#halloween short stories

[theimaginativelyreticent]

Villain's Night and Halloween Short stories

Since the bonus of completing both ends is having the full story (except the Epilogue), I'm gonna upload the vid after obtaining it.

I will be very careful with my uploads on YT because of what happened with the previous event and with this, I think both Premium ends and Epilogues will be unlisted, so only those with links can access.

I will include the Halloween Short stories I purchased in this list but they're uploaded as Shorts instead of a video.

***still uploading***

Jude Jazza - chap1 || chap2 || Bitter || Premium || Epilogue

William Rex - chap1 || chap2 || Bitter || Premium || Epilogue

Ellis Twilight - chap1 || chap2 || Bitter || Premium || Epilogue

All Bonus Story

Halloween Short stories

Elbert Greetia

Jude Jazza

Alfons Sylvatica

William Rex

*still thinking whoelse to purchase*

[emilou-keen-gear]

Title: Three’s a Crowd Part 3

Characters: Webby, Lena, Violet, May and June

Word Count: Approx. 1800

            Lena feared that her friends would come investigate why she hadn’t returned downstairs, and she knew that she didn’t have much time to take care of this ghost and perhaps his friend so that nobody else could get hurt. But she overestimated just how long it would take them to notice her absence. It must be that anyone associated with McDuck for too long developed a keen sense of danger, because Webby, Violet, May and June came up not long after the ghost appeared to Lena.

            “Hey, do you need some—“ Webby started, opening the door then hesitated a second before rushing in, her actions and war cry indicating that she was attacking the person who had her friend captive. However, as she expected to grab the boy’s wrists and jerk them around his back, she was surprised when her fingers went right through them. She tried once more before her mind realized that physical contact was useless and just who she was up against.

            “It’s a-a-a ghost!” June screamed, cowering just outside the doorway.

            “How do I fight a ghost?” Webby asked, still crouched in a fighting stance.

            Violet raced forward, reaching into her pockets and throwing a handful of powder at the ghost.

            The ghost immediately let go of Lena, retreating backward, shirking from the powder.

            “What is that?” Webby asked, hoping there was more.

            “Salt,” Violet said. “I put some in my pocket before the summoning. And I left it in case we needed it for popcorn.”

            “Great. Throw everything at that jerk,” Lena said, moving so she was between Webby and Violet, and the ghost. “And then get out of here. He wants to hurt you.”

            “No, not all of you,” the ghost growled. “Just the ones that hurt us.” He smiled and raised his hand.

            Webby watched the ghost, and she thought there was something odd about him. Not that he was a ghost, but that he looked familiar. She wasn’t sure since he was semi-transparent. Then she felt something pulling on the collar of her shirt and she was pulled toward the ghost. She resisted. “No, stay away,” she growled, stepping backward. Then she heard some cries behind her and saw May and June being pulled into the room.

            “Get out of here,” she called to May and June. “Get help.”

            Lena and Violet ran to help Webby, but they were thrown against a wall by an unseen force.

            “Sep, what are you doing? You’re supposed to help me,” the ghost shouted, and only then did everyone notice the second ghost in the corner, huddled with his arms around his knees.

            “I don’t want to do it,” the ghost called Sep said in a soft voice. “Auggie wouldn’t like what you’re doing.”

            “Auggie isn’t here,” the unnamed ghost growled. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

            “I-I-I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Sep said nervously.

            “Then you’re going to stay here forever,” the other ghost said. “I’m moving on, and nothing is going to stop me. Let alone you. And don’t you dare go to Auggie.”

            Webby felt the power pulling her to the ghost increasing, and she turned around, falling onto her hands and knees to cling to the carpet of her room to prevent herself from sliding any more. From this position, she had a better angle to watch June and May, who were braced against the door frame.

            June was holding on, still in the hallway, but May was slipping.

            “Lena, help them,” Webby called to her friend.

            Lena’s eyes glowed, and she managed to break her arm free from the phantom’s power, extending it to May and June. With a burst of power, she was able to push the two ducklings out of the room and away from the ghosts, slamming the door behind them.

            “No!” the unnamed ghost yelled, his voice accompanied by the sound of gusting wind and nails on the chalkboard.

            Webby felt relief that her sisters were safe. She hoped that they could find someone to help them. While the house was full of the Duck family and guests, it was a hit or miss some nights to find anyone still had home. On the rare occasion that they weren’t adventuring, everyone seemed to have their own plans now and then. And with Halloween approaching, many were off doing their own things.

            She hoped that the mansion wasn’t empty.

            “You let them go!” the ghost cried out. His anger inflated his body a little, making him almost twice his size. With a swipe of his hand, he pushed Webby and Violet against the wall next to Lena and held them there. But instead of shouting more at the girls, he turned to the other ghost. “You dare to let them go. I needed them. I need all three of them.”

            “This is wrong,” Sep said, finally standing up. He was trembling but he faced the larger ghost with a straight spine. “But what happened to us is wrong. I won’t help you, but I’m not going to fight you either.”

            “Sitting on the fence, as always, brother,” the other ghost sneered, and he shrank back to his old size. “Coward.”

            “I’m not a coward,” Sep said. “I just don’t like being in the middle of you and Auggie. It’s always picking one side or the other, like I’m supposed to be some sort of tie-breaker. But I’m done with that. I’m going to pick my own path.”

            “And that is?” his brother snarled.

            “I haven’t decided yet,” Sep said, folding his arms and looking away.

            “Well, when you finally come to my senses to help me track down the other two, let me know,” the other ghost said. “In the meantime, I’m going to take care of April.” He reached out to Webby.             “April?” Webby gasped, hearing the code name that Red Heron had given her as a baby. “You’re from FOWL?” She fought against the ghost’s power, trying to get away. FOWL meant a bad guy, and that meant her family was in danger. May and June might find someone, but Webby needed to get away to tell them just how bad things were.

            “From? Yes, in a way. But not in the way you think,” the ghost said, and for a moment, he looked sad. He looked like a lost kid wanting to find his home.

            “No way,” Lena shouted. “We destroyed FOWL. How could they be sending ghosts after us?”

            “I told you. We may be from FOWL, but they didn’t send us,” the ghost shouted.

            “FOWL made us,” Sep said. “They didn’t send us. We’re here because we felt pulled here, and once we saw you and the other clones, we understood why. Fowl made us. Me, Auggie, and October.”

            “October?” Violet repeated, her mind traveling a hundred miles a minute. “If I may ask, would your whole name happen to be September? And Auggie is August?”

            Sep smiled. And he looked even more familiar than ever.

***

            May raced down the stairs, holding onto June’s hand. More like pulling. Ghosts! Why was this family so weird? Monsters and gods and curses and myths and legends. It was like everything supernatural was attracted to this spot, this family.

            And was May and June cursed, too, with this same attraction? They had Scrooge McDuck’s DNA coursed through her veins. She was him in a way. Was it a biological thing? Or had Scrooge rolled in so much magic that he practically stank with it? Perhaps it was both, and May and June were doomed to never have a normal life.

            “We have to find Auggie,” June said once they were on the ground floor, tugging on her sister’s hand to stop her.

            “No, June. We get help like Webby said,” May said. “I think I saw Della when we arrived here. Or maybe we should call Donald.”

            “No, it has to be Auggie,” June said.

            “June, Auggie is just like them,” May broke it to her sister. “He’s a ghost, too. We didn’t tell you earlier because we didn’t want to scare you.”

            “I’m not stupid, May,” June said, her expression a mixture of downcast and defiance. “I knew that from the beginning. He looked just like a normal boy but I knew from the beginning. It was just easier to pretend he was alive. But he’s good. He’ll be able to help.”

            “How? You saw how strong that ghost was,” May argued.

            “And I saw how Webby was defenseless against him, too,” June said. “The best way to defeat a ghost is with another ghost.”

            May was about to open her mouth to argue, but the logic was sound. “Then we find Duckworth.”

            “How? If he didn’t notice the ghosts in the house by now, he’s probably not here,” June reasoned.

            Despite the situation, she had to smile. A lot of people didn’t give June enough credit, but she was just as sharp as their genetic donor. “Okay, June. Let’s look for Auggie. Do you know where he is?”

            “He headed out to the woods. He told me he likes to camp, and he smelled like wood smoke,” June said.

            “How does a ghost smell?” May asked.

            June shrugged.

            Knowing they wasted enough time talking, they headed out to the woods just behind Scrooge’s mansion. It really couldn’t be called “the woods” since it was only a couple of acres of trees that remained untouched from the trees that had been removed to build Duckburg, something Scrooge kept to remind him of his love of the outdoors and his home back in Scotland.

            “Auggie,” June began shouting immediately, racing in the moonlit night.

            May kept right behind her, keeping silent. She still wasn’t sure about this plan to find another ghost, so she decided to remain hidden until she could judge whether this Auggie character was as good as June thought he was.

            It didn’t take long before they could smell smoke on the air, and June followed it. She could almost hear the popping of wood logs and feel the warmth from a fire when they found him standing in the moonlight, looking out at the city of Duckburg.

            “Auggie,” June said with a smile in her voice and she raced to him.

            “Hey, June. You shouldn’t be out here without a jacket. It’s cold,” Auggie said. He wore a skin-tight shirt, barely covering his arms down to the elbows, little more than what June was wearing. But he didn’t feel the cold.

            And as Auggie turned and saw that June wasn’t alone, May stopped, stunned. She had thought that the two ghosts up in Webby’s room looked familiar, but didn’t think much of it. But when she saw Auggie, she could see a family resemblance between the three ghosts. They must have been brothers because they shared a lot of traits, but they had little differences such as hair and feather styles. But Auggie’s style resembled a certain, grouchy billionaire duck.

            Not just resembled, it was exact. In fact, Auggie was the spitting image of Scrooge McDuck from his youth.

[acoupofowls]

Stories that exist in the threshold...

Our Autumn 2023 issue is now online, featuring:

Calavera by Corinne Pollard People queue, waiting for a treat every year, waiting for their skull.

Recluse by Tucker Struyk  An award-winning author is tasked with writing a tell-all novel about his life.

Autonomy by Michael Staniforth  Sarah's body is disappearing, even though she can see it perfectly well, and no one will believe her, not even when the rats come nibbling at her toes.

Like Father Like Children by You Lin  There are four of us: formless, nameless, lifeless. We are nothing; we are everything. We are restless; we are dead

Smoke and Honey by Ende Mac A guardian angel reflects on humanity—and love—at a hospital bedside.

Cover Image by Samantha McLaren Cover Design – A Coup of Owls Press

Read or download from our website!

To receive future issues and other news direct to your inbox, subscribe via our homepage.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Your vampires are amazing. Would you write something about vampires for halloween?

"Oh, dear." The vampire studied the vampire hunter with a fierce and searing hunger in their gaze. "That's an awful lot of blood."

The vampire hunter managed a rasping, panicked breath. Their eyes went wide. They struggled to shift, to reach for a weapon.

The vampire smiled.

Lightning quick, the vampire crouched and straddled the hunter, pinning them down against the dirt. They placed a firm hand on the hunter's stomach, applying pressure to the wound. "Ah, ah, ah."

The hunter gasped in pain. They scrabbled at the vampire's hand, but the blood loss had already left them weak.

The vampire inhaled deeply, the smile on their lips only growing. With their free hand, they brushed the hunter's clammy hair back from their face. "How many people have you killed to ensure your own survival, do you think?"

"None."

"Oh?"

The hunter clenched their jaw. "Vampires aren't people."

The vampire chuckled. Their grip on the hunter's hair tightened, yanking back, forcing the hunter's back to arch with another groan of pain, and their throat to bare. "You'd make a good vampire."

The hunter shook their head, or tried to. Tears leaked down their cheek.

"No, really," the vampire said. "Your first instinct was to try to slaughter me, even now, at the very end of you. What a murderous little thing you are! I can appreciate that. None of the other hunters around these parts will come near me."

"Just finish it!"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" The vampire leaned down, to ghost their lips against the hunter's neck. "How about this. You can die when you can best me in combat."

The hunter went perfectly still at the teasing prick of sharp fangs. "W-what?" It would have been inaudible to a human.

"You can die when you can best me in combat. Until then, I'm going to keep bringing you back, mortally wounding you, and bringing you back again and again and again."

Vampire venom was curative. It kept their prey alive, their blood fresh and drinkable, for longer.

The hunter's heart raced.

The vampire bit.

The hunter's eyes fluttered, their body jerked, before the venom seeped in. Heat and life and desire and hunger. Intoxicatingly good. The lure of immortality, without the curse of a devil's bargain sealed.

The hunter moaned.

The vampire hummed, pleased.

The hunter struggled then, with greater strength as the wound on their stomach began to knit closed beneath the vampire's hands.

When the vampire pulled back, still straddling the hunter, it was to let go of the hunter's hair and capture their wrists instead. It was to release the pressure on the hunter's stomach, and bring a hand cat-like up to their lips to lick the hunter's blood clean away.

The hunter stared at them in horrified, mesmerised disbelief. Still reeling.

A vampire never looked so good as when they had just fed.

"You're delicious," the vampire murmured, with soft satisfaction. "I knew you would be."

"This is - why would you - I - we -"

"You thought I'd turn you?" The vampire's grin was wicked. "Just to torture you with being what you hate most?"

The hunter shivered.

The vampire laughed again. "No, no. I'll only turn you when you want it, when you beg for it."

"You're insane."

"I'm immortal." The vampire rose to their feet. "I'm ancient." They offered the hunter a hand to help them up. "And I'm bored. Have at, killer."

The hunter reached for the vampire's hand, feinted, lunged.

An instant later, they were on the forest floor again.

"Oh, dear," the vampire said. "That's an awful lot of blood." There was a pause, then, "best of three?"

[imnotditzy]

I need Billy to dress up for Halloween. Captain Marvel too.

Captain’s the only one who shows up to the missions on Halloween in costume and everyone just stares at them.

( Superman: Captain it’s good you’re here, we really need you here right now, the invaders seem to have an ungodly amount of— what are you wearing?

Captain Marvel: It’s my Halloween costume! Can you guess what I am? Superman (off guard): Oh uhm, tiger?

Captain Marvel: Yup, good guess! Say, why am I the only one dressed up?

League: . . . )

The whole Leagues there in regular clothes and Captains just in costume, tiger onesie and all.

It would be so funny when this 6 to 7 feet tall (depends on how Cap’s feeling that day), muscular man in a cute orange tiger onesie and face paint, starts knocking out villains.

it would be even funnier if they used magic trickery too because it was Halloween. Like a lightning bolt strikes them and drains the villains youth making them old, or they start coughing out candy.

Billy dressed up as a tiger too probably, he hesitated because it might be suspicious for him and Captain to be in the same costume — but his only other affordable option was Peter Pan and that one just made him sad.

[proteidaes]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! It’s officially pumpkin time!!!! 🎃🎃🎃

Lumina turns 8 this year, can you believe it!! 🥳🍂🍁 Keep it together, girl! The adventure is only beginning! 🍂🍁

✨🎃✨🎃✨🎃✨

Lumina is a little pumpkin girl who is TIRED of growing pumpkins! While she struggles not to lose her head on the eve of the big pumpkin festival, Lumina learns that you don’t need permission to want something different.

✨🎃✨🎃✨🎃✨

Thanks so much for reading!! LUMINA is a 56-pg free-to-read comic about a nervous lil pumpkin girls struggling with The Horrors of being anxious 🎃🎃🎃. I am happy to share this Halloween treat each year, but if you want to support the comic you can buy digital versions on itchio, and ko-fi! Thanks so much!!

You might also enjoy my graphic novel 🍎 CRABAPPLE TROUBLE 🍎, which is a summer-themed adaptation of this story. Thanks for looking!!

[boinday]

The God and The Devil

Just a little folk-gothic about loneliness, the countryside, and keeping a cat. For the spooky season! 1.8k words ^_^ (Copyright Bóín Day 2024)

---------

There's a fire in the garden. Again.

I step outside, careful to close the sliding glass door behind me so Cock Robin can't get out. He prowls the length of the glass with performative indifference, pretending he only follows so far to rub his whiskers against the doorframe. Pretending not to notice the orange flames spitting up into the blue-dark twilight sky.

I take the watering can, already full, from the patio and walk to the center of the garden, where the effigy burns. It is bigger than the last one. About as tall as my knee. I douse it before it catches in the dry summer grass.

Our cottage is in the middle of County Leitrim. In that typical part of Leitrim where nothing really is. I bought it because I could afford it, derelict and rotting as it was, surrounded by a sea of disused fields, twenty kilometers from the nearest shop. It still cost more than my parents' first home; a restored Victorian townhouse purchased in the eighties. I do what I can with the cottage. Funnel all my earnings into making it habitable. Close off the rooms that drive me into despair. I think I got Cock Robin because I was lonely. Or because he was lonely. I can't remember which.

I remember I found him quite endearing at the shelter, though. He is a peculiar shade of brown for a cat – almost chocolatey – with a striking ginger breast by contrast. His eyes are yellow, and suspicious. He's large and fat, and maligned by a snaggletooth that gives him a permanent sneer. Despite his unfortunate face, he is docile, cuddly, and a formidable companion. I don't blame him completely for what's happened, though he must think I do. Why else would he be confined to the house, he thinks. Why else would his dear mother jail him.

Cock Robin, for all his lazy mornings and babyish ways, is a talented and voracious hunter. I never exactly approved of him catching mice, but I suppose I tacitly endorsed it by allowing him outside, into the fields where he was undoubtedly the apex predator. At first I would only find pieces of the mice: a half body, a dismembered foot, an internal organ licked clean of blood.

But as Cock Robin acclimatised to the good life of being a kept cat, and gradually grew rounder from tinned tuna and cold cuts of chicken, he must have grown bored with the taste of mice. Because more and more often, he would bring them home alive.

He would bring them home alive, and with them stunned and confused between his careful teeth, he would howl for my attention. Once I would rise from whatever task I was at, he would wait for me to approach, present his quarry, and kill it in front of me. People say this is a cat's way of teaching hapless humans how to hunt, and perhaps they are right. But from the way Cock Robin would proudly deposit the poor creature on the step, whole but for the killing wounds, and bounce along to the cupboard where he knows I keep his treats, I think this ritual is more akin to a crude, kitty capitalism.

'I have rendered you the service for which our two species coexist,' Cock Robin says with his closed eyes and loud purr. 'Now I shall collect my fee.'

I don't like to watch things die. Even spiders, which I hate, I can't bring myself to kill. Even indoor plants, which are a chore to keep, I endeavour to save from my own habitual neglect. And now even mice, already trapped in the jaws of death, I am compelled by my conscience to rescue. Cock Robin objects to my charity, but he is stupid enough to trust my approach whenever he has some poor living thing in his maw, and once I am close enough, I grab him. Sometimes he drops them instinctively when he hears my stern demands, and sometimes I must pry his mouth open, but he always gives up without much fight.

The difficulty then is re-catching the mouse. I keep gardening gloves by the sliding door for this task, now. If they are sufficiently traumatized, I can simply scoop them up, walk to one of the neighbouring fields, and gently release them into the long grass. If they are lucid, though, they jump away; run, climb, scramble for their life. Those times are harder – especially if Cock Robin is still in the room. But I always catch them. Once they're out of his teeth, I find a way to cup them, grab them, cradle them. Out they go to the fields. Alive to survive another day.

I must have caught at least a dozen mice when the first gift appeared. I didn't know it was a gift then, of course. It was four raspberries, piled together on the doormat. I'm sure I thought it was odd at the time, but I simply picked them up and set them on a fence-post for the birds.

A few days later there were twenty raspberries. A whole punnet's worth. I certainly thought that was odd, and it ignited some paranoia in me. There are no other houses in sight of my cottage, only fields. Not even cattle graze there, so there is little cause for anyone to come out as far as my place on the quiet country road. I fretted about axe wielding maniacs, countryside bandits, the sort of nightmarish characters you might hear about on a True Crime podcast. Of course, as far as threats go, raspberries are a tame and obscure one. Hardly worth calling the Gards over. I think I mentioned it to some friends, and they laughed like I was crazy. I think I laughed too. I didn't want to be crazy.

The raspberries continued to appear for weeks, sometimes with a whole apple rolled into the mix, sometimes ornately arranged among picked daisies and buttercups. I tried to ignore them. Hoped if they rotted on the step, that would send a message. But the damaged, old raspberries were removed in the night, and replenished with fresh ones by morning.

At a certain point, I decided it was best to just wait up. I drank three cups of coffee and, with heart pounding and carving knife in hand, sat in the perfect dark of my kitchen, and waited.

It was just before dawn when I saw them. I'd imagined every manner of strange or dangerous person, - I'd spent the night staring at the middle of the glass door, the height you would expect a person to stand - and so I almost missed them. The tiny, moving bumps of darkness scuttling along the ground towards the door. It looked like the patio stones had come to life, and were rippling towards the cottage in little waves.

I stood and approached. Quite a stupid thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it anyway. I could see them in their droves: hundreds of mice removing the old, imperfect fruit and rolling in the new. Some of them carried the flowers in teams of two or three. I crouched slowly by the glass door, enraptured by their industrious energy. By the sophistication of the endeavour.

One of them must have noticed me, and the noticing spread, because almost instantly the bustling and bumbling little bodies went still. I went still as well. It was relatively dark out, the sky just lightening to a gloomy blue, but I could tell they were looking at me. Then, in another wave of collective movement, their bodies stretched upward – stretched towards the heavens, tiny front paws raised above their mousey heads – and then fell down again. Prostrating themselves on the ground.

I watched the motion repeat several times, paws stretching skyward, then falling back down, before I realised I was watching some strange, cultish worship. They were bowing to me. They were bowing to me.

I ran away, as any rational person would. I closed myself into my bedroom with Cock Robin, who was sleeping none the wiser. And I thought about how truly impossible it is to keep a mouse out of your home, if the mouse has a mind to get in.

It was the following week that Cock Robin was attacked. He came in from the fields, mewling in a pitiful manner I'd never heard from him before. There was a piece of wood lodged in his right eye, about as big as a toothpick. I rushed him to the vet. They couldn't save the eye. An unfortunate accident, they supposed. A mishap while Cock Robin was climbing through a hedge. We agreed he ought to be an indoor cat from then on.

Now they've taken a liking to effigies.

I kick through the smoldering remains of this latest one. Their understanding of human proportions has certainly improved. I see they've stitched leaves together with plant fiber and bug silk to simulate clothing. I wonder how they learned to light the wood. I wonder if this is what we looked like, too, when man discovered fire.

I look up the length of the garden to my rotten little cottage. Cock Robin is sitting politely behind the glass door, watching me through his surviving eye, tail ticking away in simmering upset. He wants to be out here, I know. He wants to exercise his divine wrath.

I wonder, as well, how they make sense of us. It seems impossible to me, that they cannot know how dearly I love Cock Robin. How I infinitely prefer him to any little mouse, no matter what mercy my conscience mandates. How he sleeps beside me, inside the cottage that is so alien and fortified compared to the world of empty fields around it. I suppose it is a contradiction inherent, that they should give me tribute while reviling the cat I openly adore.

I suppose that even God adored Lucifer, once.

I stomp out the last of the embers and wriggle my phone out of my pocket. I've been photographing these things, for posterity – not that anyone would believe them. It would be written off as some natural phenomenon, or AI fakery, or perhaps they'd simply say I'm lying. I photograph it anyway.

Trudging back towards my cottage, I turn on the phone's flashlight. This is a newly formed habit. I hold the light above my head and sweep it over the neighbouring field, in an arc. Tiny pinpricks of light glow back at me. An ocean of beady eyes, watching in the darkness.

I shout at them to go away, please. I say that I have nothing for them, and thank them for their worship but I'd really rather they just move on. There's no response. There never is. They cannot understand my prayers. I am too huge and powerful to be understood. But still, I pray.

[notes-of-nari]

Stray Kids as the friendly Ghost who haunts your house

Bangchan / Lee Know /Changbin /Hyunjin / Felix /Seungmin/ I.N

• Straight up introduces himself as the resident ghost right after you entered the house.

• Few moments later you find yourself on the couch. Turns out you had fainted with the shock of being face to face with a (handsome) ghost.

• Is always happy to give you song recommendations

• falls out of his chair when he hears the year you were born. "Like wait a minute.. people born in __ are old enough to be in college now?" He is so shocked that he leaves to tell his other ghostly friends about this but comes back with a sour mood and sulks in the corner of the house. Turns out that one of them had made fun of his age.

• surprises you on your birthday with a song he had written for you. Sings as he plays the piano. Says that he had many gramophone records with his own songs. But all those had burnt along with his beloved gramophone.

• Always let's you rant about your interests. Motivates you when you are depressed. • Gives you some pretty good advice.

• Is delighted when your Australian friend visits your house, but your friend is so spooked that he swears that he wouldn't visit your house ever again. But surprise,surprise your friend visits again and ---- They both ditch you for the "Aussie bros" hang out.

[childrenofcain-if]

I can't find anything about the ROs birthdays except their zodiac sign, Tumblr search system is shitty as usual

i don’t think i ever said anything about their birthdays tho, oops! lemme fix that:

C LACROIX: january 12

V NÆSHOLM: june 26

W OSTENDORF: february 9

D DIACONU: october 30

M WHITLOCK-SINGH: august 27

[rosesrotofficial]

Happy Halloween! Are you ready for the Killer Chat! Halloween Special? ;)

HOW DO SERIAL KILLERS SPEND HALLOWEEN?

TOGETHER... OF COURSE.

It's October 31st, 2023. Angel's overworking herself when Ronin knock-knock-knocks his crowbar against her door. V's landed in Japan for a charity event and Misaki is begging him to meet them for real.

Whatever happens... no one's dying tonight. Right?

It's bound to be a special Halloween.

FEATURING...

Two original short stories about the Killer Chat main cast and their Halloween! 

Two beautiful art pieces by Killer Chat's CG artist @munstxr illustrating the story's events... featuring the serial killers in costume! 

MADE BY...

rosesrot - Writer

munstxr - Artist

This book is a DLC of Killer Chat!, a dating sim where you date serial killers on the dark web! 

Download the short stories for free now!

[horrorlesbians]

my halloween costumes from the last four years 🤭

[emilou-keen-gear]

Three's a Crowd part 2

Title: Three’s a Crowd Part 2

Characters: Lena, Webby, Violet, May and June

Word Count: Approx 1400

            Lena rubbed at the chalk circle with the toe of her sneaker. Even after wiping at the summoning circle for several minutes, she could still see the outline. And if that wasn’t bad enough, some of the candles had been kept burning, and their waxy, shrunken bodies were now bonded to the floor. Lena could easily break off most of the wax, but she could feel wax still in the hardwood.

            Mrs. Beakley was going to kill her.

            Unless…

            She pulled the rug that was in the middle of the room over where they had summoned the ghost. Hopefully the housekeeper wouldn’t notice. Ever.

            Lena was certain that wouldn’t be likely. Mrs. Beakley noticed everything. She would just have to research how to get chalk and wax out of hardwood flooring.

            In the meantime, she had to banish the spirits they summoned if they were still around. She put away her Ouija board and pulled out her sage sticks. It seemed odd to her that something so simple could keep spirits away. But on the other hand, she had very little experience with spirits. Just Duckworth and tonight. Magica wouldn’t have anything to do with necromancy. Shadow magic was a lot more powerful and easier to control.

            But there were some benefits to using necromancy. Lena wanted to test out all the different kinds of magic, which is why she was dabbling in something so dark.

            Pulling out some matches to light the sage sticks, Lena was amazed that a little herb could be so powerful. Or was it? Could something like this keep Duckworth at bay? Or was this just for the small spirits that newbies like her summoned?

            It was sort of amazing that she made contact with, not one, but two spirits. More than amazing, it was very rare. Perhaps she had a talent for necromancy. Not that she particularly liked the idea of becoming a necromancer, but it felt good to be a natural at something.

            That is…was it all her? It had to be. She was the only one who could do magic. So she had to be the one to summon the spirits.

            But then again, Violet and Webby had been on several adventures. They had the bracelets, which Lena still couldn’t figure out how they were made or how they channeled magic. And they had both touched the shadow realm and followed her in her darkest dreams. And while they weren’t born with magic, perhaps they could have been imbued with some magical properties. It was true that Lena felt stronger with her friends beside her, so the three of them together might have summoned the spirits.

            Lena was a little disappointed since it might mean she wasn’t naturally gifted, but it made more sense. After all, from what she read, spirits don’t appear unless a strong, magical force calls to them. The exceptions to that rule is if the spirits have a physical bond to a living person or a location.

            But that wasn’t likely. If anyone with the name of Auggie was connected to McDuck Manor or any of its residents, Webby would have known because of her weird, fangirl fanaticism to all things McDuck. Lena sure didn’t know an Auggie, and Violet would have said something since the name wasn’t very common. As for May and June, that was unlikely. The girls were born, like, less than a year ago and aged quickly to pre-teens, growing up isolated in a FOWL fortress. When would they have time to meet anyone named Auggie?

            No, there is no connection to Auggie. As for if Webby and Violet helped Lena summon two spirits, she would have to experiement to see just how much stronger she is when her friends were around.

            “Okay, Auggie and friend. Time to go home. Or go to the next life. Your choice,” Lena said, striking a match. Before she could touch it to the sage stick, it blew out. She struck another one. This time, she noticed a change in the air ever so slightly, as if someone were gently blowing out the match.

            She felt her feathers rise and a shiver go down her spine. She wasn’t alone.

            Lena weighed her options, and while it didn’t seem like the wisest choice, she decided to confront the spirit rather than try a more passive route.

            “Auggie, is that you?” she said to the quiet air. “Or is it your friend? Or is it both of you?”

            There was no reply. And, of course, she had packed away her Ouija board so there would be no communicating with them. Except Auggie had manifested to June. If he was in the room, he could appear to Lena as well…unless he didn’t want to.

            “Okay, I get it. June’s a sweet girl,” Lena said. “Do you have some sort of crush on her? Look, I get that you’re probably lonely. It’s not easy being dead, but she’s alive, and having you hang around her all the time won’t be good for her. It’s best for you to move on.” She lit another match and it went out.

            “Don’t make this hard on you,” Lena said, pulling out another match. “This is the easiest way, and from what I have read, it’s gentle. Kind of like falling asleep. But there are…more difficult ways of sending you away.”

            The box of matches were knocked out of her hand, scattering across the floor.

            “I don’t need matches to light this thing,” Lena said, summoning her power. Then the sage stick was snatched out of her hand roughly, and something grabbed her from behind. It felt as if a strong hand was gripping her wrist and an arm was around her neck, restraining but not choking. She clawed at the invisible force, but while it was solid against her wrist and throat, her fingers went right through it.

            And then a young, male duck’s face appeared right next to her, his cheek against hers. He had dark eyes and a disapproving frown on his beak.

            “No more of that, little girl,” he snarled.

            Lena wanted to shout back that she wasn’t a little girl. Not to mention, the boy looked to be only a few years older than her.

            “Let go of me, Auggie,” Lena yelled, struggling, but it was like fighting a solid wall.

            “Oh, I’m not Auggie,” the ghost said, his voice low and dark. “And just be glad he isn’t here anymore. I’m angry enough as it is with you trying to light that sage. Now if you’re good, you will make it through the night with only a little bit of a scare.”

            “What do you want?” Lena asked. “If you have unfinished business, I can help you. Then you’ll be at peace.”

            “I don’t want peace,” the ghost growled, and his eyes glowed red. “I want…I want…Just do what I say, and you won’t get hurt.”

            “And what of my friends?” Lena asked. “And Auggie? Are either of you going to hurt them? I’ll do what you want if you promise me you won’t hurt them.”

            “I’ll only hurt those who hurt me first,” the ghost said.

            And something about what the ghost said send chills all over Lena’s body as if her feathers had turned into icicles. And although she could honestly say that she was absolutely certain that her friends wouldn’t have hurt anyone, she knew that ghosts often have a skewed idea of what happened in their previous life and their reality as the dead was sometimes poisoned by their last emotions.

            If he thought that one of his friends had hurt him, even if it wasn’t true, he could hurt them.

            “Brother, we shouldn’t do this,” another voice, so similar to the first ghost’s, said. Another boy about the same age flickered in the corner, looking faded and cowed. “This isn’t right.”

            “Don’t tell me what to do,” the first ghost growled. “And don’t you dare tell Auggie, Sep. What happened to me wasn’t fair, and I won’t have anyone stopping me.”

            Lena didn’t know what was going on, but she was certain. The unknown ghost that had her restrained, he was an angry ghost. And angry ghosts were the most dangerous because they more often than naught had more power than their passive counterparts.

            She had to do something or this ghost was going to hurt her friends. And she had to think fast, because she had been gone for quite the while. Eventually, someone was going to come check on her.

End of part 2

I have a better idea of where this story is going, so I can say with confidence that "Three's a Crowd" will only have four parts to it. Again, I want to write a few more short stories before getting to the third part. Thanks for reading.

[white-agony-creek]

Yeah, if your sister was here, she would've showed you how to tell a real scary story, Donald. Her tale about the Gilded Man/Aztec Android left the triplets up the whole fucking night.

[lyonnerileyauthor]

A free Halloween short—about a super hot skeleton daddy 💀

That's right. I MADE THIS SHORT FREE FOR EVERYONE. It's got:

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A house that walks

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[thebarontheabyss]

Happy Halloween to all dead and alive patrons of TBOTA! 👻🎃

Sharing another entry from the archive update if you haven't tried it yet—one that is just perfect for tonight. All other entries are available in the menu or during Chapter 4 of the game!

Have a spooky-but-fun holiday, and see you in the Abyss! 🖤

The Last Recordings of Ibaria Kell’ani

——————▸ Recording 001:

Finally, got this thing working.

My name is Ibaria Kell’ani. I’m a field agent of the Extrarealmic Exploration Institute of Civitas. I was taken hostage by inhabitants of realm C520, for reasons I still can’t figure out.

We were ambushed just a few miles from the gateway right after we descended into the valley. Everything happened so fast.

I… I don’t know where the others are.

When I woke up, I found myself in this chamber. No sign of my team, no sign of my captors—just cold stone walls and… silence.

Shit. I need to think.

——————▸ Recording 002:

An hour has passed since my last recording. Finally managed to calm down.

Let’s see… the important details.

So I woke up in this lavish room, not exactly what I’d call a cell. It’s... unsettling. The bed is large, almost too comfortable, with golden embroidered sheets and a flowing canopy. There’s a faucet in the corner, and a plate of fruit on the bedside table—perfectly arranged, by the way. Fresh, untouched.

Were I not a hostage, I’d give this place a five-star review.

There’s a large window overlooking the valley, and based on the view, I think I’m on the opposite side from where we landed. The elevation is dizzying. It’s way too high to climb down. I thought about making a rope from the bedsheets, but considering how far the drop is, I’d probably fall to my death.

So… let’s file that under Plan Z for now.

Oh, and the door to my room is wide open. Not locked. Not guarded. Just… opened.

I took a peek outside. There’s a huge corridor, stretching in both directions, but it’s too dark to see where it will take me. But I did see some ornate carvings running along the walls, the kind that would take lifetimes to craft.

What a strange prison cell. If that’s even what this is. I called out for my team, but the only thing that answered was my own voice, echoing back.

Nothing. No one. Just silence.

I think… I was hurt during the ambush. There’s a wound on my chest, right above my heart. I didn’t notice it at first—maybe I was in shock. But when I looked, someone had sealed it up. The stitching is crude, primitive. And yet, it doesn’t hurt.

In fact, it’s… warm to the touch.

I’ve been debating whether to leave the room. The open door feels like bait. Like part of some elaborate plan. This realm—C520—has already proven dangerous, and I’m not naive enough to believe my captors would forget to lock my door.

But it’s either that or the window. And I’m not ready to throw myself off a cliff just yet.

I’ll… I’ll keep you updated.

——————▸ Recording 003:

What is this place?

It took some self-convincing, more than I’d like to admit—but I did it. I went outside. Walked through the dark corridor, my flashlight shaking in my hand the entire way.

At the end of the hall, I found a sodden door. Behind it… there’s a worship chamber, or something that resembles one.

Oh, I should mention—my comm device. Still broken. Probably fried during the ambush. So, I’m left with my secondary recording device. It can’t do video, but I’ll keep doing these audio docs, so If anyone ever finds them…

You know, I should probably stop thinking about that.

Anyway, the chamber. It’s huge, like some sort of ancient monastery. Big statues, lined the walls, their faces obscured by time or maybe deliberate damage. I think they depicted warriors, or Gods–or both. Each statue was clutching something—heads. Humanoid heads, held like stone trophies in their cold hands. There were unlit candles scattered across the floor, and carvings covering the walls and ground. It all screamed of some kind of cult-like ritual space.

Wish Agent Joles were here. Her expertise in extrarealmic anthropology would’ve come in handy. I’m just a field agent—a grunt. I’m here to follow the experts, not to play investigator in a nightmare temple.

I wonder where the others are.

The chamber was cold, but the atmosphere was worse than the temperature. I tried to read the carvings, but without my comm device, I couldn't translate them.

There was no exit except for the way I came in, so after a while, I left. Honestly, the whole place gave me the creeps. Those statues… those heads. It felt like they were watching me as I walked away. I know that’s crazy. I know I’m probably just freaked out. But I heard rumours, about the things hiding in some of these realms.

Although, that won’t make sense, right? They scan every realm before expeditions. They check for dangers. And for safety measures, we had a whole squad of security guards. So… how did this happened, for Dominie’s sake? We were supposed to be prepared for some primitive inhabitants. What the hell happened?!

Sorry. Got carried away.

So, when I got back to my room, I downed some water from the faucet. I kind of hesitated before drinking it, but they wouldn’t poison it, right? I mean, there’s no point. They can do whatever they want to me. It’s not like a 5’4" field agent is going to pose much of a threat.

Actually, another thing I don’t want to think about right now.

I need to reassess. The sun—looks like it’s starting to set. I’ll head out again. Try to cover more ground.

Wish me luck.

——————▸ Recording 004:

Hello again. It’s morning already. I was so tired I fell asleep and forgot to record.

So… where do I start? This place is huge. And I don’t mean big in the normal sense—I mean *palatial*. A labyrinth of halls, corridors, and rooms. It took me more than two hours just to make a partial sweep, and I’m not even sure I’ve seen half of it.

There’s a throne room, of all things, sitting empty like its monarch left centuries ago. I walked past more than ten chambers—some grand, like mine, others more bare but still way too fancy to be normal cells. I found a grand hall, kitchens (complete with gleaming silverware and bowls of nothing), and long stretches of corridors leading to dead ends or locked doors.

All of it… deserted.

It’s like a whole kingdom got up and walked away one day, leaving everything behind. There’s no dust, no decay. Just vast emptiness.

No sign of my team, as well. Not a trace. Not a voice. The only sounds are my footsteps and my breathing. I tried the doors leading outside, but they’re all sealed shut, not even a lock or handle to work with. I think… the lock is on the other side?

After a while, I could feel another panic attack creeping up on me. But… I was too damn tired to let it happen. I didn’t have the energy to be scared anymore.

Instead, I stumbled back to my room, drained. The plate of fruit was still sitting there on the bed, so I ate the whole thing in one go. Honestly, I don’t even remember what it tasted like. It could’ve been cardboard for all I care. I just needed something in my system. Then, I collapsed onto the bed and slept.

When I woke up… the plate was full again. Back where it had been yesterday. Fresh fruit, arranged just as perfectly as before.

That’s when I lost it. I yelled—really yelled—until my throat hurt. Not because I was scared. No, I was pissed. Furious, actually. I don’t care what’s going on anymore. I don’t care what they’re planning or what they’ll do to me. I just wanted this stupid, endless suspense to end.

But no one came. No one answered.

No footsteps, no voices, no movement at all.

Nothing.

So here I am again, talking to this recorder like it’s a friend. I’ll… I’ll try another walk around today. There has to be something I missed. Maybe a door I overlooked. Maybe some clue that’ll help me make sense of this.

I can’t give up. Not yet.

My wound seems to be getting better. I mean, it’s not hurting anymore. Just… pulsing a bit. That’s weird, right? It doesn’t hurt, but it’s like there’s a heartbeat just beneath the skin.

I don’t know. It’s the least of my problems right now.

——————▸ Recording 005:

It’s been three days. I don’t think there’s a way out.

I’ve searched every inch of this damned place—every hall, every room, every shadowed corner. And as far as I can tell, the only real exits are the windows. I spent yesterday walking through even more fancy halls and ornate chambers, all just as grand and empty as the rest of this palace.

There’s also a garden, which… well, I have to admit was a nice break. I needed the air. But other than that… Nothing.

Every morning, the fruit plate on my bed gets replenished. I checked it this morning, waiting to see if someone would sneak in while I slept, but… no. No one. It’s magic. I saw it happen. The fruit just appeared, like it was summoned out of thin air.

That’s when I started thinking about Samir. If he were here, with his arcane knowledge, he’d probably be able to figure it out. Or at least, he’d have some theory. But Samir’s not here, is he? No one is. I’m alone.

Maybe someone managed to escape? Maybe all of them did. Maybe I’m the only one unlucky enough to be captured. Maybe… maybe the search parties are combing through the valley, following protocol, marking my absence on some cold, clinical report.

Either way, I need to be patient. I’m not in any immediate danger, right? No one’s tried to harm me, there’s food, there’s water, I’m not hurt… at least, not physically. I just need to keep my head on straight. Just be patient, Ibaria.

I had the strangest dream the other night. I was back in the chamber with the statues—the one with all those warrior effigies. It was snowing inside it—not just cold, actual snow falling from the ceiling. I remember watching it fall on those stone faces. And then one of the statues moved.

She was a woman, tall and armored, a warrior just like the others. But instead of standing there, frozen in place, she stepped down from her pedestal. She walked right up to me, took my hand, and kissed it. Her lips were cold. I could feel them, real as anything. And then she whispered, “It’s going to be alright.”

I thought about searching that chamber again, but honestly… I’m afraid to find her there.

I’m trying to stay focused, to keep some semblance of a plan.

So here’s what I’ve got:

- Plan A: Wait for rescue. Patience. Hope the Institute hasn’t forgotten me.

- Plan B: Try some of the locked doors. See if I can force my way through one of them. Maybe there’s something I missed.

- Plan Z: Jump out the window.

Let’s… hope it doesn’t come to that.

The wound on my chest is still there. It’s not hurting, but that pulsing sensation? Yeah, that’s still happening. Almost like it’s synced to my heartbeat. If I focus hard enough, I can feel it—this subtle thrum beneath the skin, warm, constant.

I can’t figure out if that’s a good or bad thing.

——————▸ Recording 006:

The others are dead.

It’s been two weeks since my last recording. Two weeks of silence. I had no reason to record. No purpose. I’ve just… wandered around this place. Lost, alone. Waiting, I suppose.

Until today.

I dreamed of her again. The woman from the chamber. She came to me every night, standing there in the snow, whispering things I couldn’t understand. But this morning… I didn’t wake up in my room.

I woke up in the chamber.

The cold stone floor was beneath me, and I could see my breath in the air, though I felt no chill. I bolted out of there, heart pounding in my chest. But something made me stop at the door. I turned back. I don’t know why. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I’d missed.

I searched the chamber again, behind the statues this time. That’s when I found it.

A door.

It was hidden behind a statue. The door was ice-cold to the touch, frost curling along the edges, but I didn’t hesitate. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

And that’s when I found them.

My team.

What’s… what’s left of them.

Their bodies were frozen in place, scattered across a huge, cavernous room. Catacomb-like, the walls were encased in thick ice, but I didn’t feel the cold. It was like the air had been sucked out, leaving only silence, death.

Their chests were split open. Not torn or clawed at—opened. As if something inside them had burned its way out. The skin around their wounds was charred, blackened, but the rest of their bodies were pristine, preserved in the ice.

I found the professor. Sylvia.

She was my mentor. I’ve known her for years. She always had this calm, steady look about her. But now… she looks terrified. Even in death, that fear is etched into her face.

But they weren’t the only ones in that chamber. There were others. Other bodies. Explorers, I think, judging by their clothing. But not just from Civitas. No… these people were from other realms. The styles of their uniforms, the equipment scattered around—it was all different. But their fate was the same. Chest opened, frozen in ice. Like something had devoured them from within.

And then, at the center of it all, a circle of bodies.

My captors.

They were arranged in a circle, lying in perfect formation, like some kind of ritual. All of them dead. I think they poisoned themselves. There was an empty bottle in the middle, the liquid long gone. It didn’t make sense, none of it makes sense.

And at the end of the room I found… her. The statue.

The bronze woman, the one from my dreams, her form still and cold. Covered in ice, just like the rest of the chamber. But there was something about her. She wasn’t just another statue. I could feel it. Like she was watching me. Waiting.

I ran. I couldn’t take it anymore. I bolted back to my room, slammed the door behind me, and collapsed on the bed, my mind racing.

Before I left the chamber, though, I grabbed something—Sylvia’s log. Her personal notes. I’ve been combing through them ever since I got back, trying to make sense of all this.

The final entry… it must have been written just before everything went wrong. It says: *“Someone has interfered with the gateway. We are in the wrong place.”*

I don’t think anyone’s coming for me.

——————▸ Recording 007:

It’s snowing outside.

The valley is white, pristine. It’s been snowing for two days now—relentless, endless. Everything is buried beneath it. The world is so quiet.

There was once an empire here. A pantheon of warrior-gods who ruled this realm. They waged wars—horrible, unending wars. So many dead. Gods and mortals alike. We’re so similar, aren’t we?

And she… she needed someone to save her. Someone to carry her. Not all mortals are capable, she told me. She needed someone who crossed the realms, absorbing void energy. But even then, some… can’t take the weight.

So she had to try, again and again.

I’m… I’m not in control of myself anymore. I wake up in places I don’t remember going to, sleepwalking through this palace. I feel tired all the time, like there’s a weight inside me pulling me down. But she said it’s alright. It’s all part of the process. The cold is everywhere now, but she says my warmth will sustain her.

I was just a field agent. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t important. But she told me I am. I will be. I was the only one who mattered. This place—it’s been waiting for me. All of it. The halls, the statues, my throne. Waiting for me.

To take back my realm.

To lead my people to victory.

To be the war, the snow, the cold.

The wound on my chest—it's healed now. It closed days ago. I feel stronger. Clearer. More… whole than I’ve felt in a long time. I thought I’d lost myself, but no. I came back through.

Thank you, for your sacrifice. It won’t be in vain. You gave me the strength I needed. The strength to do what must be done.

I will take back what’s mine.

[rish-you-were-here]

NOSFERATEEN! My short story about friendship, vampire's and DECEPTION!!!!