Short Scary Stories Volume 14

==Long Lost Son==
1 year ago today I made the worst mistake of my life. A bouncer kicked me out the local bar as I wore only my underwear and some Minion socks. I took a swing of my 40 before I stumbled to the bank across the street, where I proceeded to make a deposit. According to my bank statements, no records of me making a deposit that night exists. It wasn't until last week I found out what "deposit" I actually made. It wasn't a money bank... it was a sperm bank. I must've done something with one of the front desk workers, 'cause last week I got a call from a woman who claims one of her four children is the result of my product. So today I'm seeing my long lost son for the first time.
I waited outside an abandoned K-Mart for what felt like the average length of a filibuster. Eventually a polka-dot car covered in fuzz rolled up and my baby's mama stepped out smoking two cigarettes at once. "You're 6 hours late!" I said with a scowl. She carefully pulled a basket out from the backseat and approached me. "Here's Mason! He's such a wonderful boy, though he is a picky eater. I wonder if he gets it from his father?" "Nah, my diet only consists of lunch pretty much. Say, does he like his siblings?" "Of course! He loves them so much they're in his belly." I chuckled while scratching my neck. Yeah, she's definitely not my type. "Wanna see him?" "Uh, sure! I didn't wait 6 hours to chit-chat with a crackhead." I said as I leaned forward. "He's been starving to see you!" she said as she pulled the blanket off the baby carrier. Before I could even blink, a significant bite tore my nose straight off.
A fountain of blood gushed out of my nostrils as I stumbled backwards. The lady dropped the basket and this horrible, meshy blob barley resembling a human crawled out of it. "You're not my son!" I screamed. "He said if I wanted to live, then he should eat daddy. If you wanna be a good dad, you should provide for your son!" I tried running away but the little bastard latched on to my leg, digging his sharp claws into my hairy legs. Even if he ate my boss instead, I still wouldn't want custody over him. 
3 things I could've done to prevent this: wear protection, make her get an abortion, don't drink 40s 'till 5 in the morning, or off myself before I could do either of those things. I thought about my future as my inhuman son ate my soon to be corpse and I've come to the conclusion I'm better off dead. No woman will want to be with me, after the Michael Jackson nose-job my son gave me. Also no legs, and soon, no brain. Plus I don't like my boss and I'm willing to die to spite him. I won't be seeing my son in Hell, cause I got a one way ticket to Heaven, baby! Satan wouldn't want his rotten ass anyway.
==The Pin Cushion Massacre==
Troy and Khalid bashed Edward's skull against the urinal one last time, leaving for him for dead. He held his breath for a minute as he waited for them to leave. When they did, he picked himself off the ground and wiped the blood from the nose. "Everyone in this school will cry blood," he said to himself as he walked to math class. Mr. Goldberg glared at him as he held an algebra book. "You will be the only one to fail this class. Maybe I should flunk around and flunk you," he said to Edward. Ed scrunched up in his seat like a spider beating tapped on through a window. When the teacher turned away, he pulled out a weapon from his backpack and hid it under his desk.
Mr. Goldberg winced and grabbed the back of his neck. "Damn tics," he muttered. The students' chuckled. But they soon turned to gasps after his algebra book hit the floor. Mr. Goldberg screamed as he felt his eye. "I... I can't see!" Edward smirked. He shrieked again, this time grabbing his genitals with both hands. "The pain...!" Another teacher rushed in to see the commotion and helped Goldberg off the floor, leading him out. Edward took this opportunity to leave the room and head to the janitors closet near by. He pulled a dusty shelf back, revealing a large hole in the wall with dozens of dolls crammed in it. "Today's the day," he said as he grabbed one of the crudely made dolls, stabbing it in the stomach. A horrid scream could be heard nearby. Ed turned to his handmade doll collection, all resembling people in the school he feels wronged him. A laugh squeaked out of him, knowing he will have all the fun and get away with it.
"Hundreds of students have been evacuated from the school as nearly 50 dead bodies have been confirmed. There have been no reports of a shooting, but all the victims are covered in stab wounds, and no perpetrator has been identified. Officials are calling it the worst school massacre in modern history."
==Prince of Iraq==
A powerful shock-wave of dust and sand blew in followed by dozens of sharp shrapnel hitting my face. "President Cheney just sent another missile strike. We need to move out!" Sidar, an Iraq citizen said. "He's attacking an area full of innocent civilians, what the hell?" I said, hustling behind a brick wall. "We need to get underground!" Sidar said. A large man groaned and pulled back a bookcase, leading down a decrepit staircase.
We found our way to an underground bunker with several guards surrounding a massive wooden crate. The guards spoke Arabic and appeared frantic. "The prince is in that box. They're thinking about moving him out." Sidar said. "Iraq has a prince?" I asked. Dirt fell as the ceiling rumbled, causing the box to shake. Another strike. The guards shouted, appearing even more frenzied. Even after the strike, the box continued to sway and rattle. From within the crate a bandage wrapped arm punched though the wood. "Prince Abbad is awakening!" 
The guards screamed and galloped up the steps. We followed but as we got to the top, the door slammed shut. An air strike right outside the structure knocked us on our backs and we tumbled down the stairs, my shoulder dislocating when I impacted the ground. Another hand broke out of the crate. I went to attend Sidar, who now suffered a fractured leg. "Th-the prince!" Sidar stuttered. I turned behind me and saw a mummy reach its arm out for me, speaking in Arabic. "He wants one of our souls!" I jumped out of dodge, leaving Sidar to fend for himself. The mummy charged for him, grabbing him by the throat and snapping his neck with one twist. 
I coward in a dusty corner, gripping my shoulder. "P-please, I have a family!" I said. "So do I." the mummy said before strangling me with one hand. I could feel his soul transfer into my body and mine going into his. "I have unfinished business to attend," he spoke before trotting up the steps. Just then another missile struck the ground, blowing up the stairs and exploding my (now Prince Abbad's) body into chunks. I laid on the floor inside the mummy's body, unable to move. "Please God, please let the next missile strike me dead." So I waited. And waited. It's been two decades and I'm still trapped inside the Prince's body. When the debris are eventually removed off me, I shall get my revenge... On Cheney. Unless a heart attack doesn't get him by then.
==Zombie Overdose==
"You gotta try out this new stuff. It makes you feel... undead!" my friend Mike said. "I dunno man. I heard that stuff makes people more primal and crazy. I ain't messin' with it." I said as I put out my cigarette. "That's why it's so dope, man! It takes us back to our animalistic roots. I just finished shooting some of it up in your bathroom, hope that's okay." he said, throwing me a syringe with the liquid already in there. I sighed. "Fine. Just help me find the vein, okay?" Soon as I injected it, I could feel my brain rotting. My skin turned a light yellow and I my pores emitted a foul odor. "Fucdsfcuc..." I mumbled as I overdosed.
But somehow, I awoke. This would be the second overdose I survived, but what's odd was there were no EMTs. I was still laying on my couch. My vision appeared blurry but my skin looked normal. I gawked at the TV and saw a report that made me wish it was all a dream. "BREAKING NEWS: ZOMBIE OUTBREAK TERRORIZES AMERICA." I grabbed my ashtray and flung it at the TV. "This can't be!" I said to myself. A horrible shriek then filled the air. I rushed to the front window and saw an innocent old lady, Sharell, laying on the ground as my friend gnawed on her foot. Her Bichon Frisé best friend, who now had pure white eyes, also chewed on her inhaler. He would never! 
I darted outside and tried to help her, but Mike whacked me in the face with her foot and snarled at me. I pulled out my syringe and tried stabbing him, but it was too late. He called his zombie friends over to gut me and eat my intensities. As they did that, Mike punched a hole through my chest and ripped my heart out, something my ex would do if she was a zombie. I expected to fall over and die, but I was still alive and breathing. "Why am I still alive?!" "Because you just got pranked!"
Mike and his zombie friends laughed up a storm. "But, ho--" "You need to stop doing drugs, dude. Hopefully this scared you into never doing them again!" Suddenly, sharp pains pulsated through my brain. "If it's a prank, why is your friend chomping on my head?" "Huh? There's no one behind you, dude." I felt behind me and realized there was no one there. That's when I woke up. I was back on the couch, my skin a dark green now. But the sharp pain in my brain only got more worse. I reached behind me and felt Mike gnawing on my brain. My vision wasn't blurry this time so it wasn't a dream. I feel so stupid, like I just got the bad ending in a video game. "Mike, whatever you do, just leave Sharell out of this," I said before succumbing to death. 
Don't do drugs.
==Virtual Euthanasia==
Congress just passed the "ethical euthanasia" bill, which allows anyone in America to be medically put down like an animal. There are social media posts with millions of likes praising these young individuals being "ethically" euthanized and if you disagree, you are labeled. Corporations like Fetii are taking advantage of it, promoting ads of their "hip" ways to off yourself, for a hefty sum of course. Fetii are holding a mass suicide event in my town square. I'm not sure how, but I'm going to stop it.
"Suicide is a beautiful thing, especially when performed cleanly and safely." Zark Muckerdirk said to the dozens of victims all lined up with VR helmets strapped to their faces. "One flash, and bam! You're dead. It sounds so fun I might even try it myself! I know my son enjoyed it." I rushed past the group of people standing motionless and stood mere feet from Zark. "Hi! Need a Fetii VR set?" "No, you need to stop this!" "It's too late. We're gonna set the world record of most ethical suicides committed with a Fetii VR set." "Stealing these suicidal people's income and selling their data and corpses to Chinese companies... It's not suicide, it's murder!" Zark stared into my soul with no gleam in his eyes, refusing to blink. "You can't stop the inevitable, Ron." "How do you know my name?!" "I am your god." Zark said before hitting a digital red button on his phone. A massive, white flash engulfed the area, plunging me to the cold ground.
After my ears stopped ringing, I picked myself up. Fetti had vanished. My blood ran cold when I saw all the people, now laying as corpses on the floor, all of them with the VR helmets still strapped to their faces. No breathing. No pulse. They're gone. I stood there in my thoughts, the silence occasionally broken with the sputter of fried electricity. I decided to make a run back home. I locked all the doors and windows. I began conducting as much research as possible before I'm murdered by Zark. Within minutes, what resided in the Fetii suicide policy shook me to my core. Reading past all the fluff, it says your physical body dies, but your soul is transferred to the Fetiiverse where you become a slave to Zark and have no choice but to obey him as your god.
Suddenly, loud bangs rattled my front door. I pulled a revolver from a drawer and slipped it in my pocket. My breath shook as I inched toward the door. What greeted me on the other side was a mechanical robot-like dog. It lunged at me and pinned me down, followed by a man in a suit strapping a VR set to my face. I slithered my sweaty arm to my pocket and squeezed out the revolver. The man tried grabbing it, but I had already placed it under my chin. With one click, my brain splattered the walls and furniture. Sorry, Zark, but I rather die than let a soulless corporation steal my soul.
==Purple Lawn Gnome==
"My liver is failing and my car is getting repoe'd. Please, I need the money!" I pleaded to Reg, a sly criminal I go way back with. "The last time we linked up you stole $20 from my grandmother. We're done." "Come on, you know I'm bleeding for money." "Because you spend it on pills." Reg said with a grumble. I begged and begged until he had no choice but to give me another chance. "Alright. Tonight we'll hit up Sharell's." Reg said. "The sweet 86 year old lady? No way. You know I would never steal from a grandmother..."
Later that night we rolled up to Sharell's crib. "I'll park a block over. Remember, the purple lawn gnome is in the basement." he said before I got out. I rubbed my hands together. "It's show time!" I picked the lock and traversed my way to the basement, though the cookies sitting out in the kitchen were tempting. I waved my dinky flashlight around in the pitch-black basement, which surprisingly didn't smell like moth balls. I bumped into a glass cabinet which a bunch of little figures in it. My eyes instantly locked with the purple lawn gnome. Yes! Hmm, what if I sneak out with it and ditch Reg? That way we won't have to split the cash. As I reached to grab it, the lights turned on.
I spun around. "Oh, h-hi, Sharell! I'm the maintenance guy you called earlier." "The only thing I called earlier was an escort!" she said, holding a flogger. I screamed as she whipped me with it. I tried wacking her with the purple gnome, but she destroyed it with one crack. I tripped over its hat and fell back-first onto a bed of nails. I winced as the long, pointy nails poked through my skin. Sharell grabbed some handcuffs and cuffed me to the nail bed, continuing to whip me. "You're a sick woman!"
As I prepared to be tortured forever by grandma until her next heart attack, she collapsed to the floor. Reg stood over her holding a shovel. "Oh, am I glad to see you!" I said, squirming on top the nails. Reg walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a red lawn gnome before heading up the steps. "Wait, what about the purple one? And let me out of this!" "The purple one is worth nothing. I don't do business with junkie thieves." Sharell then rose up, rubbing her head before glancing at me. "Get out of my house or I'm calling the police!"
I don't like purple lawn gnomes anymore.
==Guests from Outer Space==
A huge crash from outside rattled the house. I grabbed my shotgun and hurried outside, following the smoke emitting from the ground in our backyard. I dropped my weapon as I got closer. Three violet-colored, vaguely humanoid creatures rose from a crashed flying saucer in the ground. "Home needed until ship repaired," the middle humanoid who wore a green jumpsuit said. I told my family if an alien showed up to our doorstep, they're more than welcome to stay. Some politicians says aliens are dangerous, but what do they know? They've said other groups were dangerous and they turned out wrong, and they're wrong here too.
"We have guests, dear!" I said as I welcomed our new intergalactic guests. The tall aliens ducked under the door frame as they made their way in. "Welcome to the family!" my wife said as she made breakfast. The aliens that smelt like burnt rubber and sherbet ice cream took a seat at the dinner table. "Hope you guys like eggs and bacon!" I said as I served their plates. The purple-suit alien grabbed its long eye-stem, squeezed its eyeball out, and inhaled the food through its eye antenna. I turned to my wife with a look like I ran a red light. It spit it out through its talking mouth, covering us with scrambled eggs and a mysterious blue gooey substance. "Aw, not my new work tie!" I cried. The aliens squirmed away from the table and slithered upstairs with its weird tentacle legs. "The kids!"
We rushed up stairs and ran to our son's room. The green-suit alien removed a family picture off the wall because it found it "offensive". Red-suit stuck its humanoid hand with seven fingers in my son's hamster cage. I tried pushing the alien out of the way, but it blasted me with a strange green slime from its throat. The alien shoved the hamster in its weird eye-tube thing and swallowed it. "Alright, time for bed!" I said as I lead the aliens to the guest room. They crawled up to the ceiling and hung down like vampire bats. Their eyes closed, so I assume that's how they sleep. "I need a shower." I said as I shut the door from behind. Somehow my son slept through the alien commotion in his room, which means he's been stealing Valium from his mother again.
Soon as we reached the bottom step, loud ruckus shook the house. I curled my fingers in a fist and marched up stairs. I flung the guest door open and saw the aliens were awake... And they had laid huge eggs on the ceiling! One of the eggs hatched and a baby squid alien attacked my face, draining all the blood from my body. A month later, the government came to seize my house. They knocked on the door and within seconds, the house lifted off the ground and blasted off into space like a rocket. 
Don't trust aliens.
==Be Kind to Clowns==
My throat tightened as the rainbow-colored, cotton candy scented creature strolled through the door. It approached the counter with a snake's grin. "I would like to apply for a job." I fixed my collar and cleared my throat. "Sorry, but we don't hire your kind here." "What, because I'm a clown?" "You're a human. A really stupid one. How about you go apply for the circus instead? I'm sure they could use more freaks like you." The clown pulled out a thin paint brush and painted a light-blue steak near its right eye. "You'll be sorry for this!" he cried before storming out. The clown uprising was the worst thing to happen to this country.
As I carried on mopping the counter with a mop, the clown barged back in. "You're a big weenie!" he said. "Yeah, well my weenie is much bigger than yours is." He pulled out a long balloon and blew it up. "Bigger than this?" he said before lunging and wrapping the balloon around my neck. I gasped for air trying to remove the balloon. The clown laughed its head off watching me choke. More clowns entered the gas station, carrying a fire hose. They blasted me with it, but instead of water it was high-pressured melted ice cream.
I crashed to the floor, covered in ice cream and still choking. The clowns hopped over the counter holding dozens of balloons and tied them around the weenie balloon choking my larynx. I gagged as the grasp on my throat got tighter. My feet lifted off the ground as I tried to rip the balloons off my jugular. But It was too late. The balloons collided through the flimsy ceiling, exposing live wires. The sound of dozens of clowns laughing filled the air as the electricity fried my body.
The clowns removed my corpse from the ceiling and took it outside, playing with it like a puppet and taking photos and selfies. The laid me belly-first on the ground, kneeling on my neck. They then played "pin the dick on the jackass" with me, which I won't go into details about. The police were to afraid to intervene, letting the clowns freely take over the area and turning it into the first clown-only district in America. I say this from beyond the grave, but please be kind to the clowns or you'll end up just like me.
==Rehabilitation==
"Welcome to the world, my friend," a doctor said as his eyes opened, but his expression neutral. He slowly raised his back up, still sitting. "I can't see very well, father." "As expected. Here, take these," the doctor said, handing him a pair of round glasses. He gently put them on his face. "Father, who am I?" "You are the product everything wrong with the world. 30 different evil men in one. They're apart of you. But no worries, we'll see if we can rehabilitate you."
The man set his feet on the floor and walked to a computer monitor in the dimly lit, gray room. "Dhamer? Bundy?" "Yes. Those are the men that are apart of you. Hundreds of hours of algorithm data in one human being. Your original self was a merely an unloved comatose vegetable rotting away in a hospital bed." The man's eyes lit up, as if a switch went off in his brain. He turned to me, adjusting his glasses. "How do I not become like them, father?" "Soon you will think the sickest things a man can think of. But it's okay. We'll rehabilitate you. We'll make sure you don't hurt anyone." 
A wave of sadness washed over the man's face. He clinched his fists, followed by a spark of sudden anger. "Fix me now!" "I'm afraid we can't. We've already sunk millions into this experiment. There's no turning back now." The man grabbed a scalpel off the table and lunged at the doctor. He stabbed the scalpel in his cut and twisted it. The doctor groaned in pain, trying to fight off the man. But the man's rage was too strong. He grabbed the doctor's throat and choked it with all his strength. He slammed his face into the computer, and that was the last breath the doctor uttered. "Fine. I'll fix myself," the man said before leaving the room.
==Orange Juice==
I rubbed my hands and headed to the kitchen. I stopped at the fridge and glanced at the worn-out calendar on the wall. The 19th, the day I receive my final update on my cancer. I say 'final' because they stated I only a 10% chance of living. I wiped a tear from my eye and opened the fridge. Out of orange juice. I pounded the moldy fridge and went to slip on my jacket. Guess I'll just buy a new carton. 
After many failures to get the car started, I managed to trudge down the street with it, practically on E. The light came on and pulled into the crummy gas station. "Is this a sick joke?" I said to myself, looking at the prices. I realized I can't afford it so I parked the car on the side of the road. I slammed my head repeatedly on the steering wheel. Maybe washing down some orange juice will make this all better.
"Oh, it's not a clown!" the cashier said as I walked inside the gas station. I went for the orange juice set it on the counter. "Your total will be $4.50," the cashier said. "I... Only have $3 in quarters." Sorry. Can't sell you anything then." I hung my head low and walked out in shame. I glared at my car just across the street. I stared at it as if I were in a trance. I snapped out when a customer hustled by me. "What are you, a scarecrow?" "Sorry," I said, moving in the direction of my car. I popped open the trunk, my grandfather's revolver staring back at me. I picked it up. It was already cocked and loaded. I'm going to die anyway, so why not?
"I want my orange juice," I said, pointing the revolver at the cashier. "If you want your orange juice, you're gonna have to kill me for it. But I don't think you're that petty. So put the gun do--" Without hesitation, I fired two shots in the cashier's chest. I grabbed the orange juice and power-walked out. My phone buzzed. The doctor. He's going to confirm my inevitable death. "Unbelievable news. Your cancer growth has shrunk significantly. You're going to live!" I dropped my orange juice and gripped my phone with both hands. Before I could utter a word, a voice bellowed from behind me. "We wear bulletproof vests around these parts. It's too bad you never did the same," the cashier spoke before shooting me in the back of the head. I laid there in a pool of blood, orange juice, and quarters scattered about. My life in a nutshell.
Category:W.I.P
Category:Mutants
Category:Dysfunctional Family
Category:School
Category:Mummies
Category:Drugs
Category:Zombies
Category:Suicide
Category:Robberies
Category:Aliens
Category:Clowns
Category:Experiments
Category:Killers/Murderers