Places seem to offer the strongest sense of creepiness–a haunted house, a pool, an empty hospital, a closet, a dark corridor, a graveyard. Characters perceive the things that disturb us. They fail to see in the dark, they feel the ominous approach to the weather, they hear voices, they see the familiar where it doesn’t belong.

Just in time for Halloween, creepy stories to unnerve us–if you dare to read further. Based on the October 22, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a creepy story.

Trick or Tweet by Larry LaForge

“Remember to say Thank You.”

Mom stood at the street as Jennifer, age 8, walked down the long driveway to #514. The front porch lights were on, but the isolated dead end loomed eerily.

Mom watched carefully as Jennifer timidly approached the front door and rang the bell. Jennifer waited, looking back to see Mom wave.

A sudden buzz caused Mom to glance at her cell phone. Looking up, she was horrified.

Lights off. Total darkness. Where’s Jennifer?

The phone buzzed again. Mom panicked as she read the emergency tweet from the local police:

#HalloweenUpdate Avoid 514 Shadow Lane.

*****
The 100-word version of this story is posted at larrylaforge100words on Flash Fiction Magazine along with a sequel.

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Foreclosed by Pete

The New England couple had texted that they were running late. Hank Somersby straightened the battered For Sale sign and then stalked the grounds of the old Victorian. He rehearsed the old tale about General Jubal Early and the desk in the attic. Of course they’d want to know all about the girl and the hanging, so Hank practiced his chuckle. Just an old southern fable.

Leaves scraped along the sleepy street, like skeletons of summer. Hank felt a shiver tugging at his arm. He turned, gasping as he peered through the rippled glass window.

The desk was forgotten.

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The Strange Weather by Ruchira Khanna

The wind was hustling furiously and made her windows bang loudly.

“Aha! this storm can make anyone create wrinkles out of fear” Myla chuckled as she was quickly closing the framework with panes.

Just when everything was securely tight, there was peace everywhere.

She was amazed at the intense weather and went outside to check upon the skies.

Just then a strong lightning fell upon her; she screamed in panic as she ran to duck under the roof.

She called upon her next door friend, who was surprised at her status report, cause she was singing in the rain.

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Unmarked Graves by Charli Mills

Sarah pushed open the heavy wooden door of the cabin. Behind her the baby wailed and Mary snarled, “I hope the Pawnees scalp you!”

Tears flowed and she twisted her ankle in the deep wagon ruts of the hard packed road. She followed a slight trail through the tall grass turned autumn red. It ended at the two graves marked only by letterless river rocks. Sarah sat by Billy’s grave and cried. Not for Billy, the orphan from North Carolina who only lived two weeks in this Nebraska hell.

Mary wanted her dead and Cob fiddled across the creek.

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The Closet by Sarah Brentyn

She hadn’t cried. Not when she got the phone call. Not at the funeral. But, in sifting through her grandfather’s belongings, she broke.

Her job was the closet—sorting clothes and shoes. It was torture. She crawled inside and slid the door shut.

In the darkness, she hugged a plaid flannel shirt. “I couldn’t find it. I’m sorry.”

Her fingers brushed the now-empty floor. The book was supposed to be here.

She smelled the familiar mix of spices and old paper. Smiling for the first time in weeks, she opened the cover and heard her grandfather’s voice: “Kill him…”

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Creepy Flash Fiction by Anne Goodwin

Gwendolyn’s smirk at the lych gate, convinced me the mirror had lied. The dye had turned my hair not burnished copper, but green-tinged straw. Even with my tresses pinned up beneath my Sunday hat, I couldn’t show myself in church.

I fled to the graveyard, seeking the final resting place of the mother I’d never known. I thought the strange green lights must be Gwendolyn and her cronies come to taunt me until a ghoulish figure emerged from behind a tombstone, a tangle of snakes about her head. With a bony finger she beckoned me: “Daughter, what beautiful hair!”

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Reincarnation by Geoff Le Pard

‘A puppy?’

‘Penny needs cheering up. She’s been miserable since Scotland.’

‘My fault?’

Paul touched his wife quickly. ‘Course not. But we did promise.’

Mary nodded. For sure they needed to do something. ‘Does he have a name?’

‘Penny can choose.’

*

‘He’s mine? Wow!’

‘You can name him.’

Penny said immediately. ‘Peter. Look, he has grandpa’s eyebrows.’

Mary stared. It was true. They were just like her late father’s. The dog held her gaze and winked. No-one else noticed. Mary spoke slowly. ‘When did you say he was born?’

‘Four months ago.’

Mary nodded. When her father died.

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Merlin in Italy, Still by Tally Pendragon

The road is a little bumpy and in need of repair but peasants, I’ve seen, keep the verges clear of overgrown vegetation. Their interests vested, I would suppose, in the stopping of traffic in its various forms to leave offerings at the many mausolea and shrines along the way, which no doubt fatten their meagre income a degree or two above starvation. Who are they robbing? The dead have no need of sacrificial beasts, cooked or otherwise, or libations, and the life-giving force of a meal is a far more potent spirit when measured against their own death.

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For Sale by Amber Prince

“This house is great!”

I smiled at my husband as he awed over the latest finding from our realtor. Our feet crunched on the straw-like grass; it was as if the house had sucked the life out of the yard.

It wasn’t easy, but I ignored the pungent smells, smiling like a lunatic, as we roamed through each room. I pretended to listen to them drone on about location, schools….

There was a perk. The pool.

It didn’t take much, a brick to his head. Holding her down wasn’t easy, but I managed.

The house was great after all.

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No Way Out Part Four: The Grave by Sherri Matthews

Bill lurched backwards as disbelief spewed down on him like a black-as-death oil slick.

“Oh god…not Joey…”

Laura grabbed Bill’s arm.

“Someone knocked him off his bike, we’ve got to get to the hospital now… c’mon!”

Bill remembered the dead-eyed boy who haunted his dreams. Panic kicked his chest as he climbed into Laura’s car: he thought his days weeping at his son’s grave were over, with nothing left to lose.

At the hospital, fear leached from his brother’s broken body. Only the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor played to the sick symphony of Bill’s long nightmare.

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Creepy by Irene Waters

“Come on,” the two nurses begged Jake. “We’re bored. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay”. Reluctantly he submitted to their plan.

Lying on the trolley, wrapped in a shroud, he heard them make the intensive care unit look as though recent action had taken place. He heard the swing doors open.

“Can you take the patient to the morgue Nurse? We have a lot of work to do here.”

“Yes sister.”

Jake felt the trolley rolling. Hearing the lift doors open, he sat.

The nurse screamed.

Hours later, the morgue doors opened, the trolley rolled in. No longer would Jake sit.

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New prompt Wednesday. All writers welcome to join in!

Flash or Mystery?