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Kevin Yarbrough

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The kids stood there staring up at the big house on the outskirts of town. They had no idea if the stories that surrounded this place were true, or if the grownups just used them to keep the kids away. If they weren’t true then they should have known better, never tell a kid anything like the stories that surrounded Pine Estate unless they were true, otherwise kids would be tempted to go in there. For years they had thought about it, but they could never build up enough courage to actually go through with it. The stories were just to scary and there seemed to be no discrepancies between them when any of the grownups told them. Out of the fifty grownups in Rollins, Illinois each one told the stories exactly the same way. To the kids that seemed more than just a coincidence. So how did they find themselves standing in front of the house on Halloween night? It was all because of Frankie Andrews. His dad was the sheriff and when Frankie asked him about the house his father began to tell the story just like he had always done.

“Adam Pine was said to have been involved with black magic and he kept his wife and daughter prisoners in their home. He was said to have been communicating with the demons, using his wife Ellen, and twelve year old daughter as sexual favors for the demons that came to his call.

Now they never left the house, only on rare occasions when they needed something from town, but it was these times that you could see the beatings the girls took up there. Black eyes, swollen faces, busted lips where just some of the noticeable symptoms, but there were other symptoms, deeper ones that you could see when you looked into their eyes. Whatever they were going through up there was bad, beyond anything you could think of. One day, when they came to town, you could see red lines running down the backs under the girls shirts. It looked like something had scratched theirs backs deep and the blood was staining their shirts. Everyone saw it, but no one said anything. They were to scared. They didn’t want whatever wrath had befallen the girls to come to them. Everyone was scared of Adam Pine, and they had good reason. He was an evil man. He used his family to whatever means he could to get what he wanted. As they left, your granddaddy, Sheriff Michael Andrews saw the mother turn around and whisper help us. It was at that moment he knew he couldn’t let this kind of abuse go on.

He didn’t believe in the demonic mumbo-jumbo, he just thought that Adam was a sadistic man that needed to be stopped. Later that week he called a meeting and asked for anybody to help him put a stop to Adam Pine’s reign of terror on his family, four people volunteered. John Smith, Mark Reynolds, Upton James, and Richard Stanley. The five of them went up there on Halloween night 1946 to take Adam in, but what they found when they got there took them by surprise. The basement of the house had been converted into a shrine, there were tables with cuffs on them, shackles on the wall. Dad also said that there had been some kind of symbol carved into the floor. He didn’t know what it was but he said it was painted in red, or blood, he wasn’t to sure. When they tried to free the naked mother and daughter from the tables they were hit by some unseen force that knocked them across the room, when they got up they could see Adam laughing behind the shrine as something invisible moved on top of the girls. Whatever they were they were having their way with them. They took off out of there, the pleas of the women following them as they ran up the stairs.
 

MacAllister

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Frankie Andrews looked at his two pals, Zach and Curtis, then looked up the hill toward the house. He let his voice trail off on a somber note, while he told the story of the old Pine house.

Zach's eyes were wide, and he looked up the hill toward the house. Curt looked sidelong at Frankie, then rolled his eyes.

"No one has been inside since old man Pine died, years ago." Frankie whispered to the other two boys, "until tonight."

"Frankie..." Zach's voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Frankie, I don't know if this is such a good idea..."

"Jesus. You're such a p*ssy. Frankie, I told you we should leave him at home," Curtis said. He stuffed his hands deep in the pockets of his jean jacket and scuffed the toe of one sneaker in the gravel on the edge of the road. "So are we gonna do this, or what?"

"Come on, don't tell me you don't feel it too," Zach said, "I don't know, you guys. I don't think this is such a hot idea. Just look at the place. ." He looked at Frankie then back at Curtis. "It just feels evil."

Curt snorted. In a quavering falsetto he said, "It just feels evil!" He thumped Frankie on the back and laughed. "Maybe one of us should walk little Zach-y home before it gets too dark out."

"Shut up." Zach smacked Curtis on the arm. "I'm not scared."

"Come on. Knock it off, both of you." Frankie made his voice level, like his dad sounded, giving orders to a deputy. "We gotta get going, if we want to get home before the sun comes up."
 
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Liam Jackson

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“You go first, Zach. Now, hurry up!”

“Why me?” Zach whined. “This is all your idea,” he said, stabbing a dirty finger at Curtis.
Frankie ignored them both, and crept forward along the weed-choked walkway. He would go alone, if need be. He didn’t like the notion, but he would do it. This wasn’t about childish challenges or silly games of 'truth and dare'. This was a trial, a rite of passage. Hell, to some degree, family honor was at stake.


From the moment he first heard the story as a small child, Frankie Andrews knew he would someday enter the Pines house, and now, time was running out. The house was slated for demolition in ten days and it was now or never.

He ducked beneath the plastic line of barricade tape and edged nearer to the shadows that ran along the edge of the house. It wouldn’t do for one of the town’s adults to discover them, call them away before the mission was completed. Behind him, Frankie could hear Zach and Curtis. The two boys postponed their argument once they discovered Frankie had moved on without them. Wasn’t that always the case?


Now safe within the shadows, Frankie paused to rest. He leaned one hand on his knee and the other against the corner of the old house. As skin touched wood, Frankie let out a muffled shout. The pain was horrible!

“Shut up, man! You want to get us all caught?” whispered Curtis. Zach leaned forward and said, “You almost scared the bejeezus right outta me! What happened?”

“I—I’m not sure,” said Frankie. “I just leaned against the house and it, like, burned me or something… Oh, hell, this smarts!”

Zach pulled an old Storm King lighter from his jeans packed and gave the wheel a couple of quick flicks. On the second try, a tiny yellow flame sprouted from lighter. He held the flame low to the ground, and Frankie bent down to examine his injured hand. A thin, angry blister stretched across his palm.


Wide-eyed, Zach stammered, “M—mabye its t—time to go. I don’t l-like this place and i--it doesn't like us." Even Curtis seemed ready to call it a night.

Frankie pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wound it tightly around his injured hand. “You guys can leave if you want, but I’m going in. Without looking back, Frankie headed for the stairs.



*edited to clean up the format
 
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chatter

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Frankie pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wound it tightly around his injured hand. “You guys can leave if you want, but I’m going in. Without looking back, Frankie headed for the stairs.

Chad had about enough of this. He lowered his hand quickly as the pages of his new novel closed around his thumb which would hold his place in the book for the moment. Looking over the top of his reading glasses, Chad could see the source of the rude disturbance.

From the park bench where Chad was comfortably seated a woman with a stroller that she gripped tightly with one hand was arguing with a brutish looking man. Her free hand was being used to point a single finger in the man's face as a barrage of expletives spewed from her mouth. The man's face was red and he seemed poised to take action at any moment. Chad was reminded of an unstable powder keg with a very short fuse.

Aside from Chad, these two wing nuts seemed to be the only other people in the park. They were arguing by a small pond that was situated at the end of a gradual slope. At the top of the slope, Chad sat nonchalantly watching the whole spectacle. He wondered how some people could be so rude. Chad would just have to wait to see if Frankie would indeed enter the terrifying house.

Chad could hear some of what the woman was going on about and it seemed to be about how the man had better not ever hit her again as she and her baby were safer without the likes of him. The man was gritting his teeth and Chad could see that nothing the woman said was registering with him. It seemed to Chad that the man was actually garnering his strength and resolve as his mind raced to justify striking the woman at any time now. Chad smirked.

The mans fist was suddenly drawn back behind his shoulder and flew forward into the woman's face with blinding speed. That even took Chad by surprise. To Chad it seemed like a film being played in fast forward at first and then slow motion as the woman's head snapped back in response to the efficient and brutal punch. It was strange because Chad heard the noise a moment or two after the initial strike. As if the sound reached him late or something.

Blood sprayed from the woman's upturned face as she collapsed backward, dragging the stroller to the dirt with her. With the woman now lying motionless on the ground, Chad could hear the muffled sounds of a baby's cry emanating from what looked like a small pile of pink blankets that had spilled halfway out of the back of the upturned stroller. The man was drawing huge breaths of air and gazing furiously with clenched fists at the mess on the ground that he created.

As if now realizing what he had done, the man looked around quickly and then his gaze locked on Chad at the top of the slope who was staring back over the rims of his reading glasses. Chad wondered what the oaf would do now or what the oaf was actually capable of. Chad wished the moron would get on with it because he really wanted to get back to his novel.

Wasn't this always the way though? Not a moment's peace. Chad was getting more annoyed by the nanosecond.

"Well don't just stand there you jackass. Do something." Chad hollered down at the obvious halfwit.
 

chatter

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Um, chatter - are you resurrecting these ancient threads to boost your post count of what? Seriously, some of these threads you've raised deserve to be left to rest in peace.

Yes, I am trying to raise my post count. I'm having great fun at it. I started from the end of the horror forum and I'm working my way back.

Which threads that I've resurrected do you believe should be left to rest in peace? I'm really not sure if differences in opinions exist here and if everyone should be in agreement on certain matters.

I'm not as experienced as yourself here and like I said in my introduction, I'm not a published author. I truly do not know the mechanics of this craft in any professional capacity at all. That's why I joined though.

I'm hoping to get to that fifty posts in short order so I can learn from real writers. Please forgive me if I have stepped out of line in resurrecting some threads that should not have been resurrected.
 

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The proper way to raise your post count would be to become involved in current conversations, not dredge up threads that are 5-7 years old (like this one - 2005, 7 years old. Seriously?). There are lots of current conversations going on throughout the Horror Hounds forum. Try joinging one of them rather than what you're doing here.

Differences of opinion not only exist here they're tolerated and even encouraged, but threads like this one (Collab) probably deserve to rest in peace.

How about joining the First Line thread? How about the Elements of Horror thread? How about the Bare Bones thread? How about the Hounds cafeteria thread? How about the Monthly prompt thread?

There's more than one way to contribute. Ask questions so we can respond is one way. The only thing we know about you right now is that you're a newb who's trying to build their post count by resurrecting ancient threads. Come say "Hi". We won't bite much, well, often. Damnit, okay, we'll gnaw your flesh to the bone then crack the bones for the marrow, but you'll like it. Trust me.
 

chatter

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Differences of opinion not only exist here they're tolerated and even encouraged, but threads like this one (Collab) probably deserve to rest in peace.

How about joining the First Line thread? How about the Elements of Horror thread? How about the Bare Bones thread? How about the Hounds cafeteria thread? How about the Monthly prompt thread?

Say no more my friend. I hear you. I'm on my way to locate some of those more current threads.
 
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