Fog Community: Wrath

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
They never listened to him, and ruined everything. Now he is this, now he is gone.

(Haven't been writing as much lately, please excuse any and all terrible things)

Submitted: February 13, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 13, 2019



Walking slightly downwards, the ominous road is accompanied by several houses, some placed closer to it than others. The first house he decides to investigate had a single light on. If there was a chance of finding some people that can help, he’d take it. Perhaps he could find a working phone, or anything that could provide him some form of comfort.

The house looked normal on the outside. Its dark blue color clashed with the otherwise nightmarish visuals of the surrounding area. He slowly opened the front door, his instincts expecting the worst. There was nothing out of the ordinary inside, and upon walking further inside, he realized the house was actually well lit, with smaller lamps providing faint lighting in several corners and tables. However, the normality of it all soon took an uneasy turn once he reached the stairs. They were covered in blood and chunks of meat, their repugnant smell instantly triggering a nauseating effect on the man. Every fiber of his being tells him to leave the house, and he does.

Outside, he paces up and down, almost in place. He wants to leave, but wonders what is on the second floor of the house. The blood and the smell were too much for him, but something urged him to investigate. “I’m not going up there unarmed. Fuck that!” he thought to himself, finally forming a clumsy plan. He rushed back into the house, sprinting to the kitchen and looking around for a knife. A quick glance towards the door leading to the backyard revealed a small wooden baseball bat hiding in a corner. With bat in hand and a knife as a backup weapon, he finally finds the courage to go upstairs.

He makes no noise as he goes up. Every step up feels like an eternity, and the dead silence within the house only amplifies the fear in his mind. He searched the first rooms upon reaching the second floor, slowly pushing the doors open. There was nothing, much to his surprise. There was not a single thing out of the ordinary in these rooms. As he investigated the master bedroom, he noticed small drops of blood on the floor. He searched under the beds, inside the closet and bathroom and everywhere else for signs of a dead body, which he knew he’d find. But again, there was nothing. Now at ease, he took a deep breath and calmed himself down so his heart could stop trying to escape through his chest. “What the hell happened here, though?” he wondered. The blood and lumps of flesh on the stairs did not make sense to him.

But the blood on the stairs did leave a certain pattern. It is then he truly began to fear for his life, as he realized his assumptions were completely wrong. He had no doubts anymore: he was in danger.

He quickly rushed downstairs, and headed towards the front door. Before he could, he heard the backdoor slam shut. There were two severed heads on the kitchen counter, and a tall, lanky figure being slightly illuminated by the kitchen lights, taking some cover behind the remaining darkness. He held the wooden baseball bat tightly, and began to breathe quickly, his body and mind falling into panic. Whatever stood in front of him was outside the entire time, as he realized the struggle happened upstairs, but the bodies were dragged down and then outside.

“You caught me”, the figure said. Its voice was struggling to push the words out, as if every single word scratched and scrapped the fibers on its throat.

“What the hell are you?!” the man yelled, barely able to look at the tall figure in the dark.

The creature moved into the light, revealing itself. The movement on it was unnatural, as if it had to carefully think which part it needed to move in order to get somewhere. It was a tall man, extremely thin and wore nothing except some rags as pants. He didn’t have eyes, and the eye sockets were still bleeding, as if they were ripped out recently. Its mouth was large, and the teeth were pointy and bloodied. The pale skin gave it an otherworldly feel. The pale humanoid began to speak once more, its voice once again struggling to stay intact.

“Look at... what they did to me. They never... followed instructions. I told them I was mad. I told them it wasn’t right. So they... did it wrong. And... now look at us. Look at us... I got so... angry. Why didn’t they listen to me? Why didn’t they listen to me? They didn’t stop! Why didn’t they stop?!”

The pale creature let out a loud screech. A sound so terrible, the man instantly dropped the baseball bat to cover his ears, which he felt would start bleeding if he did not. The pale creature lunged at the man, trying to attack him with its bare hands. He grabbed his knife and stabbed the tall creature in the throat several times when they both fell to the floor, as well as on its body. It was fairly weak, and went down easily. As it bled out on the floor, it gasped for air. The disturbing gargling noises made the man run out of the house. The creature got up and began to swing its arms wildly, knocking over everything in its path. It kept screaming to itself, barely acknowledging it was dying.


Outside, he sat in the middle of the street. He cried heavily, with a combination of fear and relief taking over his heart. He peeked inside the house, and saw the pale creature dead on the floor. The questions he had were many, but there was one thing he was certain of.

This nightmare place was hostile, and he needed to accept it and prepare accordingly. Looking back, he saw the police cars, and a chance to get a firearm of some kind.

© Copyright 2019 Dave Davidson. All rights reserved.

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