Just posted, a brand new story from Writing Darkness!

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"For one moment, just a second, the screaming stopped and despair rushed in to fill the void. Then she was screaming again as she began the arduous journey to her cell phone."

A BRAND NEW story on Writing Darkness!
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The first album

For lovers of horror and weird sounds

thechildisscreaming.bandcamp.com/album/air-em...

“As my father always told me,” Carlos nearly shakes as he speaks, “The best way to understand something is to try it.”

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#canadianhorror

writingdarkness.ca/the-human-wa...

“Don’t be stupid. Mr. Willows kept talking about a game, said he just needed the final player. Then he drove out to your stop. And where are we now? I’ve been watching and I’ve got no idea where we are anymore.”

A brand new story from Writing Darkness

writingdarkness.ca/mr-willows-b...

"Chloe opened her mouth to scream, to get Samantha to call the building manager, the paramedics, animal control, or even the fucking army, but all that came out was a slimy gurgle as..."

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www.writingdarkness.ca/mrs-tinkles/

"It was a simple game. In order to win all you had to do was walk through the house. Older boys would dare younger boys as a passage into their world of games. Girls would dare each other out of a need to share the discomfort."
This is a game you don't want to lose
writingdarkness.ca/the-anger-of...

"The hole was black. Not black as in the darkness of the night or closed eyes. It was black like the emptiness of the void, black like the sight of the anophthalmic."

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"Art exists because reality is neither real nor significant."
J.G. Ballard

"“Prepare yourself,” Adrian says in his best warrior growl. He pointed his stick towards the vast array of monsters rushing at them from the swings. “We’re going to have to fight our way out.”"

A brand new just released story from Writing Darkness.

writingdarkness.ca/f-g-m1-m2-r%...

“When death falls from the sky and the cyanide pours like rain upon us, we shall be clean."

Let's play a game. Which #WritingDarkess story is this quote from?

"His eyes inches from the painting, he felt himself gripped. Tendrils of green and red seeming to reach out across the gap of air and touch his eyes, rolling backwards over his irises, deeper and deeper into him until he was gone and only the colors remained."

writingdarkness.ca/a-speck-of-p...

"There is a smell in the house now.

It smells like Grandfather.

And mother, too.

Like grave flowers and rotten wood.

The scent of death."

The newest story on Writing Darkness

writingdarkness.ca/door-dog/