Two Sentence Horror | XV

I tremble when I feel him climb onto the bed to whisper his goodnight. It’s been a year since he passed.


Two Sentence Horror | I – V | Archives

Archive I

Every year on my deceased daughters birthday, I would hear ten light footsteps on the stairs and no more. She reminds me every year of the place I dropped her.


Archive II

As a child they told me, ‘You’re worth more than them’ – but back then I only slit the throats of animals. When they told me I was worth more than my family, I questioned it for a second before we plunged the knife.


Archive III

The old saying tells us ‘home is where the heart is’. My love for her tells me my home is six feet under.


Archive IV

She still plays games if I forget to bring her flowers, like hiding my pens or switching the lights off when I enter a room. It’s hard though – I’ve lost my job and her grave is at the other side of town.


Archive V

Eyes stared from every shadow of the room while invisible hands pinned me to the bed. I fell asleep in tears of terror and silent screams that night.