A Personal Collection of Poorly Written Horror Stories from Eighth Grade
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An assignment to create a self-directed project in order to test students' commitment to writing led a fourteen year-old me to throw themselves into a pathetic display of writing frenzy that resulted in meager entertainment. It' spring break, I'm on vacation--I have other stories in the works and can't guarantee that they'll with charming impression. Enjoy, for better or for worse, my collection of bad writings. P.s., one of them is a sliver of XXXHolic interpretative writing, please don't sue me. Cover art is also my own, so you can feast on all my most embarrassing debuts in artistic platforms and revel in my misery.
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#43
mogeko
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Killing Is Thrilling
'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...Complete
𝓤𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ~ Jeff the Killer X Reader
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'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...
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