Prepare for a collection of short horror stories! Some will have that classic fairytale-type ending we're all familar with, but most of them? Not so much... The grisly antagonists will taint your innocent dreams with the blood and gore of sundry mai...
"A crimson blade. That's all I want," the masked teen murmured, sending a chill down the cashier's spine. "It's the same one that's been on display for ages. ...Maybe you just need a little something to refresh your memory," he chuckled, aiming his pistol at the man's head.
"I swear," the elderly man trembled, "I don't know! I- I've never seen a red blade in my life!! Please, put the gun down an- and take the money in the register! Take every last cent," the man pleaded, taking out a few hundred dollar bills and shoving them in the teen's direction.
"For god's sake, I'm not here for your cash! And if I don't get what I want, this finger here might just slip a little..." The boy waved his forefinger dangerously close to the trigger and smirked, "Who knows what'd happen then?"
Seeing as the man continued to merely offer the undesired money, the teen scoured the small shop for something of high value.
"Ah. You really like that cerise vase, don't you? I can't find a speck of dust on the pretty thing. It'd be such a shame if I were to, I don't know... Do this." A bullet whizzed through the air, barely missing the man's left shoulder and colliding with his prized porcelain. The vibrant shards exploded onto the ground and embellished the counter on which the vase once stood.
"Ready to listen yet, you old fart?" he sneered, looking around for another treasure to obliterate. "Ooh, that looks really expensive!" the teen exclaimed, shooting a glass case full of priceless gems. Brilliant sparkles of rainbow colors danced about the bullet's impact, unleashing a shrill twinkling that resonated in the old man's soul.
"Please stop, this- this store, all that's in it, it-it's all I have! Just take the money or one of my tr-trinkets, please!"
"Not until you cough up the dagger," the teen snapped. As he looked around for something else to destroy, he just happened to point his gun directly at a plain box crafted from oak. He wasn't even fully aware of this, but the man's eyes grew wide with fear.
The man instantly put his hand over the gun, pushing it down a bit and finally giving into the teen's demand. "I'll tell you, just don't shoot that! It- ...It's in there."
"In what?" the teen barked.
"That box, the one you were aiming at. Go ahead, open it."
"Huh? Oh, that. Heh, of course you put it in the ugliest damn thing you could find. Sure I'll open it, I just hope you're not bluffing. For your sake, that is." The teen cackled hysterically as he approached the box, laughing louder the closer he got to it.
His fingers slid across the lid, which appeared to be faded and dull. However, the whole box was smooth and shiny from being well-maintained, as if it were simply made from unattractive wood. The teen's hands slowly glided along the sides of the lid until he felt it was time to reveal the box's contents. As he set the lid down near the box and reached in to grasp the blade's handle, a strange tingling sensation jolted through his hands. He watched in horror as a violet miasma from no apparent origin surrounded the dagger's cutting edge, spewing onto his wrists.
"Wha-?! What the f-" The boy's wrists began to act on their own, cutting his very fingers off with the crimson blade. As each one fell, the blade grew darker and darker. Soon, it had become pitch black; at that moment it immediately vanished. The teen, sobbing from immense pain, fell to his knees and glared at the old man.
"W-why... didn't-t you t-t-tell me?! You b-... BASTARD!!"
"I tried to stop you, I really did! I did as much as I could, but... You wouldn't have believed me even if I warned you. I'm so sorry, young man. Good-bye."
"G-good bye?? But-t-t I'm fine-" the teen began, interrupted by the once-crimson dagger. It had reappeared behind his back and was driven into his skull. As the teen's body slumped over pools of blood, the old man sighed.
"I wish you didn't have to kill them," he mumbled, facing the floating knife.
"But I must," a demonic voice boomed, "Since you tried to sell me last month. I've been in this shop for decades, and I quite like it here. Just remember: if you can't prevent someone from taking me, I'll deal with them myself." With that, the dagger's black blade turned back to its original crimson. It released another puff of purple miasma that consumed the teen boy's remains. Its job complete, the knife floated gently into the wooden box and lay there peacefully. The old man simply shook his head as he placed the lid atop the box, then continued his day as if nothing had happened.
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idk if you can tell but I drew the pic. Not one of my best :(
If you like this, let me know in the comments please! Any and all suggestions are appreciated! :)
