Introduction Hello! My Name is Darshaye, Shaye for short. This booklet is a collection of stories that are mostly horror! I was really proud of a lot of pieces that I’ve made throughout this class. So, what better way to put them to use then by smushing them altogether into one giant booklet! I know most of you have read, if not seen the works in here, but I decided to add some little poems to help move from some works to others. I hope you enjoy! Lunchtime Is it Pb&J? Is it chicken fingers? No, no don’t tell me! Its Lunchables No, no I think I got it! Its froyo isn’t it No? Is it a turkey sandwich? Oh, come on you’ve got to tell me at some point Its way past breakfast so I’m starving please! please! please! Oh.
Soup… AGAIN?! Soup Special Clusters of boxes filled the entrance. Haphazard furniture and forgotten knick-knacks spewed onto the front lawn. It was odd, honestly for a place that looked so serene to be so desolate. Sparse figures of children and the occasional adult traversed the identical lots that sat around mine. “I haven’t seen you before.” Spinning around from the doorway to face a primp woman whose smile seems to stretch across her face in an almost painful way. A nervous chuckle escaped me. “Well, I’m new here!” Subconsciously I could hear murmurs of my name leave my mouth. Like a child she sat there listening and nodding like I was saying the most interesting thing in the world. “It’s nice to see you! We don’t see much of anyone outside of here since we’re such a quaint bunch.” She looks me up and down with amusement. “I should go but if you’re not busy you should come with us to Bennitos later tonight.” Before I could get a word in, she was gone. The sun seemed to follow suit, as the moon seemed to welcome itself faster than ever. Somehow, through clouds of perfume and the stumbling of heels too high to walk in I made it to the restaurant. The place looked to be full of people while the area around it seemed anything but! Entering the place almost seemed foreign to me. It was unusual. Everyone seemed to interact with each other in a bubbly fashion. Why even have a personal table at a restaurant if they were going to get up and interact with one another. In the dimly lit space, I managed to find her. Strange. That’s the only way I could describe it. The stiffness in her stature seemed to almost meld with her jovialness. Creating a plastic emotion that I wish I could erase from my mind. Pushing through bodies. The chill of the air almost unbearable. Maybe I should’ve brought a coat. Sitting at a chair which a man seemed all too pleased to give me. I looked over at her and she looked at me. “Well?” I looked at her puzzled. “Have you picked one
yet?” She pointed to a bucket that seemed to sit in the middle of the table. It was full of chrysanthemums. White. Bright. Fresh. I looked towards her and back at the bucket. Reaching over now putting my hands inside the container. My chest felt tight. My skin began to itch. As if the eyes that I felt upon my back made it any better. Feeling around now anxiously and quickly. Stems and metal touching my fingertips. Wilted petals and bits of water. There it was. I didn’t even know if I was looking for it before, but I had found it now. Pulling up a neatly folded slip and sitting back down. Such a tiny thing reminded me of the moths that seemed to home themselves on my front porch. With delicate wings that you could break with little force. Folding. Unfolding. But this was different. In the crease of its fold lay a red spot. It bled into the inner folds of its lifeless white wings glaring back at me. Laughs erupted next to me. “Maybe you’ll get lucky next year” she says to me. I turn to her. A ringing starts. A blur of dresses and suits seat themselves. The ringing continues. And continues. And continues. Then it stops. It happens once more. The man who had seated me where I was now stood up and was now walking towards what I could assume was the kitchen. But was it? The metal doors seemed to gloom over everyone. Within the windows seemed to behold a blanket of darkness. And when he opened them, it consumed the little light that was there and him. Then they shut and the murmurs began. Then they stopped. The doors opened again a waiter with a cart full of plates. When I received it, I then realized It was a bowl with plate-like rims. Neatly taking my napkin and putting it on my lap I waited. I didn’t turn to see him, but I could feel him. Giving everyone their portion and moving swiftly to the next. A ladle and then a hand reached over me and dispensed a rich liquid. It was so warm. So deep. Yet so bland. It tasted of nothing. Scraping at the insides of the bowl, I lapped up the ins and outs of the soup. Nothing. It tasted of nothing, and I felt like nothing. Looking at her besides me I could see that her plate was also empty. But she was smiling. But I was angered. I was Greedy. “Next year, Darling.” She spoke to me softly as I began to sweat. I quickly stood. My vision blurring. Hunger
growing. She looked at me with that stiff smile. Her eyes gleaming. “The blood of the human lamb is a temporary satisfaction. Be patient.”
Library Do you honestly remember the last time you used your library card? Dude what kind of question is that? What?! I just wanted to know… Those things are literally historic. Might as well be hung up in a museum! I just found my old one. Brought me some sweet memories Oh, really? Yes, really! About what exactly? Just some family stuff. Nothing too important You wanna get some hot cocoa later? Do I? Well, do you? Well, do I? Wow you’re so funny
Well, if you know you know Screw the hot cocoa, I’m feelin ice cream The Book of No Names It’s hard living in a place like this. Everyone always looks so happy. Especially during this time of year. Lights strung up from house to house with deer statues and elf balloons decorating their lawns. It’s all so gorgeous. It’s all so fake. I used to have it. It felt so good to have it. The snowflakes flittering through the air while parents carry their children through each lit up shop to pick their gifts. We were different. She would hold my hand and take me into the little shop. It was small, cramped between the bigger stores, but inside it felt like home. Today it feels like anything but. The bell ringing behind me and the heat pulling me in further. Ducking in between the rows and running my fingertips along the spines. Searching for something? I felt it then. Pulling it gently from its place and tucking it beneath my coat. Looking at the front desk to see the poor employee dozing off. I left as quickly as I came. Flinging open the door to my car and hurriedly opening it. Confusion is all I could feel. Long gone were the precious memories of tales by the small fireplace and bedtime stories. Now a grim tale of the unknown. The premonition of something truly awful. It was blank in parts and descriptive in others. What was odd was there weren’t any names. Except for one. Mine.
Ringtone Great Heavens! What is that awful sound? That’s my new ringtone! You like?
Hearing the words that escaped me before and you’re still managing to ask me that? Well Duh, I’m trying out something new. I’ve had this phone for a while, and I want it to feel fresh again … What? You are so weird? Why are we friends again? Because you love me! You don’t have to remind me Anyways I was thinking of resetting it as well Why didn’t you do that instead of choosing that god awful alarm? It was a temp fix! Everything is a “temp fix” for you You don’t have to be mean about it… L
Outsider New phone. New me. That’s what the kids say now anyways. Being a fresh graduate from a town in the middle of nowhere and landing this job was on a spectrum of luck I couldn’t have seen. But it’s one that I managed to get. It wasn’t easy at first trust me. Family being paranoid and the nagging to stay wasn’t anything to worry about. It was the fitting in at the
job that was hard. Everyone just seemed to click. Everyone except me. It’s hard to fit in to say the least. So, what do you do to convince your coworkers that you’re also a human worthy of having a connection with? Tell them all about your town drama and all the weird memories you’ve had to maybe bond over some trauma. What if I told you that worked? That everyone seemed so interested in me and all that was in my past. How such a small area could go through so much. The presence of demonic books sold in a shop, folklore-like figures appearing in the outskirts, and the possibility of a cult made of all older living residents in the neighborhood just made my little town become the talk of the office. “So, what was that place called again?” I turned to look at my coworker. A lanky fellow who I’d seen lurk in the popular crowd of employees on our floor. A suck up if you ask me. “Anulum Fortunae” He tapped away at his phone without sparing me a glance. “That’s odd. I can’t find it. Are you sure it’s not something else?” His tone seemed sharp. I looked at him to see him now staring back at me. He was studying me with a displeased look. “I can always show you. If you’re really worried about me lying, I can prove it.” Could I though? Could I really prove it as I stand here in the grass that seems to stretch on forever? The place where looming houses and booming shopping centers seem to have vanished. Left in its wake, nothing but the grass beneath my feet. Quickly, I opened my phone and called my mom. The slow ringing seemed to taunt me. Then there it was. An out of service dial tone.
Park breaks It’s like every other day Leaving my position from the cube-like cage And stepping onto the artificial grass
Tan paper bag clutched in one hand A plastic blue water bottle grasped in the next The lone picnic bench pops into view It’s almost like a beacon as most people sit at other tables around it I put my left foot through the open section of the bench The other follows My bottom sinks onto the wood now locking me in place The brown bag hits the table narrowly missing a stray ant Now’s the fun part! Triangular finger sandwiches wrapped in plastic Mini containers with nuts and berries A small bowl containing some crisp salad Cheese wheels the size of pebbles Cucumbers, Carrots, Celery sliced inro little segments A chocolate chip cookie remains Its crumbly and soft goodness begging to be taken out
With restraint It remains in the bag Delicately unwrapping the little triangles I’ve taken a bite Delicious!
Childs Play Roses are red Violets are blue Pebbles are grey Petals are smooth Tufts of hair Patches on pants Cheeks rosy pink Fingertips matching colour The dog is barking The cat snores Mother is coming! Mother is coming! She walks with a sway Her hands abundant A cold glass jar A steaming cherry pie Stumbling and staggering A picnic table never looked more alive!
Mouths watering Fingers twindling The glass plate hit the checkered runner Droplets of water started to drip down the pitcher A bit of drool fell from chins Eyes focused and lit up Sweet red luscious thing Wrapped in a crispy thin blanket Mothers hand ran through my hair It’s me She’s chosen me! Recess Coming up from the circular carpet I waited patiently at my seat Books and toys lined up in my lap Hands grasped together Waiting patiently for the rowdy noise to settle One by one Names are called Feet shuffle towards the door Forming themselves into a line The person in front of me was now gone I stood
Grasping my stuff and briskly falling in line The door was opened A hand ushers us out Like ants on a log, we followed our make-shift leader Until we reached the big door Emerging from the stuffy building We’re met with the most colorful piece of land yet The others jump and shake in their place energetically “Remember to be careful! We’ll come back to class in forty-five minutes sharp!” The line looks towards the voice In its place stands a grumbly old woman Uptight bun, Throw-up green sweater, and the faint smell of medical hand sanitizer “Yes Ms. Birgenstein!” With that the huge doors closed behind us Leaving us in our own little wild west
Aren’t poppies beautiful against the trees? Father Oh, Father Its Poppy Its Poppy
Her golden hair Her meek strut Those deep brown eyes Oh, Father She played with us all afternoon She led us into the forest We couldn’t keep up The forest swallowed us whole Turning and twisting trees Rounding corners over and over The soft forest floor teasing our heels The bugs and birds seemed to laugh at us We couldn’t stop A chase is a chase Sweat gathering atop our skin Joints burning in every movement Our minds were focused Oh, Father Bridget had fallen Her ankle twisted and purple Who was I to stop the forces of nature She would live if the forest allowed her Twigs snapping Leaves crunching Bend after bend we rounded Only the glimpse of those golden strands
The sun had started to fall Oh, Father If you’d seen her The joy you would’ve felt The tears that escaped me I know the same would happen for you It was quite beautiful My hand stroked her cold paws She looked so peaceful with her crooked neck That’s funny, it reminds me of Bridget
School Shopping If there’s anything I hate more than school, it has to be school shopping Remembering it clearly I awoke to the chirping of birds Summer was still in the air At least until now “Get ready we’re going to the store” A groan emitting from me A sense of agony washes over me Like an illness It stays with me While I sit under the fluorescent bulbs
On deteriorating leather seats Grasping tightly onto my shopping bags My foot slips into another sole into another And then into another And then another And another It’s the same thing every time “Honey do you like these ones” Before a sound escapes me “They’re too small” “They look to tight” “They’re too much” “They don’t look good enough” “Wouldn’t they look better in this color” “Maybe it’s the socks” “How about you try on the whole outfit, and we go from there” That’s how I ended up in said uniform Sitting down on the torn seat No longer feeling uncomfortable from settling into it
Thus, it began again “These ones do not match at all” “The color is so off” “The design is so ugly” Then, like a glimmering light “You know what these aren’t too bad” “Walk around in them, and tell us how you feel” Pacing comfortably up and down the aisles The adrenaline in me started to kick in As I sat down in my seat barely holding back a giggle Taking the little box to checkout The register ping never sounded so sweet As we take our steps out the doors, I walk towards the parking lot A hand stops me on my shoulders Looking back at my mother with a confused face “Where are you going? We still have to get you school supplies”
God…help me
Highlighter Yellow Electric Blue
Dirty Shoes
Two things that make up my shoes They’re sleek with flat bottoms My initials spanning the tongues The duos squeezed at my feet Home, The Market, The forest The places they will take you Beyond my greatest fears To my deepest despairs These things have been everywhere There is one thing though No matter how far they’ll go I can guarantee they’ll never outlive you or me Isn’t that a cruel twist of fate The world is harsh on its creations Trash to the people around us A beauty in my eyes you’ll always be Something I can count on Something I can look to Mother tells me your dirty All she utters are lies Fresh reddish grime cakes your soles Now you’ve blossomed into something amazing
Baking class Some coups of flour
A jug of milk and some eggs A bowl of freshly washed fruits Yet, a lumpy red oozing triangle sits before us Maybe I should’ve signed up for cooking Cherry Pie What do you think are the best ingredients in a pie Well, I think its blueberry Now that you mention it, we never did
I think its cherry We never really got along did we
Siblings don’t have to be friends do they Its better to be at least acquainted with them before you cut them off You’re the only one who speaks of cutting ties It was merely a hypothetical No, I think its something else… Perhaps specPerhaps specPerhaps Speculative There’s nothing to come of words anyway Well not of your words You think your any better If I’m better then Bridget, what makes you think I don’t surpass you Oh come on why do we do this all the time Do what? You know what I’m afraid I do not It’s pointless to argue Why? Seeing what you’ve done Why? You must be riddled with guilt Why? The pie will be done soon But why?
You don’t have to eat it
Why not?
I have yet to have my first pie
When will you start?
This is why I hate cherry. DIY Have you ever sat there and tried out a tutorial? Well, let me just say its hell A bucket of glitter Some fabric and some feathers A broken vase Small muddy footprints on the marble kitchen tiles
And brown-ish gray Crayola painted handprints decorate the cork board So much for creating a family tree But at least I got some precious moments with the little rascal Pie Preperation (A farmland with trees. A dull, old home sits in its center. It’s a cloudy day but the air is slightly warm. A group of three children play in the front of the house while a dog and cat sleep near the stairs leading to the front porch. Inside a woman stands in the kitchen hunched overlooking into a fridge.) (Door Opens. Kaelin peeks his head into the open doorway) Kaelin: (Exasperated) “Mom-“ Mother: “Not now sweetie, I’m busy”
(Kaelin steps into the kitchen area. He catches his breath and now stares at his mother.) Kaelin: “But mommy I-“ Mother: (sternly)“Kaelin” (Kaelin hangs his head towards the floor. He peers up at his mother through thick lashes. His hands pull and tug at one another. Mother stands from her position in the fridge. Her arms full of jam, eggs, milk bottles and unmarked containers. She piles the items onto the counter and turns to look at Kaelin. His face twisted into a pout.) Mother: “Alright. What is it you must tell me?” Kaelin:(mutters) “Me, Bridget, Harris and Helene were playing near the forest and…” Mother: “And?” Kaelin: (lowly whispering) I..fe..som..the..for.. Mother: “Kaelin, you have to speak up.” (Kaelin looks towards his feet. A small ant crawls in the crevice of the kitchen tiles. It moves slowly underneath the dirty blue soles of his sneakers. Two pairs of worn feet in flats come into his view. His mother puts her hands on his shoulders and bends to meet his height. She looks into his eyes with reassurance. His beady black pupils now stare into hers.) Mother: “Was it Bridget?” (Kaelin stares at her blankly) Mother: “Was it Poppy?” (Silence) Mother: “You know her parents don’t care about her or that dog. They know how this community is and how serious we are. I mean look at what those two did to the Kovinskis flowerbed.” (Silence)
Mother: (Sternly) “Actions have consequences Kael-” Kaelin: “Do you feel that mommy?” Mother: (Puzzled) “What am I supposed to feel exactly” Kaelin: “The eyes” Mother: “Why would I care what they think. They don’t understand u-“ Kaelin: (Tearily whispering) But they’re sitting there mom. Judging us..Its like spiders crawling down my neck.” (Kaelin starts to shiver. His mother pulls him into a hug and runs her fingers through his hair. Kaelin starts to shake almost erratically. Tears fall from his face and dampen her white sleeve. Mothers face starts to turn red while her brows furrow. Her face now stuck in an aggressive expression.) Mother: (gritting through her teeth) “Look at what they’re doin. How they read our words and twist their minds. They don’t live like us. They’ve read through us. These words on a page mean nothing to them. Kaelin:(whimpering) “W-What do we do?” (Mother looks at me. Her eyes stretched wide with her mouth turned downwards in disgust. Her pupils dilated and the whites shining. She takes one of her hands and unwraps it from Kaelins body. Slowly but surely her fingers curl and grip the insides of her palm. Like a threaded needle pointed at a fresh hole, her pointer figure honed onto its target. Me.) Mother: “Well. What are we going to do?”
Intermission These are a couple of works that I just felt like should have their acknowledgments. While they are not horror oriented, they were fun to work on.
Whether it be that visually they created something or that they come up to some thrilling idea in the end. I love making short and somewhat deep poems like this because they are just short and sweet comparatively to the rest of my works. I figured I give you a break from the dark stuff I’ve been writing in here anyway. These are my non-horror blog poems. Enjoy! Bugs Bug(n.) (/bəg/)-a small insect The way that they fly around on delicate wings Spindly little legs guiding them rain or shine Their squirming and wriggling little forms Do bugs dream? I think they run on forever Through the forest and even the city Maybe they've made memories Do bugs have friends? It must be difficult for them to be alone To crawl such an odd path Do bugs cry? I'm sure they do right when they notice the bottom of my shoe dangling above their little heads People are like bugs I hate bugs. Alphabetical Confession
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my eyes are u.
Family Photo THE MOTHER OF GUILT THE FATHER OF PAIN THE SON OF DELUSION THE DAUGHTER OF JEALOUSY THE AUNT OF APATHY THE UNCLE OF DIVISIVENESS STRANGERS IN SIMPLER TERMS. RELATIVES IN OTHERS.
THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF THE MIND IS AN ENIGMA. WHO AM I TO CONSOLE YOU AND TELL YOU "I understand" WHEN I DON'T. I WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU GO THROUGH. THE PAIN CAN ONLY GO SO FAR AND I CAN ONLY HOPE TO EASE YOU OF THAT. START.AWAKE.BREAKFAST. WORK.TALK.WORK.COFFEE. BAR.HOME.SLEEP.AWAKE. BREAKFAST.WORK.TALK. COFFEE.BAR.HOME SLEEP AWAKE.TIREDWORK.TALK. WORK.COFFEE.BAR HOME SL E E AWAKEBREAKFASTWORK TALKWORKCOFEEBARHO MESLEAWAKEBREAKFAST COFFEEBARHOMESLEEP AWAKEBREAKFASTWORK TALKWORKCOFFEEBARHO MESLEEPBREAKFASTTALK AWAKESLEEPBARHOMEWO RKCOFFEESLEEPAWAKECO FEEWORKSLEEPTALKTALK TALKTALKTALKTALKTALK
COFFEECOFFEECOFFEECOF FEECOFFEECOFFEECOFFEE WORKWORKWORKWORKWO RKWORKWORKWORKWORK AWAKEAWAKEAWAKEAW AKEAWAKEAWAKEAWAKE BARBARBARBARBARBARBA RBARBARBARBARBARBARB ARBARBARBARBARBARBAR CAN'TCAN'TCAN'TCAN'TCA N'TCAN'TCAN'TCAN'TCAN'T IDONTKNOWIDONTKNOWID ONTKNOWIDONTKNOWIDO NTKNOWIDONTKNOWIDON TKNOWIDONTKNOWIDONT
[REDACTED], You have a call on line one. It's the client, they have some words to share with you about the upcoming project. Would you like me to page them over to you?
where is the end
(This will conclude the non-horror related blog poem portion. We will be returning to our horror collections and soon concluding them as well. Best of Wishes!)
Fishhooks The only thing worse then reeling in ocean trash Is reeling in the ocean’s graveyard.
Tails Tail(n.) (/tāl/) - the hindmost part of an animal fluffy an spiky scaly and prickly thin and pointy skin a deep shade reflecting the ocean blue shimmering and shifting waves carrying weight bodice slipping through the blue folds in the blink of an eye which do you prefer fish heads or tails?
Bones It's hard talking about this. I thought that if I just followed the rigid routines of life, I could just somehow avoid the troubles of life. But I just couldn't. It started at 8:00 p.m. on a moist summer day. Having an office job has the perks of air conditioning but what is it worth if the moment you step outside you enter a cloud of heat. Fortunately, the same heat kept many people off the streets, so the walk home was quieter than I presumed. I had been walking the usual path through the district when I came upon a
crossroad. I did not remember a new street opening up this way. What was even more concerning was the putrid smell coming from the new path. I decided to pass it and walk my usual way home. It was the next day. Same time, same heat, same smell. This time it was stronger and oddly enough It smelled like something familiar. I didn't have the time to think on it as I was already headed home. The next day it was almost unbearable. I had pressed a handkerchief from my bag against my nose. Practically suffocating myself I ran home. Overtime. It was 10 p.m. by the time I left work. You wouldn't believe the relief I felt after being under those fluorescent lights for hours. The walk home was calm. Too calm. So, calm that I hadn't even realized the strange odor was nowhere to be found. Upon seeing the street and making this discovery I decided this was the night. It was surprisingly normal. Normal houses. Normal streetlamps. That was until I had found myself at a dock. Before I knew it, I was headed towards the pier. The old wood creaked beneath my feet. I wasn't afraid. The dark blue of the water seemed to stretch without end. It seemed to have no bottom. Yet that was of no concern to me. The object of interest was a lone box at the end of the pier. It had no handles. It had no lid. Inside, however, was something more peculiar. Dust? Sand? The ivory substance sat untouched. Running my fingertips through it, I felt the smooth grains flow through my hands. A thin cast was left. I don't remember how I got home. I just know when I came to, I was sat against the front door. My throat and mouth were dry. If I said anything then it would have come out as a croak. Looking down at my hands I noticed something. The cast was gone. In its place a damp, sticky feeling. I washed my hands. Drank some water, which did little to ease the pain, and fell asleep soon after. It’s been 6 months. I haven't been able to eat or drink anything. The powder. I've tried to find the dock, but the street is gone. Can you believe that? I tried to ask around, yet people look at me like I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. Or am I? I don't think I'm crazy. I'm just more reasonable. Or? I need it. I don't even remember the taste, but I just know. I know. The powder. I just. I need. I haven't been able to sleep. I'm not writing this for your entertainment. I'm not some sort of freak show. I need help. I need your help.
Fish Bone Tales Fish are such sweet things They're even sweeter to eat
But they are frightening So so frightening That thing they hide inside The ugly of it all That's their secret weapon Dancing around in your face Begging to be hooked To be cooked To be eaten But they do it with such pride you'd have to be careful They're murderous They're manipulating 'They' are those bones.