tyler-b Tyler B

Rose Reynolds is a famous artist that utilizes the medium of paintings and statues to unsettle critics. Suddenly, she rises from her casket as she learns she has been dead for some time. She must find help from anyone she can until she can find a way to be alive again while being chased by a strange entity. While on her journey she discovers tapes of a man named Mark Sullivan who is undergoing a similar situation. She must find out how to stop the entity.

Horror Ghost stories Not for children under 13.

#demons #scary #gore #liminalspace #fallenstar
In progress - New chapter Every 30 days
reading time
AA Share


Rose grabbed her laptop bag, keeping it close to her side. She kept it snug against her thigh and glanced at her coworkers unwillingly while she crept out from the cubicle. The sounds of the phone ringing made her want to scream. On her less than pleasant stroll to escape the office she glanced at her boss’s office. She could see that he sat there without a worry in the world. A contrived and dirty old man who didn’t want to help a single soul beside himself. Or more accurately, his wallet.

Once she entered the elevator she stared at the room with disgust as the doors closed. She realized her subconscious let the laptop back afloat carelessly out from her side now. Something began to drip from her nose. She instinctively wiped it with the back of her hand. The red substance glistened in the dim yellow light of the elevator that she now strangely realized smelled like old fast food and feet. Without a care, she rubbed the blood on the back of her hand until it hardened and flaked off. Though before she could finish, the elevator door opened. She pulled her sleeve over the bloodied spot on her hand.

The craving was already creeping up her spine since the last time she did it. Rose passed up her coworkers without giving them the slightest hint that they existed. Afterall, they didn’t matter at the moment. They really didn’t exist. They couldn’t if she didn’t want them to. She recalled the novel 1984. A concept presented itself in her mind from the book she studied all those years ago in highschool. Everything existed within the mind. If she wanted to, she could fly in front of all these people; figuratively, of course. How she wished she could fly away. What she was about to do was the closest thing to flying away she could achieve.

Her feet carried her outside to the sunny environment. It blinded her at first. She had to lift her arm in front of her eyes to avoid the burning light. The office forced the life out of her so much so that it was difficult for her to process the light on a sunny day. Finally, she made it to her little cracked out silver toyota that somehow still went on with a little less than a flagellant-like muffler. The front bumper hung off it, barely clinging onto the corner of the grill. Her boss told her she would be fired if it wasn’t fixed soon because it gave the company a bad look. He needs me, he won’t, she thought.

Sweltering heat made it almost impossible to breathe when she sat down in the burning car seat. She didn’t dare touch the wheel because she knew it would nearly fry off the nerves in her hands. She put the key into the ignition and turned it. Her little car whirred to life and she waited for the steering wheel to cool off.

After a while of driving along the road home she finally reached the driveway to her trailer in the middle of the woods and adjusted her rearview mirror. Suddenly, she noticed something in the mirror just out of her sight in the back seat behind her own seat. Half of a shadow with a singular black, beady, and glistening eye looking back at her. Her heart fluttered and she jumped out of the car in an instant to see that there was nothing in her backseat. Her lungs heaved. She stared at the black, stained seats in the back contemplating whether to move. If she moved it might permit something even worse to happen. Her eyes flicked back to her laptop bag and she noted that her keys were still in the key fob. Reluctantly, she sent her hand into the car retrieving the bag and her keys and slamming the door in one swift motion. Her heart swam back down leisurely to a steady pace.

Now that she thought about it, it was probably the cocaine that caused it. Perhaps she finally had too much in one sitting. And if it wasn’t she wished she could have seen the whole of whatever it was. She had the idea that it wasn’t showing itself fully. Like it was toying with her. What am I thinking? I just need rest. It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She turned back to her rusty trailer surrounded by trees. Her perfect little secluded bunch of delight. Stimulation lied just beyond the door. Her art pieces and her drugs lied just beyond that sliver of combination of wood and metal. The air changed in temperature. A more earthy smell slipped through the air. The color of the light got darker as well. She stabbed her nails into the palms of her hands, turning around slowly until she saw that her car was gone. The formation of the forest seemed to open now to a small brick and concrete office building that lit up in red and blue neon lights. Its sign presented Horne Radio Station. Her breathing became labored while she tried to quiet herself.

Why is this happening? Now she followed the newly laid gravel path continuing to scrape her nails along her palms. The closer she got, the more she felt a presence like something stared at her from just beyond what she could see. She glanced back and forth, no longer seeing her trailer in her peripheral vision. Nothing crept around the forest to look at her. No creature sang. No wind fluttered her hair. It was almost like time froze. She reached the glass front doors of the office, seeing no light within. She tugged the doors open where she could see the light from outside shine on the floors for as long as she could see until darkness enveloped in the far distance. How big is this place?

This had to be a dream. And like a dream, her brain created this scenario in which the dream and the heart itself made her fear this darkness yet still enter it. She walked for a while in the darkness that slowly ate away at the fear, achieving somberness.

All at once her senses registered and she gasped. Wherever she awoke, it was ice cold. She tried to move her legs to no avail. Cold barriers stopped her from escaping. She couldn’t breath, gasping for air in the darkness, pounding on the barrier above her. She heard the fast shifting of dirt above her. The darkness began to seem even dark now as her consciousness faded. Her body forced her to calm down to conserve the few particles of air left as the shifting of dirt above developed into slamming of metal on the cold barrier. Suddenly, the barrier disappeared and revealed unbearable light. She gasped and coughed, feeling as if her lungs hadn’t been used in years. After catching her breath, she noticed the new silence and opened her eyes to the blinding moon light to her unused eyes. A few men stood there, looking at her in horror. One ran off saying nothing while the second practically unhinged his jaw to scream and run off. The last froze and fainted.

The combination of sleepiness and the recent occurrence of little air made it hard for her to contemplate anything in the moment. She was stuck in the confinements of her mind, stretching her unused muscles and bones out of a slumber, finding it to be extremely painful and difficult. It snapped some reality back into her mind and brought some consciousness with it.

She realized now that she laid in a wood box with cold cushioning beneath her. Dirt surrounded the area above her, leading to a gaping hole which she saw the men through.

I was buried alive! Her mind went into overdrive as she clawed her way out of the hole. It seemed the men had paved an easy enough path to follow. Though her weak muscles and bones made it difficult. Her legs wobbled and her fingers, hands, and arms struggled to push her to her feet. Finally, she stood in the cold air above her grave. There was dirt under her nails.

Rose realized she wore a black and red dress. The one she wore at her most recent art show. Then the thought occurred that she was dead. As the morbid thought racked her brain, she looked down at the unconscious man laying down in front of her. What reaction could she muster to something so large. The weight of the thought oppressed her movements even moreso. What could she do? She felt her cold skin. It was practically the only thing covering her bones at this point. Who could she go to that wouldn’t be terrified? She died. I died. I’m alive. If only I could wake up.

She didn’t wake the man on the ground and saw a lit up car down the road from the cemetery. Maybe they were waiting on their grave robbing companion. She left him laying in the grass after throwing her expensive ring on his chest. Her chest heaved as her legs wobbled along the grass in what she thought would have been crying. But there were no tears. Her dead body couldn’t produce anything naturally anymore except for the feelings her brain allowed her to feel. The fact that she was alive terrified her, but what was worse was that she didn’t know why she was alive. What had she done that caused her to revive? What did that dream mean? Was it a dream?

Questions bombarded her mind and she wept. She only could perform the action without tears while aimlessly walking the streets of the little Tennessee town she decided to be buried in if she ever died. The thought came to her that she needed different clothes with a hood that would cover her skin. She didn’t dare go look in a mirror yet and she didn’t dare let anyone see her. She figured the grave robbers would say nothing because questions would arise about why they would be robbing a grave.

The lights of a gas station shined ahead. She could probably pass for a drug addict at far enough distance. Well, a hard drug addict. The sound of electric lights going out echoed behind her. She turned to see a street light flickering behind her. Then shattered, glistening glass falling to the ground. A figure stood in the far distance, halfway exposing itself from the corner of a building beside the cemetery. The next streetlight shattered with an explosion of glass. The figure now appeared the previous darkness of the last streetlight shattered. That thing is here too? Her stumbling and tired legs crumbled with a more immense weakness as she backed away from the broken streetlights. A car quickly approached behind the shadowy figure with its headlights on. Her heart fluttered and it swerved and passed her, speeding off with curses. It was gone and the streetlights appeared to have never shattered. The lights still hit the glistening pavement below.

Is there a single break? She turned around, feeling whatever the thing was following her still. She thought that it could have been death searching for its lost soul. She could feel the thing just behind her while she stumbled over the pavement as fast as she could toward the gas station.

Rose saw no cars parked outside. She thanked God in her head. Maybe no one would acknowledge her dead skin. Maybe she wouldn’t notice her own tattered skin. She hoped she didn’t see herself in the glass of the gas station.

Finally, she reached the front door, keeping her eyes locked on the tile floor. She stepped in, glancing at the register, seeing an old man reading a newspaper, not paying attention. She scurried to the back of the store trying to find some clothing racks. There was only one with a pink hoodie. A pair of old jeans were hung up on the rack too. Yes! She took the items off the shelf then peeked at the old man at the register from behind the aisle of junk food. Then she looked back at the clothes. How am I supposed to pay for this? I don’t have a card and there’s no way I could get the bank to acknowledge anything while I’m dead. That’s it! I’m dead! I could steal this and it wouldn’t matter! Sure, I have fingerprints, but I’m dead. They wouldn’t believe it!

And so she crept into the cold and smelly bathroom with the new clothes in her hands, not daring to look at herself in the mirror. She stripped down in the bathroom stall not daring to look down at her body, slipping the straps of her dress off her more boney than usual shoulders, letting the red and black sparkly dress fall onto the stall floor. Rose pulled the tacky pink hoodie over her messy hair. Then she gulped and realized she had to look at her legs to put on the jeans. She looked down at her gray feet that didn’t look very different. Only that they were boney and very white. She pulled her stolen jeans over her legs and decided to stay in the dress shoes that were surprisingly comfortable.

She flipped the hood over her head and wobbled out of the bathroom and behind the aisles with her old dress in her hands. The old man didn’t bother looking up from his newspaper as she walked out of the front door and to the back of the gas station. A dumpster laid behind the gas station. She felt the silky and prickly texture of the dress from the sparkly bits and the smooth pieces of fabric. Her favorite and most expensive dress was about to be reduced to dump garbage. Her chest heaved for weeps but no tears came.

When she composed herself, she walked back onto the street using the sidewalk to get to the most populated part of town. Where can I go? Who will believe me? After most of her popular art shows she moved to Tennessee with her boyfriend where she thought no one could find her. She could go to him. But that would be too upsetting. She could go to her sister’s house, but she’d have to walk to another state or find some way to get a ride. The only option was her boyfriend. She realized that she longed to see him at that moment. Much like cocaine she craved his loving touch. But would he dare touch her in this dead state that she thought made her look so ugly.

Now she began stumbling the direction to the apartment they got together in Tennessee. It was in low likelihood that he still lived there. He probably hated looking at those same four walls everyday that reminded him of her.

April 28, 2024, 3:41 a.m. 1 Report Embed Follow story
To be continued... New chapter Every 30 days.

Meet the author

Tyler B I’m not a professional author, but I hope to be someday. I typically focus on horror that has deep themes and psychological implications. I also post music (nonprofessional) on my YouTube for my projects here: http://www.youtube.com/@tylerb.1008.

Comment something

Dila Atman Dila Atman
April 28, 2024, 08:43