View Full Version : Scary story?

08-02-2003, 04:47 AM
Well, I write a little fiction in my spare time. Mostly sci-fi and such. But I decided to take a different twist and write a little horror for once. I tried to take the stereotypes and breath a little more life into them. If any of you could read it over and let me know what you think, I would appreciate it. It's just a rough draft right now.
Oh, and if you copy this, I will sue the crap out of you. :D

It was cold out. Lesters breathed hard as he dug the shovel into the frostbitten soil. In, out, in, out. He wasn’t making much headway. In goes the shovel; out comes a small handful of dirt. He stopped for a brake, dropping the shovel and leaning against a headstone. As he did so, he surveyed his surroundings.

It was a moderate sized graveyard by his eye, with a good mix of rich and poor folk alike. The landscape looked wavy, as though someone had splashed the ground and it rippled chaotically. There was a relatively thick fog tonight, collecting in the lower points of the graveyard. It shrouded from view much of where Lester was working. The entire area was tinged a slight blue from the stars and moonlight, and Lesters small oil lantern was the only real light source in view.

He turned back to the hole he was digging, and as he did, he noticed the large bundle by his feet had fallen to the side. A pale, wrinkled arm was protruding from underneath the heavy blankets. It’s stark whiteness clashed with the dark ground, and it seemed to stab up behind his eyes. He hastened to cover it.

As he pushed the blankets back over the arm, his mind wandered to the night before…

“Lester, I’m sorry, but my decision is final!” Edwin said as he wrote in that large, leather-bound book he always kept in his office.
“But Uncle, I-“ Lester sputtered, unable to believe what he had just heard.
“Lester, you are a lazy, slothful dreg. You’ve spent a better part of your life cleaning up the towns garbage, and not a small part of your nights drunk in the gutter. I stopped counting how many times Sheriff Graves brought you home at some ungodly hour.” Edwin muttered and as bore down on his ink quill. The scratches of his handwriting seemed to echo in Lesters ears.

“Now Lester, think for a moment,” Edwin said. He put his quill down and looked at Lester over his spectacles. “Why would I leave my estate to you?” Lester could say nothing, could only squeeze his eyes shut, trying to shut out the loud scratching sounds.

“I took you in because I loved your father dearly, and I hoped you’d grow to be the man he was. But I see that isn’t to be. I wasted 15 years of my life on you, Lester. I’ll not waste my fortunes as well,” said Edwin. His eyes dropped to his book, and he continued writing. “I intend to go to my lawyer tomorrow and have you written out of my will. My decision is final…”

Lester said not a word. Instead, his eyes darted around the room, searching. They came to rest on the fire poker by the mantle…

Lester grinned as he recalled the feeling. The old mans skull had caved in easily. It was as though he had been hitting an over ripe melon. There had been very little blood to clean up, and ample blankets to wrap the body in.

He stood and his arm brushed against the grave bell next to the headstone. He shuddered as the soft ringing sound rushed over him. He had always been scared of those bells. To think, that someone might be down there, alive, ringing that bell for help…

He continued digging. The ground was hard. There had been a frost the night before, and veins of ice crisscrossed under the soil. But he broke through, and the soil began to soften. The digging went faster, and as he dug, he felt invigorated. Before, he was worried he would even have this done by sunrise. Now, he might have time to stop and get a beer at the bar.

He heard something ring in the distance. He froze, listening…listening. He gazed out over the graveyard, at the clouds of fog slowly crawling along the ground and the gnarled trees reaching out over the crypts. He heard nothing, not even the crickets that normally sang happy tunes throughout the night.

Perhaps even the bugs respect the dead, he thought to himself with a chuckle as he pulled the body into the hole he had dug. It fell at an odd angle, one arm sticking up out of the hole as though reaching up to him one last time, a desperate bid for mercy. It found none, as he poked and shifted the body until the limb fell back, crumpled against the broken form.

He began shoveling large loads of dirt into the hole, grinning whenever a rock struck the old man. As he dumped a particularly large load of dirt, he heard the ringing again, this time much closer. He stood up, this time brandishing the shovel.

“Who’s there?” He croaked out across the cemetery. The silence that answered him was deafening, and he stood for what seemed like an hour before turning away. That’s when he heard the ringing again. It was very quiet, but it sounded very close to him. He turned, looking around him, searching for the source. And then he found it, and his eyes grew as big as dinner plates and his insides froze as cold as the ground.

The grave bell, the one on the nearby grave, was ringing softly. He could see the small rope being tugged gently, every few seconds. It was very quiet, almost a jingling, but to Lester it sounded like ringing church bells.

One thought ran through his head. Was it the old man? Was he still alive? It seemed farfetched that he would be able to reach over and grab the rope in the adjacent grave, but Lester would take no chances. If he’s not dead, he thought, he will be shortly, as he drew a small pocketknife from his back trouser pocket. Hands trembling, he cut the rope, and the next tug from the unseen hands slid the rope into the grave without a sound. He let out a sigh of relief, and that’s when a little bit of Hell landed in the graveyard.

Like a rising wave, starting at the far east side of the cemetery and leading right up to where Lester was, all the grave bells began sounding. The small graves contributed a jingling, chiming sound, while the larger graves gave a deeper ring.

Lester let out a choked scream, and barely had the sense to grab his lantern before sprinting off towards the gate. As he ran, he heard the crazed sound chasing behind him. A cold wind had kicked up, and the fog seemed to thicken.

He was nearing the gate. He heard the sound receding behind him, and he felt his salvation was near. But as he ran, the sound of the bells ringing suddenly rose up in front of him, a deathly wall of sound that none would dare pass.

He cried out, stumbling backwards. As he did, he tripped over a headstone and falling to the ground and dropping his lantern. He struck his head hard against the frozen ground, and the world suddenly began to swim around him. He desperately tried to focus.

All the bells stopped ringing. There was a moment of silence, and Lester desperately tried to get his bearings. Suddenly, a single bell began to sound, but this was no ordinary bell. It was one of the bells on a crypt, and it was not unlike a church bell. The loud noise shattered what little remained of his resolve, and he soiled himself in terror. He scrambled backwards, but bumped into a large headstone. He could only watch, frozen with fear.

First the gate on the crypt swung open, and then the heavy door. A strong orange light emanated from inside, briefly pulsing whenever the bell rang. As Lester stared into the light, he felt mesmerized. The light dimmed for a moment, and he saw a huge figure standing, staring out at him.

Lester was struck by a gust of air that flew from the opened crypt, and it felt like a diseased wind from hell. It was enough to snap him out of his trance, and he leaped to his feet and took off running. He thought he felt something make a grab for his ankles, but he was too scared to look. He slipped through the gate, briefly ran up the road, before stopping and fainting.

He wasn’t out for more than twenty minutes. He got to his feet, groggy and itching from the moisture now in his pants. He looked around him, suddenly realizing how dark it was, and he had no light. His carriage was parked inside the graveyard, and he could have sworn he heard horses screaming as he had flew from the crypt.

Luck was with him, it seemed. He saw a pair of lights advancing up the road. It looked like one of those new horseless carriages, an automobile. He waved at it, and it pulled off to the shoulder. He got into the backseat, closed the door, and sighed in relief.
“Thank you kindly, sir. My horse broke his leg two miles back, and I thought I’d be sleeping outside tonight.” He said as he rubbed the warmth back into his hands.

“Not a fine place to sleep, a graveyard.” The driver replied slowly as he pulled off the shoulder and started up the road. Lester still couldn’t get a good look at him in the dark.

“Where do you hale from, sir?” Lester asked respectfully, thinking the driver a rich fellow from his lavish style of transportation. His uncle had driven one.

“Oh, around these parts. I just moved.” He replied. Something about that voice struck a chord in Lester. He sounded familiar.

They neared the gate of the graveyard, and as they did, Lester managed to get a look at the figure. He had dirt all over his body, caked under his nails and in his ears. As Lesters eyes traveled up his body, he noticed a gaping head wound. The mans brains glistened in the moonlight, and he turned and grinned at Lester.
“Come meet some friends, Lester. You’re dying to meet them, I’m sure…” he said as he turned the car and drove through the gate. Lester choked up in fear and tried to get out, but the doors would not open.

The car drove deeper into the graveyard, and as the fog rose up and swallowed the automobile, Lesters screams faded into the night…

Captain Wilson
08-03-2003, 01:01 AM
very very good! you should post more!((i like the fact there was not the usual (sp) Horrible bloodey murder, Very good indeed))
runs off and puts the story into print:D

08-05-2003, 04:55 PM
oooh... I gotta save that for my next sleep over with darting dueler. ;)