SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: Memories You Never Forget



My friend told me a creepy story from his childhood. I wouldn’t believe him, if I would know him so well. That night we were drinking and he, usually being very serious, spoke of one time, when he was ten…

Kids love scary stories and like to test their bravery. Our little “squad” was not an exception.

“Bobby is a chiiiii-cken” Lisa laughed, and then pointed at me. We played a game of Truth or Dare and since I chose dare, Lisa asked me to kiss Marlin. Lisa suspected that I liked her! She was such a little rat. I refused to do such an action, because girls are “gross”, of course!

“Well, Bobby, then you know the punishment for refusing the dare” Mark said with a smirk.

I knew.

Now I had to go to an old, abandoned house, supposedly haunted, of course, but at this point I thought that I would rather do that, then kiss Marlin. That sounded much scarier than a haunted house, because I did like her.

Twenty minutes later we arrived to the house outside of the town on our bikes. The two-storey building had white walls, but now they’re dark grey. The windows were ominous (Bobby paused and made a big sip of his beer). According to the legend, Mr. Dorby owned this place, and he went nuts one day—killing his family with a knife.

After stabbing his wife and two kids, he cut off his wife’s head and held it…until police arrived. When police officers saw him, he smiled as if he was crazy and said “requires blood!”.

He cut his own throat with the same hunting knife.

Mr. Dorby’s house has a bad reputation, and now no one wants to live there.

”Here we are, Bobby” said Mark.  “All you need to do is spend an hour inside the house. During the hour, you have to wave to us from the window on the second floor”.

“Otherwise you will be called chicken for the rest of your life!”  Lisa said with a grin. She would love that.

“Okay” I said getting off my blue bike. I wasn’t thrilled, but I couldn’t get a nickname “Chicken”.

I have to admit…I was scared…but I walked fast to the front door. Then I paused before opening it.

“I’m setting up the timer, Bobby! Check your watch and go!” Mark yelled.

“Be careful!” Marlin yelled as her cheeks grew red.

Her shout pushed me forward, so I pulled the door. It was locked…

“Try the window!” Someone yelled, but I climbed through the broken window.

Everything was so dark inside… it smelled like dust and mold. I couldn’t hear anything. I looked back and saw my friends far outside. Such a weird feeling, I must tell you. It felt like another world, with a sun and life. Over there I was like a trapped ghost, inside of the dark box. It was creepy, but not very scary.

I decided to go straight upstairs, that way I could wave to my friends from a window. My idea to show Marlin how brave I was gave me a boost, so I almost ran up the stairs. As soon as my foot touched a stair, I heard a loud creak—it sounded that it was behind me—so I froze for a second.

It was quiet.

“Just an old stair” I said to myself, trying to calm down. One more step. Still quiet.

Fear has faded and I moved upstairs. More noises behind my back, like somebody walked to another room, but an old house always creaks a lot.

I reached the second floor and moved towards one of the rooms. It was a little bit brighter on the second floor. In the corner of my eye I noticed movement in one of the halls, so my heart started racing like never before. I stopped and just stared at the hallway, but there was nothing.

“Just go already!” I said out loud, but my voice sounded weak. I gulped and moved to the window, regardless of anything. This window wasn’t broken, so I had to look at my friends through the glass.

At first, they didn’t see me, talking about something, so I tried to yell—no reaction, like the sounds couldn’t go through. At his moment, I felt something like a panic attack.

What if I was stuck in another dimension…forever? I started banging on the glass, and finally my friends saw me.

This feeling was so sweet, to know that this was just a game. I waved and smiled. They waved back, and Mark pointed at his watch, as they were waiting for me. I felt really relieved and was already thinking of what I should do for the whole next hour, how all of a sudden, I heard hissing right next to my ear.

This fear…I can’t even describe. It got so cold and all my hairs stood up.

Without looking behind me, I ran to the side, trying to reach the stairs. Something howled behind me and I didn’t reach the stairs, when some odd power pushed me into the wall. I fell, but the hit wasn’t really hard. Now I saw a dark figure, standing there, next to me. The shape of the figure was changing. But regardless of shape-changing, I saw something shiny in the “hand” of this figure—a knife?!

Who knew that horror stories could be true?

The creature hissed words, and maybe it was my imagination, but it said: “dark magic…requires blood”.  Adrenalin filled my body and I barely remember how, but I stood up, jumped downstairs, and then ran to the window for my dear life ( and to have one more big sip of beer, too).

As you can see, I made it.

I jumped through the window and ran, without looking back. My friends started to laugh badly, but when they heard the howl from the house, their laughter died.

I ran to them, kissed Marlin, sat on my bike and just took off. I heard that my friends were behind me, I could hear them, but I didn’t want to talk about what happen.

Of course, later, from the safety of my house, I told them everything and they believed me. I had scratches from my fall and…they heard it. No surprise, Lisa still called me “Chicken” a few times, but even she couldn’t really mock me after that…

…so the next time you consider a trip to an abandoned haunted house—I suggest you stay away.

Bobby finished his story and was just looking at the sunset. I sat and thought about all those weird creaks that I sometimes hear at night.



Written By

Nea Kris

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SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest Entry


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SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: The Elf





Kris opened her eyes and stretched and tried to blink the sleep away,
then she quickly turned and snuggled in, not wanting to start the day.
But as her eyes began to close, shutting out all forms of life,
She saw him beside her, the Elf on the shelf, holding a butcher knife.
“Kimmy!” she screamed. “It’s not funny. You scared the crap out of me,” she said.
She narrowed her eyes at creepy Karl as he sat still on the bed.
But Kris moseyed on to take a bath and start her day out right.
She didn’t have that creepy feeling when Karl was out of sight.
She flung the curtain open when she heard the razor fall.
And there Karl was, hair dryer in hand, with the cord plugged into the wall.
“Kimmy, that could have been dangerous!” She quickly knocked Karl away.
She couldn’t wait to go find Kimmy. There was more she needed to say.
Kris grumbled as she put on her clothes, anxiety taking control.
She grumbled as she grabbed the cereal and poured herself a bowl.
She screamed and almost dropped the box, every part of her wanting to run.
Karl sat on the kitchen counter. He was holding a nail gun.
“Where did you get a nail gun, Kimmy?” Kris chuckled to herself.
But something seemed just not quite right with Karl, this Elf on the shelf.
She ate breakfast quickly and grabbed her bag as she crossed the living room floor.
But stopped abruptly as the creepy feeling took over her body once more.
Kris turned around slowly as if she was drowning in quicksand,
There Karl was on the coffee table, a 9 millimeter in his hand.
“This isn’t funny, Kimmy. I’m not laughing anymore.”
Kris thought she saw the Elf smile, her back slammed against the door.
She looked out the window to the driveway hoping she wasn’t alone,
But the car was gone, she had gone to work. Kimmy had never been home…




Written by

Cindy Kovacik


SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest Entry


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Dark Bird Illustration By Poet Rummager


SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: The Girl on the Stairs

Madness neatly folded

into softly bundled mayhem

pressed firmly underneath

that staircase.

Those stairs

pulled me upward

in my formative years.

The little girl

at the top of the steps


in her eyes

a preternatural glow

“I'll bet you can't make it so fast...


she said slowly

her teeth, sharp and gleaming

every word forming

a slight hiss.

I ran in breathless,

horrible fantasy.

Dancing eyes,

her head slowly turning

I wasn't questioning

pretending life was

a normal curve.

Then one day older,

she appeared


teeth now brandishing

razor sharp fangs

“I'll bet your life you can't make

these stairs!”

that voice

now gravelly and deep.

I looked


at her metamorphosis

into demon

daughter of

a discontent house.

Written By

L.T. Garvin


SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest Entry


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Black Luna Spider Illustration By Poet Rummager


SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: Burning Fears




I’m frightened, and I’m too scared to wait.

And knowingly, I’m arriving late.

The ghouls are spying from the hill.

And lower fools are poisoning her will.

Underneath her, a wicker complete.

Above, she’s suspended from a stake.

The bonfire’s started, against the rules.

And the crowd’s rejoicing, as the fire drools.

Waiting agog, for her garments to ignite.

The flames are sparking for her, on this night.

And the mob’s listening for her ungodly screams.

But there’s not a whimper, within she beams.

And secretly, I see her black cat’s drowning tears

Are extinguishing all her burning fears.





Written By

Ivor Steven

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Skullopus Illustration By Poet Rummager



SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: Jack’s Trick


“Trick or treat,” the children giggling say,
and as trickster I made my hateful way.
“Deceiver,” my epitaph would have read
had anyone cared to know I was dead.
My infamy spread from Heaven to Hell,
and Satan himself wanted to dispel
rumors I’d outfox the father of lies;
so, in drunken travels, to my surprise,
happening upon a corpse in a ditch,
I witnessed its animate smile, which
chilled me sober seeing that dreadful sight.
It was then I knew I would die that night.
The devil arose from his lounging state,
and, walking by my side, spoke of my fate.
Reaching crossroads—here an apple tree grew—
I devised plans to avoid this just due.
“Let me taste Earth’s ripened growth,” pleaded I,
“for from trees you’ve oft encouraged men try
what’s forbidden, so feasting I’ll be yours.”
At this that serpent shinnied on all fours
up that twisted trunk to grasp Adam’s sin.
With my carving knife, I marred the tree’s skin.
Using quick strokes I rendered a crude cross,
it was then the devil sensed his true loss.
“Want you not this succulent food?” he asked
holding out the blood red morsel I’d tasked
him to fetch and so end this stomach’s fast.
Succumbing to laughter, I said at last,
“Keep your cursed gifts, I care not for such fruits,
much more do I delight in tasty roots,”
and producing turnip did take a bite;
thus, walking on, forsook him to his plight.
But then his forked tongue did utter this plea,
“I’d have a gift for one, who’d set me free,
that never would I take him down to Hell.
No more fearing damnation, he’d live well.”
At his words my greedy heart filled with joy,
little realizing that like foolish Troy,
I was embracing my own destruction,
in heeding of Lucifer’s instruction.
“Destroy the cross and I will grant your wish;
you shall not enter my realm of anguish.”
Taking his cue, did I cruelly remove
Jesus’ image of what is just and true.
Leaping from his high perch above my head,
did he land, transfigured, a snake instead.
Slithering away into the tall grass
the devil and I, Jack, parted at last.
Lived I long thereafter—a drunk miser—;
never repenting, I grew no wiser,
‘til finality, the ultimate ends,
my blackened soul from this sore body rends.
Weightless spirit, without harbor or home,
found I no harvest from all what was sown.
No cherubs came, an escort to glory,
nor demon bailiffs hunting a quarry.
Forsaken to darkness immutable,
I wandered in limbo inscrutable.
A place to rest was all my desire,
even ‘twere a place of flaming fire.
For Heaven denied my entrance therein,
Saint Peter’s records showed all that had been.
From sweet Paradise was I rejected,
so the other place I went, dejected.
Screening entrance to that terrible pit
Lucifer, his scepter a three pronged stick,
was waiting for me with his sneering grin,
asking me plainly if I wanted in.
Breathless, I nodded, for I could not stand
to be this strange thing, neither saved nor damned.
Laughing in his harsh rasping voice, he said:
“This is your trick, you did make your own bed.”
He bid me depart by waving his hand,
but I would not return to Limbo’s land.
Seeing me stay, he rose with a fury,
and hurling burning coal made me scurry.
This hellish souvenir, dimly glowing,
my object of study grimly showing
itself my only hope of warmth or light,
this gift given me in devilish spite.
Too hot for these, my bare hands, to carry,
carved I this plant into something scary.
My lamp is a face, shining in the dark,
so on Halloween, remember to hark
this, a sinner’s cautionary tale told:
Deceivers and tricksters all will grow old,
and often the most daring tricks we’ll brave
heaps harm on the head of one simple knave.
That fool was myself, and this is my name,
Jack of the Lantern, wayfarer like Cain.




Written By

Tale Told

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SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest Entry


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Skull King Illustration By Poet Rummager



SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest: Diary of Sarah Richards


An excerpt from the diary of Sarah Richards


September 11, 1692

My dear sister presented me today, my birthday,  with a lovely leather bound diary!

It is so lovely and she is such a sweet sister, I shall write as often as I can!

How wonderful it will be to look back upon my life when I am old. I am twenty two today!


September 14, 1692

Such a beautiful day it is today! My dear husband has gone off “to make the world a better place” as he says often.

He is the magistrate of our township,  and so handsome he is..

I shall spend my day here beside the river enjoying the beauty of the day.


September 19, 1692

John arrived home late, tired and worn, the poor dear! The witch trials! Such a sad affair it must have been.

They have taken Ms Parker this time. I don’t understand,  I have known her since I was a girl. She once cured me of a fever, and another time of the pocks.

Such a sweet woman she is, although a bit strange with her herbs and always talking to her cats.

Lord I hope she will be alright!


September 21, 1692

My heart is breaking!  Poor Ms Parker, they have found her guilty of being a witch! I find this whole business utterly savage!

I can never speak this aloud, but my husband is to blame for this I know it! He never could abide her since she refused to heal his sister of the palsy when they were children.

Could such a thing even be done? I think not!

Oh poor Ms Parker!  God help her!


September 22, 1692

That man! My husband John! He forced me to go to the burning. How could he? He knew how I felt about it but he would hear no refusal from me. He said as the magistrates wife I must be beside him to show face.

Damn him and his face!

About his face, as he pronounced sentence on poor Ms Parker, she spat right in both of his eyes and screamed at him. I don’t know what she said, the language was queer, I have never heard it before.

I’m sure she cursed him but he only slapped her and called for the firebrand.

Poor Ms Parker. It’s so strange, she never screamed or cried out. She just let the flames take her. God rest her poor soul.


October 1, 1692

I have been unable to write for the last few days, John has taken ill. He has begun to have terrible headaches,  his skin is flushed and red, and hot to the touch especially around his eyes and face, his eyes are blood red.

I have sent for the doctor but he can’t be here for two days. John is calling, will write soon.


October 5, 1692

Dear God, what is becoming of my husband? The doctor saw him at last but could do nothing. He told me we should call for the church elders. He has asked me to bleed him twice a day but since yesterday the blood runs black.

His hair has fallen out,  his head swells in it’s entirety.

His eyes push out like a frog, and his tongue and lips are swollen.

This is the curse, I know this to be true. The elders have abandoned him to his fate; only I am with him now.

He never stops moaning and crying. I must sleep but it escapes me.


October 9, 1692

I don’t know where to begin, this day, this night! What evil is this?

Surely the demons have escaped from hell only to visit their wrath upon my poor John.

I will try to recount the best I can; if I don’t write this down I will never believe it happened.

I was dozing in my rocking chair. I sleep so little now.

Suddenly John’s crying out startled me awake.

His head was so large, I saw the veins throughout pulsing with his rapid heart beat.

His skin was literally burning hot to the touch, and his eyes. Dear god I will never forget those eyes! They were pushing all the way out from his head; large like large plums and dark purple, almost black.

I didn’t know what to do, I stood back from him, he was screaming now. I wanted to go to him but I was paralyzed with fear.

God help me as I write this, I can not tell this!

As I stood frozen, it happened, God help me this happened.

His eyes just popped, first the left and then the right. It was a sick sound like a grease bubble in a hot pan.

Black blood sprayed all around, covering he and I in black gore.

I screamed at the sight, and then he gave a long low gutteral moan.

His head began to swell larger then, almost like a black pumpkin. His entire face from his chin to the crown of his head finally just ripped open, he screamed then, he screamed until his tongue fell from his mouth and the torrent of black blood poured forth. And still I heard the blood gurgling in his throat.

A swoon was upon me now but as I began to fall, I saw something emerging from inside him. From within the skull, covered with blood and brain, I could see a bright white sheen. Like a giant pearl erupting, and I saw two black eyes.

And then I saw nothing.


October 31, 1692

It has been many days since I have written. My life has become something I never expected.

John did die that night, God rest his soul. And I was sick for days after the ordeal. But now things are better.

John is gone, but something else has taken his place.

Something good, something beautiful,  something amazing.

John was a good man in many ways but he was also bad in many ways. He hurt me many times, he treated me poorly and he abased me.

But New John, yes I call him that, is wonderful to me. New John is the seedling that sprouted from the dark dirt that was “Old John”.

He does look, different,  but I prefer it.

He has no hair, his skin is white as snow, his eyes are large and black. He is a bit smaller than “Old John” was, but certain parts are much larger. Dare I say!

We have moved from the township into Ms Parker’s old farm house. I tend to her herbs and talk to her cats. I think she would like that.




Written By


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SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest Entry


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SMM EVENT: Write a Halloween Themed Haiku

Halloween’s ghoulish fingers are wiggling through the ground—soon the dark spirit will once again rise from the dead. You still haven’t stabbed an innocent pumpkin? Ye gads! SMM’s goblins are here to solve your squishy dilemma. Aw, look at that! All this candy is affecting your ability to frown, isn’t it? Tsk-tsk. No worries, take this serrated thing. Trust me.

Now, where did I put my knife? Ahhhh, here it is…yes, do you like sharp cheese? You’ll love the taste of my knife…now, let’s start carving.

Hey—where’d you go?



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Frame ’em and hang ’em—Erica’s handcrafted ATC cards were forged from her creative blast furnace. ‘Over the Garden Wall’ ATC art cards are trained to punch people straight in their Jack-o-Lantern. Participate in the event and you’ll be granted an opportunity to win Erica’s ATC cards, as well as a special SMM Halloween giveaway. Boo!



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1.  Carve a Poem: Write a Halloween Themed Haiku


Halloween Haiku: Pumpkin Love

Be my pumpkin love.
With my knife, I’ll carve your grin.
Happy Halloween!


Leave a comment…

…play a game!

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A Word From Erica Borey

icm_fullxfull.130264559_ir7n6iw9migw0c0cgw0oI’m just a lady that likes to paint people, pets, and random things I am inspired by, like Over the Garden Wall, awesome movies, and my baby girl. My strengths are watercolor, oil, and pencil, and my weaknesses are self-promotion and charging a respectable amount for a customized piece of art. I think my work is pretty darn good if I do say so myself, and you will probably like it if you get some. 



**Follow Erica**

Haiku Participants

1. saywhatumean2say

Step into my pot
is it boiling, is it not?
All Hollows Eve stew.

2. oglach

A knock on the door—
could it be trick-or-treaters?
Shit! It’s her husband!

3. Enigma

Your trick is my treat
Your blood, my favorite flavor
Your screams mesmerize

I live for your doom
I pray for your sweet demise
I feast upon you

I find the darkness
Soothing… warm and beautiful
My thoughts fade to black

I hide inside dreams
Yet the sunlight reveals me
And so i recoil

Broken and alone
I become my addiction
A hunter by night

Only blood redeems
Only flesh can unburden
And so I seek you

4. jamesdorrwriter


white jack-o’-lantern
creepy, creepy Halloween
ghost of pumpkins past

5. neakris29

Candies in the bowl,
Knocking – different this time
Byyyye, was nice knowing you!


Ivor Steven: Smashed Pumpkin Brains


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What’s it like to be an orange Pumpkin-head

Only black sockets for eyes instead.

And a cut-out smile full of seeds.

Queer ears made of rings and beads.

Inside, your brain is scooped out for pigs feed

Leaving a dark void that doesn’t bleed.

On top you’re like a crinkled dome.

And your sore neck’s being speared home.

What’s it like to have a retina thread

As a throbbing nerve-end tread.

With your cell fibres smashed to a pulp

Knifing across your tender scalp.

Ebbing towards your aching neck

And crushing you like a busted shipwreck.

Then a wooden spike pierces your fragile brain

Where the horrid harpoon spreads your pain.





Click HERE to read more poetry by Ivor Steven!



Image Credit: Jack-o-Lantern carved by Ray Villafane

Night Clings Haiku: Find Your Horror Spirit Animal

The night waits in trees.

With long, sharpened claws, it clings.

Eyes covered with wings.


If you’ve ever heard the wind howl, felt the heat of a furnace burnishing your skin as you’d imagine a dragon’s breath would, or the chill of winter biting at your exposed ankles, then you’ve experienced how monsters can disguise themselves in the most innocent ways.

The orange striped coat hanging in the darkened hall takes on the shape of a lurking tiger. Should you dare move and risk becoming dinner?

SMM would love to hear your creature-inspired poetry! Just as Poet Rummager’s haiku about night was transformed into a bat, we yearn to read about your creative venture into a most diabolical masquerade.

Share your bone-quaking haiku in the comment sections.



Find Your Horror Spirit Animal Haiku

  • Write a creature-inspired haiku 

  • Share your haiku in the comment section

  • Post your haiku on your blog

  • Link back to SMM


Click Here & Lear More About Japanese Poetry


A spirit animal hides in the shadow of your soul. Turn on the flashlight—explore dark territories and discover the horror within yourself.


“Night Clings” Illustration By Poet Rummager



Raise the Dead: Enter into the SMM 2017 Halloween Horror Writing Contest

Stuff a plastic chomper into your mouth—the SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest is currently open to receive public horror story submissions. Ghosts, ghouls and goblins are encouraged to submit their bite-sized horror stories. Cash prizes will be awarded to the Darkest Darlings, so dip your quill inside a bloodwell and scare the hell out of everyone…while there’s still time!



  • Write a bite-sized horror story (or poem): Scribble down a story about a rude poltergeist, or perhaps write about a masked maniac who has a morbid sense of fashion, like wearing people’s faces. Keep it dark…keep it cool…keep it bloody! Don’t feel possessed to write a horror story? Don’t get your tail in a bunch—write a poem about a pumpkin who carves people, or choose your own Halloween inspired topic.
  • All stories (or poems) will be published on SMM.
  • 3 Random winners receive cash prizes.
  • SMM Halloween Horror Writing Contest ends October 15, 2017.
  • $5 Entry Fee



How to Enter into the SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest



1. Find the SMM tombstone—located on the SMM right-hand sidebar. Click on it.

2. The tombstone magically teleports you to the official SMM PayPal checkout page.

3. Entry cost is $5.00 (credit/debit accepted)

4. Send your Halloween story or poem:

(Email subject line: “SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest”)




Click Here & Enter into the SMM 2017 Halloween Writing Contest!



Now is your chance to scare the hell out of everyone, and you could get paid to do it…only a brainless zombie would turn down an offer like that. Your nightmarish creation shall see the light of the day—SlasherMonsterMagazine publishes all contest entries—even if you don’t win a cash prize.

SMM Halloween Horror Writing Contest ends October 15, 2017.


You retain the rights to your work. Please don’t eat us. Thank you.


2017 SMM  Halloween Writing Contest Cash Prizes






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