Showing results by author "Mace Styx" in All Categories

Outside the tent was damp and cold and moist and like nothing Kayla had ever seen. Almost immediately, she wanted to return into the tent. Supria was already swiftly ahead. Here was like nowhere she had ever seen before. The sky was an eerie purple and orange, there were lighting strikes without thunderbolts. Sequoias characterized the landscapes and then the people.

Fear made me dig. After a while, I really did find something, but it didn't look like a doll to me. It looked more like an old rag sewed up to look like a doll, with two buttons as eyes and few strands of hair poking out of what was supposed to be her head. It was muddy and half-decayed, and I tried to tell her again that she doesn't need it, but I didn't.

Aside from the last part, I happened to tick most of the boxes. Without knowing what it was, I already spotted this door a few times. I also had a few vague encounters with ghosts in different places. I just preferred not to tell anyone about it in fear that I might be laughed at. I didn’t say a single word and pretended to mind my own business until the break ended.

Well, this beginning of my new life did not start as I thought it was going to. I was here for less than two hours, and I already managed to have a panic attack. What should I expect next. I was in a foreign country, in a car with two people I do not know, going to a clinic where I should have a meeting that could determine my whole future. I had no idea how to do it, but apparently, I had four and a half hours to bring my A-game and impress my future boss.

Then, she looked up and let out a short, bitten-off scream. A...thing was there, looming above her, observing her with the impassivity of the cat. Though most of it was shrouded in darkness, Paige knew it was a demon. She could vaguely make out the silhouette of wings, of huge horns curling up from its head like a gazelle. She wanted to light more candles to see better, but she didn’t want to look away from the creature.

One of the most remarkable things about Cathy was her beautiful skin. She had skin that was clear as crystal. And her figure was amazing. Her nose was pointed, defining her face in a well-structured manner. People often called her "the sunflower girl" because of her features and talents as a stripper.

The next complainant brought us back our cabbages, which was one of our produce that father took pride in. He was already agitated before the vendor could say anything. And just like the tomatoes, the cabbages looked totally fine on the surface. The vendor took out one of them that was already cut in half, and father tried his best not to lash out in front of the vendor because of what he saw. There were maggots crawling from the stalk of the cabbage, and the inner leaves were incredibly pale that it was almost grayish white.

We were dangerously close from the explosion. My ears rang as my vision was blurred by the ashes that covered the area. As I regained my hearing, I heard a very discreet sound that sent chills down my spine. I was certain that the others heard it, as well, when they turned their heads from left to right. It sounded like a silent howl of something that I have not heard before. It was like a strong gust of wind passing through a shattered horn or a screech being forced out from a dry throat.

"No.” She admitted, guiltily. “I am sorry. If I enter the darkness, it would grab me before I can fetch you anything to get the fire going.” Sam nodded. He had faced death before. But every time, there was hope, a fighting chance. This time, he could do nothing. Emily visibly shuddered. “He will have me, place its scythe through my soul. It allows it to control the agony my soul receives. Then, until the morning, I will keep suffering. Every moment feels like an eternity. I might switch to my other personalities, just to escape the pain.”

The Reaper did not speak. He did not even move, for what need did he have to chase anyone? Everyone comes to him eventually. Men, women, and gods all are consumed in his ever waiting black. Clive, sighing deeply, turned to look Death in the face. In the form he took for Clive, Death stood around seven feet tall, the hood of his monk’s cowl falling to just above the bridge of the nose, had there been a nose to speak of. Instead, there was simply a hole, a cavernous nothing, like death itself.