Mother Ghost Grimm

by Melody Grace

  “Sorry-dory, it’s not for sale. Her dance to me is never stale. But come back and watch if you want. This ballerina loves to vaunt!”

  The little girl laughed. Her mother pulled her away.

  Sybil wanted to scream for help, but she couldn’t. Screaming would make her pretty face not quite so pretty anymore. And she was the best! Better than all the other knick knacks and paddy whacks on his shelf. When her lid was opened and the music played, she spun round and round and round. Not once did she make a mistake. She couldn’t…

  “You’re the best, forevermore! Now no reason to be sore! A spoiled girl left to sprout. It’s you they’ll all say things about!”

  Finally, no one could deny that Sybil was the best little ballerina there ever was…

  Even if no one ever knew it was Sybil captured within the music box.

  Trash Night

  Story // Joshua D. Taylor

  Illustration // Melody Grace

  * * *

  Dillon broke out in a cold sweat as he saw the sunset through his bedroom window. It was a Tuesday night, trash night. He usually took the trash out early, before it got dark, but he had been playing video games and lost track of time. He still had two hours until he had to go to bed, plenty of time to finish his chores but now he would have to do them in the dark.

  Back when he lived in the city, all he had to do was carry his trash can down the steps to put it by the curb, all the while surrounded by the warm glow of the porch lamps and streetlights while friendly neighbors took their dogs for evening strolls.

  Out in the country, it was a long, dark walk from the house to the end of the driveway, with only a single flickering streetlight at the end. There could be anything lurking in the trees and bushes that lined the driveway; skunks, raccoons, stray dogs, or escaped inmates.

  His older brother Steve claimed he saw a clown hiding at the end of the street once, and his neighbor Sally swore that she sees red glowing eyes staring through her bedroom window.

  Dillon knew that if the trash did not go out, he was going to be in big trouble with his parents, so he laced up his sneakers and pulled on his favorite hoodie, the blue one he got at a baseball game last summer. He stood inside the front door holding his breath.

  He opened the door and stepped outside into the cool evening air. Unseen crickets and cicadas sang strange songs in the night. He jumped as the door slammed behind him. He stepped quickly off the front porch and went around to the side of the house where the trash can was kept.

  The moment he stepped outside the safety of front porch light, he felt something lurking in the darkness, following him. It gave him goosebumps, but he had a job to do. He waved his hand in front of his face to get rid of the stinky trash smell.

  Dillon grabbed the trash can with one hand and tried to drag it behind him, but it would not budge. It was so heavy he had to use both hands to move it. He looked around nervously, feeling something watching him from the shadows, but no one was there.

  He tried to hurry, but the harder he pulled, the slower he seemed to go. It was like trying to walk through mud. Rustling in the nearby bushes made him break out in a cold sweat. He was about to leave the trash can in the middle of the driveway and run for the house, when the neighbor’s black cat Rufus ran in front of him. He nearly jumped out of his shoes.

  “Stupid cat.” he said, embarrassed that he had been scared.

  Then heard footsteps to his left. He turned to see the shadows swaying in the night, but nothing else. His breathing was short and panicked. He wiped his damp forehead with his sleeve. He looked at the end of the driveway then back at the house; he was only halfway there. It felt like it had taken a lifetime.

  He still felt someone watching him, an unseen stranger lurking in the darkness, but everywhere he looked, he saw nothing. The phantom presence seemed everywhere and nowhere at once. Maybe it was just his brother playing a prank on him. He closed his eyes and pulled and pulled, step after step.

  Suddenly Dillon found himself standing in the flickering glow of the streetlight. He was almost there. He took a deep breath, and with all his might, pulled the heavy trashcan the last few feet to the curb.

  Now all he had to do was get back to the house. The porch seemed like it was a million miles away, just a distant point of light in the darkness. The strange noises of the night taunted him, daring him to try to get home. Dillon balled up his fists and got ready to run. He looked around as he felt eyes on the back of his neck. His unseen observer was still with him...still after him. Dillon felt it taunting him, letting him think he could get home safe; that was when it would come for him.

  He broke into a run. His feet pounded the pavement and the cool night air burned his lungs. He could feel something right behind him, chasing him. If it caught him, he knew he would never make it home again.

  He zig-zagged back and forth, trying to evade his unseen follower's grasp. He felt the darkness grab at his shoes and its breath on the back of his neck. Dillon kept his eyes on the front porch light in front of him and never looked back, afraid of what he might see, afraid the darkness would swallow him up if he looked at it.

  Then his feet hit the front door mat and he stood in the warm circle of light again. He was safe. He stood there, catching his breath. He glanced behind him as he put a hand on the doorknob. There was nothing out there. Just the night, the darkness, and the strange noises of insects. Nothing that could harm him. He could see the trash can sitting all the way at the end of the driveway in the flickering streetlight.

  Dillon smiled to himself. All of his fears had been for nothing. He felt foolish, getting scared of the dark when there was nothing out there. As he turned to go inside and finish his video game, a cool breeze blew, and his blood ran cold as someone whispered in his ear “I’ll get you next trash night!”

  Mr. Riddles

  Story // Kyle Harrison

  Illustration // Stew Brown

  * * *

  Hey diddly doo,

  I have some riddles for you.

  Who’s big and mean,

  but not quite green?

  Hey diddly doo,

  I know the answer, do you?

  Hey diddle diddle,

  can you solve my riddle?

  Who’s watching when you lie,

  and snickering when you cry?

  Come play the game,

  you’ll never be the same.

  Hey diddle diddles,

  why don’t you come meet Mr. Riddles?

  He’ll keep you busy from five to three

  and never leave your company.

  He’s the friend you never had,

  and the one that always does bad.

  You say you don’t want to play?

  You’d rather be good, and stay away?

  Then don’t sing this song

  or else you’ll go wrong.

  Hey diddly do,

  what’s going to happen to you?

  Hey diddly diddles,

  come and play with Mr. Riddles.

  The Cavity

  Story // Adrian J. Johnson

  Illustration // Stew Brown

  * * *

  Alicia always feared one thing when it came to spending a night at her Grandma Bobo’s house, and that was going upstairs and into the dark hallway that led to the guest bedroom.

  Alicia never had the nerve to sleep—or even dared go—in the guest room like her grandma advised her to, especially since she felt rather insecure once she got to the second floor. It was the voices that scared her. The shrill laughter. The dreadful screaming that would make your blood run cold. All of them coming from what sounded like . . . young children. And she was able to hear all of them.

  The lost and helpless voices seemed to speak to her, warning her, persuading her to go into the guest room. To leave the house. Or to save them. She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to find out. So instead of going into the guest room, she slept downstairs in the living room on the plastic-covered furniture.


  Grandma Bobo never liked it when Alicia did that, but she didn’t care. Anywhere in the house was better than upstairs.

  Of course, it wasn’t Alicia’s idea to have sleepovers at Grandma Bobo’s house. Her parents usually had work on the weekends, and they had to find someone to take care of their daughter while they were away. Grandma Bobo immediately accepted the offer, and that was how the weekends were since then.

  Alicia’s grandma was a very strict woman. She had a list of rules that applied to Alicia when it came to having sleepovers at her house, but most of them involved not doing anything that might cause a ruckus. However, Alicia was a well-behaved girl, but her grandma had her doubts.

  It was the middle of October on a Saturday evening, and Alicia was dropped off by her parents to Grandma Bobo’s old, uninviting house. She spent most of her day outside in the backyard, swinging on a tire swing. That was until she noticed a few kids peeking from over the wooden fence. Two young girls and an elder boy. Alicia had never seen these kids before, not even in her life.

  “Why are you playing in the back of the witch’s house?” One of the two girls asked her.

  “This is my grandma’s house, I’m having a sleepover here,” Alicia replied, hopping off the tire swing and walked toward the fence to the three kids.

  “Your grandma? The evil kidnapper?” The elder boy questioned, pointing at the frosted window where a silhouette was seen. Grandma Bobo was probably looking out the window at the neighborhood kids.

  “Evil kidnapper?” Alicia said, bewildered by their crazy assumptions.

  “I’d stay away from her if I were you. Even if she is your grandma.” The elder boy jumped off the fence and ran off. The two girls did the same and followed him out.

  Alicia was certain that her grandma wasn’t really a witch, or an evil kidnapper. Was she? Or were they just trying to scare her? She decided to get rid of the thought and headed inside for supper.

  Supper time had passed, and Alicia was to be sent to bed by her grandma.

  “But Grandma Bobo, I don’t want to sleep upstairs!” She whined.

  “No buts, young lady! Now go ahead and get to bed! There are no kids inside the walls, it’s all inside your head!” Grandma Bobo pointed to the staircase, expecting Alicia to go up to bed. When she got to the first step, she watched as her grandma leave the living room. She was getting ready for bed as well. And when her grandma was gone, Alicia pulled out her small, yellow flashlight from her night shirt pocket.

  It was a good thing Alicia packed a flashlight with her. Despite her unwillingness to go upstairs at all, she was, however, willing to figure out if it really was just a figment of her wild imagination, messing with her fears.

  Alicia tiptoed up the narrow stairway, her flashlight turned on and aimed in front of her. Each small step she took, the stair underneath her creaked faintly. The closer she got to the top of the stairs, the more audible the voices of the children came to be. She stopped in her place, listening carefully.

  “Come stay with us, Alicia!”

  “Get us out of here!”

  “You’ll love it in here!”

  “Stay away from here, Alicia!”

  “It’ll eat you too!”

  Alicia shivered in fear, the little hairs on her arms standing up. But with a bit of courage left inside her, she continued going up the remaining stairs. Once she got to the top, she turned and stared straight ahead into the darkness, the voices louder and clearer, as if the children were right next to her. Aiming the flashlight at the end of the hallway with a shaky grip, she spotted the door.

  The guest bedroom. It seemed to be waiting for her. Waiting for her to discover whatever horrific truth she might face behind that door. Alicia took a small step forward, letting out a slight creak from the wooden floor beneath her.

  Step. Creeeeeaaaaak!

  The voices came to a halt for a second, but then they continued on with their endless tormenting. She took another step, and the voices, once again, silenced themselves.

  She proceeded to walk down the hallway, and eventually started going faster. The closer she got to the door, the more her little heartbeat in her chest like a drum.

  “Stay away! I’m warning you!”

  “You’re almost there!”

  “Turn around!”

  “You’re getting closer!”

  Alicia finally made it to the door, grabbing onto the doorknob frantically. She twisted it and pushed the door open, stepping inside. From outside the guest room, she couldn’t hear the voices anymore. Everything was just completely silent, save for the heavy breathing from poor little Alicia.

  She scanned around the room, keeping her flashlight aimed in front of her. It was just an ordinary bedroom. There was a bed. A small dresser. A nightstand. A lamp. And a dusty rug on the floor. The guest room had it all.

  She stopped and caught sight of a small hole in the wall across from her. She pointed the flashlight at it, watching as the hole started to get larger and larger. The hole was gaping open like a mouth. Dirt-covered hands busted out of the dark hole, attempting to reach out and grab at Alicia. The bedroom was suddenly filled with a foul smell of rotten fish, it stung her nostrils. She felt a strong gust of heat exiting from the hole as it stretched open a little more.

  She yelped, backing away as far as possible, but bumped into someone behind her. She turned around and saw Grandma Bobo, looking down at her.

  “Grandma Bobo?” Alicia said, her voice trembling with fear. She was on the verge of tears. She didn’t know what was going on.

  “It’s about time you came into the bedroom. It’s feeding time.”

  Feeding time? What did she mean by that?

  “Grandma Bobo, please . . .” Alicia whimpered weakly, backing away from her. The rumors from the neighborhood kids had popped into her head instantly. They might have been right after all!

  “I must satisfy the Cavity. I’m so sorry, sweetie, but it wants me to do this,” Grandma Bobo said. There was a feeling of sorrow and regret in her. Her tone, her body language, it was all there.

  She clenched Alicia by her arms, pushing her back into the far wall. She could hear the hands clawing and scratching the walls behind her. The screams and cries from the children in the walls were becoming more audible.

  “No!” Alicia screamed, pulling away from her. She unraveled herself and shoved Grandma Bobo toward the hole. And just like that, the hands caught her like a trap. The children began to wrap their arms around her, enclosing her in an inescapable doom.

  “No! Don’t take me! Take her!” Grandma Bobo pleaded, trying to release herself from their grips, but they were too strong. The hands lifted the old woman up and pulled her into the hole . . . swallowing her into the infinite darkness. Her prolonged howls were drowned out into nothingness.

  Then there was absolute stillness.

  Grandma Bobo was eaten alive.

  Alicia remained frozen in the middle of the room, her flashlight shining onto the hole as it began to close up steadily, until all there was now was an enclosed wall.

  The Cavity was now fed and satisfied with its latest meal. And possibly its last.

  Grandad

  Story // A.L. King

  Illustration // D. Powell

  * * *

  It all started after Grandad had a nasty fall.

  “Remember the stories I used to tell you?” he asked me from his hospital bed during a visit, while my parents were in the hallway speaking with the doctor.

  I was ten then and must have been around five when we went on our walks in the woods. That’s when he shared his tales. Most were warnings about the horrible things that might happen if I wandered away and got lost.

  “You told me tons of tales, Grandad. I was pretty young, but I remember.”

  The wrinkles on his neck folded and unfolded as he nodded.

  “Do you recall the one about the changeling?”

  A shiver shook its way up and down my spine. I recited the basics. />
  “A kid will vanish for days, weeks, or even months and then come back home suddenly. Parents and towns celebrate the return at first, but strange things start happening, and it becomes clear that the child who returned is not the same. Not just different but an entirely different person.”

  “It’s a thing,” Grandad said, spit flying. “Changelings are things. They are monsters pretending to be people. That’s what they are. That’s what comes back. Fakes. Imposters.”

  I asked the same question as when I was five. “In this story… what happens to the original kid?”

  He looked out the window. I looked, too, and saw the tree branch outside wobbling as if something had jumped off it to avoid being seen.

  “I may know what happened to them very soon,” he said.

  There was a call the next morning. A police officer informed my parents that Grandad, broken ribs and all, went missing from the hospital overnight.

  My mom went to Grandad’s house three days later, hoping maybe he’d wandered off and found his way back there. She found him sitting in his recliner, in the dark. She said he was smiling.

  * * *

  Hospital staff apologized, explaining that he likely wandered off because the medicine they put him on caused confusion. Mom and dad accepted the apology because Grandad appeared to be okay, but they checked him into a different hospital anyway.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” his new doctor told my parents. She was sharing two X-ray pictures with them. The first had been taken at the previous clinic before he fled. The second was ordered following his return, to make sure he hadn’t further injured himself while he was missing.

  We were all in the waiting room. I turned off my handheld game and slid it inside my pocket.