Tag Archives: nightmare

Haiku Friday – Nightmare & Horror

29 Dec

Hi, everyone! Welcome!

My best friend, Sophia won’t stop wailing and howling in the middle of the night. “It burns, it burns!” she screams. I visit her at her mother’s house, where her ashes are kept in an urn, but it doesn’t help.

 

spiral-short story-Poetry-haiku-Haiku_Friday-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Vashti Quiroz Vega-RonovanWrites-Horror-Nightmares

Night terrors visit

Sleep’s become a memory

I fear the darkness

The blue in his eyes

became the new shade of my

nightmares––Don’t wake me.

Festite-The Writer Next Door-horror-nightmare-Poetry-the fall of Lilith-Vashti Q-Vashti Quiroz Vega-Haiku_Friday

Nightmare and Horror are this week’s prompt words chosen by Ronovan Hester of Ronovan Writes.

Ron hosts a challenge that anyone could participate in called Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge every Monday, and you have until Sunday to create a post featuring your haiku poem. He is an author and poet and also does author interviews and much more on his blog. Be sure to check it out. Read Ron’s Haiku Prompt Challenge Guidelines for more information.

Have a wonderful New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, everyone!

Haiku Friday – Start & Hot

18 Sep

Hello everyone! Happy Haiku Friday! This week’s prompt words are Start and Hot. The words were provided by Ron of RonovanWrites. Ronovan is a writer and poet and he also does author interviews and much more. You can read some of his poetry and fiction pieces on his blog. He also hosts RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge every Monday. Anyone can participate and he even teaches you what haiku poetry is and how to write it if you don’t already know.

nightmare-haiku-poetry

Night Terrors

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

I awoke with a start

The heat still enveloped me

Nightmare of flames

night-terrors-The Writer Next Door

15 Famous Books Inspired by Dreams

“Nightmares exist outside of logic, and there’s little fun to be had in explanations; they’re antithetical to the poetry of fear.”
~ Stephen King

Image

A Town’s Perception

8 Dec

A Town's Perception

Hello everyone! Thank you for visiting my blog today. I’m featuring a short story inspired by a nightmare I had. The nightmare was somewhat bizarre, as night terrors often are, but what I remember of it became the creative impulse that led to this story. I’ll call it a Sci-Fi/Horror.

 

WARNING: The story is a bit macabre.

 

( ^ Click PLAY to hear soundtrack ^)

 

a town's perception_vashti quiroz-vega

A Town’s Perception

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

It began with the moon.

 

One evening I lifted my eyes to the skies, and the moon appeared to have doubled in size. After that, all sorts of curious phenomena began to occur. Everyone in my small town was in a panic.

 

Strange swirls of indescribable colors were seen in the night skies. During the day the sun shone blood red and colored the skies pink. It was as if we had been transported to a different planet overnight.

 

When I saw the ships in the sky, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they came for us, and I was right.

 

In the middle of the day, they came. I watched them disembark their ships, small groups at a time. They resembled men of diminutive stature with large heads. They appeared to waddle rather than walk. They wore weird metallic suits with respirators attached to their faces.

 

I rushed to my daughter’s side. She lay on the bed in her room, stared ahead at nothingness and wailed, as she had done for days.

 

My poor child. Her mind was not equipped to handle this invasion. I held her tight. I would not allow her capture. Who knew what these small creatures were capable of doing to her—-to us.

 

I pushed the barrel of the gun up against her temple to keep my hand from trembling. The cold metal did not stop her wails. Poor thing, her voice was so hoarse. I would extinguish the fire in her gullet.

 

I pulled the trigger. She fell on her side, her eyes still open wide, as if she could still see this nightmare. I shut her eyelids and finally gave her peace.

 

It was my turn. I’d convinced myself, like so many others in this town, that this was the only way out. I was the last to take action since I was taught to always have hope, but even those of us who always have hope had given up.

 

The priest took most of the townfolk. After his last sermon, he instructed the congregation to get on their knees and pray. While the town’s people prayed, the priest left the church and locked the doors behind him. Then he set the church ablaze.

 

Pitiful man of God, his mind also handled the crisis poorly. He burned those people alive: men and women, young and old. He had invited my daughter and I to attend his last sermon, and I agreed to go, but my daughter was not doing well, so we stayed home and were saved from a horrific death.

 

I live a block away from the church, and I heard the screams and howls of the burning souls. I ran down the street and was met with a fiery inferno. The stench of burning flesh and hair made me retch. I released the contents of my stomach right there on the street. What did it matter? There was no one around to watch me. I saw the priest stagger from the back of the burning building. My stomach was tied in knots.

 

“Demons! The demons are upon us,” he shouted. “If you remain they will take your soul!”

 

“What are you talking about?” I gasped and pointed a shaky finger at the combusting church. “There are people burning alive in there.” I ran toward the church’s double doors. The heat of the blaze stopped me. I sobbed unable to act.  Those were my neighbors.  My friends.

 

“You have to burn! Otherwise the demons will take your soul. I burned them because the fire will purify their spirits.” He stared at me with wild eyes.

 

My hands flew to cover my mouth upon recognition of what he had done. My legs faltered, and I fell to my knees. I trembled uncontrollably as the priest took steps toward me. I extended my quaking arms before me.

 

“Stop! Stay away!” I made an attempt to get to my feet, but my knees buckled.

 

“My dear, you must not remain alive. The demons will take your soul.” His voice eerily calm. He continued to trudge in my direction.

 

“You’re right!” I shouted. My head nodding briskly.  “I know I must die. I must tend to my daughter’s demise also.”

 

“What? Your young daughter is still alive?”

 

“Yes, she waits for me at home.”

 

“No, no, no!” The man of the cloth pulled on his sleeves and shook his head like a madman. “You must go to her! It may be too late already. The demons do not waste time. A young soul like hers is a prime target. Go to her! If her soul is still intact, take her life immediately and then take your own.” He took a lighter out and flicked it on. He bent over and put the small flame against the hem of his cassock.

 

I tried to scream as I watched the fire spread and grow on the flammable cloth of his priestly vestment, but I opened my mouth and sounds did not leave my lips. I gathered all my strength and lifted myself off the ground. I wanted to run. Instead I barely escaped the wailing priest who floundered, engulfed in flames. I staggered past him. The crackle and pop of his burning flesh lingered in my ears never to be forgotten. Noxious smoke attacked my nostrils. The stench was so great, I could taste it.

 

The very next day, the little men came.

 

It’s time now. My daughter is gone. The entire town is gone.

 

*

A gunshot is heard. Men in white lab coats and facemasks run into a young girl’s bedroom. On the twin bed, dressed in pink, lies a pre-teen girl and a thirty-something-year-old woman. Both females are deceased due to gunfire wounds to the head.

 

“We’re too late,” one of the men in lab coats said.

 

“Well, maybe it is for the best,” his partner said. “There is nothing we could have done to reverse the effects of the chemical agent.”

 

“It’s a shame what happened in this town.”

 

“Yes, but how could we know Compound K would have this effect on them?”

 

“No––we had no way of knowing that the solution we prepared to cause infertility in the men and women of this town would turn into a powerful, hallucinogenic, mind-altering drug when combined with their water.”

 

“We’ll have to look into the town’s filtering system before we try this again in the next small town.”

 

“I agree, but let’s not allow this small speed bump to deter our cause.”

 

“Doctors,” a young man interrupted, “you asked for bottled water?” The men nodded and each took a bottle. They hardly took notice of the fellow. The young assistant leaves.

 

“Of course it won’t deter us. Our cause to save the planet by ending overpopulation goes beyond a few casualties.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call five hundred people a few casualties, but such things happen in the name of science.”

 

“Absolutely.” The scientist gulps down his bottled water. Suddenly, he sputters. His eyes widen. “Th-thi-this water was bottled right here in this town!”

 

The other scientist fumbles with the bottle, trying to see the manufacturer’s name.

 

“How could this small town have a bottled water company?” Wide-eyed and hands trembling, the scientist stares at the lettering on the bottle. He reads, “‘We take pride in our fresh, clean mountain water and we use the highest quality water filtration systems.’ They bottled this water four days ago.” He drops the bottle, and it crashes to the ground.

 

“No!” his partner yells. “We put Compound K in the water supply seven days ago!”

 

“Maybe it won’t affect us in the same way as the townspeople. We’ve only drank a small portion in comparison to what they must have drank in the course of several days.” His voice wavers and his body shudders at the thought of having ingested the solution that caused all the townspeople to go mad and kill themselves. The other scientist stares at him, unnervingly silent.

 

Unexpectedly, the first scientist cries out and recoils. “Stay away from me! Don’t come near me. You will never take me alive!”

 

“What is the matter with you?” Staring at his partner and looking perplexed the second scientist takes a step back. “Oh, no.” His face slackens as realization hits.

 

His partner continues shouting, “You’ll never take me alive, Nazi!” He grabs a lamp and charges.

 

The scientist wrestles with his crazed colleague and seizes the lamp from him. The madman bites him on the shoulder. The scientist beats the man on the head and shoulder repeatedly until the lunatic finally unclenches his teeth and falls to the ground dead.

 

The scientist falls back against the wall, panting. He slides down the wall, landing in a crumpled mess on the floor. He holds his head in his hands and stares at his partner’s limp body, whose blood meanders toward him. Rivers pour from his eyes. His body shakes and convulses.

 

His eyes do not reflect what his mind sees.

 

The flames of hell surround him while demons dance around and torment him with everlasting pain.

 

Copyright © 2013 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

 

Mass hallucinations

“Madness is rare in individuals—but in groups, parties, nations, and ages it is the rule.” ~ Nietzsche.

Image

TERROR

14 Oct

TERROR

(^ For creepier effect turn on sound-effect)

Hey everyone! Continuing my efforts to completely creep you out this month I will begin with a hair-raising quote by the master of horror: Stephen King. Enjoy the story. Oh! If you’d like to heighten the creep-factor, press play on the sound player just below the picture of the strange doll. Enjoy!

The 3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it’s when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: the unnatural, spiders the size of bears, the dead walking around, it’s when the lights go out and something with claws grabs you by the arm. And the last and worse one: Terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It’s when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there’s nothing there…

~Stephen King

TERROR

 by Vashti Q

He touched me. His cold fingers lay upon my bare shoulder and made me shudder. His breath, icy, lingered on the hairs standing on end at the back of my neck.

 

I turned quickly.

 

No one.

 

My eyes flickered in every direction searching for his likeness. I was alone in my room.

 

This is not the first time this has happened to me. He still torments me. It was not enough to do so while he was still among the living. He visits me now as he did then . . . only at midnight.

 

At first it was only a touch, and he was gone—back to the place where phantoms dwell. Cold and piercing as was his contact, I preferred it to the unspeakable things he now does to me. I can’t get away so I lie awake, waiting for him, as I did not too long ago when he was still alive.

 

Alive, in the dead of night, he used to leave my mother in a drunken sleep and sneak inside my bedroom. He’d put a hand over my mouth and threaten to kill me if I spoke a word to anyone of the vile acts he would perform on my teenage body. Back then my mind would escape, leaving my body to suffer the terror and pain. I escaped to a faraway place to be by myself. Being alone then was a blessing. When he was finished with me for the night, I’d lie writhing in pain, bleeding and sobbing against my pillow as he once more made threats to end me before departing my room.

 

There is no escaping him now. He haunts my mind, my very soul, and being alone now is synonymous with hell. How do you rid yourself of a ghoul—an evil spirit that plagues your slumber? I wish I knew. Night after night, he tortures me. My shrieks and howls go unheard. I am on my own.

 

Tonight I will put an end to my suffering. I can no longer endure the hurt and anguish he inflicts on me. I should have done this long ago. Perhaps this would have been a better solution to ending the agony, rather than the one I ultimately chose.
Uggh! As I run a piece of glass along my wrist to the point of bleeding, I tell myself the excruciating pain is only temporary. My hand shakes uncontrollably, making it difficult to finish what I began, but I am determined to end this nightmare. I will be rid of him once and for all.

 

Argh! The agony! It is as if I just forced white-hot pokers into my arms. My fingers cramp and seize into claws. Slitting one’s wrists is not the painless, glamorous death the movies make it out to be. It is repulsive, foul, excruciating. I watch the blood gush out of me like geysers. There is gore everywhere. The smell of metal and fear assaults my nostrils. My chest feels tight. I scream. I cannot prevent myself from screaming in anguish. The pain. Oh God, the pain!

 

I feel a chill in my bones. I have an obscure sensation like something is expanding inside of me, filling me with haze. I . . .  I–––

 

 

*

The doctor bent over, hands on knees, panting after running from the other side of the hospital. “Nurse, how could she do this with your station right outside the room?”

 

“I heard nothing—only silence—but when I entered the room to administer the nightly medications, I found her like this.”

 

“Did you . . . ” deep breath, “move the body?”

 

“I found her just as you see her.”

 

“In all my years tending the mentally insane, I have never seen anything like this.” The doctor pulled a small tape recorder out of his lab coat and pressed the record button. “The patient is nude and covered in blood from head to toe. Her eyes are open and they gaze at me as if they could see me. Her arms are extended, her hands together, one over the other, palms up, resting on her thighs proximate to her knees. Her legs are crossed at the ankles.” He paused and took another deep breath. “The only visible wound on her body is a large laceration on her chest. It begins inferior to her sternum and extends to the left. It appears to be self-inflicted, although I have not been able to locate the instrument used.” The doctor gulped and continued. “Lying on the palm of her hand appears to be–––her heart.” He switched off the recorder.

 

“Do we have to move her?”

 

“Call the police.”

 

 

*

“This is how they found her?” one of the orderlies asked.

 

“Yes. Neither the doctor nor the police wanted to move her,” the other hospital assistant said.

 

“Strange. She looks like she’s just sitting comfortably in the chair, waiting for someone. Her dainty hands offering her heart as if on a platter. She should be slumped over, but she’s sitting upright and alert. Her open eyes look aware, and her face has an innocent tranquil quality. She looks as if at any moment she would break words. I don’t believe she was capable of doing this.”

 

“Of course she was capable! Both the doctor and police confirmed it. One of the CSI police noticed a large piece of glass jutting out slightly from the gash on her chest. She used it to cut herself open. I don’t understand how she could have that expression on her face after all that pain. Her faint smile and serene expression are unnerving. Besides, no one that ends up in this place is innocent. She murdered her stepfather in cold blood while he slept. Her mother awoke to find her straddling him, dressed only in his blood and gore. She stabbed him seventy-eight times. Her mother said she saw a demon in her eyes that night.”

 

“Why did she do it?”

 

“She claimed her stepfather abused her sexually.”

 

“Surely that must have driven her to it.”

 

“No, it would have been impossible for her stepfather to abuse her since he was paralyzed from the waist down.”

 

“Oh.” The orderly gawked at the young girl’s corpse. “Wow, she must have really been crazy.”

 

Copyright © 2013 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

Vashti Quiroz-Vega's Blog_redhead_girl___ballpoint_pen_by_vianaarts-d5531ab

Readhead Girl – Ballpoint Pen by VianaArts