Robert Cook Collection Item #0888 - Writing Darkness During the final hours of October 10, 1961, Everett Turpin murdered his wife Dorothy Turpin with an ax. The following morning he drove his Ford F-1 into town, parked in front of the police station, go...

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For the Entertainment of Strangers - Writing Darkness For Haleigh Masterton, the moment her stomach lining tore registered only as a dull ache. Nor did it slow her down any. It was simply another one of the many aches that came with the job and so it did...

"For one moment, just a second, the screaming stopped and despair rushed in to fill the void. Then she was screaming again as she began the arduous journey to her cell phone."

A BRAND NEW story on Writing Darkness!
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Air Embolism, by The Child is Screaming But Nobody's Home 11 track album

The first album

For lovers of horror and weird sounds

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The Human Washing Machine - Writing Darkness A line drawing of a shower dispensing pasta noodles, the Carlos’ Clean Canteen logo, spins on a loop. The chat on the side eager awaits the end of a saga that has eaten up the better part of a year. T...

“As my father always told me,” Carlos nearly shakes as he speaks, “The best way to understand something is to try it.”

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#canadianhorror

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Mr. WIllows: Busdriver Extraordinaire - Writing Darkness The smiling face of Mr. Willows was the first thing that greeted Jenny as the doors to the bus swung open. It was that big wide smile he always had stupidly plastered on his face but some how it seeme...

“Don’t be stupid. Mr. Willows kept talking about a game, said he just needed the final player. Then he drove out to your stop. And where are we now? I’ve been watching and I’ve got no idea where we are anymore.”

A brand new story from Writing Darkness

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Mrs. Tinkles - Writing Darkness Samantha is going to fucking kill me, Chloe thought as she stared into the gaping hole beneath the sink. “It was just the pipes,” she whispered. “It had to be the pipes.” But she knew that wasn’t true...

"Chloe opened her mouth to scream, to get Samantha to call the building manager, the paramedics, animal control, or even the fucking army, but all that came out was a slimy gurgle as..."

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The Anger of Old Man McKinsy - Writing Darkness The cool breeze carried with it a voice that spoke of regrets. The regret of the sun slowly whittling away the sleek ice. The regret of the rabbit as the wolf takes its life in a quick lunge. And the ...

"It was a simple game. In order to win all you had to do was walk through the house. Older boys would dare younger boys as a passage into their world of games. Girls would dare each other out of a need to share the discomfort."
This is a game you don't want to lose
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The Hole in Jacob Roebuck - Writing Darkness Jacob Roebuck looked at the scab on his leg and wondered what it could have come from. He had no recollection of ever hurting his leg, yet on his leg was a blackish-red splotch that meant he must have...

"The hole was black. Not black as in the darkness of the night or closed eyes. It was black like the emptiness of the void, black like the sight of the anophthalmic."

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"Art exists because reality is neither real nor significant."
J.G. Ballard

F = G * (m1 * m2) / r² - Writing Darkness They wait until Adrian’s mother falls asleep then sneak out, putting their shoes on only once they are outside and the door safely shut. Eight year old explorers in the realm of the dark, Tom and Adri...

"“Prepare yourself,” Adrian says in his best warrior growl. He pointed his stick towards the vast array of monsters rushing at them from the swings. “We’re going to have to fight our way out.”"

A brand new just released story from Writing Darkness.

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“When death falls from the sky and the cyanide pours like rain upon us, we shall be clean."

Let's play a game. Which #WritingDarkess story is this quote from?

A Speck of Paint - Writing Darkness A river of viscous red waterfalls to an ocean of blue, green, red, and white with specks of yellow and fiery orange making themselves known. As the river runs out the red mixes into the ocean of color...

"His eyes inches from the painting, he felt himself gripped. Tendrils of green and red seeming to reach out across the gap of air and touch his eyes, rolling backwards over his irises, deeper and deeper into him until he was gone and only the colors remained."

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Door Dog - Writing Darkness She first notices the dog while she is paying for her mother’s groceries. Sanaa with a brown paper bag in each arm, loaded high though not overspilling, takes the money from her outstretched hand. The...

"There is a smell in the house now.

It smells like Grandfather.

And mother, too.

Like grave flowers and rotten wood.

The scent of death."

The newest story on Writing Darkness

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