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Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx.

On the first day of my stay, I just spent most of my time roaming about the woods and taking pictures. The selling point of this place was undoubtedly the beautiful nature that was surrounding it. I didn’t use the motor bike since its noise would scare away the animals, and I was able to take some great shots of the gorgeous scenery and its inhabitants. As I was strolling, I noticed some peculiar etchings on the trees that were clearly carved by a human. It was some kind of sigils or characters that were foreign to me.

She closed her eyes. Her house sounded different. She could hear animals scurrying outside, the wind blowing faintly off the treetops and murmuring. It was as if her whole neighborhood was now in range of her ears. Opening her eyes abruptly, she decided she would do something besides eavesdrop on the neighborhood. She picked up her notepad and flipped to the back. She found a pencil and began drawing - nothing in particular. When she had finished, she marveled at it in confusion. It looked like some sort of cave system. Shrugging, she picked up her notepad and began scribbling.

Feems explained, with the use of a tiny bowl, what the whole thing was about and the science behind how it worked. He never quite got to the point where he explained how in God’s name he had convinced them to let him do it, but we didn’t care. “So, the swimming pool is going to be emptied in the next fortnight, all the pumps replaced to get ready for the big swim meet. So, before they replace everything, I’ve convinced them to let me have a go with the swimming pool to do an experiment.”

The problem with the area, especially at night, was that it backed onto the woods. This being England, and the wildlife of England being what it is, there was no threat from any animals. There might, on occasion, be the odd stray dog out there, but even that wasn’t anything to really worry about. Yet, several members of staff, who would happily take out the bags full of waste in the daylight, refused to even entertain the idea of going out there at night.

The photographs, under a title that described the image’s contents in the crudest possible terms, were of Kristen. In the bedroom, in our living room, getting into and out of the shower. Even standing before the cooker top, wearing just an oversized pullover and a red thong as she prepared pasta. I felt sick as the implications began to sink in. Not only were these invasive and highly intimate photographs that had somehow made their way onto a public platform, they were photographs that she clearly believed that I had taken and disseminated.

She blinked at Sir Farridan’s sudden entrance. He was surprised by how ordinary-looking she was, for a princess - they were supposed to be wispy little things, delicate and ungodly beautiful. Princess Idrun wore a simple white gown, her unruly blonde hair falling down to her hips, a greenish cast to it in the light. How will Sir Farridan rescue a princess who doesn't want to be rescued?

Oliver spoke first, the only one who could initially find their voice and start what they came here to do. “Is anyone here with us?” And just like that, the planchette began to move. Slowly, it made its way to "yes". "Are you the girl they say haunts this bridge?" Charlotte asked. The night around them suddenly got darker, pitch-black, and it got windy, with the sound it made under the bridge sounding faintly like screams. The planchette then moved from "yes" to "no". Nora gasped, bringing her free hand to her mouth, looking at Oliver for comfort.

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx. George heaved a great sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “Rebecca...do you recall when your mother was pregnant with Orin?” he asked. “I don’t suppose you do”. Rebecca frowned in thought, then shook her head. “Not very well”, she said. “I would have only been around eight years old at the time. But I remembered she was bedridden during the last couple of months, wasn’t she”? “She nearly died”. George replied, and Amelia visibly flinched".

A new message. She was glad for a little distraction. Without pausing from walking, she let her fingers skillfully reply to the text. The second she pressed the send button, her music cut back on at full blast, startling her. Her phone slipped out of her grip and slammed onto the street. Wincing, she picked it up slowly, still spooked by the event that had just taken place. Her heart was now thumping rapidly. She practically ran to her street before looking both ways. With each step, her chest tightened.

All of a sudden, the light in the room went out, then came back on again. The girls froze in their tracks. They all stared at each other, their eyes regarding one another. Then they began to laugh again. A sickening one that rang through the walls. Then the light went out again. The room was shrouded in a stiffening darkness. The girls waited, but this time, the light never came back on. Fear like the slow thrust of an injection begin to enter their body.

“So? It’s not like it’s going to kill her or anything. She might just have to go to the hospital for a couple of hours,” Cody said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, after everything she’s done to us, who cares if she gets sick? She shouldn’t be a teacher if she can’t handle it.” Derek couldn’t think of a counter argument to that nonsense. Telling Cody they could get in big trouble would have sailed right over his head, because Cody didn’t care about being sent home. He lived in the moment and treated the future as something he had no control over. “There!”

"Don’t be a fool! There’s no such thing as aliens, Roxy," Branden said in a tight, strangled voice. "Let’s get Frank out of this damn water." He wrapped his arms around Frank who was now moaning and wailing like a baby. They all surrounded Frank. Gathering their strength, they heaved him up, and as they began to make their way towards shore. They all heard another thunder-like ricochet. But this time, it was multiple ones, and they were undoubtedly fired at them.

Amari was just right behind me, and I saw with my own eyes how the beast sunk its claws on his shoulders as he caught him. Amari’s scream of agony only lasted for a second. This freak of nature snapped his neck and tore him apart like a ragdoll. I made a sharp turn in hopes that I could escape from its line of sight, but the forest was unending.

No one was going to believe anything I said. I had to stop speaking before they started thinking I was crazy. Mom asked about it again later that day but I didn’t want to talk about it. She suggested that it was the stress from the previous day that gave me such a scary dream. I wanted to believe her but it was just too real.

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx. “Guys, it’s open!” Robert inspected the door and called them. When they turned their heads, they saw him standing right next to the opened door of the dead tree. “I’m not getting inside that creepy thing,” said Marcela. “But we don’t have a choice. These crows are crazy. With that large number, we’ll be brutally torn to pieces if they attack us. Come on,” said Regan. He grabbed Marcela’s hand and walked back to the old tree. “Wait!” their guide Freddie suddenly yelled".

Perhaps some heavy sheet of twisted metal, the engine or outer frame of his vehicle. He scoured his memory, trying to recall what he had been doing immediately before he had awoken, but the account came back blank. Like the times he had drunken himself into a blackout, he had clearly lost time; where the memory should be, there was nothing - just a blank void, a gap in the recording.

"The light from the fire against the tent cast some strange shadows, but nothing out of the ordinary, as Tony whispered that it was probably Bumi going to pee in the foliage. Leaning slowly to one side I raised the flap of the tent and stared out. Panic gripped me when I suddenly realized that the tent opposite, Bumi’s tent, was empty. Not only that, but his backpack was missing. Why would he take his stuff if he’s just going to pee? I asked myself and then Tony, out loud. In response he told me not to panic. Surely wherever Bumi had gone he would be back by morning".

In reality, in real actual life, that kind of magic doesn’t belong to one group and the object doesn’t have to look like them at all. It doesn't even have to look like a person. As long as you wish, dream, and know hard enough, it can be anything. A stick, a leaf, a piece of fruit, a candle. My grandmother used to do with an egg. She would write the name of the person onto the surface of a hen’s egg and then...picking up a rock, she would smash - Smash! Smash! - the top, so that it fractured and dented, yolk spilling and oozing out everywhere!

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx: "Standing in a room filled with sharp and heavy objects I had seen some form of I don’t know what, an apparition? A ghost? Yet, I had not been harmed. Standing stock still, I considered. In those stories, those urban legends and public warnings about the dangers of discarded appliances there was no malevolent element, no wicked long toothed demon emerging through the wires. Shaking my head and sure that I would probably regret the decision, I did possibly the bravest and possibly the stupidest thing I have ever done. I went back into the room".