horror

Episode 30: "The Gauntlet"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 30, for Wednesday the thirtieth of October 2024.

The Gauntlet

by Elizabeth Guilt

"Don't put that on, love. Nana says it's cursed. Or bad luck, anyway."

"Don't be such a fusspot! It's just an old glove."

She pulled the tatty old leather over her fingers. Her hand shot to her throat, pinning her to the wall.

I screamed, leaping to my feet and reaching for her wrists.

She spluttered with laughter.

"Oh, mum, your face! I can't believe you thought that was real."

She slid slowly down the wall, laughing until her face turned red and her eyes watered.

She was still laughing when her hand, still around her throat, began to squeeze.

Episode 24: "Recognition"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 24, for Thursday the twenty-fourth of October 2024.

Recognition

by Elizabeth Guilt

My neighbour was always odd. Harmless, but odd; staring with a strange intensity whenever we crossed paths. Until he started screaming. Every night, for hours, his howls drilled into my skull.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. Dead, I think. His flat was larger, so I gave notice and moved across the hall.

When a new tenant took my old flat, he looked familiar. Very familiar, but for years, no matter how I tried, I couldn't place his face. Without warning, it struck me in the middle of the night. I knew exactly who he was.

And I started to scream.

Jeffrey Lewis is a New York antifolk hero, famous for his songs and his hand-drawn "low-budget videos". I've been going to see his gigs for probably more than twenty years now. Today's drabble was directly inspired by his song Sad Screaming Old Man.

Episode 21: "Great New Ones"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 21, for Monday the twenty-first of October 2024.

Great New Ones

by Elizabeth Guilt

There'd been trouble at Mill 3 for weeks. Rumours, mutterings, machine operators thinking they could bargain with me for an extra penny or another break.

I sent men to break up their meeting. They found the operators chanting, fleshy horror already half-materialised in the circle.

I interviewed one of the survivors, fresh blood over old scars of missing fingers.

"How could you be so stupid?"

He stared through swollen eyes. "We worship Him."

"He cares for nothing. He will consume you, grind through everything around him, and never be satisfied."

He laughed bitterly. "And yet you chose to worship capitalism."

Episode 10: "Would You Like a Flake With That?"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 10, for Thursday the tenth of October 2024.

Would You Like A Flake With That?

by Elizabeth Guilt

The kids tumbled giddily from the car.

"Let's get ice creams!"

Dad bought 99s for the family, and they raced onto the beach.

Elderly ladies strolled along the promenade, nibbling at melting vanilla. Teenagers dared each other into waves that washed off the last streaks of chocolate.

"No, thanks," said Henry.

His date stared. "But... We're at the seaside!"

He eyed the jagged purple rocks, and the seething yellow-grey sea.

"I don't like it here."

"Because you haven't had an ice cream, silly!"

Sweet cherry slid down his throat, so cold it numbed.

He smiled, and walked towards golden sands.

If you live in the UK, a trip to the beach can often be a collective delusion. I've eaten ice cream on days when I've had to shield it to stop the wind whipping my flake away, and also when I've had to race the tiny pits that formed as raindrops splattered into my scoop of vanilla.

There's got to be some kind of explanation.

Episode 8: "Wrath"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 8, for Tuesday the eighth of October 2024.

Wrath

by Elizabeth Guilt

"And Henry rode up with the head on his lance..."

"Don't be stupid."

"He did! Though he must have stopped at the ford to stick it there, just to show off. It'd be too heavy to ride far..."

"He wouldn't even be able to pick the lance up."

"Are you saying my brother didn't slay the dragon? I saw the head!"

"You liar."

"I'm not. It was the size of Farmer Brod's sow."

"What?"

"I've told you, he's killed..."

"Oh, gods. We're doomed."

"Henry's saved us!"

"That size? Henry killed a baby. We're not going to survive the mother's anger."

Episode 7: "Don't Let Go"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 7, for Monday the seventh of October 2024.

Don't Let Go

by Elizabeth Guilt

When Lily slipped, I caught her and we fell screaming together. Snow tore our faces until I slammed into rock, and she disappeared over the edge.

Pain stretched the seconds, and spun the sky dark. I clung to my grip on her wrist, hers on mine.

Eventually, help arrived.

"Save Lily!" I begged, her weight dragging my arm numb.

"Who's Lily?" they asked.

When I woke in hospital, her hand was a comforting bracelet. We held on to each other through the surgery, through the long rehab.

Each day I wake, face down and arm outstretched, still holding Lily safe.

Episode 1: "Part of the Furniture"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 1, for Tuesday the first of October 2024.

Part of the Furniture

by Elizabeth Guilt

The sofa was the softest leather I'd ever touched, and I relaxed into its warm embrace. I had never sat anywhere so comfortable.

"Curl up, get cosy," encouraged the sales assistant. "You'll find it needs very little care."

"Uh-huh." I wasn't really listening.

"You won't see any behavioural problems with this model."

"Really?" I was struggling not to doze off.

"The central nervous system is completely minimal."

I sat up hurriedly. "What?"

"The brainstem has been..."

"This thing is alive?"

I leapt to my feet. The cushions slid slowly away, as if they could hardly bear to let me go.

Are you sitting comfortably? Were you sitting comfortably? When I first shared this drabble with some friends, one of them reported that it caused her to jump up and stare suspiciously at the chair she had been sitting on.

And that's just the kind of effect I like my stories to have.