SneakyPie's Grand Writing Extravaganza Spectacular

[LS13]

Same. I'll be in a car going from Houston to Florida, plenty of time to work on mine.

[Invunarble]

-Information no longer relevant-

[Lord_Mountbatten]

Well, here's what I've done. I'm thinking of recording it, as it's a monologue. I think it would be more effective that way as well.

Spoiler! :

Thud

Thud.

Here again. I hear you, behind the door. I am ready.

Thud.

That noise. It burrows into my mind. Every repetition splinters outward, digging deeper, taking root.

I hate that noise. You know I do.

Thud.

Maybe if I loved it, you would stop. But if I loved it I wouldn't want you to. That's typical of you.

Thud.

Maybe if I could love and then hate - quickly, rapidly - you would stop and I would be at peace. You never let me in peace, do you? You prefer to torment me, every day, every week, every month, with that incessant-

Thud.

You even finish my thoughts with it. You may be out there, beyond the door, but you know, you know, that what you do goes deeper than that.

Thud.

Every day I have a nightmare. Every day I wonder if it's real. Every day, I think that exact same thing. I have thought this before, and I will think it again, and throughout it all my thoughts - solitary, abandoned - will be accompanied by the constant, pulsating rhythm generated by you as you reach deep into my mind with another careful, practiced,

Thud.

How many times before you reach the door? I always forget. How many times must I hear the drumming of that never-ending

Thud.

Within my mind? My mind. Is that where it is? Do I hear you, or do I only think you? Not that it matters. Not that it stops anything. Not that it frees me from those chains, the chains you bound me with and allow to constrict, just a little more each day, with a careful, knowing,

Thud.

All this torment, all this pain, and I've just remembered I don't even know your face. Heh. Such an indignity, the greatest of them all I think, to be unable to see what is destroying you, digging its talons into your flesh as you writhe in horror at what it does to you, powerless.

Thud.

But it's not flesh, is it? Skin remains untorn, eyes remain unplucked, the heart remains unpunctured, even the brain - that which I am chained to - does not weep its life essence.

But I feel it.

Thud.

I feel the blood slowly draining from my body as surely as if it was actually happening. With each passing

Thud.

I feel just a little bit weaker, just a little bit lonelier, and just a little bit, mad.

Thud.

And you do this to me, without remorse, without feeling, every day since before I can even remember.

Thud.

For it is me that has remorse. I am the one who feels, the one who remembers. You don't. You let me do it for you, every time I hear that

Thud.

Beyond the door.

Thud.

Beyond the flesh.

Thud.

Beyond help.

Thud.

I hear you behind the door.

Thud.

Behind my thoughts.

Thud.

I am ready.

[Iron_Fang]

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/?ie=UTF8&keyw ... 7cgdedd4_b Lord? or should i say Terry

[Lord_Mountbatten]

Good thing the content is different. I did like that book though.

[Iron_Fang]

I read it too ^^

[Tulonsae]

Hmmmm.....

I wish I'd known about this before. Is the deadline by the end of the day on the 13th? Or the beginning? Server time, of course.

I've never written horror. Would be interesting to try.

[SneakyPie]

For now, let's just say that all stories are due at 12:00 PM server time on Tuesday,

[Godavari]

This story is called "The Mirror"

Spoiler! :

I wasn't anything special. Just an average guy, really. I don't know what happened, or why it happened to me. But I think it probably happens to a lot of people. I have a lot of time to think now.

Really, the whole debacle started when I was brushing my teeth one night. How mundane. I saw it out of the corner of my eye: a movement. I wasn't even looking. Perhaps it only moves when it knows you're not looking. I sensed it, in the mirror, in the deep part of my mind that over-analyzes everything. I felt it in my paranoia. But I was a rational man, and of course I knew it was nothing.

There's a concept called the “uncanny valley.” Basically, if something looks mostly human—but not quite right in some small respect—we're repulsed by it. I wonder what evolutionary purpose that serves. Why are we so paralyzingly scared of the mostly-similar-but-not-quite-right? Why would natural selection favor that?

Back to the mirror. Another night. I was just passing by, really. But I could see it. I think I almost heard it. Something moving in the corner of my eye. I backpedaled and stared for a second. Maybe there was some serial killer behind me that I would see in the mirror and then he would stab me from behind. That's what happens in the movies. Just a simple break-in dressed in dramatic clothes. Chills raced down my spine as I turned to face... nothing. Just me and the mirror. And an inkling in my paranoia that something wasn't right. I pushed that away.

Whenever someone isn't quite sure if there's a problem, he tends to not bring it up. It's not confirmed to be problematic, so why worry anyone else? Why worry yourself?

There. In the gleaming metal of a piece of jewelry. In the murky reflection of a puddle of water. A shadow. Something behind me, looking natural but having no apparent source. One day after a heavy rain, I squinted at a piece of plexiglass at the bust stop for... must have been ten minutes. Someone sitting on the bench beside me, maybe. It was hard to tell. Just a trick of the light, I suppose. Still, I shot a glance back at it as I boarded the bus. It almost seemed like it had stopped in its tracks, like it was moving and was embarrassed to be caught.

Paranoia. It's a survival instinct. In the days of the cave man, it allowed us to avoid the big, bad unknown. Now, with all our modern conveniences and safe suburban homes, it's just irrational. Humanity is the apex predator. No need to be paranoid.

I saw myself in the polished surface of my stove. Did I really look like that? Was my face really in that position? I smiled. The reflection smiled back at me. It seemed... off. Like someone was imitating me. But then I looked again, and it was just me. A movement here, a movement there. And perhaps another movement there.

Have you ever seen someone's personality change? Probably only slightly. Suddenly they're more happy, or more depressed. I guess it depends on the people involved.

After a shower, I go to wipe off the steam from the mirror. My heart stops. There! A face! I saw it, looking at me with pupil-less eyes! The blood feels as if it's draining from my body, but as I scrutinize my surroundings through the mirror, nothing seems out of place. On the back wall are a couple of candles. Like eyes. It must have just been my mind playing tricks.

Humans are notable for their pattern-recognition abilities. Even the best computers can't look at a cloud and see something magical. It sees a cloud. A human sees a rabbit, or a swan, or a person, standing there, looking at him menacingly. Humans see faces in bathrooms with candles as eyes. I wonder what purpose that instinct serves?

It's nighttime, and I'm in bed. I can see the open door to the bathroom. If I shift a little, I can see the mirror. It's too dark to really make out, but I can sort of draw the face with the candles on the back wall. It looks like it's staring at me. But it's just patterns. I roll over on my side, away from the mirror. Somehow, I feel like the face is still there, staring at me. Chills. Despite the empty feeling of paranoia clawing at my insides, I manage to fall asleep.

When I wake up, something's wrong. I feel like I'm in bed, but it's nebulous. The details of the room blur. One thing stands out clearly, though: the mirror. I stumble into the bathroom. It seems like everything's backwards, as if everything got switched to the opposite wall. As I peer into the mirror, I see my bedroom through the door. I see myself get up from the bed and turn. The thing that looks like me stares through the mirror with pupil-less eyes, right into my very soul.

Now I'm nothing but a shadow, stalking some poor man out of the corner of his eye, ready to take his place like mine was taken.

[DuplicateValue]

I actually found this pretty difficult - it's been months since I sat down and properly tried to write anything.

Spoiler! :

If I don’t look at them, nothing will happen. If I don’t look at them, nothing will happen. If I don’t look at them nothing wi--

A soft breath on your neck jolts you from the thoughts you were trying so very hard to concentrate on. With another, your heart plummets - an attempt at abandoning its shuddering vessel. Your limbs cease to function, resigned to their fate. You can’t stop your eyes from snapping open.

Shadows dance across the rugged ground, deformed in the orange glow of the streetlight. They never stop moving. Not for a second. The dull scraping of shoes on the concrete echoes in the cold air, deafening in the icy blackness.

How could I have been so stupid?

You knew the risks - heard the stories. There was a reason the streets were left empty at night. A reason doors were bolted, windows locked tight. Nobody dared tread the silent pathways. Few even ventured so far as to peer out into the darkness - for fear of what might peer back.

And yet, here you were - clad in the emptiness of the night.

And here you would stay, until you give in. There was no if, only a when. They would wait - wait for your will to shatter. It’s only a matter of time after all - this you know too well.

You try to lift your foot - to take a step - but it refuses. A mutiny against its destroyer.
And every so often you feel something brush past your back, your arm, raising the hairs on your neck each time. You clench your eyes - a futile attempt to wish it all away. What else could you do?

The wind suddenly tugs at your clothes - an icy blade that pierces your flesh, caresses your bones. Shivers scuttle down your limbs and out into the shrouded surroundings - the surroundings that seemed to glare at you as your eyes darted around the floor, your head refusing to help.

You can feel your heart drum heavily against your ribs, making your breath quick and unsteady. How should one react in the face of their end? Do they cower and hide - close their eyes and tremble? Do they run? Or stand strong to meet their fate?

Finally, you decide. This is it - there’s nothing else. It was always going to come to this.
It was only ever a matter of time.

The wind slices through again - the final jeer of the evening’s sole spectator. You raise your eyes - raise them to meet theirs. And they stand - still now - gazing straight back at you. Giant, false smiles decorated each face. Grotesque smiles. Brilliant smiles.

Your eyes are drawn to one in particular. Maybe you knew him. Or knew what he was before.
But now you stare at little more than a shadow - an echo of what was once a being. That’s not to say he wasn’t really there - he most definitely was. Solid, flesh and blood. But something else. Something different.

They continue to smile. Tears roll down contorted cheeks as they beam at you. It was more horrendous than anything you could have expected. More destroying. The stories people told didn’t even come close. Of course, those were just rumours anyway - nobody looked into the wide, vacant eyes and returned to tell stories.

The strangest thing about the faces, however, is the effect they have on you. Suddenly, you don’t feel as scared anymore. Their glassy eyes sooth you, put you at ease. All past despair disperses into the cool air, and you begin to feel more and more reassured.

You could even go as far as to say that you’re almost happy, as the six figures stand around you, beaming. You cast your eyes from face to face - all carrying the same exaggerated grin, each focusing their attention on you. And you’re sure now - you’re happy here.

So happy, you could smile too.

[LS13]

I'm out. My laptop is having trouble connecting to the wifi at the house im staying at. My computer is getting massive interference from something :(

[MKindy]

Nothing is more horrific than the realistic. I can't say this has ever happened, but it's inspired by actual events.

Spoiler! :

Untitled

If we're in the middle of a worldwide obesity epidemic, he thought, why does no one ever make anything that fits fat people?

The article of clothing failing to fit properly this time was a hospital gown. Fortunately, he was allowed to keep his sweatpants on, but the shirt had to go -- trace metal in the buttons, and you can't have that in an MRI scanner, lest the superconducting magnets load them with so much energy they heat up to many, many kelvins, even possibly igniting or exploding.

So, his back was largely exposed and the gown tied, uncomfortably, as best as possible, reaching with almost total futility around his waist. He was almost too large for the machine, too -- he knew for a fact that he exceeded the machine's published 'weight limit,' but he had lied and the technician hadn't bothered to verify.

It was definitely going to be a snug fit, he realized, standing before the imposing, million-dollar donut of modern medicine. The technician prepared the thin bench on which he'd be laying -- fresh cotton sheet, weird contoured pillow for his head. At the technician's instruction, he laid down with his head placed square in the bowl of the immobile pillow.

"Anything for your knees?" the technician asked.

"Oh, yeah, please," the patient replied; he'd get mad lower-back pain in just a few minutes if his legs weren't propped up. It was this very problem they were there to find cause for today. Additional pillows brought his legs up to a comfortable position.

"The machine can be quite loud," the technician continued. In between his thumb and forefinger, the patient saw him rolling up some earplugs, which were then inserted into his ears. The tech then held up a pair of headphones.

"I'll talk to you as needed through these; we can also play some music for you while the scan occurs."

The patient quickly studied the headphones, puzzled as no metal was allowed inside, but realizing in short order that the headphones were in fact transmitting their sound over thin tubes of air rather than copper wire. Neat, he thought.

"NPR would be nice," he told the technician. "Ah, it's 107.5." It wasn't a prime time, but maybe they'd be playing a repeat of some show.

"How's that?" the tech asked. Unfortunately, whatever radio was being used to supply the tunes couldn't reach the station -- only traces of it through a wall of static.

"How about 93.3, instead?" the patient asked. If he couldn't have shows, he could at least doze off to classic rock. Fortunately, it came through clearly.

The technician manned the machine's controls and raised the bench to level with the machine's entrance. They tried first with the patient's arms down by his side, but his shoulders and arms just sat too wide on his large frame. The technician then suggested he place his arms over his head like a diver; this did the trick, narrowing himself enough to squeeze in. The smooth interior of the MRI rolled by him, finally coming to a stop before a small speaker and a vent which blew pleasantly across his face. The technician came around to the back end of the machine and put a pillow under the patient's arms.

"Alright, I'm going to be controlling the machine from the next room, just there behind that window. Once I'm inside, we'll test the voice connection, then get this started," and with that the technician left the room. The large door shut with a heavy click as Freddie Mercury crooned about fat girls and bicycles. Freddie was shortly thereafter cut off:

"Raise your left foot if you can hear me," the tech's voice came through pale and distant over the headset. The patient obliged.

"Good. Alright, this procedure is going to take about 45 minutes; it'll be somewhat difficult, but try not to move while you're inside, okay?" the technician went on. "I'll be able to hear you through the speaker, just start talking if you need anything."

I guess it's like taking a long-exposure photograph; the more you move, the blurrier the image, the patient thought, not bothering to get confirmation.

As the Eagles began singing about Hotel California, the patient gathered in his surroundings. It struck him very much like being in some sort of stasis, as though he was in a long-haul spaceship. He imagined he had woken up early, trapped inside his impenetrable pod. Glancing overhead revealed the rainy outdoors, though, the interior obscured by window tint and a very high hedge, breaking the illusion of space travel.

The illusion became reinforced when the MRI stirred up, first with a number of heavy clicks and clunks and then a set of rhythmic buzzings, the dissonance of them combined producing interesting auditory patterns.

WOMWOMWOMWOM BZZ BZZ BZZ BZZ BZZ WOMWOMWOMWOMclickWOMWOM...

The illusion had progressed; with all the noise, he now fantasized that he was a space traveler, formerly in stasis, now trapped in his pod as his spaceship was attacked with ferocious energy weapons. It was difficult to maintain the mental imagery for long, though, being quite actually affixed in position and unable to move. He found himself dozing off.

He awoke from his quasi-nap when the noise of the machine suddenly halted. The lights were dim, and the interior of the machine was suddenly quite warm. He was startled by a hand on his ankle, a muffled voice in the distance. He couldn't hear the voice through the earplugs or over the sound of wind and rain outside. It was raining extremely hard...

"Blackout," the technician told him, having come around to the end of the tube. "Sit tight."

The machine wasn't wired in to the hospital's backup, but that made sense... it wasn't a particularly critical piece of equipment. What a fluke, the patient sighed. His arms were beginning to get cramped. The interior of the machine was suddenly quite warm, what with the machine no longer pumping liquid helium around to cool the superconducting magnets.

There was some more distant chatting, the cadence growing more urgent. The technician came back around to the backside of the machine; he had to speak quite loudly now over the wind. The windows bowed behind him in the gusts.

"There's a tornado! We've got some security on its way to help pull you out; the bathroom doubles as a shelter!"

The news didn't sink in very fast; the patient mused at first that he might be safer surrounded by thousands of feet of copper coils and heavy machinery, but quickly realized it wasn't exactly the same as being behind a cohesive piece of metal, and that the machine's exterior was mostly plastic.

An enormous creaking noise, like a giant in an old rocking chair, resounded through their very spines as the hospital surrounding them began to give. The window behind both of them shattered, the glass defying gravity as the low-pressure outside began eating the building. Rain and wind filled the room; foam ceiling tiles were stripped from their perch; loose articles and furniture banged against the machine and cabinets banged open. If the technician was still in the room, the patient could not tell. The weather filled his senses, overwhelming them. The floor under him raised and them buckled towards the elements, pinning the patient in place by the shoulders with the force of gravity. The helium reservoir ruptured, the liquid boiling instantaneously and filling the sky overhead streaking with a white fog as the tornado settled over the wing. A large noise, as if an eruption or explosion, accompanied the upper floors as they descended upon him, 8 stories of masonry and steel and glass, diagnostic equipment and furniture, patients and staff descending with him into a pile of rubble, rain, and mud into the basement.

[Godavari]

I like it, Kindy. Your story's unique in that it contains not a trace of the supernatural or insanity. That's pretty hard to do with horror.

[Lord_Mountbatten]

Added a poll to the OP since Sneaky forgot to. Go vote!

[SneakyPie]

Yeah thanks.

Sorry, I've been pretty busy the last few days so please go vote for the best entry!
The votes will be tallied and the winner will be announced on Sunday.

[Godavari]

Man, now I have to make a decision between supporting my own work and being more classy by voting for someone else.

[MKindy]

Class doesn't win elections.

[Godavari]

Well MK, I had originally voted for you, but if you insist...

[SneakyPie]

Alright, according to the votes, the winner for this first writing spectacular contest goes to the illustrious Lord Mountbatten!

Spoiler! :

Congratulations!

Because you are unable to use Royalty in any way, it will be donated to a charity of your choice.

You may also pick the next genre.

I really did enjoy reading everyone's work. Really a job well done, people. Hopefully this next time I will actually be able to participate.

[Iron_Fang]

I hope the charity isn't the Mountbatten crack fund XD and gratz!

[Lord_Mountbatten]

I hope the charity isn't the Mountbatten crack fund XD and gratz!

Of course not! It's the er, Mountbatten crank fund, which is completely different.

My chosen genre will be low fantasy. In case someone still thinks this means they can abuse a Tolkien-like setting, guess again.

Low fantasy is the real world, with fantastical/non-rational elements added to it.

And yes, for those who may want to correct me, Tolkien considered Middle Earth to be the ancient past rather than a completely different world, but quite frankly it's an immense stretch of the imagination to consider anything other than it being a different world. In essence, ignore him.

[sag185]

I loved duplicates by the way, it was really good.

Mixture of suspense and mystery.
I like it.

[J4Numbers]

Low fantasy is the real world, with fantastical/non-rational elements added to it.

How real would you count as real?
We are on Earth real,
or 1 thing was different real?

[givemeabreak432]

Low fantasy is the real world, with fantastical/non-rational elements added to it.

How real would you count as real?
We are on Earth real,
or 1 thing was different real?

Think of it as like Harry Potter or Neverwhere. It all takes place in the real world, but the fantasy is hidden away and a secret from most people

[Lord_Mountbatten]

What do you mean by the latter?

By "real world", I mean that the setting is Earth, and what you would consider normal in real life is normal here. Abnormal elements are added that we would consider abnormal if we actually saw them happening in real life. Of course, those in the piece don't necessarily have to react as though they were abnormal or anything.

It's a believable real life setting, but then you add less believable stuff to it.

Think of it as like Harry Potter or Neverwhere. It all takes place in the real world, but the fantasy is hidden away and a secret from most people

Actually, Harry Potter counts as high fantasy because it focuses almost entirely on the wizard's world. Now if it was a story that focused on muggles instead, that would be low fantasy.

[givemeabreak432]

What do you mean by the latter?

Think of it as like Harry Potter or Neverwhere. It all takes place in the real world, but the fantasy is hidden away and a secret from most people

Actually, Harry Potter counts as high fantasy because it focuses almost entirely on the wizard's world. Now if it was a story that focused on muggles instead, that would be low fantasy.

Ah, ok. I didn't really know, i was just assuming.

[J4Numbers]

What do you mean by the latter?

I meant sort of back to the future, i.e. what would have happened if something was different in the past, and how it would alter the present

[Lord_Mountbatten]

That's actually a different genre, called "Alternate History".

[SneakyPie]

Alright, OP has been updated. Consider this your starting point. You all have one week starting now.

I'll clean up this thread and preserve the stories in the OP under each week once I get around to it (or if a mod wants to help out and do it for me).

Good luck.

[MrJKapowey]

Would a universe (which takes place on earth) with magic as an accepted normality be 'Low fantasy'?

It's on Escapist Magazine, as 'The Guardians of London', and I was going to enter one of my posts in the RP as part of the story, from the perspective of a 'laddish' (-ish) 'Magic Police Officer' (Guardian) cocking about in the library. Would that be high or low fantasy?