Halloween Short Stories 4

[SuperCommando]

This is the thread where all entries for the 4th Annual Halloween Short Story Contest are to be posted.

Please DO NOT POST IN THIS THREAD unless you are posting a story for the contest. Anything else will be deleted. If you have a question about the contest, please ask in the main announcement thread HERE.

Story entries may be posted at any time for this entire month of October, one entry per contestant, and they must be an original work of fiction. On the final day of the month (Halloween) at a random time I will post a cut-off notice. Stories will no longer be accepted after that post, and at that point the judges will be allowed to put up their scores!


This year our esteemed judges shall be:

SuperCommando

Dufflepud

AlphaWolf

Ultra Quor

Llau

[TinCanHitman]

Why?

In a dark titanium room a tear stained Dani woke up. It was dark and smelled odd, but the SPARTAN simply rose as the blurry room came into existence around her. She didn't know where she was, or what she was doing, or what had happened. The last thing she had remembered was, oddly enough, seeing Roy smiling at her, but she could only remember his face, his smile. It was a rare thing to see a SPARTAN smile, even more so for the massive tank of a being that was Roy. She pushed his face out of her mind, although not completely, she had never really been able to do that. Instead she tried to remember what happened, thinking of the last place she remembered.

She assumed she was aboard the UNSC Iowa, where she had last been stationed with Roy and the other's of GOLD. She remembered talking to some one...it may have been Roy...but some thing wasn't right about him. She remembered ignoring it and hoping that Roy was just mad about some thing. That was all she could remember though, of any thing, well, any thing recent.

Dani was pulled form her thoughts by the scrapping sound the echoed around the room she was in. She immediately crouched low and reached for her knife, only to realize she was in basic clothing. Jogging pants and T shirt, as far from Mijolner as you could get, without being naked. She searched the room for some thing to fight with, but stopped when the sliding titanium door started. She didn't know what was wrong with her, but she had this horrible feeling, a nagging urge. She had learned to act on those urges, and so she ducked down behind the desk, pulling the chair in front of her and hiding in the shadows.

The door only snagged once, the titanium stalling before a agitated grunt and a loud crash was heard. The door smashed into it's frame and red light flooded the door way. From here hiding spot Dani could see the hall way was covered in blood, but her view was quickly blocked as a massive figure stepped in. She could only make out a seven foot tall shadow, as it slowly scanned the room from side to side, a loud whirring and breathing coming from it. It didn't take very long for the creature to decide the room was empty, turning and leaving, loud steps echoing down the corridor.

Dani let out the breath she had been holding, not even realizing she was doing such. She didn't know what had come over her, but she could still feel it, the black claw that rested over her heart, making every shadow and adversary, every slight noise a monster. She rose quickly from her hiding spot and checked the hall way, making sure that what ever covenant that was was no longer lurking about. She saw nothing but the blood stained walls and scratches up and down it. She didn't know which deck she was on, in fact, she was very confused as to where she was, but she knew she didn't want to follow that creature, so she took the right path, the opposite of what she heard the other thing.

The entire atmosphere of the ship was eerie, quiet, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, but for some reason it un-nerved Dani, the silence was unnatural. Some thing was very wrong. She felt that every shadow was moving, only stopping when she looked directly at it. And It was always there, that feeling, that feeling she couldn't understand, it felt so ancient, primal. It was some thing she knew she had felt before, but not in ages. She tried to do what she always did, ignore it, the same as pain, but this wouldn't be ignored. She could feel her heart pounding, it's beat in time with her steps, her loud armored steps usually calmed her, but this time they haunted her, making the silence around her seem all the louder. She had been walking for what felt like ages, before she realized some thing, she wasn't in her armor...

As she made this realization she felt it, hot against the nape of her neck, outside of her vision, it was directly behind her. She felt her long hair blow slightly as a wet tongue pressed against her neck, sliding up to lick her ear. She felt metal against her arm and it was finally all she could take. She sprinted forward, feeling the metal scrap against the small of her back as she made it just out of the creature's reach. A blood curdling roar filled the hall as it's loud steps echoed her frantic ones. She knew these halls, knew them but didn't at the same time. She remembered running through these hall's the exact same way before, she felt Dejavu.

She was quick, much more so than the monster and she soon herd it's loud roars grow distant as she went deeper into the ship, going down corridors that where cramped with machinery and wreckage. She dodged and weaved among the halls, only stopping when she knew she was alone, and when she did stop she was doing some thing she had never done before. She slumped against the wall and slid down, pulling her legs close she rested her fore head against her knees and felt herself shake and cry. She didn't know how to react, she had never cried before, ever, and it was all so new to her. She couldn't stop it as the tears rolled down her face. She shook and cried and blubbered, not knowing what she was doing, or where she was, or where Roy was. She just couldn't seem to stop as the gravity of it all seemed to press against her chest.

"Shhh...." a deep voice said in her ear, forcing her to clasp tightly to her knees, she knew what that feeling she had felt earlier was, it was fear. She slowly looked over to her left, her eyes giant as she waited to see the twisted face of whatever was chasing her. Instead she was greeted by some thing she never thought she'd see. Sitting there was Roy, helmet off, without his prosthetic, he had his real arm. He had the most loving look on his face as he looked over at her. "Don't be scared." he whispered to her as she shook, still in shock and afraid. She gently reached out to touch his arm, it was indeed him. "Roy..." he hoarse voice whispered as his hand came up to gently wipe a tear from her face. "Why?" was all he asked, looking as if a disappointed parent. 

"W-why what?" she stammered trying to reach out to touch his face, but he stopped her, taking her hands in his hand resting them on her knees. He held that same face,  a disappointing smile, before suddenly cocking his head to side. "It's coming...find me." was all he said, before Dani blinked and found herself alone, doubled over in the hall way. She couldn't comprehend the emotions, some thing she had never felt before, as they flooded into her. She didn't have time to properly feel them, though, as the same roar filled the corridor, and Dani felt herself rise to her feat and sprint. She now ran with purpous, some how knowing where to go. She heard the roar as it gained on her, at one point she swore she felt cold hands brush her shoulders, but her speed won out in the end, it's angry roars growing distant.

She ran on until she came to the room she knew Roy would be in, it was the surveillance room, that's all she knew. The door was covered in bloody hand prints...human hand prints, and Dani feared for the worst. Scanning the floor she found a straight piece of beam work and jammed it into the partially open door. She worked it back and forth, earning loud groans and scraps until finally it was wide enough for her to squeeze in, letting out a pained grunt as her hip was caught on the edge of the door frame. She scrapped in and fell to the floor, finally free. It wasn't a moment to soon, either, as she looked up in time to see what was very obviously an arm, wedged in the door, opening and closing as it tried to reach for her.

The site of it caused her to cry out in surprise, it's finger's much to close for comfort. She scrabbled backwards only to slip in liquid, causing her to squelch and fall into a large pool that had collected on the floor. She scrambled to her feat to find that she was covered in blood. She held back the scream in her throat and instead focused, looking for it's source she felt the scream leave her entirely. Instead a low wail started in her throat as she looked on at the corpse of Roy sat slumped forward on the consul of the advanced monitoring network. The blood was coming from his back, where a combat knife was embedded. It had gone through the massive SPARTAN's spine and killed him. She came over to his body, tears forming once more as she draped herself over him, sobs wracking her as she shook. She had never been connected, to any thing, quite like Roy. She had grown up with him, been part of him, and he part of her. She had been so close to him...

She was tore away from his corpse by a flashing light on one of the several monitors in front of her. It was typing program, and the tiny green cursor blipped in and out of existence on a large written document. Upon further investigation, Dani's heart sank. The only thing, repeated over and over again "Why Dani?" It  was then that she realized that the room wasn't a dark black color, it was actually white, with dried blood covering it. All around the room, painted in blood "Why Dani?" smeared, overlapping, to the point it was hard to even make out, but it was there, clear as day. Dani was horrified, scrambling away from his corpse, Dani accidentally knocked Roy's hand, causing a loud click to happen as he hit the display pad for typing.

The screen to her left started to play, showing this very room, in it, sat Roy, hunkered typing furiously as he switched from feed to feed. The door behind him slid open, and he only cast a glance over his shoulder. Dani watched in shock as a miniature version of her self slowly walked in, saying some thing, but the feed had no audio. Roy seemed to wave her off, and in one fluid motion, she had drawn her knife and stabbed into Roy's back, twisting the blade, Roy only slumped forward. The feed's angle changed, suddenly focused on Roy's face, Dani heard his voice.

"Dani, why?"

The door behind her screeched open as a large armored spartan stepped in. It was covered in blood, and it's chest plate bore bloody hand prints, painted on it's visor was a terrible face. On it's chest was the number -047, from it's external speakers Dani's own voice came. "Dani, why?"




Dani awoke aboard the ship the UNSC Iowa, the floor thrumming with life as it cruised through the inky space. It had been a dream, all of it, she was safe, she was in control...she rose and went over to where a shoulder sheath rested for Roy's cleaver, drawing the blade and testing it's sharpness against her hand. It drew blood easily, and Dani couldn't help but smile as she turned on her heal. The only thing she could really think of as she walked out of the room was "But why, Dani?"

[Spartan 999]

“Anything?”

“That's still a negative, sir.”

“Alright. Keep your eyes open.”

Two M1A2 Abrams tanks drove down the deserted street in single file, supported by a few squads of heavily armed US Army personnel. Cars sat abandoned all around, though no sign of damage had occurred.

“What about the other groups? You able to contact them again?”

“No, sir.” A different voice answered. “Whatever happened to their coms, I can't seem to find a workaround.”

The first speaker was about to say something else, but just then a shout came from the front of the tank line. One of the soldiers had spotted something. A person with Army combat equipment on had appeared from around a corner from up ahead and was sprinting in their direction. He seemed to be lacking his helmet, rifle, and some other items.

He also seemed to be shouting something at them, and waving his arms wildly. After a few seconds, he had drawn close enough for those at the front to see his features and hear him. He had darker reddish skin, short hair, and couldn't have been more than 17 or 18, probably a new recruit. But what he said was of more interest to them.

“It's coming, run! RUN! GO BACK!”

“Hey-”

The ground quivered slightly, and the Lieutenant in charge ordered the line to stop. Another quiver. Then another, and another. They seemed to be increasing in power, and dull crashes could be heard from around the corner the running soldier had come from.

The Lieutenant popped out of his tank. “What are you doing? What's going on?”

“No time! Get everyone out of here!” The youth continued sprinting on into their line, and no one bothered to stop him.

A cringe-worthy explosion of the side of a building up ahead drew the Lieutenant's attention. A form...a massive form, a few hundred feet tall at the least, could be seen through the dust and flying debris, and it was coming right for them.

“Oh my-”

A deafening roar drowned all other sounds out. Bright orange-yellow light shone from in between massive jaws. Instinctively, everyone except the running teenager lifted their weapons and opened fire, while the tanks fired their main cannons.

The thing just kept coming. The tank shells did absolutely nothing, the infantry weapons doing even less.

Only then did the Lieutenant give the order to fall back, but by that time it was already too late. It was on them, four arms smashing down to flatten and hurl good men, killing them almost instantly.

“Lysander-”

The youth didn't look back, just kept pumping his arms and legs. He was exhausted, his muscles were burning, and he was starting to mildly black out and experience tunnel vision. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, blood pulsating like frenzied drums in his ears and temples. He felt a very close shake and a spray of thrown up asphalt pieces on his back.

He barely had time to duck as one of the Abrams went tumbling over him, its form crumpled and utterly wrecked. One of the treads caught his vest on the back and pulled him off his feet to land several yards away with a thud. He felt his arm crack.

The brief, frantic pops of a pistol being fired drifted into his consciousness. They ended a moment afterwords.

A gigantic limb carved through the building above him like butter, sending a huge spray of debris cascading through the air. Dimly, he saw chunks rain down upon him, and that awful, hellish roar-

“LYSANDER!”

A jolt to his left shoulder knocked him out of the flashback. He turned to face someone who didn't look familiar at first, but slowly, it came back to him. He, Lysander Welles, and his cousin, Isin Sherlocke, had undergone the “Drift”, the term used for forming neural bridges between two or more people, in order to pilot a Jaeger--a kind of giant mech, created to fight the Kaiju, massive creatures who attacked from a portal in the Pacific.

And Lysander had chased one of his older, more traumatic memories when it surfaced. He shook off the disorientation and nodded to Isin.

“Both of us are good here, ready to go, over.” The German man said into the com, still eying his darker skinned cousin warily. Isin controlled the left hemisphere, while Lysander had the right.

“Copy that. Moving Jaeger.”

A platform beneath the feet of the mech rolled towards the massive doors, grinding loudly as it did so. In under forty seconds, they

“Alright, five minutes until that bastard reaches land. We don't have time to aerially deploy your Jaeger, so get moving, but be careful. We've already lost one Jaeger, we don't need two more Rangers to die today.”

“We'll take the Kaiju out, sir.” Lysander replied, even though they were both new to fighting inside a Jaeger. “Don't worry about us.”

The com line ended for the moment, and they activated their Jaeger together. Fenrir Omega, a new Mark 4 Jaeger, hummed to life and lifted its forearms in response. The Rangers maneuvered its fists to tap Fenrir's chest twice before bending its knees and launched itself off the Shatterdome and into the ocean.

Water plumed up all around them, feet hitting the seafloor with muted thuds. The servos and parts hummed as they built up speed, going into an all-out sprint within several seconds. They had a city to save, after all.

The representation of the Kaiju, a Category III dubbed "Komodo", on the area map displayed on their Conn-Pod's HUD kept moving rapidly in a straight line towards the city. Judging by the readouts, they'd intercept it roughly one kilometer from the shore. That would be cutting it close, but it was better than nothing.

Roughly three and a half minutes passed until they spotted Komodo. From what they could tell, it was shaped roughly like a monitor lizard, though it had definite Kaiju traits. Four eyes and arms, for one thing, and a tail ending in a blade, along with glowing turquoise blue lines crisscrossing its body.

“No ranged weapons on this thing, right?” Lysander asked, somewhat nervously.

“Nope. Fenrir Omega's built primarily for toughness and strength, which means we'll have to make do with its fists and arm blades.” Isin replied, gritting his teeth.

“Great.”

“Hey, at least we have thrusters, too.”

“Even better, we can close with that thing faster.”

At that point, Komodo had paused and turned to see the sprinting Jaeger. It hissed and rose to its full height, roughly forty feet taller than the mech, displaying several scars on its torso, thanks to the first Jaeger it had fought and destroyed. Fenrir didn't slow, but the cousins braced themselves for the inevitably vicious battle. The Kaiju came at them, hissing even louder.

Fifteen heart-pounding seconds passed before the two reached one another. With a roar and metallic whining, they clashed. Isin stretched the left hand out to block Komodo's snapping maw by pushing it up, allowing Lysander to deliver a hook to the underside of the Kaiju's jaw. Its tail stabbed at the Jaeger's head, narrowly missing as they leaned to the left.

Isin delivered an uppercut to Komodo's face, sending it reeling. Its upper right hand slashed against Fenrir's chest, digging in and pulling the Jaeger off its feet. Rushing water obscured the Conn-Pod's visor, which was replaced by the face of the Kaiju. It grabbed a hold of the downed Jaeger and speared it through the torso with its tail twice.

“Lysander, come on man!”

But the other Ranger was just staring wide-eyed at the Kaiju, unmoving.

With a jerk, Komodo yanked Fenrir up and sent it flying through the air when its tail snapped back, propelling them several hundred feet away from Komodo. The jolt brought Lysander back, who blinked rapidly and looked over at Isin.

“This really isn't like the training sims.”

“Could you be more obvious, Welles? Now get your crap together--I'm not dying here, and neither is anyone else in that city.”

“Yes, sir.” Lysander said sardonically, trying to breathe deeply.

Fenrir Omega exited the water and shifted to face Komodo. The Kaiju hissed and bounded at them, looking eager to score a kill.

Not yet.

“Activate thrusters!”

Four small plums of fire emanated from the back of the Jaeger, causing Fenrir to rocket through the air at Komodo upon jumping. Both forearms raised, they caught the monster off-guard by the sudden acceleration and delivered twin hammer punches to its head.

Komodo went sprawling ungainly, screeching angrily. Fenrir skidded to a halt and swiveled. The Kaiju snapped its jaws furiously, tail whipping back and forth.

Lysander brought up Fenrir Omega's right forearm to block a stab from the tail blade, and barely stopped it from stabbing the Jaeger in the shoulder. Unfortunately, the tail pierced through the back of Fenrir's hand. Grunting, he clamped the Jaeger's fingers together, seizing the tail and holding tight, allowing Isin to grab the free part of the lower tail above the blade.

Komodo tugged its tail, dragging Fenrir to the side. They kept their balance by hopping slightly and leaning away from the momentum, permitting the Jaeger kept hold of the Kaiju's tail. Just then, Lysander activated his right arm blade, which sliced through Komodo's tail, leaving the spike still stuck in the Jaeger's hand.

Isin reached over and pulled it out, then held the spike in a reverse grip like a knife. Komodo snarled and backed off to put some room between itself and Fenrir Omega, but to no avail. The Jaeger sprang at its foe and slashed, relieving Komodo of the front half of a hand.

“Hah!” Lysander barked once. Karma was a bitch, after all.

Isin brought the severed spike around and sunk it deep into the side of Komodo's head, destroying its eyes on the left side. Arms flailing wildly, it knocked Fenrir back a few steps before regaining its composure and bellowing at them.

The left arm blade shot out, and Fenrir charged. Superheated blades slashed through the air, and Isin felt Lysander's elation through the neural link. For once, just this time, he could fight back against the horror and win. And he could continue to do so if they survived. When they survived.

Yelling in defiance at the face of destruction, they went to work.

Fenrir Omega's left blade cut into Komodo's abdomen, and a followup thrust from the right blade impaled it through the chest. Thrusters fired again, pushing the Kaiju off-balance and away from the city.

Isin brutally directed the Jaeger's free blade to tear into the monster. The third front of Komodo's mouth went spiraling away, quickly followed by its lower right forearm. After that, the weapon sunk into the Kaiju's chest beside the right blade. They twisted so the flat of the blades were almost parallel with the ground, then lifted the creature into the air. It kicked out, but they ignored the not very damaging blows.

Twin zipping sounds could be heard as the superheated blades carved right through Kaiju muscle and bone, almost bisecting it. Komodo dropped out of the air just in time to get a knee to the underside of its mouth, courtesy of Isin.

Komodo struggled to rise, its blue blood spraying everywhere. Lysander brought his arm around and cut up diagonally, the tip of the blade cleaving through the left side of Komodo's neck and face, blinding it on that side as well.

Isin delivered the finishing blow with a horizontal slash that nearly beheaded the Kaiju. Head tilting to the side, bright, semi-luminescent blood spurting out from the stumps while only a small strip of hide kept the elongated head attached, Komodo landed with a profound splash.

Not taking any chances, Fenrir Omega lifted a leg into the air and stomped on Komodo's head, smashing it into the ocean floor. Lysander fancied he could hear the snap and crackle of Kaiju bones beneath the giant metal foot.

“Shatterdome Control, this is Fenrir Omega.” Isin said into the com system. “The Kaiju is dead. We're coming home.”

[Remnant]

Story Is Finished.

Dante awoke. It was dark. He was sitting on something...squishy? Dante realized his ODST Armor was not on. All he wore was a white T-Shirt, Camo pants, and his dog tags. He saw a pistol laying beside him, in that squishy substance. Dante picked it up. That squishy stuff was colored tan, and as Dante picked up the pistol, tiny tentacles came out the substance to grab the pistol. "Where...where am I..?" Dante asked to himself.

It looked like he was in a cave, with tunnels and tunnels. All covered in that squishy substance. Last Dante remembered, he was on a UNSC ship, and it was attacked by a Covenant ship controlled by...Oh no Dante thought. Dante got up. and loaded his pistol. He just realized he had ammunition in his pocket. Dante saw a dead ODST. He donned his armor and his Assault Rifle. Dante then heard screams and he looked to his right. He saw a shadow of a Marine and some kind of monster mutilating the Marine, tearing him to shreds. The monster then fled somewhere else, as it's shadow disappeared.

Dante traveled down the hall to see that dead Marine in pieces, with entrails everywhere, severed limbs, it all just looked disgusting. Dante saw a shadow coming, but it was much skinnier. Dante hid behind some debris which could serve as cover. He looked over to see a creature. It was a Infected Elite, but it was different, mutated (To see, click here). It's neck wasn't snapped, in fact, it began to eat the dead Marine's remains. Had the Flood gone Feral? Dante wondered.

Dante equipped his silencer to his pistol and fired a shot straight into the Feral Elite's chest. It didn't die like all flood would, it merely glanced at him. Dante fired a shot at it's head and it fell backwards dead. Dante got out of cover, and took a left. He saw a Marine travelling the hall as well. "Sir, what are these things!?" The Marine whispered to him. Suddenly, a Flood Thrasher Form, the beast that mutilated the other Marine earlier,  broke through the wall. It had tentacles (similar to that of a Lambent Beserker from the GoW series) and it used the tentacles to impale the Marine and drag him through the wall. The Feral Thrasher then ran off with the Marine in its mouth, a blood path dripping everywhere the Feral Thrasher went.

Dante walked along until he got into a big room of what looked like a Hangar. He heard creaking sounds above. He looked up to see a damaged Scorpion suspended by tentacles directly above him. The tentacles finally gave way. Dante dove forward and out the way. He heard a loud crashing sound, and turned to see the scorpion stuck in a crater from the crash. Shrapnel was sent flying off the scorpion. The shrapnel flew over Dante's head, but ultimately missed him.

Dante got worried, because, he suddenly heard a loud flood roar, (which sounded more vicious than the other flood roars that he's heard), in response to the Scorpion crashing. Dante drew his Assault Rifle as Feral Elites, Feral Humans, and Feral Brutes began to surround him. He looked at his feet to see him standing on a Flood Porta, which opened up and let him fall down into the floor below. Dante walked into a room to his left.

"Sir! I've been hiding here. There are escape pods near here, we need to get off this ship!" A Marine yelled. "Shut up! Don't alert them!" Dante whispered. They walked out into the hallway. "I know where the pods are. Take a right here, then take a left, and we will be at the pods." The Marine whispered. Dante took a right and killed a few Feral Humans. He saw in the distance a few infection forms and a Stalker form dragging a dead Marine somewhere. Why had they not infected him?

Dante snuck around and took a left. The Marine killed a few Feral Elites. But a Feral Brute came out of nowhere. The Brute charged. "I'M NOT GETTING INFECTED!" The Marine yelled, putting his pistol to his head and committing suicide. Dante grabbed his assault rifle and unloaded a full clip into the Brute's head. He then threw a Frag Grenade, and to his surprise, the Brute eat it, and then blew up into pieces. The pods were at the end of the hall.

When Dante got to a pod, he heard a roar behind him. The Feral Thrasher bursted through the wall, and knocked Dante into the pod door with it's food, knocking him unconscious.

Dante woke up. He was wearing his ODST armor, and his pistol was sitting beside him again, like last time. "Oh. It was just a dream.." Dante said. But something was wrong. He saw the fleshy stuff again. He was sitting in it, and tentacles had latched him to the walls. In fact, there were dead Marines, Elites, Brutes, all latched to the walls by some tentacles. Dante also noticed a few cocoons. Their were people inside. A Feral Marine came out of one cocoon.

Dante noticed the Thrasher form facing him. "Wait...that wasn't a dream." Dante said, scared. Dante screamed as the Feral Thrasher charged him, and everything faded to black. Dante awoken in his bunks. Everyone was awake standing around, conversing. "THEIR GONNA KILL US ALL!" Dante kept screaming. Dante had been driven to insanity by the dream. He wanted the insanity to end, but it wouldn't. He was afraid those flood would come back.

"Calm down!" "it's fine!" "You'll be okay, were not in trouble!" They all kept saying. Dante finally stopped. He walked to the bridge to go see the Captain. "Sir, I had the worst nightmare...is everything..ok? I dreamed we were attacked by Flood." Dante said. "Were fine. Nothing has happened." The Captain said. "Oh." Dante replied.

Dante looked out the window, and suddenly, a Covenant ship, covered in the Flood biomass that Dante saw in his dream, came out of slipspace. "Sir, unknown vessel approaching!" A Officer said. "I'M NOT RELIVING WHAT HAPPENED!" Dante said, going insane. Dante grabbed the Captain's pistol, put it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. Once more, everything faded to black. His insanity fear of the flood drove him to his limit. And to his death.

[BetaWülf]

Well then
A short story by Jake Bentley.

“Wha............ why................. am I...................... awake?” a harsh, rasping voice spoke, an echo boomed through the Howe. A creaking could be heard, almost like a cabinet door that sticks but,......... more organic, the pine box the noise came from rattled and hopped on the raised stone platform it sat upon as an enraged moaning growl was heard. The lid splintered and a thin grayish figure sat upon with haste, it seemed terribly thin, so, so thin. It was emaciated obviously, but otherwise normal, its dry, medium brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a beard adorned its chin, pulled into three short braids.

He popped his neck and a crackling *pop* bounced around the stone dome, he laid his left foot over the edge of the coffin and into the dim blue light that shown through a small crack, his skin was not gray, but in fact blue. An unnatural blue it was, reminiscent of the sky on a clear day, but different somehow. His head slowly turned his eyes too were blue, glowing slightly in the darkness, he placed his hand on the side of the side of the pine coffin and pushed himself up.

He stumbled from the raised platform in the center of the room onto his knees, he slowly stood up and attempted to take another step. His attempt was better but he still fell, he caught himself against the wall and leaned as he realized he had been dead for quite some time. His clothes were tattered and barely covered any of his body, that’s when he saw it, or his lack of it. He had no yin yang, no twig and berries, they were shriveled and gone, his eyes darted around the room before he his sorrow turned to immense grief. He let out a terrible wailing shriek that lasted every bit of five minutes.

It was nearly an hour later and he still wept, though no tears left his eyes, those dried up years ago. He would never truly adjust to such a traumatic lacking, but he would be needing such things anyway, and he knew it. He stood let out a final dusty sniffle before he walked to the crack in the wall to peak at the outside world.

He shaded his eyes from the light as he looked outwards, he was in a pine forest and dead leaves littered the ground, so there must have been more than just pines he decided. He couldn’t tell the temperature by feeling, but he guessed it was cold by the fog clinging to the ground, and he guessed it was an Autumn morning by the suns position in the sky and the state of the foliage.

The stone door slowly slid open and dust filled the air as the barely decent creature stepped into the light of day. He looked down at his arms and legs, and the saddening flatness under his makeshift loincloth, he grimaced before looking back at his blue skin, he wasn’t moldy or deteriorated, just somewhat leathery. He puzzled over why he had returned from the dead, and then he remembered what it was that he had become.

A Draugr.

An undead creature from Norse mythology, incredibly strong, able to swell up to a gargantuan size and only rise if they were spiteful or........ they were wronged in life. He remembered he was murdered, it all rushed back to him.

He was framed for a robbery and murdered by the culprit, his best friend. He stomped through the forest with a vengeful wrath and clenched fists. He was quite surprised when he stepped from the forests edge into a cemetery adjacent to a mansion, he walked through the foggy graveyard and looked at the many tombstones, and nearly all of them bore his surname, these people were related to him, where was he?

He passed through the cemetery and into the front yard, a cobblestone circle was at the steps of the mansion going down to a gate. He walked up the steps and passed carved orange gourds before he found himself standing at the door, he raised his hand to knock then realized it was probably a bad idea. The lights were off and nobody appeared to be home luckily. He ripped the knob from the door and pushed it open, when he stepped inside his lipless mouth gaped with awe at the size, it was massive. He grinned as he looked at the beautiful interior, now knowing his descendants had moved up in the world, he remembered smithing blades for Vikings.

He seemed to have an innate knowledge of how things worked and where to go now, he assumed it had something to do with his state of undeath, but what he needed right now was a pair of clothes. He looked to right and then to the left, and when his head turned he saw what he was looking for, a closet. He busted the door down the middle and reached in, producing a suit of some kind. He looked at the excellent craftsmanship and wondered how it was made and where it had come from. He slipped on the pants and spent quite awhile trying use the zipper before his “innate sense” helped him figure it out, then he slipped on socks and a pair of shiny black shoes.

He put the belt on and tightened it down onto over his hips, he put the undershirt on and buttoned it up then he slipped on the vest and buttoned it as well. He slipped the jacket on and picked up strip of tapering cloth that fell from the wooden triangle with the hook on top, he puzzled as to what it might be before his power of super knowledge kicked in again. He slipped it around his neck and looped it, then after a little more hand work his tie was in place.

His new outfit was missing something though, his face was readily available to the naked eye, which wasn’t a good thing since he’d been dead for several centuries. He looked into the closet again for something to help him with his dilemma, then he spotted something on the shelf at the top. He pulled down a hat that had black glasses resting on it, it seemed to be new, the tag hung from the brim. He looked at the tag and was able to read it even though he didn’t even know what English was.

“Fedora” it read, he put it on and then the strange black glasses, he was amazed by them, he removed them several times before adjusting to this new wonder that sat upon his face. He pulled a cane from some kind of special barrel and twirled it around. It was a simple cane with a black haft and golden sphere as the head, it would come in handy while he adjusted to walking again. Somewhat smug he shoved his hands in his pockets and was a surprised to find something in the right one. He pulled out a metal something.

Now that he was getting into the swing of things he almost instantly knew it was a six shot revolver, he checked the cylinder and it was fully loaded and a box of ammo was in the left pocket along with a set of keys and black leather gloves, he was set it seemed. He walked over to a looking glass and looked himself over, and he was quite pleased. He tugged lapels with a grin, he was glad to know his descendants had good taste too.

He walked to the cobblestone circle and clicked the keys, a beautiful jet-black 1933 Nash responded. He gently popped the door open and ducked in with the cane under his arm, he slid the key into the ignition and turned it as the engine rolled over and the beauty of a vehicle came to life, he placed his hands on the wheel and grinned.

“I’m feeling vengeful” he said before taking off into this new world to unknown adventures to find his revenge, whatever form it may take.

[Arbiter124]

Best Served Cold
A Short Story By Arbiter124


She sprinted through the forest, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to think of Sam, to think he'd be able to protect him from what was to come.

She couldn't though.

All she could think about were those wild eyes, no remorse, no mercy. That horrific, ten foot whip that they called an arm. Those blood stained, torn clothes and the sharkish grin. He was coming. She knew he'd come. She had just been ignorant. Ignorance is bliss. She thought if she ignored the situation, it would never had happened.

Did she deserve this then?

Her ankle scraped against a thorn bush, and she felt the spine stab against her skin. She forced herself through, though, and the sting was incredibly painful as the thorn tore through her jeans and skin.
 
The forest's ending was close.

"Please... Please..." She could do nothing but hope that she could get out alive. Only a few more feet.

A flash of red flew by her head, skimming her dirt covered blonde hair.

That whip.

"NO!" She screeched, and tore through the brush into open ground. She kept running, surveying her surroundings. There was a dirt road going up to a building that was overlooking the ocean. The waves were crashing against the side of the ridge, and the building was about a hundred feet above the raging ocean below.

Clifftop Hotel.

She breathed heavily, and quickened her pace. Maybe she could lose him in there. Maybe she'd get away. Maybe she could hide in there.

Her shoes clicked against the pavement as she raced up to the parking lot. She looked back down the road, down the forest. It was too dark for her to make out a figure, the rain only helped block her line of sight. She could barely see ten feet ahead of her.

A crack of lightening.

He was there.

Not six yards away. 

That smile.

That whip.

Those eyes.

Her heart dropped, and she turned, gasping and running into the hotel. She twisted the nob, shoving the door open and slamming it shut the moment she made it inside. Almost instantly, it attempted to open again. She screamed, and forced her body onto the door, desperately, attempting to block him from getting in. The door was half open, and the only thing that she could hear was the constant pat of rain on the pavement and the windowsills, and that hysteric, excited laughter coming from the Monster on the other side.

Whip Hand was sensing her fear.

Seeing no other option, she leaped off of the door, and it swung open. However, without even looking back, she was out of there in mere seconds, before he could have even seen her. She was running up the first flight of stairs instantly, the soles of her wet shoes squeaking on the wooden staircase. She reached the top, sprinting down the hallway. She remembered being here once before, being chased by this beast once before. 

She had escaped once before.

Could she do it again?

Seeing an open door on the left, She took a sharp left, dashing into the room. Quickly shutting the door, she set the two locks, one turning lock and another chain lock. Once that was set, She turned to the counter, looking for means of defense, and there it was. 

Lana's big, automatic pistol, with one lone clip residing next to it. 

She leaped for the pistol, grabbing onto the handle, and grabbing the clip. Normally she would have been careful around Lana's gun, seeing that if Lana ever caught her with it she'd flip out.

She knew this was an exception, though.

Knock. Knock.

She whirled around, aiming the firearm at the door. The knocking stopped, and she heard silence, aside from her heavy breathing. She had handled a gun before, and she knew how to use one. She had envisioned this moment time after time, training herself for the moment.

But now that it was happening, She was beginning to doubt that she was ready for this. 

The door started shaking, and She heard that horrible monster's muffled curses, aggravated and eager to get Her blood on his whip.

Whip Hand.

He would kill her. No. He would torment her. He would torment her, and bring her to Sam as a skinless beast of what she once was.

Whip Hand.

He would get to her.

The door flew forward, falling to the ground and kicking up dust in the room. Before She had even gotten clear sights on him, She pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

BLAM!

She couldn't let him get her.

BLAM! 

BLAM!

She just couldn't let herself feel that horrible whip.

BLAM!

BLAM!

That wicked laugh.

BLAM!

BLAM!

That demonic grin.

Blood exploded on the hallway's wall, but it didn't stop him. His jaws were gaping in an open smile, and he was charging her, unfazed by the bullet's tearing through his shirt, skin and flesh.

"NO!" She screamed.

"YES!" He snarled.

She dropped the pistol, letting it clatter on the carpet floor of the room. She turned, and saw the balcony. 

The whip slashed her calf. She almost fell onto one knee, but forced herself to not collapse, to instead run for the glass doors.

She sprinted.

SLASH!

He was going to get her.

SLASH!

He was going to make her feel that horrible whip.

SLASH!

She pushed open the doors, and slammed them shut. She quickly locked them, and her pursuer slammed into them full force, rocking the doors back and forth. She backed up, but reached the railing. She glanced below her, to see the raging, grey ocean.

She glanced back at him.

Then the ocean again.

She climbed onto the railing.

She struggled to keep her balance, and looked back at him. He had broken down the doors, and he was now advancing once again.

She jumped.

He lashed out with his whip.

It wrapped around her waist.

She was pulled back to him.

NO!

NO!

"NO!"

She sat up in her bed quick, sweat dripping down her temples. She felt the hot tears behind her eyes, but fought them off. She was shaking. She looked to the left, to see Sam, sound asleep in bed. The room was dark, and the rain was smacking against the windowsill.

That same dream.

That nightmare.

She hopped out of bed, and slowly walked over to the windowsill, looking through the rain.

She didn't need to worry.

He died.

His Whip died.

Two years its been since Drake's death, but for every one her nights since, she's had that traumatizing nightmare that would no doubt have been a fantasy of his.

She needed therapy.

[BasedGoody]

“Aides”

Dev-il (noun) - the supreme spirit of evil; Satan.


I - The Talk - April 22nd, 1846.

My wife and my son. It was just us, and we liked that life. Then the new neighbor moved in. Aides was his name, and he was the NICEST person I've ever met. Much too nice. That’s how I knew there was something wrong. The man lived alone, no kids, no girl in his life and there was nothing wrong with him. He was constantly making jokes and smiling, no matter how much someone made fun of him. Sure that ‘someone’ was me, but he would never even flinch. My wife loved having him over too. That’s when I noticed the first problems. Whenever he would come over something bad would happen. At first it was trivial things like my boy dropping a plate and shattering it, cutting open my foot. Then it slowly got worse. My wife got food poisoning and was throwing up all night, and our dog had a mishap involving a dropped kitchen knife. We had to put him down. I feared for my family and I knew that this had to stop.

“Wife dearest, we need to speak.” I called to my significant other.

“What is it?” She asked from the kitchen. I walked into the room and sighed deeply. She turned to look at me. “Is everything okay?”

“No. No it’s not. Have you noticed anything strange about our neighbor?” I replied, looking into her eyes.

“Oh Aides? Of course not! He is the nicest-”

“That’s what you always say!” I interrupted. My spouse turned around with confusion in her eyes. “Nevermind.” I grumbled as I trudged into the dining room. My son happily skipped into the room, landing himself on a chair before nudging himself closer to the table. My eyes looked towards an empty plate as I held a fork in my hand.

“What’s for dinner?” My offspring cheerfully asked. I held no answer and waited for my partner to respond instead.

“I made some rice and tea.” She replied, hard at work.

“We have had the same thing every night this week. Could you spice it up a little bit?” I asked, staring sharply into the kitchen. My other half ignored the remark and continued to prepare the meager dish. We were not the wealthiest family, but we did get along.

Dinner came and went silently and immediately after I left for my bedroom, adorning my nightgown. My wife soon followed and I could hear the little pitter-patter of my child’s feet up the stairs.

II - Taking A Turn For The Worse - April 24th, 1846

My wife invited Aides over for dinner again, Lord knows why. Every day I am feeling as if she is growing farther away from me and closer to him. We have been getting into constant arguments and she has often left the house for ‘air’ but I am almost positive she is looking for him for comfort. She says she will make some cornbread for our guest. I suppose I am just excited to see what horrors this beast will bring for another night.

As the evening approaches a knock on the door rings through the house. My spouse seems happy to answer it. As she gets things ready, the serpent sits down across from me, looking just cheerful. That irritated me. He spoke with passion in his voice, telling stories of his work in the shop downtown. My eyes narrowed down onto him stronger with each word. He ate politely and for once I believed that nothing was awful was going to happen, but I was wrong. Something bad did happen.

My family is prided with owning the sword that our ancestor once used in battle. It hung above the fireplace showing great honor. We had never really thought it could have been loosely secured, so when my son raced down the hall to show Aides what he had been working on during school and tripped unexpectedly I never would have expected the sword to come free and fall. Much less did I expect it to ram through my child’s chest. We didn’t even get him free of the spearing weapon before we realized it was too late.

“NO. Why!?” I kept yelling in unison with my wife.

“Aides! Quick! Help!” My spouse yelled. Why was that name coming up now?

“WHAT do you want HIM FOR!?” I yelled before breaking down into tears. I turned around to the evil one, and I could have sworn I saw a smirk upon his face before he joined my significant other in sorrow and tears.

III - Empty Shell - May 14th, 1846

Days grew longer, not because of the upcoming summer but rather because of the constant sadness that drowned away at my life. I lost my job and my will to do anything. My wife was trying to make it work but I could only see her constant tear streaked face.

Every day was constant fighting and bickering. Almost always about trivial matters like cleaning or finding a job. Occasionally about the only love I’ve ever had in my life, my son. Even less we talked about Aides. I had grown more and more hatred for the wicked one, for he was the only thing that brought my wife happiness, and I was on the brink of going mad trying to find out why he was doing this.

It all boiled down to some rainy, stormy Thursday night.

“I’m going to inv-” I could hear my wife call.

“No. You will do no such thing in this house anymore.” I snapped back.

“What do you mean?” She asked, spinning from the kitchen to my body slumped on a chair, reading the newspaper

“I mean,” I growled, throwing the paper down “that I am SICK of him in our presence. Why do you enjoy his company so much!?”

“He’s much nicer to talk to than you!” She replied. We were standing up, yelling at each other by now.

“Well why don’t you try to talk to ME?” I screamed.

“Because I don’t love you!” She retorted. From here, well, it got violent. I had gone through enough, you see? It wasn’t my fault per se, she was the one egging me on! Of course, maybe my actions were slightly over the top, but you know she was asking for it, right?

“Oh now you’ve gone too far.” I snickered, somewhat maniacally. I walked into the kitchen to my spouse-who was looking somewhat terrified-and grabbed her by the hair. She screamed for a second before I opened the door to the basement and pulled her down. I am almost positive I started to feel some regret here, but I was too excited to stop. At the bottom step I grabbed a shovel leaned against the wall and bludgeoned her head in with it.

After her annoying moaning stopped and she went limp I hoisted the body over my shoulders. With wild eyes and a half-insane smile I brought the body of my once-loved other half outside with the shovel, and began digging down into my garden. I felt some remorse at it, these were beautiful flowers. I hated to see them go to waste for something like this.

IV - Aides - May 14th, 1846

Once the deed was done, I dropped the shovel and left the garden. I walked down the dirt road, rain pouring down onto my shoulders, towards the Antichrist living next door. I walked down his stone path, barging in through the unlocked door. I had waited far too long for this.

“Aides!” I yelled into the next room. It echoed through the halls.

“Yes? Is someone here?” The evil one replied innocently. I followed his voice to a door which lead downwards a far bit. I walked down each step, hate slowly building up in me with each pat of my boots on the stairway. The stairs came to an abrupt end and led down a hallway. I followed it cautiously, listening to a slow rhythmic humming noise coming from the vile being.

The noise finally showed me to another door, which I busted through.

“Aides! Where are you!? Show yourself!” I yelled. It was pitch black.

“But friend, I am right here!” The demon said nonchalantly, right behind me. I spun around to nothing. I turned again and started moving forward when the door slammed shut. My adrenaline still fueled me, I had no time to be scared.

“Guess I have to just keep going forward.” I mumbled, but when I did move forward, there was nothing. Just a stone wall, no door. I felt around every wall but there was no exit. My eyes widened and I ran back to the way I came. Locked.

“What- is this…?” I trembled. Quickly I ripped a match out of my pocket, lighting it. The source revealed nothing but empty walls, and skeletons. Littering the floor. Everywhere.

Suddenly another noise came along, this one a laugh. But not a normal one, it was demonic and deep. I ran to the door and pounded on it, demanding for myself to be let free. There was no answer, just the horrifying cackle of Aides.

“Have a nice stay.” He said, before the wind blew out my match and I was left alone in the dark. To die.

[iamsteelius]

Death’s Doorstep 

    Schmidt knew Adams was screaming some order, he was sure of it. Not that he could hear him of course, not with the gunships firing off, the howls and roars, and even his own breathing flooding his helmet. The unholy roars of the damned echoed through his ears, scattering his thoughts. He just knew Adams, served under him for long enough, to know he was still trying to keep control. There was not a damn thing he could do, but he went ahead and screamed his lungs out. The Lieutenant was like that from day one, always on the squad’s ass about discipline and self control. Right now though, the only thing that Schmidt cared about was getting behind the downed pelican, and into the diner. He just paced his breath and clutched his Magnum tighter.


    Behind the sprinting marines was a horror unlike any other. It was a parasite which lived to consume, and consumed because it could. It wiped out planets and civilizations, devouring all in it’s’ wake. A horde of Flood chased them through this destroyed city, racing to finish what it started, killing off any sentient life on the planet. The diner behind the destroyed pelican was a stronghold for the marines a while back, and was the only defendable place for miles. Of course, against the flood, nothing was really defendable, not really. Schmidt shook his head at that thought. He needed to focus on something else.


    Ahead of him was Freeman, less than a meter away and to his left. He was silent on mission and wouldn’t shut up the rest of the time. His New Orleans drawl made him alright though, and according to Freeman, he was born there too, right on Earth. To his almost immediate right was Benson, running raggedly, his stance faltering and his grenade launcher on his back. He was heavyset, but ran just fine when he needed to, the Scottish sounding man always with light humor. He always had this look though, like he was ready to be done. He wouldn’t look like that around people, but you could catch it every once and a while. About 20 meters ahead was Vallejo, the single ODST, running up ahead, his shotgun in one hand and his axe in the other. That man was nearly a Spartan, if he was any better.

Schmidt looked behind him, seeing who was keeping up. There, a few meters behind him, was Adams, trucking on, his gun nowhere to be seen. A little farther back was Maverick and Simpson, both of them firing off into the biomass behind them. The two were near inseparable, always sticking together and fighting together. They only time they ever argued was over their bets. They kept pace with each other, barely pulling ahead of the horde. The sick tendrils and claws lashed out at them, barely missing, the spattering of gunfire from the poor wretches who still had some consciousness missed the pair.


    Then something caught his eye above the hoard. There, against the moonlit sky, was a twisted and corrupted body of an unfortunate Elite. Around it were massive tendrils and Pelican drop ships, locked in a futile combat. Was it not a mutilated, corrupted monster, the scene might have been awe inspiring. It seemed that it had just sprung down from a rooftop. From the angle of its’ descent, it was not coming near Schmidt. By the time it was nearly to the floor, he figured out where it was landing. He turned and looked forward, not seeing or hearing, but feeling the crunch that the parasite made when it landed upon Simpson. He knew he could have shot at it, maybe clipping it and having land elsewhere, but he didn't. He was not going to risk slowing down. Schmidt’s only solace was that he probably was not going to live to regret it.

    
    Just as Schmidt arrived at the downed Pelican, Vallejo was already opening the doors to the diner. Benson was inside of the Pelican, messing with the controls to a couple of missiles, Freeman stood watching guard. “What’re you… what…” Schmidt tried to breathe out. Without looking up Benson replied, “These are phosphorus missiles, with a few casings Scorpion artillery shells. We blow this drop ship sky high, we bought ourselves maybe an hour of coverage from the fire.” Schmidt stood up straighter and said, “Why wouldn't the flood rush through. I mean, with so much of it, they could if they wanted to.” Benson keyed out of the controls on the warheads and looked over to the horrific biomass approaching. “They don’t need to. It knows we don’t have anywhere to go. It’ll just wait us out. Maybe give us time to think. And, no, this isn't going to be a suicide mission. I’ll just need you to hold the doors open a little bit longer.”

    
    Schmidt nodded and patted Freeman on the shoulder, saying, “Let’s move, that thing isn't slowing down.” They jogged over to the diner which was about 50 meters away. They got inside just as Maverick reached the Pelican. He stopped inside and then quickly ran out, his pistol in his hand and Benson’s grenade launcher in his other. As Maverick was reaching the diner the doors, he called out, “Benson said take this!” Confused, Schmidt replied, “Why the hell did he…” He was cut off by the Pelican letting out a deafening boom, it erupting into a wave of fire. “Damn it!” Schmidt cried, pulling Maverick inside and shutting the doors.


    Schmidt stepped back and dropped into a booth, letting Freeman, Adams and Vallejo put blockades in front of the door. Schmidt knew Benson was going to do it, but it still cut him pretty deep. The man was kind of like the rock of the group, was somehow ever wise. Now, he was gone, in a futile attempt to keep his brothers alive. The situation went from bleak to dismal. He cursed, tears stinging his eyes and rock weighing in his gut. He pushed himself up and unto his feet, breathed in deeply to get a hold of himself, surveying what everybody was doing.


    Adams was standing near the doors, keeping watch on everything outside, looking through the nooks and crannies of open space. He was donning a M90 shotgun, probably from a stockpile inside the diner. Freeman was sitting alone at a table, cleaning his gun and helmet, telling a story about one time where he reloaded a beetle into his gun, jamming it for days. Maverick and Vallejo were near the counter talking. Actually Vallejo was talking, leaned against the counter, and Maverick was just silent, nodding his head. Schmidt walked over to where Adams was standing, keeping hold of his Magnum. Adams was looking outside the diner, trying to keep vigilant watch. Schmidt shook his head and walked to the back of the diner, checking the back exit. The windows were boarded up and blocked, the back entrance doubly so.


    He could hear the gunships over head and the Flood all around, but there was another noise, a different one. He tried to focus on it, to hear it, but he couldn't. When he looked outside, all he could see was smoke, debris and fire. He stepped away from the small window in the door and turned back toward the front of the diner. In reality, Schmidt knew what the noise was, but he refused to acknowledge or share it. Nobody needed to know it was raining, that fire was only going to last half as long. He walked over to Maverick and Vallejo, who seemed to just be sharing a somber silence. Freeman was searching the diner, talking aloud about being a waiter once, while Adams was coughing ferociously near the doors. He waved at Schmidt and Maverick, calling them over.


    Adams ordered through coughs, “Maverick, Schmidt check the perimeter and-- *cough cough* make sure it’s secure. Valdez,” Adams looked to Vallejo, “Check the kitchen for supplies.” Vallejo nodded and said, “It’s Vallejo and yes sir.” He vaulted over the counter and strolled into the kitchen. Schmidt patted Maverick on the shoulder saying, “Alright, let’s go.” They walked to windows left of the front door. Even with the constant roar of the fire outside, there was a silence inside. They walked around, boarding up what openings and windows they could, using scrap metal. They walked around, trying to prepare their flimsy defense. When Schmidt was at the back, locking and covering the door, he noticed Maverick was missing. He turned to see him staring out the rightmost window from the door, staring intently. There was a thumping noise outside, steady and solid.


    He jogged over, duly noting that Adams was sitting in a booth crying, wondering what the hell Maverick was doing. He walked next to him and saw him staring at an infected marine in the eye. Schmidt began to raise his pistol when Maverick laid a hand on it, keeping it down. Bewildered, he looked to Maverick, who seemed completely broken, and then to the wretch outside. It was completely burned, falling apart in some points; its face was a mess, as if it were crushed. Suddenly, it rammed its’ face against the lower window sill, making a loud thump and a horrific cracking noise. When it came back up, Schmidt understood. That was Simpson, burned and bloody, and it was destroying itself, right in front of Maverick, torturing him.


    Schmidt swallowed, realizing just how horrific this was. Schmidt solemnly said, stuttering, “I-I I’m sorry- I…” Maverick just shook his head, saying, “No it’s alright. It’s not anyone’s fault. Nobody’s.” He sucked in a deep breath and just began to talk, the twisted Simpson slamming his head all the while. “You know, we shared our first beers together.” CRACK “Hustled our first few games together.” CRACK “Enlisted together.” CRACK “We’ve been in the first squad since day one.” CRACK “Hell, we used to argue which one of us killed first.” CRACK “Now he’s dead, and now it’s my job to put him down.” Crack “And so God help me, I’m not disappointing him.” Maverick raised his pistol, tears rolling down his cheeks, pointed it right where the Flood Spore was sprouting out, and fired four times, and dropping him. As Simpson was sprawled out dead, Maverick holstered his pistol, blinked away the tears and said, “The next one’s for you.” With that Maverick turned and walked to an empty booth. Schmidt took a step back, swore softly and continued blockading the doors.

After finishing at the door, he turned and sat at the counter, looking around. Adams was just sitting at a table, trying to get a radio to work; Maverick was just sitting in a booth, staring at nothing, while Freeman just came back into the main area, holding guns and ammunition. “I found a good stockpile, even a rocket launcher.”

    Vallejo back pedaled over to the counter, declaring without turning, “And I found us some...” he turned to them revealing what was in his arms, “Pie!” In his arms were Pumpkin pies, and a few apple ones. He set them on the counter, more in a pile then anything. Schmidt gave a half hearted laugh, but turned to see Maverick’s thunderous laugh. He stood there, wiping some strays tears off his face and began walking over to Vallejo. “So, we’re completely and hopelessly surrounded, half of us have died, including Simpson and you found pie?” He was standing right into Vallejo’s eyes, the counter the only thing between them. “Brother,” he patted his shoulder, “This is the best idea I’ve seen in a while.” He dropped down on a stool and grabbed himself a pie.


    Adams turned to them and began saying, “Are you serious? We need to be setting up defenses and arming ourselves. You don’t think…”Adams ranting was drowned out when Vallejo flipped on the hot chocolate machine. “Sorry Chief, I can’t hear you.” Schmidt sat down and grabbed himself a pie, and even though Vallejo’s back was turned, Schmidt could tell he was snickering. Maverick had already gone through half a pie by that time. Freeman walked over to the other side of the counter and turned off the machine, right in front of Vallejo, and began talking. “You really think hot chocolate is more important right now? We need to follow orders, prep our guns and ourselves and set up positions. You think that that fire is going to save us? Well, listen…” Vallejo grabbed Freeman by the chest plate and said, cold and clear, “Nothing and nobody can save us. Right now we’re trapped and it knows that. We have no way out. Sure, we could go out fighting, but it wouldn’t do a damn thing. So I’m going to sit down with my pie and hot cocoa and enjoy my Halloween and last day breathing. Now would you like a pie or not?”


    Freeman pushed Vallejo’s arm away and stormed back to the guns, muttering about cowardice. Adams walked over to the stockpile and began organizing it. Maverick, without looking up from his pie said, “It’s Halloween? We’ve been here a while.” Schmidt swallowed a piece of pie and laughed, saying, “Time flies when you’re having fun. But yeah, it’d explain the hell out of the decorations.” The three of them looked around, taking in the orange and black theme, jack-o-lanterns and such strewn across the place. Through the stress and weariness, they missed the light heartedness of their holdout. “It would also explain the pie.” Maverick mumbled through his pie. Vallejo turned, putting two cups of hot chocolate on the counter. “Two cups of hot cocoa, spiked with bourbon, Corpse Diggers. Oh and Maverick, you’re recovering well.” Maverick downed half of the cup, saying afterward, “Simpson would be pissed if I just kept moping the whole day.”


    Schmidt nodded taking a sip from the drink, then sighed deeply. “This is some good stuff, Vallejo. Where’d you learn this?” Vallejo was digging into his pie, so he had to gulp down a big chunk before he said, “Was a bartender before I enlisted, damn good, too. Mixing drinks was an art, and the bar was my canvas.” Schmidt chuckled at that, thinking about Vallejo in civilian clothes. Maverick belched loudly, eliciting laughs from everyone, even Adams. Maverick then said, reminiscing, “You know, me and Todd, by that I mean Simpson, sacked a diner once. It was Halloween day, and we came in dressed as bandits. We pretended to stick up the place, and robbed not the cash but the food. Of course, my friend, the manager at the time, was in on it. Unfortunately, the cash register was not and called the authorities. Nearly got arrested, but we were given a choice. It was that stunt that got us enlisted.”


    Vallejo silently chuckled, putting down more cups. Schmidt laughed, and then began his rebuttal to the story. “I remember this one time, Halloween night, a couple friends and I painted the town red. Literally. We covered about four neighborhoods in just buckets of red paint. God, I wouldn’t be able to tell you why we did it even if I could. Unlike bozo here, I didn’t get caught. I enlisted on my own terms.” There were a few laughs at that, and then Maverick said to Vallejo, “Any crazy Halloween stories?” When he shook his head, he turned to Adams and called out, “What about you, Lieutenant?” Adams got up and walked over to them. “Not really, nothing special.” He grabbed a cup and said, “But there is one thing I’m sure we all did.” He raised his Styrofoam cup and declared, “The women!” Maverick toppled out of his chair, chortling all the way down, while Schmidt nearly cried of laughter, beating his fist on the table. Vallejo just smirked and took a swig of his drink. He wiped his face, saying, “Glad you came around. So how’s the kid?” motioning towards Freeman. Adams shook his head, saying, “The kid’s terrified. I can’t say I blame him though.”


    Vallejo grabbed a cup of Corpse Digger and said, “Kid needs a drink. I’ll be right back.” He walked off to where Freeman while the rest of the soldiers just swapped stories. The fire outside was shrinking, the Flood was slowly closing in and there was zero chance of survival. But at that moment, nobody cared. Freeman and Vallejo walked back to the counter, raising cheers and greetings. Vallejo turned up the radio to a looping few rock songs that were on it, drowning out the world outside. They talked, drank and ate, acting like the brothers in arms they were. Sheer death and corruption were lurking outside, just biding for its’ time, but the soldiers didn’t care for on this Halloween night, little else mattered besides enjoying what time was left, and making sure that that what they had lost wasn’t for granted. They found out, right on death’s doorstep, that simply living, was what they were once fighting for, and now they damn well thought they deserved to experience it.

[HollowSaber]

“This blood… is mine…” A deathly hiss emerged from the depths of the black alley. Footsteps echoed with an irritated click. Scratching carved into the walls as the sound of something being dragged sounded out.

“This body… is mine…” A whimper filled the space, followed by a gurgle. A deep, liquid gurgle. Then there was silence. The air grew still. The footsteps faded. The scratching stopped. For a long time, there was nothing. No movement, no sign of life. Only the empty sound of the darkness moving.

“Heh… heh… heh…”

* * * 

“Yea, I’m on my way home now. Yea, I know.” A man, tall and scrawny stepped out of a grocery store, milk in his left hand and a phone in his right against his face. He had the hood of his jacket up to protect himself from the downpour, but there was no umbrella. He was soaked by the rain by the time he reached his car. It was summertime so his jacket was thin.

“Babe, I got it okay? I have to drive. It’s raining. I’ll be home soon.” The man entered his car and ended the phone call he was on. Removing his soaked jacket, he tossed it into the back seat to keep from the rest of his clothes from getting wet. Plugging the key into the engine, the man began to turn the ignition. The engine rumbled and started to turn over.

“This body…”

The engine fell back, slamming back down as it refused to start. The man in the car hissed and turned the ignition again. The car began to rumble.

“This blood…”

Again, the engine refused to start. It tumbled and shook time and time again as the man twisted the ignition. His face began to twist and convex with anger as the car refused to start. That car, that brand new car. That forty-thousand dollar car he had bought three days ago was not starting? How? The man, who went by the name of Robert from what the visitor sticker on his brand new blazer said, kicked open his car door and unlocked the hood of his car.In the rain, and upset, the man walked to the hood and opened it...

“Is mine…”

He took a glance at the engine as best as he could, but the rain clouds and lack of sunlight beyond them made seeing it impossible. He hooked the hood up, propping it open as he reached for his phone. He began to search his pockets for the item, but was unable to find it.

“Where the fu--” Suddenly he heard his ringtone. He leaned around the hood and looked into his car to see the phone sitting on his seat. The caller-id was labeled “restricted”, but he quickly went back to the driver door. He opened it and grabbed the phone. When he answered, the man said his name and asked for who was speaking. There was no answer.

“Hello?” He asked again. In the background of the phone, he could hear static. The man grimaced.

“Uh… Hello?” The static grew louder and louder until that was all he could hear. Robert pulled his eyebrows down in confusion and pulled the phone from his face. He looked at the “restricted” ID-tag again and the moment he did, the call ended. Paying it no mind, the man shrugged and closed his car door. He returned to the open car hood but paused when he turned around the front tire.

Standing there, a man dressed in a black trench-coat and a bowl hat was looking at the engine. Our dear Robert stood there for a moment, frozen as he stared at the unknown person. Though, the man in the coat and hat didn’t exactly acknowledge Robert either until he decided to look away from the engine.

The coated man’s face was old, around sixty, and his eyes were gray due to his time being nearly up. He had seen the world, this man, the good sides of it and the bad. He had seen men kill man, seen men save man. He had seen theft, had seen rape, had seen murder, kidnapping, and had seen what drugs could do to people. He was an old man, around sixty, who had seen the world…

“Good evening, Mr. Robert.” The old man, around sixty, said with a smile. His teeth were yellowed from age and misuse.

“H-hello.” Robert, a man who was only around twenty, spoke with a shaky voice. The old man paid no mind to it. He simply looked towards the engine.

“She is a beautiful car.” The old man said.

“She doesn’t start.” Robert frowned, his eyes fixed on the old man and watched the man reached out and place his hand on the engine block.

“Such a shame. I would have enjoyed to have such a vehicle.” The old man chuckled and then looked towards Robert. He tipped his hat without a word and turned away. As silently as he had come, the old man walked away, disappearing into an alleyway across the street.

Robert trembled slightly as the hot and humid air around him suddenly became cold. He stared towards the alley where the old man had gone into for almost three minutes. Who was that man, that man who was around sixty? He spoke with a strange accent, one that Robert had not heard of. He was tall and old, but walked like a young man. Robert feared that man, that sixty year old man. So before he could come back, if he ever would, Robert dropped the hood of his car and ran to the driver side door. He pulled his door open and slipped into his seat, ignoring the fact that he was soaked.

He pushed the fact that the engine wouldn’t start and began to furiously turn the ignition. The engine rumbled and rumbled, squeaking and roaring as Robert tried to get it to start. He sat there, twisting the key over and over like a mad man. The rain that thudded outside of the car became nothing but a sound in the background as Robert focused on the sound of the engine. It roared and roared, scratching and fighting for life. Yet the rain pounded on the hood, slamming it back to the floor and forced it to silence. A brand new car, not four days old, wasn’t starting.

Robert began to hyperventilate. The figure of the old man appeared in his mind and reminded him of what had just occurred. If he got back out of the car, what would happen? He had to stay inside. He had to keep trying! So he kept turning the key. Turn after turn, he twisted the ignition until suddenly, something snapped. Robert’s hand twisted forward and the engine slammed to the floor. Despair and sadness made his heart stop as Robert realized what he had just done.

In his fit of fear, he had broken the key. The only key he had, the only escape, was the key now in the ignition. He grimaced and pulled the broken half up into his view. As he stared at it, he envisioned the old man again. That black trenchcoat, the dying look in his eyes, and the strange accent he had. He was only sixty and couldn’t do any harm to a young man like Robert, who was well built and a fighter, but fear filled his emotions.

“Hey buddy!” A loud knocking came from the driver side. Robert looked over, his eyes open wide and his heart racing. Standing there, a man about the age of forty was there. He wore a well tailored business suit that was untouched by the rain due the large umbrella he held above his head. In his other hand there was a large briefcase.

“Need a hand?” The man who was around forty asked. Robert, subconsciously smiled and opened his door.

“Yes, please if you would be so kind. My car won’t start and I actually just broke the key.” Robert spoke loudly as he got out of the car. He shut the door.

“Well that is troublesome. My name is Mormo. It’s Greek. What is yours?” The Greek man who was around the age of forty, Mormo, extended his hand to Robert. His smile was full of false dreams and empty conversations. His suit was well tailored, but it was an old one with faded colors. This man, with the large case, was a salesman.

“I’m Robert. Let’s take a look at the hood shall we?” Robert said, shaking the man’s hand. It was cold. Cold as ice. So cold that a massive chill ran down Robert’s spine and then out into his entire body.

“Of course! Just pop it open and we’ll take a look.” The salesman grabbed his burden, the briefcase, and walked with a bit of a waddle to the front of the car. Robert watched him walk for a few steps before opening the car door. He leaned down and pulled the lever to unlock the hood. The other man, named Mormo, pulled the hood up and covered himself. Seeing this, Robert quickly closed his door and sprinted to the front of the car.

There, leaning inside under the hood, Mormo was. There was no old man. Robert sighed of relief and watched his new helper walk his fingers through the engine. The man began to hum. It was an eerie tune. The melody was deep and slow, with some sort of hidden meaning behind it. Before Robert could think anymore about it, Mormo stopped. The salesman tilted his head and took in a breath.

“Do you watch television?” The man asked. Robert shrugged.

“A little. I watch mainly police shows and stuff I guess.” The answer was second nature, as if the salesman was an old friend Robert had known.

“Ah, so you watch the shows with the dead people and stuff…” Mormo muttered. His words made Robert confused.

“What do you mean? They are shows about putting people who hurt and kill in jail. It also shows how good our police system is.” Robert’s retort was fierce, but Mormo used his own lifeline and simply shrugged.

The man, around the age of forty, slid his hand to the right and pulled on a wire. A spark flared inside the darkness of the compartment and then life exploded outwards. The engine turned over and the car sprang forth from its dead state. Gasoline filled the block and Robert listened to his four day old car gasp for air. The entire thing shook as the engine roared.

“There! That should do it!” Mormo said happily, leaning out from under the hood. He quickly shut the hood and held his umbrella over his head. He turned to Robert who seemed very intrigued.

“How did you do that?” Robert asked, but the salesman who was around the age of forty only answered by patting his new friend on the shoulder.

“An old trick, my friend. An old trick. Now, I must be going.” The salesman grabbed his massive briefcase and hefted it off the ground.

“I mustn’t keep the old man waiting.” Mormo said with a laugh as he walked across the street. Robert froze and stared as the salesman laughed, his voice getting louder and louder as he walked into the alleyway. The same alleyway that the old man had disappeared into. Once again, Robert stood in front of his car, the rain fading into the background as he stared mindlessly at the alley.

A loud thunderclap brought Robert back from his staring contest. He shook his head to get himself back to where he was and cursed. He was going to be late.

Robert quickly moved back into his car and sat down in the driver’s seat. He revved the engine for a moment before shifting into gear and pulling away. The tires spun for a moment, due to them being dry and cold but they swiftly got traction. The car peeled away from the curb and Robert was on his way.

“No one is late… It’s not fair…”

The lights along the main road were all green due to the late hour it was. To Robert’s joy, they all had new bulbs in them, making them all very bright. The reason for his happiness was that the brightness allowed him to see. The rain was coming down so hard that even with his windshield wipers on their highest setting, he still could hardly see. The darkness of the clouds and the heavy rain made his headlights and wipers useless. Robert grumbled angrily as he drove down the road.

His speed climbed up to thirty five, the limit, and he patiently made his way home. On the edge of the city, a small two story white home sat in the middle of a row of other houses. Robert pulled into the driveway, grabbed his coat, and twisted the broken ignition towards him to shut off the car. Robert opened the door and made a mad dash across the front yard and onto the front porch. He sighed heavily and knocked thrice. After a few moments, footsteps echoed on the opposite side of the door. Locks twisted and the door opened.

Standing there, a short blonde with a very unhappy look on her face glared at Robert. She wore a nightgown, a blue color which matched her eyes. He hair was down, falling onto her breasts and down her back due to her not exactly paying much attention to it. Though what she did pay attention to was the way she stood. One hand was on the door, the other on her waist.

“You’re late.” She said, her tone heavy.

“I’m sorry baby. My car wouldn’t start. I only got it running when a man walking by helped me.” Robert frowned and held up the broken key.
“I need to get a new key too.” He confessed. The woman in front of him shook her head and stepped out of the way.

“Alright, come on. Don’t stand out there like a fool and get sick. Hurry up and go shower. It’s movie night so I ordered pizza for dinner. It’ll be here in five minutes.” Robert entered the home as the lady spoke and took his soaked jacket. Once he was inside, the man also pulled off his soaked shirt and pants. The woman took those as well. They exchanged a kiss before Robert walked quickly upstairs.

Three minutes into his shower, he heard the door downstairs open. He listened over the sound of the water and his own cleaning out of curiosity. He trusted his fiancee, but after coming in contact with those two men, he didn’t know what to think. The sudden rain was strange. Early in the day there were no clouds in the sky until twenty minutes before he had left work. Within those twenty minutes, a monsoon had hit the city.

“Life is not fair…”

“Sorry for ordering at such an hour, especially in this rain.” Robert’s lady said with a bit of sadness in her tone.

“Oh it’s no problem, ma’am. I signed up for the job knowing full well the conditions.” The man Robert suspected to be the pizza delivery boy answered with a cheery voice.
“Your total is…” The man paused for a moment.

“Your life”

“...sixteen-seventy-five.” He said after a crack of lightning.

“Here is twenty. Keep the change.” Robert’s lady said with a happy voice in return.

“Thank you miss. Have a good evening.” The door closed, a loud bang of thunder sounding off at the same moment that the bolt hit the frame.

Robert quickly finished with his shower, wrapped himself in a towel, and opened the door to the steamy bathroom. As he stepped into the hall, the lights went out. A loud screech shook the house as lightning smashed into the pole which fed electricity to the home. Robert froze in place.

“Babe! Are you okay?” Robert shouted. There was no answer.

“The fee must be paid…”

“Babe!” Robert started to feel along the wall as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Each time it seemed like he was able to see, a bright flash of lightning filled his view from the windows. While walking, Robert’s hand slid over something sharp, slicing it open.

“Ah--. Shit.” He muttered as he felt blood start to leak down his skin. The man grabbed his towel with the bleeding hand and squeezed.

“Olivia! Answer me!” He cried out, moving towards the stairs. When he looked down around the corner to the area around the front door, he couldn’t see three feet away from himself. A black, thick fog seemed to fill the air below.

“Olivia?” Robert whispered, squeezing the towel tightly.

“Repent… Repent…. Repent…”

Placing his undamaged hand onto the rail, Robert slowly guided himself down the stairs. Yet as he walked closer and closer, counting the sixteen stairs that he was used to walking every day, cold air turned his skin into ice. It was freezing and the air he breathed was thick. By the time he reached the first floor, his toes were going numb and his fingers were hard to move. The blood flowing from his wound was thinning as well.

“What the hell…” The man whispered as he looked around, his eyes finally adjusting.

“Holy shit!” The exclamation echoed as Robert looked around. The house was a mess. The windows were all shattered, the rugs were ripped apart, the furniture tipped or broken and splintered, doors were shattered or blown off the hinges; it looked like the house was burglarized without anything being taken.

“OLIVIA!” Robert shouted as he stepped forward into the darkness. A low gust of wind below over his skin, shaking him to the bone as it kissed his body all over. Pain filled his feet as he took steps towards the living room. When Robert looked to see why, he found his feet filled will shards of glass. His feet were numb by the time he looked so he was unable to feel the pain any more. The sight of his blood was what made him feel feint. The red, gooy liquid dripped from the tiny wounds like raindrops. When lightning cracked; Robert realized the entire floor was covered in glass.

Grimacing and trying to hold back his fear, Robert stepped carefully forward. He was unable to save himself from the debris though. With each step, more and more of the glass shards pierced his feet. Little pricks made his skin tingle as the tiny daggers did their damage. Tears flowed out of Robert’s eyes.

By the time he reached the living room; his feet were covered in the glass and blood gushed from the wounds. The man dropped to his knees on the rug and looked around the darkness for his fiancee. He breathed heavily from the pain and tried to stay conscious even though his head was feeling light.

“O… olivia….” The cry came out as a whisper as Robert dragged himself across the floor.

Lightning cracked and suddenly the television turned on. Static filled the screen, but there was no sound at first. The screen illuminated the room with a very dark blue glow, barely giving any view of the room. Even so, Robert’s saw enough. Every portait in the room was tilted and shattered, cracked over his face. The furniture was all broken apart and cushions were torn open. There was no pizza on the table or anywhere. The only thing in the room that Robert’s really cared for was his fiancee, Olivia, who was standing in the middle of the room. She faced the television with her back to Robert.

“Olivia…” Robert moaned as he started to crawl over to her. She didn’t respond.

“Olivia!” The man recited her name, repeating it over and over again. Wind blasted through the empty windows, thrusting in the icy rain into the home with it. A low roar shook the house as the air circled through it. It sounded like a train. As he reached his fiancee, Robert reached his hand out for her. He gently grasped onto her ankle and looked up towards her. He said her name over and over, begging for her to look at him.

“Repent… Repent…” The words were barely audible from where Robert was.

“W-what…?” He asked, squeezing the woman’s ankle. Her head twitched and she looked straight forward.

“Baby… please… look at me… Help me!” Robert pleaded. The woman stopped her muttering and began to look to her right.

Robert’s eyes opened up wide as he watched. His fiancee’s head twisted to the right, turning and turning all the way around. He heard bone snap and break, muscle tear, and a low hiss of annoyance follow. The woman’s head twisted completely around and looked down at the helpless man. Her eyes were black, empty and shallow with a dark liquid seeping down out of them. Her lips were a dark blue, empty of blood and life. Her once rosy cheeks were now cracked and dark. They looked hollow.

“Repent! Repent! Repent!” She shouted down at Robert, who was now frozen, staring up at the woman. She cried louder and louder, her voice turning from words into an inaudible screech of terror. Robert cried out and fright and tired to release the woman’s ankle, but his hand was stuck. He stared to pull away, dragging his hand behind until a lightning strike flashed outside the window.

Robert’s hand was then empty as the screeching woman vanished. He was alone in the room for only a moment until lightning crashed into the ground once more. Then, standing only a few feet in front of him, there was a man in a top hat and a trench coat. A man around the age of sixty.

“Robert D. Finly.” The man’s voice boomed into the air.

“N-no!” Robert shouted. A large cane tapped the ground beside the old man as he stepped forward.

“Your time in this world has ended.” The old man shouted.

“NO! NO! NO!” Robert started to crawl backwards, but two cold hands slammed down onto his shoulders; the thin hands of his wife.

“There is no escape from me…” The old man hissed. Robert felt his body grow light as he was yanked from the floor and held up in the air. He stared towards the old man, helpless.

“Repent for your sins, Mr. Finly… Give me that petty soul and return that body to me!” The old man thrust his cane forward, stabbing it into Robert’s chest. Pain and heart surged through his body as the blunt end of the cane pierced through his ribcage. Black blood flowed from his wound and his tears turned from clear liquid to a thick black sludge. He started to shout in pain, but his throat began to clog and fill. The same black sludge which poured from his wound and eye sockets now filled his throat and his mouth. The horrifying taste of oil and gasoline filled his mouth. He was unable to breathe as the sludge flowed into and back out of his nostrils.

“Your body, your blood, your soul… Belong to me…” The old man hissed before ripping the cane free. A misty white gas seeped from Robert’s core and twirled around the cane of the old man. Life vanished from Robert’s eyes and his struggling ceased. The body being held in the air turned limp.

“Feast, my child.” The old man said as he turned away from the empty body and the hollow woman. A hungry growl was the old man’s answer as the woman began to bite into the cold, empty flesh of the man once known at Robert D. Finly. The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold coin. The metal began to vex and turn, the empty face of the coin morphing into the face of the dead man whom was currently being devoured. Flipping the coin, the old man flicked the object of currency into the air for second before catching it and disappearing into a black haze, leaving his minion to feed.

[SuperCommando]

Aaaand that's it! Time's up! Halloween is over and so is this contest. Once again, thanks to everyone who participated, you all did an amazing job. You guys produced a record-setting nine stories this year!

Now, while each and every story in this thread is fantastic in its own way and you are all dedicated writers, this is a contest. The point was primarily just to have fun and share Halloween stories, but we must also pick one to be this year's winner. So starting now, our five judges will get to work . Everyone will receive scores and comments on their work, so let's see how you guys do...

[SuperCommando]

Why? By Tin

STORY: 8
THEME: 4
STYLE: 3

Ooh-rah, Gold Team story! Instant brownie points for you.

Seriously though, well done. By emphasizing the bizarre nature of Dani’s dream you were able to capture the kind of atmosphere that fits the theme quite well. Exploring how to portray a SPARTAN feeling vulnerable is also a nice touch, as we usually see them as confidant heroes. However, while you did build some suspense by concealing the identity of the monster and drawing out the discovery of what happened to Roy, the rest of it didn’t feel quite as gripping.

Also, while I personally am familiar with the characters, other readers (and specifically other judges) may not be, so I think you could have benefited from including a scene that would establish the characters’ personalities more. That way when the weirdness starts we can identify with them more.

TOTAL: 15/20

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999’s story

STORY: 8
THEME: 2
STYLE: 3

I have to admit, this story gave me a huge smile when I realized it was Pacific Rim. I didn’t know what to expect from the start, but as the opening got rolling and the destruction began I started thinking, is it a Kaiju?.... Is it a Kaiju!? Then I got to the word “Drift”, and my suspicions were confirmed. Very cool.

The fight scene with Fenrir Omega vs Komodo was cool too. That was the majority of the story, and you wrote it well with lots of good descriptive words. Unfortunately, aside from that “omg a giant monster!” reaction in the opening flashback, there wasn’t much tying the overall story to the Halloween theme. Yes Kaiju are big scary monsters, but that to me is more action-y than frightening. If you really wanted to push the scare factor, it would have best been more like Cloverfield then a fight scene. But then again, I kinda get the feeling you just wanted an excuse to write a Pacific Rim story.

TOTAL: 13/20

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Geth’s Story

STORY: 6
THEME: 3
STYLE: 1

Nice job man, going with a Flood story on a Halo site is classic so I enjoyed reading it. And you constructed an interesting narrative too. The thing that’s killing your scores though is just the way you wrote it, that’s all. For one thing, for a horror/scary story to be effective you need immersion – to feel like you’re in it. You achieve that with careful use of descriptive language, and also with strong characters. (Not as in physically strong, but well designed and thought out).

Dante, your protagonist, has almost no characterization at all, so he’s hard to relate to. And your descriptive language is too simple to build an immersive world. But don’t feel bad – writing horror is very hard to do.

TOTAL: 10/20

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Well then By Azog

STORY: 9
THEME: 4
STYLE: 4

While most people would take the conventional horror route when writing for a contest such as this, you did not. As a result, your story not only stood out as refreshing in its uniqueness, but proves how to craft an amazing Halloween story without either gore nor even a single scare.

You hit the theme with the supernatural element, undead protagonist, and eerie locale without resorting to anything nasty. And the writing with which you did so was fluent and filled with such an incredible amount of personality – that’s what really won me over. The only reason such superb writing didn’t earn full style points is that your composition is plain, just a bolded title and that’s it. To really knock it out of the park, spice it up with maybe a splash of color, multiple fonts, parts aligned non-left, scene breaks, or something to add more visual interest to the text itself.

TOTAL: 17/20

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Best Served Cold by Arbiter124

STORY: 8
THEME: 5
STYLE: 4

This is another example of a very well-written story. The element that stands out here is your attention to composition. Sound effects and extremely short paragraphs hit you one after another like a barrage, driving the story at a brisk pace that fits so well with the story. And speaking of which, that frantic struggle against a relentless monster in a dark setting really fits the Halloween theme perfectly as far as I’m concerned.

Also, what I found to be a neat touch is that you didn’t give the heroine a name. Her anonymity, to me at least, made it easier to step into her shoes and experience her struggle from her perspective. I was going to suggest including a character development scene in there somewhere to establish her personality more, but then again maybe that would ruin the anonymous thing, so I dunno. Regardless, nice work.

TOTAL: 17/20

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Aides by Goody

STORY: 10
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

The scores speak for themselves… Outstanding work Goody, you gave me everything I’d consider to be a perfect Halloween story!

Right away with the story title, dictionary quote, and chapter title with a set date you can see the careful organization and structure. And when you read it, you immediately notice the distinct word choice. All these things provide a stylish vessel for an eerie plot that you can see coming from the beginning, but builds to that conclusion teasingly. I don’t know what else to say but congratulations on a phenomenal job well done man.

TOTAL: 20/20

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The Beginning of the End by Ms. Dash

STORY: 7
THEME: 1
STYLE: 3

The thing you did very well in this story is characterization. You have a way of describing everything from Elizabeth’s perspective and making the reader understand her thoughts, feelings, and sensations. That writing skill is fantastic, especially for this genre. Sadly, the only thing vaguely Halloweenish is the bleak vibe, so I have to give Theme only a generous 1.

TOTAL: 11/20

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Death’s Doorstep by iamsteelius

STORY: 7
THEME: 5
STYLE: 3

This story in particular excelled in Theme by literally including Halloween in it. It's an effective and direct approach that is sure to earn points in that catagory - I can appreciate that strategy. I also liked how it felt like a Halo-themed zombie story; if you were to tweek the details it could pass for Walking Dead or any other zombie series. It's also cool how you included a fairly large cast, but being just a short story some of them got more attention and development than others, so at one point I kinda forgot who someone was (Adams) and had to go back and check. Overall, a very fitting Halloween story.

TOTAL: 15/20

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Hollowsaber’s story

STORY: 10
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

Simply outstanding! Everything about your story is well thought out and executed with quality. Not only did it feel very much like a horror movie because of your descriptive writing and ability to set the mood and build the suspense to a climax, but I also really liked the different color for each speaker. It added extra style, and espesially helped to build dread when you could see the mysterious voice and the old man had the same color. Very cleaver.

So for bringing together all these well orginized elements in a stylish way in an unquestionably creepy story, I award you a perfect score!

TOTAL: 20/20

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[Ultra Quor]

(JUDGEMENT COMPLETE!!!) >:3

Why? By Tin

STORY: 6.5
THEME: 4
STYLE: 5

I really like the atmosphere of the writing but the story never really grasped me, it did the general horror genre things but elements of it seemed forced to try and create the element of fear, it just kind of fell short in that regard for me. Even still, the visuals created were nice.

TOTAL: 15.5/20

-----------------------------

999’s story

STORY: 7
THEME: 2
STYLE: 4

I thought that your story was well written and had a nice progression throughout, sadly I have not watched Pacific Rim (a shame since I like Del Toro flicks) yet so I can't fully indulge in the setting of your story but it was still cool to have that little bit of insight into it. My main knock with your story is that the theme is mostly action based, I feel like I just read a fan-scene from a summer blokbuster action flick and that's mostly what it was. "Halloween" is still the loose concept here, and while you touched on fear in the beginning, it was essentially lost in the battle scene for a mech vs. giant monster action dissection that doesn't really do the seasonal theme justice. I gave you points for the first one quarter about but I couldn't do much more than that within the criteria. :c

TOTAL: 13/20

-----------------------------

Geth’s Story

STORY: 6
THEME: 4
STYLE: 3

Deja Vu stories are always nice. You touched on good fear and brought back all of the horrible memories I had of Halo 3's Cortana level (mostly how frustrating the damn thing was) but the premonition was a nice little element. What holds this story back is I feel you could have done more with some things, parts of the story just seemed rushed, like the marine being pulled into the wall by the thrasher, there wasn't a moment dedicated to Dante's reaction to it.. it just happened and it was over. It was kind of like playing through a scripted video game story for the second time and just knowing it was going to happen, and simply dismissing it. Lastly the story I think may have ended in an excessively abrupt manner but I guess that's how it is when you put a bullet in the brain. It's just that dedicating what basically was three long sentences to the end of the whole story was a bit underwhelming.

TOTAL: 13/20

-----------------------------

Well then By Azog

STORY: 8
THEME: 4
STYLE: 4

An interesting read, I liked the different angle you took though I think the story could have been more interesting if there was more of a "well everything is normal, O WAIT I'M DEAD" sort of revelation towards the beginning. That being said it still got my attention, though I'm unsure of what type of vengeance he can take, considering he had been dead for some time.

TOTAL: 16/20

-----------------------------

Best Served Cold by Arbiter124

STORY: 7
THEME: 5
STYLE: 4

I liked the way you wrote the story, it had good organization and pacing and it felt frantic in a good way. As I stated earlier, however, I'm not a fan of abrupt endings, it just feels like the author wanted to write more but either ran out of ideas or couldn't be bothered, it just sort of lets everything down. I think if the ending had been different I would have been more than willing to add extra story and style points.

TOTAL: 16/20

-----------------------------

Aides by Goody

STORY: 9
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

He literally sealed his own fate there! A very nice little horror story that did a good job creating its own natural unnerving presence. I think dividing the story into micro-chapters went a long way to helping break down the timeline of the parasitic demon slowly driving a family apart before getting what it really wants, bad deeds give demons power. Everyone already lives on the edge, all it takes is a little push.

TOTAL: 19/20

-----------------------------

The Beginning of the End by Ms. Dash

STORY: 7
THEME: 1
STYLE: 4

TOTAL: I have to agree with Commando in saying that the only thing seasonal about this story was its bleakness and that is a sad thing because I did enjoy your writing style, the only other main issue I had was that certain aspects were over elaborated or emphasized super super often to the point where it gets repetitive, could have maybe done with a few less broken bone notes. What makes me SUPER disappointed is that I expected a "dead all along" sort of story along the lines of the iconic Twilight Zone episode, A Stop At Willoughby, which would have instantly rectified any Theme concerns and brought the story more full circle both in terms of having a stronger ending and fitting the theme much more appropriately.

TOTAL: 12/20

-----------------------------

Death’s Doorstep by iamsteelius

STORY: 10
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

Bravo! No literally, your story was really gripping. What started off as a typical bleak scarefest took a turn for a bleak brightness, and for a little Halloween story contest to have a nice little moral on the side was a pleasant surprise. All of the characters were likable in their own way and you did well to make them decently memorable in such a short amount of time, you didn't have the luxury of chapters and chapters of character buildup to work with. That said, this little last stand was a pleasure to read, even if it sucks that they are going to die at least they'll die drinking (and eating pie.) C:

TOTAL: 20/20

-----------------------------

Hollowsaber’s story

STORY: 7
THEME: 4
STYLE: 5

There wasn't too much out of the ordinary with your horror story but it wasn't trying to be groundbreaking, it just wanted to get the fundamentals right, and I think it did. The written atmosphere was very nice and I felt like you did a good job of coming full circle. That being said I think the whole "feasting" thing at the end was a tad over the top and did detract from the story some, I think there was potential to do so much more than just turning someone into a soulless husk and make them feast on another human, especially considering what potential powers he'd have to disrupt the reality that would normally be.. it seemed rather uninspired. At the end of the day though, you still wrote a good little Halloween tale that you can be proud of.

TOTAL: 16 / 20

-----------------------------

[C3]

I know that the contest is over, but I still wanted to put mine up. Just to see what people think.

A Happy, Happy Halloween 

The air was full of unease as I sat among my coworkers, in a circle around one particular boy. He was younger than most of the crowd, making him stand out, much in the way I did. But right now, all attention was on him. He held a flashlight, pointing at the ceiling as our only source of lighting.



“And yet, despite everything, no one was there when he turned around,” Tyler continued, his voice low and flat. I felt my fellow lab-mates tense around me as my caretaker smiled wickedly.  Good grief, I thought. We are in the middle of a freaking war with aliens that are almost twice my size and THIS is what scares them?


Tyler leaned forward a bit, as if in thought, his expression switching to something more lofty, like he was remembering something distant. His smile still remained, eerie and cruel. “Aaron wandered further into the building, gun tightly in her hand. The halls were silent now, no longer baring any signs of someone following him. All that could be heard was the shallow sound of his own terrified breathing. ‘It’s just my imagination,’ he kept telling himself. ‘There is no one other than my squad here. And they should be at the rendezvous point.’”



Just then, I perked up as the sound of footsteps drew my attention to the hall behind me. It was dark, just as the room we sat in. I felt myself tense and looked over my shoulder. Beside me, one of the lab’s scientists glanced at me with concern. He followed my gaze to the doorway as well. I listened hard for a second… but it was quite. Tyler’s story was getting to me. I shook her head and felt as a small tingle as the inhibiter in my brain activated, stopping me from likely snapping at the storyteller. I could never be sure. The scientist beside me looked back to me again, to which I just shook my head. He gave me a rather unappreciative look.



“Aaron made his way up and around the corner, knowing that the rendezvous was just up ahead. However, as he drew closer, something unsettling slowed his steps. A sickly smell crawled through the air… a sharp metallic smell that felt all too familiar… and wrong. He rounded the corner slowly, now that his mind had begun to recognize the smell.” Tyler paused for dramatic effect. “Does anyone know what it was?”



A few of his audience swallowed nervously, but no one seemed to dare answer. I rolled her eyes for attempted disdainful effect. There was no way I was going to let him get to me.



“What? No one?” Tyler skimmed the room, his eyes meeting the gaze of everyone as he went. He smiled a little when he met mine. I met his square on, kneading my metallic palm on my right hand. It made a low ticking sound, which caused several people to look at me nervously. I smiled guiltily and stopped.



Tyler finally broke eye contact and shook his head. “It was blood,” he stated simply and without drama. Just like he would if he was explaining anything else. He looked toward the hall for a moment and I thought I heard footsteps again. I resisted looking as well.



“The floor of the meeting point glistened in his flashlight, deep crimson. The stench was unbearable. Aaron stared at the pool, unsure what to do or think. He gradually raised his flashlight and trailed over the floor, his hand trembling. The pool of blood was coming from a warthog… dripping beneath the door. He whimpered and slowly approached. Dread filled his gut as he slowly peaked over the side of the vehicle. It was there that he found his remaining squad members.” Tyler shivered and gave them a morbid look, smile gone now. “Or what was left of them.”



Someone over by Tyler whimpered, drawing a quirk of a smile from him. Encouraged, he continued. “The warthog was full of body parts, barely recognizable from their original form. Aaron froze, fear and horror filling him. In his terror, he spotted the head of his team captain, it’s eyes missing and mouth stretched in what appeared to be a scream of agony. Aaron let out a shout and stumbled back, slipping in the bloody puddle. He landed with a splash. Just then, the footsteps started again…. Closer…. Closer….”



Footsteps. I heard them in the hall again and resisted the urge to look. I was just imagining them… I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I was a hardened soldier who had been to the brink of death and said no to the Grim Reaper himself. This was not going to frighten me.



“Aaron grabbed for his gun, turning to the door, slipping in the gore as he panicked. The footsteps grew louder and a horrible screech tore through the air.” He smiled and his voice got louder. The footstep behind us came to abrupt and a shout sounded, followed by a horrible crash. Everyone in the room panicked, Tyler included and scrambled in every direction possible. The flashlight that Tyler had been holding clattered to the ground and went out.



Something was moving at the doorway… something pretty big. It groaned and growled. A couple of people screamed. Someone else started crying. I found myself in a tight defensive stance, which looked a little awkward with my prosthetic leg. I was the one of the few in here with hand to hand combat training… oh god, I did not want to fight this thing.



The lights came on. I stiffened as my eyes adjusted to the harsh brightness. In the entrance, Joseph stared at us all. He looked frazzled and irritated. On the floor in front of him, lay various pieces of scattered lab equipment. The source of the crash.



“What the hell are you all DOING?” Joseph snapped. “You know it’s dangerous to have the light out down here. Too much to trip on.”



Tyler slowly stood from where he had been cowering in the corner. His eyes were huge. That did it, I just could take it anymore. I started laughing hysterically. Both Joseph and Tyler stared at me.



“Uh… C3? You okay,” Tyler had turned to stare at me now. I just shook my head, unable to answer through my terror induced giggles. This was just… stupid. There was no other word for it.



Joseph blinked at me. “C3?” the head professor prompted. I coughed a few times and was barely able to finally suppress the laughter. “My apologizes, sir. I’m alright,” I said, though a few titters still slipped out. Joseph shook his head at me and said nothing.



“Sorry gramps, we were just having a little fun. Tonight is Halloween… so we thought it would be fun to tell a few scary stories…” he trailed off under Joseph’s stare.



“We meant no harm,” he added quickly.



“Hm. No harm. Right,” Joseph knelt down and gathered his things. “Well, harm done. If you really want to enjoy Halloween, go to parties like everyone else and leave my labs alone. It’s not even dark yet…”



“Yes, grandfather,” Tyler broke eye contact and went over and picked up the flashlight. The batteries lay on the floor, not far from it. The impact of it had taken when Tyler tossed it had broken the bottom of the handle. Piece of junk.



The scientists slowly filed out, leaving me to be the last one in the room. I helped Joseph get his things to the table. He examined each one for damage. Hesitantly, I helped him.



“Oh… that’s right. Before that nasty little shock earlier… I wanted to give you this, C3.” Joseph reached into his lab coat and drew out a small folder and handed it to me. I blinked and took it.



“A new assignment,” he told me. “Looks like investigation work… nothing serious, of course.”



“Still trying to feel me out,” I sighed, opening the folder.



“You can’t blame them. Your build is a bit… unusual,” Joseph commented. He paused and grumbled something under his breath, setting one piece of equipment aside. I cringed internally and pretended not to notice, looking over my assignment.



My blood ran cold as I read the file over.



The case was to investigate an old building up in the seedier part of town. According to reports, it used to be used for drug trafficking, but lately people had started disappearing in the general area. Five people already and counting. I was to meet up with the police force this evening and assist in the investigation. I swallowed and felt the tingle of my inhibiter again.



“Everything okay, C3?” Joseph had stopped and was staring at me, his brow furrowed. I blinked and nodded nervously. “Yeah, I’m fine. Looks like I just need to get some things together.”



“Working on a holiday… that’s a damn shame. I think Tyler wanted to do something with you.”



I shrugged and smiled weakly. “Maybe another time.” I turned and started to walk out the door.



“Hm. Alright. Hey, C3,” Joseph said as I reached the other side of the door frame. I paused and looked back at him.



“I apologize for yelling. You have fun and good luck at work. Enjoy your Halloween, alright?”



I almost laughed and cried at the same time, right there. But I simply nodded at him. Halloween in an abandoned building where people were disappearing.



Oh yes, very Happy Halloween indeed.

[Llau]

Hopefully, I don’t seem too harsh with these. I have a soft spot for horror and suspense, so naturally, I’m rather nitpicky with it. First of all, I thought everyone tried their best. A few of you need some work in the horror genre, but otherwise, I did enjoy reading all of them.




Why? By Tin



STORY: 8
THEME: 4
STYLE: 5


Tin, I did enjoy the atmosphere, and visually, it was well-written. The story was good, but it needed to be a little more gripping, and perhaps more of an explanation of the characters would’ve worked out nicely - a few paragraphs or so would have suffice. Other than that, good job.  


TOTAL: 17/20



-----------------------------



999’s story



STORY: 6
THEME: 2
STYLE: 3


999, I’ve never watched Pacific Rim yet...although, I probably will whenever it comes on tv. I do like giant scary monsters - big fan of Godzilla, but writing giant scary monsters is more for action/adventure stories than horror. Sure, they’re scary, but that’s about it. The story was good though, and I did enjoy the fight scene. Though, thanks to you, maybe I’ll find a way to watch Pacific Rim before it comes on tv.


TOTAL: 11/20



-----------------------------



Geth’s Story



STORY: 5
THEME: 2
STYLE: 1


Points for using the Flood, but you needed to be more descriptions, instead of using pictures to show what you mean. Details in any genre, especially horror, is a must. I wanted to see them for myself, any reader would, honestly. Also, you need more work on character development. Keep writing, and practice descriptive writing, and you’ll do better next time. Thank you for trying, at least.


TOTAL: 8/20



-----------------------------



Well then By Azog



STORY: 9
THEME: 5
STYLE: 4


I loved this. A good horror/scary story is best when it doesn’t involve gore...which, gore doesn’t make a horror story, in my opinion. It’s an interesting take you wrote here, and I honestly imagined the Daugr from Skyrim when I read this. Although, an explanation of someone who has been dead for several centuries would’ve been good to add if someone like him had "innate knowledge of things. “


TOTAL: 18/20



-----------------------------



Best Served Cold by Arbiter124



STORY: 8
THEME: 5
STYLE: 4

Interesting story there, Arby. You stuck with the Halloween-theme very nicely. The story could’ve been a 10 if you explained about Whip Hand and why he was after her more at the beginning and had better organization. 

TOTAL: 17/20



-----------------------------



Aides by Goody



STORY: 10
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

Wow. Now this is something one would find over at the Creepypasta site. I did thoroughly enjoy the plot, and the structure was nice and organized. What else can I say? This was fantastic. Great job, Goody.


TOTAL: 20/20



-----------------------------



The Beginning of the End by Ms. Dash



STORY: 8
THEME: 1
STYLE: 4

The bleakness of the story, and the descriptions on the character's thoughts and so on is good, but that's about it. I know you were told that you could write anything for the contest, but I you misunderstood that statement. No worries. I think you would've nailed it if you added in some horror elements, especially at the end when she encounters those two men who got out of the Jeep. 

TOTAL: 13/20



-----------------------------



Death’s Doorstep by iamsteelius



STORY: 10
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

I thought this was really good, and very fitting with the Halloween theme. Nice job.




TOTAL: 20/20



-----------------------------



Hollowsaber’s story



STORY: 10
THEME: 5
STYLE: 5

Another that I really enjoyed. Creepy and outstanding.




TOTAL: 20/20



-----------------------------

[AlphaWolf]

Never fear, Alpha is here!

Why? (Tin)

STORY: (Out of 10 points) 10
THEME: (Out of 5 points) 5
STYLE: (Out of 5 points) 4
TOTAL: (Out of 20 points) 19

I truly enjoyed your story, Tin, and actually read it several times before I could settle on a score to give. You earned a four in Style due to some minor grammar mistakes, and they were honestly so minor that I only took off the point because I didn't want to give a perfect score to a story with even minor mistakes.  Excellent job, Tin.

---

999's Untitled Story

STORY: (Out of 10 points) 7
THEME: (Out of 5 points) 3
STYLE: (Out of 5 points) 5
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 15

Your story was good, but I honestly have never liked the whole Pacific Rim idea.  Kaiju fighting mechs?  No thanks.  For Theme, I gave you a three due to the initial shock factor and continuous 'Oh lawdy jesus a giant monster' factor, but other than that, I didn't find it to fit Halloween very well.  Your story WAS very well written, however, earning you a 5 in Style.

---

Geth's Untitled Story

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
4
THEME: (Out of 5 points)
3
STYLE: (Out of 5 points)
2
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 9

Your idea was good, but the Flood are an overused cliche when it comes to the Halloween Short Story Contest.  Literally every year, at least one person submits a Flood story.  That, more than anything, earned you a 4 in Story.  The fact that the story is kinda hard to follow drops you down a couple more points, otherwise I would've given you a six.  Again, your idea was good.  Scary unhuman monster things that infect people and reanimate their bodies are always a good plan, right?  Not quite.  I personally don't find the Flood scary (granted, I probably would if they existed) nor Halloween-ish, so you got a 3 in Theme.  And, last but not least, Style.  Your story was rather poorly written, and I suggest having some of the older and better-writing members work with you on improving your writing skills.

---

Well Then by AZOG THE DEFILER

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
7
THEME: (Out of 5 points)
4
STYLE: (Out of 5 points)
4
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 15

I liked your story.  A Draugr with a revolver?  Awwwwwww yeah.  The only thing I didn't like was that you simply ended it with the Draugr getting in the Nash.  Perhaps you should consider writing a sequel and placing it in the sandbox.  You earned a 4 in Theme for using an undead that I don't think I've seen in any other short stories (originality ftw), and for at least making a mention of Halloween  (I caught the carved orange gourds.  Nice way of saying pumpkins).  Your 4 in Style was for some minor errors.

---

Best Served Cold by Arbeh

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
9
THEME: (Out of 5 points)
5
STYLE: (Out of 5 points)
4
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 18

Your story was very good, Arby.  I took out one point from Story due to the unexplained Whip Hand monster.  If you had explained where it came from, how the two characters had gotten there, that would have earned you that extra point.  Your theme was excellent, fitting Halloween very well.  You made several minor grammar mistakes, which earned you a four in Style.

---

Aides by Goodeh

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
10
THEME: (Out of 10 points) 5
STYLE: (Out of 10 points) 4
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 19

Your story was very well written.  I found it captivating and exciting, particularly wondering why Aides would choose to destroy this small family.  Perhaps a prequel explaining that would be well-received, no?  You lost one point in Style due to some minor grammar mistakes.

---

The Beginning of the End by Tracker

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
8
THEME: (Out of 5 points)
0
STYLE: (Out of 5 points)
3
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 11

Um, Tracker.  Not quite sure what to say here except nice story, just not Halloween.  You made a few grammar mistakes--hence the 3--but other than that, it was readable.

---

Death's Doorstep by iamsteelius

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
6
THEME: (Out of 5 points)
3
STYLE: (Out of 5 points)
5
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 14

It was well-written, but you used the Flood.  The Flood are an overly-used cliche, and that earned you a 6.  For an explanation of my Theme scoring, check Geth's story.  Same reasoning applies here.

---

Hollowsaber's Untitled Story

STORY: (Out of 10 points)
10
THEME: (Out of 5 points)
5
STYLE: (Out of 5 points)
4.5
TOTAL (Out of 20 points) 19.5

Excellent writing as usual, Saber.  I took off half a point from Style due to minor mistakes.  I found your story not only captivating, but rather interesting as well.  The old man as Death was a spin I haven't seen--I'm used to Death being either the Grim Reaper or a man of middling age, such as when he is depicted as one of the Horsemen.

[Dufflepud]

Hey guys, sorry for taking so long to get around to this, I've been extremely busy. I'll have 'em all up by the end of tonight.


-

Why? By Tin

Story: 9
Theme: 5
Style: 3

Total: 17

Thoughts: All in all, a great story. I thoroughly enjoyed it from start to finish... except for when you revealed it was a dream. Most of the story was chilling and scary, and you transformed it into something a little too satisfying. Had you excised that bit, I would have given full points. As for theme, you fully met the requirements, so good job there. Finally, I took two points off for style simply due to several noticeable grammatical errors, as well as some word repetition that drew me out of the otherwise great imagery. I'd have advised maybe one or two more read throughs before submission.
-


999's Story

Story: 9    
Theme: 5
Style: 5

Total: 19

Thoughts: I absolutely loved the beginning flashback. It was gripping, well written, and funny in a sick kind of way. The second half was good, but not nearly as good. As such, I've averaged the two out to a very solid nine. Theme was perfect - no points lost there. As for style, I didn't detect a single grammar or spelling issue, so if there were any they weren't distracting, and your figurative language and imagery was great. You could have done a bit more with it, but you still get the full five points.


-


Geth's Story

Story: 8
Theme:5
Style: 1

Total: 14

Thoughts: the story was good - your killing of the main character AFTER the main par twas revealed to be a dream was original, as it took what is usually a cop out ending and turned it into the exact opposite. Great job there. As for theme, you get full points here. Where you really loose points is style, however. You replace figurative language and imagery with links and exposition in parentheses, which really draws us out of the world of the story. It removes the visceral feel, and makes it read like a video game. This is especially true when actions that should take several moments, such as putting on armor, happen instantly. There was lots of potential here, but unfortunately there wasn't enough follow through.


-


Well Then By Azog

Story: 10
Theme: 5
Style: 3.5

Total: 18.5

Thoughts: Absolutely loved it. I enjoy the utter originality while still have a context in terms of history and lore. This story didn't suffer from a disappointing ending at all - on the contrary, the ending was pretty much perfect. I'm glad you ended it where you did - it's fun to leave that "vengeance" up to the imagination. You lose no points on theme, but style gets a point and a half off due to some grammar issues and some word flow issues. Overall, awesome job!

-


Best Served Cold by Arbz

Story: 9
Theme: 5
Style: 5

Total: 19

Thoughts: NUUUUUUUUU NOT THE DREADED DREAM SEQUENCE ENDING!!!!

But in all seriousness, excellent story. Your prose was simply delicious, and the whole thing was pure terror... up until the very end. Making it all a dream may seem like a good idea, but in reality it's just a cop out. Deprive the audience of satisfaction! It's artistic! Anyways, you get a point off for story (although a nine is still very high praise IMO) and otherwise you get full points. Great job!


-


Aides by Goody

Story: 10
Theme: 5
Style: 5

Total: 20

Thoughts: As far as Halloween stories go, pretty close to perfect! Chilling, haunting, sickening and nothing to ruin the mood. The progression was perfectly paced, and I loved every moment. Most impressive to me was your use of voice - it really seemed like the writing was from the perspective of your 1800's middle class protagonist. Theme gets full points (duh). 


-


The Beginning of the End by Tracker

Story: 9
Theme: 4
Style: 2

Total: 15

Thoughts: Overall, good job. I like that this story has nothing to do with monsters or supernatural creatures, and that it's simply about death. However, I do have to take a point off for theme if only because there's nothing that really connects it to Halloween. Unfortunately, you lost three points on style for two prevalent writing errors that detract from the story. The first of these is the presence of run on sentences, which can majorly affect the flow of a story. If a sentence goes on for too long, try to think about where you could insert a period. The second major error is verb tense - you switch from past to present tense several times, which can be confusing and distracting. Finally, you include far too much exposition - try to remember as your writing that the thoughts of your character should make sense given the situation that they are in. As your character was very disoriented, the exposition detracted more than it added. Generally speaking, you can never proof read too many times.


-


Death's Doorstep by Iamsteelius

Story: 7
Theme:5
Style: 2

Total: 13

Thoughts: I think the biggest issue with this story is probably that it's a bit confused. You start out with a great opening, and a horror sequence, and then try to inject a level of silliness that just doesn't make sense given the context. As such, I take three points off for story. theme gets a full five, nothing lost there. I take three points off for style due to too much exposition and too little figurative language. Always remember to "show, don't tell" when you're writing creatively. Also, as I said to tracker, remember that the thoughts of your character should match the situation their in. Giving the exact position and biographical details of your squad mates doesn't really make sense in a firefight.


-


Saber's Story

Story: 9
Theme: 5
Style: 5

Total: 19

Thoughts: As usual, great job! One thing that bothered me a bit was the voice you used to narrate the story. It was odd (maybe intentionally so) but I found it distracting, especially when you provided lots of somewhat unnecessary details. In horror-ish stuff, I tend to be of the opinion that the less you know, the scarier it is. As for theme and style, you get full points for obvious reasons.

[SuperCommando]

Thanks for posting your unofficial story Tia, that's the kind of spirit this event is all about.

Is that the same C3 we rescued on Artifice in the first M4? She seams to be adjusting to human life well. If you haven't already, I bet you could ake a whole series of stories about her.

I actually have had an idea for a Halloween story of my own, might post that in here later as well.

[C3]

It's actually not the same C3. She has a new profile... but I'm having some trouble getting her through due to some technicalities. She's now a human that's had to have been partially rebuilt after an Elite nearly killed her. And I actually have written a few small stories about Caralyn. (The new C3) She's fun to play with.

Her profile can be found easily through my account, if you are interested. The other C3 kinda got tossed out on her butt. XD Which I've grown okay with, now that new information on the Forerunners has made her next to impossible.

[SuperCommando]

(Apologies in advance, I wanted to make this all fancy but lost computer access and must make due by phone.)


Okay! The scores are all in and I've crunched the numbers. Here's this year's scorecard with the contest results:

Contestant SC / Saff / Llau / Alpha / Duffle / FINAL SCORE

Geth 10 / 13 / 8 / 9 / 14 / FINAL SCORE: 54/100

Ms. Dash 11 / 12 / 13 / 11 / 15 / FINAL SCORE: 62/100

999 13 / 13 / 11 / 15 / 19 / FINAL SCORE: 71/100

iamsteelius 15 / 20 / 20 / 14 / 13 / FINAL SCORE: 82/100

Tin 15 / 15.5 / 17 / 19 / 17 / FINAL SCORE: 83.5/100

Azog 17 / 16 / 18 / 15 / 18.5 / FINAL SCORE: 84.5/100

Arby 17 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / FINAL SCORE: 87/100

Saber 20 / 16 / 20 / 19.5 / 19 / FINAL SCORE: 94.5/100

And our winner...

Goody 20 / 19 / 20 / 19 / 20 / FINAL SCORE: 98/100


CONGRATULATIONS GOODY!!!

The staff shall award your prize shortly!

This thread is now open for post-contest discussion/feedback and additional Halloween stories just for fun. Thank you judges and contestants for enriching the community with your participation! Hope to see you all next year!

[Dufflepud]

As the winner of our fourth annual Halloween Short Story contest, Goody will have the special rank of "Halloween Contest Winner" until the next October comes around. Additionally, he will be granted the ability to view and contribute in the story board. Awesome job, buddy!

[BetaWülf]

Congratulations Goody! Awesome story, you earned this