Hello everyone! After an (admittedly) long wait, here are the results of the 2022 Spooky Story Contest! A huge thank you to everyone who submitted a story, we loved them all but in the end we have three stories at the top. In first, we have The Tale of Harlan Willoughby from the Deadman’s Woods by Levi Hott, second we have Curiosity Killed the Girl by Arden Walker, and in third we have Short Horror Story by Lucas O Neill. Once again, thank you to everyone who submitted and we can’t wait to read all your stories next year.
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The Tale of Harlan Willoughby from the Deadman’s Woods
by Levi Hott
My parents invited us to their house for Halloween this year, whereas other families had huge celebrations for Christmas, or Thanksgiving. My Mom always loved Halloween, it was weird, but it was us. As the familiar turns of the old highway started to take us home, I said to my husband and daughter…
“Do you wanna hear a scary story?”
I knew this would catch my daughter’s attention, she loves ghost stories and all of the type. Adam, my husband, doesn’t get this, he hates scary stories. I’m new to being a father, we adopted her earlier this year, she’s three now. I’ve found fatherhood to be wonderful, if not the scariest thing in the world, much scarier than any ghost or zombie story.
“Yes, yes!” she exclaims.
Much to the dismay of Adam, I continued…
“Now it’s pretty scary, so if at any point you want me to stop, that’s okay. But I encourage you, take the time to listen, as you may find that there are lessons in the fear you can’t find anywhere else.”
October 31st, 1998… I believe I was in 5th grade at the time. I had just moved to the town of Weathercreek Falls, a hokey little town that you’ve probably seen on a road sign if you’ve ever passed through the area, but never made the turn into its mountainous streets. It's a town you’ve never been too yet always known, that's Weather Creek.
I had made a few friends, their names were Ben and Riley, I think they were from there but I never bothered to ask as that's not the kind of thing you care about as a kid. You only start to wonder where someone is from when you become a silly adult who pays taxes and watches the football games on Sunday.
The school bell rang and the excitement grew for trick or treating that night, we got on our bikes and rushed home. I dressed up as Batman that year, or… batman in a big puffy winter coat thanks to my mom. Ben was Robin, and Riley was the joker, she always loved to play the bad guys when we played superheroes.
The night went about as expected, we tried to go to the house with full size candy bars twice but they turned us away the second time, the highschoolers jumped out of bushes to scare us, Ben’s house got TP’d, but as it got close to 8:00 (when I was told to be home) a mischievous grin grew on the faces of my two friends.
“Have you ever heard of the Deadman’s Woods?” they said in unison.
I haven’t, but it sounded scary. I hated horror movies as a kid, I just couldn’t do them, even when all the other kids started watching them at sleepovers.
“Umm, no I don’t think so.” I responded
They turned and looked at each other in excitement to share the story.
“300 years ago there was a man named Harlan Willoughby. He and his daughter Amelia lived in an old cabin in the woods north of town. They spent their days as any family would so long ago, hunting… gathering, all of the sort. Until one day, the minister of the local chapel came to visit. He was horrified to find hidden secrets of witchcraft from the father and child. Townspeople came in an angry mob in the middle of the night, and set his house alight, taking his daughter with them. Some say that if you dare walk those woods on Halloween night, you will hear the crackling of the flames that brought the old man to his dismay… or even… the man himself… wandering the woods… searching for his taken daughter.”
This set the hairs on the back of my neck straight up, I was a scared kid, or as some would say… a scaredy cat.
“So… do you wanna go?” they asked me.
Absolutely I did not, but I wanted to impress them…
“Um, of course I do.” I said shakily.
We rode our bikes out into the woods, where every hoot of an owl, and creak of a tree branch caused the lump in my throat to grow until it was bursting to get out.
“We’re here,” said Ben.
I noticed a look on their face like they were hiding something from me…
“All we have to do now is close our eyes, and call out to him,” said Riley.
They closed their eyes, and I nervously followed suit.
“Repeat after us…” they began to speak in unison.
“Harlan, Harlan come to me…”
“Harlan, Harlan come to me…” I echoed.
“... when I reach the count of three.”
“... when I reach the count of three.”
“1… 2…
It was quiet, too quiet.
“AGHHHHH.”
I hear my two friends run away and quickly open my eyes… In front of me an old green hand rose from the dirt… It grasped a nearby rock, launching himself up out of the ground, tripping on the roots in front of him. I turned to run away, but before I did he popped his arm off and scratched his back.
“Ahh… that’s much better, I’ve been down there since last year and couldn’t reach that itch.”
He popped his arm back on, noticing I was scared.
“Oh sorry, that’s no way to act around someone you just met.”
` “Are you a zombie?” I asked him.
He looked down at himself.
“Well, I spose I don’t look my best but zombie is a bit harsh…”
I didn’t respond.
“I’ms just jokin with ya boy, yes I spose I am, what’s your name?”
“Harry…” I said hesitantly.
“Harry! Wells that's an awful lot like my name, they call me Harlan.”
“Harlan… Harlan Willoughby?
“Well it seems I’m not a stranger to ya, but it’s nice to meet you, Harry.”
“So you’re real?” I asked him.
“As real as ever.” He waved his arms in the air as he said this.
I couldn’t believe it, all my life I was scared of monsters and here I am with a zombie. My worst fears were proven, they’re real.
“Did your friends leave ya?” He said while looking past me.
I turned around, they did, didn’t they? I thought they were my friends but were so quick to leave me here with a monster.
“Ahh it was that Ben and Riley wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I responded, “how do you know my friends?”
“Those aren’t your friends Harry, theys always come here on Halloween to stomp about
my woods, then toss eggs that whoever theys decide to bring with ‘em.”
I turned around and noticed some broken egg shells trailing out of the woods… they were messing with me.
“I thought I’d come out a bit early this year and gives them a good scare. You see Harry,
People have always been scared of me.”
“I’ve heard.” I told him, noticing the sad expression on the zombie's face.
“I’m sorry about your daughter.”
“Ah yes, Amelia… thank you boy. I do hope she is okay. It’s funny don’t you think, how
adults pretend to be big and strong but they’re just as scared as everyone else?”
I paused, “they are?”
“Oh yes very much so. Adults pretend to haves it all straight but they don’t, they’re scared all the time. Whens you never learn to face your fears, you never overcome
Them, and that, that leads to scary… dangerous things, that leads to what happened to me. Doesn't mean you can’t be scared, everybodys full of fear! It’s how you live with that fear that proves if you’re brave, boy. Be kind to it, be kind to yourself.``
I had never thought about it that way before, I realized the man I was with was deeply kind, and full of heart, even if he appeared rotted, and green, he helped me that day, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
“May I walk you home boy? I know my ways around these parts.”
“Yes, thank you, I’m gonna need help.” I said to him, I was still scared, but that’s okay.
I loved scary movies after that.
“Did that really happen Dad?” my daughter said to me.
“It did!” I turned to my husband who gave me a look that said “sure it did.”
“Woah!” she exclaimed, I looked through the rear view mirror and saw her face so full of
excitement and wonder.
“But why’d your friends leave you there Dad?”
“They were scared honey, and sometimes scared people do mean things.” I told her.
“Are we there yet? I have to use the bathroom!” she said, ignoring my previous
statement, but that’s okay
“Almost, but there’s a rest stop coming up, we can stop there if you’d like.”
I wanted to stop there anyway, it’s just north of town, where Harlan lived. The further we traveled in, the more the old woods turned to pavement. Where once stood endless forests now stood gas stations and parking lots. I wondered if the old man's spot had been paved over, if he would ever return. Funny how as a boy I was scared of him showing up, and now as an adult I was scared I wouldn’t see my old friend again.
“All done!” my daughter ran out of the bathroom with Adam close behind.
“Okay, let's keep on going then honey” I said to her.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, it was my mom.
“Oh sorry I have to take this.” I said to my family.
“Hey Mom.”
“Hey honey! Are you almost here?”
“Yeah, we had to stop at a bathroom.”
“Ah, okay I see.”
“We’ll be there in maybe half an hour.”
“Well tell little Amelia that I can’t wait to meet her. And how lovely she shares a name
with your great, great, great grandmother!”
“Oh really? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, she was also adopted believe it or not, the town took her in after her father went
Missing.”
A realization came to me.
“...missing?” I questioned.
“Oh yes! …well we can get into all of this when you’re here… see you soon, love you!”
“Love you too Mom.”
I hung up the phone and took a moment to look at my family, how beautiful, how lucky I am. On the walk back to the car I swear I could hear the soft roll of burning embers, I turned around to take one last look around, and beyond the fenced off woods I felt the gaze of another, a voice whispered in my ear…
“Take care of her for me, boy. Take care of Amelia, you’ll be scared, but you’ll be a great
Dad.”
I would recognize that voice anywhere.
“Thank you Harlan.” and with a gust of wind, he was gone.
He had found his daughter, he had found his family, just as I have. I’ll forever remember the man, my great… great… great… great… grandfather, and I’ll never forget to always be kind to the things that go bump in the night.
Happy Halloween.
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Curiosity Killed the Girl
By Arden Walker
She felt it all day — a ghostly feeling in her nose clogging up her airways and making her voice nasal. She ignores it at first, believing the pressure was simply mucus caused by the warm-leaved trees outside that humidity sways through. She was used to the cold slow drip of snot running down her nose when the seasons change, the extraordinary amounts of used, crumpled-up tissues in her pockets, on her desk, or in nearby trash cans. She usually had a small packet of cheaply made tissues in her purse, right beside her nasal spray but they were left on her bedside table during her frantic rush to work. During her time at work, she discreetly tried to dab her nose with the sandpaper-like napkins from the women’s bathroom and had told herself to wait until you get home, too embarrassed by her allergies to give herself relief. She went the whole day, forcing herself to ignore the itchy feeling of it running down her nose.
As she quickly unlocks the door to her home, the itch becomes worse. It tingled her sinuses like it was urging her to sneeze and felt as if the amount of snot had grown in width, closing her right nostril even more. She twitches her nose to ease the itch in the depths of her nostrils but quickly stops when searing pain flairs inside her head. A sharp heat slid its way through her brain and disappeared just as quickly as it came. Irritated at the constant aching wave, she allows herself to swipe at her nose, only for her hand to hit something stiff and wet.
Her hand jerks away from her face as she glances down at her fingertips in a bewildered pause, and blinks robotically. Her mind runs over multiple reasons for what she touched, being there, but she came up empty, now clouded by curiosity. She blinks again, moving her hand cautiously towards her nose, as an indescribable feeling wafts over her body. Her fingers touch it, lightly tapping it up and down and side to side, spreading the sticky fluid coating the thing, all over her fingertips and the groove between her top lip. She looks down at the clear and sticky residue coating her fingers and skittishly moves towards the bathroom, still staring at the slightly viscous liquid strung between them.
The bright florescent lights illuminate the small bathroom, and shine on the fluid, revealing its subtle pink hue. She comes to a stop in front of the small, yellowed countertop as tiny droplets of water drip from the sink's leaky faucet. Her eyes slowly trail from her fingers, past the counter, and up the wall covered in obnoxious beach décor until she spots her sickly face—gasping in shock at what stares back through the mirror. Her meticulous-wrapped bun had begun to unravel, causing little hairs to stick against her sweat-drenched forehead. Her full face of makeup was struck through by trails of sweat, combining the layers of concealer and foundation into tan clumps around her eyes, which little red veins had covered the whites of. What wasn’t clumped up by sweat, was mixing into a tiny puddle with the fluid that eases itself from the thing in her nose.
Her body leans forward towards the mirror slowly, and her head tilts slightly as her brows furrow. Peaking about three centimeters from inside her right nostril was a fleshy pink stump with rounded edges that oozed the same substance coating the tips of her fingers. She brings her hand back up towards the thing in her nose, feeling compelled to inspect it further. As her fingers meet it, she pinches the stump in between her thumb and pointer finger before tugging on it cautiously. The same wave of sharp pain slides itself across her head again but instead of flinching away, she pinches the stump with more force and begins to pull it from her nose.
She inches it away from inside her nose until she can grasp it with both hands. In an alarming stupor, she grunts as she tries to stop her hands from pulling the stump any further but finds them seemingly moving with a mind of their own. They yank and pull at the now long fleshy string as her wild eyes frantically move from her slimy hands to the mirror in front of her. The pain inside her head continues to blaze--never stopping, just like her hands. Her jaw swiftly drops open as her hands begin to move even faster, continuing to haul the rope of flesh coated in blood-laced mucus from her nose as primal screeches break out of her throat. Her bloodshot eyes glaze over and roll into the back of her head while her mouth, which pools with drool, begins to overflow and the shlick sound of the rope resonates throughout the small bathroom.
Splattered on the countertop and the expanse of her neck are grisly blotches of sticky blood. Some drops sling themselves into the back of her throat and onto the fat part of her tongue, leaving a metallic tinge to settle into her taste buds. A force stops her hands abruptly and her screeches dwindle into agonized groans. Her arms begin to shake slightly from the strenuous pull of her hands but they continue to tug and tug and tug. The rope lodged in her nose jerks her head forwards every time her hands tug against the resistance.
Her hands tug one last time in a wild frenzy--pulling the rest of the fleshy rope out of her nose and onto the heaping pile of bloody, pale pink string that flops down in front of her feet. Blood slides from her nose, down her chin, and bleeds into the hem of her blouse; she begins to sway slightly and her knees buckle in on themselves. Her chin makes contact with the marble countertop in a sickening crunch before her body slumps down onto the floor, causing her head to fall into the warm pile of brain.
Her body relaxes completely into dead weight as the monotonous drip from the leaky faucet stops and the warm-leaved trees continue their taunting sway.
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Short Horror Story
by Lucas O Neill
You are laying down in your bed, trying to fall asleep but continue to roll in anguish, you know something isn’t right. The room is silent apart from the creaking of any old home, dark except for the blue rays of light from your alarm clock and an ominous orange glow, similar to candle light, coming from half rolled up blinds.
Here and there, hot yet cold, comfortable but at the same time not. During your seemingly endless yearning for comfort you roll over in a cold sweat. Your eyes open and you find yourself positioned beside your window. You see a street flooded with orange light, a chest high stone wall in the distance with a pitch Black Forest behind it.
A figure seemingly out of place catches your eye, standing just beyond the barricade where the last of the light reaches. A tree residing on your sidewalk obstructs your view while the figure appears to sway with the wind, like the tree itself. You tell yourself it was nothing but you can’t seem to take your eyes off it.
The figure shifts slowly forward over the wall, scaling the chest high obstacle like it were nothing. You wretch your arms from under your blankets and rub your eyes. When you open your eyes again and focus you see IT. No longer obstructed from view the figure was taller than three of the stone walls stacked on top of each other. Thanks to the orange glow of the street lights you could make IT out. IT was vaguely human, but it’s limbs and torso looked malnourished beyond repair. IT’s rib cage was jutting out and broken as if something had dug their hands in and bent them out, snapping all the weaker ends; but perhaps the most noticing part were it’s arms, It was hunched over and it’s arms reached the ground, past the ground, laying out across the street and ending in long fingers like daggers spread out as if feeling the terrain.
You feel your heart rate increasing, still in a cold sweat, but the shock of IT left you frozen in terror. Your eyes were wide open, fixated on IT’s eyes starring back at you intently, not moving at all. It looked to be wearing a giant moose skull. Missing a bottom jaw and having small shiny dots in the center of the endless abyss that were IT’s eye sockets.
Finally you could not take it, your eyes were burning and itchy from allergies; You blink, it were only for a moment, but it was already outside your window. Looking up at your third floor window as if waiting, still not moving. Your heart rate pulsing in your ears, your eyes fixated on its cracked skull. As you pass out from shock it does not move only standing, waiting.
You wake up to your window open all the way and IT’s arm reaching the highs of your building and tapping slowly on the window’s frame. It was still dark, the orange glow was replaced by darkness, but the thing was still completely visible to you. You could smell death and hear steady focused breathing coming from IT. All you can do is stare as if you were to move, even the faintest twitch, you will die.
Bedrooms are supposed to be a place of calm and safety; but right then it was a trap, you felt like a helpless deer surrounded by a pack of wolves waiting for the perfect chance to strike. There was no hope, as the tapping continued you grew insane, your heart seemed to stop and your eyes never stopped burning, there was no hope but to stay there, not moving, not sleeping, not even living.
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