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Niam Writes Horror

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(Just a thing I felt like doing on my spare time.)

(Please critique and tell me what you think)




I wake in the wee hours of the morning, hearing that noise, just outside the door to my room. I get up, walk to the door, and check it - nothing there, just the darkness of the hallway and---

The light on downstairs. It could be mum, preparing something for tomorrow's day at school, or it could be dad getting yet another drink to help him get to bed...I try to tell myself that, even though I can smell something acute on the air, all the way upstairs even - something...foul.

I close the door and go back to bed.

It'll be a busy day tomorrow in seventh grade.

I try to ignore the scratching sound continuing for about an hour longer, off and on, moving higher on the door before ceasing.


Mum drove me to school that next morning, she seemed pretty tired. Like she hadn't had much time to sleep that night. Maybe she heard it, too, but I don't want to bring it up - could've been just a vivid dream or something.

As I left the car, heading in to school, I hear the local bully boys talking in front of the derelict old gym building on my way to my first period class.

Those guys were pretty mean - led by a tall, somewhat good-looking boy named Patrick, and his three friends, they used to pick on me until recently when they just seemed to stop bothering. Maybe they moved on to more tantalizing targets, or maybe after eight weeks they just got tired of it.

Patrick looked pretty tired too, and said he heard scratching outside his window that night.

I stood there for a good minute before being urged by a hall monitor to keep moving to class.


Class with Mr. Dimm was as usual pretty boring - he would basically talk in a stream of consciousness about whatever historical time he had to tell us about. This week it looked like he was discussing the times just after the First Crusade, and basically going through what each country was like immediately afterwards.

I was distracted however by a persistent scratching sound at the classroom door.

Could only I hear it?


That afternoon, after school, I decided to try and head home as soon as possible, but was caught on my way out the front gates of the school by Patrick and his guys.

"Hey, buddy, its been a while." Patrick put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I wanted to run, but Patrick held me tight, and then asked, " been hearing weird scratching noises?"

I didn't know where he might get that idea, and gulped, "M-Maybe..."

Patrick looked over at Jan and Mitch, his two underlings, and then held a bit tighter, "M-M-M-M-M-Maybe...?" And there was his mocking tone yet again. Patrick reached over while holding me and painfully twisted my nipple through my shirt, wringing pained gasps from my mouth.

"Yes Patrick yes! I heard it okay, please stop...!" Patrick let go, and I stumbled forward, panting and wheezing.

The bully stated, "Then we're good. I heard those noises basically nonstop last night...couldn't concentrate. I was trying to have fun, and the noise just kept knocking me out of it."

I got back up and wondered about that - I heard it 3 to 6 times, the last three times really fast, but apparently Patrick was hearing it just nonstop. "W-Why did you think about asking me...?"

Patrick leaned forward a bit and said, dead serious, "Because when it stopped, I heard some squeaky, plush toy voice say "Say Hi To Bill Aynsley"."

My eyes widened - whatever had been making the noise had spoken to Patrick and led him to me. For what reason, I could not know. All that was apparent right now was I was not alone in hearing something, and whatever it was had much more it could do than simply scratch at the door.


After Patrick and I parted ways, I headed home quickly, eager to get back to the safe space I was sure existed at home. Most of us kids had to walk home, there were no school buses in this little old town, and most of our parents had a long shift at work in the day.

For some reason on the way home, I saw a lot of stray dogs loitering about - all of them immediately getting up a bit and turning to look at me. Even while one was eating a bit of spilled food, it stopped, turned, looked at me, and then went back to its meal when I was out of eyeshot.

It was then I heard the voice.

I think the breed is called Doberman Pincher...Pisher...something like that...but it suddenly walked out in front of me, and started hacking. Nonstop - just constantly coughing and forcing up what looked like some sort of black liquid. I saw its eyes roll back in its head.

Then the dog spoke, in the squeaky, strained voice I would come to identify as the bringer of my nightly horrors, "Hi Bill - you're gonna die."

(chapter 1 done.)

Tolpuddle Martyr:
Black goop, black blood or black bile?

It best resembles pitch black tar, like the material from a tar pit.

Tolpuddle Martyr:
Eeek, continue.

Chapter 2

I stood there, trying to gulp and get this feeling out of my throat, but no matter what I did, I just couldn't manage it. The dog by now was oozing the black tar out of its mouth, smaller trails coming from its eyes, and somehow I could tell the animal was trying to affect a human's smile.

It spoke again, coughing once before getting its voice right again, "Billy Billy're a sinner. A sinner. A sinn---" It then hacked suddenly and vomited up, along with a lot of the black tar, what looked like some sort of chunk of bloodied meat.

I took the opportunity while it was distracted to run - to run as fast as my legs would take me, far from that horrible dog-thing, from the staring dogs. As I ran I somehow felt it was at my heels, I heard a giggle trail off not too far behind, a legion of snarls at my back...

...only for them to suddenly disperse as soon as I got close enough to home.

Mom still wasn't home, neither was Dad - but I was hardly thinking of them when I almost ran right into the door. Shoved the key at the lock, almost dropping it a few times in a sheer panic and then getting it open and slamming it shut behind me.

"W-Was that what Patrick heard?" I whispered to myself. Was that what I heard at my door last night? Was I even safe here?

I let my backpack drop at my feet, and thought about what that horrible, horrible creature meant by calling me a sinner...more to the dire point, that I was going to die. I moved to the home phone, thinking of dialing 911, but then wondering what to tell the police. Would they really believe that I just got chased home by a dog vomiting up tar and stuff? Would anyone really believe this?

I looked up at the ceiling, choked back a sob, and then decided I needed to be brave. I needed to reach freaking Patrick. And any other students experiencing these attacks and encounters.

I couldn't just sit back and pretend this was not happening. It was real, well and totally real - I'd seen and heard it, almost died...and I couldn't let that happen to anyone else.


Speaking of young Patrick Delauney, he lived on the other side of town, with his single mother - who could hardly handle the raucous teenager her son was becoming. In eighth grade, Patrick was known as one of the school bad boys, though precious few had any idea just how bad he really was.

Patrick spent the day after school looking over his shoulder for that voice, knowing if it could get inside his home, he needed to be aware of whether it was going to show up again.

Why the hell did it insist on him going and bothering Bill, Patrick wondered.

Well, he decided, that was not going to dissuade him from indulging in his hobbies after a long day at school.

Patrick's room was littered with metal band posters, the largest being a Cradle of Filth poster hanging beside his bed. Patrick had a large freezer he'd saved up his allowance for, in the corner of his room. He called that the "Freezing Place". Tonight he opened it up and his mouth perked into a dark little smile.

Within the freezer was contained numerous samples of roadkill he'd collected, some of which had just barely clung to life when the young teen had grabbed them up. He was particularly proud of a wounded cat he'd bound up and stuffed in his fridge. It of course had died of starvation and hypothermia, but these little samples all served a purpose. Mom definitely could not find out about her son's little hobby, or he guessed she'd freak out.

Not like he'd care.

Patrick as usual picked at some of the bodies, examining organs, innards, frozen blood, and the maggots that had frozen to death on their meal. He liked examining these kinds of things, thought himself to be some sort of post-mortem doctor examining the bodies.

Patrick smelled something rotting, but he just thought that was his collection's unique odor.

Some times he'd just take small, living ones, use a glue trap to get em bound up, and then put them in the fridge for later dissection purposes.

The young man pondered about one day adding a human corpse to his collection...though he'd probably need a bigger freezer. And where would he even find one? He chuckled a little to himself. He loved having his fun. And it'd been quite fun going rough on Bill earlier.

Young Delauney's smile turned into a full on perverse grin as he thought to himself, Maybe next time I can pinch his weener. Would he gasp in pain, or...would he then let me rub it a little to make it feel better? Oh Billy, you're mine. You're ALL mine. Not gonna let Jan or Fatshit Mitch have him any more. You're mine to hurt, to laugh at, to take joy in...oh yeah, nerdy little Billy and mean, tall Patrick...

He turned around, content in his dark daydreams, seeing a dog crouching on his bed - black tar pouring out of its eyes, nose, mouth, and several holes ripped into its body. Its face was contorted into an all too human smile - eyes rolling around in the head freely. Patrick could see its teeth were all sharp, all looking like fangs even as some were broken and chipped. That voice again, "Sneaky...sneaky evil have sins on your head, sins in your I'm going to rip off both!"

Patrick only barely managed to move out of the way as the dog's mouth suddenly tore wider on the sides as it leaped for him, leaving the disturbed boy to watch as the tar dog collided with his fridge. He was already out and running as the dog got back up, now covered in writhing, suddenly living maggots and with the parts of the frozen animals and roadkill sticking out of it in numerous places.

It leaped out of Patrick's room's window and howled ...trailing off into vicious laughter.


I was at home, thinking of ways to try and fight that thing - maybe it had all the weaknesses of a dog given it had the body of one. I didn't doubt for a moment whatever that thing was, it was not actually a dog. It was certainly wearing one, but whatever this thing was...

My thoughts were disrupted as I heard the house phone ringing.

I answered it, and was surprised to hear Patrick on the other end, "B-Billy...please...I need to--to stay at your place...please...I saw the tar thing...the dog. The thing that made me call you out."

Patrick was definitely in trouble too - and I didn't have the heart to deny him a place to stay, especially with this thing on the loose. "O-Okay man. No picking on me...please be careful on your way over. I saw it too."

"Sure thing dude. T-Thanks." Patrick almost sounded like he was about to cry to me. That was the first time he'd ever seemed...vulnerable to me. I could almost not picture it, big and tall, handsome Patrick being scared of anything. But here the call was, here was his horrified tone...and I couldn't let the bully go and potentially let him die.

(Chapter 2 finished)


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