murderer is on the loose killing people and hanging them by their feet in the trees. Suddenly the car shakes and then nothing.
Eddie: A person doesn’t stay in the car while the tire is being changed.
Cameron: They were looking to see if they had a spare.
Eddie: WTF Cameron!! Don’t be an ass!!
Cameron: What?!
Eddie: You shook the car, you asshole.
Cameron: Hey at least you don’t hear scratching on the top of the car.
Eddie: Why?
Cameron: Means the murderer got me and hung me up by my feet…
Eddie: Very funny you prick, now I hear it.
Eddie: Knock it off Cameron.
Eddie: Cameron, get in the fucking car
Eddie: CAMERON!
Written And Published With Permission By: Michael
Twitter post
(10/08/21):
sad day, my gran died today. rip, gran.
(30/08/21):
read gran’s will today. wasn’t expecting anything, cause she was poor. but she left me a creepy doll. she always said it was bad news. I must be special or something. rip gran.
(05/09/21):
this damn doll has no balance. it keeps fallin off the bookshelf.
(15/09/21):
this damn thing is like some elf on the shelf bullcrap. coulda sworn I put it on my bookshelf. then I found it on the table.
PHOTO: Small doll on a bookshelf
(16/09/21):
PHOTO: Small doll on a table.
I swear I didn’t move this damn thing!
(20/09/21):
had a dream that the doll got up and walked into my bedroom.
(21/09/21):
holy crap it was in my room when I woke up this morning! wtf gran?!
(24/09/21):
alright, this thing has like moving eyes or something. I gotta be going crazy
(25/09/21):
im gonna do a tiktok live of this damn thing tmrw.
Tiktok
(27/09/21):
A live stream video of the doll sitting on a bookshelf
Comments:
creepy vibes!
your grandmother owned that?
did it just move?
it totally moved!
dude, I swear it keeps looking at the camera, and looking away, like it doesn’t want to get caught.
is it about to fall?
why would your gran give you that?
get rid of that damn thing
burn the whole house down
The doll falls off the shelf.
The livestream ends itself.
(29/09/21):
im glad im not going crazy, everybody saw it being weird and creepy on live.
threw that damn thing out, sorry gran.
(29/09/21):
middle of the night, someone banging on my door, wtf?
Tiktok live stream
(30/09/21)
A dark room. Sounds of heavy breathing and loud knocking in the background.
I don’t know if anybody watching this can hear that, but somebody is downstairs, trying to knock my front door open.
I looked out my window, and I can’t see nobody out there.
*The camera adjusts as he heads out of his room, downstairs and to the front door.
*As he gets to the door, it stops knocking. He looks out the peephole
Nobody out there.
*He opens the door slightly, with security latch still locked. The camera peers down, and we see the doll on the front porch.
What the f–??
*The livestream ends
Written And Published With Permission By: Joel
Hey Western Sydney Writers, Story Stones meets the first Tuesday of each month (excluding January). It is an inclusive group (open to LGBT+ and allies) at Penrith City Library. Add us on Instagram: @thestorystones