Five Horrendous Tales

Under the Boards:
In the murky confines of the floorboards, a figure stirred, their senses returning
as consciousness seeped back into their body. Abruptly, the memory of the attack
flooded back: the piercing blow to the head, the world tilting on its axis before
succumbing to the darkness. Now, trapped beneath the rickety wooden planks, they
found themself in a nightmarish world of unseen terrors. The musty scent of damp earth
filled their nostrils, The rough texture of splintered wood scraped against their skin. As
they shifted, the floorboards creaked and groaned, sending echoes through the
cavernous space beneath the house. Panic surged through them as they realized the
extent of their situation. They were a prisoner in their own home, trapped at the mercy
of the unseen. The floorboards above them seemed miles away, an overwhelming
obstacle that held them captive. With each passing moment, the darkness pressed down
upon them, suffocating them with its oppressive weight. The sound of scurrying feet and
the chittering of rats sent a fresh wave of horror through their veins. Vermin scuttled
across the floorboards, their tiny claws clicking against the wood as they scampered
about. The figure could feel their presence, the brush of their whiskers against their
skin, the tickle of their cold, beady eyes upon them. The rats seemed to sense their fear,
growing bolder in their exploration. They nibbled at their clothes, their sharp teeth
grazing their skin. As the minutes turned into hours, desperation gnawed at the figure’s
mind. They tried to call out, but their voice was muffled by the floorboards. They banged
on the wood, hoping to attract someone’s attention, but their pleas were met with
silence. The house above them seemed eerily quiet, as if it were completely deserted.
The figure knew better. They could feel the presence of another person in the house, a
sinister and malevolent force that lurked in the shadows. They could hear the creak of
floorboards as someone moved about, the faint whisper of their footsteps drawing
closer. The figure’s heart pounded in their chest, their breath coming in short, shallow
gasps. Why had they been brought here? What did this unseen tormentor want with
them? As the realization dawned upon them, a chill ran down their spine, leaving a trail
of icy fear in its wake. They were not just trapped under the floorboards, they were
trapped in a macabre game of cat and mouse, with the odds stacked heavily against
them. The entities’ dark intent slowly and painstakingly consumed them until there was
nothing left.

The Spotted Rabbit:
She had died without warning while she was still on the job of cleaning her
employers’ mansion. In the guest room she lay cold as a stone wall on a December day.
There were no physical wounds to her body, and later the coroner reported that there
were no internal wounds either, aside from a shocking amount of wool strewn about in
her stomach and intestines. She showed no signs of malnutrition, and there was no
evidence of poisoning. So how did she die? Of course, the coroner had to pick the most
likely cause of death based on the evidence, which didn’t indicate foul play was involved.
She would be buried quickly because of her family’s wishes. It just didn’t make sense
why she had so much wool inside her and why she had no signs of malnutrition. I
decided to do a bit of research on mysterious deaths involving wool and a sudden
demise. Surprisingly, I found a connection. There was a legend of a spotted rabbit being
seen by people as they are traveling through forest paths or when they are hunting, and
within a week of seeing the rabbit they suddenly expire and in their guts wool is found
strung about. It felt a bit too on the nose for something that is a folklore tale, so I
decided to ask around in the mansion if the housekeeper had talked about seeing a
spotted rabbit before, and I got an instant answer from her fellow employees. They said
that she talked about seeing a spotted rabbit on her way back home on an old dirt path
that she walked on. That was about a week ago, proving the old legend true. I felt like it
would not be very convincing to her family about the cause of her death, but
surprisingly, they understood the legend and accepted my reasoning for the woman’s
death. A job well done if I do say so myself. I sent my regards to her family as it was still
a tragic loss to them. Five weeks later, as I was riding my horse through the dense brush
to my father’s house,I saw it.The omen of death. The spotted rabbit had cursed me to
expire soon. That night I laid down in my bed and hoped that I would pass when I was
sleeping and not while I was helping my family around the house.

Rage Of A Gentle Beast:
Deep in a dark forest was a small shack, where a Minotaur lived. His name was
Zusur, and he had lived in these forests all of his life. He knew the forest like the back of
his hand, where the deer would graze, where the wolf packs make their homes, and
where to get the best wild-grown fruits and vegetables. He had a very stable life out in
the wilds, but recently, a small local village had popped up a bit off from the forest, and
the village hunters have been slowly but surely making their way into the Woods
Because of this Zusur started putting up warning signs around his home, like animal
skulls and protection charms to ward off intruders. One day while he was gathering
some wild fruits, a hunter saw him. Of course the hunter ran off as soon as Zusur was
seen. Zusur knew he would be in danger if the hunter spoke of a beast in the forest, so he
got to work. He began gathering fruits, hunting small game, and cooking simple meals.
He set up a small offering table for the village, stacked it full of what he had gathered,
and arranged a makeshift path so that anyone coming into the forest would be able to
find the table. He then quickly left and waited to see if the humans would accept his
peace offering. After two days he went back to the offering table, and he found the stuff
he put down was gone. In its place was homemade human food. Zusur was overjoyed
that he made a connection with the village, but unknown to him the village was not as
accepting as he thought. They had planned to capture and enslave him to use his
strength to make him a servant of labor. Zusur continued to provide small offerings to
the village to maintain mutual respect, and as he did this over the days as the villagers
made plans to capture and subdue him into servitude. Zusur did not know, but one day
a young child ventured his way into the forest to play with bugs. He ran into Zusur as he
was catching beetles, and Zusur offered to help the young child to catch bugs. The young
boy was excited that he would get help from someone who knew the forest inside and
out. They spent around two hours catching bugs. The young boy was so happy but he
still felt a little sad. When it was about time for the boy to go back home he talked with
Zusur, but he looked a bit too sad.
Zusur asked, “Young one, what’s wrong?”
The young child told Zusur, “Sorry, it’s just sad that the village wants to hurt you,
but you seem so nice.”
Zusur was taken aback, shocked at what the young boy told him. “What? I had
not done anything to them. Why would they do that?”

The young boy said, “My papa said that you were a wild beast and that you would
attack the village if left unchecked. He said that the village wants to make you into a
heavy labor slave to make the work around the town easier.”
Zuzur thought, and then he spoke. “Go home and tell your family that they should
leave the village tonight. say that you feel like something bad is going to happen, okay?”
The young boy nodded, waved goodbye, and started skipping his way back home.
The next day Zusur had sharpened his weapons and reinforced his makeshift armor, and
he made his way to the village. The young boy’s family was at a safe inn far away. The
women and children were the only ones left alive in that village.


The Tale of Hollow Creek:
In the remote lumbering town of Hollow Creek, nestled amidst the towering
evergreens of the Pacific Northwest, an ancient terror awakened from its slumber.
Legends whispered of a monstrous deer, a supernatural entity with antlers like gnarled
branches and eyes that gleamed with an unearthly glow. At first, the townsfolk
dismissed it as mere folklore, a campfire story to spook children into obedience. Then
the attacks began. The deer emerged from the depths of the forest, standing upright like
a human, its hooves pounding the earth like thunder, its antlers tearing through the
night like a scythe, large razor-like claws were where its front hooves would be. It sought
vengeance upon the humans who dared to encroach upon its domain, laying waste to
their homes and leaving a trail of mangled bodies in its wake. As the forest supported
the creature’s relentless onslaught, the townsfolk realized the gravity of their situation.
They organized hunting parties, armed with axes and rifles, but their efforts proved
futile. The deer was a force of nature, impervious to their feeble attempts at defense.
Panic gripped the town as the attacks grew bolder and more frequent. People barricaded
their doors, huddled in their homes, praying for deliverance from the nightmare that
had befallen them, but it was too late. The deer had them cornered, its taste for blood
insatiable, its wrath unyielding. In a final, desperate stand, the townsfolk gathered in the
town square, their faces etched with fear and resignation. They knew they were doomed,
but they would not go down without a fight. As the deer descended upon them, its eyes
glowing like hellfire, they fought with a courage born of despair. Their efforts were in
vain. The deer tore through their ranks, its claws rending flesh and bone, its antlers
impaling its victims with merciless precision. The town of Hollow Creek was no more, its
existence erased from the annals of history, a cautionary tale of the price paid for
disturbing the ancient powers that slumber beneath the earth.

Secret Ingredient:
In the small town of Stowphen, nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery,
there stood a charming little bakery known far and wide for its delectable meat pies.
Behind the success of this establishment was a talented baker named Mr. Hawthorne,
renowned for his culinary skills that seemed almost magical. Young Thomas, a humble
apprentice, found himself under Mr. Hawthorne’s teachings. Eager to learn the intricate
art of baking, he admired his teacher’s precision and finesse in the kitchen. However, as
days turned into weeks, Thomas began to notice peculiarities about Mr. Hawthorne’s
behavior. The way he would disappear into the cellar for hours on end, a sinister gleam
in his eyes whenever he prepared the meat filling for the pies. One fateful evening,
curiosity got the better of Thomas. When the clock struck midnight and the bakery lay
shrouded in darkness, he ventured into the cellar, determined to unravel the mystery
shrouding his teacher. To his horror, he stumbled upon a gruesome sight – rows of
human skeletons stripped bare of flesh, a chilling reminder of the missing townsfolk
who had vanished without a trace. Before Thomas could react, Mr. Hawthorne
appeared, his normally pleasant demeanor twisted into a demon-like grin. The truth
dawned on the young apprentice, his teacher was a cannibal, using human flesh as the
secret ingredient in his famous meat pies. Trembling with fear, Thomas realized he was
standing on the edge of danger, a mere moment away from becoming the next victim of
his teacher’s insatiable hunger. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Thomas
made a split-second decision to escape. Racing up the cellar stairs, he could hear Mr.
Hawthorne’s maniacal laughter and thunderous footsteps echoing behind him. The
darkness seemed to press in on him, every creak of the floorboards a sinister whisper
urging him to turn back. Emerging into the cool night air, Thomas’s heart pounded in
his chest as he sprinted through the empty streets. Every shadow seemed to conceal a
threat, every rustle of the wind a harbinger of doom. Desperation lent wings to his feet,
driving him onwards and away from the horror that lurked behind him. As the first light
of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, Thomas finally collapsed on the
outskirts of town, his breath ragged and his mind reeling from the night’s events. The
realization of what he had uncovered sent shivers down his spine, a chilling reminder of
the darkness that dwelled within the heart of his once-respected teacher. From that day
on, Thomas vowed to never forget the taste of fear that lingered on his tongue, a bitter
reminder of the thin line between trust and betrayal, and the narrow escape that had
spared him from becoming the next ingredient in Mr. Hawthorne’s infamous meat pies.

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