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.

Ужасы истории о привидениях 13+.

#demons #scary #gore #liminalspace #fallenstar
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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. Maybe she finally had too much in one sitting. And if it wasn’t she wished she could just forget it. 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 sun dimmed. 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. 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. She couldn’t cry, she had to keep calm. 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 rack 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. 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!

She remembered how people on the internet had theories that Michael Jackson was still alive. She wasn’t as famous as him but her art was more than well known and sold for quite a lot. If the art world found out, everyone would know. But she was thinking too much wasn’t she? If she just got out of here quick, no one would know.

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 slightly 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 garbage. The dress that marked her first success and was a sign of good luck for her was reduced to nothing. There was no point in crying even though she wanted to. She held it back.

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. 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.

Rose’s bones and muscles screamed at her and denied the movement of her limbs. Her chest heaved. She was practically gasping for air. The gasps echoed in the streets while she climbed her way up the uphill street to her boyfriend's apartment. The tired feeling in her muscles intensified to the point that it was no longer bearable. She placed her hands on the side of a building to support herself. She tried to grasp onto an idea to get her through the pain. Jason, her boyfriend came first, but it wasn’t enough. She needed something that motivated her beyond love. Her paintings came to mind. Ambition of ideas, the new one she just gathered from her rising, could now be interpreted by a canvas. She moved her legs once more until she could see the cream colored siding of Jason’s apartment. The TV flickered in the window. He always left it on at night.

Jason paced in the living room thinking about all of the things he had to do the next morning at work. He went through each exact motion he needed to go through to correctly do his job. I haven’t even taken my pills yet, he thought. So, he walked over to the kitchen counter and looked in the empty pill bottle. I’ll get more tomorrow then. He sighed and sat down on the couch, staring past the TV into his own endeavors for tomorrow. Sleepiness took over him. He laid his head down on his pillow on the couch, glancing at the picture of Rose on the table beside it. He didn’t feel that he deserved to sleep in the place where she did.

A faint knocking noise echoed through the apartment. He opened his eyes and looked at the clock that read three in the morning. Who?

The weak knocking came again. He walked to the door with anxiety. His heart pumped. He held his hand over the door knob for a few moments in hesitation. Then finally he whipped the door open. His eyes instantly fell on Rose.

“No,” he said.

Rose instantly wanted to cover herself in front of him. She thought her cheeks would flush but they couldn’t.

Jason stood silently staring at her; expressionless. He shook his head, turned around, and walked back into the living room with a sigh. Rose’s legs felt weak as she stumbled into the apartment and quietly closed the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say. What else could she say?

He sat down on the couch, watching TV. Jason’s legs were twitching around. That’s what he always did when he was nervous.

“Jason, I need your help,” she said. She felt dirty asking for help when he had to be without her for so long.

“Be quiet,” he said.


“What do you mean? I need your help! Please!” she screamed.

Her chest heaved dryly while her body attempted to cry. She brushed a chip bag off the couch and sat down next to him, trying to hug him.

Jason gasped and threw himself on the other side of the couch.

“Do that again!” he said. “Move the bag!”

“Why?! What do you mean?! Why are you treating me this way?!” she yelled.

It’s because you’re dead and probably look it. She picked up the bag of chips from the floor and dropped it. Anger filled her being.

“You’re real.”

“Yes, I’m real!” she continued,”I’m tired, please just let me stay here.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Is she real?

“Of course, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

Here was his dead girlfriend in front of him on the couch. Rose’s skin was pale beyond belief. Her eyes were sunken in and her hair was dry. She definitely fit the part of being dead. Jason’s heart still drummed in his skull and thumped blood in the veins in his forehead.

“Your funeral was four years ago, Rose. How are you here?”

Rose stared into his eyes. The look of fear, she thought. Though, who wouldn’t be afraid? She couldn’t think of an answer. What was there to say other than that she rose from the dead? The fact that this was most likely the case terrified her. How could she rise from the dead? She wasn’t some holy figure. The only answer she could conjure without sound completely insane happened to be that she didn’t know.

“I don’t know. I just woke up like this,” she said.

“Oh, come on I deserve more than that!”

“I know. I know. I just don’t have answers. I just crawled out of my own casket!” she yelled.

He let out an unbelieving chuckle.

“That’s crazy. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

I do. I really do. She’s so pale, God so pale. It wasn’t fair to do that to her.

She felt a pouty feeling writhe up her throat and conjure into dry sobs. She wasn’t human. It felt like she was a freak. She hoped that that thought wasn’t the truth. But there was too much happening. She couldn’t think about anything like that at the moment or she might burst.

Jason got up, walked across the room and sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist which now that he felt it, wasn’t so different in size. It was cold. Unnaturally cold. He still felt love swelling in his chest like when he first met her. But he couldn’t process the unnecessary pain he experienced to cry. He just held her tight.

Rose hugged him back, holding his noticeably bulkier body. The warmth felt so good. So soothing on her skin. He smelled so good unlike the rest of the world. At that moment, she felt happy. All at once with no control, she cried with no tears, heaving dryly on his shoulders.

He felt this energy, this final indication that she really was alive despite her cold dead body. He squeezed her tighter and cried too. All that time she was dead and now she wasn’t. Just like that. The universe must’ve been on his side.

It all came together like pieces of a puzzle. They let go of each other and smiled. Without another word, Jason put on some reality TV that they always chose to fall asleep to. It was stupid and made them laugh. They laid together on the couch, giggled a few times, then drifted into slumber.

Before Jason fell asleep, he couldn’t help but realize how uncanny her body appeared and felt. It was terrifying that he was holding his cold, dead girlfriend in his hands. It took her so long to warm under the covers with him. It took him a bit longer than her to fall asleep, but he finally did.

Rose felt herself slip into a dream. She knew this one would be good because she knew it was a dream. She walked alongside Jason in the grass. They were talking about art. Her art and his art.

Before getting famous and meeting Jason, she was a drug addict. She remembered getting so many nosebleeds. Life wasn’t kind to her. Her father abused her for most of her childhood. Her mother later got out from her father’s grasp. Though the cocaine took her away from her mother and some of the friends she made in school.

She always loved art, specifically painting. Everyday she got home from work and began painting in her trailer. She recollected scraping what money she had to buy canvas after canvas. Sometimes she would even go without food just to paint. At nineteen, her first big art piece got art critic’s hands. It was a scene of a woman crying on the floor with various shadowy objects. Her intention was to create a scene that was ambiguous from far away, but as an onlooker got closer, they could make out letters, weapons, cocaine on the floor, and even bruises on her body. It was her. Someone had bought it for 1.5 million dollars. Words couldn’t express her happiness at that moment. But the addiction brought her down again, taking her farther away from her family and friends (what family and friends she had left anyway). She spent most of the money quickly and was forced to go to group therapy to stop the drugs because she realized that it would kill her.

That’s where she met Jason, a fellow cocaine addict. That first night of therapy was so hard for her and yet he made her feel at home there. The fear and anxiousness brought on her by what she must confess to feel better melted away when she heard Jason’s story. After the session was over, he came over and told her that her story touched him.

“Yours did too,” Rose said.

Then she asked him on a date. He agreed. That’s when they walked in the grass of a park in the middle of nowhere. That’s where they found that they loved each other. They moved in together after a year of dating. More of her art gained traction after some light hearted pieces. She also cut her addiction completely. Jason did too as the only thing they needed was each other. There was nothing to long for anymore. Though her past life inspired her again and she began her first true collection of dark art pieces all with the same premise as her first; trauma and the effect of drugs on the body.

Rose was truly happy with everything she built herself. She thought that nothing was missing and even that her life story may be completed with the love of her life. But after another year, something was missing. Her creative spark seemed to dry up and her newest and darkest art pieces weren’t coming along. She hated everything she put on a canvas. Even worse, the cravings came back. She told Jason she wanted to move somewhere secluded and so Jason chose to move to Bates Creek, Tennessee where he said he had a friend. When they got there, he started going out with his friend every so often. His outings gave Rose time to paint and focus, the problem only got worse.

Something had to change. So she went everywhere she could to get help.

The dream somehow compiled all these thoughts within the scene that she held Jason’s hand in silence, sitting in the grass. But it couldn’t produce anything else about the past. She realized she couldn’t remember what happened that led to her death or to the continuation of her career.

Rose opened her eyes to the dark ceiling. It was still night. Warm yellow light from the lamp across the room glistened on the blank TV screen. She turned her head to look at it. We didn’t leave that on, she thought. She got up from the couch carefully so as not to wake Jason and turned it off. Then she saw something in the corner of her eye. A darkness. That same dark figure stood outside the window behind a bush to keep itself in shadow. A feeling of dread spread over her. Her stomach cramped and ached with nausea. She turned around to wake up Jason. Only he wasn’t there. The whole room was pitch black. Her chest heaved. She switched the lamp back on to find him standing behind the couch.

“Jason! We need to go now!” She pleaded.

Jason turned his head from left to right.

“Rose! Where are you? Rose!”

He ran into the bedroom.

“I’m right here!”

She looked out the window, no longer seeing that thing. She ran after him. The bedroom had her paintings on every wall, almost covering the walls’ paint entirely. It was her dark collection, her favorite and most critically acclaimed. Jason was shaking violently in front of their bed.


He turned around. As soon as he laid eyes on her, his eyes widened.


Instantly, she felt less than human again, trying to cover herself with her arms.

“What’ve you done with Rose?”

“What do you mean? Please, you're scaring me!”

She shivered in the new found cold.

Jason stared at the door. Footsteps echoed outside the bedroom. An unidentifiable instrument rang out in the empty room just beyond the door. Its sound pierced the air subtly with a low pitch drone. Its low tone slowly rose. It moved closer and closer. He knew this instrument. This horrifying rise and fall of sounds nearing that he knew would reach him. He didn’t know what it would do now that it came back to him.

“Get away from me!”

He didn’t even know if he could physically touch this thing, but his adrenaline was starting to take over and he didn’t know what else to do. This thing was in his house and took Rose, now it would pay.

Rose neared closer and closer, trying to get any affection she could from him.

“No!” he yelled.

She slowed her pace. She didn’t know why he was being this way, but something was horribly wrong and she had to fix it.

Suddenly, Jason grunted and ran at Rose. His hands shot out for her neck, wrapping around it. She struggled and gasped for air as her back slammed against the wall, one of her paintings falling on the floor.

“Stop!” she choked out.

He couldn’t have loved her anymore. She didn’t get a pinch of adrenaline, only sadness as she tried to smack his arms away with her weak limbs. Jason twirled and slammed her down on the bed and a glass on the nightstand fell on the floor, shattering from the impact.

The little strength she had from her rest already began to fade. He continued to squeeze around her neck. She tried to pry his hands off with her nails, but nothing was working.


He screamed out in anger. While looking into his eyes, she could tell they were glazed over with fear and passion. He couldn’t have been looking at her, could he? The broken glass glistened in her peripheral. Her heart wasn’t beating quickly, nothing was beating. Her vision began to cloud. Finally, in a moment of self preservation, she forced her body to the right, snatching a piece of glass and flung her arm back with no intention of striking him yet. Silence. Warm liquid sprayed on her chest. He fell off the right side of the bed into the broken glass. Rose began to catch her breath, looking down at the blood on her chest. Without much contemplation, she looked down at Jason who was quickly bleeding out on the floor below. The blood puddled around his neck. The realization hit her, she just killed him. The person that chose to love her out of everyone else despite her problems and addiction was gone and it was her fault.

She released a scream from the soul, crashing to the floor beside him and running her hands through his hair. Her chest heaved dryly with no tears.

“I didn’t mean to! Please!”

All of the pain she held back released there as she leaned back on the bed. She lived in a religious household but never believed because of her father’s abuse, but she thought of God. If God would just take her back to wherever she was supposed to go, she would deserve it. No, she deserved it, he should take her back.

“Please just take me back!” She said, “God! Take me!”

Rose cradled Jason’s soon to be cold head. She didn’t deserve to live for what she had done. The warmth of his blood engulfed her limbs. She sat there holding him as long as she could.

28 апреля 2024 г. 3:41 1 Отчет Добавить Подписаться
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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.