Spooky Story Challenge 2018 + Voting Results

Halloween is almost upon us, which means it's time for a creepy tale! Every year on her blog, Jenelle Schmidt holds this challenge of sorts, where we write spooky stories--as the name of the challenge suggests--following whatever parameters she sets. This year, it's a flash fiction that must be a thousand words or less. (If you know me, you'll also know I had to cut a bit thanks to my excessive word vomiting.) I was able to sit down and write it in one shot, which I absolutely loved.

Now remember, if this is something you're interested in, you only have until the end of the month to link up to Jenelle's blog. I'm sure we'd all love to read whatever chilling story you have cooking in your brain, so feel free to join in the fun. I'll be sharing mine with you guys, but first, it's time to reveal the results of the polls.

To quickly bring you up to speed, last week I held polls to determine the genre, POV, and protagonist gender for my "choose your own adventure" series I'm starting in the beginning of 2019, which still doesn't have a name. And the winning results are . . .

Fantasy, first-person, male!

Thanks to everyone who voted on here and on Twitter. I'm really hoping that this venture goes well, so I appreciate all the support you've already given me. It's gonna be fun!

And now, it's time for the spooks! I may have borrowed Deborah O'Carroll's idea for the title card, so . . . thanks, Deb!

“We shouldn’t be here.”

Callum blew over a bookshelf, and dust spiraled into the air. “So you’ve said, but no one’s been here for ages. It’s not like they’re going to stop us.”

Brody stamped his foot on the grungy carpet. “Trespassing is illegal, you know.”

“Dude, have you no sense of adventure?” Callum shook his head and pocketed a ring set with a large diamond.

“Great, now we’ll be thieves as well.”

“Shut up.” Brushing past his friend, Callum headed deeper into the house—well, perhaps mansion was a better term to use. Every day, he saw its clock tower poking above the trees, and every day, it beckoned him. How could he resist forever? The only thing he regretted was dragging Brody with him.

Floorboards growled their displeasure ever so often. Critters scrambled away from his marching feet, and more dust sprang to life. The furniture and décor appeared to be a blend of the Victorian and Gothic styles. And there was clockwork.

Lots and lots of clockwork.

Clicking, clacking, clunking.

Brody raced to join him. “Where are you headed?”

“Where do you think? The central tower.”

“You must be crazy, heading to the most obvious location in a haunted house. Have you never watched any horror movies or played any spooky games? You’re literally one of those idiot main characters right now.”

Callum raised an eyebrow. “What do you think we’re gonna find? Specters? Wendigoes? Headless horsemen?”

“I think we should let the dead rest.”

“No one said anything about anyone being dead. Have you not noticed the footprints that are less dusty than the rest of the floor? Others have been here before.”

“Yeah, but where are they now?” Brody folded his arms in an almost-triumphant fashion.

Electing to ignore his friend’s overcautious nature, Callum stepped into a large circular room. In the center stood the base of the clock tower, a stone door giving entry to the stairwell. He walked toward it, ignoring the rest of the room. Brody piped up, “Callum, look.”

Callum halted in his tracks and turned to where Brody was pointing. A single portrait hung on the wall, ivy ensnaring its edges. A man, decked out in an old-fashioned conductor’s uniform, stood stiffly in front of a steam locomotive from the late 1800s. A woman and three children gathered around him.

“It’s creepy,” Brody whispered.

Callum rolled his eyes, then stared at the picture again. The more he looked at it, the more something unnerving clenched his spine. He shrugged it off. “Just a family photo. Nothing to see here.” He walked to the stairwell door, albeit a little quicker, and threw it open. “C’mon.”

Brody joined him in the ascension, leaving the door wide open. The stairs were surprisingly sturdy after years of no usage. They swirled higher and higher, hugging the wall the entire time. Callum led the way, Brody right at his heels.

Midway up, they heard a faint thud. Both of them paused mid-step, and Callum glanced down in an attempt to see the door. He couldn’t, but what he did notice was the complete lack of dust in this section of the mansion. Perhaps Brody was right to say we shouldn’t have come. There’s no way he’d admit that, though. He cleared his throat. “Must’ve been the clock’s gears. Let’s keep moving.”

Brody gulped and nodded.

Minutes later, they reached the top. All around them, the clockwork ticked and tocked, a mechanical masterpiece that stood the test of time. Besides that, there was nothing of note, save a large bell that hung from the ceiling. A single rope dangled tantalizingly, connected to the bell.

“Okay, we’ve seen it,” Brody said. “Now let’s head home before our parents get worried.”

“Not yet. There’s one last thing to do.” Callum strode to the rope.

“Oh, don’t you dare.” Brody held out his hand. “If there’s one I’ve learned from the horror genre, it’s that you don’t—”

Callum yanked the rope.

“—do that.” Brody took a step back.

The bell rang out, a crisp peal that echoed all around. And that was it. Everything was silent after.

Callum laughed. “So much for that.” Then it hit him.

Everything was silent.

That’s when the dull noise struck. It reverberated in the back of his skull, making his teeth ache. The floor shook beneath his feet, and a whistle howled.

“What did you do, Callum?!” Brody yelled.

The sound was getting louder. Callum clenched the sides of his head. “I didn’t—”

The far wall exploded in a blast of machinery and stone debris. A midnight-black locomotive barreled straight at them. The wheels ground into the wooden floor, throwing shards everywhere. Its engine roared like a burning devil.

Callum stood frozen. The cacophony glued him in place, unable to break his gaze from that wretched invention of demise seconds away from crushing every bone in his body.

Brody tackled him just in time. The train whipped past them, brakes screeching. Faster than any normal locomotive, it stopped right before breaking through the other wall.

The duo lay there, panting in fright. “What the actual frick?” Callum gasped.

A coach door slid open, revealing the conductor from the portrait. Except he wasn’t the same. His eyes glowed like smoldering embers; his skin was smooth metal, matching the color of the engine. His teeth were like that of a gear, and smoke swirled up and down his body.

“You . . . you’re connected to the train,” Brody said.

“Tickets, please,” the conductor hissed, the sound pinching Callum’s eardrums.

“We don’t have any,” he replied shakily.

“In that case . . .” The man whipped out two clock hands with chains attached to the pointed ends. He snapped them forward, and the chains looped around Callum’s and Brody’s wrists. He grinned. “Welcome aboard the Hellrider.”

“No!” Callum cried.

The conductor yanked the clock hands back, and Callum was thrown into the train.

Plunged into a world of mechanical death.

Well, what're your thoughts? Are you thoroughly spooked? I'd actually love to make this a full novel sometime--as if I needed more ideas. Any suggestions/constructive criticism for if I were to do so?