Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 31: Wedding

“Wedding”

“It should be illegal to have a wedding on Halloween,” Rachel lamented to her girlfriend Abby. She examined the run she got in her stockings from getting into the Uber.

“Well, hopefully they’ll at least get into the spirit of the day,” Abby responded, always the optimist. Rachel shrugged off her comment and started haphazardly applying lipstick. As always, the two of them were running late. Rachel wasn’t necessarily jazzed about giving up her favorite holiday to celebrate the wedding of a friend she barely liked, and thus took her sweet time getting ready. She tossed around the idea of dressing in costume, just as a middle finger to the bride and groom. Abby talked her out of it, but she still snuck a small masquerade mask in her purse, just in case.

---

The wedding hall was beautifully decorated with pumpkins, mums, leaves, and other seasonal items. It looked like it was ripped straight from a page out of Modern Bride. Despite all the autumnal accoutrements, however, it was decidedly not Halloween-themed. Rachel surveyed all the decor and, picking up on the non-spooky vibe, made a beeline to the bar.

“Sorry, alcohol and will only be consumed during the reception,” the bartender pointed to a sign that confirmed is direction. Rachel wanted to cry. This was definitely going to be the worst Halloween ever. Abby grabbed her arm and guided her into the reception area. Noticing the pained look on Rachel’s face, Abby tried to make her feel better.

”Hey, at least the reception’s starting soon. And, hey, if it really starts to suck we can leave early and catch the tail end of the parade,” Abby’s words made Rachel feel better. She knew it meant a lot to Abby to be there, and she was still putting Rachel’s needs first. Rachel decided to try and get into a more jovial spirit, she wanted Abby to have fun no matter what.

The two located their seats in the hall. It was surprisingly bare inside, a stark contract from the abundance of decor in the hall and other rooms of the building.

“Geez, did they fire the decorator before she got to reception or something?” Rachel joked as Abby elbowed her to quiet down. Even the tables were fairly bare: there were no flowers or fancy silverware. There was just a bottle in the center of each table—it looked like some kind of tequila with a scorpion at the bottom of the bottle.

“Each table gets a bottle of tequila? Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all,” Rachel quipped.

Others eventually started to filter on, all taking their seats. It was eerily quiet, no music playing, even if just for atmosphere. Then Abby and Rachel realized something: they didn’t recognize a single soul in the room. Abby considered asking if they were in the wrong room when the lights went out completely, shrouding them all in darkness.

---

Abby and Rachel held onto each other’s arms, growing uneasy. Something was wrong. It all just felt so… off. When the lights came back on, albeit dim, everyone in the room was wearing a mask. Rachel scrambled in her purse to pull out her emergency mask and quickly placed it on her face. Abby barely had time to react before she was whisked away to the dance floor.

“Abby!” Rachel yelped as a person wearing a devil mask spun Abby around and waltzed with her across the floor. The music playing grew louder, an eerie, foreboding version of Danse Macabre. Rachel tried to get up, but it felt like she was being pulled back down to the seat.

“Why did you come?” A masked man sitting at her table asked Rachel.

“Excuse me?” Rachel replied.

“If you don’t want to be here, why did you come?” The man asked again.

“It’s my friend’s wedding!” Rachel replied as she tried to fight off the invisible force keeping her trapped in her chair.

“She’s not your friend. None of these people are your friends,” he responded.

He had a point. Rachel wasn’t the biggest fan of the bride, and sometimes she felt like Abby only stayed in contact with her to keep up appearances. Why were they both sacrificing a day that meant so much to them to celebrate someone they were barely holding on to as a friend. Once she was married, she’d move to another state and they’d likely seldom if ever see her again. This was all just a charade to keep the status quo.

But Abby looked so happy on the dancefloor, twirling happily around. Rachel thought maybe she had just been projecting her own views onto Abby. She had been so miserable in the days leading up to this. And, for the first time in what felt like months, Abby looked genuinely happy.

“Don’t worry,” another masked woman at Rachel’s table whispered to her, “we’re all playing a part in this masquerade.”

Rachel surveyed the room nervously before speaking again, “where are the bride and the groom?”

“There they are,” the masked woman replied, pointing to Abby and her dance partner.

”No! That’s not them. That’s my girlfriend. That’s my Abby,” Rachel protested, still unable to move.

Right at that moment, Abby’s dance partner leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Rachel’s cheeks grew red, flush with anger and embarrassment. What the Hell was happening?

Abby turned and made eye contact with Rachel. She smiled at her. The music grew more sinister and the lights in the room came up entirely. Everyone seemed to be a watching her. She looked down to see someone loosening the ties that had been carefully wrapped around her waist, the ones she didn’t noticed that kept her trapped.

Abby beckoned Rachel to come over to her. Rachel approached her with trepidation, she didn’t know what was going on and she had never felt more frightened in her life. She stood a foot away from her love, petrified. Abby moved in closer. Closer. Closer. She put her lips up to Rachel’s ear.

“Happy Halloween,” she whispered.

Rachel pulled back, confused. The lights dimmed again and music started to play. It was the Monster Mash. Everyone started dancing.

There was not going to be a wedding that night. There never was.

Too bad everyone drank the tequila, and no one would live to tell the story of the greatest Halloween party ever thrown.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 28: Conspiracy Theory

“Conspiracy Theory”

“Did you hear about this new trend going around with kids online? It’s called “I Know a Game.” Have you heard this? Apparently, these kids are messaging each other to play a game, and then the next thing you know they just up and disappear. Just go missing. Parents, I’m telling you, watch what your kids are doing on the Internet.”

Nina shook her head and turned the radio station off. These conspiracy theory-peddlers masquerading as pundits did nothing but drive her blood pressure up, yet she constantly found herself tuning in when she had to go on long drives. She wasn’t one for the socio-political commentary, but she had a soft spot for alien encounter stories. As much of a skeptic as she was in life, part of her wished that, just once in her life, she could experience something otherworldly. Something that couldn’t easily be explained away. Something to break up the routine.

She glanced at her GPS, she still had another four hours left in her travels. When she first took this job at the new startup, Nina was hoping that it would give her the kick in the pants she needed to change her lifestyle. Unlike her last dead-end job, which kept her going into a call center every day from 9:00 - 5:00, then spending all of her free time miserable and dreading going back to work, this one actually offered her the opportunity to travel. Excited by this prospect (and the help of a bump in salary), Nina jumped at the chance. And so she took a position in the research department of a new soft drink company, Koola Kola.

What Nina didn’t realize, however, was that “travel” wasn’t nearly as luxurious as it sounded. It wasn’t first-class flights to exotic locales on all-expenses-paid business trips. It wasn’t long, scenic drives on the company dime with stopovers in five-star hotels. It was just a lot of driving in her sedan, burning her own pockets for gas money that she would have to wait until the end of the month to get reimbursed for, to some of the most boring and sometimes downright seedy destinations. It was a lot of hours by herself in her car, sometimes springing for a quick stay at whatever motel was nearby, or sometimes driving all the way there and back in one night just to get it over with.

And, moreover, Nina didn’t exactly know why she was taking these trips. Her job was at a research company and seemed innocuous enough; all of her travel was dropping off materials to labs and potential business partners. It usually was just a few file folders or a banker’s box worth of items—something that a company with as much startup capital as hers should be able to just ship with insurance. But she didn’t ask too many questions or protest too much—getting that time on the road was still a diversion. On her best days, she’d spend the night at a bed and breakfast and find a cozy coffee shop or breakfast nook to fuel up in the morning. It was in those moments she could engage in some good people watching, writing down bits of conversations she’d hear, gathering material for the book of essays she swore she’d write someday.

So aside from audiobooks and podcasts, conspiracy theory radio shows became a source of entertainment for her time alone. It allowed her to escape, if even for only an hour or two here and there, into the unknown. It allowed her to play with the idea that there could be other people out there, watching us from afar. She could get lost in worlds where people had nefarious motives and industries were using people as guinea pigs, all extreme scenarios she didn’t buy for a second—but it added the appropriate dosage of fiction into an otherwise boring reality.

As Nina scanned through her phone, trying to find a good true crime or paranormal podcast to start, she looked up just in time to notice a massive antlered animal jump in front of her car and sprint into the woods, causing her to abruptly swerve to the side of the road. Once she caught her breath and allowed her heart rate to slow back down to normal, she got out of the car to observe the damage, if any, that was done. Staring down the front of her car, it looked as though there were a few scuff marks and some dents to her fender, nothing too tragic. She took some pictures, hoping she could write it off or get some cosmetic repairs done courtesy of Koola Kola.

Whatever it was that hit her car, though, couldn’t have escaped completely unscathed. It moved so fast, though, it was like it wasn’t hit at all. She looked deeper into the woods and noticed that it was still standing there, staring back at her. She only caught a quick glimpse and noticed it didn’t seem to be hurt or bleeding before quickly jumping back into her car—she didn’t know what it was or why it was staring, and she wasn’t willing to find out. The weirdest part that it didn’t look like any moose or deer she had ever seen before. She could have sworn it had the face of a rabbit.

Nina tried to calm her nerves as she started her car again. She didn’t want to lose too much more time, this was a trip she was hoping she could do in one night. That’s when she realized something—unlike her usual trips, this one had her transporting more precious cargo than the usual file folders.

“Shoot! The box,” Nina got out of her car again and popped open her trunk. Unfortunately, she was right. The box she was transporting, a medium-sized, square, briefcase-style box with a number of intricate locks, had been knocked over on its side. It didn’t appear to be damaged but had definitely been shaken up in the turmoil. Nina closed her eyes and hoped this wasn’t one of the only batches of a new soft drink that her company was concocting. She hovered her thumb over her manager’s number on her phone, bracing herself to reveal the bad news to him. But something inside her told her to say nothing, and instead break the cardinal rule she had been given on each and every one of these trips:

Whatever you do, don’t open the cargo. It’s completely confidential and can only be opened by its intended recipients.

Surely, in this situation, they’d understand. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and placed them on, then pulled a bobby pin out of an emergency makeup bag she kept in her car, and got to cracking open the locks. Immediately she gasped as the smell hit her. Whatever this drink was, she could tell it was already going to fail on a mass-market level with a scent like this. She cracked open the last lock and held her breath.

Inside the box sat what appeared to be a human brain.

Nina slammed the box shut and dry-heaved. She carefully locked it and examined it to make sure there were no visible signs of tampering. She got back in the driver’s seat and steadied her hands on the wheel. Carefully, she pulled back onto the road, noticing the piercing red, laser-like eyes of the animal still staring at her from the distance. She couldn’t understand why a soft drink company would have her transporting a human brain to an unspecific location at night. She didn’t know just what else she had transported in her travels, either.

She just knew that she had to say nothing about what she saw. This never happened, and she wouldn’t ask any questions. She would drop the box off at its intended location, and turn around and head home. There would be no stopovers tonight.

Then, first thing tomorrow morning, she was going to find a new job. A desk job somewhere. Something delightfully boring.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 27: Vibration

“Vibration”

bzz. bzz.

“Where the hell is that damn phone?” Alison cursed as she clumsily tossed around the pillows on her coach. After sum fuss, she located the cell phone between the couch cushions.

“No missed calls. Weird,” she thought to herself as she studied her phone screen. It was almost as if it was sending out a signal to her to find it, as if the couch would swallow it whole like it did loose change and various pieces of jewelry. Alison places the phone on the coffee table and went about her chores.

A few hours later she heard the vibrations of her phone ringing again from the kitchen. She quickly turned the heat down on her stove and ran over to see who was bothering her while she cooked dinner. Once again, there was no call, incoming or missed. She shrugged it off, phantom vibrations were fairly common. A symptom of our overly-connected lives.

Back at the stove she heard it again. This time more distinct than before. She hesitated before going back to check, she wanted to finish making her soup. That’s when it hit her—the phone was in her pocket. Surely she’s feel it if it were ringing.

And, moreover, the volume was on.

She slipped the phone from her pocket to check, just in case. Nothing. But the vibrating noise was clear as day, there was no way it could be in her mind. She considered that maybe her upstairs neighbor’s phone must be going off. She probably dropped it on the floor and left it there on her way out. Satisfied with this theory, she ladled some soup into a bowl and sat down for dinner.

bzz. bzz.

Alison took another sip of soup.

bzzzz. bzzzzzzz.

She hoped her neighbor would get home soon and call back whoever it is that’s trying to reach her.

bzzzzz. bzzzzzzzz.

The vibrations continued intermittently throughout the evening. Finally, she heard her upstairs neighbor’s footsteps right before she went to bed.

“Good. At least that won’t keep going off while I’m trying to sleep.” Alison thought to herself as she lay in bed.

But no such luck. If anything, the vibrations sounded louder. Closer. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore it.

bzzz. bzzzzzzz.

bzzzzzz. bzzzzzz.

bzzzzzzzzz. bzzzzzzzz.

“Stop calling me. I’m busy,” a man’s voice whispered.

Finally someone answered the damn phone. And Alison finally figured out where it was coming from.

He was inside her bedroom closet.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 26: Folie à Deux

“Folie à Deux”

IKAG

Bailey stared blankly at the letters on her screen. She racked her brain to try and figure out what they could possibly be an acronym for, but she was coming up with nothing.

???

She responded back. The three dots indicating that Taylor was typing her response seemed to go on forever.

I know a game

She had heard rumors of that phrase floating around before, warnings given by overly cautious parent groups extolling the horrors of the “Dark Web.” But until now, Bailey had never encountered anyone actually prompting her with IKAG online. She did a quick search on Reddit to educate herself, just a primer so she’d know what she was getting into, but the only thread on the topic had been shut down. Not wanting to look like a loser, Bailey tried to play it cool and typed what she vaguely remembered the appropriate response to be.

Let’s play.

She shook her head as she hit send. That didn’t seem right but, to her pleasant surprise, Taylor proceeded without acknowledging her guffaw.

Ever hear of foley a-doo?

Bailey had no clue what Taylor was talking about, before she good hit enter on the Google search bar, Taylor continued.

That’s the game we’re going to play. R U ready?

Like she had an option. Bailey reluctantly typed K.

Here’s how it works: you’re going to do everything I say.

Bailey again hesitantly typed K.

But here’s the catch: I’m not going to actually tell you to do anything. I’m going to only suggest some things…

Bailey again stared blankly at her screen before responding.

Like, hypnotize me?

…

No, not exactly…

She awaited further instructions from Taylor, but none ever came. Instead they carried on with their conversation like nothing had happened at all.

---

“Bailey! Come on, you’re going to be late for school.” Bailey’s mom called to her from downstairs. Once again, Bailey had spent too many hours online and didn’t get to bed until far too late. Despite their long conversation, she never actually got to play Taylor’s game, which was probably for the best. As she dutifully got herself out of bed and ready for another boring day at school, she couldn’t help but recall a few of the things Taylor said during their conversation.

School’s such a waste of time. The only reason our parents send us there is to keep us out of their hair.

Bailey couldn’t help but agree with that. Lately it seemed like she was stuck on repeat, going into school every day, not learning anything new, and then going home to spend hours on homework from which she gained nothing.

What do our parents even do all day?

Bailey knew what her dad did, he was a lawyer, but as for her mom? No clue—she was a “homemaker,” yet the house looked the same every day. She seemingly didn’t do anything outside of cooking and cleaning yet she was always all to eager to ship Bailey off for the day. Maybe she really just didn’t want her around. Bailey was feeling more and more like that was the case with everyone in her life.

Sometimes I think our parents think we’re just a thorn in their sides.

Her dad had been pulling a lot of hours at work and whenever he’d get home he was usually too exhausted to do anything more than pour himself a glass of scotch and pass out in his recliner in front of the TV. It had been ages since they had all done anything together as a family, and the time spent at home was mostly apart, each member to themselves. Bailey felt like anything she asked of her parents came as an annoyance to them, so she’d mostly just spend time in her room, on her computer.

I wonder if they’d even notice if we weren’t there.

Bailey made her way downstairs and noticed her mom drinking coffee in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone.

“I don’t feel like having breakfast today,” Bailey called out to her.

Without looking up from her phone, Bailey’s mom responded:

“Fine, but don’t complain if dinner’s not ready yet when you come home and you’re starving.”

Bailey continued outside, her dad had already left for work without saying goodbye. He used to at least kiss her on the head while she was still asleep. She knew he stopped because, even though he thought she was asleep, she’d always wake up from the sound of his clumsy footsteps and keep her eyes closed while he kissed her forehead. He hadn’t done that in months.

I wonder if they’d notice if we didn’t come home from school on time.

Bailey walked over to the bus stop, as usual she was the only one there.

I wonder if they’d notice if we disappeared entirely.

She checked her watch, the bus should be here any minute.

You should come and hang out with me. I’d bet we have so much fun together in person. Do you live near the train? My house is right near the Patterson stop.

Bailey kept walking, past the bus stop. Across the street. Down the road. The train station wasn’t too far. Her lunch money should cover the cost of a ticket.

Don’t tell them, they’ll never even know.

And it’s true, they didn’t. They never did find out where it was Bailey was headed that day. Nor did they ever see her again.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 25: Chants

“Chants”

The DJ was gone but the music played on—how was this possible? It didn’t seem to be coming from the speakers at all. That’s when it hit me: the music was coming from the people. It wasn’t a recognizable song or even any sort of steady beat. It was eerie, dissonant.

They were chanting.

I couldn’t make out the words but it was clear they were chanting—how could this be? They had no faces and therefore had no mouths. But the chants were growing louder, emanating from them as if they were coming up from their very souls. Did these creatures even have souls?

That was when something caught my eye: I wasn’t alone.

Obviously, I was surrounded by these other-worldly beings, but there appeared to be another person just across the floor, another human, also surrounded. Unlike me, they were swallowing her whole—moving in closer and closer and grabbing her. Her body went limp and as she fell to the floor I made my move.

I lept past the surrounders, almost as if I were leaping through them, and made a beeline to the nearly lifeless body on the floor. The chanting continued but they did nothing to stop me. I held her body in my hands and tried my hardest to wake her up. I gently lifted her head back so it wouldn’t slouch forward and, in doing so, it seemed as though they all took a giant step back, the two groups forming into one large circle.

I could finally make out the chanting, they just kept repeating the words “not enough, not enough, not enough,” over and over again.

And then, for the first time, I got a good look at her face.

It’s a chilling experience to stare into another’s eyes and see your own.

It wasn’t a reflection, it wasn’t a mirage, it wasn’t an out-of-body experience. She and I were one.

I held her close and whispered in her ear,

“Bodies in a circle. Dark hoods. An empty DJ booth. Broken speakers. A dusty floor.”

She started to move.

“Chills through the sweat. This cold, dusty floor under our feet. This hair tie loosening in our hair. Our socks getting damp.”

She sat upright.

“Their chanting getting lower. The rumbles of our tummies. The squeak of their shoes.”

She looked at me. For the first time, she really looked away.

“The smell of asphalt. The smell of sweat.”

She cracked a wary smile.

“The chalky taste of a dry mouth.”

She stood up.

And just like that, we were one, and they were all gone.

I looked around at my surroundings—the dance-club was gone almost as if it were never really there. I was in my bathroom, and I was alone.

I was far from okay, but, once again, I survived.