Short Horror Stories

Bloodstorm

‘The power of The Voices is ancient and formidable. They can twist even the noblest of minds into the most formidable villains. With their corrupting influence, even the most virtuous heroes can be turned into agents of chaos. And all they require to fuel their dark desires, are the screams of the tortured. Beware The Voices, for they are a force to be reckoned with.’

Blood is a disturbing fluid. I know. Quiet.

My blood feels frozen. Shivers crawl down my arms. I sit, my eyes swimming as they watch the blood drip down across the walls. My mouth feels sore, like I’ve been yawning too much. But I know the real reason. 

I lurch forward like a puppet on a string. My face slams against the tiled floor, and I can hear breathing in my ear. My reflection stares up at me from the tile as I lay limp. The breathing above me grows heavier. 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” The voice screams into my ear, and I can feel tears along my cheeks, but my face remains emotionless. I can see my eyes on the tile, dead and cold, like a fish. “Many things. Looking for specifics?” I snarled, my face is still smooshed against the tile, so it comes out muffled.

The screaming fades, and I can’t seem to breathe. I start to cough, and I strain for breath. I can’t feel anything. My vision is tinted. It’s not supposed to be tinted.

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is blood. It pools around me, soaking my clothes. The pain burning in my throat. 

My eyes sharpen, and I can feel my muscles clenching. A growl erupts from my throat, and I push against the screaming body, which clings to my neck. The screaming grows less deaf in my burning ears as I try to stop the blood flow. Hot with rage, I shake myself, my height increasing as The Voices sense my danger. My fingernails grow into glistening claws, and I swipe at my opponent. I can feel the teeth in my mouth turn razor sharp, and my tongue lengthens, ending in a cruel muscular point. Ink-black saliva dripping from my jaws as I try to shake off the boy.

The human, eventually, falls off, his eyes shifting from anger to fear and surprise at my new physique. I watch him, my face stretching and pulling to fit my new structure. The pain is almost blinding, but I do not move. I watch. For it is all I know.

Before, I sat in the back of the classroom. I observed the backs of my classmate's heads. Melancholy music blasted into my ears as an unsuccessful attempt to block out my misery. My life fell apart weeks ago. I went to the hospital, drugged, and fain on death. When I returned, my memory broke. 

Names, ages, locations. Gone.

Then, The Voices came, people of their own sort, in my head. I hated them at first. It felt like I was arguing with myself. But as I eased into their arrival, I couldn’t help but appreciate their company. They said I didn’t need to remember. Because all that was forgotten was forgotten to protect me. This seemed suspicious, but I found myself not wanting to remember. Blocking out the memories. 

Until they returned.

I cried when they returned. I hated it. But I had to keep pretending I didn’t remember. I couldn’t go back to before. This was who I wanted to be. Because the alternative to my future was my inevitable and forthcoming death. By my hand or Fate’s.

I shake my head, trying to focus. Saliva sprays across the terrified boy's face, the drips sliding down his shaking body like black tears. I watch him flinch from the warm liquid, and I edge towards him, my eyes glowing hotly. My eyes burned in my sockets, searchlights in the dark hallway. The lights above flickering on and off uncertainly. 

The power had been disabled when the real monster had emerged. This middle stage was a poor resemblance to The Voice’s power. But powerful nonetheless.

“Any regrets, human?” I growl, my eyes blinding him with their bright light. “Am I more powerful than you thought? Did you think your friends were weak for dying to my power?” My words are not my own anymore. The Voices snarl and reach through me, attacking the boy with their stinging words. Typically, this is where I block out The Voices words. I don’t want to see their victim's horror-stricken faces as tears pour down and sodden their shirts. But this time, I stayed.

I’d been hiding in this school for days. Sometimes, foolish humans came out of their hiding spots to try to kill me. So far, I’d murdered about a hundred. My food consisted of their bodies, though I never stayed for that part.

When I focused my sight again, a pool of blood remained.

We need more. We haven’t eaten for days since today. 

I forcedly obliged. My form dripping with blood, I searched the school building. Gouging on any bodies I left behind. 

Until I found a room full of the remaining survivors. 

They hadn’t spoken in days. Afraid of the creature killing the humans remaining, their fellow survivors' bloodcurdling screams forced them to remain mute. They communicated using sign language or writing on pieces of paper. 

But when she entered, they were silent. They didn’t move, complete statues. Their screams, their voices so protectively hidden, would be trivial considering they hadn’t talked in ages. 

I watched them. My eye sockets were hallowed by lack of sleep and the strange anomaly of my flame-hot eyeballs. The flesh around my eyes burned and melted into my existing flesh. The thought itself sent shivers down my spine. But I couldn’t imagine what they saw.

FEED US.

I cried out in pain as The Voices attacked my head, my eyes burned brighter, and I could feel my flesh melting, the hot boiling meat burning itself onto my cheeks.

I threw myself at the nearest victim, biting my sharp teeth into their neck. I ripped at their flesh, bone visible. Panic ensued. People ran, screaming from the room, their voices horse, but their fear was prominent. The pain did not die, and I continued to leap across the room, killing anything that moved. 

When the pain stopped, I could focus again. The blood lust had ended. But the blood remained. When I looked around, no survivors could be seen. My human form was still wounded from before, and my current was sore from the burning flesh. I crumbled to the floor. Tired and bitter. 

When will this end? When the world rests at the hand of our claws.

I stood and lifted my head to the skies. My eyes streamed from the pain. Blood and tears, a swirling puddle of misery and pain at my feet.

“I cannot anymore.” My voice was laced with pain and anger. My words felt cold in my mouth, and I could feel a trickle of blood running down the side of my mouth. A numb pain erupted from my chest, but I could not bring myself to do anything besides stand there and cry in self-pity.

After a while, I stopped. The Voices did not invade my brain. The pain was gone. It was when I looked that I saw why.

I had been stabbed. I was dead.