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The Last Fan on Earth - DABOYLE WINS

Dome

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in This aint sports talk!

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The Orca

The Orca

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16 hours ago, Dome said:

Survival Competition #10 - Campfire Stories

With only six competitors left, things are getting intimate. Let's sit around the campfire and tell short spooky stories! In a survival situation, downtime might not be a regular occurrence so it's best to really enjoy moments like this, fellas.

 

Rules

Send me a story that you would like to tell around the campfire.

THREE judges will assign each story a score between 0.0 and 10.0 depending on how entertained they were by the story.

The TWO best storytellers will be safe from the Survival Elimination #10.

 

STORIES DUE BY 10PM EST - FRIDAY

@Malfatron

@Whicker

@Daboyle

@bcb1213

@Tk3

@Pickle Rick

Do I not compete in this one?

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18 hours ago, Whicker said:

Ngl I’m pretty excited to see what you all came up with for this 

I will post them all once a winner is determined. Might take a while.

I will post the elimination tonight knowing that the top two spooky stories will be safe regardless.

 

4 hours ago, Malfatron said:

Did i win?

Do you feel like you won?

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17 hours ago, Dome said:

will post the elimination tonight knowing that the top two spooky stories will be safe regardless.

A minor labor dispute with the judges has disrupted this event… I will be back in touch Monday with an update.

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I'll be honest, I have not heard from the judges in many days. I think your stories were too scary for them, because the alternative (that they've abandoned us) is far too scary to consider.

But never fear, I have a Plan B. You will be rating each others spooky stories instead.

 

All you need to do is try to match each story to a competitor, and vote for which story you liked the best.
 

Ways to score

  1. Correctly guess who wrote a story = 1 pt each correct guess (-1 pt each time someone matches you to your story)
  2. Win the "Best Story Award" = 5 pts

Rules

When you vote for which story is best you may NOT vote for your story.
You may NOT discuss this competition with anyone else moving forward.

 

 

@Malfatron

@Whicker

@Daboyle

@bcb1213

@Tk3

@Pickle Rick

 

 

1

Quote

On a night much like this, not far from here, under this very full moon, two ghost hunters stumbled upon a very old family cemetery in the middle of the woods. 

They would visit old family cemeteries and see if they could stir up a spirit from an old tombstone. They set up their recorder on a particularly large and ornate headstone and prepared to begin. They were afraid to shine their flashlights on the stone to see the name engraved there.  

Matt flipped the on button on the recorder and said aloud, “We would like to speak to whoever lies beneath this stone.” In response, all they heard was the scratching noise that seemed to come from behind the tombstone.

With a calm voice Alan said, “Please tell us your name.”

Again, the only response was a scratching noise, so Matt said, “We only wish to speak with you. Please show yourself.”

Suddenly, both young men felt the air turn cold, and a dense fog began to rise from behind the tombstone. The fog moved to engulf them. Alan and Matt had many encounters with spirits, and were not afraid. Too late, they both realized whatever was happening was very different than any encounter they had ever has before now . The fog swept down, engulfing them, and pulled them into the ground beneath the tombstone.

The next morning, an old hunter came across the cemetery and found the recorder on the ground by the tombstone. He turned it on, and after each question, he heard the following response:

“Yes…I am here.”

“My name is never spoken by the living.”

“If I show myself, it will be the last thing you will ever see.”

“I got you both!”

The hunter quietly picked up the recorder. Knowing he had the only evidence that someone had been in the cemetery and by that very tombstone, he went back to his truck and opened a toolbox and tossed the recorder into a pile with many others.

 

 

 

2

Quote

I

“God dammit!” my father yelled from the other room. His exclamation was followed by a torrent of coughing. I sighed deeply as I glanced over the stack of homework strewn about in front of me. Things had reached a low point just a few months ago when my brother was sent to rehab center, Hospital Endure. Father, of course, didn't believe for one second that they were going to help him there – neither did I, not really – but the spores had dug themselves too deeply. He had been nothing but a financial burden on us since he had reached Stage 3 Infection, but I know neither Mom nor Dad felt good about sending him away.

“It's those ******* Red Shirts...” I could hear my mom say as she too sat down in front of the television. I got up from my desk and put my ear to the wall.

“... toxicity levels in the air are increasing at a much faster rate than we had originally anticipated. We predict an overall 5% increase in airborne spores, up from a the previous year-to-year increase of 2%. As such, we have unveiled brand new, government approved filters for both your home and your personal masks...”

“There they ******* go....” Dad yelled, followed once again by a torrent of coughing.

“Honey... please... we need to get you tested for Stage 2...” I could hear my mom say.

“No god dammit! It's Stage 1 believe me...”

“Honey... what's going to happen if you hit Stage 3...”

“I'm not god dammit! And we can't afford that! Just like we can't afford whatever this new filter is.. it's all just some big god damn conspiracy to keep us down I tell ya! We just spent nearly $10000 on that new mask for Angela... and now it needs a new god damn filter too?!”

That mask... my mom had insisted upon it. “Honey, you should get her a clear one so people can see her face...” she would keep saying to him, despite knowing we couldn't afford it. At the time, I was happy to finally get away from the ones with the creepy looking respirators or the cumbersome hoses, but in the end, it was just a mask and I didn't take too well to being significantly different from those around me. Why should they see my face when I can't see theirs?

I turned back to my desk and took another look at the giant stack of papers. “Is this worth it?” I asked myself. It was a question I had asked myself plenty of times in the past years. It all started about ten years ago when some sort of Talent Identification Group visited my school. They gave us tests all kind – physical, mental, and medical – and decided that a few of us were “Special Talents.” We were to eventually work in government some day... a career that was promised to solve all of our financial problems. Ever since, my parents seemed solely focused on the goal of keeping me motivated and spore-free.

“Angela! Stephen! Door!” I heard my father scream. I briefly looked at my current mask and couldn't bear to put it on. I couldn't help but acknowledge its role in my family's current hardships, and I searched frantically for my older one. I eventually found it in the back of my closet, carefully tucked away. It was completely black with wide dark eye holes and a long nose connected with a black hose. Despite still finding several of its features a little creepy, it just felt a little more right to have my face concealed. “Angela?!” I heard again. “I'm opening the door.”

“I hear you! I'm ready. I'm sorry,” I said as I slipped the mask onto my face.

“As you probably know, there has been a recent... uptick in the rate of increase of airborne spores...” I could hear from the other room as I pressed my ear up against the wall. Although I did not recognize the voice, I knew it was a government salesman. They would come around so often, ensure there were no major infections, and try to sell us something to mitigate the spores. “With this brand new home air filter, if the current rate of increase holds – which it won't of course, we're expecting to see it fall back below the normal 2% rate very soon – this new filter will keep your home completely, 100% spore-free for up to five years. All this for the low, one time price of $20,000.”

“**** that!” my father exclaimed!

“Sir, please,” my mother butted in, trying to be reasonable. “we don't currently have that kind of money. Our oldest son was recently diagnosed with Stage 3 and his income was very important to us. My husband here has an outdated mask that's only 95% efficient. Please, is there anything you can do for us?”

“I'm sorry my dear,” the agent continued with no emotion. “I see your house has the Gen 6.3 filter currently. That model, even with the current rate, will be at least 99.5% efficient for the next two years, well within governmental regulations.”

“Sir, please, we have a Special Talent child. You all need her to stay clean! Please, just once...”

“The Talent Identification Group identifies candidates with the acknowledgment that some of them will become infected with at least Stage 1 by the time they reach adulthood. Also, as long as she has at least the Model X-B Gas Mask or newer, she could wear her mask inside at all times to gain the additional 0.5% efficiency needed to be completely immune...”

“... You want my daughter to wear a mask all the time?” My father's voice was low and angry.

“No, sir,” the agent remained emotionless. “I am offering budget alternatives to families who require their child remain completely clean...”

“Get out, please.” My father said, retaining that same tone.

“Of course sir.... but before I go... I couldn't help but notice that you had to inform your family, with your own voice, that they needed to mask up. We can offer you a state-of-the-art door alarm that will ensure no member of your family never inhales accidental spores! All of this for the low price...”

“Get. Out.” My father said.

“Of course, sir.”

I returned to my desk and tried to resume working. My head, however, was spinning. I had always been aware of the burdens my family carried, but today, I felt more responsible than I had before. I began thinking about my oldest brother, Lucas, and how he began to deteriorate once he got to Stage 3. He went from being the hard-working, loving, protective brother I had grown up with into an incoherent mess. I remember the day when he stopped being able to grip or stand. I remember the tears and cries from my mother when the government truck came to haul him off to some distant mental facility. Now, my father and Stephen were headed to the same fate. All of them – my mother and Lucas included – they had all put their well-being aside for this small glimmer of hope. Here I was, sitting with a top-of-the-line 100% efficient gas mask that cost my family a small fortune, while they polluted their brains every day with masks that would hardly be found among even the homeless. Part of me wanted to just walk right outside, mask-less, and take one deep breath. That way, at least, my family could stop sacrificing just so I'd remain clean.

“Angela! Breakfast is ready!” My mom tried so hard to sound cheerful.

Our house was among the smaller ones in the city, and the front room made that more than clear. A drab colored love seat took up over half of the room's total length and sat facing a similarly colored wall which contained nothing but a small, out of color television. A tiny card table and a singular chair sat against the opposite wall. There, my mom had set a bowl of cereal and a glass of water. My father was reclining in the love seat. His hair had gone almost completely gray with a receding hairline. His khaki pants and stained dark blue shirt were much too baggy for his current size. My mother sat on the floor next to the card table. She was reading a book entitled So You Want Your Child in Government?and humming to herself softly. She, too wore khaki pants, but her blue shirt was much cleaner and had much more vibrant color.

“Why are you wearing that?” My father asked as I stepped into the room. I realized he was talking about the older mask that I had neglected to take off.

“You wanted to open the door, and this is the first mask I found,” I said as I made my way over to the card table.

“Where is the new one, dear?” my mother asked, looking up from her book.

“I don't know.”

“Well, you need to have it with you always, my dear. And from now on you should wear it inside. Your father and I won't be able to get the latest filter for the house...”

“I heard... and... fine....” I said, not wanting an argument. I sat down at the table. “How am I supposed to eat?”

“Don't be smart with me, young lady,” my mom said as she was getting up. She then made her way into my room, and soon came out holding my mask. “It was right there on your desk, Angela.”

“Yeah... well maybe if you'd gotten me a normal looking one I could have found it. Hard to see when it's totally transparent.”

“Angela Beth1 How dare you!” my mom exclaimed incredulously. “I would have killed for the ability to show my face in public when I was growing up! I couldn't have been more jealous of all the girls with those...” she put it down forcefully on the table. “Wear it. All the time. Please.”

“Good morning, Ma, Pa, Sis.” I heard as Stephen emerged from his room. He was slender but with average height and curly blonde hair. His shirt was a clean dark blue.

“Good morning, son.” my mom said, turning towards him. “I'm sorry but there's no breakfast today. There is some coffee left over, though.” I glanced down at my bowl. It was still half full. I briefly considered offering it to Stephen, but I knew none of the three people in this room would let that happen.

 

 

II

“Angela. Beth. Miles.” the man in front of me mumbled to himself as he entered my data into his computer. “Female. Height: 5 feet, 5 inches. Weight: 115 pounds. Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Green... There we go...” he turned his monitor towards me so I could see it. “Make sure all of that is correct, spelled correctly...”

I quickly glanced over it and nodded. I would have spoken, but I couldn't at all calm the butterflies in my stomach. Today was my nineteenth birthday, and it was the day I was to be officially tested by the government. I – and my family – had done everything necessary, and more, for the Talent Identification Group up to this point, but it could all be thrown away with a positive infection test. I clearly recalled the many uncomfortable nights sleeping with my mask on, and I could only imagine how broken I'd feel if it were all for naught.

“I'm sure you know why you're here, Ms. Miles...” the man said as he shuffled around some papers on his desk. He was a tall, extremely handsome, middle-aged man. His hair was dark with minor streaks of gray. He wore a bright blue lab coat. “... today we will be administering an official test for any spore infection. As you know, if you're in Stage 0 of infection, you will immediately be entered into our Higher Educational Governmental Program for the next four years. However, if it turns out that you are in Stage 1 or higher, I'm afraid we will be unable to enter you into the program at this time. Do you understand?” I nodded at him. He took out a long syringe and stuck it into my arm. I grew queasy watching my blood fill the container. “There, it's done,” he said, rubbing my arm with a cotton swab. “It should just take a few minutes.” He soon left the room.

The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder with each tick as I sat there for what seemed like ages. I first thought of Lucas and wondered how his recovery was going. My family couldn't afford to send him to Rehabilitatex, the private rehab facility – the one that actually seemed to send people back home – but I still held out hope for him. He had been the first one to recognize my talent. Even before the TIG had come to my school, he was out there trying to convince my parents and Stephen that I was our ticket out of all of this. He was the first one to sacrifice for me, and of course that, right now, only seemed like that made him the first to go. I teared up thinking about him when the Stage 3 Infection finally hit. You could still feel him – I knew he was still in there – but he was trapped inside a body that could no longer speak or move.

It had just been very recently that we had to send my father away, too. We had all been expecting it for a while, despite his protests, as his coughing and fatigue continued to progress further and further. Throughout his Stage 2, my mother became more and more desperate to save money to send him to get real care at Rehabilitatex, but something would always come up... usually regarding me. “Angela must stay clean.... I'll be fine...” he'd always say. My mom, in the end, would always choose to spend the money on me than him.

My mother and Stephen were both clearly into Stage 2 at this point, but both, like my father, refused to acknowledge it or let it slow down their sacrifices. Tears began rolling down my face thinking about them. All I ever did was take from them... and I was just about to find out if I would even be able to give anything back.

I heard the door open and wiped my tears. “Ms. Miles...” the same man as before ambled over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Follow me.”

“What... happened?” I could barely make out words through my nerves. He refused to answer as he made his way to the door, beckoning me once again. I followed him through a completely nondescript white hallway into another, nearly identical looking room.

“The Sculptor will be with your shortly,” the man said as he shut me into the room alone.

The Sculptor? I had never heard of such a person... or thing... before. My mind raced through the possibilities and I began to hyperventilate. “How can this be good?” I couldn't help but thinking. “I must be infected... what are they going to do to me?”

The door once again opened and I snapped back to reality. A woman emerged. She was extremely tall, slender with beautiful curly dark brown hair. Her skin was a crisp brown with perfect complexion. “Angela Miles...” she said, extending her hand with a gigantic smile. “Nice to meet you.” I weakly grasped her hand and gave her a faint smile. “I'm the Sculptor, and I am here to get a perfect model of your face.” she said as she bent down close to me.

“Ummm... okay?” I asked, still very obviously confused.

“Look at me,” she said, leaning in a bit more. “Do you see anything?” I looked closely at her face and was able to make out an extremely thin layer of plastic contoured perfectly to her skin.

“You're wearing a mask.”

“I am, and you would have never been able to tell had I not told you. This is the Model S-G Gas Mask. Totally state-of-the-art technology. 100% efficient filter for over 10 years.” She took it off and held it out for me. It was hardly visible. “Here... take it... try to break it.”

I took it from her hand and was astonished at its light weight. I tried my hardest to snap it in half, but it had the perfect blend of flexibility and rigidity.

“The Model S-G is exclusive to members of government and those in its training program. Each one is custom designed to fit the individual face...”

“Wait... so this means... I passed?” I couldn't help but interrupt her as I still had several butterflies flying around in my stomach.

The woman gave a hearty laugh. “Of course you did, my dear. Welcome to the government.”

 

 

III

“Ms. Miles, today we move into the next stage of your training,” said the man in the driver's seat next to me. His name was Shane Salek, and he had been my personal mentor throughout the program. “ We just need to make one stop before we begin.”

We stopped at a tiny unmarked building seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Fields of blue flowers stretched for miles with no end in sight. Inside the building were several masked soldiers, a singular wooden table, and two chairs. “Have a seat, Angela.” I obliged.

Things had certainly improved since I entered into the program. Mom would write often and talk about how she was finally able to afford good filters and masks for everyone, and how she could feel that she and Stephen were slowly ridding themselves of the infection. I had been able to pull a few strings to get Lucas and Dad into Rehabilitatex, and I had heard that they were recovering quite well. However, in this moment, in this room, I felt a bit apprehensive. Something about the fields of blue flowers felt oddly ominous, as well.

Mr. Salek slid a paper over to me. “Everything that you will see today is completely classified,” he said. “This is your... standard... non-disclosure agreement.”

I took the paper and read it carefully. “If I break this agreement, it says here it is punishable by death?” I asked nervously.

“Yes. As of the moment you sign this agreement, the government will own your life completely and fully. Surely, you must understand the importance of keeping our secrets.” I continued to stare at the page. “Of course, at this moment you are free to not sign. You may turn back, exit the program, and return you and your family to the life you once had... This would include, of course, your father and brother having to move out of Rehabilitatex and back into The Pit...”

I weakly nodded at him as tears began to pool in my eyes. So this was the cost. I had always known something like this would come one day, but that didn't make me any more prepared. However, what choice did I have? I snatched his pen and signed the document.

“Good, now let's move on.”

We drove further and further into the fields of blue flowers. Eventually, we came to a massive prison-like building. More fields surrounded the building and seemed to stretch for many more miles past it. Many of the fields in the immediate area were being tended.

“What is this place?” I asked. “This isn't the city prison...”

“This... is The Pit,” Mr. Salek said, getting out of the car.

“The... the... rehab center? Hospital Endure? Isn't it a private facility?”

“That is the story.”

I looked around in complete shock. This is where Lucas had spent nearly 5 years. This is where my father had stayed. “What's going on here?” I asked. “Why are all they harvesting those flowers?”

“A consistent work schedule is imperative for people in recovery. They've been unable to work – some of them for months or years – before their families did the right thing by sending them out here. Here, we clean up their spores, get them walking again, and put them to work for the betterment of our great Blue City.”

“What are these flowers? What do we do with all of them?”

“Why, Ms. Miles, that is our very next stop.”

We got back into his car and drove for what seemed like forever. The only sights were the still endless fields of those blue flowers.

We soon came across a landfill and came to a stop. The smell was so overwhelming it penetrated my mask. “Don't worry, the landfill smell will get through, but you're still protected from the spores,” Mr. Salek said to me as he saw me physically recoil from the odor. As we approached, I saw a giant vent into the ground. It was blowing a fine dust into the air. “We go down here,” he said, directing to me to a hatch near the vent.

We descended deep underground into a massive laboratory. It was filled with incessant tapping-like noises intermittent with the loud roar of the fan that fed into the vent on the surface. “Welcome to the Central Pollutants Agency, CPA for short,” Mr. Salek said as he opened his arms wide.

I peered over the railing of the balcony. On one side of the room, scientists in bright blue lab coats buzzed around the room. Some peered through microscopes, others carefully measuring things, but all of them seemed to be working with that same blue flower. On the other side, rows and rows of people, all dressed in ragged navy blue shirts, sat side by side with a bowl and stick in hand, grinding those blue flowers down. They would then pour the dust into a large bin. The large bin, then was taken over to the large fan.

My throat was completely dry. “So... the spores...” I swallowed a massive lump in my throat.

“The spores are unknown pollutants put into the air by the Red Shirts in the Red City.” Mr. Salek explained in a suspiciously calm voice. “Fortunately, our brilliant scientists have discovered this wonderful flower that can counteract them. Once the flowers are harvested, they're brought here, ground to dust, and released into the atmosphere. Who knows how much toxicity levels would increase year-to-year if it weren't for us!”

I could do nothing but stare out at the laboratory below. My head raced with all the heartaches and struggles my family had been through.

All of a sudden I felt something press against my temple. “That's what it is,” Mr. Salek said in a stern voice. I began hyperventilating and sweating as I continued to stare out at the flower dust in the fan. Mr. Salek pressed harder against me head, and I fell to my knees. I looked up at him, only to stare down the barrel of a gun. “That's what it is,” he said again in a sinister voice.

“That's what it is,” I said.

 

 

3

Quote

Harold is 95 and lives in a Senior Citizen Home. Every night after dinner, Harold goes to a secluded garden behind the Centre to sit and ponder his accomplishments and long life.

One evening, Mildred, age 87, wanders into the garden. They begin to chat and before they know it, several hours have passed.

After a short lull in their conversation, Harold turns to Mildred and asks, "Do you know what I miss most of all?" Sex!"

Mildred exclaims, "Why you old fart! You couldn't get it up if I held a gun to your head!"

"I know," Harold says, "but it would be nice if a woman could just hold it for a while."

"Well, I can oblige," says Mildred, who unzips his trousers, removes his manhood and proceeds to hold it. Afterward, they agree to meet secretly each night in the garden where they would sit and talk and Mildred would hold Harold's manhood.

Then one night, Harold didn't show up at their usual meeting place. Alarmed, Mildred decided to find Harold to make sure that he was okay.

She walked around the Senior Citizen Home. She found him sitting by the pool with Ethel, another female resident, who was holding Harold's manhood.

Furious, Mildred yelled, "You two-timing son of a *****! What does Ethel have that I don't have?"

Old Harold smiled happily and replied, "Parkinson's

 

 

 

4

Quote

Dad shut himself inside his bunker at the beginning of 2020. He said the world was about to end and when we didn’t believe him, he told us to wake up. It was raining that day. I remember focusing on the water hitting the windowpanes while my sister tried to change Dad’s mind. I knew it was no use. He was too stubborn to listen to anyone except maybe Donald Trump. WHO had just declared that COVID-19 had pushed the world into a pandemic. Dad wanted us to join him and when we told him no, he called us brainwashed.

He purchased the land before I was born. Only because of the dilapidated military facility that came with it. It was abandoned sometime in the 60s, I think. My sister was there from the beginning, even before Dad’s obsession pushed Mom away. It’s hard for me to imagine what he was like back then. Mom says he was a gentleman. But they married young, and a person can change a lot during those years. And so did Dad. All I remember from him during childhood are the weekends at the bunker. Constantly renovating it and stockpiling it with everything he would need to survive down there.

We couldn’t stop him. He wasn’t the best Dad, not even a good one, but it was sad to see him go all the same. He was excited, even though he thought that civilization was about to collapse. I guess that happens when you’ve spent your entire adult life preparing. We had to set up an old radio to keep in touch with him. He didn’t trust mobile phones. We didn’t hear from him often, just once a month, sometimes less. The last time he radioed in, he said he had found a hidden door. He was going to see where it went. That was three months ago.

“You think he’s okay?” my sister said. “He wasn’t in great health. I told him.”

We sat in the car, on our way to check up on him, driving through the heatwave.

“His radio might have broken down,” I said. “Let’s not assume the worst.”

But I felt worried too. There was something strange about that hidden door, and his tone when he mentioned it. It didn’t sit right with me. But maybe it was just the heat and the endless desert around us that played tricks on my mind. I couldn’t really tell.

***

It was dark when we arrived. Dad’s truck stood where he had left it, beneath some tarp that blew in the chilly, sand-carrying wind. We turned on our flashlights and walked to the cliff above the bunker. The steel door was made to withstand a nuclear blast. Luckily, I owned the only spare key in existence. Before I used it, I banged on the door as hard as I could and yelled for Dad. I worried he would mistake us for intruders and shoot us. If he was confused, and if it was dark, it was a real possibility. I banged again and yelled at the top of my lungs:

“Dad, are you there? It’s me, Josh! Eveline is here as well!”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Eveline said.

I nodded. “Dad! I’m going to open the door now!”

I was seventeen the last time I was here. Back then it was the Muslims that were going to end civilization as we knew it. Before that, it was the Russians. Now it was China. There was always something threatening his beloved freedom, and yet he was never truly free. My sister put her hand on my wrist just as I was about to unlock the door.

“You know,” she said. “Maybe we should just call the authorities after all and–”

“No,” I said. “He’ll fight them.”

I unlocked the heavy door. A rancid smell escaped the darkness inside. It was the odor of death. I recognized it from when Dad tried––and ultimately failed––to learn how to hunt and let a reindeer carcass rot on the property for weeks. My sister had already stopped visiting him by then. I didn’t tell her what the smell reminded me of. She covered her nose with her shirt. We descended the spiral stairs. It creaked for each step we took, almost as if it was about to fall apart.

I tried the light switch at the bottom. The click echoed throughout the long corridor leading to the living area. Nothing happened.

“Hm.” I realized that the batteries, which he charged by the use of an old exercise bike, were dead. That meant he was most likely dead as well. “The generator could be broken,” I said. “But… Maybe you should wait back here, just in case… you know.”

I pointed my flashlight in front of me. The light was too weak to reach the end of the corridor. On the way here I had felt ready. I felt sad, the kind of empty sadness you feel after the death of a parent that was never any good, but I didn’t feel worried. Now, on the other hand, while staring into the dark corridor that I used to run through as a kid… I was afraid. The fear reminded me of how my childhood night terrors used to start. They always crept up on me in the darkness, grew with the grotesque shadows on my bedroom ceiling.

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” Eveline said. “We stay together.”

We walked into the darkness. The foul smell intensified for every step we took, and so did my heartbeat. I was glad my sister didn’t stay behind. The bunker seemed so much smaller than I remembered it, much more cramped. The asymmetry between my memories and reality made everything feel off somehow, just as if the bunker was merely a model of the real thing. But it wasn’t. I had just grown up.

The Confederate flag greeted us at the end of the corridor. It hung on the concrete wall. It looked pale in the hotspot of the flashlight, almost like a phantom. And, of course, in many ways it was. A ghost from a time long ago. Or perhaps a corpse brought back to life. An abomination. It reminded me of Dad more than anything else.

“You have to be seriously confused to praise freedom as much as Dad and hang that symbol of lesser freedom in the world on your wall,” Eveline said.

“He wanted to protect his freedom so much that he built a prison for himself.” I removed the light from the flag, leaving only darkness. “You bet he was confused.”

We entered the main chamber. It was overfilled with litter and clutter. Empty cans––both the food and beer kinds––lay scattered across the sticky floor. We had to take large steps not to step on any of the trash.

“That’s weird.” Eveline pointed her flashlight at the small dining table. “Look.”

My hair stood up on my neck before I even realized what she meant. The table was set for three people. I didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to process what I was seeing, and just when I was about to speak my sister interrupted me:

“Who the hell was here with him?”

“We don’t know–” I began. “I mean, he might have left the old plates on the table and–”

A sound of something falling to the ground came from one of the other rooms further into the bunker. I pointed my light in its direction but couldn’t see what made it.

“Dad!” I yelled. “It’s me, Josh! You there?”

No response.

“I’m afraid,” Eveline whispered. “Something isn’t right.”

I only vaguely heard what she said. My focus was on something else. Something on the wall on the other end of the room.

“That’s not supposed to be there.” I slowly walked toward it. “That must have been what he talked about over the radio.”

Dad had hacked away a layer of concrete, for whatever reason, and uncovered a rusty, metal door behind it. It stood ajar. A lukewarm, musty breeze came out of it. My sister walked up to me as I carefully pried the door open with the back of my flashlight. I felt my heart in my throat. I could hear my sister begging for us to leave, almost in tears. But I needed to know what was behind that door. It was imperative to understand what had happened here. I needed to know. I needed closure.

“What in heavens name…” Eveline looked over my shoulder. “Why is this here?”

Behind the door was a room about the size of a broom cupboard. It was unremarkable except for a circular hole in the middle of the floor. I shone my light into it, but I couldn’t see the bottom. Just as I thought it was big enough for a person, my sister said:

“Do you think he fell?”

Drops of sweat from my forehead fell down the pit. I felt dizzy and stepped back, afraid I would fall inside. My sister picked up a can filled with some rotten beans and threw it down the hole. It clattered against the walls as it bounced from one side to another. The sound faded away until we couldn’t hear it anymore. There was no indication it touched down at the bottom. I stretched out my hand and held it above the opening.

“It’s warm,” I said. “The air, I mean.”

“Maybe he fell.” Eveline stepped back, almost as if she were convinced. “Can we please get out of here?” She reached for my arm. “We can return with the police. Please… Josh?”

“It wasn’t dark when Dad found this,” I said. “He would have seen the hole.”

“Josh? Please.”

“Just give me a moment to think.” I walked toward the hallway that led to the other rooms, desperately hoping to find him. For some reason, it was important for me to see him. To be able to leave without wondering. I needed to know that he was truly dead. “I just want to–” I stopped myself after I accidentally pointed the flashlight on the floor in the middle of the hallway, revealing a pair of feet. “I think I found him!” I ran up to the body.

“Wait!” Eveline yelled and reluctantly followed me to avoid being left alone.

It wasn’t Dad. I screamed upon the realization. My mind couldn’t comprehend what I had just seen. I spun around and tried to run away, completely acting on instinct, and crashed into my sister. She grabbed me, kept me still, and as she looked behind me, down at the dead body on the floor, she began to cry while her hands trembled uncontrollably against my shoulders.

“Oh my God,” she said. “How… how is it possible? It’s you!”

“Let’s get a hell out of here,” I said. “Move!”

There was nothing that could explain this, and the more my mind tried to––moving in an endless loop doing so––the dread grew inside me. I only got a glimpse of the body before I panicked, but my sister was right. The half-rotten face was the same as mine, with a bullet hole in the middle of the forehead.

We stumbled our way through the living area, tipping over chairs and kicking cans all over the place, and just as we were about to get out of the mess a familiar voice echoed through the hallway we had just escaped.

“Josh!”

It was Dad. We both stopped in our tracks.

“Is that you? Josh!”

“Dad?” I yelled back. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Don’t worry!” It sounded like he was at the other end of the bunker, possibly inside the storeroom. “I killed the son of a *****, put a bullet right between his eyes!”

“Come out from there!” I yelled. “We have to leave, it’s not safe here!”

Silence.

“Something is wrong,” Eveline said. “I don’t think–”

“Dad!” I yelled. “Come out!”

“I can’t move!” Dad said. “I’m stuck under a shelf! I’ll need your help, son!”

I turned to my sister. “Go back up. I’ll get that old bastard out of there. We’ll be right behind you, okay?”

“Think, Josh!” Eveline begged. “You think he’s been stuck under a shelf for–”

I should have listened, but even after what we had just seen I just couldn’t bring myself to even consider something as outlandish as what my sister was suggesting. It was simply too far-fetched, too unbelievable to penetrate all my layers of presumptions about reality. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. Hence, I ran back to the hallway, yelling for my sister to get back up to the surface and wait for us there.

“I’m coming, Dad!”

I only slowed down to carefully step over the corpse that bore my face. Perhaps, I thought, it was just a coincidence. A burglar that just happened to look like me. After all, the face had begun to rot. It wasn’t obviously me. I felt stupid and I almost convinced myself that it was just my childhood fear of the dark coming back to life down here. And then, just as I was about to walk past the small composting toilet that stood inside a small room at the end of the hallway, I stopped. Shivers spread across my entire body, paralyzing me. Dad sat on the toilet. His gun still hung from his trigger finger and his brain was splattered across the wall behind him. He had his journal in his lap, covered in blood.

“Josh!” Dad yelled from the darkness. “Help me!”

I was frozen in place, both by fear and confusion, unable to make any decisions.

“Come on, Josh!” Dad kept yelling. “I need your help, son!”

My mind was racing. There was no way of knowing who was who. When I heard Dad’s voice yelling for help while watching his dead body, nothing but absolute terror revibrated inside me. I slowly reached for the journal in Dad’s lap and grabbed it, hoping it would shed some light on the situation. I was just about to open it when my sister screamed. I ran back, this time jumping over my doppelgänger's body, and found her looking at something at the corner of the main chamber.

“I told you to–” I said, but changed my mind. “Are you okay, what happened?”

“It’s–” she cried. “It’s me.”

Crawled up in the corner was her naked, dead body. Her head had been twisted in such a way that the neck had been broken.

“There’s something seriously wicked going on here,” I said. “Dad shot himself in the head, a long time ago by the looks of it, and yet he keeps yelling for help. Let’s get back to the car, now!”

***

We drove away from the bunker as fast as we could, leaving whatever was still alive down there yelling for help. My sister insisted on staying at my place for a few days. I didn’t mind having her around. We shared an experience no one else could relate to, and we needed each other to overcome the trauma.

It took a day for me to build up the courage to open Dad’s journal. It began with his usual deranged conspiracy theories. I flipped past them. At the end, he had only made short notes.

Found a hidden door.
Deep pit, possible the remains of some old black project.
Eveline and Josh woke me up. A “surprise visit”. Didn’t hear them enter. Strange.
Had dinner with them, something seems off.
It isn’t them! They tried to make me [Illegible]!!!
God help me, it isn’t them!
I shot the son of a ***** right between the eyes!
Hiding in the bathroom now, this will probably be my last entry.
God forgive me.
Chills went down my spine as I read the last entry on the blood-drenched page.

I never got the other one. She’s still out there somewhere. I only got one bullet left. I won’t allow her to do that abhorrent thing to me. Forgive me.
My sister has been cooking for hours. She just called for me from the kitchen:

“Josh? Come here, I want to show you something!”

 

5

Quote

The Curse of the Crumpled Record

Whilst investigating the death of a local housekeeper, a virtuous author called Katy Gobble uncovers a legend about a supernaturally-cursed, crumpled record circulating throughout Kent. As soon as anyone uses the record, he or she has exactly 31 days left to live.

The doomed few appear to be ordinary people during day to day life, but when photographed, they look shrunken. A marked person feels like a giant guppy to touch.

Katy gets hold of the record, refusing to believe the superstition. A collage of images flash into her mind: a snowy flamingo balancing on a squat housekeeper, an old newspaper headline about a sausage accident, a hooded owl ranting about fingernails and a drinking well located in a dirty place.

When Katy notices her toenails have guppy-like properties, she realises that the curse of the crumpled record is true and calls in her father, a fishmonger called Mo Barlow, to help.

Mo examines the record and willingly submits himself to the curse. He finds that the same visions flash before his eyes. He finds the snowy flamingo balancing on a squat housekeeper particularly chilling. He joins the queue for a supernatural death.

Katy and Mo pursue a quest to uncover the meaning of the visions, starting with a search for the hooded owl. Will they be able to stop the curse before their time is up?

 

 

6

Quote

On July 4, 1996 in Southport, North Carolina, Julie James and her friends Ray Bronson, Helen Shivers, and Barry Cox drive to the beach. While driving along a coastal byway, they accidentally hit a pedestrian. Julie's friend Max Neurick passes by them on the road. Julie reassures Max of their well-being, and he leaves. The group decides to dump the body in the water, but the pedestrian wakes up and attacks Helen. She struggles and he falls into the water. They group flees the docks and swears to never discuss what happened.

A year later in 1997, Julie returns home from college for the summer. The friends have gone their separate ways. Julie receives a letter with no return address, stating, "I know what you did last summer!" Julie tracks down Helen, and they take the note to Barry, who suspects Max. They confront Max on the docks, and Barry threatens him with a hook. Julie meets Ray, who now works as a fisherman. Later, Max is killed by a figure in a rain slicker wielding a hook. Barry discovers a note in his gym locker saying, "I know". He is then ambushed by the same assailant stealing and driving his car.

Julie researches newspaper articles, believing that the man they ran over was a local named David Egan. Helen and Julie meet with David's sister Missy at her home. Missy explains that their family was devastated by David's death and that a friend of his named Billy Blue visited her to pay his respects. That night, the killer sneaks into Helen's house, cuts off her hair while she sleeps and writes "Soon" in lipstick on her mirror.

The following morning, Julie finds Max's corpse wearing Barry's stolen jacket and covered in crabs in the trunk of her car. When she calls the others, the body and the crabs are missing. Julie, Helen and Barry confront Ray about the recent events. The latter claims to also have received a threatening letter. Julie goes back to visit Missy, while Barry and Helen participate in the 4th of July parade. Missy reveals David allegedly committed suicide out of guilt for the death of his girlfriend, Susie Willis, in a car accident and shows David's suicide note to Julie. As the writing matches that of the note she received, Julie realizes it was not a suicide note, but a death threat.

At the Croaker Beauty Pageant, Helen witnesses Barry being murdered on the balcony. She rushes upstairs with a police officer, but finds no sign of the killer or Barry. A police officer is escorting Helen home when the killer lures him into an alley and murders him. Helen runs to her family's store, where her sister Elsa is closing for the night. The killer enters the store and murders Elsa. Helen is chased upstairs and escapes through a window, falling to an alleyway. She runs toward the street, but the killer stops her and slashes her to death, her screams unheard by the ongoing parade.

Julie finds an article mentioning Susie's father, Ben Willis, and realizes Ben was the man that they ran over, moments after he killed David to avenge his daughter. She goes to the docks to tell Ray, but notices Ray's boat is called Billy Blue and flees from him. A fisherman appears and knocks Ray unconscious, inviting Julie to hide on his boat. On the boat, she finds photos and articles about her and her friends, and pictures of Susie. The boat leaves the docks, and the fisherman is revealed to be Ben Willis. He chases Julie below deck, where she uncovers the bodies of his victims, including Helen, and Barry, in the boat's icebox. Ray regains consciousness and steals a motorboat to rescue Julie. He ultimately uses the rigging to sever Ben's hand and send him overboard. When Julie and Ray are questioned by the police, they deny knowing why Ben attempted to kill them, but are relieved not to have actually killed anyone, and reconcile.

A year later in 1998, Julie is in college in Boston. As she enters the shower, she notices the words "I still know" written in the steam on the shower door. Moments later, a dark figure crashes through it as Julie screams.

 

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Tiebreakers based on timestamps, don't delay

If there is a tie for Best Story the timestamp tiebreaker will be applied to the player that submitted their story first.

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