October Writing Challenge: Honorable Mentions — Allison Bell, Liv, and Yzabelle

These entries from October's challenge were selected as Honorable Mentions. Those who completed this challenge are now encouraged to share their stories in the comments section of the "October Writing Challenge."
Allison Bell

“You really shouldn’t have come here.”

Her voice was raspy and dry. Her black eyes were staring at me through her stringy hair that was hanging over her face. She was crouched in a corner of the abandoned house, dirty hands pressed up against the walls. I took a step towards her.

“I want to help.”

“They can’t know you’re here. I’ve already agreed to do it. You can’t help now. Nothing you do will change their minds.” She spoke so fast I could barely keep up. I took another step towards her. The floor creaked.

“No,” she said louder.

“I can’t let you do this,” I protested.

“No. Just leave. And never come back. Ever.” The air was so cold I could see her breath as she spoke.

“Please.” My eyes started to fill with tears.

“I won’t be able to stop them from–” She was cut off by a loud shrieking noise. It was coming from outside the house. I looked out the cloudy window, but I couldn’t see anything there. I turned my head back to her. All the blood had drained from her face. Her eyes were trained on me.

“They know,” she whispered.

I shook my head. “No. I am not leaving you here. I can’t and I won’t.” I pleaded.

She slowly started to stand. Her back was still pressed flat to the wall. “You have to leave.” Her eyes fell to the floor. “You should not have come. Shouldn’t try to help. No. No, they know you’re here now.” She was shaking her head slowly as she talked. Her voice was becoming louder with each word. “Shouldn’t try to help. No. They know. I won’t be able to stop them. Just go,” she spat. I could hear a shuffling noise above us. Whatever it was started shrieking and groaning. She wrapped her pale arms around herself.

“I can help you get out of here. Let’s go before they find us,” I said, my voice cracking. I walked until I was an inch away from her. She smelled of dirt and death. I grabbed her arm, and her head jerked toward me. She startled me and I let go.

“No one can help us now,” she whispered. Her eyes darted to something behind me. The floor creaked behind us. “No one.”




Great Britain

Whispers in the Dark

“You really shouldn’t have come here.”

This is the line I keep repeating to myself as I give up searching for my brother in this dank place, and decide to merely wait and allow him to come for me. Yes, I realise that this is the easy way out, but it was his brilliant idea in the first place to scour a creepy ancient warehouse, and now look at the mess I’m in.

In the short amount of time between us breaking in and stupidly deciding to split up, even though that’s the number one rule of what NOT to do in an abandoned warehouse, I realised I was truly, and completely, lost.

My flashlight ran out of battery around 10 minutes ago, and I have been wearing circles into the gravel ever since. Occasionally I’ll hear a bang from somewhere up above which makes me jump and grip myself into a tight hug, but it’ll be nothing of interest, as I’m still alive.

I settle for sitting on the floor when pacing gets boring, wrinkling my nose when a strange smell overflows my nostrils, making me gag. I don’t realise something is amiss until I gasp loudly and shoot up from the ground, realising my face was pressed there a second ago.

I wobble to my knees, knowing I need to find my brother so we can get out of here. I can’t think straight, but I know we need to go. I scratch my head viciously to fight the silence encircling me. I feel something being gently enclosed within my fingertips, something edged, but for some reason I can’t turn around to see who is giving it to me.

They give me a push forwards, propelling me towards a shadow I’ve spotted resting in the corner. I’m unsure where the thought comes from, but I have an inkling they know where my brother is. I stumble over, gripping their shoulder with my free arm before crying out as a sharp claw rakes itself through my tender skin.

The creature reveals itself, throwing its twisted black face backwards, shrieking with the songs of a thousand dying men, lobbing itself at me. I’m frozen to the spot, my brain still fuzzy, but then I hear a voice, a whisper call softly into my ear. “Kill.”

I don’t think, I do as I’m told, keeping my fist wrapped around the strange object, thrusting it forward with all my might and dragging it along its stomach, its face, feeling substances squirt out over my hands.

It collapses in a heap on the floor, and I can’t look. The voice returns for a second. “Hope you’re proud. It’s a marvellous creation.”

I reopen my eyes on instinct, and then I scream, because then I see.

The knife in my hands is cold and heavy, the blood on my skin glistening, and my brother is crumpled at my feet, his stomach and face disfigured, as he stares at me with wide, unseeing eyes forever.





“You really shouldn’t have come here.”

His voice shakes along with the constant cut of his breathing.

“Why?” I ask in anticipation.

He gulps, seemingly out of oxygen.

“Because this isn’t real, but if you stay long enough, it will be.”

He screeches with a voice so high, I feel my ears tingle out of discomfort.

Many have told me to stay away from him, but I was stubborn. I know now that getting involved with him is not far from walking under a ladder and seeing a black cat pass by. Only in this case, I seem to have walked under a burning bridge while seeing a reaper scythe someone.

“Go! Go away!” He swats something off of his breathing space.

Something I can’t see.

He screams and he cries and he’s asking me to leave before it’s too late.

But… I can no longer find a way out. All I see is him inside a room of white. No cracks, no crevices, nothing.

“I told you. Now it’s too late. They’re going to come after you the way they come after me.” His tears fall uncontrollably.

Then it begins.

Figures start to appear. They start out as shadows. They take shape as they come near. I take a step back on every step forward they take.

They start to form perfectly into my biggest fears.

A man who I once knew to be big and strong and brave appears. He has these tubes and IV drips on his body. His hospital gown is wrinkled and faded. His eyes are big, but hollow. His lips are pale and dry.

He speaks. “It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.” He throws me these words over and over again like a machine launching tennis balls at the highest speed. I fear for my head getting hit. I don’t want to lose my mind.

“It’s your fault. It’s your fault.” He chants this over and over again.

“It’s not my fault! It’s not! It’s not! It’s not!” I scream like a child being robbed of her favorite treat. “I’m sorry, Daddy!” I give in. I cry.

A woman takes color.

“Mommy?” I voice out, confused. Unlike my father, she’s very much alive.

But her skin seems to melt with wrinkles dangling low on her face.

“It’s your fault! I wish I never gave birth to you! Your father would have been alive if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t have to be in pain!” She yells angrily as I sob.

How could she?

More figures appear. They don’t take form, but they grab me by the arms. I can’t escape. I’m screaming now. I close my eyes and cry for help.

Things go quiet.

I open my eyes again to see the same old padded room. The new boy triggered me, but I’m glad we’re both delusional. I don’t suppose the nurses would allow me to get near him again.

Having two schizophrenic kids meet was such a bad idea.


Germ Magazine guest author
… is a contributing guest author for Germ, which means the following criteria (and then some) have been met: possessor of a fresh, original voice; creator of fresh, original content; genius storyteller; superlative speller; fantastic dancer; expert joke teller; handy with a toolbox; brilliant at parties; loves us as much as we love them.


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