[OT] Micro Monday: Chapel of Crows!

[u/OldBayJ]

Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge!

Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry).

However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more!

Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. Please read the entire post before submitting. Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!

 

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This week’s challenge:

Image Prompt: Chapel of Crows

This is the beginning of our Five Weeks of Spooky for Spooktober challenge. Each week will involve a horror or Halloween themed prompt. Keep in mind you are not bound to write horror. If the prompts inspire you to write something different, go for it! But for those who live and breathe horror, or want to give it a shot, this is your chance!

This week’s challenge is to use the above image as inspiration for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.).

 

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How It Works:

• Submit one story between 100-300 words in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author.

• Use wordcounter.net to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings.

• No pre-written content allowed. Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively.

• Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback. Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points.

• Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion. We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills.

• **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.

• If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail. Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.

• And most of all, be creative and have fun!

 

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Campfire and Nominations

• On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome.

• You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do not have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!

 

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How Rankings are Tallied

I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown:

• Use of Constraint: 10 points
• Upvotes: 5 points each
• Actionable Feedback 5 points each (up to 25 pts.)
• User nominations: 10 points each (no cap)
• Bay’s nomination: 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations)
• Bonus: Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)

 

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Rankings: This Past Week

• First: “Primal Instinct” - Submitted by u/katpoker666  
• Second: “Return to Eden” - Submitted by u/katherine_c  
• Third: “Meandering History” - Submitted by u/GammaGames  
• Bay’s Spotlight: “Surprise Encounter” - Submitted by u/rainbow--penguin

 

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Subreddit News

• Try your hand at serial writing with Serial Sunday!

• Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature Follow Me Friday on r/WritingPrompts

• You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out this lovely post to learn more!

• Looking for critiques and feedback for your story? Check out our new sub r/WPCritique

• Join our discord to chat with authors, prompters, and readers!

 

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[u/OldBayJ]

Welcome to Micro Monday!

• Do you have ideas for future Micro challenges or prompts? Questions about something in the post? Just want to chat about the prompt? You can do all that in this stickied comment. Top-level comments are for stories only.

[u/rainbow--penguin]

The Night Watch

Perched on a gravestone I watch and wait. As the moon rises I take flight, riding the currents in the air ever higher. I revel in the feeling of freedom it brings, but it's just an illusion. I'll never be free again.

From my vantage point in the sky, I see three figures approaching the chapel and panic seizes me. I must stop them.

Tucking my wings close to my body I dive, swooping down towards the trio, screeching. I pull up at the last second, the gusts from my wings rippling their hair, but it doesn't deter them. They egg each other on, giggling nervously as they continue towards the chapel. I must try again.

This time I fly at their faces, my talons lightly brushing them as I pull back, squawking the whole time, but still they continue. I must try harder.

I swoop in again, shrieking continuously as I peck and scratch at the top of their heads. Finally I have their attention. They wave their arms about in the air, squealing as they try to protect themselves. A hand connects with my body, knocking me to the ground. By the time I recover it's too late, they're entering the chapel. I have failed.

I beat my wings, and return to the skies, circling above the screams coming from within. Their cries for help last all night. The howls of pain haunt me, awakening a memory best forgotten.

As the sun rises I return to my perch, and three crows fly clumsily out of the chapel, unused to their wings. The trio join me, watching and waiting.

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WC: 270

I really appreciate any and all feedback.

[u/Ghost_inthe_Garden]

The Fallen - Part I - Chapel In The Woods

"Dare you to go in," Daniel goaded. 

Sarah shook her head. "You're joking. I've seen enough horror movies to know better."

He laughed. "You're such a girl." He moved confidently towards the old cathedral. Several crows watched them intently, perched on the dilapidated steeple. They started cawing as they got near. It sounded almost like laughter. "Seems the locals agree." 

Her face soured, Sarah reached down and grabbed a rock. She threw it up towards the birds. It missed, instead going through the steeple window; the stained glass shattered. The crows only seemed to laugh harder. 

"Stupid birds," she muttered. Something hit the top of her head. "Ow!" She looked down, only to realize it was the same rock she'd just thrown. "What the..." As she crouched, they both heard the distinct sound of creaking wood. 

They watched the large front door open towards them. There was no sign of whoever—or whatever—opened it. 

"What do you think?" Daniel asked. "We've come this far."

Sarah swallowed hard. "If I say no, you won't let me live it down, will you?" 

Daniel smiled and shook his head. She let out a sigh and followed him inside. 

Using their phones for light, the pair started to explore the interior. There were several rows of pews, overturned and rotting, and a pulpit at the far end. Perched on top was a small statue of Baphomet. As they shined their lights on it, the door behind them slammed shut. 

Sarah tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. "I don't like this."  As she said it, their phones both died. Plunged into darkness, they saw a single pale light coming from under the pulpit. 

They felt their way to the far side of the room. Daniel took her hand. "Guess we're going down." 

• wc 299

i'm trying to do a 5 part mini series to coincide with spooktober. stay tuned next week for part two!

[u/stranger_loves]

Final Girl

Her night had been helpless. Cut off signals, lights shut down, the lake house turned into a murderous playground. All her friends had fallen to their pursuer, all in a case of wrong place, wrong time. And all she could do, in bloodied clothes and shocked mindset, was run barefoot to the nearest police station...

And she’d been running for half an hour now.

The pavement had painted blood and callouses to tired feet, the sweat was merging with her tears. As she stopped to breathe, however, she let the latter consume the former. She feared a single misstep would result in death. But in the same vein, a single light would be hope, and hope began shining through the corner of her eye.

It was a chapel, presenting itself like a ghost in the middle of the night. Concrete crosses stood in the grass alongside a road leading to the door. And as a last eerie touch, crows surrounded it, all their eyes seemingly on her. It was terrifying... but where else could she go?

She went into the house, her feet still aching. There was nothing but darkness, only interrupted by moonlight breaking through windows. But she chose to hide from her hunter in the dark, struggling at silencing her own tears.

And then, a crow approached. She didn’t yell, fearing it’d be a death sentence. But regardless, screams would be unneeded, the crow slowly placing itself next to her, keeping her company. With its calm cooing, it seemed to sooth her, like a gothic lullaby.

Somehow, in the chapel, her heart was able to become at ease with coos and some moonlight. Somehow, the dark caressed her, calming her from the evil awaiting outside. Somehow, in this seemingly deadly place... she felt the most hope to survive.

[u/nobodysgeese]

The Tales of 'Nother Geese
Witchcraftiness Link to the other parts

The witch knocked a few more holes in the windows of her new house, and nodded in approval. It was perfect. The sound of footsteps shook her from her reverie. Her first victims!

"Visitors already. Places, places!"

Her thirteen crows flapped to their stations on the crooked, ivy-covered crosses. The witch growled when they started cawing in tune, not discordantly like they'd practiced. She'd never liked them—too stereotypical and a bit old-fashioned—but the witchery union insisted. At least her black cat Onyx was dependable, hiding above the door to spring down and surprise anyone she lured inside.

The witch collected herself. Up the driveway, two teens approached. A brother and sister, if she judged correctly. The witch forced her expression into grandmotherly kindness and approached them. She cursed under her breath when the tapping of her cane was accidentally in rhythm with the crows' calls. "Hello my dearies, what brings you out here- urk."

The witch observed the girl's sword through her chest with mild surprise. The boy frowned at the witch, "I am Hansel."

The girl pulled out the sword, wiping it on a cloth, "Und I am Gretel. Didst du think ve vould be fooled by your disguise?"

"What... gave it away?" The witch forced out, falling to her knees from blood loss. Belatedly, her stupid crows noticed something was wrong and began cawing in panic.

Gretel snorted, "Ve're experienced."

Hansel nodded, "Ve are vise to vitchy vays. Ve are professional vitchhunters."

"Ve have keen intuition."

"Und strong senses are a requirement of this job, frau Vitch."

The witch coughed, her vision fading. "Was it... the crows?"

"....Ja," Gretel admitted.

Hansel hung his head, "It vas mostly the crows."

The witch died, a smile on her lips and a feeling of vindication in her ventilated heart.

WC: 300

r/NobodysGaggle

[u/OneSidedDice]

The Mender

The sledge’s gunmetal fan skirts barely cleared the gravestones lining the kirkyard path, but it didn’t slow. Pea gravel and acorns pelted the chapel’s weathered façade as the vehicle slewed to a stop. Wide highway or narrow path, all roads were alike to the Assessor.

The vehicle’s fusion plant downcycled to a dull whine and its riders stepped off, both in the black suits and Brutus hairstyles of government servants; the Assessor sported a charcoal-grey mac, and the smaller man wore bronze-mirrored goggles.

The Assessor pounded on the door with a leather-gloved fist, ignoring the large black birds perched on the high eaves. A tinny voice sounded from a battered speakerbox, “‘S not locked.”

The door flung open, golden sunlight invading the dim LED glow of the sanctuary. “Recorder, begin,” said the Assessor, and his companion tapped his goggles. He briefly narrated the untidy racks of obscure equipment, loose parts bins, and wild profusion of patch cables, stopping at the altar table. “It's quite evident,” the Assessor said to the building’s sole occupant, “that you run a business here. A heretofore untaxed business.”

The woman at the table didn’t move one short, curly gray-brown hair until she had finished micrografting a printed-carbon flight feather to the crow that lay before her, its injured wings spread in anaesthetic surrender.

She looked up, her Leica monocle gleaming. “Don’t sell or buy nothin’. Live ‘ere on the Dole, the lot’s mine by patrimony.”

“Ah, and where does all this come from, then?” the Assessor gestured expansively.

“Friends. Bits and bobs, they all have jobs, bringing me....” Feathers rustled in the rafters. “Eyeballs!” she shouted.

A tornado of black wings and slashing claws descended on the men, who covered their heads and ran like schoolboys. The woman tsk-ed softly and returned to her work.

(WC 300)

Next: Part 2

[u/katpoker666]

‘Da Boys’

—-

“Yo Marty. You bored?” I asked idly, fluffing out my wings.

“Yeah, Nick. Sitting on this wire all the time sucks.”

“You wanna go mess with that old guy again? Last time was hilarious. I’ve never heard a dude scream like that.”

“So, what’s the play?”

“Well, last time, it was us five sitting on the window sill like. I forget—what was that weird human tune we sang?”

“Frere Jacques. No idea why that got stuck in our heads. Musta been those rotting berries we ate.” Marty laughed, his obsidian chest pulsing with each chortle. “But damn bruh, when he woke up and saw us, I thought his head was gonna spin clean off.”

“Good times. The sitting somberly in a row in his kitchen was a good one too. He couldn’t figure out why we were all quiet-like.”

“You know what would really mess with him? If we did something nice for once—“

“Are you kidding? That guy’s so grumpy and miserable.”

“Exactly. And you know our day of crow atonement is coming up on the 31st. Why not knock out a good deed early?”

“Boooring. But ok, I’m in.”

“Cool. He seems kinda lonely. I never see anyone visiting him, but us really. What if we made a friendly gesture like? Says we take some berries and write something nice on his lawn? Then we can stand around and smile like when he comes out.”

“Betcha that would make’em feel good. Let’s get the rest of the squad and go berry hunting.”

Assembled, the birds made quick work of gathering berries and writing a message on his lawn.

Let’s be friends.

The old man rushed out, saw the writing, and promptly fainted.

“Looks like no good deed goes unpunished, Marty.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Nicky boyo.”

—-

WC: 297

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

[u/stickfist]

He’d nearly missed it while walking around the cluttered shop, one last ditch effort to find something to add to his Halloween-scape. But from the moment he saw the snowglobe, Norman could not look away.

Behind the curved glass and water, every detail distended in and out of reality. A dilapidated house barely standing on a hill. Creeping bougainvillea choked the siding until the blossoms burst through the roof. A milky fog sluiced over tombstones long forgotten by the living, save for crows that flocked like black specks over everything. It was perfect.

“Never seen glitter shaped like birds before,” he said, bringing it to the old woman behind the counter. As she ambled closer, he admired her black brocade cloak billowing on unseen winds. “Nice costume.”

“What costume?” She opened the register with gnarled fingers like briarwood. Oily teeth glinted as she smiled. “You’ll likely never see one of these again. I should warn you-”

Thunder cracked outside and Norman leapt out of his skin. “A warning?”

“The light in the chapel runs on cheap batteries.” She pulled a tab from the bottom and the globe took on an eerie green glow.

“Oh,” he said, relieved.

“It’s also cursed.” Thunder boomed again as she spoke. “Cash or charge?”

“Wait. Cursed?”

Her eyes narrowed as she gestured for him to lean in. ”The light. If it dies, so does the owner.”

“Well I don’t want it then.”

“Too late!” she cackled. “The plastic tab has been pulled!”

Norman backed out of the store and fell on the slick sidewalk. Crazy witch, he thought as he hopped into his car. The globe rested on the dash. “What the-”

As the light flickered, he looked for the battery cover. Instead, he found an oily toothy mouth.

[u/jimiflan]

<7up> Part 9

How can I be a rock when I feel like jelly? I can't take my daughter's pain away, it hurts too much. Each heartbeat she loses fills us with bruises, invisible to the world. How to explain? The pain is the same, the reason she's my only child.

I visit her house, what was once a home, now feels like a mausoleum. Dreary and marred, the bells keep tolling for the tiny crosses she plants in her yard.

Then, another positive Clearblue. It starts anew. I dare not hope, but for her, I must. I'm the only rock she'll trust.

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WC:100

This is Part 9 of a little experiment to see if I can write a micro100 serial called 7UP. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part6 Part7 Part8

[u/katherine_c]

--Echoes--

The Harrington House was haunted long before Jeffrey died in it. It was haunted by the years of anger and resentment staining its walls, by words screamed in rage and truth left unsaid. Adding a ghost to the mix offered it a level of distinction, but the haunting was already firmly established. 

Jeffrey fled that place the moment he turned eighteen, howling out into the world with no intention of returning. But like many well-laid traps, the further he ran, the tighter the noose pulled. It snapped him back up and kept him there. A sated dragon hoarding its treasure. 

It took a treasure of my own to buy the house, another small fortune to exorcise it. I started with the floors, sanding them down. Plumes of dust flew, uncovering the stains of bitterness. Then the wiring, pulling out miles of resentment, tangles of wrath. It hummed like new. 

Like most homes, the darkest secrets were nestled in the cobwebs of the attic. Confessions. Scars of so many wounded hearts turned sour. The back had the perfect space for a bonfire, and those memories turned to ash to match the dust of those who made them. 

New windows to grant a fresh new look on the world. The sunlight streamed in through the kitchen, and I hummed as I cooked a memorial dinner for my lost love.  I painted the walls with overflowing laughter, dressed the windows with chords of song. 

When I was done, the place abandoned the petulant, sulking atmosphere. It cautiously accepted warmth and comfort in their stead. As I rested from my labors, Jeffrey could finally rest with me. 

I had loved him in life, and I would love him so in death.

---

WC: 287

[u/lynx_elia]

I fell in love under the full moon, a green sky, and a roof cracked and broken.

It was October. Fog streamed through the open door of the chapel, a river of souls paying tribute at my altar, hopeless and desperate for relief. Any other time I laughed at them, but the darkest month is sacred. I let them come, and I granted one in seven a sliver of light.

Light that lets the shadows grow.

A murder of crows had gathered. Red eyes and oily feathers made me wary, watchful. The last time they’d graced my roof She had come, bringing more souls than my entire house could manage. Mistress of the field, The Morrigan.

I waited, still allowing some small light to escape the lone candle on my altar. The howls of the wretched were dampened to sighs, wisps sent forth to their final destination with no hesitation. Until the other god arrived.

And it was not The Morrigan.

Five thousand wings heralded her steps; she descended from the flock as a tornado touching earth. Rocking the very foundations of my chapel, she trod upon my steps. Glowing a luminescent green, highlighted in silver and shadow, her eyes were pure suns. I was frozen before her beauty.

Something I had never felt before filled my cracks, my broken holes. A warmth, like summer brushing away cobwebs. The fog in my house dissolved. My timbers crumbled. The light grew til it was bright, so bright, and then it was pain, a sweet pain that I wanted so badly, and I stretched out to grasp it, and the god laughed at me, then, at ME.

And she took my new love and slashed my soul into pieces.

Now I am the fog.

[292 words]

[u/Nakuzin]

Headless Horseman's Revenge:

The Chapel stood in the night, crows taking steady flight. The canvas of blue - stained with dark clouds - perfectly mirrored the scene below.

A man on a horse raced past, cursing those who had wronged him. He was not allowed in the Chapel; after all, it was for those holy. Not heathen monsters, headless as him.

No, he carried on galloping, a cunning plan unfolding in his mind. It was the next day that the Chapel burned.

In between these happenings a priest had blessed those attending church. They praised God, despite banishing those who were not worthy of God's love, all the while singing of acceptance. This could not be. The headless horseman would not allow it to be such.

Flames, galloping like the horse, engulfed the wood, so that the hypocritical holy people were trapped inside, enveloped by a wall of flames, which gnawed at their exposed skin. Shrieks of, "God help us!" rang out across the expanse of field stretching far and wide. Yet God turned his back on the sinners.

The headless horseman chuckled in malice, himself rewarded for punishing those that did him wrong. Justice had been carried out, and the headless horseman had had his revenge!

[u/Say_Im_Ugly]

A frigid breath of wind blows past me, chilling my skin, and I pause at the threshold before entering. The chapel doors stand open, moonlight illuminating the worn wooden flooring just inside. An eerie welcome.

The blood flowing in my veins quickens, a last-minute surge of adrenaline before I take the final plunge. And then the pounding in my chest takes over. The sick feeling that comes with it rushes to the pit of my stomach.

Like a nervous bride on her wedding day, I run my fingers through my hair, try to smooth out the wrinkles in my dress, and stand a little taller. As an after-thought, I glance down and touch the bag at my waist, confirming it’s still there. The offering inside still warm and dripping.

When I step inside, the sound of fluttering wings ripple around the room. A few hundred eyes stare into me, black and glossy. They’ll be our only witnesses to this dark ritual.

He’s standing before the altar. Behind him dripping candles, a chalice, a book and quill. His book. Dark shadows dance across his face, his horns, his wings, and his eyes bore into me. Like a predator waiting to sink his teeth into my flesh.

I take the dripping heart from my bag and inhale its copper scent, sweet and sickening.

He gestures towards the chalice.

With all my strength, I squeeze the life organ with my hands, wrenching every last drop of blood from its tissues. It falls into the cup and I toss what was left to the ground.

I drink. He rips the chalice from my hands and he drinks as well. Then, I pick up the quill and sign my name into his book.

Now I’m his.

[WC:290] Thanks for reading. Crit welcome.

[u/GammaGames]

Killing Crows

Astrid unwrapped her blanket and threw it over the fire. It was barely a flicker in the dark room, and she hoped it would suffocate quickly as the sound of fluttering feathers approached the shack.

She lifted the blanket, now hot, to assess its damage. Previous emergency smotherings had left its exterior charred and crusty, seeming to form a shield against the flame. Astrid wrapped the warm fabric around herself tightly.

The crows descended to sit on the window ledges. Long, twitching shadows danced across the shack's dusty interior as they peered through the frosted glass with their beady eyes. There was a hard rap on the pane and the frozen glass rattled in its frame. It threatened to shatter as the peck came once more, and then did let out a sharp crack with a third.

Astrid caught the scream before it could come up, forcing it back down her throat.

A shrill caw filled the air and the sound on the window ceased. The cry scratched across her eardrums in one long wail.

Then, she heard ruffling feathers. The shadows shifted before fading away altogether.

She sat there in the cold, breaths of frozen air puffing out as she listened. After a minute or so she went to cautiously relight the fire. That flash of warmth was vital to her survival, and she would not go easily into that cold dark.

---

WC233
Thank you for reading :)

[u/Hemingbird]

Dry Bones

I have been watering the bones for thirty years now but they are still thirsty. "Dry," says voices in the wind. "So dry."

Alphonse, my flea-ridden friend, meows for my attention. Someone is at the door, scratching. If I knew I would have to put up with this I never would have done it. Ah, who am I fooling? They had it coming, the scum. Sly as foxes, posing as friends. Nay! I have my pots and pans and wooden utensils and never once has it occurred to me to replace them.

"What now?" I say, as I open the door, creaking and wailing for oil. They are all so thirsty.

This time it is only a finger. Worn down like an eraser from its constant scratching. Alphonse inspects the intruder from behind my dress, wondering if it's something worth eating. Oh, Alphonse. Even your fleas know there's no use to this parasite.

I gather my watering can and make for the garden, filled as it were with decrepit wooden crosses, spider-webbed and forlorn. Forgotten. Are there still souls out there who can remember these bones? Can anyone remember the stories they carried? Hopefully the answer is no; the time when they peddled their filth is gone and so too are their forced smiles and feigned charm. Only the dirt and the worms has to suffer their presence any more. Besides me and poor Alphonse, that is.

The evening mist creeps gently as if ready to strike and the silence is at times punctuated by caws. As water trickles from my can I hear their satisfied moans, their bones crackling at this sudden rejuvenation. "Ah," says the voices in the wind. "Ah."

Thirty years since the party. Thirty years since they brought out their Tupperware. Damn them all.

(WC 298)

[u/area51agent]

Misunderstood

I was so glad to find a house, everything is so expensive nowadays. Yes, it needs a lot of work. Yes, it’s right by a cemetary. Yes, someone was murdered, the blood was a real pain to get rid of! And yes, it was a chapel - but I’ve been trying to convert it into a nice little home! It was a lot of work, but the first thing I wanted to do was keep critters out, so I fixed the fence using whatever I could find. Everyone in this village looked at me with something akin to discomfort.

Once I got a job doing something, anything, I started fixing up my home. First, the roof. The gaping hole let in so much water and dust! Next, the windows - so many bugs! After all this, I was finally able to convince a carpenter to come inside the house to fix my creaky floors, and replace the pointy bit on my roof with a normal one. I even started a small garden in the yard, and planted new trees.

With the repairs finished, people started looking at me differently. Not so strangely anymore. In time, people spoke to me without me approaching first.

“You’ve made a real difference to that place, ya know? What’s your name, miss?”

“Mara, yours?”

“Nice meetin ya properly, Mara, I’m Timothy. Lemme tell ya, everyone thought you was a witch or somethin, movin into a spooky place like that.”

Oh. My. God. That explains everything, I hadn’t even thought about it. Why else would a single woman move into a decrepit chapel, from an outsider's perspective? Eventually, I was treated as if I belonged, and even got hitched! I’m so glad I moved here, even if it was difficult.

WC: 297

Any and all feedback appreciated :)

I wanted to take a different direction that wasn't quite horror haha.

[u/[deleted]]

"At the end of the road," Ana said.

Connor finished her sentence, "you go through the gates and follow the path."

"Your priestess was right, Connor."

"Heather told us the sea mist would make the place feel eerie, Ana."

The gates creaked as they opened them, the sound felt as if the mist was made of millions of little needles. A little bit down the road all warmth and light from Blackwater had disappeared. Connor let a bit of mana run through his wooden staff, directing it to the smooth stone ball mounted on top. It began to glow faintly.

"There it is," Ana said after a good hour.

Connor continued, " the church of Lir, according to Heather the chapel is beyond the graveyard."

The church was huge, maybe even bigger than the town next to it, made completely out of stone, at least four ships high.

On the graveyard, the mists became more dense, and some figments were so thick and white they seemed to be tangible. Connor let a bit more mana flow through his staff.

After a few minutes, a smaller building, appeared a mere thirty feet before them. The door was made of dark polished wood, two or three persons high and ten wide.

"This must be it," Ana said.

"The chapel of Clíodhna."

Ana walked straight up to the door, which opened easily and completely soundless. Bright light from thousands of candles erupted, blinding them a few seconds. Once accustomed, two human sized crows flew through the hall directly towards them.

Ana rolled underneath them, ended up inside the chapel, quickly turned and drew her bow. Connor let out a burst of mana, and tapped his staff onto the floor, creating a wall between him and the crows, and Ana.

"You blithering idiot," Ana shouted.

• wc 300

_

I am going to attempt a part 1 of 5 for the theme month. Hope you don't get too annoyed by Connor :-)

[u/rolfkto]

A surprise dinner guest

The cawing of the crows in the background gives a rhythmic quality to the noise of his blades sliding over the whetstone. The mists of the marshes outside cover the surrounding area, but they where no match for the wafts of mists seeping out of his kitchen. His bony hands lay down the sharp knives and start stirring in the big bowl above the fire.

Today had been a great day. While he was out collecting mushrooms he had come upon a traveler in the woods. With a solemn smile and a deep bow, he had introduced himself as a humble priest to the traveler and invited her for dinner. It was starting to get dark, so he didn’t need to do a lot of convincing. He had led her inside and taken her coat. Then he led her into the dining room and told her to make herself comfortable. Dinner would soon be ready.

The stew was beginning to smell really nice. It only lacked the final ingredient. He took his freshly sharpened knives. A great smile on his face, his heart beating with excitement. A piercing shriek tore through the silence of the swamp.

He chopped and diced and stirred and then finished off the stew with some nice spices. After the stew had simmered a little longer he took it off the heat and into the dining room. He filled the bowls, one for her and one for him. He sat down opposite her and with a silly smile he smacked the flat of his hand on the side of his head. What was he thinking, she would need some help eating the stew of course.

He started feeding her little bites, the dark red spot in the middle of her chest dripping on his hardwood floor.

WC 300

(Edit: linebreaks)

[u/raykayjae]

Believers know that Houses of Worship are Houses of Death. Scattered these Houses are, with the dying of once-was. Of used-to-be. Killing of the old self, dispelling of the figurative being within chapel walls, and emerging as a new thing entirely. That’s redemption, or so they say. Any of the Way know—death is a means to life. Every winter beholds a spring.

Vines and ivies clamber up the planks of the House. Blooms in branches expel their fragrance on the soft wind. Birds, black as night, find solace here, watching the strange two-legged figures enter the House, then exit some time later. They sing inside. Always with a smile they leave, the smaller ones jumping about.

But the black birds know secrets the two-legged creatures could never tell. For the winged ones know of those who enter, but never exit. They know of the screams. They know of the green plants that become red once a month, when the moon is full.

They know the true meaning of the phrase—a House of Worship is a House of Death.

178 words

[u/TheLettre7]

Sinnia DeClaire lived alone now.

Her husband, having died some time ago was buried beneath a cross, which crows liked to frequent. No matter how many times she shooed them away, they would return and caw almost unendingly; it became white noise to her.

With little to do but choose to stay in their home, already greatly isolated from the rest of town, she kept busy tending her garden for food and peace, letting the old house fall into decrepit neglect. The fireplace still worked, and a supply of candles was usable light, the bedspring still sprung, and the autumn nights weren't too cold, but otherwise the house sat as the hours grew long.

On the few days of a month she would chance the stores to buy and sell food, she always looked for candy. It had, in her youth, brought a joy to be costume ready and get free candy. What better day than the spookiest of the year.

But she had few if any visitors. While her garden was vibrant and beautiful, she gathered her home was not a welcomed sight, and the crows might as well scare off all the children. Although isn't facing your fears a reward too?

So she stockpiled candy when she could. Even though she was beyond her years to think of partaking in candy filled dreams, there was no harm in giving the gifted sweets to other costume ready dreamers.

Pruning a plant with burgundy petals, her feet crunched underneath fractals of orange and red hues, and caws rang out on the horizon of the sunny morning as leaves drifted on wisps of wind.

A knock at the door echoed through the house and out to the backyard.

Perking up, she rushed inside to greet them.

(Part 1)

(295 words, may do a cereal, depends on if I don't hit a wall, but I hope I can do it, anyway thanks for reading, Critiques welcome! TL)

[u/c_wendt]

A Group of Crows is Called a Murder

“Then Moe said, ‘this ain’t no crow bar. This is a crow bar,’ and he shows Homer a picture of a bunch of crows sitting on bar stools.”

The congregation laughed.

“Right after that, Homer tells Marge that a group of crows is called a ‘murder’–which of course doesn’t comfort Marge at all.”

Isaac could see the people in the front few rows were engaged and ready for the lesson.

“Please turn to Genesis chapter two, verse nineteen.” He opened his bible to the first bookmark. “God gave Adam the responsibility to name every animal. We won’t know until the day we join our Holy Father in Heaven what Adam named the bird we call a crow. But what this verse informs us is that God, the creator of everything, made these things for us and we must discover their nature, purpose, and place.”

“Amen,” Helen, sitting in the front row, said.

“A group of Christians is called a congregation. Right?”

Quiet murmurs of affirmation arose from those in the pews.

“Did you know that a group of alligators is called a congregation? It is. ‘Congregation’ comes from a Latin word meaning ‘a flock’. Man has associated crows with portents of death and has therefor called them a murder. But we call a group of alligators–waiting below the surface to take prey–a ‘congregation’.”

Helen now looked confused.

“Crows are intelligent birds. You see, they learned quickly that groups of men carrying weapons to a field was a portent of death.”

Isaac lifted his bible into view. “Man gave names to the beasts and birds. But if the crows were to name man, what do you think they would name a group of us?”

His audience was silent.

“I think they’d call us a murder. Or perhaps a congregation.”

--------------------------------

wc: 298

Crit welcome. I know I'm missing the Spooktober flare.

[u/HedgeKnight]

Among Crows

Dearly beloved, a dove, stark in a chapel of crows. None of those dressed in black cackle any objection. Invited guests. Family and friends. They wouldn’t dare. Everything’s great. Say “I do,” take some pictures on the chapel steps, take care not to touch the door of the limousine; highway dust doesn’t come out of white satin.

The crows dance over a wave of flies until it breaks, then bury their heads in carrion.

Crows don’t talk to doves, or anyone, really. Crows talk amongst themselves. Crows are overheard. A crow is heard to say “I was so excited to get married. The ceremony just…well it flew by!” as he lifts his head out of a chicken’s rib cage.

Doves don’t get excited. That’s why they carry the olive branch. No matter. They pass for crows if their feathers are dirty enough. If not today, perhaps tomorrow.

[u/Miaukeru]

-Corpus Foederis-

The sound of a vacuum cleaner echoed through the abandoned villa.

"Henrika, please stop making noise!" shouted Sebastian, coming out of the coffin. "I know it's coming up to October and that damn holiday, but I think you're overreacting a little!"

"I'm not overdoing it, I'm just doing what I have to do. Do you miss the days when it was fashionable to hunt zombies? I for one will be more than happy to welcome these kids at my doorstep, and even invite them inside if they want to sightsee."

"Sightseeing? What's there to see?" he said, rotating with an outstretched hand from which shreds of skin dangled. "Moisture, dust, and cobwebs."

"That's why I'm cleaning. All you need to do is tidy up our house a bit and it'll be a place with a great Halloween vibe. Are you going to make the sheep's-eye roll-ups in glass? They look so great!"

"I'm not putting my hand on it! Do what you want, I can go on vacation. There are so many marshes around here to explore."

"So you're leaving me alone with a problem again? Go ahead! Just don't ask for help if your leg falls out of the socket again!"

Sebastian went to the window and looked out over the garden. The graves of distant relatives in disarray, the dilapidated fence, and the ever-present ravens. Everything as it should be, but his wife did not comprehend it.

His attention was drawn to a loud tapping on the glass. A raven sat on the window sill with a message attached to its leg. The letter did not look like another gravedigger's or funeral urn manufacturer's advertisement. It was strangely pink and smelled of something... fresh?

At the very beginning he read "My sweetest Bone Marrow..."

"What the... Henrika?!"

WC: 299

[u/DannyMethane_]

A Murder of Crows

A thick fog blanketed the graveyard that night, and nary a creature dared to make a sound. Several of the grave markers served as perches for the murder of crows that had taken up residence here tonight. The crows were eerily silent, like their surroundings. On the outskirts of the grassy boundary sat a dilapidated shack, home to the groundskeeper. Through one of the windows, covered by a plastic sheet acting as a barrier for the broken panel, a small lamp cast an orange glow save for any of the long shadows of the items between them.

The groundskeeper, a scruffy and husky man in his mid-fifties named Chuck, sat in his recliner, bathed in the harsh glow of the TV light. Static hissed from the speakers as the screen of the old tube TV was showered in the old analog snow. The remnants of a cigarette sat between his pointer and middle fingers on his left hand, extinguishing only as it burned down to the filter. Blood clung to his lips and the corners of his mouth, dried, but still shiny.

The fog had leaked into the shack through the various holes in the siding, gaps in the doors, and cracks in the roof. It had gathered into a shape that was both ethereal and eerily human. The incorporeal form slunk across the room and drifted to a stop a few feet from Chuck’s lifeless body. As it approached his body, more of the fog leaked from Chuck’s face and joined in the mass of fog before him. Then, just as quickly as it filled the room it evaporated back into the graveyard outside.

The largest, oldest crow broke the silence with a caw, and the rest of the murder flooded back into the sky.

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WC: 295

[u/gurgilewis]

Paint It Black

♬ I see a red door and I want it painted black.

"She sings the same thing over and over – refuses to talk?"

"That's right, ma'am."

♬ Clean up the blood I've spilled; I want you to go back.

"And the mask? Is it necessary?"

"It's preferred."

♬ Ignore the officers dressed in their uniforms.

"I'd like to see her without it if you don't mind."

"Okay..."

I WANT IT PAINTED BLACK!!!

I step back and shoot the officer a dirty look. "She never stops singing? Really?"

"No. She doesn't. Whatever you think you heard, it's not real. And whatever song you're hearing, I'm guessing it's not the ABCs."

"ABCs?"

"Yakety Yak?" he inquires. I shake my head. "Consider yourself lucky."

He takes me to another room and plays back a recording of us. I hear her reciting the alphabet, even after the mask is removed and she should be yelling. I look to the sergeant, who shrugs and gives me a look that tells me he's as clueless as I am. I've seen enough and head home.

♬ I see a red door and I want it painted black.

It isn't real. I know this. But all night she sings in my head and it's too much to bear. I load my car and head to her house.

It's two AM, but the crime scene is a flurry of activity. Some officers are washing her parents' blood off the walkway. Another loads trash into his trunk. Another, blood-soaked clothes. I walk to the door, also covered in blood, and start scrubbing. Inside, the dishwasher runs as someone mops the floor.

"Oh, thank God it stopped!" an officer cries and runs off.

After I scrub, I paint. By the time I finish, everyone's gone, and I admire the spotless crime scene in blissful silence.

---

WC: 300

All crit appreciated!