31 Short Horror Stories for Halloween

Girl Power

The town was cursed. There was no other explanation to it. None. We were cursed. We were a small farming town. Everyone was a farmer, or did something that helped farmers. Not a single person could describe what their job was without using the word 'Farm'.

You might be thinking our curse was a failed crop, or a never-ending drought but it was something far worse. Our kids kept dying. Not young, mind you. They died when they were eighteen. They called it the Curse of Moses with one exception; it was always the boys that died.

I never cared about it much until my wife became pregnant with our first child. We were expecting a girl. I was happy. I told my friends and they patted me on the back. They bought me drinks, and they told me to take care of my wife. We began to shop for baby stuff.

'So, you're keeping it?' my neighbor, Sam asked me. My wife was four months pregnant and of course we were keeping the baby. I asked why he'd think otherwise and he reminded me I was a farmer. A farm needs farm hands and a girl is no hand on the farm. It doesn't matter how fancy your tractor is; you need a boy to run the farm. He knew a different doctor that could 'take care' of it.

'We take 'em and chuck them down into the sink hole and no one ever finds 'em' he told me secretively. I shuddered.

'We'll have a boy next time' I told him. I finished my drink quickly and ran home. My wife delivered a healthy baby girl that fall. Next year, she delivered a healthy baby boy. The family was complete.

The kids grew up healthy. They were bright kids and I never worried about them. My daughter was seventeen now and studying to be a veterinarian. My son was sixteen and he was going to run the farm.

I still remember it; it was a clear night and I was sitting on the porch having a smoke. The mist crept up slowly and I didn't notice it right away. Black figures began to form out of smoke, I dropped my pipe and hid behind my chair.

Girls, little eyeless silhouettes of girls were marching towards me. My throat became dry and I thought of my kids. Three smoke girls emerged from the mist and came up my porch. They had white eyes and they found me hiding.

'Not him' came a small hiss from the mist. The three girls retreated. One even patted my head and I shuddered at her cold touch and passed out.

When I woke up, my wife was bent over me thinking I had drunk too much.

'Wake up' she said, 'Sam's boy died last night' Sam's boy had turned eighteen a week ago.