The Barbarian Bard

Tales and Musings by Michael A. Espinoza

2 Sentence Horror Stories

Hi readers,

Wow, two posts from me in under a week. I’m as surprised as you all are. But, I’m feeling October’s ever-present inspiration to craft horror stories, so I’ll not pass up the chance to write. In keeping with a recent internet trend, I’ll try my hand at telling a few horror stories in no more than two sentences. Please feel free to comment with your thoughts and/or your own two sentence tales of terror.

As the wounded Dr. Franks descended into the cold, protective embrace of cryogenic stasis, he recognized the expression on Dalton’s face: the man was having a fatal heart-attack. Franks’ cryo-pod door hissed closed while he reflected on how Dalton was the only other crew member left alive, the only one who could have awakened him.

The anesthesiologist looked down at me and pronounced, “The anesthesia has taken effect, you may begin the surgery.” If only I could have moved enough to show them that I was still awake.

My reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror wore an expression of absolute horror, though my own face was quite calm. Finally I realized that mirror-me was staring not at me, but at something over my shoulder, something without a reflection.

I awoke to the sound of my own screaming. The noise was coming from down the hall.

Pitch darkness greeted my waking eyes, and I found that I could not move. From somewhere above my head, I heard the sound of someone shoveling dirt.

They abandoned the prison during the initial rumblings of the earthquake, running from cell to cell to release the prisoners. But they weren’t quick enough, and the next tremor was worse, triggering a landslide that buried alive the only men who knew I was still in solitary confinement.

The gentle chimes of the music box sang out merrily through the crisp autumn night. And yet, no hand turned the box’s crank, though a child’s laughter echoed around the room.

The cold fangs pierced deep into my skin and I waited for the mercy of death to free me from this agony. It did not come.

I peered inside to check on the kids and found that they were soundly asleep in their beds, dreaming peaceful dreams. They did not hear a sound as I worked with great care to slide open their bedroom window and crawl into the tranquil nursery.

Everyone knows that quote from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the one that goes “I’m not dead yet.” That quote is a lot less funny when you’re screaming it at the top of your lungs, and the smiling people gathered around your bed refuse to listen.


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