My first collection of scary tales is now available! Get my first seven short horror stories for a low package price. Contains the stories:
Dump Room
Boogeyman
Screee
Mr Buster’s Bodies
Better Fat Than Dead
Overtime
and my most disturbing story yet, What’s Inside
Yeah. That last one raises some eyebrows.
I never really loved that child.
I mean, she was an easy birth. And when she got a little older, and I could start putting little bows and ribbons and things on her, she was cute enough.
But I knew right from the start she was evil.
It wasn’t one of those things you could see easily. Hell, I had a hard enough time seeing it myself.
When we’d go out to the market, she’d be sweet as pie. All the old women would come over and tug on those blonde ringlets. They’d caw like ravens and pinch at her cheeks. She’s got these dimples, see, that make the little grannies just about weep with adoration.
I used to tell those biddies they could take her home with them, if they loved her so much. They always giggled from behind their dentures and shook their smiling heads. I wish, just once, that one of them had realized I wasn’t kidding.
I caught the first hints of the demon in her when she’d cry out in the night. Most children, see, they wail. Their little chests suck in all the air they can hold and force it back out, loud as a foghorn through the darkness. Annabelle was different. She hissed. It sounded like a basketful of snakes let loose in her room.
I started turning down the baby monitor. Then I shut it off. Before long, I was closing her door and sleeping with a pillow over my head.
Of course I took her to the doctor; what kind of mother do you think I am? He checked her front and back and upside down and said there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her. I wanted her to startle at his touch, to cry out so he could hear what I’d heard. She sat there instead, half a hand shoved in her mouth, and the doctor didn’t suspect a thing.
So I bundled her up against the Fall wind and wheeled her back home in her stroller. The strangers we passed all cooed at her. I think that was part of her witchcraft, being able to fool them all like that. They didn’t feel what I felt…
There’s something different about Annabelle. Something unsettling. Something…demonic.
Mommy’s little monster is here.
Annabelle, short horror from Stefanie N Snider
Just in time for Halloween, I thought I’d share an excerpt of my short horror story, “What’s Inside”. Graphic, disturbing, and unsettling, this one’s my favourite!
“She’s only a little dead. I can feel the warm. The bits inside, for sure, are hot.
There was a lot more blood than I expected; more than when I done either the mouse or the chipmunk.
Maybe it’s because of the babies. I learned in school that a lady has more blood when she’s pregnant. “It’s because the baby needs more food,” Mrs Chappel told us. I don’t know what that had to do with anything; I just wanted to hear about the blood. But when she talked she rubbed her hand around and around on her belly, and the sound drove me bananas until I couldn’t hear her words anymore. She was always touching her belly and smiling; I don’t understand why she was so happy to be getting fat.
I’ve got my favourite sharp stick here and I squidge it around inside. There’s some lumpy stuff, and a thing that looks like a kidney bean. I tried poking at it but it got stuck on my stick and I had to shake it off. It went splat when it hit the dirt and had little stringy bits like a spider’s web all over it.
I kicked some dust on it. It’s not what I want.
I get up close again, and don’t get any grass on my knees. My Mom just bought me these jeans and she’ll be mad at me if I wreck ’em.
The knife I took out of Daddy’s drawer is right here with me. It’s all rusty and I couldn’t get it open at first but I worked real hard and it opened right up. It just took some wiggling.
“My clever boy,” Mom says inside my head, and it makes me smile. I love my Mom.
It’s starting to get a little dark out. Goosey bumps are all over my arms, even though I have my coat all did up.
What happened was I stayed in the cloakroom after the last bell. I was trying to think. It was warm and dark in there, and even though it smelled like wet boots it made me feel safe.
Mrs Chappel came to the doorway of the cloakroom and pulled me out of the pile of other kids’ clothes. There’s babies inside her, two of them. I wanted to know if they could see me from in there.
“Do your babies have eyelids?”
“Well, that’s a good question. Yes, I think they do.” She was rubbing at her belly again and her hand went scratch scratch scratch against her shirt.
“It’s too loud! I don’t like when you do that.”
Her hand stopped. “Okay, Cody, time to get you home. Put on your coat.”
I let her help me, even though I’m big enough to do it myself. And then I had a lightbulb.
“Mrs Chappel, my mom can’t come get me today. Can you take me home?”
“Hmm. Why don’t we call her? We’ll go to the office and I’ll let you use the phone.”
“No! She can’t come. She had a appointment. And my dad can’t come either. He works.”
Mrs Chappel’s eyebrows went all up.
“It’s close to here.” It’s not, really, but I tell good lies.
She got down on her knees and zipped up my coat. Her eyes were big and brown, with little bits of green.
“I can’t take you home to an empty house, Cody.”
“I could…I could go to my neighbour’s. She’s old, so we can’t call her. She doesn’t hear. But she watches me, sometimes.”
Mrs Chappel tried to stand back up, but it wasn’t easy for her. I put my arm out and let her push on it, but I knew she wasn’t really putting weight on me. Grownups never think you can do stuff.
I do lots of things that grownups don’t know about.”
From What’s Inside, a horror short by Stefanie N Snider.
Throw a buck at Amazon or Smashwords and find out why some kids are better left alone.
I never really loved that child.
I mean, she was an easy birth. And when she got a little older, and I could start putting little bows and ribbons and things on her, she was cute enough.
But I knew right from the start she was evil.
It wasn’t one of those things you could see easily. Hell, I had a hard enough time seeing it myself.
When we’d go out to the market, she’d be sweet as pie. All the old women would come over and tug on those blonde ringlets. They’d caw like ravens and pinch at her cheeks. She’s got these dimples, see, that make the little grannies just about weep with adoration.
I used to tell those biddies they could take her home with them, if they loved her so much. They always giggled from behind their dentures and shook their smiling heads. I wish, just once, that one of them had realized I wasn’t kidding.
I caught the first hints of the demon in her when she’d cry out in the night. Most children, see, they wail. Their little chests suck in all the air they can hold and force it back out, loud as a foghorn through the darkness. Annabelle was different. She hissed. It sounded like a basketful of snakes let loose in her room.
I started turning down the baby monitor. Then I shut it off. Before long, I was closing her door and sleeping with a pillow over my head.
Of course I took her to the doctor; what kind of mother do you think I am? He checked her front and back and upside down and said there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her. I wanted her to startle at his touch, to cry out so he could hear what I’d heard. She sat there instead, half a hand shoved in her mouth, and the doctor didn’t suspect a thing.
So I bundled her up against the Fall wind and wheeled her back home in her stroller. The strangers we passed all cooed at her. I think that was part of her witchcraft, being able to fool them all like that. They didn’t feel what I felt…
There’s something different about Annabelle. Something unsettling. Something…demonic.
Mommy’s little monster is here.
Annabelle, the newest short horror from Stefanie N Snider
The phone is ringing, ringing, and in my current state it’s hard to find. I grope blindly along the couch cushions, which are soaked in my own blood. The song I downloaded for my ringtone used to be funny, but as the last song I’ll ever hear, it’s not up to snuff.
My blood-slick fingers brush against it, wedged down between the cushions, and I jab at the touch screen. The phone stops blaring, and I think at first I’ve hung up on her. (I know it’s her, has to be her.)
Then, barely audible behind the thudding of my heart, I hear, “Help me.”
She brought it on herself.
She made me so happy, at first. We met just off campus, at a pub, and right at that moment I knew she was it. The One. She was all I could think about, and all I wanted to do was make her as happy as she made me.
I’d write her soppy little poems, because that’s what dapper gentlemen in old movies did. I brought her flowers every time we went out, even though sometimes it was a choice between flowers for her and groceries for me.
I’d bring her back to my little shithole apartment, and she’d sit beside me on the couch while I showed her my favourite black and white horror films. I loved the smell of her hair. It was auburn, and glowed like fire in the beams of light that snuck around the blankets on the window.
She didn’t like me to touch her, much, but that was okay too: she was my first girlfriend, and I wouldn’t have known what to do with her anyway. Just being close to her, there in my tiny little home, brought me such joy.
One time she sat there, rubbing her head and squinting. “Why don’t you ever turn the lights on in here?”
I shrugged. “I just like candlelight, that’s all.” I looked around. Every available surface in the room had at least one candle burning. Secretly I thought it made me seem mysterious.
“Well, it’s giving me a headache.” She got off the couch and went to the light switch. Nothing happened; I’d taken the bulbs out long ago. She scowled at me; it was adorable.
“I need an aspirin.” She went off down the tiny hall toward the tinier bathroom. She moved like a dancer. I loved that about her.
I watched the flickering screen of the tv for a while before it occurred to me she’d been gone for quite some time. I felt my pulse speed up. She wouldn’t…
I jumped up and bolted down the hall.
The bathroom door was open.
My bedroom door was not.
There’s no love as desperate as the first. Find out where that desperation leads in Needles & Pins, available on Amazon for $0.99USD.
“She’s only a little dead. I can feel the warm. The bits inside, for sure, are hot.
There was a lot more blood than I expected; more than when I done either the mouse or the chipmunk.
Maybe it’s because of the babies. I learned in school that a lady has more blood when she’s pregnant. “It’s because the baby needs more food,” Mrs Chappel told us. I don’t know what that had to do with anything; I just wanted to hear about the blood. But when she talked she rubbed her hand around and around on her belly, and the sound drove me bananas until I couldn’t hear her words anymore. She was always touching her belly and smiling; I don’t understand why she was so happy to be getting fat.
I’ve got my favourite sharp stick here and I squidge it around inside. There’s some lumpy stuff, and a thing that looks like a kidney bean. I tried poking at it but it got stuck on my stick and I had to shake it off. It went splat when it hit the dirt and had little stringy bits like a spider’s web all over it.
I kicked some dust on it. It’s not what I want.
I get up close again, and don’t get any grass on my knees. My Mom just bought me these jeans and she’ll be mad at me if I wreck ’em.
The knife I took out of Daddy’s drawer is right here with me. It’s all rusty and I couldn’t get it open at first but I worked real hard and it opened right up. It just took some wiggling.
“My clever boy,” Mom says inside my head, and it makes me smile. I love my Mom.
It’s starting to get a little dark out. Goosey bumps are all over my arms, even though I have my coat all did up.
What happened was I stayed in the cloakroom after the last bell. I was trying to think. It was warm and dark in there, and even though it smelled like wet boots it made me feel safe.
Mrs Chappel came to the doorway of the cloakroom and pulled me out of the pile of other kids’ clothes. There’s babies inside her, two of them. I wanted to know if they could see me from in there.
“Do your babies have eyelids?”
“Well, that’s a good question. Yes, I think they do.” She was rubbing at her belly again and her hand went scratch scratch scratch against her shirt.
“It’s too loud! I don’t like when you do that.”
Her hand stopped. “Okay, Cody, time to get you home. Put on your coat.”
I let her help me, even though I’m big enough to do it myself. And then I had a lightbulb.
“Mrs Chappel, my mom can’t come get me today. Can you take me home?”
“Hmm. Why don’t we call her? We’ll go to the office and I’ll let you use the phone.”
“No! She can’t come. She had a appointment. And my dad can’t come either. He works.”
Mrs Chappel’s eyebrows went all up.
“It’s close to here.” It’s not, really, but I tell good lies.
She got down on her knees and zipped up my coat. Her eyes were big and brown, with little bits of green.
“I can’t take you home to an empty house, Cody.”
“I could…I could go to my neighbour’s. She’s old, so we can’t call her. She doesn’t hear. But she watches me, sometimes.”
Mrs Chappel tried to stand back up, but it wasn’t easy for her. I put my arm out and let her push on it, but I knew she wasn’t really putting weight on me. Grownups never think you can do stuff.
I do lots of things that grownups don’t know about.”
From What’s Inside, a horror short by Stefanie N Snider.
Throw a buck at Amazon or Smashwords and find out why some kids are better left alone.
When the body dies, the soul should be free to leave.
But what if the soul gets trapped? What if it’s left inside to listen…to think…to plot revenge…
What if it manages to bring the body back?
You Only Live Once, the brand-new horror short by yours truly, is available now from Amazon and Smashwords.
I’m editing my newest horror story tonight. It should be ready and up by this weekend sometime. This is my favourite part of writing: when it’s almost ready for you guys to read. It’s like watching someone open something you bought them; half the fun is had by the person who knows what’s in the box.
Things I need:
-an image of a coffin that isn’t stupid
-a few more hours of editing work
-a strong cup of coffee
Keep an eye out this weekend for the new piece. It…goes in a new direction from my other stories (WINK), and I’m pretty happy with it.
In the meantime, check out my previous stories:
Double Creature, which contains the shorts ‘Screee’ and ‘Boogeyman’
Haven’t read it yet? Click here.
My pal Leslie over at I Know I’m Not Normal Because… posted a review of my short horror story, Mr Buster’s Bodies, today.
“Mr. Buster, always “Mr” never “Jim” and never ever just “Buster” as the story will tell you, is an exceedingly well crafted character. His scheming and treachery will have you wrapped up in his twisted mind, start to finish.”
Continue reading at her new blog, then snoop around over there for a bit. She’s a funny girl.
Blood is thicker than water, and it’s my job to protect my little brother.
No matter what monstrous things he does.
What would you do for family?
If you haven’t read my short horror story, FEED, this is your chance! For the next three days FEED is free on Amazon. Click the pic to score the deal.
Tell your friends. Tell your neighbours. Tell your families (the ones that aren’t squeamish, anyway).
Turn the lights down and get ready. The pigs are hungry…
sniderwriter 