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Around the Campfire - Story Telling Competition

This is fun way to see who can write the best story with the given requirements. We will be able to find out who the best story writers are, and we'll be able to vote on who's our favorite!

How it Will be Done:

1.) Submissions for stories will be held for two weeks, then we will have an extra week for voting, so one round will be three weeks.
2.) I will give you a genre, and you will have to write the story according to such.
3.) You're the judge, not me! :D Vote on your favorites every voting week and see who wins.
4.) The beginning of each Competition week is Wednesday. Mostly anything important will start on Wednesday.

Rules:

1.) Please vote for your FAVORITE story, please don't vote for yourself just because it's your story. If you do vote for yourself, do it because you think yours is the best.
2.) You must stay on the given genre in your story. Off-genre stories will be disqualified.
3.) Have fun, please don't give negative feedback on people's stories (unless it's off-genre, then I don't care if you do :P). And please don't critique, we don't care what you think. Just play nice, even if the story does suck.
4.) Please post saying that you are entering the contest. I want to know who will be trying to enter the contest. Then you can post your story.

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OK, round one! Let's see how well this turns out. Hopefully we'll get a whole lot of competitors.

The genre for this round is: Scary! Make me jump out of my pants!

I might enter if you post a deadline and it works for me. Also, the no voting for yourself rule is stupid. Why would we even vote if we had to vote for someone else? We should just all be allowed a vote; if we believe ours is the best, we should vote for it. Sure, in the case of some writers, other's pieces might be more appealing. But for the grand majority, no. If that was a rule and I was an author, I would either vote for myself anyway or not vote at all. :P that's me though

The game sounds like fun though.

I'm in! Sounds like fun!  :D

Quote from: SlowPokemon on August 29, 2011, 07:13:11 PMI might enter if you post a deadline and it works for me. Also, the no voting for yourself rule is stupid. Why would we even vote if we had to vote for someone else? We should just all be allowed a vote; if we believe ours is the best, we should vote for it. Sure, in the case of some writers, other's pieces might be more appealing. But for the grand majority, no. If that was a rule and I was an author, I would either vote for myself anyway or not vote at all. :P that's me though

The game sounds like fun though.

Hmm... If you guys are honest enough not to vote yours just because it is yours, I guess you can if you think that yours is the best out of all the others. I just don't want an 8-way tie between everyone.

Kinda like Jub's competition but without the challenge and limits of a conversation at a table. Don't know if that's a good thing or a not as good thing but I would most certainly submit a story.

Question!

Can we use characters and settings already thought of? (e.g VG characters etc.) or must we use our own?

Sure, I don't mind if you do. Just as long as it's the right genre it's alright with me.

You still haven't posted a deadline

Let's see... 2 Mondays away from last Monday, because each submission is 2 weeks long. So it would be September 11th... I think. But you don't have to post them right on September 11th, it can be before.

How about make it a 2 weeks from right now. You know, because some of us didnt even realize that we were supposed to start?

Oh, sorry, did I not make it clear enough? OK, so the Competition weeks will officially start on Wednesdays.

Alright, START!

I SHALL DEFEET YOU THIS TIME SLOW

OH REALLY.

BOTH OF YOU ARE GOING DOWN. maybe.

Pathetic little story I made here, but I thought that I might as well play in my own game.

Night of the Beartic

   As I step through the snowy field, my feet felt like they were stepping on an endless stream of bubble wrap. I look ahead of me, seeing a dense forest, covered in snow and ice. Harold, the Toad walking next to me, stops and shoves his walking stick into the snow.
   â€œThis be it,” he says in his gargled voice. He slowly raises his shaking hand and points at the entrance of the deep, dark forest.
   â€œI ‘ill not be goin’ in there this time, sonny. You’re on yer’own,” he says, turning his back and walking away.
   â€œThank you,” I reply softly, turning my head to see the tall trees covered in shattered ice overlooking me. It was as if the trees were holding knifes, ready to drop at any second. I took a giant gulp, then slowly put one foot in-front of the other. I could hear several noises coming from woods... some not as pleasing to hear. I could only make out a few; Piranha Plants, Wolfos, Beartics... The others were not as understandable.
   After through thinking about wild-life noises, I finally reached the entrance. The ice covering the trees made it look like I was inside a cavern. I look ahead, seeing an endless path of snow and fallen trees. They told me it would be a rough journey, but I think it may be worse.
   There’s a reason I’m out here... and it’s not a very good reason. I made a bet, a bet that I could make it through this wasteland... alive. A story goes way back when two  local Koopas went through this forest. Everything was fine about the forest, people traded through it, people traveled through it... Anyways, they were walking through a very dense part of the woods, where they found a Beartic. The villagers always told them, stay away from those Beartic. They didn’t listen. The Beartic was currently shoving a tree and scratching at it violently when they showed up. The one Koopa decided to get closer to get a picture of it. He knew his friends would never believe him without any proof. As he approached, the Beartic scratched more violently at the tree, watching the Koopa slowly approach him. As the Koopa got out his camera, the Beartic made a final move of slamming the tree and cracking it in two. The Koopa standing away from the other with the camera tried to get his attention as the tree began slowly falling to the ground, right towards the other Koopa. The Koopa with the camera looked up as the Beartic ran off into the distance. As he slowly kept his camera focused on the Beartic, the crumbling tree was captured in his view. He quickly looked up to see it coming down right for him. He tries to jump out of the way, but it was too late. With a giant clap, the other Koopa jumps back in shock with his hands covering his face. As the aftershock fades away, he slowly opens his eyes to see the Koopa crushed under the giant 200-year old tree. Heart racing, he runs off to get help.
   Supposedly the Koopa’s spirit still haunts these woods... Even if it is just a silly bet, I want to know if there is really such thing.

   All around I could see glimpses of wild creatures, some small and some big, some fast and some slow. They are watching me... I guess they aren’t used to someone coming through this woods.
   I pull out my map with a marked location on it. The guys told me to come here and to get a picture of that spot so that I had proof that I had gone through the forest. As I come up to the marked location, I could see a massive tree down in the snow over the horizon. I get closer for a better view, then realize that this is the place, where “it” happened.
   As I walk up to the grounded tree, I could hear a faint noise coming from the left of me... It sounded like... scratching. I slowly walk in the direction of the noise, not knowing what it could possibly be. I reach the top of the hill and look down at the dense, tree-infested area. In the distance I could see some kind of movement. I begin walking down the hill to see what it was. The movement was coming in the same direction as the noises... It must be what’s causing it.
   The figure was clearing as I approached it’s location. I could see what it was now... A Beartic. Stunned seeing it scratch at the tree, I slowly walk closer and closer to it. I could hear something faint coming from the right of me... A voice. I could not make out what it was saying. Looking back at the Beartic, I quickly notice that my body has locked up. My heart pounding, I panic to find out what was holding me down. I could not move my arms or legs but was standing up... Almost like someone was holding on to me. I hear a giant clap, and look up to see the tree the Beartic has been scratching start to collapse. It was coming right for me. I was unable to move... My body was paralyzed... But then... as the tree began to fall faster, I could see a black figure come up in the right of my eye. I tilt my eyes to see a shape of a Koopa with bright white eyes.  He opens his mouth... Voices going into my hear... My head... Pounding....
   â€œSleep tight...” I heard come from the ominous figure. I look up to see the tree coming down right for me. Sweat falling down my head like my face was the Niagara Falls, my heart, racing faster than I have ever experienced. I think about my life and how that I should have lived it to the fullest... And... And... ... ...

Oh dearm completely forgot about this. I'll try to get a submission in but I got so much crap going on it might not happen.

This is horribly awful and disgusting and just "why," but I had to write about something that scares ME. So here goes.

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I noticed the insect the moment it landed on me.

   "Euuuurgh!" I shrieked, and shook my foot wildly. It didn't budge. Would I have to touch it? What was it, anyway? I studied my foot in revulsion. The creature looked sort of like a tick, but slimy and red. My heart began beating fast. But it just bit me--I felt a sort of sting--and crawled off.

   I relaxed. I thought nothing of it as I rushed to the safe haven of indoors. The next morning I went to take a shower and noticed a small swelled area on my foot where it had bit me. It was just small and red, a bit like a mosquito bite. I ignored it and went to school, where it constantly itched and bothered.

   When I got home, it had gotten a bit bigger and now protruded from my foot more pronouncedly, as though it were a large pimple. I was actually kind of worried at this point, so I called my mom into my room and asked her about it.

   "It's probably nothing," my mom assured me. "It'll go away soon."

   "If you say so," I said doubtfully.

   It didn't go away, either that night or when I checked the next morning. If anything, it had only swelled more. It was a bit difficult to shove my shoe over it, but I managed (though it was somewhat painful, chafing against my shoe). The next morning it was outrageously big. It looked like some bulbous growth. It was the size of a small dumpling, and it was slimy. The growth wobbled as I walked downstairs to show my mother, who said I should definitely stay home from school.

   "I'll call the doctor," she said worriedly. "In the meantime, you should go run that under some hot water."

   "Okay," I said, taking deep breaths and trying not to panic. I hurried upstairs to my bathroom. I carefully lifted my foot up to the sink, and gently turned on the tap. The water wore down the outer layer of the sac, and suddenly, without warning, it burst. What happened next will haunt me for the rest of my life.

   A hundred tiny, slimy, red ticks exploded from the sac, scurrying down my foot and down the sink. The sink was overflowing with them in a moment, all of them crawling and fighting to get down the drain. The bulbous sac on my foot had deflated, with sickening white pus leaking from the opening. I shrieked loudly, but by the time my mother heard me, all of the slimy insects had crawled down the drain.

Down the drain.

Into our plumbing system.

Essentially, into our drinking water.

None of them would believe me. But they will soon. Because if what I saw was real, those eggs in the water that I refuse to drink will infect them--infect their insides. And when the time comes for a refreshing shower, I have a feeling it's them who will be doing the bursting.

A little story that doesn't go by the title. Yeah couldn't be bothered with the title -_-

Henry’s House

Henry Hackelbottom shivered as he entered the house.
“I don’t like it,” he said, “It feels...wrong”.
“You’ll get used to it,” said his mother, who was carrying a box of her best china. Henry disagreed. It would never be the same as the old house. His old house was perfect in every way. So the toilet didn’t flush occasionally? So what that it was heavily overcrowded with only three people in it? And what did it matter that the ceiling had rats in it? He liked it and it was his home, not this house which you could fit fifty people in the smallest room. This house was just too big. His old house was just the right size for his family. He grumpily hauled his things into the house.

“Henry? Could you help me with this?” called his father. Henry helped unload furniture and the boxes if knick-knacks that Mum collected for the rest of the day. They were just finishing as the sun slipped under the horizon, ending the worst day of Henry’s life. Over a dinner of Chinese from the shop down the road, he glared at his parents. A loud silence fell over the large esky which acted as their table. They used old fold-up chairs to sit on. Wasn’t silent at our old house, Henry thought, always had rats scuttling about.

After somehow eating the plastic boc choy and fatty fish, Henry went into his room. They were going to put all of Henry’s things in the room tomorrow because they had no time that day. So he had to sleep in his sleeping bag, on a mouldy mattress. The room was extremely old compared to the rest of the house. The rest of the house was new and shiny. The room was old and the floors creaked. The room was bare except for a large cabinet. The cabinet was wooden and dusty. It had two cupboards on both sides and a draw underneath a large piece of wood which came out and acted as a desk. The cupboard was bare. Dust gathered on it like a magnet.

When Mum ordered Henry to bed (this often happened and Henry knew better than to disobey a female Hackelbottom) Henry cleaned his teeth and climbed into his sleeping bag and tried to sleep. Usually, Henry could fall asleep instantly, but tonight he stayed awake until the clock down stairs chimed 1 O’clock. He had a horrible dream. He was alone in an old chateau. Cobwebs grew everywhere and Henry was scared out of his mind. He went into the kitchen and sat on a dusty chair. Many of the other chairs were broken or cracked, but this one was simply covered in a white sheet. The table had a candle stick which once dripped with wax. Now the wax was dry and hard. Henry looked around. Suddenly an old man floated through the wall. Henry screamed, but no sound uttered from his lips. The old man looked at him through his glasses and shook his bald head. The old man floated through the opposite wall. Henry ran. He was lost in the chateau. In and out of rooms he ran. He ran out of breath in an odd room. The chateau was old, but this room had a flickering TV in it. Pictures of people screaming and blood flashed on and off the screen. Henry saw all his nightmares come alive on the screen. Ghosts and demons screeched silently on the silent TV. Henry ran into the next room. He saw a little girl standing there, facing the opposite wall. The little girl was dressed in very day-to-day clothing and a red bow. Henry was relived.
“Excuse me? I was wondering how I could get out of this house,” said Henry. The girl did not answer.
“Hey, excuse me...?” Henry stuttered. Something was wrong. Suddenly the girl turned. Her clothes were ripped and her torso bled. Bones pocked through her knee caps and Henry saw her heart, in red pieces, not beating. Worst was her face. Blood dripped from her eyes like tears and her nose was broken in several places. Her forehead had the word “*” etched into her skull with a knife. Henry screamed. The girl jumped at him, screeching, and he awoke as she landed on him. Henry sighed.
“Just a dream,” he muttered, but even as he said it he knew he was wrong. He turned. Standing on the cabinet was the girl. She screeched again and leapt at her prey.

*The word is too rude to be typed. But it has four letters and begins with ‘C’

Hey Ragster, I have a suggestion:
Have the contest entries sent through pm's for the next round.
I read SlowPokemon's and there's no way I could beat that.

hmmm... Well, I guess I'll write one tomorrow. I've got an idea, I just have had any time at all to write anything.

No but really, I can't shake off the image of a dumpling-sized welt with bugs crawling out everywhere over my foot.   :'(

Quote from: Jub3r7 on September 11, 2011, 05:25:11 PMHey Ragster, I have a suggestion:
Have the contest entries sent through pm's for the next round.
I read SlowPokemon's and there's no way I could beat that.

That's actually a pretty good idea, I might do it next round just to see how it works.

Submissions close this Wednesday! Get those stories typed.

Submissions have been closed! Sorry if your in the middle of making it, you'll just have to wait until the genre is selected again (of course, if this seemed to short for submissions, we'll extend next round to three weeks. This round was pretty much a test round to see how this game would have done).

Voting poll up. Get voting! Voting closes next Wednesday.

fuuuuuuuuuu

was way too busy to do this, unfortunately. oh wells always next round.

Critique: All three of these stories seem very unfinished(especially Slow's, though it is very well written). Also Original> fanfic every time.

Just my thoughts. Also, I have time to write a story now...a day after submissions end. -_-

Oh wells

I vote you should write one and enter anyway, see if ragster accepts

I totally will. I'll try to get something up tonight.  :D

I'm gonna try to make this scary while being silly. watch out

I guess you can, but the only problem is that if the seven people like yours, they can't vote for you.

Thats why you reset the poll :P

BOOM HEADSHOT

Now, I really had fun writing this story. I made sure to use as many motifs and image patterns as I could. Also, the narrator reffers to himself in the plural and I switch up the spellings of grey/gray just for fun. Just thought I should clarify on those things in case you were wondering.

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     Every once in awhile something happens so delightfully terrible that it’s hard for someone as simple as a mere human to understand it. But our young hero Louis was going to understand it perfectly. He was about to meet the man known by none and fear by all. The Man in Black. No, not some suit wearing alien hunter played by Tommy Lee Jones. But of course you wouldn’t understand. You are a human after all. But alas, it is time to join our young hero Louis.
   
     Louis was a small boy. A very odd boy. A very small, very odd boy. He loved to draw, paint pictures, sing songs nobody cared for, and play on his music box, music no one could hear. No one but the small, odd boy Louis, that is. He could hear the music perfectly. The music was beautiful. Oh yes, ever so beautiful. We ourselves loved it very much. Indeed we did.
   
     But one day Louis walked home from school, alone as was usually the case. Louis, due to his strangeness, did not have many friends. None whom he could walk home with. Oh no, this simply was not the case. As Louis turned the corner to walk home, he saw strange grey clouds in the distance. Indeed this were not normal gray clouds, no they were all but strange. It was at this point we knew exactly the fate that would befall on our young hero Louis. As he approached the small, dull, grey house in which he resided, he couldn’t help but notice something was off. Though he could not give a name or reason to the exact causation for this feeling, but indeed it was there. Indeed, it was.
   
     So as he entered the house which was as small, grey, and dull as he; he this feeling he kept. All the way up the crooked stairs into his crooked room with the crooked painting hanging on the crooked wall, riddled with copious quantities of other paintings and drawings to cover this wall’s peeling wallpaper and decaying structure. And while many strange pictures covered young Louis’ wall, none stood out to us quite like the in the center of the crooked wall. We are referring to the crooked painting we had first mentioned, in case your fragile human mind has not had the ability to follow our words.
   
     Why was this specific painting special? This, you are most likely asking yourself. Do not fret, for we shall tell you of its importance. But first, let us describe to you this particular painting. Grays and blacks were dear Louis’ colours of choice for this particular piece, save a few reds and blues now and again. Most of the shapes contained within it were unrecognizable, even to one such as us. But in the middle of the painting, actually just a tad bit right from the middle, lay the central figure in the ever so dull piece of art. This figure was unmistakable, made up of only the darkest shades of grey and black. The long brimmed hat, the glowing auburn eyes, the ever so recognizable cloak. Oh yes, we knew exactly who the little human Louis had painted. It was him, The Man in Black, and from this painting he would emerge.

     Little human Louis entered his little gray room, and decided to wind up his music box, as he wanted to hear its beautiful melodies play. Oh yes, ever so beautiful. His mother had thought the music box  to be broken, useless, something to be tossed into the ever growing landfill outside of the small gray town in which they resided. But we knew the music box wasn’t broken, and Louis knew it wasn’t broken, and The Man in Black surely knew it wasn’t broken. We knew he could hear the music play. We could feel it. But alas, we knew it was time for the beautiful music to come to an end. Oh yes, ever so beautiful. Louis began to play his music box. And from the painting, The Man in Black emerged, just as we had predicted he would.

     Now, to this point we have failed to explain exactly who The Man in Black is. Our young hero Louis was on his way to finding out. Louis, being too entranced by his music box, had failed to notice the tall figure; colored in the darkest shades of grey and black, with the brimmed hat, the glowing auburn eyes, the ever so recognizable cloak; come up behind him. Slowly and quietly, The Man in Black whispered to the little boy Louis, “Do you know who I am.” You may believe that we have made a typo by use a period symbol instead of a question mark symbol. But this would be inaccurate on our part as The Man in Black does not ask questions. The little boy Louis, too engaged in the playing of the music, did not notice The Man in Black still. Once more he asked Louis,”Do you know who I am.”

     This time, the statement was said with such quiet intensity that Louis heard him all so clearly, even with the playing of the beautiful music. Oh yes, ever so beautiful. The little boy Louis turned around this time, and found himself looking up into the glowing auburn eyes of the tall figure painted in the darkest shades of gray and black. Instantaneously, our young friend Louis had come up with an answer to this question.

     “You are he.” Said Louis.

     “I am.” Said the tall figure.
     
     The sky began to grow black. The pictures within the little human Louis’ room flew of the wall into oblivion and beyond. The walls soon were torn off, exposing the very depths of hell itself. Heavy winds began to pick up. The sky began to rain ash. We could feel Louis beginning to leave us. He saw beyond the black he saw into the past, the present, the future. We could feel Louis leaving us. Eyes everywhere began to rip Louis apart, bit by bit, piece by piece. The sky rip open, revealing the truth, exposing the lies. And the music still played, and we could feel Louis leaving us. The Man in Black picked the little human Louis up; Louis stared directly into his eyes. And we could feel Louis almost gone, and the music still played. Louis knew all that could be done. He leaped from his room into where the ground had once been. Into the unknown. The deep. And we could feel Louis had left us. The world returned to normal, dull grayness that described it ever so well, the crooked pictures returned to the crooked wall. The sky was patched up, the truth no longer revealed, the lies no longer exposed. The ground returned, the unknown was no longer visible. But young Louis was not in his room. His whereabouts remain unknown, even to us. And music box stopped playing. We would never hear its beautiful music again. Oh yes, ever so beautiful.

I don't expect to win, but I wanted to write something, so, here it is. Sorry if it's not that great; I haven't written in a LONG time.

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      I'm dressed as myself for Halloween.

      Some people are annoyed that I didn't wear a costume, but a lot of my neighbors told me that my appearance would give them nightmares for the next few weeks.

      Despite these comments, I was prepared for the best Halloween ever. I had Brandon, Alec, and Josh go on ahead without me, so I could make preparations for the "haunted" house at the end of the street (now belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Prone.) I received permission from them to set up a sound system in the shrubbery that decorates the pathway towards the front door.

      Towards the front door of that house... the bricks stack to form a wall that goes straight up, but it feels as if it leans over you with some horrible presence. About 6 months ago, a man was arrested for murdering his wife, kid, and dog in that house. Stories went around that the labrador was only killed because it was trying to protect the mom and the son from the dad. Apparently he had went insane because of the war. I'm still a little confused about that, because the last time I checked, we haven't been at war with anybody. Unless the government is keeping it a secret! I thought to myself, jokingly. It's a conspiracy!

      To explain the presence that you feel when you're near the house, the rumors told the story that the labrador still haunts the house today, locked in the backyard's fence. Or what is left of it, at least. Mr. Prone of the house took down most of the fence in hopes that any spirit still remaining there would have the freedom to leave. You could say that he was "prone" to believing rumors and superstition.

      I jolted myself to the present, remembering that I had to make it to the house before Brandon and the others did in order to make sure that the speakers still worked. I went into my backyard and began sprinting down the line of houses. Besides the "haunted house", no one had any reason to have a fence for their backyard, and so it was like a gently sloped field behind the neighborhood, leading downwards into a dense forest. I stopped for a moment when I realized my shoe was untied. Out of sight from the main street, I took my socks and shoes off to run the rest of the way, feeling the moist grass slip between my toes. My strides grew longer as I sped up, until my arms lifted up into the air behind me, floating in my wake. Almost tripping over a rock, I looked up into the sky. It was a clear night, that is, if you disregard all the fog machines that filled the air with smoke. Speaking of which, it seemed that the Prones had a fog machine in their backyard; a mist seemed to be filling behind their house, limited by the borders between the two suburban houses.

      I slowed to a stumble. A fog machine in their backyard? I felt for the dog treats in my pocket in case I needed a distraction. You could say that I'm a little prone to superstition myself.
      I carefully went up towards the front of the house, making sure not to make any contact with the mist. I've seen enough horror movies to know that you never touch the mist.

      Mrs. Prone was waiting at their front porch, decorated by various candle-lit pumpkins. As I approached, she stared at my feet.

      "Mrs. Prone? Is there any reason why you have a fog machine in your backyard?"

      "Better yet, Jerry, why aren't you wearing your shoes?", she responded. Whatever, I mumbled to myself, stuffing my shoes on.

      "Hun? Did you leave the grill on?", she called into the open door.

      Mr. Prone came out, standing over Mrs. Prone, who sat in a small rocking chair with a small bucket of candy next to it. Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, I pleaded to myself. "No...", he said, open mouthed, watching my reaction. I went wide-eyed, and he laughed. "Actually, yes, I did. I'm making turkey for tomorrow, remember?"

      He smiled at me as I gave him a nasty glare, and a second later I heard my friends approaching. I heard Alec saying something about how I was probably too chicken to come here. Just you wait, I thought.
     
      I hid at the opposite side of the house, holding the mic ready. Brandon and Alec were approaching the front door when suddenly, I felt something cold and sharp held against my neck. "Don't scream, or you die."

      "DANG IT JOSH, YOU ETFING SCARED ME," I screamed. Josh was holding a plastic knife in his left hand. He was dressed in an orange suit, as if he had broken out of prison.

      "Shhhh," he whispered. "You're going to blow our cover, Jerry! Also, 'etfing'? What is that supposed to mean?"

      "Oh, it's an inside joke, don't worry about it." I was interrupted by Alec's "TRICK OR TREAT", followed by Brandon, who said it more quietly and less obnoxious. Mrs. Prone smiled and handed Alec a few pieces of candy before he could help himself to half of the bowl, and gave about the same amount to Brandon. Before they could thank her, I howled into the microphone. "Awooooo!"

      It came out really awkwardly, but the effect worked fine. You could see Alec and Brandon shiver (in this warm weather?!) as I coughed away from the microphone. I might be a tenor one, but I suck at holding out the notes.

      "Wh-what was that?", Brandon stuttered. And suddenly, I shivered too. The smoke from the grill seemed to be creeping out from their backyard, its tendrils moving about as if it was looking for food... like a dog, I thought. I ignored it. I wanted to tell myself repeatedly that there are no such thing as ghosts, but I've seen enough horror movies to know that you don't say those words, ever.

      Mr. Prone hid a smile, looking in our direction as if he was trying to remember something. "Didn't a dog get killed here about 6 months ago? And what happened to the third kid that was walking with you down the street?"

      Alec turned and began to sprint away when I announced into the microphone, "Alec, you shouldn't leave without at least thanking them for the candy!"

      Alec turned again, this time, quite slowly, giving me a huge glare. Brandon laughed; I started to laugh. Josh hadn't said anything. I turned around, worried. The smoke had reached the front edge of the house. Josh wasn't there.

      Don't touch the mist. I turned and ran simultaneously, which didn't help. The smoke looked up at me as if I was a piece of prey, and touched my shoulder as fast as if it were a giant lifting its arm. I expected it to feel cold on the surface of my arm, but the smoke went through the surface of my skin, and I discovered that my arm wouldn't move as I tried to pull it away. I've seen enough horror movies to know that you should run even if you're traumatized, but it felt as if my body was encased in ice, unable to move.

      Everything disappeared, and I found the smell of cooking turkey fill the air. A grill was right next to me. The house was a short distance away. I expected to find a large dog nearby, ready to eat me alive, but it was empty and quiet. I was able to move again, and I sprinted back towards the front yard. I've seen enough horror movies to know that if you do touch the mist, you have to get out of it, as fast as possible.

      It didn't help. A small boy, about half my age, appeared in front of me, like a thin sheet of air but with a horrible feeling of evil. I always wondered to myself why a victim of a murder would become an evil ghost, but this was no time for questions.

      "Daddy?"

      My arms dropped to my sides. The sound of the voice was so sad, lonely, and empty. And terrifying. I jerked my consciousness in that thought, preparing to run.

      "Daddy? Why did mommy have to die?"

      I saw Josh calling to me from the front yard, but the image of him slowly blurred as my running came to a stop again. At the sound of the boy's voice, I realized that I couldn't move.

      When my body shivered, I was able to run again. The mist was spreading farther, and therefore harder to escape.

      "Daddy?"

      That terrible, horrible, evil voice again. How could something so sad and innocent be tortured like this? I looked down and saw non-moving feet.
      I jolted myself awake again and ran farther, trying my hardest to catch up with the edge of that horrible smoke... Josh was getting farther and farther away.

      "Daddy? Why did our doggy have to die?

      This time, when I froze, I felt the coldness envelop me. The boy was trying to hug me. The coldness went through me, and I couldn't breathe.

      "Let GO of me! I can't breathe!"

      "But Daddy!"

      "I'm not your father! Please, please let go of me!" Although I've seen enough horror movies to know that you can't negotiate with the ghost...

      "Daddy? Why did I have to die?"

      I escaped from his grip and tripped over one of the decorative candles. My clothes caught on fire, and, standing over myself, I saw my body slowly fade into ash. The others wouldn't know for a whole minute; the mist thickened until the only thing visible would be the ground and ash beneath them.

      "Daddy? Why did Jerry have to die?"

Ragster, you should edit the poll to add SFK and Jub (and reset all the votes to zero).

Sooo, feedback, I love both of yours xD. I enjoyed how you both chose to add a tone of silliness in your stories. SFK's had me laughing out loud at several parts.

Jub, I don't know if you did this on purpose, but the dry, Leslie Nielsen-esque humor almost gave it a mocking tone, like you meant it to be a satire at certain parts. I especially like how the title is the same kind of funny, like just "there" in case you want to notice it. The ending was cheesily scary, but in my opinion this would have worked better as a morbidly funny piece than a morbid piece that works in satirical moments; I mean the entire title significance is worked around a morbid pun. If the narrator had just kind of been indifferent to his death, it would have been better in my opinion, but it's still good as it is. Yours is my favorite of the other four (I won't be voting for myself anymore because I think Ragster was right, we shouldn't :P).

I feel overshadowed because everyone's stories are so much longer... I wrote mine in like less than half an hour xD

Alright, don't expect me to do this again. The round was over, but I'll reset the votes to 0. I just don't know if people who originally voted will come back and vote again.

Also, we're going to test something this next round. You'll send me the story you wrote in a PM, then I'll post them on the thread when the round finishes. It'll be just a test, then we'll see if we like it or not and decide to either continue the idea or trash it.

Okay, but you shouldn't let us know when you post them whose they are. Ex. Story 1, 2, etc., so we don't feel obliged to vote for someone in particular.

Huh! I'm sure glad you guys can think of these ideas right off the top of your heads, because I would never be able to come up with this stuff. We'll try that next round also.

We're tied, slow! :O


Also, I loved the way SFK wrote his story, but I'm keeping my vote on slow.

I'm keeping on Jub, lol. So it wouldn't matter even if we'd both keep our votes on ourselves. xD So Clanker voted for himself, then?

Nope, I voted for Slow then Jub, since they're both really good! But who voted for me?

It seems we have a tie! Well, I guess it's up to you guys, do you want to do a tie breaker or just leave it as a tie?

If no one responds I'll post the next genre to do tonight (well, my tonight, so in a few hours) and start the next round.

We know it was a tie, so ours were both winners, but I think we should do a tiebreaker (like random.org) just for fun! :D If Jub is okay with it, that is.

I voted for Clanker. Seriously! I thought his was the scariest!

Clanker's was kind of freaky :P


The tie breaker has started! Let's get to voting. This will decide the winner.

Let's not vote, Jub. :)

Whoops, forgot to close it yesterday. SlowPokemon and Jub3r7 are both the winners, but SlowPokemon comes in first place in the tie breaker. Therefore SlowPokemon has written the most scariest story! I'd give you an award if I had one, BUT, anyway, let the next round start! This time, when you write the story you must send it to me in a PM. I'll then post them not under your name, but under a certain number. I'll then reveal who the winning number is.

The next genre is Action! I'm talking super heros, explosions, villians, explosions, fast cars, and EXPLOSIONS! Well you get the idea. Pretty much a comic book in all words.

Well, there doesn't seem to be much activity. :(

Should I post-pone this game until summer or something when we have more free time? Or did everyone just forget about it and I should have another week of submission?

I don't like the genre, I'm not very good at it. I did forget about it but I probably won't write an entry.

SLOW YOU JERK. I'll write something, but yeah, I forgot about it too. :/

I kind of forgot.... I could definitely get something up in the next week though. I have some time for it. I've got it mapped out and all that stuff. I just need to write it.(unlike my last submission where I just made it all up as I went along with whatever pooped into my head first) :D

Lololol whatever pooped into your head first? Wat?