I'm down; got my story concept. I love Halloween for stories anyways. I love ghastly, bloody horror and thats what I'm gonna write. What would you write/publish for Halloween? Ya know, just for fun.
My entry is shorter than the allowed 1000 words because I'm just out of time to post. I hope its acceptable though.
Genre: horror
word count: 495
All critique acceptable
In the distance bombs burst and flashed, a lightning strobe
of orange flames. We ignored the cacophony, the war was no longer our concern.
Only the narrow cave mouth drew our attention. Rogers and Shane dropped their automatic
weapons and began passing out wooden masks from their packs. Flanning and
Peters accepted theirs with dubious looks.
“Put them on” I insisted, securing mine to my head. “We all
agreed – too late to back out. By now everyone knows we are deserters and they
could have already tracked us here.”
Both men nodded and followed my lead. None of them were
certain this was a half buried aqueduct leading to the depths of a temple
altar, but they were used to following my lead. I have a sixth sense about
dangers, and never get lost in a forest or city.
Rogers handed each of us a torch that stank of fuel oil. We’d
light them once inside. The purpose of the masks was to let the Aztec God Huitzilopochtli
know we were true worshipers, not Spanish looters. I wasn’t sure how well the
masks would protect doubters Flanning and Peters, but I believed.
The dreams were so vivid, so convincing.
I checked the machete looped around my right shoulder, sliding
it out slightly and reveling in the smooth pull. The others also checked their
weapons – knives, daggers, Peters with a hatchet. I nodded readiness and pushed
the others ahead. The feeling of the dreams was stronger now, anxiously pulling
at my consciousness.
This was my destiny. My birthright as one of Montezuma’s descendants.
I plunged into the thick darkness, screaming laughter.
It wasn’t dark inside. Or quiet. Glittering gold light and
echoes bounced off the rock walls. Screams and chanting assaulted me. I called
the names of my men, but couldn’t discern an answer. I fumbled in my shirt
pocket for my Zippo and lit the torch. The whomp of the ignited fuel seem to
silence the echoes and dissolve the light. I called for the men again.
Wooden faces lept at me from the walls. In a panic I dropped
the torch and slashed this way and that with the machete. Once I felt a soft
impact of something being impaled on the blade, and a voice whispered “NO!” Was
that Shane?
Orange light flickered in the distance and I dashed after
it. Another voice crooned to me. “This way; hurry,” it urged. The voice from my
dreams.
Wet things slithered from the walls and under my feet.
Wooden faces and ghostly touches pushed me onward when I fell. Finally I
descended into a lower chamber. An altar stood before me, a ring of torch light
above. A man lay on across the altar, thrashing and screaming in terror.
Flanning.
“The sacrifice,” the Dreamer’s voice suggested.
I tasted the words as they came from my lips. “Yes,” I
agreed making my own blood sacrifice with a cut across my forearm. “All of
them.”
