She stitched another stitch in he little cushion on her lap. It would soon be finished now. She would … More
This is the fourth and last part of my horror series Not Spoiled by Water. The other parts are called … More
This story is connected to my earlier post Not Spoiled by Water – The Supper, and part of an ongoing horror series. They can be read individually.
Gunnhild couldn’t find her little boy anywhere. She went up to the old tree, he sometimes liked to play up there. She couldn’t find him. She looked under the house. Nothing.
She walked down the path towards the firewood shelter. Her father was there.
-Have you seen Peder? She asked.
-No I haven’t. Maybe he’s down by the lake?
The lake. She looked over her shoulder in a fast movement.
“Be careful down by the lake, little Peder. Something might just push you under.” Her brother’s words… (More)
-Oh my God… The two experienced police technicians had never seen anything like this. There were bloodstains everywhere. On the walls, on the furniture, even in the ceiling. The floor was a crimson red pool. The victim was spread around in little pieces. Some psycho sure had had an amazing time.
They walked around, trying not to step in the blood, but it was impossible.
-Hey! I’ve got a fingerprint!
-That was fast, Pete said. They hadn’t even gotten their equipment out of the suitcase.
-Right there, written in blood.
It was. A big, red stain could be seen on the table.
-This guy must be a giant. He looked down at the hand lying on the floor. -The victim seems to have been normal enough… (More)
A story about a former journalist who have decided to take law enforcement in his own hands. He’s investigating a … More
Rewritten and republished. Originally posted on fictionspawn.com September 21. 2016.
Gundersen was standing on his little bedroom balcony. He could see the whole factory from here. It was going well, they had lot of profit. He was getting rich.
The workers kept complaining, though. Assholes. He had built a great factory they could work in, and all they ever did was whimper. Our children are hungry, they said. We can’t afford medicines. With the accidents lately things had gotten worse.
He couldn’t get the image out of his head. She had been only eight years old, the little girl. Her body crushed in the paper compressor. Her swollen face…