“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”
—Louis L’Amour

Let’s Get Freaky: How to Write a Scary Story

I love Halloween. The creepy movies, the crisp fall air, the pumpkins. And who doesn’t love to get dressed up and hit the town for night? But there’s nothing like a horrifying story to get in your head—and get you in the spirit.

how to write a scary story

Photo by peddhapati. Modified by The Write Practice

4 Tips on How to Write a Scary Story

What makes a good scary story? Here’s a few pointers on how to write a scary story to start you off in the right direction.

1. Explore what scares you.

Start with one of your greatest fears—not to be confused with things generically considered scary. Whether it’s something trivial like clowns or something huge like losing a child, the best stories start with something personal.

So what scares you? Explore it for a while and take that fear to its darkest place. Now, how do you get your readers there with you?

2. Identify your main character

A strong main character in a horror draws readers into their experience and makes them feel the fear. This stands true whether you’re telling the story from the perspective of the protagonist or a true villain.

Personally, my favorite horror characters are often the ones can’t be trusted.

3. Work the suspense

Hitchcock wasn’t one of the greats for nothing. The soul of a good horror story isn’t the terrifying killer, it’s the fear of what the killer is going to do. A good horror story exposes just enough for the reader to know something isn’t right, but not enough for readers to know why until the end.

4. Warning: Avoid the tropes

Like any genre, horror has its tropes. Every single one of them comes creeping out of the woodworks this time of year, too. But I think we’ve all seen enough dumb teen girls make bad choices that end with them murdered by a serial killer. Don’t give in to the tropes!

When using horror motifs, like any story, find your own unique take.

Now go embrace the season! Start with these guidelines and see where your imagination takes you—soon you’ll have a bone-chillingly haunting story on your hands.

What tips do you have on how to write a scary story? Share in the comments.

PRACTICE

What scares YOU? Pick up a pen and explore your fear for fifteen minutes, considering ways to turn it into inspiration for a story. Share your results in the comments!

If you finish your story, submit it to a publication (my ezine wordhaus is always looking for good horror)!

About Emily Wenstrom

By day, Emily Wenstrom, is the editor of short story website wordhaus, author social media coach, and freelance content marketing specialist. By early-early morning, she is E. J. Wenstrom, a sci-fi and fantasy author whose first novel Mud will release in March 2016.

  • Darienne

    I love writing horror! Here’s something I use to help me: watch TONS of scary movies and read TONS of horror novels! This is where you learn what to do as well as what NOT to do. And you explore many story lines that can inspire you!

    • Great idea to put you in the right mood 🙂

    • Avril

      I agree, lots of reading in any genre of one’s choosing builds a knowledge base of what good writing is made of.

  • Karen B

    I am terrible at writing horror. I admit that freely. My skills lie in other areas, so I can’t really offer any tips.

    I did ponder some fears: darkness, house creaks when you’re alone, something happening to my children, break-ins, bees.

    I combined several of these I to this practice(fun to write, even though it is pretty cliche!):

    It comes in the dark, hiding among the shadows. It creeps through empty rooms, and the floorboards creak and groan. She laughs to herself, hearing the sounds. The house only makes those noises when her husband is out of town.

    It continues to slink along the walls, drawing ever closing to the children’s rooms. She feels a chill she can’t explain and contemplates adjusting the thermostat. She decides not to. Wouldn’t want to disturb the kids, sleeping so soundly. They’re obviously not bothered by the cold.

    It reaches the bedroom door of the youngest child and stealthily enters. A quiet gasp and then nothing.

    • You had me at “the house only makes those noises when her husband is out of town.” I swear my place does this.

    • Avril

      I don’t know, that’s not so cliche. Sounds like an original twist on a universal fear. I like it.

      • Karen B

        Thank you! You’re very kind!

  • NatsumiMichi

    I love reading horror, I love watching scary movies and shows about the paranormal and while I put up a fearless act in front of anyone who’s watching, my brain usually quickly succumbs to a fearful paranoia induced by whatever was going on in the book/movie. It’s an unsettling feeling, yet one I tend to seek every now and then for reasons beyond me. Seeing what a scardy cat I can – if only internally – be, I often wonder why I keep coming back for more.

    I find it’s mostly because normally I am not scared of much. I have fears, of course, but those are mostly ambiguous, fears I can rationalize and deal with or ignore. So getting scared the “good ol’ jump scary shivers down your spine-y” way every now and then feels somewhat refreshing I guess. The thrill it brings along with the creepy feeling that takes root deep within you, racing you heartbeat as if it’s the F1 season already, is just something only a good horror can deliver for me.

    Let me watch one episode of Ghost Adventures and the second I lay down to sleep I’m going to overanalyze every strange sound that stirs in the dark, desolate room, even though I know if there were ghosts here, they probably would have started a party earlier in the twenty years I’ve lived here. Just re-reading Suzuki Koji’s Dark waters makes me stare suspiciously at the tap when I pour water down my glass, expecting slimy hair – or worse – to follow suit. Just few days ago my friend brought me his collection of the Nickelodeon classic – Are you afraid of the dark? I thought: “Hey! My favorite show growing up! Surely I won’t be scared after watching thi – oh well, never mind” *hides under her bed.,..with the boogeyman*

    Ridiculously enough, never am I more scared than right after indulging in my guilty horror pleasures. Suddenly everything becomes a 100% more scarier. It’s probably why I have never even thought about writing a horror story – I might as well scare myself to death with the paranoia itself before even finishing the story :’D

    • Avril

      I’m such a scaredy-cat I can’t watch horror movies. They give me unspeakable, apocalyptic nightmares. I do watch the paranormal shows, then sit around all night imagining noises. I don’t know if I could write horror either.

  • EndlessExposition

    You are beautiful, my darling. You remind me of the inner workings of a lock: every curve of your figure, every delicate bend, fits together perfectly into something so much more than its parts, but that is even more stunning because of their elegance. You glint like alabaster in the moonlight, a marble temple to your own divinity. Your dark eyes are
    endless, seeing into mysteries I cannot yet comprehend. How wise you must be. Your
    smile stretches from ear to ear, ever cheerful. You will never be sad again, this I know. Here, let me interlock your fingers with mine and look at you. You are just as lovely now as the day we first met. It has taken me so long to find you again, my love. And I promise we will never again be parted. In the morning the pastor will find the earth disturbed and will think nothing of it. He is a careless man. He will call the gravedigger to fill the opening back up and that will be the end of it. No one will ever think to look for me. We will hold each other forever my darling, here in our home beneath the ground.

    • 709writer

      It made my heart ache at the end. Losing someone that you love is a devastating thing that rips your heart out. When I think that I might lose my brother or my parents, that fear can be crippling, and I can feel depressed just thinking about it. Whoever you have lost, EndlessExposition, I pray that God will heal your heart.

    • Avril

      Very Edgar Allen Poe-ish. Romantic and creepy. Good job!

    • Adam Hughes

      Horror can be especially disturbing when its laced with love, as in this piece. Nice work.

    • Israh

      This somewhat reminds me of Faulkner’s A Rose for Emily. Love it!

    • That definitely gave me the creeps. I’m impressed at how nervous the sinister voice and imagery (smile stretches from ear to ear especially weird) made me feel while reading it!

  • 709writer

    One of my greatest fears crept out in my main character: being raped. I’ve never had to face the possibility of being raped before, but I know things like that happen, so when I walk to my car in the dark, notice a creepy guy watching me, or get asked personal questions by a complete stranger (that’s happened and every guy that slaps eyes on a woman for the first time and asks for her number and if she has a boyfriend needs a knucklesandwich), that fear can sneak into my mind. That’s why I’m an extremely cautious person. I don’t trust easily, and I try never to be alone with a guy I don’t trust. Anyway, my main character actually deals with a situation where she’s almost raped. So in a way, she’s really facing something I fear.

    • Avril

      I think writing stories and letting our characters work through some of our fears is a valid approach. The reader can see the world through your eyes and your perceptions, and experience things thet thought they knew in a totally different way. As for you, the writing may help you understand and cope with your fears.

    • I’m working on something very similar and exercise the same kind of caution.. at times I feel like I should be writing something lighter and more hopeful, rather than being further drawn into the fear, but maybe it’s how we create writing at its most powerful. Totally agree with you re the knucklesandwich!! 🙂

  • Can’t resist a horror prompt, especially when it digs into my own fears …

    “Oh my! I’ll call the exterminator first thing in the morning, dear. How awful that that happened to you!” Mrs. Ketchens stood on her stoop and made a sour face at her visitor.

    “It’s really, OK, Mrs. Ketchens. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this tonight. I can just run to the store and pick up some mousetraps,” Jarrod said, feeling embarrassed.

    “Nonsense, young man. There is no reason at all that my tenants should have to put up with an infestation. Right there in the — in the shed, was it?”

    Jarrod looked at his shoe laces as he replied, “Yes, I saw it in the shed.”

    “Right there in the shed! Imagine! And how many did you say you saw?” Mrs. Ketchens looked at Jarrod over her wire rims.

    “Well, um, just the one. I’m sorry, Mrs. Ketchens. I REALLY shouldn’t have told you about this. It’s no big deal.” Jarrod was squirming under the old lady’s glare, and he felt like she was beginning to ridicule him.

    “Whether it was one or one THOUSAND, it is I who should apologize, Mr. Harris. No, we’ll get this all cleared up in the morning. In the meantime,” Ketchens said as she clutched his cold hand, “I insist that you let me make it up to you with a cup of tea.”

    She tugged Jarrod across the threshold with surprising force, and she closed the door behind him before he could protest.

    “Well … hehe … maybe just a quick cup.” The room was warm in the glow of the fireplace.

    “Splendid!” Mrs. Ketchens delighted. “I already have the pot near a boil. Have a seat there on the sofa by the fire, and I’ll fetch us some cups.”

    Jarrod felt like an intruder in his landlady’s home, but he was the one who had ran to her when he found a silly mouse in an outbuilding. Same stupid phobia that had haunted him his whole life.

    He had to humor the old coot now, so he settled onto the sofa, kicking up a puff of dust. He could hear Mrs. Ketchens rattling dishes in the next room, and she emerged from the darkness after a couple of minutes.

    “Here we go, dear.” She carried a dingy platter with cups, a creamer, and a sugar bowl to the coffee table near the fire.

    By the flickering light, Mrs. Ketchens poured boiling water from the copper kettle into the cups, causing the tea bags inside to bob up and down, pulling at the strings that flopped over the brims.

    “There, now. Just a few minutes and we’ll have some soothing tea to take our minds off that unpleasantness at your house,” the old lady promised. “How do you take it? Milk? Sugar?”

    “Um, no, black is fine.” Jarrod just wanted to get this over with.

    After some stilted talk about the weather and plenty of awkward silence, Mrs. Ketchens moved to the table once again and bobbed the tea bags up and down a few times.

    “Oh, that’s so nice!” she called out and then carried the steaming cups to the couch and handed one to Jarrod. “Here you go, dear. Enjoy!”

    “Thank you, Mrs. Ketchens,” Jarrod replied as he wrapped his fingers around the cup.

    A few sips in, Jarrod had to admit that he was feeling better. Maybe that Ketchens knew what she was doing after all.

    Just as that thought rolled down his throat, Mrs. Ketchens exclaimed, “I’m so rude sometimes!”

    She hopped up and clicked on a floor lamp to right of the mantel that Jarrod had not even noticed by the firelight. Then she lifted her tea bag from his cup to make her point: “I didn’t even ask you if you preferred chocolate or vanilla!”

    The old lady was holding not a tea bag, but a squirming brown mouse, crying out now in pain from the scalding water.

    Horrified, Jarrod looked into his own cup just in time to see a red-eyed, white rodent head break the surface of his “tea,” and it screamed.

    And so did Jarrod.

    • Karen B

      Auuughhh! Oh, my goodness. Yeah, that’s horror. Ugh. *shudders*. I’ll be in the corner, shaking. (Excellent job.)

    • Avril

      That was horrible! (In a good way).

    • Ew ew ew! That just makes me cringe. Nice work.

    • Natuley Smalle

      Love this, had to stop myself from skipping to end just to kill the suspense.

    • Diane Turner

      Double ick, with cold shivers. Fabulous!

    • Adam Hughes

      Thanks for the comments. Gotta go change the traps now. 🙂

    • I loved the suspense you built up in this, with the awkwardness and the use of light to reveal the story’s elements. Must confess I was expecting far worse than a cup of mouse tea but am v relieved I’ll still be able to sleep tonight! 🙂

    • Muhammad J Rana

      that was a nice caramel “verminilla” macchiato latte…..at the end

  • Avril

    I’ve been posting bits of a short story that has scary images. This story is scary in a metaphysical, “we are all always creating our own heaven or hell” way. I will post the next bit now. To recap, Yvonne, nice wife, and Preston, mean husband, die in a fiery crash. Preston wakes up in a dark, demonic place by the side of a black lake. A guy I have tried very hard to depict as scary is trying to get Preston into a rowboat. Then Yvonne finds herself on a pristine, untouched mountain top where the snow is not cold, and there are friendly human-like beings with mirror eyes there to greet her. She has just convinced them to let her know what happened to Preston, and they have opened a hole in the snow. Down below, Yvonne has caught a glimpse of Preston, sleeping on a bed of flames.

    Yvonne’s reaction was automatic. There was no thought involved, just a reflex to rescue someone she loved from a horrible fate. She knelt in front of the one in the brown robe, clasped her hands together, and turned up her face in supplication. She prayed to this being as, during life, she had prayed to God. “Please, I beg you! Please let Preston come up here with us! You don’t understand him the way I do! Please, please, let him come here!” The wrinkled face frowned, and the mirrored eyes, which had reflected the sky and clouds, went dark, as if a light had been switched off.

    Sobbing, Yvonne did not give up. “Please, I’m begging you, give him a chance! He’s a good man! He was only mean to me because he didn’t love me, and I pressured him to marry me and stay with me! I used the kids to make him feel trapped! I loved him so much I couldn’t let him go! Can’t you see how good he is? He was just unhappy! Please don’t punish him for that! Please, please, just let him come up here for a little while. You’ll see he really belongs here!. Please, please!

    Yvonne could no longer see the face inside the hood of the brown robe. There was a dark emptiness where previously she had clearly seen a face. She looked down to see what was happening to Preston, and was relieved to see that he had floated up off of the flames, and was slowly floating up towards the clouds and mountain top. She could not see the means of his ascension, yet he remained perfectly and evenly prone, as if lying on an invisible platform, that brought him slowly to the rim of the hole in the snow. Preston levitated, still asleep, a few feet above the hole. The edge of the hole became misty and the hole shrank a little. In a few moments, the hole was gone and the unseen force set Preston gently on the new, powdery white snow.

    As his body touched the new snow, Preston’s eyes opened wide, and he took in a sharp gulp of air. Yvonne knelt down to hold him, but he pushed her away and screamed. His eyes were open wide, and he began thrashing and rolling around. His movements were so violent, she couldn’t get close to him. Preston shrieked unintelligible high, piercing, primal screams. Yvonne ran around him, trying to see what was happening. “Preston!”, she yelled over his screaming. “What is going on? What is happening to you?”

    Preston continued writhing and screaming, and managed to turn his head to look directly at Yvonne. “I’m burning!” He cried out, “Help me, I’m burning. HELP ME, Oh God, HELP ME!” He didn’t say any more, and continued shrieking and wailing. Feeling sick, Yvonne finally grasped that the snow, which had been neither hot nor cold for her, was in fact an inferno of agony for Preston.

    She ran back to the robed figure, who had not moved the entire time. The face had not returned, and she still could only make out blackness and empty space instead of any type of visage. She fell back on her knees and begged, “Send him back! I didn’t know! I didn’t know it would hurt him! Please send him back to where he was! I’ll never ask again, I swear! She screamed louder than Preston, and fell forward on the ground. She looked up and begged, “Please, please, please, please, please….” Finally, the hole in the snow reopened, and Preston descended as slowly and evenly as he had ascended. The flames far below were still there, and he was on course to be set down gently on the pyre. Preston was halfway back when the hole abruptly closed, yet Yvonne could still hear his screams, growing fainter.

    This is not the end, there is one more scene.

    • Interesting concept — thanks for sharing!

    • I love the way you use dialect in your story to tell so much about Yvonne’s feelings towards her husband – she’s instantly such a lovable character.
      Also this piece created some great imagery for me ‘and the mirrored eyes, which had reflected the sky and clouds, went dark, as if a light had been switched off’.
      When do we get to read the next scene? 🙂

      • Avril

        Sidney, thank you for the feedback. I put installments on The Write Practice when the days assignment will fit the next scene in the story.

  • Gert van den Berg

    When I was looking at my fears the thing that stood out the most wasn’t the thing I feared but rather the anxiety that accompanied it. So this got me thinking of those days as a child when you couldn’t sleep because of the monster under the bed (I must admit that even at age 22 I still sometimes get that feeling when i get out of bed at night). I know this isn’t much but this is what I came up with.
    __________________

    Help mommy daddy Help!
    the scratching, make it stop
    can’t you hear it
    Make It stop!

    Help mommy daddy Help!
    It’s under my bed
    hiding, waiting
    Find It! Find It!

    Help mommy daddy Help!
    the breath, I can smell it
    rotten, stinks
    Kill It!

    Quickly mommy daddy Quickly!
    It’s crawling out
    coming to get me
    Save me!

    Hurry mommy daddy Hurry!
    getting closer, sniffing
    claws reaching, No No
    Save me!

    Please mommy daddy Please!
    scared, Save me
    teeth, biting, No No
    Too Late! Save me

    • Natuley Smalle

      Brilliantly captures that feeling I think we can all relate to from all those years ago.

      • Gert van den Berg

        Thanks for the comment. Happy that it captured anything since it’s so different from my usual style.

    • Mine always hid in the wardrobe! This just totally took me back in time.

      • Gert van den Berg

        To be honest mine always stood beside my bed. Which was really creepy since I could only fall asleep if I was lying on my side. Thanks for the comment!

  • Julia

    My deepest fears include being alone forever, invisible to the ones I love, and most of all, unworthy of love. When I started thinking how this could apply to the horror genre or how these fears could inspire a story. My idea was about a young woman who’s cursed. Anyone she falls in love with meets some kind of terrible unfortunate ending, so she swears off love and becomes a recluse. But then one day she meets someone who relentlessly pursues her and she gives in. But soon after they get together weird things start happening, so they join together to figure out how to break the curse. Or whatever.

    I’m not quite sure if this falls along the lines of what the prompt’s asking, but at least it got me thinking. 😛

    • Your idea just got me thinking too – thanks for sharing! 🙂

  • Natuley Smalle

    So this is my first time actually posting in a prompt and its a bit late only read this tonight but here goes. My biggest fear is probably the loss of a loved one. So not sure if this is horror per se but for me its terrifying thought

    *******

    Dana decided to take a long walk. The weather outside wasn’t particularly summery, it was cool but not chill, just mild enough to be refreshing. She felt as if she had walked for sometime and decided she might like to sit down. Suddenly she was feeling light headed, to her convenience she had stopped just by a bench. As it turned out this was her favourite bench, the spot her mother had always brought her for their Sunday afternoon picnics, she must bring Anya someday. She loved this spot it overlooked the pond, they had always made sure to bring extra bread rolls to feed the ducks. It was so beautiful until they filled it in and turned it into a skate part after the poor baby had drowned.

    Confusion, crashed in. Followed quickly by reality. She fell backwards into Jonathan’s arms. Suddenly aware of where she was, her coat still in her hand she had fallen into him. He was holding her as if she might shatter into a million pieces if he let her go, at that moment she felt as if that were true.

    “Darling did you hear me – darling talk to me”, his voice was desperate, lonely, pleading for her to return to her role as The Supporter. How could she? What was there left to support. The structure she held up was – he said it again ” Its our Anya… they found her… she’s… Anya’s gone”. Her reality began fading once more.

    *********

    • Hi, well done for posting – I’m too scared to dream up and write something fearful, knowing I’ll have nightmares for a week if I dwell on anything even remotely creepy!
      I found reading this a bit confusing and had to reread a couple of times, then wondered whether you’d created the sense of confusion deliberately. It’s definitely surreal. 🙂

  • Guest

    I locked the doors, dead bolted them, went and got a glass of water then repeated the process. I was alone. He had promised me it wouldn’t ever happen– that I’d never be completely alone, but now look at where we are. I sat down on the floor in the laundry room. I couldn’t bring myself to go up the stairs to the bedroom. I couldn’t even step foot in there. Not after what happened in there.

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  • TwystedMayhem

    Honestly, what scares me most is my own mind. I’ve been known to come up with disturbing thoughts, and my dreams are horrors on a whole other level, so this is my practice:

    The darkness loomed overhead, as the moon slipped behind clouds, but that was normal, and Emma simply smiled as she looked out her screened window. It was raining again. Everybody always said it wasn’t healthy to stay up so late, but she loved the night-time so much. She glanced over to her digital alarm clock; three thirty-seven am. She should probably go to sleep soon, but the insomnia, and her racing mind kept her up.

    “You really should go to bed you know.” Emma froze. Everybody was asleep, weren’t they? That didn’t sound like either of her parents’ voices either. Slowly, she turned her head to look at her door, scared to see who it was. Her vision blurred and went black. She blinked until it came into focus. There was nobody there. “Really, what are you so scared of? Monsters? They don’t exist. It’s just me here.” The voice paused and why did it feel like it was smiling? “And I am, after all, you.”

    It didn’t make any sense. The disembodied voice the blurring vision- and why wouldn’t her eyes come into focus completely? “No, go away. I don’t want you here.” She muttered.

    “Darling,” it drew out the word lovingly. “I can’t just go away, when I’m inside your head.”

    “No…” Emma protested, starting to get desperate. Everytime it showed up, bad things happened. “I’m not crazy.” It laughed as she tried to cover her ears. “I’M NOT CRAZY!!!”

    The screams seemed to dissolve into the night, but across the hall, her mother woke up. She ran to her daughters room, only to find a monster. Sitting on her bed, the thing had bloodshot eyes, and a malicious grin. Shadows surrounded it, and she took a step back.

    “Who are you, and what have you done with our daughter?!” The woman demanded. The creature looked up at her, and she froze. That looked like-

    “What, don’t you recognize me? Your poor daughter, not even recognized by her own family. Between that instant and the next, the creature leapt.

    David woke to find his wife clawed to death in the hall, and his daughter sleeping peacefully in her room.

    Sometimes the worst monster is what’s inside our minds.

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  • Jason Chapman

    good advice

  • Guestperson

    That’s funny because when I read the suggestion that I should write down my fears, I was like “No, because someone might be watching and use them to mess with me!” and then I realized, well, that’s one of them there.

  • Kiana Iverson

    …People Hide Who They Are…

    Once upon a time there was a little girl named Lucy. She was not like any other ordinary girl, she was quiet and never slept at night. Her parents got really worried when she turned 11. She still continued to never talk or sleep. She now only wore black and red clothing with spiky boots, necklaces, and bracelets. Lucy’s parents got really worried and eventually sent her to a foster home.

    When Lucy arrived at the foster care center she went straight up to her room there and stayed there. Lucy put her bags on the bed and started unpacking her things. She opened up a dresser drawer and placed her black jeans and leggings there. Opening up the second drawer with her shirts in her hand, she placed them there. She looked on the top of the dresser and found a jewelry box . Lucy decided to put her necklaces and bracelets there.

    Lucy looked around and found a book about Fallen Angels on the top of the bed frame. She started reading the book that night and found it very interesting. The book had a huge impact on her and she wanted to become a Fallen Angel. Everything that the book described the Angels looked like, matched her and her interests. Lucy began a project.

    The project consisted of becoming a Fallen Angel. The book told her exactly what the Angels do and when. On a certain week during the year called Cheshvan is when the Angels do something bad. The Angels kill at least 12 people during that week at night when no one can see them. Lucy was fascinated at this. She always knew she was bad, but she never knew she was willing to kill to become something she wanted to be. Cheshvan was only 3 weeks away and she had to prepare.

    She got as many books she could find about Fallen angels and Cheshvan. Once she had at least 5 books she began reading and reading. It had now been at least a week and a half. Lucy had almost everything she needed except for a certain necklace or ring. This was a Archangel necklace and ring, she had to have at least one or the other. She began sneaking out at night to go looking around town for a antique shop.

    The first night she went out looking she found one antique shop right around the block. The doors were unlocked and the employee was no where to be found. Lucy then saw the sign “Fallen/Archangel Jewelry.” She was pleased to have found it so quick. She walked over and saw that the necklace and ring were locked in a glass case and locked in. When she made sure no one was around, she smashed the glass and grabbed the necklace, then ran.

    When she got back into the Foster Center she went straight to her room and started reading again. The 5 books were very interesting to her. Lucy had now put on the necklace and began a list of whom she should kill. The first 2 shouldn’t be hard she thought with a smile. She wrote them down:

    01. Mom

    02. Dad

    After she wrote those 2 down she began thinking again. She didn’t know anyone in the Foster home so she just wrote down:

    03. Kid

    04. Kid

    05. Kid (8 kids)

    06. Kid

    07. Kid

    08. Kid

    09. Kid

    10. Kid

    11. Mistress 1.

    12. Mistress 2.

    After Lucy wrote these names she felt good about herself. Opening up a drawer she placed the paper in there.

    Another week and a half had passed. It was now Cheshvan. Lucy waited till 11:02pm to start killing. Deciding to only kill her parents tonight, but she knew they stayed up late. “If they saw me who would they tell, they’ll be dead.” she thought with a wide smile on her face. She snuck out the window. Lucy ran to her house and peeked into the windows. They were watching a movie on the couch. “This should be easier that I thought, all I have to do is show my face and slit their throats.” Lucy laugh slightly at her amazing thought. She walked through the back door.

    She walked through the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife. Then walked right in front of the television grinning. Her parents were astonished at this. They were so shocked to scream or even move. Lucy walked behind the couch and counted down, “3…2…1…Dead.” Taking the knife slicing through the thin skin on their necks. Her parents within minutes bled out and were dead. Lucy enjoyed this more than she thought, she laughed all the way back to the Foster Center.

    It was now Tuesday. The mistress 1. came in and talked quietly to Lucy. Lucy listened to the mistress and how she was telling her about how her parents were murdered. Lucy just sat there with a straight face. Once the mistress left Lucy was pleased that her work had been noticed. She then thought, “I’ll be even happier tomorrow after I kill 4 kids tonight.”

    It was now 11:04pm. She had taken the knife from her parents house and hid it in the drawer. Lucy decided to kill 4 kids on the other side of the building so nobody would suspect her tomorrow. She walked quietly out of the room, down the stairs, and into the room with the 4 girls. Lucy came in closely. She cut off the first girls head, then slit the second girls throat, then with the third girl slit her throat as well, and then last but not least the cut off the fourth girls head.

    It was now Wednesday and Lucy woke up to everyone sleeping. This time no one came in to talk to her. She was once again pleased with herself and her killing skills. Lucy decided not to kill again for a couple of days even though she now loved becoming something else other than a human. Deciding not to kill till friday was a type of punishment for her, but it had to be done.

    It was now Friday, it was time to kill. No one would be expecting a killing of 5 people tonight. Lucy had already killed 6 people, tonight would make it 11 people. She waited till 11:05pm to begin to kill. But tonight would have a twist. She wasn’t going to kill just kids. Lucy was going to kill 4 kids and 1 mistress.

    It was now 11:05pm. She was more ready than ever. She walked out of the room silently and went for 4 boys to kill. She walked into the room where the boys were, and slit their throats one by one. But, she did this quickly so they wouldn’t scream. When she was done with them she went to the mistress’s room. This time she woke up the mistress softly and counted down, “3…2…1…Dead.” Before Lucy killed her, she let the mistress see her face. Her work was done for that night.

    Saturday morning was the last day of Cheshvan. Lucy had to make her last kill tonight so she could become a Fallen Angel. She was excited for this last night. The necklace was placed around her neck still. Her knife was in her drawer waiting for the moment to feel the flesh across the blade. All of a sudden Lucy heard screaming and it was loud. She didn’t bother to open the door. All that she could do was smile as big as she could.

    It’s now 11:01. Her last kill awaits down the hall in bed. Lucy grabbed the knife and opened the door. To her surprise the mistress that she was coming to kill was standing in the doorway. Lucy was not frightened until the mistress with dark baggy eyes pulled out a gun and brought it to Lucy’s chest. In a matter of 4 seconds the mistress pulled the trigger. But the mistress was a Fallen Angel and Lucy was her last kill for Cheshvan.