Genre: Fiction, horror, paranormal, short story anthology
Target audience: People who like disturbing, creepy, macabre tales that aren’t too gory.
Number of story ideas = 20.
Written = 2 stories out of 20
STACKS = What happens when a coed falls in love with the frat boy who hangs out in the library?
NEEDLE WORK: The most effective solution for enemies and the unwanted.
HAVEN: Will Dean and his newly wed husband Weilin survive the zombie horde and reach safe haven together?
Dean came to on the river bank, lying on his belly. Soaked. Face turned slightly to the left. Prickly grasses and sharp stones pressed against his cheek. He couldn’t feel his legs. Oh fuck.
Dean began to hear faint moaning and the swish crackle of bodies moving closer through undergrowth.
The last thing he could remember was paddling furiously on the left side of the canoe. Weilin in front of him paddling hard, back muscles rippling under his torn dirty T-shirt, trying to pick a safe course through the upcoming rapids. White water churning over and around jagged, expectant black rocks.
He tried to move his legs. They were sticking out into the icy rushing river water. Stiff and cold, but not paralyzed.
Dean scrambled up. His stuffed blue backpack was a few feet downstream, but there was no sign of his Bo staff. Or Weilin.
A man with strands of rotting skin hanging off his face lurched towards Dean. Reaching out as if for a hug.
Dean pulled his Bowie knife from the scabbard at his waist and stabbed hard into the man’s skull.
He whirled, kicking out the legs of a woman grasping at his collar, before slamming the knife into her seeping eye socket. Her eye was missing anyway.
There were too many to deal with on his own. Dean trotted downstream, grabbed his backpack, and veered off into the river. They didn’t seem to like water.
He splashed deeper, losing his traction on the bottom. The water swept him downstream. He kicked towards the other side. Slowly making progress until the water twisted him, slamming his back into a rock.
He couldn’t breathe, speeding downstream helpless as a fallen leaf. By the time he caught his breath again, the river curved to the left. Dean struggled to reach the right bank. Finally bumping lightly against a narrow sandspit created by an eddy.
He lay there gasping like a stranded fish. He knew the zombies would follow him. Attracting more on this side of the river. He got on his hands and knees, crawling into the undergrowth with his pack dragging behind him until he was hidden from view.
Where was Weilin?
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