Two-Sentence Scary Story – Results!

31 October 2018
Poe & Crow Halloween images

Happy Halloween everyone! The verdict is in, and the 2SSS contest has a clear winner in a truly creepy story by Lucy Horrell (’20)! We’ve reproduced it below, along with all the other little eldritch terrors that people sent us, in case you ever need help staying up all night. Thanks to all our scary story writers, and to everyone who voted! Stay spooky!

Winning Entry:

I always peel my fruit before I eat it, because the skin is so bitter. With him, though, it took a very long time.

Honorary Mention:

On December 31, 2019, my cultists sacrificed 7 orphaned children in the remains of Stonehenge, and I ate the world, granting but a final chance to you who did not free me. I placed into each of your heads the illusion of the world you are seeing, I placed into each of your hands the illusion of the story you are reading, and I placed into each of your souls a terrible knowledge, that you each must join my cultists in their sacrifice or suffer my wrath.

I was surprised to be invited to supper at the home of my surgeon, yet our friendship had certainly blossomed in the days leading up to and following my operation, and so I did not refuse. Once I had managed to sit down at her table on the night of our meal, my surprise was replaced with nauseous horror upon the reveal of the main course: my amputated leg, braised, with a side of fava beans.

I should’ve known following the footsteps down the hallway was a bad idea. By the time I saw them printed on the wall and ceiling, it was too late.

In the dead of night, you sit upright, eyes glimpsing at the agitating doorknob, ears attuning to the nudging lock. Focused on the door, you don’t notice the sliver of wind against the nape of your neck as fingers pry open the window behind you.

I was spending my Friday night watching my favourite talk show, and I couldn’t help but notice a woman with eerily long black hair standing motionlessly in the corner of the show’s set. I turned off the TV to go to sleep, but she was still there on the black screen, looking straight back at me with empty eyes.

Quivering lips breathe heavily, cold hands tightly grip the razor sharp tool that strikes through his shrieking, leaving him in a puddle of warm red. The young girl smiles and leaves her father in his bedroom as the front door opens and her next victim appears.

Picture this: a warm, sandy beach, a cold strawberry lemonade in your hand, the soft southern breeze tousling the fur of your Golden Retriever as she plays fetch with your girlfriend in the shallows. The evening is perfect; in fact, the only thing that could make it better would be if the dog would stop dropping bones at your feet.

This morning, as is our routine, I helped my husband fit the prosthetic hand over the stump on his left arm. It wasn’t until he’d left for work that I remembered it was his right hand that he had lost in the accident.

Not many know that a stand of aspens is actually one large organism; a pretty one, at that, one you might plant by your house to brighten winters. You’d barely notice the light fading sooner than usual, the preternatural chill at your hearth, til one morning roots stole your teeth from their sockets.

One early morning when I woke up for a run, I saw my best friend sitting in front of my mirror brushing her long black hair. She died two years ago.