Sam O. Bscure




Ghost Towns

I pick up my keys from where they hang beside the door, slip my arms into the sleeves of my jacket, and lock the door behind me. The air is still, its inky depths absorbing me as I walk to my car which slumbers just beside the curb.

As ease into the driver’s seat, I hesitate before closing the door, wanting to preserve the silence. Holding my breath, I pull on the handle and cringe as it reconnects and encloses me. When I put my key into the slot and start the ignition, the radio immediately springs to life. It’s something loud, with a pulsing beat and indiscernible lyrics. I turn it off and restore the silence. Continue reading “Ghost Towns”

Young Dreams

Picture Prompt 8 moon
Property of Charlie Speratis

When I was young, with an untainted mind, I used to dream. They were intricate creations that redefined the possible and impossible. They were full of magic, imagination, pure happiness. But it lasted for a short time, a time that I’ve come to miss more and more as I age.

As I lost my innocence, as I was forced to face the truth of the world, my dreams turned. It was not a slow process; it did not gradually rise like the sun each morning. Instead, it began beneath the surface, an infection festering, before bursting suddenly to the surface. Continue reading “Young Dreams”


It sat upon my shoulders, with beady eyes and gleaming teeth.

Sometimes It was light, a presence lurking still, but I was able to keep my shoulders square. I was able to keep my head up and a smile on my face, eyes bright. I was fine then.

But other times, It was the weight of the world. That was when it became impossible to stand tall, to look people in the eye, to function. I was not fine then. Continue reading “It”

Dead Eyes


Where-where should I start?

Wherever you want.

But, I don’t-

The beginning. Start at the beginning.

It was dark.

Was it night?

No, just dark. There were clouds, I think it rained later that day.


We were-


You know, we.

I don’t know anything you don’t tell me.

Right, uh, okay. Michael, Hannah, me and…

And Lucy?

Yeah, and Lucy.


We were just hanging out-


My.. My house. We were at my house.

Were you there the entire time?

No.. No, we left a couple hours later.

And where did you go then?

We went out to Fischer Park.

All of you?

Yeah. Well, I mean, Michael didn’t stay there..

But he came with you.


And Lucy?

She, uh, yeah. She didn’t stay either.

Lucy and Michael, did they leave together?


Did they leave at the same time?

No, they left about a half hour apart.

So, they weren’t together after they left Fischer Park?

I… I don’t know.

Do you think they were?

I don’t-

What do you think?

I, uh, I think they were.

And why did you all go to Fischer Park?

Just to, you know, hang out.

Couldn’t you have hung out just as well if you stayed at your house?

Yeah, but…


Fischer Park.. I mean, there’s parties there. Everybody goes.

Parties. And what’s at these parties?

Nothing. It’s just.. Just a party.

Are you sure?


So, there was no drinking?

Well, I mean, of course there was. But-

Are you not under the legal drinking age?

I am.

Did Michael and Lucy drink?

I don’t know, probably.

Alright. Continue.

We just stayed at Fischer Park for a while, then we all went back to my house.

Around what time would you say you left the park?

I don’t know exactly, around two in the morning.

And when you got home?

When we got home… We found Michael and Lucy.

How did you find them?

You.. You know that. You don’t need me to tell you. Please don’t make me tell you..

As I said, I don’t know anything you don’t tell me.


How did you find Michael and Lucy when you got home.

They were… Hanging from the rafters.


Yes. Hanging, with ropes around their necks. Just… just staring.


With dead eyes. They were- Oh my God, they were dead.

So, it was suicide.

What? No… No, they would never..

They were killed?

Yes, God, someone killed them…

Do you have any idea who?

No, of course not!

Are you sure?

Yes, I’m sure. I have no clue what kind of monster would do that..

I could tell you.

You know?

Yes, we know.

Then why am I here?

Because you are the monster. You killed them.

To Keep a Promise

When you locked me away, said I was crazy, I’m sure you thought it was the end. I must admit that I did as well.

I spent each day staring at the same four walls, all white and blank. In the beginning, I counted. Kept track of how much of my life had been taken from me. By you. By your betrayal.

But, I grew bored of that quickly. As you know, my mind is not as simple as others. Not as easy to occupy.

That was when my thoughts returned to you.

That was when I began to remember all of those things about you.

I remembered your promises, the ones you made in the beginning. That you would help me, you could fix me and make me better, you wouldn’t toss me into some institution.

I remember how it only took a few months for that to change, for you to regret those promises. You had always taken pride in your honor and your ability to keep your word, but I suppose even you had your limit.

I remember when you first betrayed me, when you told them. You told them I was crazy. They took one look at me and believed you.

And that was when they brought me here, surrounded me with white. White. A pure color. But here, nothing is pure.

If you thought I was insane before, just wait until you see the way this place has twisted my mind.

If you were afraid of me before, as you were on the night I carved you with that kitchen knife, wait until I show you the art I can create now.

My mind is not pure, it is not well. No, not even I can deny the way it has become tainted.

But you’re the only one to blame. If you had only kept your promise, then none of this would have to happen.

I’ll be coming soon, to see you.

And I’ll make sure you know what it means to keep a promise.


It wasn’t dark, it wasn’t stormy. It wasn’t even night. The sun was bright, perhaps even more so than usual, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The leaves were still green, comfortably dangling from tree branches. The flowers were still in full bloom, their beautiful petals adding color to the front of every house on the street. It didn’t feel like Halloween, it didn’t even feel like fall. One could easily come across this scene and assume they had stepped into summer.

She didn’t feel displeased by this, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was these Halloweens that brought her the most joy. The most pleasure. People became comfortable this way, they forgot about the idea of ghouls and monsters and blood and fear. Instead, they simply put on their costumes and paraded around the neighborhood. They went to parties, they watched horror films, they carved pumpkins and decorated their lawns. But, on years like this, it was never quite the same. They did these things with less zeal, it was a casual affair, because in their minds it wasn’t truly Halloween.

And that was a dangerous mistake.

That was why she loved it, they had their guard down. It simply made it that much more thrilling when she slashed her knife across their throats. They didn’t expect it, and she had found that created the greatest of reactions.

As their blood poured from their body, she could watch as each and every essence of fear passed across their face. Of course, this sort of response is only natural when facing such a death.
But, she found a pleasure like no other this way.

The pleasure of reminding them of the fear they should be feeling.
The fear of Halloween.


You cannot run forever.
You can try, but each time you think you’ve pulled ahead, you will glance over your shoulder and it will be me who has gained ground. You can run until you’re unable to take another step, until your lungs are straining and you fear they will fail you. I will still be there. You can only run for so long.

Do not even consider seeking refuge, there is nowhere you can hide. Not from me. This is my domain, you are foolish to believe you have even the slightest chance of escaping. You see, to you this suffocating darkness is a weakness. To you, the silence is terrifying. To you, these woods are the very essence of your nightmares.

And that is what I thrive on. I know where each tree has sunk its roots into the waiting earth. I know where each boulder lays in slumber. I know where to find the demons of the night, I know each of their heart stopping howls. I know all there is to know.

So, you may carry on. Continue down your desperate path. I enjoy the chase.
But, understand that you cannot run forever. And when you are forced to give in, I will know.

I am the haunter of these woods.


Tonight you’re perfect, because we have more in common than you’d like to admit.

I can see it in the hollowness of your eyes, the all consuming void that’s steadily tearing away at your soul. It leaves you blank and without light. I’ve come to know it well.

I can see it in the way your smile drops, vanishing the moment they turn their back. It’s forced, that’s plain to see, and the effort is wearing on you. It’s okay, I share the same fatigue.

I can see it when you scratch at your wrists, tearing at your own skin, feeling betrayed because you’re so uncomfortable in it. Sometimes, it bleeds. And that’s terrifying, because it seems that nothing can protect you from yourself.

I can see it in the way you wander, lost. Not only now, not only here, but in every way. You’ve lost direction and hope. All of that withered away, and now you’ve just become an empty vessel that used to carry so much promise. I know, I’m just as empty as you.

I can see it in you, I can see you in me.
I can see what a mess you are, how broken you are.

But that’s alright with me, because tonight you’re perfect.


Yellow sunlight crept in through the windows that lined the hall, but through the aged and dirty glass it only managed to cast a sickly fraction of its full potential. It had been years since I had last been here, and many of my memories had become obscured by time. It’s funny how the mind works like that, the things we remember, because it is the things I would most like to forget that have remained the most vivid.
I didn’t want to be here. When I walked out of those doors so long ago, I had sworn to never return. I swore I would never mention or even so much as think for a moment about this damn school. But she wanted me to come. She told me if I would just do this one thing, just come back one more time, she would be happy. And God knows I owed her that.
She would be waiting, that’s what she said. She didn’t tell me where, because we both knew she didn’t need to. I would find her where I’d left her on that last day.
My heart was pounding, matching the rhythm of my steps as I walked down the forsaken hall. I passed by the countless classrooms, all mirror images of one another, and I stepped around the desks flipped on their sides. The tragic remains of old books lay like the corpses of the forgotten, their pages decaying beneath my feet.
There, at the very end, I knew she would be. Waiting. For a few moments, I forgot how to breathe and I feared I wouldn’t reach her. That I would fail her again. But, then it returned and my vision cleared. I stood in the doorway.
It was empty. This room, more than any other, had truly been abandoned. Or perhaps it was avoided. She was there, in the center of the room. Her hair the same faded yellow as everything else and her eyes hollow. Her feet hung limply in the air, and the rope still held its deadly grip on her neck.
I had brought my own; I knew it would make her happy. She always told me that she was so glad she had someone like me, someone who was always by her side. And I would be one last time.
I looked out the window before us; at the weakened light and at the carcass of a butterfly that lay on the sill.
Perhaps that’s all this school had ever done, held us back from our full potential.

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